Summary — When you say you and Steve need to talk, Steve misinterprets it as you wanting to break up with him. In reality, you want to move in with him.
Steve never quite believes he deserves to love you.
He tries to believe it, he really does. He shows up, he listens, he remembers the little things. He tells you you're beautiful when your hair's a mess and you're pretty when you're sick and he loves you when you're being impossible. He gives you everything he has.
But in the back of his mind, there's always this voice. This quiet, ugly little voice that whispers she's too good for you and this can't last and eventually she'll figure it out.
He's gotten good at ignoring it. Most days, he can. But today is not most days.
You're on his couch, legs tucked under you, some movie playing in the background that neither of you is watching. You're talking about your week, about work, about nothing important. And then you say it.
"Steve, I think we should talk about something."
Steve's stomach drops. Those words. Those three words that never, ever lead anywhere good. We should talk. His stomach twists.
He's heard them before. From Nancy. From his dad. From every person who's ever looked at him and decided he wasn't enough.
He doesn't want you to think he's not enough, too.
"Yeah?" He tries to keep his voice steady. Tries to ignore the way his heart has started pounding. "What's up, sweetheart?" The endearment slips out automatically, because that's who he is with you. Even scared, even spiralling, he can't talk to you without softness.
You're quiet for a second, looking down at your hands, and that silence is worse than anything. He watches you bite your lip, watches you gather your words, and every second feels like an hour. You're nervous.
"I've been thinking a lot lately," you say slowly. "About us. About where we're going."
Steve can't breathe. You're breaking up with him.
And I... I just — I don't know if this is—" You pause, shaking your head. "I'm not saying this right."
He doesn't hear the rest. He can't. Because all he hears is I've been thinking about us and I don't know if this is and his brain fills in the blanks with the worst possible words.
Working. What I want anymore. Worth it.
He stands up so fast you startle.
"Steve?"
He looks at you — at your confused, beautiful face — and even now, even with his heart cracking open in his chest, all he feels is overwhelming tenderness. He can't be mad at you, not even when you're breaking his heart.
"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is soft, so soft, because he can't ever be anything else with you. "I'm sorry, angel, I just — I need a minute. Okay? I just need a minute."
He's moving before he knows it, grabbing his keys, heading for the door. He hears you call his name, hears the confusion in your voice, but he can't stop. He can't stay in that room one more second or he'll fall apart right in front of you.
But even as he leaves, even as he's running, he closes the door gently. Because it's your door. Because you're on the other side. Because he'd never do anything to hurt you, even accidentally, even now.
He makes it to his car. Sits there, hands gripping the steering wheel, staring at nothing.
His chest hurts.
It actually hurts, like someone's reached inside him and is squeezing his heart in their fist. He can't breathe right. His lungs won't work. He tries to take a deep breath and it gets stuck halfway, a horrible stuttering inhale that does nothing to help.
You're leaving. You don't want him anymore.
The thought circles in his head like a song stuck on repeat. He knew this would happen. He knew it. People always leave. They always figure out that he's not worth the trouble. He presses the heel of his hand against his sternum, like he can physically push the pain away.
He should drive away. He should go somewhere, anywhere, and deal with this alone. But he can't make himself start the car. He just sits there, hurting, waiting for something he doesn't understand.
Then there's a knock on his window.
He looks up, and you're there. Standing in the driveway wearing your house slippers, your face worried and confused and... and not cold. Not distant. Not looking at him like he's something you're about to throw away.
"Steve." Your voice is muffled through the glass. "What's going on? Baby, please open the door."
He looks at you — shivering a little, eyes so concerned — and even through the fog of his own pain, all he feels is you're going to get cold. So he reaches over and unlocks the door.
You open it immediately, crouching down to his level. Your eyes scan his face, and whatever you see there makes your expression crumble.
"Steve. Honey. What happened?"
He laughs. It's not a nice sound. "You know what happened. You said—" His voice cracks. He has to stop, swallow, try again. "You said we needed to talk. About us. About whether this is—" He can't even say it.
But even saying that, even voicing his worst fear, he reaches out and touches your face. Just lightly, his fingers brushing your cheek, because you're right there and he can't not touch you.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry I'm making this harder. You're trying to do this gently and I'm — I'm making it worse. You don't have to explain, sweetheart. I understand."
You stare at him for a long moment, looking entirely confused. "Steve. I was trying to ask if you wanted to move in together."
He blinks. "What?" What?
"I've been thinking about us," you say slowly, carefully. "About where we're going. And I wanted to ask if you'd consider — if you'd want to—" You take a breath. "I want to live with you. That's what I was trying to say. I just didn't know how to ask without sounding desperate."
Steve stares at you. His hand is still on your face. He doesn't move it.
"You want to move in with me."
"Yes."
"With me. Me, living together. With you?"
"Yes, Steve."
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. "I thought you were breaking up with me."
Your face crumples with realisation. "Oh, baby. Oh, no."
"I'm sorry," he says immediately, because you look upset and he hates that, he hates that he made you look like that. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn't have run. I shouldn't have — you were trying to talk to me and I just—"
"Stop." You cup his face in your hands, mirroring him. "Stop apologising. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I thought I was losing you." The words tumble out, raw and honest. "And I couldn't — I couldn't breathe. I still can't breathe." His voice breaks. "I love you so much. I couldn't even be mad. I just wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn't with me."
You make a sound, something between a sob and a laugh, and then you're climbing into the car, into his lap, wrapping yourself around him.
"You idiot," you whisper against his neck, but you're crying, and you're holding him so tight. "You're an idiot, Steve Harrington. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying. I'm right here."
Your arms lock around his neck, your face presses into the warm space where his shoulder meets his throat, and you hold him like he's the only thing keeping you upright.
He feels your breath against his skin, feels the dampness of your tears soaking into his collar. You're crying. For him. Because he's hurting.
"I'm here," you whisper against his neck, your voice thick but steady. "I'm right here, Steve. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."
His arms come up automatically, wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His hands spread across your back, one cradling the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. "Angel," he breathes, and it's barely a sound. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ran."
You shake your head against his neck, holding him tighter. If you could, you'd crawl inside his chest and curl up next to his heart. You'd wrap yourself around every bruised, broken part of him and never let go.
"Don't be sorry," you murmur. "Just let me hold you. Okay? Just let me hold you."
He nods against you, and you feel his arms tighten around your waist. His shaking is subsiding.
You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands coming up to frame his face. Your thumbs trace his cheekbones, brush away the tears tracking down his skin.
"I love you," you tell him, slow and deliberate, because he needs to hear it, because he needs to understand. "I love you, Steve. You hear me?"
He laughs, watery and weak. "I hear you."
"Good." You press your forehead to his. "Because I need you to know it. I need you to believe it."
His hands come up to cover yours where they rest on his face. He turns his head, just slightly, and presses a kiss to your palm. "I'm trying," he whispers. "I'm trying to believe it. It's just hard when—" He stops, swallows. "When no one ever has. Stayed, I mean."
"I know." You kiss the corner of his mouth, soft and lingering. "I know, baby. But I'm not them. I'm me. And I'm staying."
He looks at you — really looks at you — and for the first time since you said those terrible, wonderful, misunderstood words, some of the tension leaves his shoulders.
"You're cold," he murmurs, because you are, because you're shivering in your house slippers and thin pyjama shirt.
"I don't care about cold."
"I care." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Let's go inside, angel. Please."
You nod, but you don't move. You just keep looking at him, your hands still on his face, your eyes soft and warm.
"I'm okay," he tells you quietly. "I'm okay now."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He smiles, small and shaky but real. "You're kind of magic, you know that?"
You shake your head. "I just love you. That's all."
He shifts you carefully in his lap, getting situated, and then he's opening the car door and climbing out with you still in his arms. You don't protest — just tighten your hold on his neck and let him carry you.
He kicks the door closed and starts toward the house, cradling you against his chest like you're the most precious thing in the world.
"You're so warm," you murmur against his neck.
"You're freezing." He adjusts his hold, pulling you closer.
He carries you up the steps to the porch, careful and steady, then nudges the front door open with his hip. He carries you over to the couch and sits down carefully, settling you in his lap. You curl into him immediately, your head on his chest, your hand over his heart.
He pulls the blanket from the back of the couch and wraps it around both of you, tucking it around your shoulders.
For a long time, neither of you speaks. Then, "I love you," he whispers into the quiet.
You tilt your head up and kiss his jaw. "I love you too. So much."
He looks down at you, at your face soft and open and full of love for him, and something in his chest finally settles.
"So," you say, your eyes bright. "About that moving in conversation..."
He laughs, real and full, and thinks that you are the most perfect thing he's ever had.
summary: soft launching your relationship with joe on instagram throughout the seasons.
smau & masterlist
SEASON ONE:
liked by nattyiceofficial, djotime and others
yourusername our new show stranger things is out now and u should definitely give it a watch (joe looks like this the whole season btw)
view comments?
djotime No I don't ignore her
⤿ djotime But watch the show still
user loooovee this show will there be a season 2?
user why's joe responding to his own comment😭😭
⤿ yourusername he's a strange one isn't he?
⤿ djotime ?
nattyiceofficial my favorite scene partner❤️
⤿ yourusername my walk 'em down wheeler💕💕
user who else was lowkey rooting for steve and her character to get together more than stancy lol
⤿ user ME OMG I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE
⤿ user djotime and yourusername's chemistry was INSANEEEE
⤿ user duffer brothers what do we think about a slow burn / yearning / enemies to lovers / rain kiss...
⤿ user you need to write the damn script at this point😭😭
charlie.r.heaton Core Four!
⤿ yourusername CORE FOURRRR
SEASON TWO:
liked by sadiesink_, finnwolfhardoffical and others
yourusername we're so back. season two of stranger things is out now and everyone be nice to snoopy, he's new on set🤍
view comments?
noahschnapp SNOOPYYYY
⤿ milliebobbybrown i loved seeing him in the corner of my eye during every scene
⤿ yourusername snoopy said he loves this season and that everyone should watch it (100% true i promise)
user the cast having a mascot is so cute🥺🥺
user who are the parents of snoopy?
⤿ finnwolfhardofficial djotime is mom and yourusername is dad
djotime Maybe next season you'll post a nice picture of me
⤿ yourusername unless u die next season idk
sadiesink_ i'm in a yourusername photo dump i've made it😭
user season 2 out of ? with joe being featured
nattyiceofficial why is joe in time out
⤿ yourusername because he made my character cry this season
⤿ djotime That was literally in the script what else was I supposed to say
⤿ nattyiceofficial oh sit back in timeout.
⤿ yourusername stay there until next season joe.
⤿ calebmclaughlin Looks like Snoopy's staying with dad tonight...
SEASON THREE:
liked by maya_hawke, gatenmatarazzo and others
yourusername i was stuck in the fuckass scoops ahoy outfit all season so i might as well make a post about it... oh, well. if u wanna watch joe get beat up for a third season in a row, u know the drill😉
view comments?
user i can't tell if the writers are trying to get their characters together or that's just djotime and yourusername breaking character😭
⤿ user LITERALLY they have such chemistry i'll feel robbed if they don't kiss by next season
gatenmatarazzo Scoops Troop gather around!
⤿ yourusername yes sir!
⤿ djotime ✋
⤿ maya_hawke Here! (For yourusername)
⤿ djotime ...
⤿ priahferguson yessssss💜
user i'm SO obsessed with them
user "fuckass outfit" as if she didn't manage to pull it off for 8 episodes
user i demand we have this group together again next season (...with more steve and her character scenes... i'm not asking for much...)
djotime I've been promoted to 2 pictures in the dump this year
⤿ user and the photos are nicer, yourusername we're losing credibility...
⤿ yourusername i'm sorry it's hard to catch that pretty face off guard💔
yourusername deleted this comment!
⤿ yourusername i'm sorry, i'll take my job more seriously next season💔
⤿ user HELLO?
user so we're acting as if me and 3 other people didn't see her comment before she deleted it
SEASON FOUR:
liked by calebmclaughlin, josephquinn and others
yourusername what a whirlwind of a season! couldn't have done it without all my beautiful castmates, i love u all endlessly. one last ride together🤍
view comments?
user oh so she wants to make me cry on a random friday night
user wdym we have one season left... come back...
sadiesink_ the cutest
⤿ yourusername u get ittttt
user WHO IS THAT ON THE SECOND SLIDE
⤿ user her character literally wears that in the show so it HAS to be someone on set
⤿ user ...ever heard of people visiting their partners while they're filming
⤿ user god forbid a girl pretends yourusername and joe keery are dating
djotime Cool
⤿ yourusername cool
⤿ user OMG KISS
⤿ user ur so funny for this😭😭😭
finnwolfhardofficial yourusername Why are you taking pictures of Joe shirtless?
⤿ yourusername omg i'll literally block u
maya_hawke My favorite couple
⤿ maya_hawke Of friends
⤿ maya_hawke On set
⤿ yourusername maya my love i think it's best if we delete comments instead of trying to save face by adding more fuel to the fire😭😭
maya_hawke deleted this comment!
yourusername deleted this comment!
user maya tell us what we don't know!!!
SEASON FIVE:
liked by charlie.r.heaton, milliebobbybrown and others
yourusername and it's all over just like that. i can't thank u enough for the support u have given us over the decade and it breaks my heart that this is the final photo dump. oh, my beloved stranger things, u are so special to me.
so long, hawkins, u were terrifying don't get me wrong (!!!) but u were home.🤍🤍🤍
view comments?
milliebobbybrown just when i thought i was done crying
maya_hawke ❤️❤️❤️
user who else screamed when steve and her character kissed this seaosn
⤿ user i felt like i was intruding
⤿ user it was so ...intimate?
noahschnapp Love you :(((((
nellfisher_ thank you for making this experience the best year of my life❤️
⤿ yourusername oh nell ur so talented endlessly proud of u🥺🥺🥺
user DROP THE HARD LAUNCH
user get you a man who brings you flowers
nattyiceofficial memories to last a lifetime
⤿ yourusername i miss u already natty
djotime A beautiful performance from the most beautiful person❤️
⤿ yourusername oh, my joe🤍
⤿ user MY ?????
⤿ user WHY'S NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THIS
user not her hiding her boyfriend in the final stranger things post so we all forget to talk about it
yourusername steve harrington i miss u, u were so sexy
⤿ yourusername fuck wrong account
yourusername deleted this comment!
calebmclaughlin How did you get away with that comment yourusername?😭😭
⤿ yourusername i've never deleted something so quick in my life
⤿ user another day another yourusername comment we missed💔
POST-SEASON FIVE:
liked by djotime, noahschnapp and others
yourusername i take method acting very seriously
view comments?
user YOU'RE DJOKING.
user FUCK OFF
user HARD LAUNCH OF THE CENTURY
sadiesink_ the nonchalant post as if you didn't break millions of people's hearts
⤿ yourusername the first post of many i love my boyfriend
⤿ user HER. BOYFRIEND.
user am i dreaming or is that you harrington?
carabuono Such a beautiful couple. So lucky to watch you two fall in love.🤍
finnwolfhardofficial When can I come over
⤿ gatenmatarazzo Let them finish their hard launch and ask them later
⤿ gatenmatarazzo And ask them if I can join
⤿ calebmclaughlin Same
⤿ yourusername ??????
nattyiceofficial i've never seen you happier❤️
user i haven't recovered from their characters ending up together in the epilogue LET ALONE them dating irl😭😭😭
djotime I love you
⤿ yourusername i love u too
⤿ user KMS
⤿ user I USED TO PRAY FOR TIMES LIKE THIS
gatenmatarazzo When can I tell people that you two improvised the kiss this season
⤿ djotime I think you just did
⤿ yourusername hell yeah tell them i have no shame
⤿ user "improvised" as if it hasn't been named the best tv kiss on tiktok
liked by yourusername, carabuono and others
djotime I fell in love on set 10 years ago. Figured it was time to tell you all about her.
view comments?
user AND NOW HE POSTS ABOUT HER
user fell to my knees at the caption i'll settle for no less
user get married
maya_hawke You two keep getting cuter!!!
nattyiceofficial why's snoopy being squished
⤿ user FUCK OFF THEY DID NOT NAME THEIR CAT SNOOPY
⤿ user from naming their teddy snoopy to their shared cat i feel sick
⤿ user omg they're perfect😩😩😩
finnwolfhardofficial When can I come over
⤿ yourusername i know u didn't comment the same question u asked me on joe's account
⤿ finnwolfhardofficial Now that I know you're online can you answer me
⤿ yourusername idk tomorrow if u want
⤿ calebmclaughlin I'll be there then
⤿ yourusername U DIDN'T EVEN ASK THE QUESTION ????
⤿ gatenmatarazzo Ok I'll see you guys there
⤿ yourusername ur djoking
user reminder that we watched them fall in love with each season
milliebobbybrown this is the most adorable thing ever
yourusername joe i'm so in love with u
⤿ djotime I'm so so in love with you too
⤿ charlie.r.heaton But Stonathan is better
⤿ djotime Yeah definitely
⤿ yourusername oh
let me know if u liked this sort of post and i can do more bc it is so much funnnnn
also who wants a mike wheeler fic based of sabrina's 'my man on willpower' ?????
summary: you accidentally overhear steve calling you “clingy” to robin. instead of confronting him, you retreat into silence, letting your hurt fester. steve notices and becomes desperate to understand, but the more he reaches out, the wider the distance grows.
word count: 6.1k
a/n: after writing way too much steve fluff, it’s time for some angst with my fav trope: fmc overhears her spouse call her clingy… eventual happy ending <3
tags: takes place after s4 timeskip, so much angst, emotional hurt, crying, reader has scars from a demo attack, nancy and robin are so sweet here, distancing, reader has ptsd, emotional vulnerability, reader was eddie's bsf, mentions of violence, trauma, typical upside down gore, lack of communication, so much fluff at the end, happy ending.
You truly didn’t mean to eavesdrop.
If anything, it was an accident, a cruel, stupid accident orchestrated by the universe itself and whatever higher power up there that wanted to see you suffering.
You’d been at the Squawk with Steve and Robin, the three of you crammed into the booth like always. Robin, as usual, was rambling about something while Steve laughed and bumped his knee into yours under the table, grounding you without even trying.
By the time the clock crept past 8:30, the air outside was already dark and heavy, that familiar tightness had started curling in your chest; one that always showed up when it got late.
You’d told yourself you could handle it, that you were fine and you weren’t helpless, but you still asked Steve to accompany you home anyway, too afraid to go on your own.
“Can you come with me?” you’d asked casually, “or at least drive me home?”
Steve frowned, glancing at Robin. “Baby, you’ll be fine. You can go on your own. I’ll be back in like an hour, okay? ”
You nodded and kissed him goodbye, then you walked out to your car telling yourself you weren’t a scared little kid, and that nothing can harm you anymore.
Only to realize halfway down the lot that your coat was still inside.
So you turned around.
That was all; a forgotten coat, a stupid, normal thing, and you would have been in and out in seconds if not for your name cutting through the noise in the squawk as you heard Steve mention you to Robin.
You shouldn’t have listened, you knew that. You were raised better than to hover at doors and steal pieces of conversations that weren’t yours to hear, but your body didn’t listen to reason anymore.
Your feet stayed planted, your lungs forgot how to work as panic washed over you so fast and so violently that for a second you weren’t in Hawkins at all.
You were back in the Upside Down.
Back in that choking red sky, where the air is thick and cold. You could feel all over again the vines slick and alive under your hands as you ran, heart tearing itself apart inside your chest.
You could still feel the demobats, the weight of them, the wet snap of their wings, the sound of flesh ripping, the blood, so much blood, everywhere you looked there was bloodbloodbloodbloodblood—
—the combined screams of yours and Eddie’s. You remembered the way his body had gone still, the way Steve had dragged your bloodied body away as your entire abdomen was ripped apart, shaking so badly you couldn’t even scream.
You remember the way you’d thought you were going to die there with your throat ripped open and your bones scattered across that fucked-up place.
You hadn’t felt safe since.
Four months, five months? however long it had been, it didn’t matter. Fear had latched onto you like a parasite and refused to let go.
Everything startled you now, doors, clocks, cold air on your neck, cars backfiring, footsteps too close behind you. The world felt like a nightmare, and the night was only much worse.
Steve was the only place that didn’t feel like that.
Steve made it quiet. Steve made it stop.
You hadn’t even realized you’d started clinging until it was already done, until your body had decided he was shelter, that he was protection, that if he was near then nothing could touch you.
And now you were standing outside a door, listening to him talk about you.
“I don’t know, Robin,” he says again, voice rough and worn down, like he’s been chewing on the same thought for weeks and it’s finally gone bloody. “She’s just… different. Ever since.”
Robin leans back against the counter, arms crossed, watching him carefully. “Yeah,” she says, slow and measured. “No shit. She went to literal hell, Steve.”
“I know that,” he snaps too fast, immediately regretting the edge in his voice. He exhales, drags a hand down his face. “I know. I do. That’s the problem. I know, and I still feel like shit about how I feel.”
She waits. Robin’s good at that. At letting him talk himself into the truth.
“It’s like,” he starts again, quieter but faster, words tumbling over each other now, “she’s everywhere. All the time. Wherever I go, she’s already there or tryin’ to be. If I grab my keys, suddenly she needs to leave too. If I’m sittin’ down, she’s sittin’ down. If I say I’m tired, she’s tired. It’s like she can’t exist unless I’m right next to her.”
Your stomach drops where you stand, frozen just outside the door, fingers clenched tight around the strap of your bag.
“I’m serious,” Steve keeps going, oblivious, frustration bleeding through every word. “If I’m goin’ to see Dustin, she’s got a reason to come. If I’m headin’ to the Squawk, somehow we’re paired up for drills again. She doesn’t do anything alone, Robin. Never. She’s just… latched onto me.”
He laughs humorless. “And I sound like a dick sayin’ it, I know I do, but it’s fuckin’ suffocating.”
Suffocating. Like he’s drowning because of you.
Robin doesn’t answer right away. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer, more careful. “Steve. That’s not weird, matter of fact it's a normal response given what she's been through. That’s her brain trying to keep her alive.”
“I know,” he says, rubbing at his neck like it physically hurts to admit it. “I know she’s not doing it on purpose.”
“She nearly died,” Robin presses. “She watched Eddie die right in front of her. She got dragged into the Upside Down and came back with scars all over her body. She wakes up screaming, Steve. You’re the only thing that makes her feel safe.”
“I didn’t say she was the bad guy,” he snaps, voice cracking despite himself. “I’m just sayin’ I’m overwhelmed. She’s so clingy, Robin. You saw her tonight. She didn’t wanna leave without me. I had to practically beg her to go first.”
Your vision blurs. You press a hand to your mouth, swallowing hard.
“It’s like I gotta make up excuses just to be alone,” he admits, quieter now, stripped bare. “I need space. I need to breathe. And I can’t say that without soundin’ like a heartless asshole because yeah, she’s traumatized, and then suddenly I’m the villain for wantin’ five goddamn minutes to myself.”
Robin scoffs, pushing off the counter. “Steve, you idiot. You said it yourself. Your girlfriend is traumatized.”
“Yeah,” he shoots back, voice rising, “but how the hell do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off without destroyin’ her. How do I say ‘hey, I love you, but you’re smotherin’ me,’ and not absolutely fuck her up more than she already is.”
“You don’t call her clingy,” Robin says immediately. “For starters. That word is banned and most girls, including Vickie, hate it.”
Steve lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Well, she is.”
Robin gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. “Oh nooo,” she mocks, voice high and obnoxious. “I’m Steve Harrington and my girlfriend loves me so much. Oh noooo, she feels safe with me. My life is helllll.”
“Shut up,” Steve mutters, shoving her shoulder.
“Oww, you asshole!” Robin shoots back, swatting him in return, then sobers as she gets all serious again. “You’re not wrong for being tired. You are wrong for talking about her like she’s a burden.”
Steve goes still. “I don’t think she’s a burden,” he says quietly, and this time it sounds like the truth. “I just… I don’t wanna be the only thing keepin’ her together. What happens if I fuck up? What happens if I leave?”
Robin sighs. “Then you talk to her. You communicate, dingus.”
You step back before they can see you, heart pounding, every word replaying in your head on a brutal loop. Suffocating. Clingy. Everywhere.
You don’t grab your coat when you leave.
You don’t even realize you’re driving until you’re already halfway home, knuckles white on the steering wheel as every memory crashes into you at once. Begging him to stay while you showered because you were convinced something would crawl out of the drain. Nights you woke up screaming, clinging to his shirt like it was the only safe place left in the world. Training days for the crawl where you stuck close, too afraid to be alone, grateful when you were paired with him again.
You could see it all, every single little thing you had leaned on him for, flashing through your mind like some god-awful horror slideshow.
Steve’s words had been like a bucket of ice water dumped on you, shocking you into clarity whether you wanted it or not.
Maybe you had been too sensitive. Maybe you had been unbearable. Maybe you had been so clingy that it wasn’t fair for him, and maybe you needed to let go, at least a little.
It wasn’t as if you had been the only one stuck in the Upside Down. Will had survived a week in that hell, seen things that should have ripped him apart, and yet he had come back and carried himself with a strength you couldn’t even muster.
Dustin had lost Eddie too, but he hadn’t latched onto anyone, hadn’t made himself a burden. Eleven had been tortured, exploited, experimented on, broken in ways that should have left her crushed, and yet she still managed to find herself amidst everything, to stand and breathe and continue on.
And here you were, the only one who seemed incapable of moving past it, of finding even a fragment of independence, still tethered to Steve as if without him you would fall apart.
Somehow, without realizing it, you had arrived at your shared home with Steve, parked your car in the driveway, and walked inside on autopilot, your body carrying you through familiar motions while your mind carried the full weight of guilt, shame, and heartbreak.
You stripped off your clothes in the bathroom, letting the water hit your skin in a rhythm you used to find comfort in, and prepared some dinner. You heated up leftovers, the smell of food filling the kitchen like it always had, but this time there was no laughter, no shared commentary on who had eaten what, no teasing Steve about his obsession with ketchup.
By the time Steve arrived, the house was quiet. You were already in bed, tucked under the covers, something you hadn’t done alone in months because for months you hadn’t slept unless his arms were wrapped around you.
But tonight, the house felt empty, and he found himself standing in the kitchen, fork in hand, staring at the warm meal you had prepared for him, and realizing that for the first time in an eternity, you weren’t waiting for him.
The next morning only deepened the silence. Steve woke to an empty bed, the sunlight spilling across rumpled sheets that smelled faintly of your perfume, and felt a prickling, cold panic he couldn’t name at first.
You were already dressed, shoes on, ready to leave.
“Where are you heading?” he asked, voice rough.
“Going to get some stuff from the store,” you replied dryly.
“Want me to come with you, sweetheart?” His words carried that familiar gentleness, but you couldn’t look past it without feeling like a burden.
“No,” you said simply.
It was such a small, simple word. It shouldn’t feel like this. Except it made Steve sit in bed alone, blood running cold, realizing far too late that you were beginning to avoid him.
You leave early and don’t come back until the sky is already dimming, the house dark except for the kitchen light that Steve has turned on and off three times now like it might summon you home faster.
By the time you unlock the front door, he has been pacing a groove into the living room carpet, heart in his throat, mind running through every worst case scenario he promised himself he wouldn’t think about anymore. The second the lock clicks and the door opens, he’s there, crowding your space before you can even hang up your coat.
“Where the hell were you?!” he blurts, voice tight and frantic, eyes scanning you like he’s checking for blood. “You’ve been outta the house for nearly six hours. Six. I was losin’ my goddamn mind. I thought somethin’ happened to you.”
You sigh, slow and tired, and for a split second when you really look at him, at the pure unfiltered worry etched into his face, you almost break.
Almost step into his arms, almost let yourself melt into him and admit how badly you missed him, how those six hours felt like six days without his voice or his hands or the steady reassurance of his presence.
If six hours did this to him, then the space you were forcing had been tearing you apart twice as badly.
But then your brain betrays you, replays his words in his voice, clingy, suffocating, always there, and you harden.
“I was out, Steve,” you say quietly.
“Yeah, no shit,” he fires back, following you as you walk toward the kitchen. “Out where?”
You open the fridge, more for something to do than because you’re hungry, and shrug. “With Nancy. We hung out and I accidentally lost track of time.”
The tension drains out of him immediately, shoulders sagging in relief. “Jesus,” he breathes. “Why didn’t you tell me, huh? I was freakin’ out. Is everything okay? Did somethin’ happen?”
You shake your head. “No, nothing happened, don’t worry.”
He nods quickly, like he’s trying not to push. “Okay. Okay. I won’t pry.” He hesitates, then softens. “Hey, I was thinkin’ dinner. You want lasagna or pizza?”
“I’m not hungry,” you say, already turning away. “I’m gonna go sleep, okay.”
He frowns. “But I thought we could just hang out a little, I mean we barely saw each other toda—”
“Maybe another time, alright? Goodnight, Steve.”
He exhales, defeated. “Goodnight,” he says softly. “I love you.”
You pause just long enough to whisper it back before disappearing down the hall. “I love you too,”
The days after are worse.
Steve wakes up and barely gets a word in before you’re already pulling on shoes, mumbling something about a jog. If he waits, you need a shower. If he waits longer, you’re late to see your nana.
If he suggests the Squawk, you’re already going with Nancy. It’s like every time he reaches out, you slip through his fingers a little more, like trying to grasp smoke.
Not long ago, you haunted him with your presence. You were everywhere, constant, inescapable, but now you ghost him with your absence. He doesn’t know where you go or what you do, only that the house feels emptier even when you’re technically still there.
That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of the bed tonight, waiting for the bathroom door to open, heart pounding like he’s bracing for bad news. When you finally step out, hair damp, towel slung over your shoulder, he looks up like he’s been holding his breath.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says gently, like he’s testing the word to see if it still belongs to him.
You glance at him in the mirror and give him a small, careful smile. “Hi, Steve.”
He lingers there for a second, then steps closer, hands hovering before he settles them lightly at your waist, afraid you might flinch. He leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone.
“I missed you,” he murmurs. “You’ve been out all day. Didn’t even see you at the Squawk.”
Your body betrays you before your mouth does, a shiver running through you at the sound of his voice, the warmth of him behind you. For a heartbeat you let yourself feel it, the pull, the ache. Then you pull away, just enough to break the contact, reaching for your hairbrush like it’s a shield.
“Yeah,” you say lightly. “Nancy asked me to go shopping with her again.”
“Oh.” He straightens, nodding, trying to keep his tone easy. “Was it fun? I figured you’d come back with, like, ten bags or somethin’.”
You shrug, brushing through damp hair. “Didn’t need anything.”
He watches you in the mirror, the way you won’t quite look at him, the way your answers land flat and stop short. He clears his throat as heshifts his weight.
He hesitates, then clears his throat, trying again, voice low and careful. “Uh. We trained today. Me, Hopper, and El. She shaved her time down again.”
You pause only briefly, tugging at your hair with the brush.
“Thirty-three seconds,” he continues, a little brighter despite himself. “Last week it was thirty-six. She’s pissed about it too, which I guess is good. Means she knows she can do better.”
“That’s good,” you say quietly.
He nods, even though you’re not looking at him. “Yeah. She’s gettin’ scary strong again. In a good way.”
“Mhm.”
Steve frowns. He leans back on his hands, searching your face even though you’re facing away now. “We could all hang out this weekend. Just us, or maybe the kids too. Whatever you want. Thought it might be nice.”
“I’m actually quite tired,” you say quietly.
“Okay,” he says quickly. “Yeah. That’s fine. We don’t have to do anything big.” He pauses, then softly asks. “Hey. Are you okay? Like, really okay?”
You swallow. “I’m fine, Steve.”
There’s a beat of silence where he clearly wants to say more as his mouth opens and closes like he’s rearranging words that never come out right.
He tries again, desperate now. “Did I do somethin’? Because if I did, I swear I’m not tryin’ to mess this up. I just need you to talk to me, okay.”
Your chest tightens. You squeeze your eyes shut.
“Steve,” you say softly, cutting him off before he can dig himself deeper, “can you turn off the light, please?”
He gets the hint; you don’t want to talk.
He freezes for a second, then nods once. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
He stands, reaches for the lamp, and the room falls into darkness. He lingers there for a moment longer, like he’s hoping you’ll turn back around, say his name, give him something to hold onto.
You don’t.
“Night,” he says quietly.
“Night,” you reply, barely audible.
He lies down beside you, careful not to touch, staring up at the ceiling with the awful, sinking realization that this is what losing you looks like..
As the days passed, then quietly turned into weeks, you built a new routine that did not include Steve in it at all. It happened slowly enough that it almost felt reasonable at first.
You learned how to time your mornings so you were out the door before he woke up, learned how to come home late enough that conversation felt unnecessary, learned how to smile just enough to keep him from asking questions that you did not have the strength to answer.
Avoiding him became second nature. Lying became easy.
You spent most of your days outside, anywhere that was not the house and not around him. Sometimes you sat beside your nana’s hospital bed for hours, holding her hand and watching the rise and fall of her chest just to remind yourself that people stayed alive even when everything went wrong.
Other days you walked until your legs ached, wandering neighborhoods you barely recognized, letting exhaustion drown out thought. Occasionally you called a friend, anyone who would answer, and let the hours blur together in cafes and parking lots and friendly conversations that never went anywhere deep enough to hurt.
It got to the point where you could not remember the last time you had kissed him without forcing yourself to think about it, and when you did, the number made your stomach twist. Four days. Four whole days since his mouth had been on yours, since his hands had found your waist without asking, since you had slept tangled together instead of inches apart.
There was a time when five minutes apart felt unbearable, when you haunted each other in hallways and kitchens and doorways, hands always reaching, always searching.
You grew used to the distance.
Steve though, did not.
His patience thinned in ways that showed. It did not help that things with Dustin were already strained. Steve started snapping again and retreating into old habits he thought he had outgrown.
He tried to pull himself back every time he felt it happening, tried to reach for you like he always had.
And every time he did, you stepped further away.
That was how he found himself one late afternoon sitting on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the front door.
You had been gone all day again, supposedly with Nancy, doing whatever it was you told him you were doing now.
Steve knew you were close to her, knew you trusted her, but not to the point where you would spend hours every other day together. Still, he told himself not to judge. Girls were odd in their friendships, and he did not want to be the guy who questioned everything.
But his mind would not shut up.
Every instinct in him was screaming that something was wrong, that he needed to do something instead of sitting there waiting. He was snapped out of his thoughts when the doorbell rang.
Steve was on his feet instantly, relief and fear colliding in his chest as he rushed to the door. He yanked it open, already ready to say your name.
Instead, Nancy Wheeler stood there.
For a split second, his brain refused to process it. Then panic slammed into him so hard it stole the air from his lungs. If you were supposed to be with Nancy, then why is she standing here alone?
“Where is she?” he blurted out, voice sharp and scared. “Is she okay? What happened?”
Nancy blinked in shock at his reaction, taking in the way his shoulders were tight, the way his hands were already shaking like he’d been holding himself together by sheer force of will. “Whoa, Steve, hey,” she said quickly. “Slow down. What’s going on?”
“What,” he shot back, breath uneven, eyes already scanning the driveway behind her like you might suddenly appear. “Where’s she? Why are you here without her, Nancy?”
Nancy frowned. “Without who?”
“Y/N,” he snapped, panic bleeding into anger because fear always did that to him. “I’m talking about Y/N.”
Her expression shifted immediately. “Yeah,” she said slowly, “that’s actually why I’m here. I haven’t heard from her in weeks. I just wanted to check in.”
The words hit him like a punch straight to the chest.
“What do you mean you haven’t heard from her?” he said, quieter now, like saying it louder might make it real. “You were literally together today?”
Nancy let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Steve, no. I’ve been with Jonathan all day. He’s waiting in the car right now. I just stopped by because I was worried about her.”
The color drained from his face so fast it scared her.
“Steve,” she said carefully, stepping closer, “you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”
He swallowed hard, throat tight like it was closing in on itself. “She’s been telling me she’s with you,” he said. “Every time she’s gone. She says she’s with you.”
Nancy stared at him. “Why would she lie about that?”
“I don’t know,” he said, voice cracking despite how hard he tried to keep it together. “That’s the thing, Nance, I don’t know. One day she was everywhere. Everywhere. I couldn’t turn around without her being there, couldn’t breathe without feelin’ her next to me, and then suddenly it’s like she vanished. We didn’t fight. I–i didn't do anything. At least not that I remember.”
Nancy sighed, rubbing her forehead, her tone firm but not unkind. “Steve. You don’t just wake up one day like that. Something must've happened.”
“No, no, no” he said immediately, shaking his head. “No, I would know. I would remember if I fucked up that bad.”
“And you didn’t think to ask her?” Nancy pressed.
“I did,” he snapped. “I tried. Every time I tried she’d shut it down, say she was tired or busy or fine. What the hell was I supposed to do, corner her?”
“She was clingy, okay. I’ll say it. I couldn’t go anywhere without her, couldn’t get a second alone, and then suddenly it’s like she was gone.”
Nancy’s head snapped up. “Don’t,” she said sharply.
“What?” he shot back.
“You do not call her clingy, Steve!” Nancy said, anger flaring now. “You don’t get to use that word with Y/N out of all people!”
He bristled. “Oh come on, Nancy. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah, you did,” she said. “And even if you didn’t, it doesn’t matter. In case you’ve forgotten, Harrington, we’re all wrapped up in this upside down bullshit because we have to be. I do it because of Mike and Barb. You do it because of Dustin. Guess what? She doesn’t have to be involved in it!”
Steve opened his mouth, then stopped.
“That girl is fucking traumatized, and she went through that shit because you dragged her into it!” Nancy continued, voice steady but fierce.
“She nearly died. She was attacked by monsters that shouldn’t exist. She watched Eddie die just like the rest of us, and she doesn’t get to talk about it with anyone outside this circle. She can’t go to her friends or her family and say, ‘hey, I got slimed by an interdimensional monster and almost got ripped apart.’ The only person she feels safe enough to lean on is you!”
His jaw tightened, guilt creeping in through the cracks.
“So yeah,” Nancy went on, “maybe she leaned too hard or she didn’t know how to be alone after that. But that doesn’t make her clingy, Steve. That makes her scared.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“I know,” Nancy said. “But intent doesn’t erase impact. Something you said or did made her feel like she was too much, like she was a burden, and instead of yelling or crying she did the only thing she could think to do. She disappeared.”
Steve let out a shaky breath. “She’s been lying to me, Nancy.”
“She’s protecting herself,” Nancy said. “You need to see things in her light”
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
“So what,” he said finally, voice raw. “What if she’s just… done? What if she realized she doesn’t need me?”
Nancy softened then, stepping closer. “Steve. She needs you. She just doesn’t think she’s allowed to anymore. And that’s on you to fix.”
He looked at her, eyes glassy. “How?”
“You talk to her,” Nancy said simply. “Really talk. Don't accuse her or get defensive. Listen to her.”
She glanced back toward the driveway. “I’ll stop by tomorrow and check on her too, okay? But you can’t let this sit. Whatever’s going on, it’s clearly eating both of you alive.”
Steve nodded faintly, chest aching. “Yeah.”
Nancy opened the door, then paused. “And Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“Snap out of it,” she said firmly. “Before you lose her for real.”
With that, she left, heading back toward Jonathan’s car, while Steve stood alone in the doorway.
Ironically, barely ten minutes after Nancy and Jonathan pulled out of the driveway, you came home.
The house was dark. Too dark.
Your stomach dropped immediately, panic flaring hot and fast as you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. No lights. No TV. No noise.
For a split second, every worst-case scenario you’d trained yourself not to think about came crashing in all at once.
“Steve?” you called out, voice tight.
Footsteps shuffled, and then he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, lit only by the faint glow from the stove light.
“Hey,” he said, like nothing in the world was wrong.
You froze for half a beat. “Oh. Hi.”
There was something awkward in the air instantly, like you’d both stepped into the same room carrying entirely different weights. He leaned against the counter, trying to look casual.
“How was your day?” he asked.
You shrugged, slipping your shoes off. “It was… alright.”
His eyes drifted to the bag clutched in your hand, the crinkled plastic catching his attention. “What’s that?”
“Oh,” you said quickly, glancing down at it. “I stopped by the pharmacy to get the cream. For, uh… you know. The scarring.”
He nodded, softer now. “That’s good.”
Neither of you said anything else as you walked down the hall together. The bedroom felt smaller than usual as Steve sat on the edge of the bed while you set the bag down.
“Um,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you want me to help you apply it?”
You hesitated for a second. Then you nodded and handed him the bag.
He unsealed the ointment while you slipped your shirt off and sat cross-legged on the floor, your back to him. You were suddenly acutely aware of every scar—deep, jagged reminders carved across your back and abdomen from the demogorgon attack. Old wounds, but never really gone.
Steve didn’t react the way you always feared people might. He never did.
His hands were warm as he scooped some of the cream, spreading it carefully across your skin gently. He worked it into your shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly as he massaged your shoulders.
You let yourself breathe.
He kept going until he was done, smoothing the last of it in with quiet focus. As you started to shift, ready to stand and pull your shirt back on, you felt it—
Two soft kisses. One pressed over each long scar crossing your back.
Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.
You stood quickly, sliding your shirt back on, suddenly unsure what to do with all the space between you. You were halfway to the door when his voice stopped you.
“Uhm, Y/n.”
You turned. “Yeah?”
He reached out, fingers wrapping gently around your hand, and tugged you a step closer. “Can we talk?”
He keeps hold of your hand when you hesitate.
“Talk about what?” you ask quietly.
Steve doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the familiar gravity that’s always pulled you in whether you wanted it to or not. His hand tightens around yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.
“I know I’ve been shitty,” he says again, like repeating it might finally make it land where it needs to. His voice is low and rough, scraped raw by guilt. “I know I’ve been so far away from you. I know you felt it. I saw it, even when I pretended I didn’t.” He swallows hard.
“And I know you’re going through things—things I can’t even fully understand—and I hate that instead of being the person you could come to, the person who made it easier, I—”
He cuts himself off with a sharp breath, hand lifting to his face like he can physically stop the words from spilling.
Your chest tightens so painfully it almost steals your breath.
“I panicked,” he rushes on, panic bleeding straight through his words now. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Knowing someone was dependent on me, really dependent on me, not just for rides or babysitting or stupid shit like that, but emotionally.” His voice wavers. “I thought I was gonna screw it up. Thought I already was screwing it up. And instead of dealing with that like an adult, I freaked out.”
He laughs once, sharp and broken. “God, I thought I needed space. I thought if I pulled back, things would calm down, that we’d both breathe easier. But fuck—” His voice cracks hard on the word. “This is so much worse. You being gone is so much worse than you being everywhere. I’d give anything to have you hovering around me again, asking if I’m okay, touching my arm, sittin’ too close on the couch.”
He steps closer, hands shaking as they come up to your sides, not quite touching like he’s scared you’ll flinch away.
“Please,” he whispers, forehead nearly brushing yours now, eyes glossy and wrecked. “Please, sweetheart. Don’t stop being dependent on me. Don’t stop needing me. Don’t stop loving me.”
Your breath stutters, a broken sound caught somewhere between your chest and your throat.
“I need you to need me,” he says, the words spilling faster, desperate and unfiltered. “I didn’t realize it until you pulled away, but I do. I need it. I need you. Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t wake up every day wondering if you’re okay and knowing it’s my fault you don’t tell me.” His voice drops to a whisper.
“I can’t do this without you.”
That’s when you break.
The sob tears out of you violently, ripping through your chest like something finally gave way. Your knees nearly buckle as you fold into him, crying so hard your body shakes, hiccups jerking through each breath.
Steve reacts instantly, arms wrapping around you tight, crushing you to his chest like if he lets go you’ll disappear for real this time.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, voice breaking completely now. “I’m so sorry. Fuck—fuck, baby, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
His hand moves up and down your back in slow, steady motions, grounding and familiar, his chin pressing into your hair. You cry into his shirt until it’s damp, until your throat burns and your lungs ache and you feel wrung out and hollow.
Eventually, trembling, you pull back just enough to look at him.
“I heard you, Steve,” you say, the words tripping over themselves.
He freezes. “You… heard what?”
Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms like you deserve the sting. “A few weeks ago. At the station. I left early and forgot my coat.” Your voice wobbles badly now. “I came back, and I heard you.”
The color drains from his face so fast it scares you.
“You were talking to Robin,” you continue, tears spilling again. “You said I was clingy. You said I was suffocating you.”
“Oh—no,” he breathes, panic exploding across his features. “No, no, no, baby, please—”
“I didn’t mean to be,” you sob. “I swear I didn’t. I wasn’t trying to trap you or make you feel stuck. I just—” Your breath breaks, the words barely making it out. “I only felt safe with you. And everyone else was doing okay. Everyone. And I wasn’t. I was falling apart and I didn’t know how to be alone with that.”
You swallow hard, voice dropping to something small and raw. “And somewhere along the way, it started to feel like you weren’t loving me anymore.”
Your eyes lift to his, shining. “It felt like you were just… tolerating it. Tolerating me.”
Steve’s hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your tears away like each one physically hurts him.
“Baby,” he says fiercely, voice shaking as his arms tighten around you. “You can cling to me as tight as you want and as long as you want. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to pull away to protect me.”
His voice drops, thick and aching, the words pressed straight into your hair. “I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much it scares me, and instead of owning that, I ran my mouth and said somethin’ stupid and careless. And I hate that it hurt you. I hate that I made you feel like you were too much when all you ever were was… you.”
He presses his forehead to yours, breath shaky. “You were never suffocating me. I was just scared of how much I needed you back.”
You search his face, eyes swollen, chest still hitching with quiet aftershocks of sobs. He looks wrecked and earnest and painfully open, like every wall he’s ever built has finally come down.
“It’s okay, Steve,” you whisper, even though the words wobble on the way out, even though they don’t quite feel solid yet.
He shakes his head immediately, curls bouncing with the movement. “It’s not. It’s really not.” His hands slide up your back, holding you close. “But we’re gonna fix it, okay? I will fix it. I promise. I don’t care how long it takes.”
His forehead presses against yours again, like he’s grounding himself. “Just… don’t pull away from me ever again.”
You nod, slow but sure, arms wrapping around him fully now as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you like he means it this time, rocking you gently, big hands warm and steady like they’re reminding you that he’s real, that he’s here.
You breathe him in.
And then—
Grrrgrgrgrgrgr.
You freeze for half a second.
Then you pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes still wet, face scrunched, and you burst out laughing—broken, hiccupy laughter that comes out of you mid-cry.
“Are you—” you sniff, laughing harder, “—are you hungry?”
Steve’s face goes bright red.
“I—” he stammers, mortified. “I was gonna wait for you to come back, okay? I didn’t wanna eat without you.”
That just makes you laugh more. You press your face back into his chest, shoulders shaking, and he lets out a breathy laugh too, embarrassed but relieved, his arms tightening around you again.
“God,” he mutters. “Timing, huh.”
You tilt your head up and kiss him. He kisses you back immediately, like he’s been starving for it just as much as food. When you pull away, barely an inch, he leans in again and kisses you harder this time and deeper, pouring everything unsaid into it.
He breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh, forehead resting against yours. “Missed kissing you.”
You smile. “Me too.”
He exhales, then straightens suddenly like he’s had an epiphany. “You know what?”
“What?” you ask.
“I am starving,” he says, dead serious. “And I’m pretty sure you are too.”
You blink. “Steve—”
“Come on,” he says, already grabbing your hand and tugging you gently toward the door. “Grab a coat.”
“Wait,” you laugh, stumbling after him. “Where are we even going?”
He grins over his shoulder, that familiar boyish smile you fell in love with. “Enzo’s.”
Your eyes widen. “What? No, Steve, that place is expensive. And you need a reservation and— I can just heat something up, it’s fine—”
“Nope,” he cuts in immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Steve—”
“I gotta spend the next year or so making it up to you,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Minimum.”
You gape at him. “But—”
“Too late,” he says cheerfully, already opening the door.
You stumble as he leads you out to the car, the night air cool against your skin. He opens your door for you like always, and excitedly smiles at you. As the engine starts and the house disappears in the rearview mirror, you lean back in your seat, heart full and sore and warm all at once.
Deep down, you know it again: Steve will stay by your side. He’ll wait while you heal. He’ll hold you steady until you’re strong enough to take steps on your own.
And Steve knows, wholeheartedly, that he’ll be the one clinging to you just as tightly. Because you’re the only one he’s ever loved enough to spill his heart to.
And, apparently, spend three hundred and ninety dollars on at some fancy restaurant without even blinking.
Summary- Steve Harrington may have never won a fight, but when he finds his best friends boyfriend with another girl he's more focused on winning something else... his best friends heart!
Notes- I Just Can't stop writing for him, i miss him so much already!!! If you have any requests at all please send them!
Masterlist
The fluorescent lights of the convenience store buzzed overhead as you and Steve loaded up on supplies—flashlights, batteries, rope, anything that might be useful for what Hopper was planning tonight. The crawl into the Upside Down. Just thinking about it made your stomach twist with anxiety, but you pushed it down, focusing instead on reading the shopping list Nancy had meticulously written out.
"Do we really need this many batteries?" Steve asked, dumping another pack into the already-overflowing basket.
"According to Nancy, yes," you replied, managing a small smile. "You know how she is. Better over-prepared than dead."
Steve snorted. "Fair point."
You'd known Steve Harrington since you were six years old. Back when his hair was an unruly mess (before he discovered whatever magic products turned it into the magnificent mane it was now), back when you'd spend entire summers riding bikes through Hawkins and building forts in his backyard. He'd been your best friend through everything—through middle school awkwardness, high school drama, through Nancy and the breakup, through the Upside Down and all the nightmare fuel that came with it.
And now, at twenty-one, he was still your person. Your constant. The one who knew you better than anyone.
Which is why the concerned looks he'd been shooting you all morning weren't exactly subtle.
"You okay?" he asked as you headed toward the checkout.
"I'm fine," you said automatically, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue.
Steve's jaw tightened, but he didn't push. Not yet. He'd been biting his tongue a lot lately when it came to Matt, your boyfriend of three months. Well, "boyfriend" was generous. Matt was... complicated. And by complicated, you meant he was kind of an asshole.
Steve had been telling you to dump him for weeks now. Every time Matt canceled plans last minute, every time he "forgot" something important to you, every time he made some snide comment that left you feeling small—Steve noticed. And Steve hated it.
"You don't have to pretend with me," Steve said quietly as he loaded bags into the trunk of his BMW. "I know you're not fine."
"Steve—"
"He didn't call you back last night, did he? After you told him about tonight, about how dangerous this is going to be?"
You slammed the trunk shut harder than necessary. "Can we not do this right now? We're already running late, and everyone's waiting—"
"I just don't understand why you stay with him," Steve interrupted, frustration bleeding into his voice. "He treats you like shit, and you deserve so much better than—"
"Steve, please." Your voice cracked slightly, and you hated yourself for it. "I know you're trying to help, but I can handle my own relationship, okay?"
He stared at you for a long moment, those warm brown eyes full of something that looked almost like pain, before finally nodding. "Okay. Yeah. Sorry."
The drive back toward the War Zone—where everyone was meeting to finalize plans—was quiet, tension thick in the air. You stared out the window, watching Hawkins roll by, trying not to think about how Matt had indeed not called you back. Trying not to think about how Steve was right, how you did deserve better.
Trying not to think about why the person you really wanted to be with was sitting right next to you, and always had been.
You were so lost in thought that you almost didn't see them.
But Steve did.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and the car slowed. "Is that—"
Your heart stopped.
There, outside the old arcade on Main Street, was Matt. And he wasn't alone. He had some girl pressed against the brick wall, his hands in her hair, kissing her like she was oxygen and he was drowning.
The world tilted sideways.
"That fucking—" Steve's voice was low, dangerous.
"It's fine," you heard yourself say, even as your heart shattered into a thousand pieces. "Steve, it's fine, just keep driving, we're already late—"
But Steve was already pulling over, already throwing the car into park.
"Steve, no—"
He was out of the car before you could stop him, striding across the street with purpose. You scrambled out after him, your legs feeling like jelly.
"Hey!" Steve's voice rang out across the empty street. "Matt!"
Matt broke away from the girl, his eyes widening when he saw Steve approaching. Then his expression shifted into something smug, cruel. "Harrington. What a surprise."
"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" Steve was right in his face now, and you rushed to catch up, your heart pounding.
"Steve, please, let's just go—" You grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back.
Matt's eyes slid to you, and he actually laughed. "Oh, this is rich. Let me guess—you went crying to your little guard dog?"
"Watch it," Steve warned.
"Steve, we need to leave," you pleaded, very aware of the girl watching with wide eyes, of the way people were starting to notice the commotion. "We're late, everyone's waiting, please—"
"Listen to your friend, Harrington," Matt said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Run along. This doesn't concern you."
"Like hell it doesn't." Steve's hands were clenched into fists at his sides. "You've been treating her like garbage for months, and now this? You're done. Stay away from her."
Matt's smile widened, and something cold slithered down your spine. "Oh, I see what this is. You're in love with her, aren't you? Poor Steve Harrington, always playing the hero, always pining after what he can't have."
Steve's jaw ticked, but he didn't deny it. He just turned around, reaching for your hand. "Come on. He's not worth it."
You'd almost made it. Almost.
"Honestly, I don't know why you're so worked up about it, Harrington," Matt called out. "She's not even worth the effort. The sex is shit, she's clingy as hell, and that thing she does with her voice when she's trying to be cute? Fucking annoying."
Steve froze.
"Steve, don't—" you started.
"And between you and me," Matt continued, clearly enjoying himself now, "I was getting bored anyway. You want her? You can have her. Good luck with that—"
"Shut your mouth." Steve's voice was deadly quiet.
"What are you gonna do, Harrington? Everyone knows you can't fight for shit. You gonna add another loss to your record?"
Steve turned around slowly, and you saw the exact moment he made his decision. "Steve, no, please—"
But Matt made his final mistake. He reached out and grabbed your arm, yanking you toward him. "Why don't you tell your boyfriend here how you were begging me to stay last week, how pathetic you—"
Steve's fist connected with Matt's jaw before he could finish the sentence.
Matt stumbled back, releasing you, and then everything happened at once. Matt lunged forward, tackling Steve to the ground. They rolled across the pavement, fists flying, and you were screaming for them to stop, your voice raw and desperate.
"Steve, please! Stop!"
But they weren't listening. Matt got in a solid hit to Steve's ribs, and Steve grunted but came back swinging, catching Matt across the cheekbone. Blood was flowing now—from Steve's nose, from a cut above Matt's eye.
"Please!" Tears were streaming down your face now. "Steve, stop, please!"
Matt landed a brutal punch to Steve's face, and you heard the sickening crack of it. Steve's head snapped back, and when Matt hit him again, Steve's movements became slower, less coordinated.
"Stop it! You're hurting him!" You were sobbing now, trying to pull Matt off, but he shoved you away.
It was only when Matt landed another hit, and you let out a broken cry, that Steve seemed to hear you through the rage. He looked up, saw you crying, saw the devastation on your face, and something in him crumbled.
He stopped fighting back.
Matt got in two more hits before he seemed to realize the fight was over. He stood up, spitting blood onto the pavement. "Pathetic," he muttered, before walking away with the girl, leaving Steve on the ground.
You dropped to your knees beside him. "Steve. Steve, oh my god."
His face was a mess—nose bleeding, a cut above his eyebrow, his lip split, bruises already forming along his jaw. He tried to smile at you, but it came out as more of a grimace. "I'm okay."
"You're not okay, you idiot!" Your hands were shaking as you helped him sit up. "Why did you do that? Why didn't you just leave it alone?"
"Because," he said simply, wincing as he touched his ribs. "He doesn't get to talk about you like that."
Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as you helped him to his feet and back to the car. The drive to the WSQK was silent except for your occasional sniffles and Steve's labored breathing.
When you pulled into the parking lot, everyone was already there—Hopper's truck, Nancy's station wagon, Jonathan's car. Through the windows, you could see them all gathered around a table covered in maps and plans.
"Great," Steve muttered. "This is going to be fun to explain."
You helped him out of the car, and the moment you walked through the door, all conversation stopped.
"Holy shit," Dustin said, his eyes going wide. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Steve!" Nancy was on her feet immediately, rushing over. "Are you okay? What—"
"I'm fine," Steve said, waving them off. "Just a little misunderstanding."
"A little misunderstanding?" Lucas repeated incredulously. "Dude, you look like you went ten rounds with a demogorgon."
"And lost," Max added.
You ignored all of them, guiding Steve toward the bathroom in the back. "Come on."
"Guys, we really need to finalize these plans," Hopper called out, but you were already closing the bathroom door behind you.
The fluorescent light was harsh, making Steve's injuries look even worse. You wet some paper towels and turned to face him, your anger finally bubbling over.
"Sit," you ordered, pointing at the closed toilet lid.
Steve sat, looking up at you with those puppy dog eyes that usually made you melt. Not today.
You started cleaning the blood from his face, perhaps a bit more roughly than necessary. He winced but didn't complain.
"So," he said after a moment, trying for levity. "On a scale of one to ten, how mad are you?"
"I'm not mad," you said tightly.
"Really? Because you're cleaning my face like you're trying to scrub it off."
"I'm not mad, Steve."
"Okay, so you're furious then."
You threw the bloody paper towel in the trash and grabbed a fresh one. "You could have been seriously hurt."
"I've been hurt worse," he said with a shrug, then immediately regretted it as pain shot through his ribs. "Ow. Okay, bad idea to shrug."
"This isn't funny!" Your voice cracked, and you had to pause, taking a deep breath. "You can't just... you can't keep doing this, Steve. You can't keep trying to protect me from everything."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't need protecting all the time! I'm not some damsel in distress who needs you to fight my battles for me!"
Steve stood up, ignoring his injuries, his eyes flashing. "He was talking about you like you were nothing! Like you were some... some object he could just use and throw away! What was I supposed to do, just stand there and let him—"
"Yes!" you shouted back. "Yes, you were supposed to just let it go! You were supposed to think about yourself for once, about the fact that we have to go into the Upside Down tonight and now you're hurt, and what if something happens because you're not at full strength, what if—"
"I don't care!" Steve's voice rose to match yours. "I don't care about any of that! All I care about is that he hurt you, and he kept hurting you, and you wouldn't listen to me when I told you to leave him!"
"That wasn't your decision to make!"
"Well, maybe it should have been! Because clearly, you weren't going to make it yourself!"
The words hung in the air between you, sharp and cutting. Steve's chest was heaving, his face flushed beneath the bruises. You stared at each other, both breathing hard, the tiny bathroom suddenly feeling even smaller.
"I can take care of myself," you said finally, your voice quieter now but no less firm.
"I know you can," Steve said, and the fight seemed to drain out of him all at once. He sat back down heavily. "I know you can. I just... I hate seeing you hurt. I hate seeing you settle for someone who doesn't see how amazing you are."
Your anger deflated like a balloon. You knelt down in front of him, gently dabbing at the cut above his eyebrow. "You're an idiot, you know that?"
"Yeah," he said softly. "I've been told."
You finished cleaning him up in silence, your touches gentler now. When you were done, you stood up, but Steve caught your hand.
"Are we okay?" he asked, and he sounded so young, so vulnerable.
You squeezed his hand. "Yeah. We're okay."
"Good. Because I really can't handle you being mad at me right now. I think my face hurts enough without adding that to it."
Despite everything, you felt a small smile tug at your lips. "Come on. We should get back out there before they send a search party."
When you emerged from the bathroom, everyone was still gathered around the table, but their eyes immediately swiveled to you and Steve.
"So," Robin said, leaning back in her chair with a knowing look. "Want to tell us what happened, or should we just start making up our own stories? Because I've got some good ones."
"It's nothing," you said quickly, moving to stand by the table, studying the maps like they were the most fascinating things you'd ever seen. "Can we just focus on tonight?"
"Nothing?" Mike repeated. "Steve looks like he got hit by a truck."
"More like a fist," Max muttered. "Several fists."
"Was it Matt?" Dustin asked, and the way he said your ex-boyfriend's name—with such disdain—made something warm bloom in your chest despite everything.
"Dustin," Steve warned.
"I'm just saying, if it was Matt, then he had it coming. That guy's a total—"
"Henderson," Hopper interrupted, his voice carrying that tone that meant business. "As much as I'd love to hear your opinions on Steve's love life, we've got bigger problems. Like the fact that we're about to send a team into the Upside Down in—" he checked his watch, "—four hours."
"Right," Nancy said, ever the pragmatist. She shot you and Steve a look that clearly said this conversation isn't over, but moved on. "So, as we were discussing, the entry point is here..."
You tried to focus on the plan, you really did. But your eyes kept drifting to Steve, standing across the table from you. Every time he shifted his weight, you could see him wince. Every time someone asked him a question, you could see how much effort it took for him to focus through what was probably a killer headache.
And it was your fault. He'd gotten hurt because of you, because he'd been defending you, because he cared about you more than he cared about his own safety.
The meeting dragged on, everyone arguing about the best approach, the safest route, what weapons to bring. You contributed when necessary, but your heart wasn't in it. Your heart was too busy breaking every time you looked at Steve's battered face.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Hopper called for a break. "We'll reconvene in two hours for final prep. Everyone go home, get your affairs in order, say your goodbyes. You know the drill."
The group started to disperse, but not before Robin sidled up to Steve with a smirk. "So, you finally did it, huh? Fought for her honor?"
"Robin—"
"How'd that work out for you?" She gestured to his face. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you got your ass kicked."
"I'm aware, thank you."
"But hey," she continued, undeterred, "at least you tried. That's very chivalrous of you. Very knight in shining armor. I'm sure she appreciated it."
Steve glanced at you, and you quickly looked away, pretending to be very interested in rolling up one of the maps.
"Leave him alone, Robin," Dustin said, but he was grinning too. "Although, you do have a pretty terrible track record when it comes to fights, Steve. There was Billy, then the Russians, now this—"
"Okay, okay, I get it," Steve said, holding up his hands in surrender, then immediately regretting it as his ribs protested. "I'm bad at fighting. Can we move on?"
"I think it's sweet," Max said, and there was no sarcasm in her voice for once. "Stupid, but sweet."
"Thanks, Max. I think."
You couldn't take it anymore. "Can everyone just drop it?" Your voice came out sharper than intended, and everyone turned to look at you. "It's not funny, okay? He got hurt, and it's not something to joke about."
An awkward silence fell over the group. Robin and Dustin exchanged glances, and even Max looked a bit chastened.
"Right," Hopper said, clearing his throat. "Two hours, people. Don't be late."
Everyone filed out, leaving just you and Steve in the empty store. You could feel him watching you as you meticulously folded the map you'd been holding, creasing each edge with unnecessary precision.
"Hey," he said softly.
You didn't look up. "We should go. We need to get ready."
"Are you mad at me?"
"No."
"Are you sure? Because you seem mad."
"I'm not mad at you, Steve." You finally looked up, and the concern in his eyes nearly undid you. "I'm just... I'm not mad."
He moved around the table, coming to stand in front of you. "Then what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"You're a terrible liar. You know that, right? I've known you since we were six. I can tell when something's bothering you."
You set the map down, your hands trembling slightly. "Are you upset about Matt? About what you saw?"
The question caught you off guard. "What?"
"Your boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend, I guess—cheating on you. Are you upset about it?"
You stared at him, at this boy—this man—who had been your best friend for fifteen years, who had fought for you today even though he knew he'd probably lose, who was standing here with a face full of bruises asking if you were okay.
"No," you said, and realized with startling clarity that it was true. "I'm not upset about Matt."
Steve's brow furrowed in confusion. "You're not?"
"No." Your voice was getting louder now, emotion bleeding through. "I'm not upset about Matt, Steve. I'm upset about you!"
"Me? What did I—"
"You got hurt!" The words burst out of you like a dam breaking. "You got hurt again, and I had to watch it happen, and I couldn't do anything to stop it! Do you have any idea what that's like? Watching you get hit, over and over, seeing you in pain?"
Steve's expression softened. "I'm okay—"
"You're not okay! Look at you!" You gestured at his face, his ribs. "You can barely move without wincing, and we're supposed to go into the Upside Down in a few hours, and what if something happens to you because you're hurt, what if—"
Your voice broke, and suddenly you were crying again, all the fear and frustration and emotion of the day overwhelming you at once.
"Hey, hey," Steve said, pulling you into his arms despite the pain it must have caused him. "I'm okay. I promise, I'm okay."
"You're not," you sobbed into his chest. "And you keep doing this, keep putting yourself in danger for other people, for me, and one of these days you're not going to walk away from it, and I can't—I can't lose you, Steve. I can't."
His arms tightened around you. "You're not going to lose me."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." He pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up so you had to look at him. "You want to know why I'm so sure?"
You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.
"Because I've been fighting to stay alive for years now. Through all of this Upside Down shit, through demodogs and Mind Flayers and Russian torture, I've kept fighting. And you want to know why?"
"Why?" you whispered.
"Because of you." His voice was soft but steady, his eyes locked on yours. "Because every time things got bad, every time I thought I might not make it, I thought about you. About your laugh, about the way you scrunch your nose when you're concentrating, about how you've been my best friend since we were kids and how I couldn't imagine a world without you in it."
Your breath caught. "Steve—"
"I'm in love with you," he said, and it was like the world stopped spinning. "I've been in love with you for years, probably since we were teenagers, but I was too stupid to realize it. And then when I did realize it, you were with Matt, and I thought I'd missed my chance. But watching him treat you like that, watching him hurt you over and over—I couldn't take it anymore. I had to do something, even if it meant getting my ass kicked. Again."
You were crying harder now, but for entirely different reasons. "You love me?"
"Yeah," he said with a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I know, I'm an idiot for not saying something sooner. And I know the timing is terrible, with everything that's about to happen tonight, but I just—I needed you to know. In case something goes wrong, in case I don't get another chance to tell you, I needed you to know that you're it for me. You've always been it for me."
"You're such an idiot," you said, but you were smiling through your tears.
"I know. You've mentioned that."
"No, you don't understand." You reached up, gently cupping his bruised face in your hands, careful not to hurt him. "You're an idiot because I've been in love with you too. For years. Since we were sixteen and you drove me home from school every day, since you stayed up with me all night when my dog died, since you held my hair back when I got drunk at that party junior year. I've loved you through Nancy, through the Upside Down, through everything. And watching you with Matt, seeing how much you cared, how much you wanted me to be happy even if it wasn't with you—it killed me. Because all I wanted was you."
Steve's eyes widened. "You... you love me?"
"Yes, you beautiful idiot. I love you."
"But Matt—"
"Was a distraction. A stupid attempt to get over you because I thought you'd never see me as anything more than your best friend." You laughed wetly. "Turns out we're both idiots."
"Yeah," Steve breathed, and then he was smiling, really smiling, despite the split lip and the bruises. "Yeah, we really are."
"Can I kiss you?" you asked. "Or will it hurt too much?"
"I don't care if it hurts," he said, already leaning in. "I've waited too long for this."
When his lips met yours, it was like coming home. Like every piece of your life suddenly clicked into place. He kissed you softly at first, mindful of his injuries, but when you made a small sound in the back of your throat, he deepened it, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair.
You'd imagined this moment a thousand times, but nothing compared to the reality of it. The way he held you like you were precious, like you were everything. The way he tasted like copper and mint and something uniquely Steve. The way your heart felt like it might burst from your chest.
When you finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Steve rested his forehead against yours. "So," he said, his voice rough. "Does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?"
You laughed, the sound watery but genuine. "I was never mad at you, you idiot. I was scared. Scared of losing you, scared of how much I love you, scared of everything."
"Well, you don't have to be scared anymore," he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Because I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me."
"Good," you whispered. "Because I'm not letting you go."
You stood there for a long moment, just holding each other, letting the reality of it all sink in. Steve Harrington loved you. You loved Steve Harrington. After all these years, after all the missed chances and bad timing, you'd finally found your way to each other.
"You know," you said eventually, pulling back to look at him, "you have a really terrible track record when it comes to fights."
Steve groaned. "Not you too."
"I'm serious! Billy, the Russians, now Matt—you've lost every single one."
"Thanks for the reminder. Really. That's exactly what my ego needed right now."
You grinned, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "But you know what?"
"What?"
"You won the girl."
Steve's entire face lit up, bruises and all. "Yeah," he said softly, pulling you close again. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?"
Mason frowned. “Do you think I would've missed my best friend's wedding?”
Placing his hand back on your arm, he stroked his thumb over the curve of your elbow, little sparks of electricity jolting up your arm, before fizzling away. You cast your eyes down to the spot he was touching, remaining there even after he had dropped his hand, your reaction making him worried that he might have overstepped.
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“Because,” you sighed, taking a step back, your hand shooting up to your mouth, catching the sob that came as a surprise.
After the place card situation, after your weak attempts to excuse Simon and his family's ways, and all the times Mason had pointed something out to you as either being a major red flag or just straight up problematic, Simon forced your hand and suggested you take a break from Mason. No calls. No texts. No coffee mornings. No going to his games. Straight cold turkey.
He watched you tip your head back and bat your fingers gently at the corners of your eyes to stop your makeup from running.
“You look beautiful.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket, making it easier for him to tuck his hands into his trouser pockets. His fingers wrapped around his keys, his thumb anxiously rubbing against the old key ring you got him on a trip to Ireland, when you were thirteen. Really fucking beautiful. “And, uh, this place is…nice.”
“Thank you,” you sniffled, forcing a smile. “Not like any of this matters now.”
Mason's browns crinkled. “I think it does, you're getting married in-” He checked his watch. “-in twenty minutes.”
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