Nothing is wrong with him (Part 6) | Steve Harrington
Plot: The continuation of the previous chapters. You’ve liked Steve since the moment you met him, but he only ever saw you as a friend. Today was the day Robin convinced you to finally approach him—but the universe had different plans. (Gif)
Pairing: Steve Harrington/F!reader
Note: Thank you for reading that story and especially for supporting part 5 because that one was the most emotional for me!
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.
When you finally told him everything that had bothered you for so long, it was his turn to process and respond.
“I think,” he began slowly, “you kinda answered your own question. About why I still hoped Nancy and I could get back together, even after she broke my heart.”
Steve looked at you with gentle understanding, not accusation. “You did the same thing with me, didn’t you? Even when I was too blind to see you as more than a friend… you still hoped it would change someday. Right?”
“Stop,” you whispered, shaking your head. “It’s not the same. Not really. We weren’t in a relationship. It’s not like… you told me you loved me and then went silent the next day. I wouldn’t have been able to stay friends with you after that.”
“Yeah,” he conceded softly, running a hand through his hair. “And I wouldn’t do that now. But back then… I was just a teenager who’d fallen in love for the first time. I’d ditched my old friends because she showed me I could be better. And when she left, I felt completely alone. Just… miserable and lost.” He paused. “I made up reasons. Maybe she needed space, maybe she was still processing everything with Barb… but I was wrong. It was Robin who finally made me see it.”
“How?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
“She made me feel like I was enough,” he said, the memory softening his face. “Enough without dating someone, without the label. She made me realize I wasn’t a loser because Nancy broke up with me—it had nothing to do with who I was. And once I got that… I realized I didn’t need to be Nancy’s boyfriend, either. Being her friend was enough. She was a special person to me. She still is. That breakup… it was a wake-up call. It let me focus on myself, figure out what I wanted outside of a relationship. Dustin helped a lot with that, too.”
Steve looked up at you, his gaze soft and earnest. “I’m not in love with her anymore. And to answer your question… if she ever changed her mind about me, I wouldn’t go back. Because I’ve already made my choice. And I’m not going to change my mind, even if she does. I’m not that teenage boy anymore. My heart already belongs to someone else.”
“Like I said,” he continued, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “Dating other girls never felt right. Something was always missing. And it took me way too long to realize it would always be like that. It wasn’t a lack of beauty, or smarts, or anything like that. The only thing missing… was that they weren’t you.”
He reached out, taking your hand in his, his touch warm and sure. “So no. I don’t want to be with you because my date went badly, or because Nancy doesn’t love me. I want to be with you… because you’re you. A relationship with you would be different.”
“After the breakup with Nancy, it wasn’t love that kept me hanging on,” he said, his voice turning reflective. “It was me being terrified of failing—of being the guy who wasn’t enough—that I’d rather humiliate myself trying to fix it than just admit it was broken. I wasn’t fighting for her. I was fighting to prove I wasn’t a loser.”
He leaned closer, his expression earnest. “What I feel for you… it’s the opposite. There’s no pride in it. It’s terrifying because it’s real. I’m not trying to prove anything to anyone. I’m just… telling you the truth, knowing it might mean losing you for good. That’s the difference. With her, I was scared of looking stupid, of not being worthy. With you, I’m just scared of losing you. And that’s how I know it’s different. That’s how I know it’s real.”
You didn’t know what to say. You had wanted to hear those words for so long, and now that they were here, hanging in the quiet car, you felt frozen.
“I want to believe you. I really do,” you sighed, your voice small. “But it’s still a lot to process.”
“I know. I understand. I’m not rushing you,” he said softly. “I just want you to give us a chance.”
“It’s not only about that,” you admitted, looking down at your hands. “Not about you, I mean.”
His expression faltered, hope dimming. “Is there… someone else?”
“What? No, it has nothing to do with that.”
“Then what is it?” he asked, his voice gentle but insistent. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. We’ll figure it out.”
“I… I can’t be in a relationship.”
“Why?” he asked softly, his brow furrowed with concern.
You looked away, unable to say it—that you didn’t know how, that the very idea was as desirable as it was terrifying, that you might ruin the one good thing you had by reaching for more.
“I… don’t want to lose you as a friend,” you finally whispered, the safest of your fears.
“You won’t,” he promised, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “It will still be us. Just… a little closer in other ways.” He gave you a reassuring squeeze before kissing your hand. “Take your time and think about it, okay? Like I said, no rush.”
You nodded softly, the nervous flutter in your chest not quite settling.
“I’ll see you at the station,” Steve said, his smile tender. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, lingering a moment longer than necessary. The simple touch sent a warm shiver straight to your core. “Have a good night.”
Inside, the quiet of your house felt immense. You leaned back against the closed door, the ghost of his kiss still burning on your cheek. His words replayed in your mind—I’m just scared of losing you—and for the first time, you allowed yourself to truly consider them. Not as a fantasy, but as a possible, fragile reality.
The fear was still there. It wasn't just about losing his friendship. The core of your hesitation was your inexperience. You had never dated anyone. You had never had sex. The thought of being with Steve in that way was a deep longing and paralyzing terror.
What if I do it wrong? What if I'm awkward? What if he expects something I don't know? What if he’s disappointed? What if he doesn't… like it?
He wanted to be closer. And you wanted that, too, more than you’d ever wanted anything. But you were terrified that when the moment came, your inexperience would be seen as a burden, a flaw that would make you less than what he wanted. The thought of seeing disappointment in his eyes was a pain you didn't think you could handle.
You wanted him to enjoy it and lose himself in it. You were scared to show your body, not out of a lack of trust, but from a fear that it wouldn’t measure up to whatever he imagined or was used to.
And now you understand that loving him from afar was a much easier option. It was safe. It required nothing of you but silent devotion. The possibility of having him close, of being truly with him, demanded everything—your trust, your vulnerability, your body, and your whole, fragile heart. And you were terrified you wouldn’t be enough.
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