steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: just being back from your trip to europe for a few months, the last thing you expected was to find your bestfriend being friends with 'king steve' AND for him to claim that he left highschool days behind.
trope: enemies to lovers, slowburn
Coming back to Hawkins felt like stepping into a memory you didn’t exactly miss.
Same cracked sidewalks. Same rusty signs. Same suffocating silence in the air that clung to your clothes like dust. You weren’t even back for a full day before Robin dragged you into the fluorescent-lit pit of hell known as Family Video.
“You’re gonna help me pick out a movie,” she declared, already yanking you past the door. “Because if I have to alphabetize one more box set, I will snap and start filing things under ‘existential dread.’”
You snorted. “Sounds organized.”
She smirked, about to retort—when a bell jingled from the back room.
You turned. And immediately regretted it.
Steve Harrington stood there in his full 80s glory—hair too perfect, polo shirt smugly tucked in, like the universe hadn’t let him know it was 1986 and his reign ended years ago. His expression shifted the second he saw you. A flicker of recognition. Then something harder to place.
“Oh,” you said flatly. “King Steve. Didn’t realize royalty worked retail.”
He blinked, then laughed. “Wow. Haven’t heard that one in a while.”
“I could bring it back,” you offered, saccharine-sweet. “Retro’s in, right?”
Robin’s eyes bounced between you two like a tennis match. “Oh no,” she mumbled. “No, no, no. Not this dynamic. Not again.”
Steve leaned on the counter, completely unfazed. “So… you’re the one who ran off to Europe with a backpack and a bad attitude.”
“And you’re the one who peaked in high school,” you shot back without missing a beat like it was a some kind of slur.
He looked genuinely amused now, which only made it worse. “You’ve been talking about me, Buckley?”
Robin groaned. “You know me, i talk about everything! I may have said some stuff when we had just started working together.”
Steve pressed a hand to his chest like he was wounded. “I’m reformed. I’m, like, humble now. Nice. Friendly.”
You crossed your arms. “Sure. And I’m Miss Indiana.”
“Missed you too,” he said with a wink that made your stomach flip—out of annoyance, you told yourself.
Robin glanced at the ceiling like she was praying for strength. “This is going to be exhausting, isn’t it?”
“Deeply,” you muttered, as Steve gave you a look that said game on.
Chapter Two: You’re Not As Funny As You Think
The night started simple enough—Eddie’s place, too much pizza, a stack of movies no one actually planned on watching, and the vague promise of “chill vibes.” You weren’t sure why you agreed to come. Maybe it was the way Robin asked. Maybe it was the boredom. Or maybe it was some strange pull you refused to name.
You walked in and saw Steve Harrington immediately—manspreading on the couch like he owned it, a Coke in one hand, a cocky grin already forming the second his eyes met yours.
“Great,” you muttered under your breath, brushing past him to sit on the opposite armchair.
“Aw,” Steve said. “You missed me.”
“Like I miss mono,” you shot back, grabbing a paper plate.
Robin plopped beside you, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “Play nice,” she warned, pointing at you both like a tired kindergarten teacher. “If I have to referee, I’m charging extra.”
Eddie came in next, grinning widely “God, the tension in here could set off a smoke alarm.”
“It’s not tension,” you said flatly.
“It’s just her charm,” Steve added, taking a sip. “Sharp as a butter knife.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “I’ve met bricks with more personality than you.”
Robin hid a laugh behind her drink. Eddie didn’t bother hiding his. “I give it a month,” he muttered.
“A month for what?” you asked suspiciously.
“Nothing,” Robin said quickly, elbowing him.
“Anyway,” Eddie said, louder, “we’re playing cards or we’re watching something?”
“Cards,” you and Steve said at the same time.
You turned to glare. “Don’t copy me.”
“Right, because everything you say is revolutionary,” he deadpanned.
Robin dealt the cards, mumbling, “Oh my god, just kiss or kill each other already.”
You locked eyes with Steve, and something flickered—annoyance, definitely. But also something… electric. Brief. Dangerous.
He smirked like he knew it.
You were definitely not staying for the movie.
Chapter Three: Smoke Signals
As said before you didn’t plan on staying.
But then Robin had that look—eyebrows up, pout halfway formed, like she was going to guilt-trip you for a decade if you left now. So you stayed. You grumbled your way through helping grab bowls of popcorn and a questionable-looking bag of Sour Patch Kids from Eddie’s kitchen. You pretended not to hear Steve’s comments as you passed him the soda.
By the time the movie was picked—something ridiculous and loud—you needed air more than anything else.
You stepped out onto the trailer’s rickety porch, lit the cigarette you’d kept stashed in your jacket, and took a long drag. The first hit burned a little in your chest. The second less so. The third felt almost like quiet.
The stars above Hawkins didn’t shine as much as they used to. Or maybe you just stopped looking for them.
The screen door creaked behind you.
You didn’t turn around. “I’m not putting it out.”
A pause. “Wasn’t gonna ask you to.”
His voice was softer out here. Less performative. Almost… real.
Steve stepped up beside you, hands in his pockets, leaning against the railing like this was something you two had done before.
You didn’t offer him the cigarette, but he didn’t seem to expect it.
“You always smoke when you’re uncomfortable?” he asked after a beat.
You took another drag. “Only when I’m around people who think they know me.”
He let that sit in the air between you for a moment, the silence settling into something heavier than the smoke curling around your fingers.
“Okay,” he said finally. “That was kind of a good line.”
You glanced at him. “Don’t get used to it.”
He smiled, and for once, it wasn’t smug. It was tired. A little honest.
“I’m not like I was in high school,” he said suddenly.
You flicked ash off the edge of the porch. “You mean you’re not a self-absorbed jackass anymore?”
Steve gave a dry laugh. “Yeah. That.”
You looked at him again—closer this time. Not the hair, not the polo shirt, not the dumb smirk. But the quiet eyes behind all of it. Still brown. Still guarded. Maybe a little more cracked.
“People don’t change that much,” you muttered.
“Sometimes they do,” he said, not quite looking at you. “Sometimes they have to.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t.
Instead, you offered him the cigarette.
He took it with two fingers, slow, careful, like you were handing him something sacred.
And when his lips brushed the filter where yours had just been, something in your chest moved.
You told yourself it was nothing.
Chapter Four: Background Noise
You didn’t speak on the way back in.
He handed you the cigarette stub before opening the screen door, and you dropped it into an old soda can perched on the porch rail. Neither of you mentioned what happened outside. Not the silence, not the glance, not the warmth still buzzing on your fingertips.
“There’s no way this guy survives the opening scene,” he declared, pointing at the screen. “He’s wearing a red shirt and confidence. That’s death in movie language.”
“You missed your calling,” Robin mumbled. “Should’ve been a prophet.”
You dropped onto the floor beside her, stealing a handful of popcorn. Steve sat across from you on the rug, closer than you’d like but not quite close enough to call it out. His shoulder bumped Eddie’s. His knee almost brushed yours. Almost.
Robin leaned down to whisper, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you muttered, eyes on the screen.
She watched you a second longer than necessary. Then nodded.
Ten minutes in, Eddie was shouting at the characters. Fifteen minutes in, Robin was giggling at her own commentary. Twenty minutes in, Steve passed you the candy without a word, and your fingers brushed again.
You didn’t flinch. But your breath hitched.
The movie continued—something about ghosts, bad decisions, and worse acting. But it all felt like background noise. You were aware of everything else: the scratch of the rug under your hand, the sound of Steve shifting his weight, the quiet laughs he didn’t let out too loud.
He was different when no one was looking. Or maybe you just never looked closely enough before.
But when the scene jumped, loud and sudden, and you instinctively reached for Robin’s arm and accidentally grabbed Steve’s instead, you didn’t let go right away.
And when you finally did, he didn’t say anything.
He just looked at you, like he saw something he wasn’t expecting.
You looked away first again.
But you were starting to wonder if that was becoming a habit.
Chapter Five: Don’t Start
Robin was already halfway through her orange juice when you showed up at the coffee shop.
You slid into the booth across from her, sunglasses still on, even though it wasn’t that bright inside.
“Okay,” she said, not even greeting you. “So. Are we gonna talk about it?”
You didn’t take off the sunglasses.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, picking up a menu even though you already knew you were getting pancakes.
Robin leaned in, resting her chin in her hand. “You sat next to him.”
“There was limited floor space.”
“You didn’t roll your eyes once.”
You squinted at her over the menu. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I live for drama,” she replied. “Also? You touched his arm. Voluntarily.”
You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “It was an accident.”
“Mhm. And the part where you didn’t immediately recoil in disgust?”
“Muscle paralysis. Tragic, really.”
Robin laughed, loud and delighted. “I knew it. You like him.”
You froze with your hand halfway to your water glass. “I do not.”
“You don’t hate him the way you used to.”
“I’m capable of being civil. Sometimes. When I’m in a generous mood.”
Robin grinned like she was watching her favorite show. “So generous these days."
“I still think he’s full of himself,” you said finally.
Robin nodded. “Sure. But…?”
You picked at the corner of the napkin. “But he’s less of a jerk now. Maybe.”
“And nothing,” you said quickly.
Robin smiled behind her straw. “Whatever you say.”
You kicked her under the table. She kicked you back, grinning the whole time.
Chapter Six: Table for One
The morning shift wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours.
You liked the rhythm—coffee pots refilled like clockwork, the smell of pancakes and burnt toast clinging to your skin, and the low hum of 80s ballads playing from the ancient jukebox in the corner. It was quiet, mostly. Familiar.
You didn’t see him right away. You were busy wiping down the counter, a pencil tucked behind your ear and your focus glued to the coffee machine hissing in the background. But he saw you the second he stepped through the door.
You were wearing a black-and-white waitress uniform, the retro kind with the cinched waist and short sleeves, a silver name tag glinting on your chest. The outfit shouldn’t have worked. It should’ve been plain, forgettable.
It looked like something out of a damn movie.
Your golden hair fell in loose, effortless waves down your back—slightly frizzy from the summer air, but in a way that looked almost…deliberate. You hadn’t noticed a thing. You were moving like this was just another Tuesday.
Steve swallowed hard, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, and slid into a booth by the window.
That’s when you finally noticed him.
Your shoulders stiffened for half a second, then relaxed into something more practiced—cool, casual, untouchable.
“Great,” you said as you approached, pulling out your order pad. “Didn’t realize Family Video gave out lunch breaks.”
Steve looked up at you with a crooked grin, but his eyes didn’t match it. They were softer. Focused.
“Didn’t realize you were working on giving me a heart-attack.” He mumbled.
You blinked. “…Excuse me?”
He shrugged, all fake nonchalance. “Nothing. Just—this look?” He motioned vaguely toward your uniform. “Works. Unexpected. But yeah. Works.”
You stared at him, suspicious. “You come here to bother me, Harrington?”
He leaned back in the booth, eyes still on you like he couldn’t help it. “I came for coffee. The emotional damage is a bonus.”
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks felt warmer than they should’ve. “One black coffee. Got it. Anything else? Sarcasm? Unwanted flirting?”
He smirked. “Surprise me.”
You scribbled something on the pad—Harrington: insufferable—and hot coffee. Then turned on your heel, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.
Behind you, Steve exhaled into his hands and muttered under his breath.
“Yeah. Definitely in trouble.”
Chapter Seven: Third Party Commentary
You dropped the mug of black coffee in front of him with a practiced thud.
“No cream, no sugar. Just like your personality.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Careful. You’re dangerously close to flirting.”
You gave him a look. “If I was flirting, you’d know. You’d be terrified.”
“Oh, I’m already terrified,” he said, eyes following you as you wiped your hands on your apron. “In a… weirdly enjoyable way.”
You snorted. “That says more about you than it does about me.”
The bell above the diner door jingled, and you turned—instinctively straightening, only to see Robin walking in with her usual whirlwind energy, combat boots scuffing the tiles.
Her eyes landed on Steve first. Then on you.
Then she grinned. That devilish, all-knowing Robin Buckley grin that made your stomach drop.
“Well, well, well,” she said, sliding into the booth beside Steve without asking. “What do we have here? Harrington, are you lurking again?”
“I’m not lurking,” Steve said, flustered. “I’m supporting local businesses.”
Robin grabbed his coffee, took a sip, and made a face. “Supporting their sewer system, maybe.”
You crossed your arms and glared at her. “Don’t you have work?”
“I’m on my break. And clearly so is he—” she looked between the two of you, squinting. “Wait. Hold on. Did I just walk in on a moment?”
“There was no moment,” you said quickly, a little too quickly.
Steve smirked. “There might’ve been a moment.”
You kicked the edge of his booth without thinking. “There wasn’t.”
Robin gasped theatrically. “Did you just flirt-kick him?”
You turned to walk away, cheeks burning. “You two are unbearable.”
Robin shouted after you, “That’s not a denial!”
From the kitchen, someone called your name, probably to grab another table’s order. You disappeared behind the swinging doors, jaw clenched, heart pacing like it hadn’t gotten the memo that this was supposed to be casual.
Back at the booth, Robin turned to Steve, eyebrows raised.
“So. How long you been staring at her like that?”
Steve didn’t answer right away. He just looked down at his coffee, then back at the door you’d vanished behind.
“Since before the coffee.”
Robin sat back, whistling low. “Yup. You’re screwed.”
Chapter Eight: Just My Luck
You didn’t even bother changing out of your uniform.
The heat was clinging to your skin, the collar of your dress stuck slightly to the back of your neck, and your feet ached from ten hours of non-stop motion—but you needed a movie. Something stupid. Something loud and distracting. And maybe a little Robin time to complain about customers who snapped their fingers for refills.
Family Video’s air conditioning hit you the second you walked in—cool, a little too sterile, and eerily quiet.
“Robin?” you called, weaving through the aisles.
You passed the horror section, the romance section, paused briefly at Ferris Bueller’s Day Off—then heard someone clear their throat behind you.
“I think she left, actually.”
Steve stood behind the counter, slouching a little, wearing his Family Videos vest and a crooked grin that had way too much confidence for someone who worked next to a stack of VCR cleaner kits.
“Date night,” he said, tapping a pen against the counter. “Vicky picked her up like ten minutes ago. I’m all you’ve got.”
He tilted his head. “You sound thrilled.”
You walked over to the counter, resting your elbows against it. “I was promised Robin. Not Harrington.”
“Ah, my government name. Cold.”
“I’m off the clock,” you said with a sigh. “Don’t expect charm.”
“I never do,” he muttered, but he was smiling.
You started scanning the wall behind him. “Alright, King of VHS. Recommend me something dumb. No rom-coms. No action. No plot twists that make me think about life.”
Steve scratched the back of his neck. “You’re a blast, huh?”
He disappeared into the aisles without another word. You could hear the soft scuff of his sneakers as he moved through the racks, flipping through boxes.
Why did it feel so quiet when it was just the two of you?
Steve returned with a tape in hand. “Beetlejuice.”
You raised a brow. “That’s your idea of dumb?”
He shrugged. “It’s weird and chaotic. Felt like it matched your energy.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, but your mouth twitched despite yourself. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Almost,” he echoed, handing you the case.
Your fingers brushed again, and this time, neither of you pulled away immediately.
The moment was stupid. Fleeting. Charged like static under fluorescent lights.
You grabbed the tape and cleared your throat. “Thanks.”
You started walking away, then paused near the door. “Hey,” you said without turning around, “You’re not as annoying as I thought.”
Steve leaned against the counter, voice casual but eyes sharper than ever. “I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”
You pushed open the door with your hip and stepped into the late-summer air.
He didn’t need to see you smiling.
Chapter Nine: Nothing Fancy
The movie didn’t hit quite right.
Maybe it was the quiet. Or maybe it was the way Steve’s voice echoed in your head when you laughed at the weirdest parts. You’d rolled your eyes, turned the volume up, and told yourself you were being insane.
And then you couldn’t sit still.
So you pulled on a hoodie—one of those oversized ones that swallowed you up—and wandered out into the warm, hazy night. The gas station a few blocks away was still open. The flickering “Open 24 Hours” sign buzzed as you stepped through the door.
You walked past the cooler section with no real plan—just loitering with intent.
“Didn’t peg you as a midnight snacks kind of girl.”
Your heart jumped in your chest before you turned and saw him.
Steve. In a worn flannel. A little rumpled, a little tired, standing by the candy aisle holding a bag of Red Vines like it owed him money.
You stared. “Didn’t peg you as someone who eats candy that tastes like wax.”
He smirked. “It’s nostalgic.”
“For what? Bad decisions?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Touché.”
You wandered over, grabbing a bag of chips without really looking. “What are you doing out?”
He shrugged, leaning his weight into the shelves. “Couldn’t sleep. Was thinking about that stupid movie.”
Your stomach flipped a little.
“Oh,” you said, too casually. “Did you end up watching it?”
He looked at you. Really looked. Then nodded. “Yeah. Thought about texting you a running commentary.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you?”
Steve looked down at the bag in his hands. “Didn’t want to bother you.”
Something in your chest tugged.
You shifted your weight, suddenly very aware of the distance between you, the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights, and how this place somehow felt more honest than anywhere else in Hawkins.
“I wouldn’t have minded,” you said softly, then immediately regretted saying it.
He glanced up again. “Yeah?”
You nodded, biting your lip to hide the small smile creeping in. “Yeah.”
The silence between you wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t tense.
Finally, Steve cleared his throat. “You wanna split these with me? Or are you strictly a chips-for-one kind of girl?”
You looked at the Red Vines, then at him.
“Only if we sit on the curb like delinquents.”
He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter Ten: Red Vines and Real Talk
The curb was still warm from the day’s sun.
You sat with your legs crossed, hoodie pulled over your knees, the half-crushed bag of Red Vines between you. Steve passed you one without asking, and you took it, even though you still thought they tasted like flavored rubber.
Neither of you said anything for a while.
The gas station light buzzed above, casting a soft glow over the parking lot. A single moth fluttered against it, desperate and aimless. Somewhere down the road, a dog barked once and then went quiet again.
“You were kind of scary in high school,” Steve said eventually, like it had just occurred to him.
You looked over at him, brow raised. “I was scary?”
“Yeah,” he said, pulling apart a Red Vine and chewing slowly. “You walked around like you knew everything and didn’t care what anyone thought. People either wanted to be you or disappear when you looked at them.”
You snorted. “That’s rich. Coming from King Steve. You literally had people part the halls for you.”
His voice wasn’t bitter. Just… matter-of-fact.
You turned slightly toward him. “You didn’t seem to mind it back then.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t know any better. I thought being liked meant I was doing something right.”
You were quiet for a beat. “And now?”
Steve didn’t look at you when he answered. “Now I’d rather be known.”
Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. You looked down at the candy in your hand and twisted it around your fingers.
“No offense,” you said, voice quieter, “but I didn’t think there was much going on under the surface back then.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s fair.”
You glanced at him again. His jaw was softer in this light. Less defined. Less guarded.
“I hated you for a while,” you admitted.
“I know,” he said. “You weren’t subtle.”
You both laughed, but yours died a little too quickly.
“I think I hated what you represented more,” you added, voice barely above a whisper. “Like… everything I didn’t fit into. Everything I didn’t want to be, but also kind of wished I could have—just to make things easier.”
Steve turned toward you fully then, elbow on his knee, brow furrowed like he was seeing you for the first time. Not just looking—seeing.
“You were never easy to ignore,” he said.
The moment stretched between you like a tightrope—one breath, one lean, one word away from something that felt like a cliff.
You reached for another Red Vine just to do something with your hands.
He smiled a little. “Still think they taste like wax?”
“They’re awful,” you said, biting into one anyway.
And for the first time in a long time, sitting barefoot on a curb at midnight with the boy you used to hate—you didn’t feel so out of place.
Chapter Eleven: Tables Turned
Steve was mid-alphabetizing the horror section when the bell over the Family Video door jingled.
He didn’t look up at first. “Be right with you,” he called over his shoulder, stacking VHS boxes like it was his life’s calling.
“I’d hope so,” came your voice—cool, lazy, unmistakably smug.
His head snapped up so fast he almost dropped Poltergeist.
You stood just inside the doorway, in cutoff shorts and a faded band tee that clung to you in all the right places. Your hair was down again—wild and golden and a little wind-tossed, like you hadn’t meant to look good but somehow still managed to.
“You gonna help me find a movie, Harrington?” you asked, sauntering toward the counter.
Steve cleared his throat and tried to play it cool. “Uh—yeah. Sure. What kind of movie?”
You leaned against the counter, arms folded, grin sharp. “I don’t know. Something fun. Something I can watch with a guy if I ever accidentally have one over.”
He choked slightly. “A—guy?”
“Mhm.” You tilted your head. “Unless you’re volunteering.”
His ears went red instantly. Not pink. Not flushed. Red.
“I—I mean, depends on the guy,” he stammered, then winced. “Not—not that I’m saying I’m the guy. Or—well, like, I am a guy—but not—God.”
You let out a laugh, sharp and melodic.
“Relax,” you teased, plucking a copy of The Lost Boys from the shelf without breaking eye contact. “I’m just messing with you.”
Steve stared at you like you’d just punched him in the gut and smiled while doing it.
You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice just enough to make it dangerous. “You always get this nervous when a girl flirts with you, or am I just special?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “You’re—uh. Definitely something.”
You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Smooth.”
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a breathy laugh. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”
You grinned, straightening. “That’s the plan.”
And with that, you placed the movie on the counter and walked away—cool, composed, lethal.
Steve stood frozen, watching you go, a single thought spinning on repeat in his head:
He was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.
Steve was still behind the counter, staring at the spot where you’d stood just moments ago, when Robin walked in.
She clocked his dazed expression immediately. The far-off look in his eyes. The slight pink still lingering in his ears.
She didn’t even say hello. Just walked up, leaned both arms on the counter, and stared him down.
“Okay,” she said. “What the hell happened?”
Steve blinked at her, slow, like he was coming out of anesthesia. “She was here.”
Robin’s eyes widened. “She?”
“She,” he repeated, dragging a hand down his face. “She came in. She flirted.”
Robin leaned in closer. “Like, casual flirted? Or murderous sexy villain flirted?”
Steve made a strangled noise. “Weaponized. It was weaponized.”
Robin burst out laughing. “No way. She flustered you?”
“Robin, I forgot how to speak words. I think I might’ve implied I’m not a guy.”
“Oh my god,” she wheezed, slapping the counter. “She reverse-Harrington’d you.”
Steve dropped his head into his arms. “I’m never going to recover.”
Robin grinned so wide it looked painful. “I told you she was dangerous.”
“You didn’t tell me she was gonna walk in here looking like a rockstar and end my bloodline with a smirk.”
Robin reached over and patted the top of his head like a tired puppy. “Poor baby. Did the scary pretty girl make your brain go fzzzt?”
He groaned again, face still buried. “I hate you.”
Robin leaned back, looking way too pleased with herself. “You know what this means, right?”
Steve glanced up warily. “What?”
“It means,” she said, already pulling her walkie out of her bag, “that I have to tell her everything.”
But it was too late. She was already pressing the button.
“Breaker, breaker. This is Wingwoman One to Certified Flirt Machine, do you copy?”
Steve lunged for the walkie. “Do not tell her I called her a flirt machine!”
“Oops,” Robin said. “Too late.”
Chapter Thirteen: Your Move, Harrington
Robin’s thumb was still pressed on the walkie button when a familiar crackle of static burst through, followed by your voice—calm, slightly amused, and dangerously smooth.
“This is Flirt Machine reporting in. I repeat, Flirt Machine has entered the frequency.”
Steve groaned, slumping behind the counter like he could physically escape the embarrassment.
Robin’s grin stretched even wider. “We have eyes on one Very Flustered Steve. He’s hiding under the register.”
“Adorable. Is he breathing okay?”
Robin peeked over the counter dramatically. “Breathing’s erratic. Eyewitness confirms intense blushing.”
You didn’t respond for a second. Just a beat of silence on the line—and then:
“Tell him if he wants to save what’s left of his dignity, he can bring snacks and come watch The Lost Boys with me.”
Robin stared at the walkie. “Wait. Was that a—did you just—invite him?”
“Well, someone has to explain the vampire lore to me, and Harrington seems like the type who overanalyzes movies he pretends not to care about.”
Steve stood there, mouth open, every thought short-circuiting in real time.
Robin slowly turned toward him, raising her eyebrows with a grin that screamed do it, you idiot.
Steve cleared his throat. “I—uh. Yeah. Sure. I can do that.”
Robin grabbed the walkie again.
“Flirt Machine, Target Steve has accepted the mission. ETA: however long it takes him to fix his hair and pick a bag of chips he won’t share.”
“Noted. Tell him to knock like a normal person. And if he shows up with licorice, the door stays shut.”
Robin cackled. “Copy that. See you soon, Agent Chaos.”
Steve stared at her, still half-in-disbelief. “She just… invited me.”
Robin clapped him on the back. “Oh, Stevie. She didn’t just invite you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Then what did she do?”
Chapter Fourteen: Late Night, Low Lights
Steve stood outside your door with a bag of chips, two sodas, and a heart rate that probably needed medical attention.
He had changed shirts twice. Briefly considered bringing two movie options just in case. It was just a movie. Just a hangout.
You opened the door a few seconds later, backlit by the soft glow of string lights inside.
Your band tee was gone—replaced with a loose tank top and soft flannel pajama pants. Your hair was still slightly messy, like you’d just run your hands through it instead of bothering with a mirror. Barefoot. Comfortable.
“You brought chips,” you said, eyeing the bag.
“Cheddar,” he said quickly. “Not wax candy. I learn.”
You smirked and stepped aside to let him in. “So proud.”
The living room was cozy, not too neat—blankets tossed over the couch, the movie already paused at the title screen. He recognized the faint smell of popcorn and something floral—maybe your shampoo.
He sat on the couch while you headed to the kitchen.
“You want a glass for the soda or are you a straight-from-the-bottle kind of guy?” you called.
“Straight from the bottle,” he said. “No time for formalities when vampires are involved.”
You returned with two drinks, handing him one as you plopped down beside him—closer than you had to be.
“So,” you said, pulling the blanket over your legs. “You going to tell me why you were looking at me like I kicked your puppy earlier today?”
Steve laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Was it that obvious?”
He sighed. “You just… caught me off guard. Usually I’m the one making other people flustered.”
“Poor baby,” you teased. “Did I ruin your streak?”
“I think you ended it,” he muttered. “Permanently.”
You bit your lip, trying not to smile.
“I’ll try to go easy on you,” you said softly, eyes flicking to the screen.
The movie started. You didn’t move away. Neither did he.
Halfway through, your arm brushed his. Then your knee. And by the time a vampire exploded in dramatic 80s fashion, your head was leaning slightly against his shoulder.
Neither of you acknowledged it. But his hand brushed your knee a little too intentionally. And your heart beat a little too loud for just a movie night.
The credits rolled, but neither of you moved.
The room was dim, the only light coming from the flickering TV screen now blank except for the softly glowing pause icon.
Your head was still resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder, and his breath was steady but shallow, as if he was trying not to betray how much this moment meant.
You could feel his body shift just slightly, the heat from his skin seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt.
Your heart hammered loud enough you were sure he could hear it.
Steve’s hand hovered just above your knee, fingers twitching, caught between moving closer and retreating.
He swallowed, lips parting slightly as if to say something, then closing again.
His gaze flicked up to meet yours — dark, searching, hesitant.
You held his eyes, daring him to bridge the space.
The air between you thickened, charged with everything unspoken.
Steve’s hand finally moved — just an inch, a whisper closer.
Then, just as his fingers grazed your skin, a sharp noise from the kitchen—an old clock chiming the hour—broke the spell.
You both jumped apart, breaking eye contact, suddenly aware of how close you’d been.
Steve rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flushed deeper now.
“I—uh—guess we should, uh, maybe watch the rest of the movie series later?”
You laughed softly, the tension melting just a bit.
“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”
The moment was gone, but the promise lingered like a spark, waiting to catch fire.
Chapter Sixteen: Robin’s Recon
Steve was nursing a coffee behind the Family Video counter, trying to act like he wasn’t still thinking about last night.
Robin strolled in, all casual confidence, her eyes immediately locking on him with that mischievous sparkle.
“So,” she said, leaning over the counter with a sly grin, “how’d your movie night with Ms. Can’t-Stop-Flirting go?”
Steve choked on his sip, nearly spitting coffee everywhere.
“What? Nothing! It was—uh—fine. Totally normal. Just two friends watching a movie. Nothing weird.”
Robin raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Steve,” she said, voice dropping conspiratorially, “I saw the way you looked at her when she walked in yesterday. Like you just got hit by a truck you didn’t see coming.”
Steve’s cheeks flamed redder than ever.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Robin chuckled. “Uh-huh. And I’m the Queen of England.”
She tapped her finger against her lips, pretending to think.
“Honestly, you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
“But hey, good luck. You’re going to need it.”
She winked and walked off, leaving Steve to stew in the best kind of trouble he’d ever gotten himself into.
Chapter Seventeen: Backyard Glow
The sun was just dipping below the trees, casting long golden shadows over Steve’s backyard. The pool shimmered quietly, still and inviting, while the camping chairs were scattered around in a loose circle, some with empty beer cans perched on their armrests.
You settled into your chair, the warmth of the day still clinging to your skin as you cracked open a cold one. Steve was leaning back in his seat, casual and relaxed, tossing a bottle lightly between his hands. Robin had her legs stretched out, a mischievous grin playing on her lips as she sipped her drink.
Eddie was the last to arrive, carrying a small paper bag with a knowing smile.
“Got what we need,” he announced, pulling out a neatly rolled joint and a lighter. “This’ll take the edge off.”
Robin’s eyes lit up. “Finally, the real entertainment.”
Steve chuckled. “You know, I’m all for chill nights, but you always manage to kick it up a notch, Eddie.”
You watched as Eddie lit the joint, the smell of pine and something sweet curling into the warm evening air. One by one, the group passed it around, slow inhales and gentle exhales blending with the laughter that bubbled up easily.
Robin leaned over to you. “You good?”
You nodded, feeling the buzz unfurling in your chest like a soft tide. “Yeah. This is nice.”
Steve caught your eye from across the circle and gave a small, almost shy smile. You returned it, and for a moment, the noise faded into background hum.
Eddie was talking animatedly about a crazy movie plot he’d just seen, his hands painting pictures in the air.
“Man, that ending was wild. Like, who writes this stuff?”
Robin rolled her eyes. “You do realize it’s a horror flick, right? They kinda have to go wild.”
“Exactly!” Eddie grinned. “Makes it fun.”
The joint made its way back to Eddie, who took a slow drag and passed it along again. You leaned back, letting the quiet warmth settle in.
Steve’s voice broke through softly. “Hey, you wanna swim later?”
You blinked, surprised, but smiled. “Maybe.”
Robin elbowed him playfully. “Look at you, finally asking.”
Chapter Eighteen: Deeper Water
At some point, Robin had sprawled across the couch and knocked out mid-sentence, one arm flung dramatically over her face. Eddie was curled up in a mismatched blanket on the floor, snoring faintly with a half-empty bag of chips under his hand.
Steve was sitting at the edge of the pool, feet in the water, jeans rolled up to his calves. When he heard you step onto the concrete, he looked over his shoulder.
“They’re out cold,” you said.
He grinned. “Knew that would knock Eddie out. Robin was a surprise, though.”
You came over, sitting beside him and dipping your feet in too. The water was cool against your skin, shocking and perfect.
You leaned back on your hands, looking up. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Nights like this.”
Steve tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
You shrugged. “When everything goes quiet. When you’ve got nowhere to be and no one’s watching. Feels like… a different version of life. Like nothing matters but this exact second.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”
The joint made everything feel a little softer. The pool lights under the surface made the water look like it was glowing. You turned to him, and his gaze was already on you.
“You still wanna swim?” you asked.
His grin returned, slower this time. “Hell yeah.”
You stripped down to your bra and underwear without a word, standing and walking to the edge. He tried not to stare, but he absolutely failed.
You turned your head just enough to smirk. “You coming or what?”
He was already pulling his shirt over his head, jeans off a second later. You both jumped in, the splash echoing across the empty yard. The cold hit hard at first, but then it felt good. Like it washed everything off you.
You floated on your back for a moment, watching the dark above, then drifted closer to where Steve treaded water near the deep end.
“You ever think about how different we used to be?” you asked softly.
He nodded, water glinting off his collarbones. “All the time.”
“I hated you,” you whispered, but your voice wasn’t cruel. It was honest. Soft.
Steve’s voice was lower now. “I thought you were too cool for me.”
You looked at him. Really looked.
“But I wasn’t,” you said.
“No,” he said, moving a little closer, water rippling between you. “You were real. And I didn’t know how to handle that.”
Your hands brushed beneath the surface. You didn’t pull away.
“You’re different now,” you said.
You weren’t sure who moved first—maybe both of you. But suddenly his mouth was close. Breath ghosting over your lips. His eyes searching yours like a question.
You answered by kissing him.
It wasn’t soft—not at first. It was heat and hunger and tension unraveling all at once. His hands found your waist under the water, pulling you closer as your legs drifted and tangled together. You kissed him like you had something to prove—maybe that the version of you he used to see wasn’t all there was.
Steve kissed you like he was afraid he’d wake up.
You didn’t come up for air for a while.
When you finally did, foreheads touching, breath shaky, you both just floated there in the water, caught in something quiet and real.
Bonus: “You’re Kidding Me.”
Robin was the first to stir, blinking awake on Steve’s couch, groaning like she’d just been hit by a car. “Ow. My neck. My spine. My soul.”
She sat up slowly, glancing around. Eddie was still passed out on the floor, curled like a possum in a pile of throw blankets.
She stood, stretched, and padded toward the kitchen just as Eddie woke with a theatrical yawn and a dramatic, “I think I saw God in my dreams.”
“Cool,” Robin muttered, grabbing two mugs. “Help me find the sinners.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“They’re not in the guest room,” Robin said. “Or the couch. Which leaves…”
Eddie’s grin slowly stretched as realization bloomed.
Robin didn’t wait. She walked straight to Steve’s bedroom, didn’t knock, didn’t hesitate.
You and Steve were tangled in his bed, half-covered by the sheets, limbs unmistakably not platonic. His hand was curled against your hip. Your face was tucked into his chest. One of your legs was across his.
You both blinked at her in half-conscious horror.
Behind her, Eddie leaned in, saw the scene, and gasped like he’d just discovered a secret affair in a soap opera.
“Oh my god,” he whispered.
“Shut the door!” Steve hissed, sitting up, hair a mess, eyes wide.
Robin didn’t move. Just blinked. “You swam.”
“You swam and then you swam,” she said, voice pitching up.
You pulled the sheet up over your face.
Eddie cracked up, full-on laughing now, doubled over. “I knew it! I told you! I saw the way you were eyeing each other at the pool like horny teenagers.”
“You are teenagers,” Robin shot back. “Emotionally.”
Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you please—both of you—leave so I can die in peace?”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Robin said. “This is my Roman Empire now.”
You peeked out from the sheets, cheeks burning but eyes defiant. “If you tell anyone—”
“Oh sweetheart,” Eddie said, hand on his heart. “We’re telling everyone.”
Robin grinned. “After we get details.”
Steve buried his face in the pillow. “Kill me.”
“You did that yourself, loverboy.”
