also you guys can send asks just to talk... i love engaging with people who have the same interests as me 🤗 and mine are pretty broad (i need to touch some grass) anons or not i appreciate every ask or request sent my way so don't hesitate 😣😣
i know i’ve been pretty inactive but this still stands guys!!! i want to talk with you and start writing more 😣 i have a few exams coming up but i want to be writing all the time during the summer so send! requests! and i also want to start doing texts and smaus again so send requests for those too 🤗
also you guys can send asks just to talk... i love engaging with people who have the same interests as me 🤗 and mine are pretty broad (i need to touch some grass) anons or not i appreciate every ask or request sent my way so don't hesitate 😣😣
✮ - summary: discovering new feelings is scarier than you think. luckily jungkook is there to catch you.
masterlist. navigation. request here!
✮ - hanna yaps!
i love love love jungkook guys. i also love these two cuties 😣 i'd be so open to writing more for him or them or whatever. pls send some jungkook requests he's so fun to write ty.
It was supposed to be a quiet night in your apartment. Was. Until a not-so-quiet Jungkook announced he’d be staying over.
The day at the office seemed to drag on forever. Never ending heaps of documents piled on your desk, your superior only adding more as the day went on. You began to think that the ‘calm 9-5, good atmosphere, quiet environment’ listing on your job offer couldn’t be further from the truth, as your fingers began to cramp from all the typing. And it definitely wasn’t 5pm. You glance at the clock hanging behind your cubicle. 8pm. Shaking your head you decided this so-not-worth-it job wouldn’t take up any more of your very precious Friday evening. Decision made, you packed your things and headed out - not sparing another glance at the workload awaiting you on Monday morning. Monday-you problem.
It was times like these that you were grateful you’d chosen a job so close to your home. The walk was short, leaving you with enough remaining energy to drop into your favourite takeout spot. It all led up to being the perfect Friday night - your favourite food, a new drama on your TV, and going to bed before midnight. Exactly what you needed. Until it wasn’t.
Just as you were beginning to doze off on your not so comfortable couch, a knock brought you out of your sereness. Who could possibly be here on a Friday? Your question was quickly answered when you opened the door to reveal Jungkook.
Jungkook. Any onlookers to your relationship would probably call you friends, even best friends. With the way the two of you were so comfortable around each other, and the way he never relented teasing you. In reality, you’d say it was convenience. Or maybe the fact of knowing someone longer than 10 years simply meant they were now a constant in your life.
You and Jungkook had met early in middle school. You had been friends with some people who turned out to be his friends also, which quickly meant you were part of the same friend group. It had stayed that way all through high school, and college too, until most of your friends left Seoul - job opportunities and such - leaving you and Jungkook. He stayed claiming to love the city, saying that nothing could compare to the calm and equal uproar of the capital. You quickly secured a job that held you back from exploring the world. And maybe it was settling, but anything outside the confines of what you know scared you more than any mediocre job.
Jungkook was, objectively, a good friend. He was unbelievably caring, always going out of his way to do things for people close to his heart - sometimes that even included you. You would never tell him, but you valued your friendship more than you did with the rest of your friends, who only came to visit during the holidays. Jungkook was stable. He was an unrelenting constant that you knew would never budge. Somehow the quiet of his consistent presence made you appreciate him more than others.
Not right now though. He stood, leaning against the door frame, tumbling forward slightly when you jerked the door open. You took a second to take in his state - disheveled hair, eyes slightly blood shot and barely open. He was drunk. Perfect.
“Y/N,” Jungkook slurred, blinking at you slowly. It seemed he looked over your appearance, registering you were in your favourite pyjamas, your hair was pulled away from your face, and your eyes had that certain tired look Jungkook had come to know over the years.
“Were you asleep?” he asked sheepishly, suddenly self aware.
“Not really,” you shake your head, looking at him for a little longer before opening the door wider as if to say ‘come in’. He took the invitation, his steps dragging but able to hold him up until he collapsed on your couch. Jungkook blinked up at the ceiling for a few moments, sometimes peering into the kitchen where you seemed to make yourself busy.
You returned to him with a glass of water and the other, reheated, portion of the gluttonous takeout order you were saving for the next day. Placing them down in front of him, you took a seat not far from the boy sprawled on your couch. Jungkook glanced at the food, then at you, a wide, toothy grin spread on his face. You’ve known him long enough to know that was his way of saying ‘thank you’.
You also knew better than to question why he was here. And how he managed to get so drunk before 11pm. Jungkook had never quite outgrown his boyish, playful college persona, which seemed to enjoy partying and staying out late. More times than he’d care to admit, he’d end up on your couch, awaking to a throbbing headache and a patchy recollection of the night before. It was habit - something he could only allow to happen with someone who probably knew him better than anyone walking the earth.
The two of you sat in comfortable silence, a rehearsed routine, only filled by the quiet noise of your TV as you turned it back on. Jungkook ate his food quickly, only later realising that might not be the best idea after drinking so much. He leaned back to rest his head on the back of the couch, his eyes bleary, blinking up at the TV. Neither of you noticed, but the distance between you seemed to shrink to only a sliver of space. Jungkook finally allowed his eyes to close fully, not really aware of how his head fell to rest on your shoulder.
This wasn’t so uncommon. Sure, you weren’t the affectionate type of friends, but Jungkook got incredibly clingy when drunk - and more often than not you came to see him inebriated. You moved your eyes to look down at him. It was then you noticed his long lashes flutter against his cheeks, the small mole under his lip, the perfect slant of his nose - things you never cared to focus on, purely because he was Jungkook. You could admit he was handsome, that was true of him ever since high school. But looking at him now, it was harder for you to acknowledge that you found him handsome. It was a revelation that startled you. Still, you couldn’t quite pry your eyes away from his placid face. So you stayed like that, until you were sure he was deep enough in his slumber that you could safely move off the couch without waking him up.
That night you went to bed with foreign thoughts clouding your mind. Every time you closed your eyes he seemed to show up. His big, shiny eyes that always appear to have that small spark reflecting in them. His stupidly perfect hair, which never seems to be out of place. It confused you beyond belief, having these thoughts of someone who you have always called a friend. Deciding to shut your brain off, you close your eyes, succumbing to sleep and thoughts of him.
You and Jungkook rarely ever make plans to hang out, more so casually show up or run into each other - the world really is small. So when he received your message about grabbing dinner on Thursday, to say he was curious was an understatement. You’d surprised even yourself. Typing out the message, you chalked it up to simply wanting to get out the house - though deep down you knew it was because thoughts of him had been plaguing your mind for the last week.
Everything about it was casual. The way you dressed, the day of the week, the restaurant you chose. Conversation flowed easily, like it always did between old friends. You caught up, talking about your respective lives, reminisced on the old times, talked about your friends and how they’re doing in their own fields. It was like every other time you’d hung out with Jungkook. Except it wasn’t. Because you couldn’t move your eyes off his seemingly inviting lips. Or his eyes which now appear to draw you in, making it impossible to look away.
So you admit, this dinner was indulgent not only when it comes to the food.
Jungkook walked you home, like he always did when you met outside of your apartments. It was custom for you to come over to his place and vice versa. You’d talk. Or you wouldn’t, watching something stupid on TV or playing one of his gory games. It was the comfort you could only find in someone who’d known you as long as Jungkook has. The ease of not having to pretend, or be something you’re not. Just simply existing together, in the same space and understanding each other without words.
Maybe that’s what drew you in. He knew you. He knew of all your annoying habits, and weird quirks that you’re not quite sure everyone has. Jungkook knows all of you, and yet he's stuck by your side through so many years - that has to mean something, right?
“Thanks for dinner,” you say, even though it was you who invited him. Even though you know you don’t have to thank him, of all people, for spending time with you.
Jungkook smiled back in response, pleased with your voiced appreciation.
“When I saw your message I thought you had an agenda,” he laughed softly, hiding his question. But you know him better than that. He wants to know if you did have an agenda. You’re suddenly shy. You’re thankful for it being late and dark, hoping he doesn’t notice the blush spreading on your cheeks.
You laugh his words off, dismissing him. “No agenda. Just wanted to see you,” you admit. It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth. I needed to see you. I missed you.
But it was enough for Jungkook. Your words caused his smile to widen, showing his slightly bigger front teeth.
Jungkook would be lying if he called you his friend. Despite your relationship being more than that, he would be masking the actual way he felt for you. It was high school, he thinks. He had never seen you smile so wide as when you opened the gift he got for your 16th birthday. The unadulterated joy in your eyes made his heart beat faster, a blush spreading on his face as you unveiled the small pendant. It was a dainty, flimsy little thing, but Jungkook had saved enough of his pocket money to buy you exactly what he knew you’d wanted. The moment you opened the box, he knew he was in over his head. Despite this, Jungkook hoped the feeling would never go away.
He loved you in quiet ways. Always showing up, whether you needed him or not - simply being there. He’d bring you coffee, or stop by your work with snacks when he knew you were having a long day. He kept a box of your favourite cereal stocked, even though he’d make a disgusted face every time you’d open the box of pure sugar. He even bought some of your favourite movies on DVD, so you could watch the deleted scenes. His love didn’t announce itself, but managed to sneak into every single thing he did and every thought that crossed Jungkook’s mind.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” If Jungkook didn’t know you better - and knew you’d never feel for him the way he does for you - he’d think you were inviting him to stay.
You didn’t know what came over you. As you stood outside your building, staring at his shining smile, one thought kept repeating over in your head - you don’t want to not see him. You want to be near him. It scared you. So you did the (ir)rational thing, and didn’t let him get too far away, inviting him to stay.
“Sure,” Jungkook replied casually. “Do you still have those crisps I like?” Stupid question. Once he said he liked them, you bought as many as you could find, keeping a stocked supply at all times.
“I do,” you confirmed, not going into details, because he didn’t need to know that.
“Lead the way,” Jungkood said with a wave of his hand towards your building, a smile on his lips.
You thanked your earlier self for having enough sense to clean your apartment. Although you know Jungkook had seen it states worse than bad, something inside you wanted him to see you as perfect. You wanted to impress him. The thought made you look away from him as you talked on the couch - the movie he’d chosen playing in the background.
Jungkook’s words faded in and out, your thoughts seemed to occupy more of your attention. It was a scary thing, falling for someone so important in your life. Sure, you knew that a confession from either side wouldn’t change a thing. It would probably be awkward for a few days, things going back to the way they always were before you knew it. Nevertheless, allowing yourself to accept these foreign feelings was almost overwhelming. It changed not only the way you see him, but also how you act around him. Jungkook has always been someone you didn’t have to try too hard around. Now that you want him to like you back, that has changed. You want him to see the best in you.
“Are you listening to me?” His questioning words brought you out of the flurry of your thoughts. A blush spread on your face, a small sheepish smile on your lips, as you realised you hadn’t been listening.
“Sorry,” you mumbled. “Say it again, I’m listening, I promise.” You hoped your smile was enough of an apology. Also hoping he wouldn’t probe your absent mindedness.
“Where were you, just now?” He asked, because of course he did. Not only did you forget that Jungkook knew you, but there had never been any lies or hidden truths in your friendship - everything always out in the open.
You shook your head, as if to dismiss him, making Jungkook frown slightly. When did you stop telling him things? “Nowhere, I was just distracted.”
“Is everything okay?” He asked, jumping to the only possible conclusion. Jungkook knew how you got, never really wanting to talk about your feelings - he usually had to pry the information out of you, after many series of unrelenting ‘I’m fine’s.
Now you just felt bad. He was worried about you, and that made your chest seize. For someone so usually collected, Jungkook seemed to know exactly how to get you to fall apart. And he wasn’t even aware of it.
It was then, when Jungkook noticed your eyes. You had never looked at him that way. There was no way you were looking at him like that. Like he’d always wanted you to. It was now Jungkook’s turn to feel disarmed. He was usually good at keeping his feelings in check, years of quietly loving you made him an expert. But the possibility of you reciprocating his unrequited love, it was simply impossible.
“Everything’s fine. It’s nothing,” you finally said, catching yourself before you looking at him turned into you oogling him.
“Then why are you looking at me like that?” Jungkook’s voice was quiet. He couldn’t bear not knowing the answer.
You looked at him, a little taken aback. Jungkook had always been forward, never one to beat around the bush, but his question still shocked you. He looked, almost, hopeful? This conversation was more than you could handle, what with your newfound feelings and the way he was looking at you now.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you looked away, eyes darting around your living room. “I’m tired. You want to take the couch?” you ask, standing up and moving towards the kitchen. You needed distance, so why did you ask him to stay over? Your own feelings began confusing you.
Jungkook sat dumbfounded on the couch, the forgotten movie still playing on your TV. He was unnerved. What did all of this mean? Why did he see himself in your behaviour? Not waiting a second longer, he followed you to the kitchen. Jungkook found you behind the counter, making a cup of tea - probably to calm your racing heart. He crowded your space.
“Do you always stand this close?” you looked up at him. Jungkook had a few good inches over you, making you strain your neck to look into his eyes.
“What was that, Y/N?” He asked, the confidence of his feelings being returned fueling his actions.
“Nothing,” you shrugged, finding the bubbling kettle suddenly very interesting.
“Don’t do that,” Jungkook pressed, all of a sudden unable to keep calm. “Don’t say the way you look at me doesn’t mean anything. I know you better than that.”
It was ballsy, you had to give him that. Throughout all of this, you’d never expected him to be so upfront. But he knows you. The thought of Jungkook knowing everything about you all of a sudden felt so intimate. He’s seen every version of you, in every imaginable state. You’d developed a relationship so reverent, one that only comes from years of spending copious amounts of time together.
You were at a loss for words. How could you respond to that, without giving away your true intentions? You settled for simply looking up at him, hoping you weren’t giving him that same look. But Jungkook saw it, whether it was a flicker or it had always been there. The subtle change when your eyes locked. Your gaze was soft, tender. Seemingly reserved only for him. It made his heart race.
Jungkook took a step closer, leaving almost no distance between the two of you. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll believe you,” his voice was low, almost afraid to say the words. Your gaze wavered, looking down.
“We’re friends, Jungkook,” your voice was quiet, knowing you were lying. How can you call him your friend, when he hasn’t left your mind for a split second all week.
“Don’t call me your friend, when you’re looking at me like I’m more.” It began to annoy him that you weren’t understanding his words. Why would he be saying all this, if he wasn’t hopeful you’d confirm his suspicions.
Your breath hitched softly, if Jungkook wasn’t standing so close he wouldn’t have heard it. But he did. It made butterflies dance in his stomach. God help him, you were going to be the end of him.
“We’re not supposed to do this. We’re not supposed to feel like this,” you whisper, your mug of tea sitting abandoned between you. “You’re in my head all the time and it’s killing me. Friends aren’t supposed to feel like this.”
“We’re not just friends, Y/N. We haven’t been for a long time.” His words cause you to stumble back in time, when every single time Jungkook smiled, it was followed by a warm feeling spreading in your chest. Or each time he brought you coffee at work with a bright smile and encouraging words made your head spin. It was true, you hadn’t been friends for a while.
“We’ve already crossed that line. The second I realised I loved you, we did.” That was it. Jungkook’s words had been your final undoing.
When he saw your hopeful eyes move back to his, he had all the confirmation he needed. Jungkook finally realised you’d been looking at him the same way he’d been looking at you for years. He moved a careful hand up to your cheek, swiping briefly across the skin under your eye. Deciding holding yourself back any longer might break you, you surged forward, claiming his lips with your own.
The kiss was everything and nothing you’d expected. Jungkook was soft and tender, his touch light, as if not to overwhelm you. The feeling of finally having him this close sent your nervous system into overdrive. You never wanted this feeling to end.
“I love you,” you whispered between kisses. It wasn’t a difficult conclusion, his words pushing you to reach it. The feeling had been festering inside you for longer than you cared to admit.
“Say it again,” Jungkook mumbled against your lips, a small smile playing on his.
You granted him his wish, repeating the words over and over. Your arms wrapped around his neck, while his circled your waist. You never separated, laughing and smiling between kisses, repeating promises of your feelings for each other.
guys i fear it's back... since 2020 jungkook comes back in waves and since arirang its been NONSTOP i genuinely cannot be normal about this man im sorry. that being said... i wouldn't be opposed to writing for him. would anyone be interested? let me know!
lmaooo this was fun to make 😁😁 sorry for being inactive i've been SOOO busy with uni guys you don't understand engineering is so ass 💔💔💔 anyway requests are OPENNNN pls send some
Back with another request, for all the college/university students out there, or generally the peeps who are still in school. Here to bring a little idea i have in mind while having a crash out while doing my presentation.
Boyfriend!Steve who walks in his and reader's shared bedroom and sees them, hands in their face and quiet sobs can be heard. Reader looks up and faces Steve, and Steve immediately hugs them. Reader goes on a rant on how burnt out they are with College and stuff.
Fluff and all that, comfort <3
Thank you again!
~🐰
ˋ°•*⁀➷ Burnout
ˋ°•*⁀➷ Steve Harrington x Reader
Summary: After a long day at work, Steve just wants to find you and cuddle you until you fall asleep, but he knows something is wrong when he can't find you, and your shared bedroom is decorated in loose papers and cue cards.
ˋ°•*⁀➷ Pure comfort, he's actually such a good boyfriend
A/N: me want fluffy Stevie tonight. I'll get back to making him sad and suffering again soon. >:(
Word Count: 3,696
The bedroom door clicked shut softly behind Steve with a sound like a final breath, the apartment settling into that particular hush that only came in the liminal hours between the afternoon and evening. Afternoon light slanted through the blinds in strips, painting the walls in bands alternating with shadow. He dropped his keys onto the dresser near the door with a metallic clatter that should have alerted you to his presence, but you didn't stir, didn't call out a greeting from wherever you'd buried yourself in the apartment.
Steve loosened his tie - Family Video had instituted a dress code recently for "management material," which meant he spent eight hours feeling like a fraud in polyester - and let it hang like a noose around his neck. His feet were aching. His smile hurt, too, from holding it in place while customers complained about late fees and the state of modern cinema. All he wanted was to find you, press his face into the warm curve of your neck, and let the rest of the day dissolve.
He toed off his shoes in the hallway, noticed the silence, and felt the first thread of something wrong wind into his chest.
"Baby?" he called, soft, expecting to find you in the kitchen, maybe, headphones in while you chopped vegetables for dinner. Or curled on the couch with your anthropology textbook, brow furrowed in that specific way that meant you were trying memorize something about kinship structures or ritual sacrifice.
No answer.
The silence had a weird texture. Heavy, humid, waiting.
Steve moved down the hallway, past the bathroom - empty, steam from someone's shower long since evaporated - and toward the bedroom. The door stood ajar, revealing a slice of your sanctuary: the unmade bed with its forest-green duvet you'd fought for at the thrift store, the fairy lights you'd strung around the mirror last winter still casting their pale glow, the desk was cluttered with the archaeology of your academic life - coffee cups in various stages of being drunk, highlighters without caps drying out, a succulents graveyard.
He pushed the door open fully, and the world halted.
You were on the floor.
Not dramatically collapsed, not unconscious - somehow worse. You were sitting with your back against the mattress, textbook balanced on knees that had been drawn up to your chest, and you were trying so hard to be quiet. That was what broke him first: the effort of it, the way your shoulders hitched with restrained sobs, the way a hand covered your mouth like you could hide from the sound of your own grief.
Your fingers from your free hand were tangled in your hair, tugging at the roots, as if physical pain could distract from whatever was eating you alive from the inside. Your palm moved pressed against your eyes hard enough to leave marks. Every few seconds your body would seize with the effort of swallowing a cry, choking it back into the back of your throat, and Steve could see it - the way you were trying to hold yourself together with nothing but pure willpower.
"Hey," he breathed.
The word fell into silence. You flinched at his voice - your whole body a startle response so violent your textbook slid off your knees to the floor - and your hands dropped. Your face, when you finally looked at him, it was a ruin. Eyes swollen to slits, red-rimmed and swimming with fresh tears that caught the fairy-light glow and turned them into prisms. Your nose was running. Your mouth was open, caught mid-gasp, and Steve watched the exact moment your brain processed his presence, watched the war between relief and humiliation play out across your features.
"Steve - " you choked out, and your voice was shredded, unrecognizable, and it was the only invitation he needed.
He quickly made his way to you, sinking to his knees on the carpet beside you, not caring about his work pants or the dust or anything except the need to hold you, to console you, to pull you back from wherever you were spiraling. His arms went around your shoulders with the kind of fierce gentleness he'd learned from years of holding broken things - Dustin after the tunnels, the kids after Starcourt, himself after nights when the dark got too loud.
One hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading through the hair you'd been pulling, pressing your face into the hollow of his throat where his pulse beat rabbit-quick against your skin. The other arm snaked around your waist and hauled you, pulling you sideways into his lap, eliminating all space between you, fitting you against him like you were two halves of something finally whole.
"I got you," he whispered into your hair, and his voice cracked on the second word, broke open with all the fear he'd felt in those endless seconds of searching for you. "I got you, baby, I got you."
And you shattered.
The careful control you'd been trying to maintain - those choked silences, the swallowed sobs, the hands pressed against your face like a dam - crumbled against his collarbone. You grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, polyester and cotton bunching in your fingers, and you sobbed into his neck with a sound similar to tearing fabric, like something ripping loose that had been stitched too tight for too long.
Steve just held you. Rocked you gently, barely, a micro-movement back and forth that was more instinct than intention. His hand traced up and down your spine, learning the topography of your vertebrae through your worn-thin t-shirt, memorizing the way you fit against him. He didn't shush you. Didn't tell you it was okay, because clearly it wasn't, clearly something had driven you to the floor, this breaking point, and he wasn't going to diminish it with lies.
"I can't - " you gasped against his throat, the words hot and wet and desperate. "I can't do this anymore, Steve, I can't - "
He made a sound, low in his chest, a rumble of acknowledgment that vibrated through both of you. I'm listening. Keep going. I'm here.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, and he almost wished you hadn't, because your face - god, your face. The devastation was written there, the absolute lostness, like you'd been wandering in some internal wilderness for days and had only now realized you were never going to find your way out alone. Your hands were shaking when you gestured vaguely at the laptop, at the room, at everything.
"I have three papers due next week," you said, and the words came out in a rush, tripping and stumbling over each other, desperate to be heard before the courage to speak was lost. "Three, Steve, and my group project partners are useless, completely useless, I'm doing all the work for the presentation and they just - they smile and nod and promise to send their sections and they never do, and I can't carry them anymore but if I don't, we all fail, and I haven't slept more than four hours in three days because every time I close my eyes I see deadlines, I see red zeroes, I see - "
Your breath hitched again, a dangerous stutter in your rhythm, and Steve's hands tightened around you in encouragement. Breathe. I'm here. Breathe with me.
"I was supposed to present today," you continued, and your voice dropped to something hollow, a shell of yourself. "This morning. In front of the whole seminar. And I stood up there, Steve. I had my notecards and my presentstion and I opened my mouth and - " You pressed your hands against your own chest, right over your sternum, like you were trying to keep your heart from escaping. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. My mind went completely blank, like someone had taken an eraser to everything I'd studied, everything I knew what I needed to say - and there was just - static. White noise. And Professor Hargrove just stared at me, this look on her face like she couldn't believe she'd ever thought I was competent, and I couldn't breathe, I couldn't - "
You broke off, gasping, and Steve watched you try to inhale, watched your chest stutter, hitch and refuse to expand properly. "I ran out," you whispered. "I just... left. Left my bag, left my notes, left whatever dignity I had left, and I came home and I've been sitting here trying to write the papers, trying to catch up, trying to fix it, but I can't think, Steve, I can't think in straight lines anymore, everything is just - Noise."
Your eyes found his, and the desperation there, the sheer exhaustion, made his chest ache with a physical pain. "I'm so tired," you said, and the words were simple, childish, devastating. "I'm so tired and I keep thinking if I just push through, if I just work harder, sleep less, drink more coffee, it'll get better, I'll catch up, I'll be okay, but it doesn't. It just keeps piling up, higher and higher, and I feel like I'm drowning in it, like I'm standing in water that's rising too fast and I can't - I can't - "
You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, and he felt the heat of your skin even through his shirt, feverish with stress and sleep deprivation. "I can't breathe," you mumbled, the words barely audible. "I feel like I can't breathe."
Steve's arms spasmed around you, a full-body flinch of empathy, of rage - at the system, at your professors, at himself for not seeing this sooner, for letting you get to this point alone on the floor of your shared bedroom. He pressed his face into your hair, and let the feeling pass through him so he could be what you needed, so he could be the shore you crashed against.
"Okay," he said quietly, when he could trust his voice again. "Okay, here's what we're gonna do."
He pulled back, just enough to see you, and cupped your face in both hands. His thumbs traced the paths of your tears, landscaping your grief, wiping it away with a tenderness that made your breath catch for a different reason. "First," he said, and his voice was firm, certain, a lifeline thrown into dark water, "we're closing the textbooks and notebooks."
Panic flared in your eyes. "I can't, I have to - "
"Nope." Steve reached over, one arm still holding you against his chest, and snapped the laptop shut with a decisive click that felt like the period at the end of a very long, very terrible sentence. "Their going in the closet. For the next eight hours, it doesn't exist. It's Schrödinger's assignment - neither done nor undone, completely theoretical, completely unable to hurt you."
Your eyes went wide, red-rimmed and disbelieving. "Steve, I have three papers, I have a presentation to make up, I have - "
"You have me," he interrupted, and the words landed between you with the weight of a promise. "You have a bed that has never once judged you for sleeping in it. You have permission - " He paused, emphasizing the word, making sure you heard it, really heard it, " - to just... stop. For a little while. The world will keep spinning. The deadlines will still be there tomorrow. But you won't be, not like this, not if you keep going the way you were going."
He stood, pulling you up with him, and your legs buckled - when had you last eaten? had you eaten today at all? - but he was there, holidng you up, one arm around your waist and the other hand tangled in yours. He guided you the three steps to the bed with the care of someone guiding a drunk friend or a child, someone who couldn't be trusted with their own coordination.
"But the papers - " you tried again, weakly, because some part of you was still trying to run, still trying to outpace the panic.
"Will still be there tomorrow," Steve said, pulling back the duvet with one hand, revealing the nest of pillows you favored, the sheet with its threadbare softness that you refused to replace. "And the day after. And we'll figure them out together." He turned to face you, and the light caught the determination in his eyes, the sheer ferocity of his care. "I'll help you outline them. I'll quiz you until you hate the sound of my voice. I'll make you the world's grossest ramen at 2 AM while you type, I'll rub your shoulders when they cramp up, and I'll read your citations back to you to make sure you didn't hallucinate them in a sleep-deprived state."
He climbed onto the bed, still fully clothed - polyester trousers and all - and held out his arms. "But right now? You're not allowed to think about them. Your only job is to let me hold you. Your only responsibility is breathing. Everything else can wait."
You hesitated, hovering at the edge of the mattress, and Steve saw the war in you - the ingrained guilt, the panic that came with staying still, the fear that if you stopped moving, even for a moment, you'd never start again. He saw it, and he answered it by simply waiting, arms open, patient.
You collapsed into him like a building imploding, all at once, like he was a necessity now. He gathered you against his chest, arranging you in a position he knew you'd be most comfortable in - your head tucked under his chin, your legs tangled with his, your hand resting over his heart so you could feel it beating. He pulled the duvet over both of you, creating a cave of warmth and shadow that smelled like your detergent and his cologne and the particular scent of grief finally released.
"But I failed today," you whispered into his shirt, the words muffled and small. "I stood up there and I just... broke. Everyone saw. Professor Hargrove saw. I'm supposed to be smart, I'm supposed to have this figured out, and I just - I couldn't."
Steve's arms tightened, his chin pressing down on top of your head. "Hey." He waited until you tilted your face up, until your eyes - swollen, exhausted, beautiful - met his. "Look at me."
You did, and his expression was so fierce, so absolutely certain, that it stole what little breath you'd managed to recover.
"You are not failing," he said, each word deliberate, carved from something hard and true. "You're exhausted. There's a difference. You're one of the smartest, most capable people I know - I've seen you talk circles around people with PhDs, I've watched you make connections that no one else saw, I've listened to you explain theories that I couldn't even pronounce - and right now you're running on fumes because this system is broken, not because you are."
He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch was feather-light against the shell of it, tracing the path of your jaw with the pad of his thumb. "Burnout isn't a character flaw," he continued, softer now, intimate as a secret. "It's a warning sign. It's your body and your brain saying enough, enough, we can't do this anymore. And I'm not gonna let you ignore it anymore. I'm not gonna let you break yourself for this just because some syllabus says you should be able to handle it."
You stare at him, something fragile and warm building in your chest despite the exhaustion, despite the lingering panic. "When did you get so wise?" you asked, and your voice was barely a whisper, wrecked and wondering.
He huffed, embarrassed, the sound vibrating through his chest against your cheek. "I read an article at the video store. Some psychology journal someone left in the return bin." He paused, then admitted, with a sheepishness that made you want to kiss him, "Also... I called your mom last week. When I noticed you weren't sleeping. When you started forgetting to eat."
You blinked, the information processing slowly through your grief-fogged brain. "You... what?"
"I was worried," he said simply, like it was obvious, like of course he'd called your mother, of course he'd been paying attention to the way your hands shook when you reached for your coffee, the way you'd stopped laughing at his stupid jokes, the way your smile had started looking like something you were just putting on rather than feeling. "She said you used to do this in high school too. Pushed until you' 'd break. She said you needed someone to notice, to interrupt the cycle." His hand found yours under the duvet, threading their fingers together, squeezing. "I told her I'd catch you next time."
Your throat tightened with a different kind of tears, something sweeter and more dangerous than grief. "Steve..."
"So that's the plan," he continued, as if he hadn't just casually mentioned orchestrating a safety net behind your back, as if he hadn't been planning for your collapse with the same care he applied to everything he loved. "We sleep now. Real sleep, not that half-conscious nightmare dozing you've been doing. I'll set an alarm for morning, and we'll make a schedule. Actual breaks. Actual meals. None of this 'I'll sleep when I'm dead' nonsense." He paused, and when he spoke again, there was a hint of his familiar smirk, the Steve Harrington bravado that had survived the monsters, malls and the slow erosion of his own self-doubt. "And if any of your group project slackers don't pull their weight, I'll have a conversation with them. Very polite. Very menacing. I'll bring the nail bat for atmosphere."
Despite everything - the panic, the exhaustion, the lingering humiliation of that empty classroom - you laughed, a genuine laugh. It came out wet, hiccupping, but it was real, it was yours, and it felt like oxygen after drowning. You curled closer, tucking your head back under his chin, your palm spread over his heart feeling the steady thump-thump that had become the metronome of your life together.
"I love you," you mumbled, the words half-slurred with sudden, overwhelming exhaustion, with the relief of finally being held, finally being seen.
Steve went still beneath you. Then, softly, a replied whispered in a language he was still learning: "I love you too. So much." His arms tightened, pulling you impossibly closer, like he could absorb you into his own skin, carry you where it was safe. "Enough to fight your demons for you, if you'd let me. Enough to stand between you and the world when it gets too loud. Enough to remind you, every day, that you're allowed to rest. That you're allowed to take a break. That I'll be here to put you back together, every time, no matter how many pieces there are."
"Just... stay," you whispered, the words dissolving into a yawn you couldn't suppress. "That's enough. You're enough."
"Not going anywhere," he promised, and you felt him adjust the blanket around your shoulders with one hand, felt his other hand resume its slow, hypnotic tracing of your spine. "Get some sleep, sweetheart. I got watch. I'll keep the monsters out."
You don't remember falling asleep. Only that you did so with Steve's heartbeat in your ear, his fortress built around you, his voice humming something tuneless and comforting against your hair. The last thing you were aware of was the pressure in your chest finally, finally easing, the tight bands around your lungs loosening enough to let you breathe.
And somewhere, in the dark behind your eyelids, you realized that the water you'd been drowning in had receded just enough to let you stand.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
When you woke, it was to morning light and the smell of coffee.
The textbooks was still closed, you discovered later. Steve had buried them under a pile of winter blankets, as if physical distance could sever its psychic hold on you.
There was a fresh cup of coffee cooling on the nightstand - 1 sugar, your mother's remedy blend, and you wondered if Steve had called her again, if they were in this together now, this team-up. Beside it sat a plate of toast, slightly burnt, with butter melting into the crevices. He'd tried to cut off the crusts, you noticed, but given up halfway through, leaving a jagged line that made you smile against the rim of the cup.
Steve was beside you, snoring softly, the notes from your desk, spread around him, studying when exhaustion finally claimed him too. He was still in his work clothes, you realized. Hadn't moved all night, hadn't left your side long enough to even to change.
On top of the pile of sociology notes and half-written essays was a page torn from his notebook, covered in his messy, looping handwriting. At the top, in capital letters:
OPERATION: KEEP READER ALIVE AND SANE
Below it, a list:
- Mandatory movie breaks (2 hrs/day, no academic content allowed, Goonies is acceptable)
- Sunlight exposure (10 mins minimum, can be combined with coffee/tea drinking)
- Scheduled crying (better than spontaneous breakdowns, build a blanket fort if needed)
- Remind her she's brilliant daily (more if she's being stubborn)
- Feed her actual food (Ramen does not count as a food group, Harrington)
- Check group project partners for brain cells/competence (confrontation scheduled for Thursday)
- Sleep together (actual sleep, though other activities are negotiable after rest is achieved)
At the bottom, in smaller letters, as if he'd added it later, in the dark, while you slept:
- Love her. Even when she can't love herself. Especially then.
You cried again, just a little. But this time, he was awake to wipe the tears away, pressing kisses to your eyelids, your temples, the corners of your mouth until you smiled, until the weight on your chest felt more manageable, shared, something you could carry together.
" Good morning," he mumbled, voice rough with sleep, and you thought: yes. Yes, it was
✮ - pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader (established relationship)
✮ - warnings: literally none
✮ - word count: 1.7k
✮ - summary: you (and your grades) take a small fall, but steve is there to pick you up.
masterlist. navigation. request here!
✮ - hanna yaps!
this was soooo selft indulgent wow. i hope everyone who's had/has exams coming up does amazing!!!
It’s a cold, dreary January night when the phone rings. It sounds almost muffled, a distant chime compared to the rhythmic pounding behind your eyes - the relentless, jagged pulse that comes with every migraine.
“Hello?” your voice comes through, thin and stripped of its usual spark.
“Hi, honey. How’s your night?”
It was Steve. Your Steve. He’s called almost every night since you packed your life into cardboard boxes and moved to campus. It was an adjustment for both of you, but Steve braved the distance better than he had any monsters before - physical and emotional.
“Okay.” you lie, the word catching in your throat, that feels tight with unshed tears. You swallow hard. “Just studying.” You ran a hand through your already tangled hair.
“You’re always studying. My smart girl,” he coos through the phone, you could practically hear his smile. He added after a pause “What are you studying?”
“Chemistry,” you tried not to sound so dejected at the mention of your least favourite subject, but the tiredness could be heard in each of your curt words. “I have an exam on Monday."
“I know,” Steve says softly. You hear the rustle of his jeans, the familiar click of a lighter or a pen - something to keep his hands busy.
“I’m thinking of you, I know you’ll do great… you always do, babe.” He shifted the phone to his other ear, a familiar knot of worry tightening in his chest. He knew you could get in over your head, putting too much pressure on yourself.
But his words, sweet as they were, feel like they’re drifting over a high wall you can’t quite climb. It’s that breaking point in the semester where everything feels like too much - too many classes, too many exams, too much to do and so little time. Despite your never-ending determination, you’ve never felt so burnt out in your life. The coffee began tasting stale and dry, your limbs feel like weights you couldn’t lift, and your eyes managed to stay unfocused no matter what you tried.
“Thank you, Steve,” you reply quietly, “I love you.”
“I love you too, honey.” His voice holds a reverent tenderness, reserved only for you.
“How was your day? How was work?” you steer the conversation towards him, deciding the topic of your college exams is closer to bringing you to tears than you’d like to admit.
And Steve goes on, about Robin and her rejecting almost all of his song choices at the WSQK, and how Dustin has some new, crazy idea that Steve doesn’t quite understand. You laugh when appropriate and hum when you need to, but not even a conversation with Steve can get you out of this slump.
He hangs up before you know it, not without more words of encouragement and sweet ‘i love you’s. Although the conversation leaves him smiling, he can’t help but feel as if he missed something. Something that you purposefully hid from him. He knew you picked a hard major, but he also knew that if anyone could brave it - it was you. Steve worried. He never mentioned it, but he was constantly thinking about you. Have you eaten, do you sleep enough, are you taking care of yourself? He knew you were capable, Steve just didn’t know if that was enough.
On Monday, after exactly an hour and three minutes of staring at the exam paper, you make the short walk back to your dorm. You made some excuse to your friends, not wanting to stick around for the post exam debrief and realise how terribly you actually did. More college students passed you, some laughing, others clearly heading to yet another exam. You paid them no mind, focusing on returning to the safety of your small, unkempt dorm room.
You’d received your exam back a few days later. The red ink at the top of the page feels like a physical blow. A big fat ‘F’ staring you in the face. You tried not to let it get to you, you really did. Everyone fails exams, and with the amount of revising you’ve had to do over the last couple of weeks, it’s inevitable you wouldn’t pass all of your exams. But you were so determined.
While everyone stood outside the classroom, chatting about their scores, you made a silent exit - feeling tears burning your eyes, threatening to spill any second. The minute the door clicks shut, the dam breaks. You cried for all the hours you wasted studying, for the difficult questions the professor chose, and for being so completely alone in this. Why couldn’t you get it right?
Later that night, the shrill sound of the phone ringing brought you out of your thoughts. Your tears had mostly subsided by now, small sniffles leaving you every so often. With a deep breath you picked up.
“Hello?” you said, although you knew exactly who was calling.
“Hey, sweetheart. You those results back?” Steve’s voice calmed you, but his words almost brought fresh tears to your eyes.
“Um… no I haven’t, I guess the professor’s not had time to grade them yet.” You didn’t want to disappoint him, so badly. But the slight tremble in your voice, and your soft sniffles gave you away. Steve furrowed his eyebrows, he knew he could be oblivious but not to this. He hears the tremor. He hears the way you’re holding your breath.
“Honey? Talk to me” he asked gently, his voice soft.
“Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine. How are you doing?” you so desperately wanted to change the subject, the pulsing between your eyes only getting worse from all the tears.
Steve was conflicted, you clearly didn’t want to talk about whatever was bothering you, but how could he carry on a casual conversation with you, knowing that you’d been crying. He didn’t need to see you to imagine your bloodshot eyes and red nose. The image broke his heart.
“I’m okay,” he replied, then sighed. “You sure you don’t want to talk about anything, honey?” Steve tried not to sound overbearing, but he was starting to get worried.
“I’m just tired. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” you hang up before he can protest. You were so scared of disappointing him, the last thing Steve needed to know was that you weren’t good enough for the major you chose. With a sigh you crawl into your bed, wishing the world would just stop turning for a few hours.
Steve had other plans. As soon as you hung up he knew he had to do something. He could hear the tiredness and overbearing pressure in your voice. So without thinking much longer, he put on his coat and walked out to his car.
A soft knock on your door woke you up. Who would be here at this hour? Rubbing at your eyes, you walked over to open it. The sight before you took your breath away. There stood Steve, a beautiful bouquet of tulips in his hands, the last remnants of snow on his shoulders, his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold. You were sure your heart stopped beating.
“Steve,” you breathed out, pupils blown wide, your lips parted in surprise.
“Hi honey,” he simply said, his voice a warm anchor in the drafty hallway. He acts as if hadn’t just spent three hours hurtling down the highway.
You don’t say a word; you just collapse into him. He smells like the winter air, expensive hairspray, and that familiar, comforting cologne. He’s solid and real.
“Guess someone missed me, huh?” Seteve mumbles into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whisper, tears already forming in your eyes. You pull away, taking him in - his perfect hair, smile, the jacket you got him for Christmas. A tear slips down your cheek, but Steve is quick to wipe it away, catching it before you even realise.
“Hey,” he studies your face, “I hope those are happy tears, sweetheart,” he gives you a warm smile, one that you try to reciprocate. You take a few seconds to look at him, biting your lip as you get lost in his eyes.
“I failed my exam,” you whisper, looking down, almost ashamed.
“I know,” he replies, voice equally quiet, but filled with tenderness. That gets you to look up.
“How? I didn’t tell you,” you say with furrowed brows.
Steve shrugs, “I just know, I could tell something was bothering you on the phone,” he brushed his thumb under your eye, although no more tears came.
“I just- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” you manage to look up at him for a second, “I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you whisper, eyes back on the ground.
It was Steve’s turn to furrow his eyebrows, “Honey, you could never disappoint me. I’m so proud of you, you have no idea. You’re doing so amazing, my pretty, smart girl.” His eyes trail across your face, stopping briefly at your lips. “One exam doesn’t change how incredibly intelligent you are,” his other hand comes up from your waist, to cup your cheek and move your eyes back to his.
“You are the most amazing, smart, brave, and beautiful person I’ve ever known,” he punctuated each adjective with a kiss, one on your eyelid, another on your cheek, one on your nose, sealing his words with a long press of his lips to yours.
You close your eyes and finally let yourself melt into the kiss, all the stress and pressure rolling off you in waves. When you separate, Steve leans his forehead against yours, bumping his nose with yours. You look up into his eyes, trying to fathom how you managed to get so lucky.
“I love you, even if you failed all of your exams,” he laughs softly, knowing you are way too smart for that. You manage to share his laughter, looking up at him reverently. “You’re allowed to stumble. That’s why I’m here. To catch you.”
“Thank you,” you say quietly, although you didn’t need to - Steve saw the affection and gratitude swimming in your eyes.
“Now, how about, you quickly get changed and I take you out to celebrate?” he says, a wide smile playing on his lips.
what the hell i'm methodically going through ALL my posts and updating the links but it's actually taking forever 😭😭 i have no idea why they stopped working, however maybe it's just for me so do let me know so sorry for the inconvenience...
more fics coming soon, i failed like two exams so my exam season is just getting longer and longer 💔💔
Can you write some fluff with Juan Carlos Ferrero and a slightly younger reader? Like her comforting him after the split with Carlos?
Thank you
hi lovely! i've had a couple of asks like this and i'm so so sorry but i don't really feel comfortable with writing for JCF purely because i feel i wouldn't do these requests justice 💔💔 please please please direct these requests to writers far more talented than i am (more specifically tennis blogs)
posts might be a little slow since i have a bunch of exams coming up - literally at least three starting this week until like half way through february - but i'll try to be as consistent as possible (bare with me) and keep sending in requests ESPECIALLY for steve i love writing for him
warnings: lots of angst and yearning but with a happy ending, no usage of y/n when referring to reader, reader isn’t described physically but is depicted as new wave, heavily inspired by cliche 80s romcom tropes
notes: so i actually got the idea for this fic when s4 came out but just barely got around to writing it. i’ve never written for steve before so hopefully this is a good first try! also this piece takes place in between season 3 and 4
summary: your strained friendship with Steve finally reaches its breaking point— can he fix it before it’s too late?
“Why are we here?"
“Come on, you telling me you don’t remember this place?” Steve jests with an inquisitive brow before reversing into the nearest parking spot.
“Of course I do,” you reply with a muddled frown, staring at the familiar rundown neon sign from your childhood, “but isn’t bowling for little kids and like, old people?”
“Wow. I’m hurt,” he says with feigned offense, prompting the quietest of laughs to escape past your previously sealed lips. “Just because I watch over the little rug rats every once and a while does not make me old. It’s not a crime to simply want to a pay a visit to old memory lane, you know?”
“We haven’t been here in years, Steve. Why now?” You ask, and you don’t miss the flash of guilt that briefly washes over his features. You don’t mean to be ungrateful for the rare quality time he’s trying to spend with you, but you can’t help wanting to question his sudden need to be present in your friendship when he’s had no problem putting you on the back burner for the last few years.
“Just felt like going bowling,” he offers with a sigh as he shifts the gear into park and shuts off the engine. You undo your seatbelt and get out of the car before he has the chance to open your door for you, prompting him to overcompensate by sprinting towards the entrance so he can beat you at opening the door. You can’t help the amused huff that tumbles past your lips as you roll your eyes and quietly thank him for his unnecessary act of chivalry. He’s really rolling it on thick, but despite his pleasantries your guard remains up.
The bowling alley is exactly as you remember it despite not setting foot in the establishment since seventh grade. The grody neon carpets stick to your shoes with each step you take, smelling of stale soda and cheap beer as a result of endless spilled cups. The scent of greasy snack bar pizza wafts through the air and makes your stomach churn with unease, but you keep your complaints to yourself for Steve’s sake as you wordlessly follow him over towards the shoe rentals.
“Does an hour sound good?” Steve asks while pulling out his wallet to pay the necessary fees required for a lane and two pairs of shoes. “I figure it’ll give us some time to grab food before I have to take you home so you don’t miss your curfew.”
You cringe at the mortifying reminder of the fact that you still have an early curfew despite being a senior in high school, only feeling all the more pathetic in Steve’s presence as you mumble your approval of his plan and swipe your shoes from off the counter. You don’t wait for him as you hastily make your way over to your assigned lane and seat yourself on the splintered bench nearby. The sound of his footsteps soon follow after, but you don’t dare look up from tying your laces as he silently sits beside you and begins his own preparations.
Steve can feel the tension radiating off of you as you silently get up from the bench and begin to search the racks for your desired bowling ball. He knows your friendship isn’t exactly what it once was, but he thought you’d be more appreciative of his nostalgia fueled gesture. Instead you were wary and withdrawn as if he was some sort of stranger and not the boy you’d been friends with since you were four. He didn’t know how to approach you or break the ice in a way that didn’t feel forced, just as you didn’t know how to voice the frustration and rejection you felt every time you were around him.
You don’t hate Steve even if it feels that way to him. In fact, that’s the furthest thing from the truth. You adore him, and you’ve had the most painfully cliche crush on him since you went to the Sadie Hawkins dance together in eighth grade per your mothers’ requests. You knew you never stood a chance against the girls that had come and gone in his life, so you’d convinced yourself you were okay with being his friend even if you couldn’t have him the way you’d always dreamed of. Your mothers were close friends, your families intertwined in a way that meant he could show up at your front door whenever he wanted and vice versa, and there had been a time where you’d been inseparable. You were stuck together forever, and initially you didn’t mind the fact.
But the years began to go by and the closeness between you dwindled. Girlfriends, parties, and social capital took precedence over your time together. Almost daily meet ups became sparse until they eventually disappeared all together. Steve would find time for you here and there when he did remember your existence, but it was never the same. You just couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole “visit” to memory lane was just some sort of pity hang out to make up for his abandonment, and as a result you couldn’t find it in you to appease him by playing into the bit like you once would have.
“You in the mood for soda?” He asks in a blatantly obvious attempt to return to your good graces. “I’m buying.”
“No,” you answer bluntly, silently kicking yourself the minute you see his face fall at your tone. You rush to fix it by blurting, “Water would be good though.”
“Great,” he breathes out with a flustered smile, anxiously rubbing his palms against his jeans before rising from the bench. “A water for the lady it is.”
You humor him with a barely audible chuckle and follow his lead towards the snack bar for your drinks. The alley is suddenly more crowded as the afternoon rush begins to take over the lanes, forcing you to move closer to him in order not to bump into the people that hurry past eager to start their games. Your hand brushes against his suddenly, and you both find yourselves yanking back your respective limbs as if you’d been burned. Neither of you addresses the moment, but there’s no ignoring the nervous fluttering your stomach that results from feeling the warmth of his touch.
Doing his best to look anywhere but at you, Steve halts suddenly in his tracks as he spots the perfect distraction to rid the air of awkwardness. “Hey, look! They’ve still got that old jukebox here.”
You stutter in your steps to match his abrupt halt and follow the direction of his eagerly pointed finger to land your gaze on the aforementioned jukebox. The music player sits in all its ancient glory against the wall near the entrance to the arcade room. No one’s bothered to play a song since you’ve been here, but Steve is anxious to change that as he begins to dig into his pockets in search of a quarter.
“I wonder if they have your favorite song on there,” he notes fondly as he chivalrously produces a quarter and places it into your clammy palm.
“My favorite song?” You retort with a raised brow.
“‘Genius of Love,’” he reiterates with a furrowed brow and pointed look as if it’s obvious. “You’d play that tape at my house basically every time you came over and it used to drive me crazy. You seriously don’t remember?”
“Of course I remember,” you scoff indignantly, unable to keep the annoyance out of your tone, “but that was five years ago, Steve. Things change.”
“Okay, fine, whatever, I don’t know what your favorite song is,” he shoots back defensively. By the impatient placement of his hands on his hips and the way his lips part in anticipation for an argument you can tell his own restraint is beginning to wear thin at your sour attitude, and it only serves to make you all the more angrier. “But I bet you probably don’t know mine either.”
“You tell everyone your favorite song is ‘Livin’ On a Prayer,’ but it’s actually ‘Everything She Wants.’ You’re just too embarrassed to admit it because you don’t want people knowing you listen to Wham.”
The argument he’d had prepared immediately dies in his throat as you shoot him a pointed glare, almost daring him to challenge you, but he knows he has no chance at winning any sort of fight with you. You have him nailed to a T, and unlike him you clearly still made the effort to be a good friend despite the distance that had grown between you both. He feels awful, and the look of disappointment that briefly flashes in your vengeful eyes only serves to worsen the pit of guilt building in his stomach.
“Look, Steve, can we just drop the act?” You press him quietly, the softness of your voice taking him by surprise. He’d expected you to yell at him, call him names, everything he deserved for being a horrible friend, but you find you don’t have it in you to be angry anymore. All you feel is an ache for what once was, and you know now there’s no point in denying the inevitable even when he calls your name so despairingly.
“Come on,” he murmurs desperately, swallowing down the lump that was attempting to make its way up his throat. “I’m trying, okay? I really am.”
“I know you are, but I think it’s time we face the facts.”
Anguish settles in your chest and still you force yourself to get out the words that have been dying at the tip of your tongue for months. There’s no going back now, and the finality of your tone makes that depressingly obvious to Steve as he hangs onto your every word.
“We haven’t been close since middle school, and even before then I could see that our friendship was on its last legs. You forgot about me the minute you met Nancy Wheeler, when you became friends with Dustin, and when you started working with Robin at Scoops. I just kept getting pushed further down the line, but I told myself I was okay with fading into the background so long as I could still be there when you needed me. When you finally did remember I existed too.”
“It’s not like that-“ he desperately pleads only for you to cut him off and continue your vulnerable rant.
“You’ve been putting me on the back burner for years, and maybe you never realized it but I did,” you profess dejectedly, voice still remaining even despite the trembling of your lips and the stinging of your eyes. “And I’m realizing now that I can’t do it anymore.”
“Please just let me fix this,” Steve begs hoarsely. Tears of his own threaten to fall as he reaches for your hand only for you to pull away immediately. “Please, I can be a better friend. I want you in my life, I-I can prove it!”
“I think you should take me home now,” is all you can manage to say as you wordlessly walk off in search of your shoes. You leave him standing distraught in the middle of the bowling alley as he tries to process the fact that you’ve basically denounced what little was left of your relationship together. His face is hot with rejection and embarrassment as he faces the judgmental stares of onlookers who’d watched the whole ordeal unfold, and he can do nothing but accept defeat as he gathers his things to leave.
The car ride home is silent save for the sound of The Smiths on Steve’s radio and the quiet sniffles that mange to escape you every now and then. Neither of you speaks or even dares to look at each other. You don’t think he completely hates you considering he’d still opened your door for you and had agreed to bring you home instead of abandoning you there, but he’s also the quietest you’ve ever seen him in the years you’ve known him, and that isn’t a good sign. Your outburst had been a long time coming, but you’re starting to regret your decision of blowing up on him so publicly. You try to remind yourself it needed to be said, and yet you can’t help the gnawing sense of guilt in your aching chest.
You’re thankful you live close to the bowling alley. Despite feeling like an eternity, it only takes ten minutes for Steve to pull to a stop in your driveway. He puts the car in park but leaves the keys in the ignition, his solemn gaze glued to the dashboard as Morrissey drones on about the old house. You clear your throat and open your mouth to speak only to find you don’t have the words. What else can you say that hasn’t already been expressed? You don’t want to kick him while he’s down; you figure he’s already endured enough of that to last him a lifetime.
“I, uh, I guess I’ll see you around,” you finally manage to get out, chancing a glance at him. He doesn’t respond or even lift his head to acknowledge you’ve spoken to him. Steve remains unmoving, his stare blank and fingers gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline. You swallow thickly and blink back your tears as you let yourself out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”
You don’t look back as you fish your keys out of your pocket and will your trembling hands to still enough for you to unlock the door. You keep it together as you quickly rush up the stairs towards your bedroom, grateful for the fact your parents are still at work and you have the house to yourself to wallow in your grief.
Your room feels unbearably cold as you flick the light switch on and kick off your shoes by the closet door. A part of you feels nothing but regret, and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake by cutting Steve off from your life so abruptly. However, the rational part of you knows you only would have driven yourself insane if you continued to let him treat you like a spare tire. You have to move on, and you try to convince yourself that it will only be a matter of time before the ache begins to dull and you can finally forget about what once was.
You numbly begin to search through your CD rack for a soundtrack to your pity party, but you find yourself beginning to falter as you realize you can already hear music playing. Brows creasing in confusion, you strain your ears to listen closer and determine where the sound is coming from. You initially assume you must have left your boombox on before you left, but when you reach the device you find that it’s still switched off from when you last used it.
A tap at your window makes you jump as you whip around in search of the source. A beat passes before another tap follows, and you’re barely able to make out the tiny pebble that clacks against your window. You rush forward to push the frame up only to see Steve gearing up to toss another. He clumsily halts his movements when you poke your head outside and releases the mound of pebbles he’d collected onto the ground now that he finally has your attention.
The driver’s side door of his car is wide open and his radio cranked loud enough for you to hear. His face is full of determination as he cups his hands to his mouth and shouts your name over the sound of OMD playing on the speakers.
“Your favorite band is Depeche Mode!” He yells empathically as if experiencing some sort of epiphany. You furrow your brows and crane your neck as you struggle to make out his words over the music. You have no idea what he’s saying, but you also know you’re seconds away from a noise complaint and cannot handle having another argument in public for onlookers to see.
“What?! Steve, turn that off! My neighbors are going to kill you!”
“Not until you come down first!”
You groan in annoyance as you harshly slam your window shut before rushing back down stairs to put an end to his nonsense. Steve is already standing on your front steps when you swing the door open, and you’re grateful he’d managed to lower the radio to a sensible volume in the time it took you to reach him.
“What is wrong with you?!” You exclaim incredulously with panicked eyes and worried brows. “You couldn’t ring the doorbell like a normal person?”
“Would you have answered if I did?” He shoots back. You open your mouth to protest only to fall silent as you realize he’s right. Huffing out in annoyance, you cross your arms defensively over your chest and give him a pointed look that signals for him to continue. He swallows thickly, your sharp stare causing him to lose his nerve for just a moment, but he’s quickly able to regain his composure for the sake of your friendship.
“You said I don’t know your favorite song and you’re right,” he sputters excitedly, only earning a frown from you in response that prompts him to quickly continue on, “but I know your favorite band is Depeche Mode, and you love their song ‘Get the Balance Right.’ You also love The Smiths, Blondie, the B-52s- everything and anything new wave even though your parents give you such shit for it.”
You swallow as you shift uncomfortably from one leg to the other. The passion in his words has your heart in stuttering your chest, but you try not to let your stupid little crush on him get the better of you. Just because he happens to know a few of your favorite bands doesn’t suddenly make him friend of the year. Your disgruntled features make it obvious he hasn’t won you over just yet, and so he continues.
“You still sleep with the teddy bear I gave you for your tenth birthday, but you think I don’t know about it because you stash him under your pillow every time I come over. You also think I don’t know your new favorite movie is Pretty in Pink because you told me you hated it when I took you to see it in theaters only to immediately buy the soundtrack the next day. You love when it rains even though you catch a cold every single time, and the only thing that makes you feel better is the chicken noodle soup from the diner.”
You mouth parts in quiet shock as he continues to list all the personal details he’s learned about you in all the time he’s known you. Your face grows hot at the mention of the bear, and you avoid making any eye contact with him as you achingly worry your bottom lip between your teeth. All this time you thought Steve knew nothing about you, about the interests and quirks that made you you. You thought he couldn’t be bothered to waste his time paying attention to the little details when he had more important things to worry about like girls and prom, but now you know nothing could be further from the truth.
“So yeah, I don’t know your favorite song, but I know the important stuff like your favorite foods, your favorite color, and the fact that you’re the most incredible girl in Hawkins and I was an idiot for not realizing that sooner,” Steve professes breathlessly, face full of desperation as he looks at you with pleading eyes for you to believe him. “I’m a complete asshole that doesn’t deserve another minute of your time, and you can totally tell me to piss off and slam your door in my face because I deserve it, but I don’t want to give up on us.”
“Steve,” you breathe out shakily, eyes prickling once more with tears that you impatiently brush away. “Steve, I don’t know what to say…”
“Say you’ll have me back,” he all but begs you, achingly taking your trembling hands in his own. “I know I’ve been a horrible friend, and I was stupid to think one trip to the bowling alley would just magically fix years of neglect, but I really miss you. I know you think I don’t notice when you’re not around but I do and it kills me.”
“I miss you too, Steve,” you admit with a watery laugh, your hold on his hands desperately tight as if he’ll leave again once you let go. “But how do I know you’ll keep your word when you’ve gone back on it so many times before? How do I know you mean any of this?”
“Because I love you,” he says simply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His excited features carefully morph into a look of longing and utter adoration. “I love you, and I spent years looking for the right girl not realizing the perfect one was in front of me this entire time. That’s why I invited you out today, why I’m trying to be the friend you deserve… because I realized there’s never going to be anyone else but you. It’s always been you.”
You aren’t given time to respond as Steve suddenly cups your face and pulls you closer so that his lips can finally meet your own in an impassioned kiss. The gasp that had catapulted itself up your throat dies instantly as you practically melt against him, fingers gripping onto his forearms and digging into the sleeves of his jacket to keep you upright in spite of the terrible trembling of your legs. Your eyes flutter shut, your lashes tickling his skin as his hands trail down and find purchase on the small of your back.
Steve is warm to the touch, a sharp contrast to the biting evening air that follows the setting sun. Your entire body feels as if it’s vibrating, and yet you can’t find it in you to pull away as he pulls your body flush against his own. You’ve dreamt of this kiss since you were thirteen, longed for him to see you the way he saw Nancy and all the other girls at school, but you’d given up any hope of such childish daydreams coming to fruition. And yet here you are standing on your front porch, arms draped around his neck and lips refusing to part as ‘If You Leave’ continues to play from his car speakers. You feel like the lead in a John Hughes movie, but you can’t find it in you to complain.
When you’re finally forced to part in order to catch your breath, you remain close in each other’s embrace as he looks into your eyes with a breathless smile. “Was it worth the wait?”
“Don’t push your luck, Harrington,” you remind him with a playful roll of your eyes only to immediately pull him back in for more. And he certainly isn’t complaining.
You know you still have so much to work on when it comes to your relationship with Steve, and he knows it’s going to take a lot more than an impassioned kiss to earn your trust back, but you both have to admit this is definitely a good start.
After all these years of pining and uncertainty you’re finally together again, and this time, Steve isn’t going anywhere. Because there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here in this moment with the most perfect girl in Hawkins.
hey! i saw you reqs were open. maybe you could write for coach/teacher! steve x teacher! reader? like maybe they have to chaperone for a field trip and start getting to know each other. maybe he asks her out on a date at the end?
anon this is perfect! i enjoyed writing this so so much i love coach!steve and him with kids is everything. thank you so much for this request, keep them coming 💋💋
✮ - pairing: coach!steve harrington x teacher!reader
✮ - warnings - literally none
✮ - word count: 2.8k
✮ - summary: some shaky hands, a field trip, and one overly sensitive kid later, steve scores a date.
masterlist. navigation. request here!
✮ - hanna yaps!
based on this request. anon cooked so hard. i want to write more things like this so send more steve requests!! also would be open to writing a part 2 to this lmk
The bell let out a loud shrill across the middle school, signifying the end of lessons for the day. With that, chaos ensued.
Each small, but impossibly quick, child in your classroom began to pack their things away. Voices overlapping, kids talking about their plans for the night, and chairs scraping against the wooden floor - that’s all that could be heard within the four walls.
“Hey, guys!” you said, loud enough to gain their fleeting attention for just a few more moments. Suddenly, all twenty pairs of eyes locked on you.
With a smile, you said “Please remember to bring your permission slips by tomorrow! Yes, I’m looking at you Tommy.” You gently reminded the ten year olds, pointing out one slightly more forgetful kid, causing a blush to spread up his neck. A chorus of acknowledging hums and ‘yes Miss’s erupted, allowing you to dismiss the eager bunch.
“Coach Steve!” is all that could be heard as a herd of little legs ran over the baseball field. Steve looked up from his board, where he had been analysing the strategies, to see his team flocking towards the dugout.
“Hey guys! How you doin’? Ready for practice?” he couldn’t help the smile spreading on his face, eyes squinting slightly in the sun. In response he received a choir of ‘yes’s and laughter, causing his smile to widen.
“Okay, that’s what I like to hear! Let’s go do some laps,” Steve clapped his hands once, making the kids all spring into action. He was going to go back to analysing the plays, when he noticed one boy stayed behind.
“Tommy?” Steve said softly, crouching down so he could be eye-level with the boy. “You alright, man? What’s going on?”
Tommy was close to tears, they hadn’t prepared Steve for that during his training. Thankfully he had experience in handling children and teenagers with dysregulated emotions. Finally, they could be useful for something other than hitching rides from him all the time.
“I missed the day,” little Tommy replied, sniffling slightly, bringing a small hand to rub at his eye.
“What do you mean, buddy?” Steve replied, trying to reign in his puzzled expression. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, hoping to comfort him in some way.
“I forgot the permission slip,” the boy replied, full tears now welling up in his eyes.
“Oh buddy, that’s no reason to cry. You got a field trip coming up, yeah?” Tommy nodded at Steve’s gentle question. “Miss Y/N is your teacher, right? Why don’t I talk to her for you, how about that?” Steve was now rubbing his hand across Tommy’s back, trying to keep the full tantrum at bay.
“Yeah,” the boy replied quietly, still not fully settled.
Steve nodded once, “I’m sure we can work something out, don’t worry little man.” He hoped his smile was enough to get Tommy to calm down.
“Thanks, Coach Steve,” he said, a small, sheepish smile making its way to his face.
“Of course, buddy. It’s no problem,” Steve squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, “Now why don’t you join the team in the warm up?” before he had even finished, Tommy was already jogging over to his friends. Steve stood at his full height now, not missing his knees screaming in pain, and breathed a sigh.
Of course Steve knew who you were. Not only was it a small school, it was a small town. The matter of conversation is completely different though. It’s been a while since he’d seen someone so beautiful, and that knocked all the sense out of him. You were so kind and gentle with the kids, it stirred something deep within him.
Nevertheless, with a deep breath he knocked on the door of your classroom. Steve heard a quiet ‘come in’ and that was all the invitation he needed.
“Steve, hi,” your tone held a little surprise, as you looked up from marking some tests. Steve sent you a warm smile, although it came out a little shy.
“Hi,” he replied, looking around your classroom, not really making eye contact with you.
“Can I help you with something?” your voice held no malice, actually your smile was just about breaking his heart in two. Steve had to close his eyes to collect himself.
Just then he remembered why he actually came to see you. “Yes,” he breathed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You know Tommy, right? I mean, of course you know Tommy, he’s in your class. Um- What I meant to say was, Tommy forgot his permission slip for your field trip,” Steve’s words were rushed, he was clearly frazzled.
“I know,” you replied, the same warm smile on your face as you looked up at him from where you sat behind your desk.
“Listen, he was really caught up about it. Is there-” Steve cleared his throat “is there any way that he could still go?” he tried to mirror your smile, his more sheepish.
You had a knowing look in your eyes, “I actually called his mom this morning, she just faxed it through,” you beamed at him.
“Oh! That’s- Wow, that’s great!” Steve’s voice was louder than he intended “ ‘cause he was really upset. I mean, you should have seen-”
“Hey, Steve?” you interrupted him, but he wasn’t offended - he’d listen to you talk forever if he could. Just your voice on a constant loop, and god the way his name rolled off your tongue. Your expectant expression brought him out of his thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“I actually need another chaperone for this field trip. Do you think you could manage it?” you referred to his schedule, not so much his ability to look after the kids because you’d seen him at practice. Steve was a natural with children. He was so gentle and caring, it made your heart squeeze painfully.
He looked taken aback by your question, but before he could overthink it he was nodding. “Yeah, yeah of course. I’d love to,” Steve’s smile was a little more confident now, because you asked him to do something.
“Great, it’s this Tuesday, we leave at 9. Here, actually,” you fish out a piece of paper, all the details neatly typed out. Steve took a fast step towards you, reaching out to grab the paper from you. He quickly skimmed the writing, noting the trip was to some museum he didn’t even realise Hawkins had.
With a few certain nods he said “Okay, I’ll be there. Great, thanks Y/N, I’ll see you on Tuesday.” Steve sent you one last nervous smile and left the classroom. He let out a deep breath as soon as the door closed behind him.
Tuesday had rolled around sooner than Steve expected. He wasn’t prepared, at all. He hadn’t actually thought about having to be in your close vicinity for over ten minutes. It was safe to say that Steve was scared - scared that he’d say the wrong thing, or that you wouldn’t laugh at his jokes. When did this start feeling like a date? A date with you, and about twenty ten year olds. Perfect.
You were already sitting on the steps to the school when Steve pulled up in his BMW. The sun bouncing off the shiny burgundy paint caught your eye, a smile spreading on your face. He got out of the car, slamming the door harder than necessary - he had to get his nerves under control, he thought.
“Morning,” you beamed at him from where you sat. You nursed a coffee, balancing it on your bent legs. Next to you sat an identical cup, you reached for it, handing it to Steve as he stepped closer.
“Morning,” he replied, taking the cup from you - your fingers brushing slightly, causing Steve’s ears to ring. He took a seat next to you on the concrete steps, taking a sip of his coffee. His eyebrows shot up when he tasted it. Steve was sure it was the most perfect beverage he’d ever had. There was no way you remembered how he takes his coffee.
“Two sugars with cream, right?” you asked, turning to face him.
“Yeah,” Steve almost whispered, “yeah, how did you know?” Your smile was infectious, causing his own to split his face in two.
You shrugged, “Good memory,” because you couldn’t exactly say that you pay extra attention to him, or that you also remember that he has exactly one and a half cherry danishes each morning - he saves the other half for lunch. There was a slight blush on your cheeks, you couldn’t decide whether it was from the fading winter weather or from the brunette sitting next to you.
“Thank you,” Steve’s voice was earnest, almost reverent. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, small footsteps disrupt his thoughts.
“Good morning Miss Y/N! Good morning Coach Steve!” Tommy’s high pitched voice rang out across the parking lot as he ran over to you.
“I’m glad you made it Tommy,” you beamed your usual smile at the small boy, reaching out to adjust the cap on his head.
“Told you we could make it work, champ,” Steve said, mirroring your smile, squinting against the sun. The two of you got a wide smile and a ‘thank you’ in response.
Soon enough, the rest of your class arrived, everyone piling into the offensively yellow school bus. After a double head count (which Steve insisted on) you were on your way. Seeing as your class filled up the whole bus, you and Steve shared the double seat designed for people much smaller than the pair of you. You couldn’t miss the way your shoulders brushed, as you sat impossibly close.
“So,” Steve started, clearing his throat, “I didn’t even realise we have a museum in Hawkins.” He tried to go for nonchalance, but his expression gave him away - eager to hear your voice, slightly mesmerised at the proximity.
“Oh yeah, it opened like two weeks ago. Thought it might be a nice break for the kids,” you smiled at him. God you always smiled, and it sent Steve over the edge pretty much every single time.
He hummed in agreement, not trusting his words right now.
The rest of the ride passed quickly, with some polite chatter. Neither of you realised how nervous you were, both slightly consumed by the thrumming of your respective hearts.
“Alright, single file everybody!” Steve shouted, as he ushered everyone out the bus, onto the parking lot before the rebuilt city hall. It would be a lie if he said that seeing this part of town didn’t conjure up some less than pleasant memories for him. But that part of his life was over, once and for all. He now had even more kids to worry about, go figure.
Once all the tickets were bought and the tour guide had taken over, Steve was by your side not really paying attention to the presentation.
“Did you always want to be a teacher?” he asked, voice hushed so as not to disturb the guide. It was one of the lines he’d practised that morning in the mirror. It sounded better when he was talking to himself.
“Actually I always wanted to be an artist, but I figured this was a more stable career,” you replied, your voice equally quiet. Steve decided that it fit you, the way you dressed and carried yourself with causal confidence. “Did you always want to coach baseball?”
Steve huffed a soft laugh despite himself, “No, it was always ‘you’ll take over the firm, wear a tie everyday, work yourself to death’ at my house. Safe to say my parents weren’t pleased when I got this job.” He winced slightly at the not so fond memories of his adolescence, thinking he might have overshared.
“Well, the kids are lucky to have you. They always talk about practice and Coach Steve, how kind you are to them. You’re great with them,” you reply, sensing his words to be strained.
“Yeah? You think?” Steve whispered, eyes widened slightly as he looked down at you.
“Yeah, I don’t think they ever smile as much as they do during practice with you,” you smiled up at him, eyes creasing softly at the sides. Steve mirrored your smile, his equally warm and not nervous like his previous attempts.
“Thanks,” he said quietly “I never know if I’m doing the right thing, just going with my gut.”
“It’s working for you,” you nod, searching his big brown eyes. They seemed to shine in the same way the moon becomes iridescent at night, all at once and never dimming.
Before Steve could get another word out the guide ushered everyone into the next room. You began following the kids, but he stayed rooted in place, heart beating out of his chest at the small interaction. Seeing that Steve hadn’t followed, you turned and sent him a smile over your shoulder - that was enough to get his feet moving.
Steve realised half way through some explanation on the first settlers in Indiana, that he hadn’t heard a single word the guide had said. His focus laid solely on you, the way your eyes raked over every room, taking in the history. The way you silently watched the kids, making sure everyone was always okay. The way your hair fell over your shoulder, as you fidgeted with the necklace around your neck.
Suddenly, Steve felt a tug on the leg of his trousers. Looking down he spotted a head of dark brown hair, and eyes full of distress.
“Hey buddy, everything alright?” he immediately crouched down to be eye level with Tommy, quickly looking him over for any signs of panic.
“Coach Steve,” Tommy whispered, “Jenny said I suck at baseball, and that I shouldn't be on the team anymore,” big, fat tears were welling up in his brown eyes.
“Tommy, don’t listen to Jenny, alright. I’m your coach, and I’m telling you, you’re our best player, yeah? The team would be nothing without you,” Steve whispered tentatively to the boy, a small reassuring smile on his face.
“Okay,” Tommy whispered, his lip still wobbly.
“You are our star player, man. I think Jenny was just trying to rile you up, don’t worry about it, champ.” Steve tried his best to reassure the kid who managed his tears, just sniffling now.
“Thanks Coach Steve,” he said, a small smile on his face as he went to join his friends in listening to the guide.
“Hey, everything alright?” you approached Steve, your voice quiet.
“Yeah, you know Tommy,” he smiled slightly, “Everything’s fine,” the brunet finally looked down at you to see you already looking at him. He couldn’t pinpoint your expression, it was a mix of admiration and reverence.
“Instinct or not, you really are amazing with them,” you whispered, experimentally putting your hand on his arm. Steve shivered, the contact sending static through his whole body. He couldn’t help the slight blush creeping up his neck.
“Thank you,” he smiled down at you, “I could really get used to all these compliments, you know,” he huffed a quiet laugh, trying to downplay his reaction to all your kind words. How can someone be so sweet?
You shrugged, squeezing his arm once. “You deserve them,” your smile was wide and warm, and Steve swore he felt butterflies in his stomach.
The tour guide finally finished his presentation, meaning all the kids ran straight to the bus, piling in one after another.
“Single file, guys! Jeez, how many times,” Steve muttered under his breath, causing a small laugh to bubble out of you. He could listen to that sound on repeat, caused by him it meant even more.
The ride back to the school passed quicker than either of you expected, filled with conversation and laughter.
Once each child had been picked up by their respective parents, it was your turn to head home.
“Thank you for coming, it was nice having you there,” you said, smiling up at Steve.
He brushed a hand through his messy hair, a nervous habit formed over the years.
“Yeah, of course. It was nice, I had a good time,” his smile was slightly wobbly around the edges, but earnest nonetheless.
Looking down at you, Steve could have sworn he saw the same look he was sure was always visible in his own eyes. A look filled with affection, reverence, and slight lovesickness. So he took a chance.
“Listen, would you maybe - I don’t know, want to, maybe go out some time? Just us, no kids.” Smooth, he thought. He waited with baited breath for your answer.
“I’d love to, Steve,” your smile could light up the whole galaxy. He let out a shaky exhale at your words, his own smile beaming down at you.
“Great, amazing. I’ll pick you up on Friday, 7 o’clock?”
