Not to sound like a fuckin hippie but please for the love of god start noticing and appreciating the natural world around you. You don’t have to go hike the entire Appalachian trail or anything and I get that not everyone has access to the outdoors for various reasons, but just fucking … look around you when you’re outside. Notice the sky and the sun and the birds and creatures. Start caring about them. I’m begging you.
I can’t believe he’s so trusting While I’m right behind you thrusting
Summary: Jonathan had been emotionally distant for months, pining after another girl while you sat there helplessly. Fortunately, Byers isn’t the only one who wants you, and he’ll never have to know.
4.8k words
Contains: TW: cheating (emotional and physical), p in v smut, fingering, allusions to oral (fem receiving), guilt, angst, happy(ish) ending.
…
The first time Eddie Munson kissed you, Jonathan Byers was thirty feet away buying popcorn.
Which honestly should’ve made you stop.
Instead, it made your pulse race harder.
The Hawkins Theater buzzed with noise around you; sticky floors, neon lights, kids shouting near the arcade machines, but all you could focus on was Eddie leaning lazily against the hallway wall beside you, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to his jacket.
“You’re staring,” he murmured.
“I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
You rolled your eyes, but he grinned anyway, smug and impossible.
Jonathan had dragged you there with Nancy and Steve after one of their “investigating weird shit” days. Except Jonathan barely spoke to you anymore during those outings. He and Nancy walked ahead together whispering constantly, heads bent close enough to touch, and Steve fought for his own girlfriends attention like a kicked puppy.
You noticed everything.
The way Jonathan looked at Nancy when she wasn’t paying attention.
The inside jokes you weren’t part of.
How he always seemed more awake around her. Meanwhile, you’d become background noise.
A girlfriend in title only.
So maybe that was why you kept finding excuses to talk to Eddie lately.
Because Eddie looked at you directly. Like he was interested, like he noticed when you entered a room, and maybe you were angry enough to let that matter too much.
“You wanna know something?” Eddie asked quietly.
“What?”
“You keep looking at them like you’re trying not to set something on fire.”
You followed his gaze automatically.
Jonathan was laughing softly at something Nancy said. That ache returned immediately.
Sharp. Familiar. Humiliating.
“I think he’s cheating on me,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.
Eddie’s expression shifted.
Not joking anymore.
“You know that for sure?”
“No.” You swallowed. “But I think he wants to.”
The words tasted awful out loud.
Eddie stared at Jonathan for another second before muttering, “He’s an idiot.”
You laughed weakly. “You don’t even know me.”
“Don’t have to.”
And God, maybe you were lonelier than you realized, because that almost hurt worse.
…
After that, Eddie started appearing everywhere.
Leaning against your locker after class, sliding into the seat beside you during lunch, waiting outside the arcade while you pretended not to notice him immediately.
At first you thought he was messing with you.
Most people in Hawkins treated Eddie like trouble wrapped in denim and chains.
But Eddie looked at you like he understood something ugly sitting inside your chest.
And the worst part?
You understood him too.
“You know Byers is gonna kill me eventually, right?” Eddie asked one afternoon while walking you home.
“You’re assuming he’d notice.”
The bitterness slipped out before you could stop it.
Eddie glanced sideways at you carefully.
“Huh.”
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize.” His voice softened. “I just… don’t think you should talk about yourself like you’re invisible.”
You looked away immediately.
Because lately, invisible was exactly how you felt.
…
The sneaking around started accidentally.
At least that’s what you told yourself.
A ride home after Hellfire ran late. A cigarette shared behind the school gym.
Long conversations in the trailer park while music played softly from Eddie’s room and Wayne slept down the hall.
You kept saying it wasn’t serious. Nothing you’d done with Eddie was physical.
You kept saying Jonathan already emotionally left first anyway.
But guilt still crawled beneath your skin every time Jonathan kissed your forehead distractedly before running off to meet Nancy again.
Because despite everything, Jonathan still trusted you.
And you were starting to hate yourself for breaking that trust even while your heart broke too.
…
One night after a party, everything finally snapped.
You found Jonathan and Nancy alone in the kitchen talking quietly while everyone else crowded the living room.
Nancy’s hand rested on his arm.
Jonathan looked at her the way people looked at stars.
Your stomach twisted painfully. Neither of them noticed you standing there. That somehow hurt most.
You left without saying goodbye.
And twenty minutes later Eddie’s van pulled up beside you while you walked home alone down the dark road.
“Jesus Christ,” he said through the open window. “You look miserable.”
“Thanks.”
“Get in.”
You should’ve said no.
Instead you climbed inside.
The van smelled like gasoline, old leather, and Eddie’s cologne. Music played softly through blown-out speakers while rain started tapping against the windshield overhead.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
Then finally Eddie said quietly, “You love him that much?”
Your throat tightened.
“Yeah.”
“And he still makes you feel like that?”
You stared out the window. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“Hey.” Eddie’s voice sharpened instantly. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Blame yourself because some guy can’t figure his own shit out.”
You laughed bitterly. “Easy for you to say.”
“No, actually, it’s pretty easy in general.” Eddie leaned back against the seat. “If I had a girlfriend who looked at me the way you look at Jonathan, I wouldn’t even know other girls existed.”
That shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did, but after months of feeling unwanted, Eddie’s attention felt dangerously comforting.
The silence between you shifted.
He noticed it too. You could tell by the way his breathing changed slightly.
“You should go home,” he murmured.
Probably.
Instead you kissed him.
It happened fast. Messy. Impulsive.
The second your hand touched his face, Eddie made this startled sound against your mouth like he genuinely hadn’t expected it.
Then suddenly his hands were in your hair and he was kissing you back hard enough to make your heartbeat stumble.
It felt wrong. It felt reckless.
It felt unbelievably good.
Teeth clashing together, knocking against each other with soft taps. His tongue wet, massaging over your own.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathing hard, reality crashed back immediately.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
Eddie stared at you wide-eyed for half a second before laughing softly in disbelief.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s about the reaction I was expecting.”
Guilt flooded your chest instantly.
Jonathan.
Jonathan, who still held your hand.
Jonathan, who still said he loved you even if it sounded distracted now.
Jonathan, who might actually be innocent while you were here kissing Eddie Munson in the front seat of a van.
“I’m a terrible person,” you said quietly.
Eddie’s expression softened immediately.
“No,” he said. “You’re hurt.”
“That doesn’t make this okay.”
“No,” he admitted. “Probably not.”
Rain hammered harder against the roof.
Inside the van, everything felt small and overheated and impossible to undo now.
Eddie looked at you carefully.
“You wanna know the really messed up part?”
“What?”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
You laughed weakly despite yourself.
Then Eddie started grinning too.
And suddenly both of you were laughing quietly in the middle of this awful complicated mess because honestly, what else were you supposed to do?
…
By December, sneaking around with Eddie Munson had stopped feeling shocking.
That was probably the worst part.
At first, every secret meeting had made your stomach twist with guilt so sharp you thought you might actually confess just to make it stop.
Now it felt normal.
Dangerously normal.
You’d tell Jonathan you were studying with a friend, then end up tangled in blankets in Eddie’s trailer while Black Sabbath played low through his speakers, your legs thrown over his shoulders in a deep mating press, taking you in a way Jonathan could never quite do for you.
You’d sit beside Jonathan in class the next morning while Eddie burned holes into the back of your chair from two rows over, grinning to himself because nobody else knew where you’d been the night before.
Nobody knew.
Not Nancy.
Not Steve.
Not even Robin, and she somehow knew everything.
Especially not Jonathan.
And honestly?
After a while, you stopped feeling as bad about that as you probably should have.
Because Jonathan still looked at Nancy like she hung the moon.
He still disappeared for hours with her chasing supernatural disasters while you sat at home pretending not to notice.
Half the time he barely touched you anymore unless you initiated it first.
Meanwhile Eddie looked at you like he couldn’t help himself.
Like every room improved the second you walked into it.
It became addictive.
…
Eddie hovered over you on the mattress, curls falling into his face while his hand stayed planted beside your head, trapping you between him and the tangled blankets in a way that made your pulse feel unsteady.
One thigh rested over his broad shoulder, the other wrapped around his hips. His body forced your thighs open, body trembling with uncontrollable need.
His fingers settled deep inside, scissoring them slowly, letting the burning stretch take over.
The closeness alone was enough to make your thoughts blur a little, the smell of cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to his hair, the cold rings brushing your skin whenever he moved, the way he looked at you like he found this entire situation unbelievable in the best possible way.
Months ago, you used to leave the trailer feeling guilty.
Now you just never wanted to leave at all.
Eddie tilted his head slightly, watching your expression shift.
“There’s that look again.”
“What look?”
“The one where you remember you snuck around with me for months.”
You groaned immediately. “You are never letting that go.”
“Absolutely not.” His grin widened. “You know how insane that was from my perspective?”
“Oh, here we go.”
“No, seriously.” Eddie laughed quietly. “You’d walk into Hellfire meetings holding Jonathan Byers’ hand, then show up at my trailer three hours later looking at me like that.”
Your face burned instantly.
“Like what?”
“Like you wanted to climb me like a tree.”
You shoved his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh louder.
“You’re unbelievable. You are inside of me right now, this couldn’t wait?”
“And yet,” Eddie said smugly, leaning closer again, “still your favorite bad decision.”
The space between you disappeared again after that.
Not rushed.
Not careless.
Just magnetic.
Your hands slid up into his hair while Eddie buried his face briefly against your neck with a groan dramatic enough to make you laugh softly.
“Don’t laugh,” he muttered.
“You’re so dramatic.”
“You made me wait months, sweetheart. I earned dramatic.”
You rolled your eyes again, but your heartbeat stumbled anyway when he looked back at you.
Because teasing aside, Eddie still had this dangerous habit of looking at you too sincerely when things got quiet.
Like underneath all the jokes and flirting, he still couldn’t fully believe you chose him.
His fingers quickly became replaced with something bigger. He sheathed himself all the way in, not satisfied until his pelvic bone ground against yours.
His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw.
“You know what I think?” he asked softly.
“What?”
“I think part of you liked that I noticed you.”
The teasing tone was gone now, replaced by pure confidence and a little bit of power. That made it harder to answer.
You swallowed, because he was right.
Jonathan used to notice you once.
Then somewhere along the line, you became something familiar. Expected. Easy to overlook.
But Eddie noticed everything.
When you were upset.
When you were pretending not to be.
When you walked into a room.
When you looked at him too long.
Even now, his attention felt intense enough to make your chest ache a little.
“You looked at me like I mattered,” you admitted through strangled breaths.
Eddie’s expression changed instantly at that.
Softer, amost angry on your behalf.
“You do matter.”
The words hit harder than they should have, and he drilled in deeper with a brutal force. For a second neither of you moved, Eddie holding you there, letting you feel him pulsing inside of you.
Rain rattled against the windows.
The trailer creaked softly around you.
And Eddie just stayed there close enough that you could feel his breathing, looking at you with an intensity that made everything else feel very far away.
Then his grin returned slightly.
“Still think Byers was blind, by the way.”
You laughed despite yourself.
“There’s the ego again.”
“Massive ego,” Eddie agreed proudly before leaning down to kiss your forehead this time, slower and gentler than before. “Can’t help it. I won.”
The pace picked up again, a conversation far too deep for an act meant to be completely casual melting into pleasurable moans and deep grunts.
The mattress creaked, filling the small room with an unavoidable heat.
…
“Your boyfriend’s gonna figure this out eventually,” Eddie said one night.
You were sprawled across his mattress while cigarette smoke curled lazily toward the trailer ceiling. Outside, rain hammered softly against the windows, wet marks adorning your skin where clothes hid the evidence.
Eddie sat beside you tuning his guitar absentmindedly.
“He hasn’t so far.”
You didn’t even bother to put your shirt back on, perfectly comfortable laying spread in only your underwear.
“That’s because Byers is too busy staring at Wheeler.”
The words should’ve hurt more, instead you just rolled your eyes.
“That obvious, huh?”
“To literally everyone except him.”
You laughed quietly. Months ago that conversation would’ve made your chest ache, now mostly it just exhausted you.
Eddie noticed immediately.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Liar.”
You looked over at him.
The dim light softened the sharp edges of his face. His rings glinted silver as his fingers moved over the guitar strings lazily. The same fingers that had been knuckle deep inside of you just moments before, completely drenched with the arousal he pulled from my core mixed with the slick saliva from his messy mouth.
His dirty mouth becoming something softer after, always carrying a simple conversation, and somewhere along the line, Eddie had become easy to be around.
Too easy.
“You know what’s weird?” you murmured.
“What?”
“I thought I’d feel guiltier than this.”
Eddie stopped playing.
The room went quiet except for the rain.
“Do you wanna?”
You considered it honestly.
Then shrugged.
“Not really.”
That should’ve sounded horrible.
Maybe it was horrible.
But after months of being ignored, overlooked, and quietly replaced emotionally, your guilt had slowly burned itself out.
Jonathan still technically belonged to you, but his heart didn’t. Maybe it hadn’t for a long time.
Eddie set the guitar aside carefully.
“You ever gonna break up with him?”
The question hung heavy between you. You stared at the ceiling.
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
You frowned at him. “Excuse me?”
“You know.” Eddie leaned back against the wall behind the bed. “You just don’t wanna be the bad guy.”
That hit too directly.
Because maybe he was right.
If Jonathan officially left you for Nancy, then at least your heartbreak could stay clean.
Simple.
But this?
Sneaking around with Eddie for months while pretending everything was fine?
That made you complicated too.
Messy.
Selfish.
Eddie watched your expression carefully.
Then quieter, “I’m not judging you, sweetheart.”
“You should.”
“Nah.” He gave a crooked smile. “I like complicated girls.”
You snorted despite yourself.
“Your standards are concerning.”
“Very.”
The tension eased after that.
It always did with Eddie.
He had this irritating ability to make terrible situations feel lighter without pretending they weren’t terrible.
That was part of why you kept coming back.
With Jonathan, loving him had started feeling lonely.
With Eddie, even silence felt full.
…
The secrecy became routine.
Thursday nights at the trailer park.
Quick hidden conversations after Hellfire meetings.
Eddie’s hand brushing yours under tables while Jonathan sat three feet away completely oblivious.
Honestly, that part started becoming thrilling too.
Not because you wanted to hurt Jonathan.
But because for once, somebody was choosing you in secret instead of choosing someone else right in front of you.
“You’re staring again,” Eddie murmured one afternoon in the school parking lot.
You blinked. “At what?”
“Me.”
“I am not.”
He grinned immediately. “You totally are.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet here you are.”
You shoved his shoulder lightly, trying not to smile.
Eddie caught your wrist before you could pull away.
The touch lingered.
Your pulse skipped instantly.
God.
That still happened every time.
Eddie’s expression softened just slightly as he looked at you.
Not joking now.
Not flirting.
Just… looking.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you laugh more now.”
Something about that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
Because he was right.
You did.
Even with all the lying and sneaking around and emotional disaster of your life, you laughed more with Eddie than you had in months with Jonathan.
Maybe that should’ve told you everything already.
…
The closest Jonathan ever came to figuring it out happened in January.
The three of you were at Family Video helping Steve reorganize tapes while Robin complained loudly from behind the counter.
Jonathan reached for your hand absentmindedly while talking to Nancy.
You froze immediately.
Because Eddie was standing across the store watching.
For one horrible second guilt came rushing back hard enough to make you nauseous.
Jonathan squeezed your hand lightly without even looking at you.
Automatic.
Distracted.
Like habit.
Then Nancy said something and his attention snapped right back toward her.
Your chest went cold.
Across the room, Eddie saw it too.
The hurt.
The realization.
Jonathan let go of your hand a second later without noticing your expression at all.
But Eddie noticed.
Of course he did.
Later that night, you showed up at the trailer without calling first.
Eddie opened the door already smirking. “Miss me?”
Instead of answering, you kissed him immediately.
Hard enough to shut him up.
Eddie stumbled backward laughing against your mouth. “Whoa, okay—”
“You were right.”
“That narrows absolutely nothing down.”
“About Jonathan.”
Eddie’s grin faded slightly.
You looked away.
“He doesn’t love me anymore.”
The words hurt less now.
Mostly because you’d already mourned the relationship while still inside it.
Eddie’s face softened.
Slowly, carefully, he reached up and brushed hair away from your face.
“You deserve somebody who actually sees you,” he said quietly.
And maybe that should’ve scared you more than it did.
And maybe it did.
After that night, something shifted, not between you and Eddie, that had already shifted months ago. No, the change happened inside you.
Because Eddie’s words kept echoing in your head every time Jonathan forgot to call. Every time he canceled plans because Nancy “needed help.” Every time you caught yourself sitting silently beside your own boyfriend feeling lonelier than when you were actually alone.
You deserve somebody who actually sees you.
The problem was, Eddie did see you.
Too much, maybe.
And lately that was starting to scare you.
…
“You’re distracted,” Jonathan said one afternoon.
You nearly laughed out loud at the irony.
The two of you sat together in the Byers living room while Will and Joyce argued softly in the kitchen. A movie played on the television, forgotten background noise neither of you were really watching.
Jonathan had barely spoken to you for twenty minutes.
Now suddenly he noticed something was wrong.
“I’m fine,” you answered automatically.
He studied you for a second like he wanted to believe that.
Then Nancy called the house phone, and just like that, his attention vanished again. You watched him smile at the sound of her voice.
Watched him lean forward unconsciously like hearing Nancy Wheeler speak required his full concentration.
Something inside you finally went numb.
Not broken.
Not shattered.
Just… done.
You stood quietly, grabbing your jacket.
Jonathan looked up distractedly. “You leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
There it was again, that guilty little crease between his eyebrows, like part of him already knew he was losing you.
You almost wanted him to fight for it anyway.
Instead he just looked tired.
And suddenly you couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at you the way Eddie did.
“I’ll call you later,” Jonathan said.
You both knew he probably wouldn’t.
…
Eddie was waiting outside some building on the outskirts of town when you arrived.
Leaning against the brick wall, cigarette glowing between his fingers, leather jacket damp from the cold.
The second he saw your face, his expression changed.
“What happened?”
You crossed your arms tightly. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
You looked away.
Eddie sighed softly, flicking the cigarette onto the pavement before stepping closer.
“He with Wheeler again?”
You hated how easily he guessed. You hated even more that you nodded.
For a moment Eddie didn’t say anything.
Then quieter, “C’mere.”
The words were so gentle they nearly undid you. You let him pull you against his chest without protest.
His arms wrapped around you instantly — warm, solid, familiar now.
You remembered when touching Eddie used to feel dangerous, now it felt like relief.
“You know what’s really messed up?” you mumbled against his jacket.
“What?”
“I don’t even feel sad anymore.”
Eddie’s hand slowed against your back.
That got his attention.
“I just…” You swallowed hard. “I think I stopped missing him before we even ended.”
The confession sat heavy between you both, because neither of you had said it out loud yet.
Not really.
You and Jonathan were still technically together.
But it felt more like a memory than a relationship now.
Eddie tilted his head down slightly, trying to catch your eyes.
“You gonna tell him?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually,” Eddie repeated skeptically.
“I know.”
He studied you carefully.
“You’re afraid.”
“Obviously.”
“Of hurting him?”
You hesitated.
Then whispered, “Of him not caring.”
That made Eddie visibly flinch.
His jaw tightened immediately like the idea genuinely upset him.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “He really did a number on you, huh?”
You tried laughing it off.
It came out shaky instead.
…
The next few weeks became unbearable in a different way.
Not because of Jonathan.
Because of Eddie.
Because somewhere along the line, the rules between you had gotten blurry.
This was supposed to be casual. Revenge, maybe. A distraction. Something reckless to numb the ache Jonathan left behind.
Except Eddie started memorizing things about you.
Your favorite songs.
How you took your coffee.
Which movies made you cry even when you pretended they didn’t.
And worse?
You memorized things too.
The exact sound of his laugh when he was genuinely surprised, the way he got quieter when he was tired, how he always handed you the last bite of whatever he was eating without even thinking about it.
It stopped feeling temporary.
That was the problem.
…
“You’re staring again,” Eddie said one night from across the trailer.
You blinked. “Shut up.”
He grinned lazily from the couch. “Nah, seriously. It’s getting weird now.”
“You’re literally wearing a Dio shirt and leather pants indoors.”
“And?”
“And you look ridiculous.”
“Yet deeply attractive.”
You rolled your eyes.
But Eddie caught the tiny smile anyway.
He always did.
The trailer felt warm despite the snow outside. Music played softly from Eddie’s cassette player while Wayne worked the late shift.
You sat cross-legged on the floor flipping through one of Eddie’s campaign notebooks absentmindedly.
Then you found it.
A sketch.
Messy pencil lines of your face tucked between pages of monster designs and campaign notes.
Your chest tightened instantly.
“Eddie.”
“Hmm?”
“You drew me?”
His expression changed the second he realized what you found.
For once in his life, Eddie Munson looked caught off guard.
“Uh.”
You stared at him. “When?”
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Couple weeks ago.”
“A couple— Eddie.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
But his face had gone slightly red.
Which somehow made it worse.
You looked back down at the drawing.
The detail startled you.
He’d drawn you carefully.
Like he’d spent time on it.
Like you mattered enough to study.
Something dangerous twisted low in your stomach.
“This,” you said quietly, “doesn’t really feel casual anymore.”
The room went still.
Eddie looked at you for a long moment without joking this time.
Then finally:
“No,” he admitted softly. “Guess it doesn’t.”
The silence after Eddie admitted it stretched painfully long.
Outside, wind rattled weakly against the trailer windows. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once before everything went quiet again.
You stared down at the sketch in your hands.
Eddie stared at you.
Neither of you seemed to know what happened next, because feelings complicated things.
Feelings turned this from something reckless and temporary into something capable of hurting people.
And maybe the worst part was realizing you didn’t want it to stop anyway.
“You should’ve told me,” you said softly.
Eddie let out a short laugh. “Oh yeah, because that conversation would’ve gone great.”
You looked up.
“I mean it.”
His expression shifted immediately at your tone.
“I know.” He leaned back against the couch cushions, running a hand through his hair. “I just… didn’t think you wanted this to be serious.”
You opened your mouth. Then closed it again, because months ago he would’ve been right. Months ago Eddie had been escape. A distraction. A way to feel wanted while Jonathan slowly drifted toward Nancy.
But now?
Now Eddie was the person you looked for first in crowded rooms.
The person you wanted to tell things to. The person who noticed when you were upset before you even spoke.
And that terrified you a little.
“You know what the really pathetic part is?” you murmured.
Eddie frowned slightly. “What?”
“I think I started falling for you while I was still trying to convince myself I loved Jonathan.”
The confession hung heavily between you both.
Eddie looked stunned for half a second.
Then something softer settled into his expression.
Not smugness.
Not victory.
Just tenderness so genuine it made your chest ache.
“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “there is literally nothing pathetic about choosing someone who actually makes you happy.”
Your throat tightened immediately.
God.
Jonathan used to make you feel like this once.
Seen.
Important.
But somewhere along the line, loving Jonathan had started feeling like waiting outside a locked door hoping someone might eventually let you in again.
With Eddie, the door had always been open.
You just hadn’t realized how badly you needed that.
…
The breakup finally happened three days later.
Not dramatic.
Not explosive.
Honestly, that almost made it sadder.
Jonathan stood beside you outside the school parking lot, shoulders tense against the cold while students passed around you pretending not to eavesdrop.
You’d rehearsed this conversation all night.
None of the words sounded right anymore.
“I think we both know this isn’t working,” you said quietly.
Jonathan looked down immediately.
That told you everything.
No confusion.
No shock.
Just resignation.
Like some part of him had been expecting this too.
“Yeah,” he admitted after a moment.
The simplicity of it hurt more than yelling would’ve.
You crossed your arms tightly.
“I didn’t want us to end like this.”
Jonathan nodded slowly. “Me neither.”
But neither of you knew how to fix it anymore.
Maybe you never really could’ve.
You studied his face carefully, searching for the devastation you’d imagined for months.
It wasn’t there.
He looked sad.
Guilty, maybe.
But relieved too.
And strangely enough?
So did you.
After a long silence, Jonathan finally said quietly, “Is there someone else?”
Your heart stopped.
For one horrible second, you thought he somehow knew.
You thought about Eddie waiting for you at the trailer later tonight.
About hidden kisses and secret smiles and months of lying.
About the few times he’d have you half heartedly, and all you could think about while he shoved your face into the mattress was how much deeper Eddie could reach. Then, when it became more the physicality, how much sweeter Eddie would talk to you.
Your stomach twisted.
But Jonathan looked tired more than suspicious.
And suddenly you realized something awful:
He was asking because he hoped there had been someone else, because then maybe this wouldn’t entirely be his fault either.
You swallowed hard.
“No,” you lied.
Jonathan closed his eyes briefly.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
That was it.
No screaming.
No accusations.
Just two people quietly acknowledging they’d already lost each other a long time ago.
When Jonathan finally walked away, you expected heartbreak.
Instead you mostly felt empty.
And underneath that emptiness:
Relief.
…
Eddie answered the trailer door already smiling.
“You’re late.”
You stared at him silently for a second.
His smile faded immediately.
“What happened?”
“It’s over.”
The words came out smaller than you expected.
For a moment Eddie just looked at you.
Carefully.
Like he was trying to figure out whether to comfort you or celebrate.
Then finally he asked softly, “You okay?”
And somehow that question broke you more than the breakup itself.
Because Jonathan hadn’t asked.
Not really.
But Eddie always did.
You laughed shakily, wiping suddenly burning eyes before tears could actually fall.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I am.”
Eddie stepped aside quietly to let you in.
The trailer felt warm compared to the freezing air outside. Music hummed softly from the radio while a half-finished campaign map sat spread across the table.
Normal.
Comfortable.
Homey in a way you hadn’t expected it to become.
You set your bag down slowly.
Then Eddie reached for your hand.
Not rushed.
Not secretive.
Just open.
Like he wasn’t afraid anymore.
Your chest tightened painfully at the difference.
“You know,” Eddie murmured, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles, “this means I can finally flirt with you in public now.”
You laughed through the lingering ache in your chest.
“That’s your first thought?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” he grinned softly, pulling you closer, “you still picked me.”
This time, when he kissed you, there was no guilt left hiding underneath it.
I can’t believe he’s so trusting While I’m right behind you thrusting
Summary: Jonathan had been emotionally distant for months, pining after another girl while you sat there helplessly. Fortunately, Byers isn’t the only one who wants you, and he’ll never have to know.
4.8k words
Contains: TW: cheating (emotional and physical), p in v smut, fingering, allusions to oral (fem receiving), guilt, angst, happy(ish) ending.
…
The first time Eddie Munson kissed you, Jonathan Byers was thirty feet away buying popcorn.
Which honestly should’ve made you stop.
Instead, it made your pulse race harder.
The Hawkins Theater buzzed with noise around you; sticky floors, neon lights, kids shouting near the arcade machines, but all you could focus on was Eddie leaning lazily against the hallway wall beside you, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to his jacket.
“You’re staring,” he murmured.
“I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
You rolled your eyes, but he grinned anyway, smug and impossible.
Jonathan had dragged you there with Nancy and Steve after one of their “investigating weird shit” days. Except Jonathan barely spoke to you anymore during those outings. He and Nancy walked ahead together whispering constantly, heads bent close enough to touch, and Steve fought for his own girlfriends attention like a kicked puppy.
You noticed everything.
The way Jonathan looked at Nancy when she wasn’t paying attention.
The inside jokes you weren’t part of.
How he always seemed more awake around her. Meanwhile, you’d become background noise.
A girlfriend in title only.
So maybe that was why you kept finding excuses to talk to Eddie lately.
Because Eddie looked at you directly. Like he was interested, like he noticed when you entered a room, and maybe you were angry enough to let that matter too much.
“You wanna know something?” Eddie asked quietly.
“What?”
“You keep looking at them like you’re trying not to set something on fire.”
You followed his gaze automatically.
Jonathan was laughing softly at something Nancy said. That ache returned immediately.
Sharp. Familiar. Humiliating.
“I think he’s cheating on me,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.
Eddie’s expression shifted.
Not joking anymore.
“You know that for sure?”
“No.” You swallowed. “But I think he wants to.”
The words tasted awful out loud.
Eddie stared at Jonathan for another second before muttering, “He’s an idiot.”
You laughed weakly. “You don’t even know me.”
“Don’t have to.”
And God, maybe you were lonelier than you realized, because that almost hurt worse.
…
After that, Eddie started appearing everywhere.
Leaning against your locker after class, sliding into the seat beside you during lunch, waiting outside the arcade while you pretended not to notice him immediately.
At first you thought he was messing with you.
Most people in Hawkins treated Eddie like trouble wrapped in denim and chains.
But Eddie looked at you like he understood something ugly sitting inside your chest.
And the worst part?
You understood him too.
“You know Byers is gonna kill me eventually, right?” Eddie asked one afternoon while walking you home.
“You’re assuming he’d notice.”
The bitterness slipped out before you could stop it.
Eddie glanced sideways at you carefully.
“Huh.”
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize.” His voice softened. “I just… don’t think you should talk about yourself like you’re invisible.”
You looked away immediately.
Because lately, invisible was exactly how you felt.
…
The sneaking around started accidentally.
At least that’s what you told yourself.
A ride home after Hellfire ran late. A cigarette shared behind the school gym.
Long conversations in the trailer park while music played softly from Eddie’s room and Wayne slept down the hall.
You kept saying it wasn’t serious. Nothing you’d done with Eddie was physical.
You kept saying Jonathan already emotionally left first anyway.
But guilt still crawled beneath your skin every time Jonathan kissed your forehead distractedly before running off to meet Nancy again.
Because despite everything, Jonathan still trusted you.
And you were starting to hate yourself for breaking that trust even while your heart broke too.
…
One night after a party, everything finally snapped.
You found Jonathan and Nancy alone in the kitchen talking quietly while everyone else crowded the living room.
Nancy’s hand rested on his arm.
Jonathan looked at her the way people looked at stars.
Your stomach twisted painfully. Neither of them noticed you standing there. That somehow hurt most.
You left without saying goodbye.
And twenty minutes later Eddie’s van pulled up beside you while you walked home alone down the dark road.
“Jesus Christ,” he said through the open window. “You look miserable.”
“Thanks.”
“Get in.”
You should’ve said no.
Instead you climbed inside.
The van smelled like gasoline, old leather, and Eddie’s cologne. Music played softly through blown-out speakers while rain started tapping against the windshield overhead.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
Then finally Eddie said quietly, “You love him that much?”
Your throat tightened.
“Yeah.”
“And he still makes you feel like that?”
You stared out the window. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“Hey.” Eddie’s voice sharpened instantly. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Blame yourself because some guy can’t figure his own shit out.”
You laughed bitterly. “Easy for you to say.”
“No, actually, it’s pretty easy in general.” Eddie leaned back against the seat. “If I had a girlfriend who looked at me the way you look at Jonathan, I wouldn’t even know other girls existed.”
That shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did, but after months of feeling unwanted, Eddie’s attention felt dangerously comforting.
The silence between you shifted.
He noticed it too. You could tell by the way his breathing changed slightly.
“You should go home,” he murmured.
Probably.
Instead you kissed him.
It happened fast. Messy. Impulsive.
The second your hand touched his face, Eddie made this startled sound against your mouth like he genuinely hadn’t expected it.
Then suddenly his hands were in your hair and he was kissing you back hard enough to make your heartbeat stumble.
It felt wrong. It felt reckless.
It felt unbelievably good.
Teeth clashing together, knocking against each other with soft taps. His tongue wet, massaging over your own.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathing hard, reality crashed back immediately.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
Eddie stared at you wide-eyed for half a second before laughing softly in disbelief.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s about the reaction I was expecting.”
Guilt flooded your chest instantly.
Jonathan.
Jonathan, who still held your hand.
Jonathan, who still said he loved you even if it sounded distracted now.
Jonathan, who might actually be innocent while you were here kissing Eddie Munson in the front seat of a van.
“I’m a terrible person,” you said quietly.
Eddie’s expression softened immediately.
“No,” he said. “You’re hurt.”
“That doesn’t make this okay.”
“No,” he admitted. “Probably not.”
Rain hammered harder against the roof.
Inside the van, everything felt small and overheated and impossible to undo now.
Eddie looked at you carefully.
“You wanna know the really messed up part?”
“What?”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
You laughed weakly despite yourself.
Then Eddie started grinning too.
And suddenly both of you were laughing quietly in the middle of this awful complicated mess because honestly, what else were you supposed to do?
…
By December, sneaking around with Eddie Munson had stopped feeling shocking.
That was probably the worst part.
At first, every secret meeting had made your stomach twist with guilt so sharp you thought you might actually confess just to make it stop.
Now it felt normal.
Dangerously normal.
You’d tell Jonathan you were studying with a friend, then end up tangled in blankets in Eddie’s trailer while Black Sabbath played low through his speakers, your legs thrown over his shoulders in a deep mating press, taking you in a way Jonathan could never quite do for you.
You’d sit beside Jonathan in class the next morning while Eddie burned holes into the back of your chair from two rows over, grinning to himself because nobody else knew where you’d been the night before.
Nobody knew.
Not Nancy.
Not Steve.
Not even Robin, and she somehow knew everything.
Especially not Jonathan.
And honestly?
After a while, you stopped feeling as bad about that as you probably should have.
Because Jonathan still looked at Nancy like she hung the moon.
He still disappeared for hours with her chasing supernatural disasters while you sat at home pretending not to notice.
Half the time he barely touched you anymore unless you initiated it first.
Meanwhile Eddie looked at you like he couldn’t help himself.
Like every room improved the second you walked into it.
It became addictive.
…
Eddie hovered over you on the mattress, curls falling into his face while his hand stayed planted beside your head, trapping you between him and the tangled blankets in a way that made your pulse feel unsteady.
One thigh rested over his broad shoulder, the other wrapped around his hips. His body forced your thighs open, body trembling with uncontrollable need.
His fingers settled deep inside, scissoring them slowly, letting the burning stretch take over.
The closeness alone was enough to make your thoughts blur a little, the smell of cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to his hair, the cold rings brushing your skin whenever he moved, the way he looked at you like he found this entire situation unbelievable in the best possible way.
Months ago, you used to leave the trailer feeling guilty.
Now you just never wanted to leave at all.
Eddie tilted his head slightly, watching your expression shift.
“There’s that look again.”
“What look?”
“The one where you remember you snuck around with me for months.”
You groaned immediately. “You are never letting that go.”
“Absolutely not.” His grin widened. “You know how insane that was from my perspective?”
“Oh, here we go.”
“No, seriously.” Eddie laughed quietly. “You’d walk into Hellfire meetings holding Jonathan Byers’ hand, then show up at my trailer three hours later looking at me like that.”
Your face burned instantly.
“Like what?”
“Like you wanted to climb me like a tree.”
You shoved his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh louder.
“You’re unbelievable. You are inside of me right now, this couldn’t wait?”
“And yet,” Eddie said smugly, leaning closer again, “still your favorite bad decision.”
The space between you disappeared again after that.
Not rushed.
Not careless.
Just magnetic.
Your hands slid up into his hair while Eddie buried his face briefly against your neck with a groan dramatic enough to make you laugh softly.
“Don’t laugh,” he muttered.
“You’re so dramatic.”
“You made me wait months, sweetheart. I earned dramatic.”
You rolled your eyes again, but your heartbeat stumbled anyway when he looked back at you.
Because teasing aside, Eddie still had this dangerous habit of looking at you too sincerely when things got quiet.
Like underneath all the jokes and flirting, he still couldn’t fully believe you chose him.
His fingers quickly became replaced with something bigger. He sheathed himself all the way in, not satisfied until his pelvic bone ground against yours.
His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw.
“You know what I think?” he asked softly.
“What?”
“I think part of you liked that I noticed you.”
The teasing tone was gone now, replaced by pure confidence and a little bit of power. That made it harder to answer.
You swallowed, because he was right.
Jonathan used to notice you once.
Then somewhere along the line, you became something familiar. Expected. Easy to overlook.
But Eddie noticed everything.
When you were upset.
When you were pretending not to be.
When you walked into a room.
When you looked at him too long.
Even now, his attention felt intense enough to make your chest ache a little.
“You looked at me like I mattered,” you admitted through strangled breaths.
Eddie’s expression changed instantly at that.
Softer, amost angry on your behalf.
“You do matter.”
The words hit harder than they should have, and he drilled in deeper with a brutal force. For a second neither of you moved, Eddie holding you there, letting you feel him pulsing inside of you.
Rain rattled against the windows.
The trailer creaked softly around you.
And Eddie just stayed there close enough that you could feel his breathing, looking at you with an intensity that made everything else feel very far away.
Then his grin returned slightly.
“Still think Byers was blind, by the way.”
You laughed despite yourself.
“There’s the ego again.”
“Massive ego,” Eddie agreed proudly before leaning down to kiss your forehead this time, slower and gentler than before. “Can’t help it. I won.”
The pace picked up again, a conversation far too deep for an act meant to be completely casual melting into pleasurable moans and deep grunts.
The mattress creaked, filling the small room with an unavoidable heat.
…
“Your boyfriend’s gonna figure this out eventually,” Eddie said one night.
You were sprawled across his mattress while cigarette smoke curled lazily toward the trailer ceiling. Outside, rain hammered softly against the windows, wet marks adorning your skin where clothes hid the evidence.
Eddie sat beside you tuning his guitar absentmindedly.
“He hasn’t so far.”
You didn’t even bother to put your shirt back on, perfectly comfortable laying spread in only your underwear.
“That’s because Byers is too busy staring at Wheeler.”
The words should’ve hurt more, instead you just rolled your eyes.
“That obvious, huh?”
“To literally everyone except him.”
You laughed quietly. Months ago that conversation would’ve made your chest ache, now mostly it just exhausted you.
Eddie noticed immediately.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Liar.”
You looked over at him.
The dim light softened the sharp edges of his face. His rings glinted silver as his fingers moved over the guitar strings lazily. The same fingers that had been knuckle deep inside of you just moments before, completely drenched with the arousal he pulled from my core mixed with the slick saliva from his messy mouth.
His dirty mouth becoming something softer after, always carrying a simple conversation, and somewhere along the line, Eddie had become easy to be around.
Too easy.
“You know what’s weird?” you murmured.
“What?”
“I thought I’d feel guiltier than this.”
Eddie stopped playing.
The room went quiet except for the rain.
“Do you wanna?”
You considered it honestly.
Then shrugged.
“Not really.”
That should’ve sounded horrible.
Maybe it was horrible.
But after months of being ignored, overlooked, and quietly replaced emotionally, your guilt had slowly burned itself out.
Jonathan still technically belonged to you, but his heart didn’t. Maybe it hadn’t for a long time.
Eddie set the guitar aside carefully.
“You ever gonna break up with him?”
The question hung heavy between you. You stared at the ceiling.
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
You frowned at him. “Excuse me?”
“You know.” Eddie leaned back against the wall behind the bed. “You just don’t wanna be the bad guy.”
That hit too directly.
Because maybe he was right.
If Jonathan officially left you for Nancy, then at least your heartbreak could stay clean.
Simple.
But this?
Sneaking around with Eddie for months while pretending everything was fine?
That made you complicated too.
Messy.
Selfish.
Eddie watched your expression carefully.
Then quieter, “I’m not judging you, sweetheart.”
“You should.”
“Nah.” He gave a crooked smile. “I like complicated girls.”
You snorted despite yourself.
“Your standards are concerning.”
“Very.”
The tension eased after that.
It always did with Eddie.
He had this irritating ability to make terrible situations feel lighter without pretending they weren’t terrible.
That was part of why you kept coming back.
With Jonathan, loving him had started feeling lonely.
With Eddie, even silence felt full.
…
The secrecy became routine.
Thursday nights at the trailer park.
Quick hidden conversations after Hellfire meetings.
Eddie’s hand brushing yours under tables while Jonathan sat three feet away completely oblivious.
Honestly, that part started becoming thrilling too.
Not because you wanted to hurt Jonathan.
But because for once, somebody was choosing you in secret instead of choosing someone else right in front of you.
“You’re staring again,” Eddie murmured one afternoon in the school parking lot.
You blinked. “At what?”
“Me.”
“I am not.”
He grinned immediately. “You totally are.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet here you are.”
You shoved his shoulder lightly, trying not to smile.
Eddie caught your wrist before you could pull away.
The touch lingered.
Your pulse skipped instantly.
God.
That still happened every time.
Eddie’s expression softened just slightly as he looked at you.
Not joking now.
Not flirting.
Just… looking.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you laugh more now.”
Something about that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
Because he was right.
You did.
Even with all the lying and sneaking around and emotional disaster of your life, you laughed more with Eddie than you had in months with Jonathan.
Maybe that should’ve told you everything already.
…
The closest Jonathan ever came to figuring it out happened in January.
The three of you were at Family Video helping Steve reorganize tapes while Robin complained loudly from behind the counter.
Jonathan reached for your hand absentmindedly while talking to Nancy.
You froze immediately.
Because Eddie was standing across the store watching.
For one horrible second guilt came rushing back hard enough to make you nauseous.
Jonathan squeezed your hand lightly without even looking at you.
Automatic.
Distracted.
Like habit.
Then Nancy said something and his attention snapped right back toward her.
Your chest went cold.
Across the room, Eddie saw it too.
The hurt.
The realization.
Jonathan let go of your hand a second later without noticing your expression at all.
But Eddie noticed.
Of course he did.
Later that night, you showed up at the trailer without calling first.
Eddie opened the door already smirking. “Miss me?”
Instead of answering, you kissed him immediately.
Hard enough to shut him up.
Eddie stumbled backward laughing against your mouth. “Whoa, okay—”
“You were right.”
“That narrows absolutely nothing down.”
“About Jonathan.”
Eddie’s grin faded slightly.
You looked away.
“He doesn’t love me anymore.”
The words hurt less now.
Mostly because you’d already mourned the relationship while still inside it.
Eddie’s face softened.
Slowly, carefully, he reached up and brushed hair away from your face.
“You deserve somebody who actually sees you,” he said quietly.
And maybe that should’ve scared you more than it did.
And maybe it did.
After that night, something shifted, not between you and Eddie, that had already shifted months ago. No, the change happened inside you.
Because Eddie’s words kept echoing in your head every time Jonathan forgot to call. Every time he canceled plans because Nancy “needed help.” Every time you caught yourself sitting silently beside your own boyfriend feeling lonelier than when you were actually alone.
You deserve somebody who actually sees you.
The problem was, Eddie did see you.
Too much, maybe.
And lately that was starting to scare you.
…
“You’re distracted,” Jonathan said one afternoon.
You nearly laughed out loud at the irony.
The two of you sat together in the Byers living room while Will and Joyce argued softly in the kitchen. A movie played on the television, forgotten background noise neither of you were really watching.
Jonathan had barely spoken to you for twenty minutes.
Now suddenly he noticed something was wrong.
“I’m fine,” you answered automatically.
He studied you for a second like he wanted to believe that.
Then Nancy called the house phone, and just like that, his attention vanished again. You watched him smile at the sound of her voice.
Watched him lean forward unconsciously like hearing Nancy Wheeler speak required his full concentration.
Something inside you finally went numb.
Not broken.
Not shattered.
Just… done.
You stood quietly, grabbing your jacket.
Jonathan looked up distractedly. “You leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
There it was again, that guilty little crease between his eyebrows, like part of him already knew he was losing you.
You almost wanted him to fight for it anyway.
Instead he just looked tired.
And suddenly you couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at you the way Eddie did.
“I’ll call you later,” Jonathan said.
You both knew he probably wouldn’t.
…
Eddie was waiting outside some building on the outskirts of town when you arrived.
Leaning against the brick wall, cigarette glowing between his fingers, leather jacket damp from the cold.
The second he saw your face, his expression changed.
“What happened?”
You crossed your arms tightly. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
You looked away.
Eddie sighed softly, flicking the cigarette onto the pavement before stepping closer.
“He with Wheeler again?”
You hated how easily he guessed. You hated even more that you nodded.
For a moment Eddie didn’t say anything.
Then quieter, “C’mere.”
The words were so gentle they nearly undid you. You let him pull you against his chest without protest.
His arms wrapped around you instantly — warm, solid, familiar now.
You remembered when touching Eddie used to feel dangerous, now it felt like relief.
“You know what’s really messed up?” you mumbled against his jacket.
“What?”
“I don’t even feel sad anymore.”
Eddie’s hand slowed against your back.
That got his attention.
“I just…” You swallowed hard. “I think I stopped missing him before we even ended.”
The confession sat heavy between you both, because neither of you had said it out loud yet.
Not really.
You and Jonathan were still technically together.
But it felt more like a memory than a relationship now.
Eddie tilted his head down slightly, trying to catch your eyes.
“You gonna tell him?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually,” Eddie repeated skeptically.
“I know.”
He studied you carefully.
“You’re afraid.”
“Obviously.”
“Of hurting him?”
You hesitated.
Then whispered, “Of him not caring.”
That made Eddie visibly flinch.
His jaw tightened immediately like the idea genuinely upset him.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “He really did a number on you, huh?”
You tried laughing it off.
It came out shaky instead.
…
The next few weeks became unbearable in a different way.
Not because of Jonathan.
Because of Eddie.
Because somewhere along the line, the rules between you had gotten blurry.
This was supposed to be casual. Revenge, maybe. A distraction. Something reckless to numb the ache Jonathan left behind.
Except Eddie started memorizing things about you.
Your favorite songs.
How you took your coffee.
Which movies made you cry even when you pretended they didn’t.
And worse?
You memorized things too.
The exact sound of his laugh when he was genuinely surprised, the way he got quieter when he was tired, how he always handed you the last bite of whatever he was eating without even thinking about it.
It stopped feeling temporary.
That was the problem.
…
“You’re staring again,” Eddie said one night from across the trailer.
You blinked. “Shut up.”
He grinned lazily from the couch. “Nah, seriously. It’s getting weird now.”
“You’re literally wearing a Dio shirt and leather pants indoors.”
“And?”
“And you look ridiculous.”
“Yet deeply attractive.”
You rolled your eyes.
But Eddie caught the tiny smile anyway.
He always did.
The trailer felt warm despite the snow outside. Music played softly from Eddie’s cassette player while Wayne worked the late shift.
You sat cross-legged on the floor flipping through one of Eddie’s campaign notebooks absentmindedly.
Then you found it.
A sketch.
Messy pencil lines of your face tucked between pages of monster designs and campaign notes.
Your chest tightened instantly.
“Eddie.”
“Hmm?”
“You drew me?”
His expression changed the second he realized what you found.
For once in his life, Eddie Munson looked caught off guard.
“Uh.”
You stared at him. “When?”
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Couple weeks ago.”
“A couple— Eddie.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
But his face had gone slightly red.
Which somehow made it worse.
You looked back down at the drawing.
The detail startled you.
He’d drawn you carefully.
Like he’d spent time on it.
Like you mattered enough to study.
Something dangerous twisted low in your stomach.
“This,” you said quietly, “doesn’t really feel casual anymore.”
The room went still.
Eddie looked at you for a long moment without joking this time.
Then finally:
“No,” he admitted softly. “Guess it doesn’t.”
The silence after Eddie admitted it stretched painfully long.
Outside, wind rattled weakly against the trailer windows. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once before everything went quiet again.
You stared down at the sketch in your hands.
Eddie stared at you.
Neither of you seemed to know what happened next, because feelings complicated things.
Feelings turned this from something reckless and temporary into something capable of hurting people.
And maybe the worst part was realizing you didn’t want it to stop anyway.
“You should’ve told me,” you said softly.
Eddie let out a short laugh. “Oh yeah, because that conversation would’ve gone great.”
You looked up.
“I mean it.”
His expression shifted immediately at your tone.
“I know.” He leaned back against the couch cushions, running a hand through his hair. “I just… didn’t think you wanted this to be serious.”
You opened your mouth. Then closed it again, because months ago he would’ve been right. Months ago Eddie had been escape. A distraction. A way to feel wanted while Jonathan slowly drifted toward Nancy.
But now?
Now Eddie was the person you looked for first in crowded rooms.
The person you wanted to tell things to. The person who noticed when you were upset before you even spoke.
And that terrified you a little.
“You know what the really pathetic part is?” you murmured.
Eddie frowned slightly. “What?”
“I think I started falling for you while I was still trying to convince myself I loved Jonathan.”
The confession hung heavily between you both.
Eddie looked stunned for half a second.
Then something softer settled into his expression.
Not smugness.
Not victory.
Just tenderness so genuine it made your chest ache.
“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “there is literally nothing pathetic about choosing someone who actually makes you happy.”
Your throat tightened immediately.
God.
Jonathan used to make you feel like this once.
Seen.
Important.
But somewhere along the line, loving Jonathan had started feeling like waiting outside a locked door hoping someone might eventually let you in again.
With Eddie, the door had always been open.
You just hadn’t realized how badly you needed that.
…
The breakup finally happened three days later.
Not dramatic.
Not explosive.
Honestly, that almost made it sadder.
Jonathan stood beside you outside the school parking lot, shoulders tense against the cold while students passed around you pretending not to eavesdrop.
You’d rehearsed this conversation all night.
None of the words sounded right anymore.
“I think we both know this isn’t working,” you said quietly.
Jonathan looked down immediately.
That told you everything.
No confusion.
No shock.
Just resignation.
Like some part of him had been expecting this too.
“Yeah,” he admitted after a moment.
The simplicity of it hurt more than yelling would’ve.
You crossed your arms tightly.
“I didn’t want us to end like this.”
Jonathan nodded slowly. “Me neither.”
But neither of you knew how to fix it anymore.
Maybe you never really could’ve.
You studied his face carefully, searching for the devastation you’d imagined for months.
It wasn’t there.
He looked sad.
Guilty, maybe.
But relieved too.
And strangely enough?
So did you.
After a long silence, Jonathan finally said quietly, “Is there someone else?”
Your heart stopped.
For one horrible second, you thought he somehow knew.
You thought about Eddie waiting for you at the trailer later tonight.
About hidden kisses and secret smiles and months of lying.
About the few times he’d have you half heartedly, and all you could think about while he shoved your face into the mattress was how much deeper Eddie could reach. Then, when it became more the physicality, how much sweeter Eddie would talk to you.
Your stomach twisted.
But Jonathan looked tired more than suspicious.
And suddenly you realized something awful:
He was asking because he hoped there had been someone else, because then maybe this wouldn’t entirely be his fault either.
You swallowed hard.
“No,” you lied.
Jonathan closed his eyes briefly.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
That was it.
No screaming.
No accusations.
Just two people quietly acknowledging they’d already lost each other a long time ago.
When Jonathan finally walked away, you expected heartbreak.
Instead you mostly felt empty.
And underneath that emptiness:
Relief.
…
Eddie answered the trailer door already smiling.
“You’re late.”
You stared at him silently for a second.
His smile faded immediately.
“What happened?”
“It’s over.”
The words came out smaller than you expected.
For a moment Eddie just looked at you.
Carefully.
Like he was trying to figure out whether to comfort you or celebrate.
Then finally he asked softly, “You okay?”
And somehow that question broke you more than the breakup itself.
Because Jonathan hadn’t asked.
Not really.
But Eddie always did.
You laughed shakily, wiping suddenly burning eyes before tears could actually fall.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I am.”
Eddie stepped aside quietly to let you in.
The trailer felt warm compared to the freezing air outside. Music hummed softly from the radio while a half-finished campaign map sat spread across the table.
Normal.
Comfortable.
Homey in a way you hadn’t expected it to become.
You set your bag down slowly.
Then Eddie reached for your hand.
Not rushed.
Not secretive.
Just open.
Like he wasn’t afraid anymore.
Your chest tightened painfully at the difference.
“You know,” Eddie murmured, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles, “this means I can finally flirt with you in public now.”
You laughed through the lingering ache in your chest.
“That’s your first thought?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” he grinned softly, pulling you closer, “you still picked me.”
This time, when he kissed you, there was no guilt left hiding underneath it.
summary: You go over to Eddie’s to tutor him but end up comforting him after you witness something you really shouldn’t have.
cw: hurt/comfort
word count: 800+
You stand outside Eddie's trailer, double checking that you have the right one, looking at the slip of paper he scribbled his address onto. You'd hate to have the wrong trailer, but sure enough, the correct numbers were on the mailbox.
The grass is long and close to dead, a long strip of gravel going down the middle of it. None of it looks groomed but you have to admit that you kind of like it. It's imperfect, it's real.
A lot of the kids that you go to school with make fun of Eddie for where he lives, but you don't understand why. You're pretty sure they'd feel that way even if he lived in the nicer part of town. This is just another reason to pick on him.
They're all so concerned with what he's doing and you suppose you can't blame him for being so harsh towards you. He's just trying to protect himself and he doesn't know you. To him, you're the girl from the rich neighborhood, the popular one who's always nice but he seems to think that you're faking all of that.
But if he took just a second to get to know you, he'd know that you're nice to everyone including him because that's just who you are. You're nothing but a sweetheart-everyone else's word, not yours-and you're planning on proving that today.
Just as you're about to knock, the door swings open and there's a man on the other side. He's not the same one who you've seen pick Eddie up from school. The one in front of you has got to be his dad because the resemblance is uncanny.
You step to the side as he steps out onto the porch, Eddie following behind. Neither of you seem to be paying you any mind, caught up in whatever conversation they'd been having before the door was opened.
"I told you that I need to go away for a while." Eddie feels like he should have expected this because Alan's always been a coward.
"But you can't leave. The talent show is next weekend. The guys and I have been working really hard." He's teary-eyed now and you wonder if you should just leave. You've already seen way too much.
Eddie doesn't know why he cares so fucking much. Alan has never been a father to him, especially since Elizabeth passed away. Maybe because he always feels like people are leaving and that it's all his fault. Everything is always his fault, it seems.
"If it sounds anything like you do when you play in your room, I'll pass. Take care, kid." Alan gets into his car and Eddie chases it, calling after Alan, begging him to stay. He doesn't get very far and stands in the middle of the road, sobbing as he watches the car get further and further away.
This is just like Alan, always running away from his problems and he doesn't care who he hurts in the process. Now he's not only leaving his son, but he's leaving him in the care of his brother who never signed up for this. He agreed to take in the two of them after Elizabeth passed, but he guessed he should have known this kind of this would happen.
When Eddie turns in your direction, you immediately look away, knowing that he's probably going to hate you even more because you saw something you weren't supposed to. You should just go home and come back some other time but instead of heading towards your bike, you're making your way to him.
You stand in front of him, your own eyes welling up as you look at his tear-stained cheeks. You set your backpack on the ground and stay standing, waiting for him to make the first move.
He doesn't know what he's doing but he finds himself stepping closer, wrapping his arms around your waist as his buries his face into your neck. It feels so natural to him, like he's done is a billion times. And the shocking thing is that you hug him back, even rub your hands up and down his back as you let him cry.
He'd never let himself be so vulnerable with one of his peers, but there's something so comforting about you. You're not laughing at him like the others would have. You're just here, letting him get it all out without a single bit of judgement.
"Do you want to get some ice cream?" You whisper and his ears perk up at that.
"I don't have any money," he sniffs as he pulls back to look at you. He looks as you with those brown eyes, you know that they're going to get you in trouble.
"Don't worry about it," you wave it off. "My treat."
You and Eddie pull away and grab your bikes, agreeing to a race that he totally didn't let you win. And as you make your way towards town after letting Wayne know that you're leaving, Eddie decides that maybe you're alright.
You can find more of the “I Think I Like This Little Life” verse here!
If you’d like to be added to this taglist or any of my others, feel free to fill out the form pinned on my blog! (for 21+ only and teens/ageless blogs will be blocked!!)
To your surprise, Eddie Munson is not, in fact, a hit-it-&-quit-it kind of guy.
a/n - I missed writing him after I played around making a NSFW alphabet for everyone’s favorite metalhead yesterday . so here’s a lil one shot for him. yes, grilled cheese makes an appearance.
TW/CW - hookups, references to other hookups, aftercare, semi-established friendship, sweet!Eddie, oral (f! Receiving), no use of y/n, a lil bit of edging/orgasm denial.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The anticipation in the Munson trailer had been thick enough to choke on when you’d arrived. For the week leading up to tonight, your stomach had been in a constant state of low-grade knots, flipping over every time you thought about Eddie Munson’s smirk, his rings, the way he looked at you like you were a riddle he was dying to solve. You liked him - really liked him - but the leap from casual friends to flirting at the record store or at The Hideout after he played on Thursday nights to being in his actual bedroom was a terrifying one.
Your track record with guys in Hawkins was, in a word, abysmal. It was a veritable catalog of fumbled hooks-ups in the backs of cars or stale bedrooms where you were primarily an afterthought. A vessel for someone else’s gratification. The guys didn't care if you enjoyed it or not, they just wanted to finish. Granted, most of them at least made sure they weren’t physically hurting you, but that was about it.
So, out of habit, you had steeled yourself for this to be another entry in that book - maybe a fun and chaotic one. But ultimately, you expected to yank your jeans on and leave feeling empty.
But Eddie hadn't let you feel empty for a single second. Though he had a baseline energy that could normally be only describe as “erratic”, he’d surprised you by taking his sweet time.
Your clothes weren’t immediately torn off upon entering his room, instead he had noticed the tremor in your hands when you first sat on the edge of his mattress (whether from nerves or low blood sugar, you weren’t quite sure) and hadn't made fun of you or been annoyed or even called the whole thing off. Instead, he had taken your hands in his, kissing your knuckles one by one until your breathing slowed. When he finally kissed you, it wasn't sloppy or rushed. It was deep and deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.
And when things had gotten heated, his focus had been entirely on you. He hadn't just dived in - he’d actually asked what you liked, or didn’t. What felt best - be it a position or technique. He wasn’t happy with “good” or “fine” - no, no. He wanted your eyes to roll back in your head and for his name to be a whimper on your lips.
Eddie had watched your reactions with a hungry kind of fascination, adjusting the angle of his hips, the pressure of his hands, guided by the noises you made and the way your back arched off the mattress. He had held your gaze through it, his eyes blown wide and dark, murmuring praise that actually felt genuine. When you fell apart more than once - he was right there to catch you, whispering how beautiful you looked, how good you felt, making sure you knew that this wasn't just about him getting off.
The ceiling of his trailer was still swimming in your hazy vision, the faint yellow glow of the streetlamp outside cutting through the gaps in the blinds to stripe across the walls. Your chest was heaving slightly, heart rate just beginning to slow down to something resembling a normal rhythm, but your brain was still floating somewhere in the stratosphere. You felt boneless, thoroughly blissed out in the best possible way, and entirely ready to pass out exactly where you were.
You needed to leave, as neither of you had discussed anything about you spending the night, but maybe he would let you breathe for a second instead of immediately kicking you out of his home.
A moment later, you felt the mattress dip gently as Eddie shifted his weight. You braced yourself for the request for you to leave, for the cold shoulder that usually followed a hookup when a partner decided their part of the bargain was done.
Oddly, it didn’t come.
"You still with me, sweetheart?" Eddie’s voice was a low rasp, thick with post-sex haze, but laced with a gentleness that made your chest tight. He didn't wait for an answer before he reached out, his fingers - not rough or demanding, but achingly soft - brushing a few stray hairs away from your sweaty forehead. His eyes were locked on yours, scanning your face like he was looking for any sign of distress.
You blinked, trying to clear the fog. "Uh, yeah," you managed to get out. "I'm... yeah."
He smiled, a crooked, genuine one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Good. Fuck, you’re amazing."
You felt the heat rise in your cheeks - not just the flush of sex, but something shyer. You weren't used to… what was this? Pillow talk? Post-sex praise? Whatever it was, you weren't accustomed to being looked at like you were something precious - rather than just a body to occupy space for a few hours.
"Stay here," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple that felt far too reverent for the grungy trailer park setting. "Don't move a muscle."
You watched as he climbed out of bed, unashamed of his nakedness as he padded across the room. Usually, this was the part where they disappeared to the bathroom to pee, and you started hunting for wherever the hell your bra had gone off to. But Eddie returned with a clean, soft washcloth he’d obviously wetted in the sink.
The warmth of the cloth was a shock against the sensitive skin between your legs as he gently cleaned you up. He didn't rush or treat it like a chore to get out of the way so he could sleep. He wiped away the sweat and your combined releases with a care that bordered on worship, eyes never leaving yours, checking in silently to make sure the pressure was okay, that you weren't too tender.
"Okay?" he whispered, his thumb brushing your hipbone where he’d left a rather impressive hickey not twenty minutes prior.
You nodded, overwhelmed by the simple intimacy of it. "Yeah. It's... Nice."
He huffed a quiet laugh, leaning down to kiss your knee. "Just nice? I'm aiming for at least 'pleasantly pampered'."
"Pleasantly pampered, then. Absolutely,” you corrected with a small smile.
"Good. That's the goal."
To your surprise, after he tossed the cloth into the hamper, Eddie didn’t help you look for your clothes. He simply climbed back into bed, pulling the duvet up over both of you before gathering you into his arms. His skin was warm against yours, his heartbeat steady under your ear as he began to draw intricate patterns on the bare skin of your back. The sweetness sent a pang of emotion through your heart. You’d known him for a few years by this point, but you absolutely hadn’t expected all this.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Eddie’s voice cut through your thoughts a few minutes later, and you glance up at him. “Lost you for a minute there.”
"I'm, uh, not used to…” you cut the words off before you could embarrass yourself.
Eddie stiffened slightly against you, his hand pausing its rhythm. "Used to what?"
"Being... Treated like this." You hesitated, but the safety of the dark and the lingering haze of the endorphins made you brave.
“What’d you mean?”
You exhaled. “It sounds kinda pathetic to say it out loud.”
“Try me.”
"Just, I don’t know. Like I matter. Most guys... they hang around long enough to get what they want and that's it. Either they’re kicking me out or they’re leaving. They don't care if I'm okay after. They don't ask if I liked it. During or after. And it’s fine, I mean, nature of the beast, right -“
Eddie pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his brow furrowed. The playfulness was gone from his face, replaced by something that looked a lot like disappointment.
"What do you mean, 'they don't ask'? How is that even possible? You're... You’re incredible. Why wouldn't they want to know if they actually made you feel good?"
You shrugged, suddenly feeling exposed under his intense scrutiny. You’d absolutely said too much. Eddie didn’t sign up for a sob story when he’d invited you over, so why the hell were you dumping all this shit on the first decent guy you’d been with in ages (or maybe ever)? Damn, you knew how to ruin a nice moment.
“I dunno. I'm just... Not the type they care about."
Eddie let out a sharp, disbelieving breath, shaking his head against the pillow. "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And I've heard a lot of stupid things from the idiots in this town."
He reached up, tucking your hair behind your ear with a seriousness that made your breath hitch. "You are definitely the type to care about. If those guys made you feel like you weren't, then they're idiots."
"You don’t have to say stuff like that just because you fucked me, Eddie,” you whispered.
“I’ve known you for what, five years? So would it make you feel better if I’d say that even if we hadn’t just had sex, angel?”
"I -“ you thought for a moment, then shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I'm just not used to someone like you."
"Someone like me?" he echoed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Ooh - a freak? Or maybe a - gasp - metalhead?"
"Well yes. But also no," you said, tracing a tattoo on his arm. "Someone who actually gives a shit. Someone who makes me feel like... Don’t like, but like I'm the only girl in the world when we're… Not that I’m gonna hold you to that, since this was a one-time thing, but you know what I mean.”
Eddie’s expression softened, the disappointment draining away into something warmer. He leaned in and kissed you, cutting off your words with a slow, deep press of his lips that left you dizzy all over again.
"Well, how about you try and get used to it," he murmured against your mouth. "Because I plan on making you feel that way a lot more often. If you’ll let me."
He settled back against the pillows, pulling you tighter into his side before you could protest. "Now," he said, his tone shifting back to that lighter, teasing cadence, though his eyes remained serious. "Did you eat today? You came over straight from work, right?"
You blinked at the sudden subject change, but you knew better than to try and deflect him by now. "Uh, yeah. But I had something from the vending machine, so I’m fine.”
Eddie let out a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "A vending machine snack? That’s not real food, babe. That's cardboard with artificial flavoring."
"Hey, it sustained me for our activities,” you defended weakly.
"It like seven at night and I wore you out pretty good," he shot back, grinning to show he was teasing. "I'm making you a grilled cheese. Don't argue."
“I should probably go home -“
“No.”
“What do you mean no? Where are my clothes?”
“Do you really need them?”
"I'm naked, Eddie."
"And you're beautiful," he countered without missing a beat, leaning in to kiss you, quick and sweet. "I’ll get you one of my shirts to wear if you’re suddenly feeling so bashful. Then it’s dinner time.”
He started to get out of bed again, the energy returning to his limbs now that he had a mission of selecting you a shirt and then preparing you dinner. After rummaging through his dresser, he dramatically draped a Dio tshirt over your head so you looked like a ghost before you properly put it on.
"You're seriously making me food right now?" you asked, watching him hunt for his boxers on the floor.
"Starvation is a terrible aftercare strategy," he said, stepping into his boxers and then jeans and buttoning them with practiced ease. "I'm multitasking. I can be a rockstar in the sack and a short-order cook. I'm a man of many talents."
You laughed, the sound bubbling up out of you without permission. It felt good. Oddly real.
"Extra cheese?" He asked, heading toward the small kitchenette, his hair a wild mess around his shoulders.
"Yes please," you called out.
"You got it, princess."
You sat there for a few moments, listening to the sounds of him moving around in the tiny kitchen - the clinking of the frying pan, the opening of the fridge, the hum of the stove. It was all so domestic. Sweet. Everything you had convinced yourself you didn't need out of a quick fling, wrapped up in a package of leather and tattoos and a heart that was way too big for his own good.
You pulled his t-shirt over your head, the soft fabric smelling like him, and settled back against the pillows, listening to him mutter to himself about the butter being too hard for his liking, following by some absentminded humming to a song you’d have to ask him about later.
Thoughts flooded your head in his absence. You weren't used to being taken care of - in or out of the bedroom, much less treated like something fragile and valuable. But as Eddie walked back into the room a few minutes later, holding a plate with two perfectly golden grilled cheese sandwhiches, glasses of lemonade, and a please look on his face, you felt like you could probably get used to it.
"Eat," he commanded gently, setting the food on the nightstand and crawling back under the covers with you.
You took a bite of the sandwich he brought you, the cheese stretching perfectly, and looked at him. He was watching you, eyes soft and small smile playing on his lips.
“Good?”
"Delicious. Thank you, Eddie," your words came out as a whisper.
"Don't thank me," he said, pulling you closer. "Just lemme take care of you. That's all I want."
The smell of melted butter and toast filled the small room, mixing with the lingering scent of sex and Eddie’s leather jacket draped over the chair. You took another a bite of the grilled cheese and hummed in appreciation. It was simple, but exactly what you needed.
Eddie was still watching you with a satisfied expression, leaning back against the headboard, his own sandwich half-eaten in his hand.
"You really weren't kidding about your cooking skills,” you mumbled around a mouthful. “Probably would’ve come over a lot sooner if I knew how great the room service was.”
Eddie laughed a moment before his expression shifted. The playfulness faded into something more intent, though his eyes remained warm. "I've been thinking."
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Sweetheart, you wound me,” though his grin belied his amusement at your response.
You paused, sandwich halfway to your mouth as you thought about what he’d originally said. The phrase I’ve been thinking rarely led anywhere good in your experience. "What’ve you been thinking about?"
"Us." He set the plate back down on the nightstand and turned his body toward you, one leg bent up on the mattress so he was facing you fully. "I don't want this to be a one-time thing. Like, I really don't."
You swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry. "Okay," you said slowly, trying to gauge where he was going with this. "I... I had a good time too. I think I’m free on Thursday, but I have to get up early on Friday for a -“
"No, I mean... I want to see you. Exclusively." He rushed the words out, like he was worried if he didn't say them fast enough, he'd lose his nerve. "Like, take you on actual dates. Or pick you up from work sometimes. Bring you dinner when you've had a shitty day. I want to be the guy you call when you need something. Not just a release. Though I can give you that too."
Your eyebrows shot up, surprise rippling through you. You weren't expecting him of all people to want to lock this down after one night. Most guys in Hawkins were allergic to labels, treating "relationship" like a dirty word.
"You want to be… Exclusive?"
"Yes," he said, simple and direct. "If you'll have me, that is."
You stared at him, a little stunned. It was ridiculous, really, how much you wanted to say yes right that second, but your brain was still trying to catch up with your heart.
"Eddie... We literally just hooked up for the first time like two hours ago. Isn't that a little... Fast?"
He let out a frustrated huff, running a hand through his messy hair.
"Why? Because I know what I want, and I think you do to?" He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "We’ve known each other for years, baby. I don't need to periodically hook up with you for like six months to know that I want something a bit more permanent.”
“Friendship and hooking up are two different -“
“I don't wanna share you.” The words came out in another rush, and a bolt of adrenaline shot through your veins. It wasn’t like Eddie owned you - but the fact that he wanted to slap a label on the two of you made you feel pretty good. “I don't want you going home with other random guys who don’t know how to make you feel the way you deserve."
You felt your cheeks heat up, his intensity washing over you. It was flattering, overwhelming, and more than a little terrifying. "I just... I don't know, Eddie. It's a lot to process."
"Is it?" He challenged, his voice dropping an octave, his eyes flashing with something dangerous and mischievous. He shifted closer, his hand landing on your bare thigh under the covers, his fingers tracing circles into your skin. "Or are you just used to settling for less? Because I think I can be pretty persuasive when I put my mind to it."
Your breath hitched as his hand slid higher, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Fuck, you still hadn’t tracked down your underwear from wherever he’d thrown it after stripping it off of you hours ago.
"Eddie..."
"Let me convince you," he murmured, leaning in until his lips were hovering just above yours. "Show you exactly what you'd be saying yes to."
Before you could formulate a proper response - before you could even tell him that you were already pretty convinced - he moved. In one fluid motion, he pulled the duvet back, exposing your legs to the cool air. He didn't give you a chance to cover up or shy away as he slid down the bed, hands gripping your hips and tugging you toward him until you were lying flat on your back, your legs falling open instinctively under his touch.
"Eddie, wait, I'm -“
"Shh," he hushed you, his breath hot against your inner thigh. "Just let me take care of you, baby.”
Eddie didn't bother to waste time with teasing or dragging it out. Before you could protest, he buried his face between your legs with a groan that sounded like relief, like he’d been starving and you were the only thing that could nourish him.
The first touch of his tongue was electric. He licked a long, slow stripe up your center, gathering the wetness there and moaning like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted. Your hips writhed against the mattress, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as the sensation overwhelmed you. He held you down, his strong arms wrapping around your thighs, large hands splaying across your stomach to pin you in place.
"You taste so fucking good," he mumbled against you, the vibration of his words sending shockwaves through your core. "I could stay here all night. Want me to try, baby? I’ll do it.”
Without waiting for an answer, he dove back in, his tongue delving deeper, exploring you with a thoroughness that bordered on obsessive. He wasn't just trying to get you off - he was worshipping you. He was learning every fold, ridge, and sensitive spot. Relishing each gasp and whimper he could pull from your throat. He alternated between broad, flat strokes that had you seeing stars and pointed, precise flicks against your clit that made your toes curl. Eddie’s tongue speared into you, and your inner walls clenched instinctively. Pressure began to build low in your hips, and you ground yourself against his face, seeking friction.
You reached down, fingers tangling in his wild hair to pull him closer, needing more. He moaned at the sensation, which only aroused you more.
"Eddie, p-please," you gasped, head falling back against the pillows.
"Tell me yes," he demanded, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. His chin was shiny with your arousal, his lips swollen and red and eyes blazing with lust. "Tell me you'll be mine, and I'll let you finish."
You whined in protest, your hips rolling futilely against the air, seeking the sensations he was currently denying you. "That's... That’s cheating."
"All's fair in love and war, sweetheart," he grinned, wicked and unrepentant. He leaned back in, pressing a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss to your clit, but not moving his tongue. Just holding it there, teasing you with the promise of more pressure. "Say yes."
"You're impossible.”
"I'm persistent," he corrected, flicking his tongue once, hard, against the bundle of nerves, making your legs shake. You were so close to the edge. "Come on, gorgeous. You know you want to. We're so good together. Say. Yes
Then he did it again, a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue, curling it just right, before pulling away entirely. His ringed hands flexed against your thighs, continuing to hold you open for him. It was clear he was barely holding himself back, and his wish to stay between your legs all night was likely not an idle threat.
“Please, baby.” His breath fanned over your center, and what little composure you had snapped.
You let out a sound of pure frustration, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, hands gripping the sheets beneath you. "Okay! Okay, yes! Yes, I'll be your girlfriend!"
"Good girl," he growled, and then he finally stopped teasing.
He attacked your clit with renewed vigor, sucking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it in tight, rapid circles. Your back arched off the bed, a cry tearing from your throat as the pleasure crested, sharp and overwhelming. He didn't let up, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you steady as he wrung every ounce of pleasure out of you. He let your thighs clamp around his ears, not complaining for a moment as your hips rode his face.
It was honestly unlike anything you’d ever felt. It was intense and all-consuming, a white-hot rush that started in your toes and shot up your spine, detonating behind your eyelids in an explosion of stars. You heard yourself crying out broken versions of his name, and possibly some iteration of a litany of curse words as the waves crashed over you, leaving you gasping and trembling in their wake.
He worked you through it, because of course he did. His movements slowed as you came down, gentle licks and kisses to help you ride out the aftershocks. When he finally pulled away, he looked wrecked. His hair was a disaster, his lips practically bruised, and his eyes were glazed over with a mix of lust and adoration that made your heart stutter as your own vision cleared.
Eddie crawled slowly back up your body, pressing kisses to your stomach, chest, and neck, until he was hovering over you, bracing his weight on his arms. He dipped his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on him, musky and sweet, and the sheer eroticism of it made your head spin. Not something you thought you’d ever be into, but there was a first time for everything.
"Don’t you taste good, sweetheart?" he murmured, nipping at your bottom lip.
"You're dangerous," you brought a hand up to cup his cheek gently.
"I'm yours," he corrected, turning his head to kiss your palm. "Exclusively. Remember?"
"I-I remember," you said, a smile finally breaking through the haze. "Gotta say. I think I'm going to like having a boyfriend who takes his job this seriously."
Eddie grinned, and it made your stomach flip. "Oh, I'm just getting started, babe. You have no idea."
just saw a tiktok of these girls tanning in the bed of their neighbors’ truck and he started driving away and now i’m imagining doing this to neighbor!jack abbot…that you coincidentally cant stand because of how much he gets on your nerves…
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader, Desperate!Steve x HopelessRomantic!Reader
Genre: friends to lovers, fake dating, fluff, angst if you squint, yearning Steve, hints at sex?
Summary: Steve swears you're just friends and that he's not in love with you. Then why does he want to light himself on fire whenever he sees you with your boyfriend?
Word Count: 5521
A/N: rewatched Heated Rivalry (already), and the look Shane gives Ilya when he talks about marrying Svetlana makes me feral. Poor Shane wanted to kill himself just thinking about the possibility. Also, this is set somewhere in Season 4, and let's say Starcourt happened almost 2 years ago in July thanks. (Btw i can't keep up with my timelines).
A/N: This feels kinda cringe but idc anymore to be honest :)
The sunshine was a mockery to the despair Steve was currently feeling.
As if the weather itself was laughing at him and the misery he brought upon himself.
It was a mistake.
That's all he could think about as he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white from the force.
The chatter in the car became white noise to him as he got lost in his thoughts. Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, Dustin was able to get him out of his trance with another one of his ridiculous questions.
By the time they arrived at Family Video, Steve's mood was way better than when he woke up. Dustin was impatiently standing by the front door while Steve looked for his keys. And as soon as he got out of the car he heard someone's laugh not far from them.
His good mood lasted for about 10 seconds.
Because he knew who that laugh belonged to.
There was only one girl on the entire planet whose laugh he could recognize this easily.
He knew he would only cause himself more pain, and yet, he couldn't stop himself from turning around, because for Steve it was instinct to acknowledge you, even when he didn't want to.
"There you are", he thought to himself.
Then his brain recognized the person you were laughing with, the person that should've been him.
James.
Fucking James Graham.
Your boyfriend. The one you've been dating for the past month. The one you grace with your smile. The one Steve has to hear about when you call him. The one whose name feels like a stab to the heart.
The one whose place Steve desperately wants to take.
He would give his arms and legs if it meant he would be the one you gush about, the one who makes you blush, the one who takes you on dates and spares every minute he has to spend it with you.
Steve was possessive with his friends, especially now that Dustin was always talking about Eddie this, Eddie that, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. He wasn't angry at him, even though he might look like it. Steve felt a little neglected and his frustration came out in snark remarks aimed at his friend.
So no, Steve was not really a jealous person.
But Lord was he lying if he said he didn't want to take James's face and stitch it onto himself just so you would stare at him like that.
Maybe he was getting a little too graphic.
But he was sure as hell if he stared at you longer he would get in his car, go to the nearest cliff and drive off of it.
He didn't know how long he was standing there staring at you and James looking like a fucking creep, when Dustin grabbed the keys out of his hands with an impatient huff.
Steve allowed himself one last painful look, before following Dustin inside.
"You should've gotten your shit together sooner, you fucking moron."
----------------------------------------
Saying you were nervous would've been the understatement of the century.
You were currently in the bathroom, doing your hair and makeup, getting ready for your date tonight.
A date.
A date Steve set up for you with one of his old friends.
"What the fuck are you doing?", you kept thinking to yourself.
Ever since you accepted Steve's offer you've been living in a haze. A week passed you by in a blur and you woke up dreading tonight.
It's not like you were meeting with a stranger. You met James a couple of times during high school and despite having assholes for friends, he seemed actually nice.
No, there was this nagging voice in your head, the one some people would call Common Sense, that told you it was wrong. That this whole situation was wrong, that this isn't how it was supposed to go.
When Steve came over last week and you went from watching Grease to crying about never getting a date, you had thought he offered the set-up as a joke to comfort you.
And of course you said yes, because what else were you supposed to say to the boy with big brown eyes who treats you as his number one? "No, I can't go, because I'm catastrophically in love with you and I want YOU to date me amongst doing other things? "
Yeah, right.
Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought that he'd actually do it.
And now here you were, putting on your jacket with shaking fingers, hoping that James would cancel at the last minute.
But he didn't.
He showed up in time, opened doors for you and asked questions about you instead of talking about himself all night.
And you wanted to be angry at him. Maybe you were ridiculous for trying to find a fault or a mistake, just so you could end the date and go home.
But like Steve said, James was a gentleman. He looked like he really did enjoy talking to you, although he either didn't notice the fake tone in your voice, or he just didn't want to comment on it.
You wanted to be angry, you wanted something that would justify this feeling of wrongness in you, but you had to admit that James really was a good person. That you could see yourself dating someone like him.
But you didn't want someone like James. You wanted Steve.
You wanted Steve so badly that you agreed to this date in hopes that he would get jealous seeing you with someone that wasn't him and finally make a move. Yeah, you were such a goner for him you started to sound delirious.
So here you were, on a date with a guy you had no intention of dating, with a guy Steve set you up with, feeling like the shittiest person to exist for doing this to James.
Because he seemed to like you, even with how you were acting right now. And it wasn't fair to him, you knew that.
By the time he took you home, you had a fight with yourself on how to let him down gently.
"I-um, I know this might sound a little forward, but I wanted to ask you if we could-" James started, but you quickly cut him off before you could back out.
"I think we shouldn't be dating."
Silence fell on the car, and you could hear a needle drop. It made your skin crawl with nerves, but you continued.
"I know I should've said something sooner, and that this is not fair to you. I had to tell you now, because I don't want to lead you on, or-or make you think we want the same thing, when I don't." You told him and looked him in the eye. "You're a good guy James, just not for me. I'm really sorry."
James looked back at you silently, clearly both surprised and shocked by your sudden confession. He let out a long exhale, his fingers going through his hair, a sign of his confusion at the situation.
He sighed as he finally spoke up. "Well, shit." He leaned back in his seat. "I should've seen this coming."
"No, James, it's really not your fault-"
"Come on, you were zoning out all night, and you clearly looked like you didn't want to be there!" James sighed again and he rubbed his temple.
"I thought you had a bad day, I mean like, everyone has them, or you're probably just nervous or something!"
"I was nervous...just for a completely different reason." You said quietly and felt the familiar nerves flare up in you again as you waited for James's response. After a few seconds of silence he turned to you with a click of his tongue.
"It's someone else, isn't it?" You looked at him with furrowed brows, but when you didn't answer, he nodded his head as if he already knew the answer. "Of course." He mumbled more to himself than you. "It's always someone else."
"I'm sorry. I really am," you whispered to him and he let out a smile, a sad one, but a smile nonetheless. It made you relieved that maybe he wasn't as hurt as you thought he'd be.
"No, no, it's okay. It' neither of our faults. Can't control who we love, right?" He joked and you let yourself smile at that.
"Is he good?" He asked after a few seconds and it made your smile falter. "Is who good?"
"Come on, you know who! The one you were thinking about tonight," he said with a playful roll of his eyes. Despite his behaviour you still stared back at him with confusion.
"Are you sure you want to hear about the guy I was thinking about while we were on a date?" You asked him and he shrugged his shoulders with a faint smile.
"Well, despite acting like a gentleman I'm just like any other guy. I want to know who my competition is," he told you and you had to laugh at the fake cockyness in his voice.
After quickly considering your answer, you tell him about Steve. You don't mention his name, or anything that could make James recognize him, because that would be just mean.
Telling him you're in love with the very guy who set you two up on a date? Yeah, you're not going to ruin whatever friendship James and Steve has, despite the fact they rarely talk to each other anymore.
Your plan is ruined as soon as James opens his mouth.
"Wow. Steve Harrington does have it all. Rich parents, an empty house, great hair and a girl who's head over heels in love with him. Wow, just wow," he chuckles and you stare at him with a shocked expression, but he continues.
"I mean the guy used to be a ladies' man, he sure knows how to sweep you off your feet."
"He doesn't." You say and now it's his turn to look shocked. "That's, kind of the whole problem," you whisper.
It's silent for a few long minutes, and you're about to awkwardly thank James for dinner and get out of the car, when he turns to you with a mischievous smile.
"I might have a very stupid idea."
At first you were wary of his plan, because you were still not 100% sure he wasn't hurt over the date-fiasco, but James, bless his heart, reassured you multiple times that it's totally fine with him. Plus, his friends would stop trying to set him up for a while at least, so it's a win-win situation.
That's how you came to fake-date James Graham, high school graduate, current mechanic at the downtown auto shop. It's not like his name was the most popular in town, but when he stepped in somewhere some people recognized him. Probably an after-effect from his party goer time with Steve.
Also, he wasn't not good looking. He didn't have the perfect hair or the perfect body, but he was a handsome guy. Of course, he didn't make your heart flutter like Steve did, but you weren't blind, you knew he looked good.
A guy who can fix anything around your house, and also a gentleman? Yeah, you knew a few girls will be jealous of you.
But you didn't care about them, because you weren't actually dating. You held hands, hugged longer than friends do, maybe a kiss on the cheek every now and then. You and James had a long talk about what to do in certain situations to make it believable enough, without having to cross lines.
But no matter how many times James told you that Steve was about to crack, you were slowly losing hope.
One entire month of this facade and Steve was still making angry glances at James when he thought no one was looking, listened to your fake rambling about him and still didn't make a move.
Once he even drove you to your fucking date. You couldn't even keep your act up that night and James had to take you home so you could cry yourself to sleep.
Despite giving you a deep analysis of Steve's emotions, again, you were convinced that Steve was going to watch you date his friend, even if it slowly killed both of you.
---------------------------------------------
Steve felt like he was dropped on a battlefield with his sunglasses as his only armor.
There was a heaviness in his chest, his heart a ticking bomb that was ready to explode at the slightest trigger.
And the trigger was you.
He never thought you could ever become someone he was dreading to see, someone he tried to avoid, whose sole thought tightened his stomach, making him feel nauseous.
Coming to this "high school reunion" party at Tommy's place was turning out to be a very bad idea.
The red solo cup turned into his only weapon. Always ready to be filled, but never staying empty. Drink after drink, cigarette after cigarette, Steve slowly but surely reached rock bottom. Stumbling around, laughing with people he had just met, knocking things over.
And when Robin finally found him outside, she could see what everyone else overlooked.
This wasn't Steve Harrington. This was King Steve, who could drink inhuman amounts of alcohol and smoked two packs a day.
Right now he was the very person he was afraid of returning to, the person he left in the past.
"Uh, Steve?"
He froze at the sound of Robin's voice. He surprised himself by registering it over the sound of the music and the crowd.
"Steve? You okay? Why are you out here?" Robin asked him, concern evident in her eyes.
Maybe it was the drinks he forgot to count, or the cigarettes he smoked on top of them, nevertheless he had something to blame his behaviour on.
When Robin asked again if he was okay, Steve just gulped down his drink and stomped on his cigarette, before lighting another one.
"Everythin's fine, party's great, people are great, music could be a bit betterr," Steve's words were slurred, but he didn't correct himself, he just kept on rambling.
"But yeah, everythin's fine. Everythin' is fucking great, I'm havin' the time of my life, drinking and ssmoking. You know, I stoped smokin' around her, cause she hates the smell, but she's not here, so I can do what I want! And right now I. Need. Another. Drink!"
Steve said and began stumbling his way inside the house, only for Robin to step in front of him. She looked at him with a very worried face, grabbing the cigarette out of his mouth.
Steve looked down at Robin's hand holding it, then his eyes slowly looked up to her face with a kind of gaze that could only be described as empty.
A few strands of his hair fell into his face, and his eyes looked void of any emotion, the familiar warmthness gone from them. His eyes were rimmed with tears, blurring his vision and Steve felt his composure crumble the longer Robin looked at him with those sad eyes.
The numerous drinks he had opened the gate to the thoughts he was harboring for the past month, and every single one of them revolved around you.
Every feeling, every emotion, every thought had one thing in common and that was you.
"How many drinks you had, dingus?" Robin asked him gently, but Steve didn't answer, because he was suddenly focused on something else behind Robin's back.
When she turned she immediately saw why he was acting this way. There you were, laughing and dancing with James inside the house.
Robin turned back to Steve with a pitiful look, noticing his shoulders curling inwards and he was maybe seconds away from dropping to the ground. His eyes slowly glanced at Robin and then back to you, and his lips began to wobble.
He looked down at the red solo cup in his hand, wondering how much alcohol would it take for his body to become flammable. Robin noticed the faraway look on his face and grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Okay, listen dingus, you can't keep doing this to yourself. Either move on, or make a move. You can't pine after her all your life," Robin told him matter-of-factly, like she always does.
Steve let out a shaky chuckle. "I alreadydo," he mumbled.
Robin just shook her head with a sigh. "Okay, I really didn't want to do this, but someone has to say it. Get your shit together Steve!" Robin shook him by the shoulders and Steve looked at her with furrowed brows. The movement didn't help with his blurry vision.
"What?" He asked, narrowing his eyes.
"You heard me! Grow a pear and talk to her you moron! You're in love with your best friend and you had the brilliant idea to set her up with your friend?! What the hell did you expect?! That she'll say no? When she deliberately told you she never goes on a date?! You chicken out all the time, so be a man and tell her you love her!!" Robin yelled at him and Steve had to take a step back.
"Whyyy are you yelling? Jesus, Rob, I'm drunk not deaf," Steve mumbled, but made no move to do what she said.
"Yeah, and that's exactly why you should talk to her right now! While you still have something to blame your shit behaviour on!" She told him and Steve shook his head.
"Rob, I love you, but I'd rather kill myself than see her with another guy."
"And whose fault is that, huh?" Robin asked incrediously, and Steve smiled sadly at her, some of his tears escaping and rolling down his face.
"I know I'm an idiot." Steve sniffled. " And I just...miss her. I miss her so much Robin, you don't know. I'm happy she's with a good guy, 'cause James is a good guy, so she should be happy with him. But I know she would be so much happier with me," Steve's voice cracked and Robin had to hold back her own tears.
"T's my fault, everythin's my fault," he whispered. "I missed my chance, and now she's with someone else and I feel like... dying?" He asked the last word more than saying it.
"But like, you know, not in a depressing "I'm sad I want to die" way, more like kinda, like, when I see them together I want to gauge my eyes out, or-or bash my head into concrete," Steve sniffled again, then let out a chuckle as he swayed on his feet.
"And now, the loser I am, I am crying to you about her, because I miss her, I miss her so much, and-Fuck, I already said that, but I love her, and now there's this other guy, who probably loves her too, and I'm just-I just-"
Steve felt himself collapse onto Robin as she hugged him, letting him cry into her shoulder.
"Seeing her with someone that isn't me is pain Robin, it's painful. I love her and it hurts," Steve sobbed and Robin hugged him tighter.
"Is this a bad time to say 'Welcome to the club'?" She asked and after a pause Steve let out a watery chuckle. Robin sighed in relief that she didn't make her already miserable friend even more miserable.
Steve pulled away to wipe his face with his sweater's sleeve and Robin gave him a pat on his shoulder. "You're basically the last one to find out."
"You guys knew?" He asked, somewhat sobering up. Robin looked back at him with an 'Are you serious?' look. "It's completely obvious, you look at her like there's no one else around. Which, sounds very romantic and everything, but like, it's irritating when you can't hear the customer standing in front of you because you're daydreaming about her again."
"Oh." Steve mumbled, and after a long pause shook his head. "I do that?"
"Yes. Very frequently."
"Fuuuuuck," he sighed as he closed his eyes for a second.
For a long minute neither of them said anything. Steve stared at the cup in his hand, visibly in deep thought, and Robin was ready to ask him if he was okay again, when Steve spoke up.
"So...I should, I should talk to her, right now?" He sounded unsure, which was not a common thing Steve did.
"Are you asking or saying that?" Robin asked back and she saw Steve take a deep breath and straighten himself, or at least tried given his drunken state.
"I should talk to her," he mumbled, then looked up at Robin and nodded, gaining more confidence. "I should talk to her. No, I will talk to her. Right now." He nodded again as he handed his cup to Robin and rushed inside.
She had to stiffle her laugh as Steve stumbled on his own feet and tried to make it look like it was the sliding door.
---------------------------------------------
You felt him before you saw him.
You turned your head just barely enough to see Steve looking around the crowd of people, clearly looking for you.
James handed you a cup of something but you couldn't move. It was as if every nerve and muscle in your body was anticipating something, waiting.
You took a sip from your drink, then another, and without thinking you drank the entire thing. You handed the cup back to James who looked at you with hidden worry, but didn't question you.
You turned your head back to see if Steve was still there, and as soon as you did all the air left your lungs.
Steve was staring right back at you.
Your eyes were locked on his, and you couldn't have looked away even if you tried to. His hair looked messy from running his hands through it too much, a clear sign of his frustration.
The brown eyes you loved so much were replaced by a darker look, the bright color almost nonexistent. You took in the way he seemed slightly out of breath, how stiffly he was standing.
Then he took a step closer. Another step. As he got closer you noticed the brief moment his eyes glanced at something behind you, before finding you again. You tilted your head just enough to realize James was still standing close to you, but now he had a smug smile on his face.
You poke his arm and he flashed you that same smile with a look that clearly meant to say "I told you he was about to crack."
You turned back and you were met with Steve, who was standing right in front of you now. You felt your heart literally beat against your chest as he took a step closer, and the noise around you got muffled. You saw his lips moving but your ears couldn't register what he was saying.
As if he could sense what you were feeling, like he had done countless times before, he nodded towards the sliding door where he just came from. Your head nodded before your brain even had time to grasp what he was asking. Steve sent a look towards James, a look you couldn't describe, before walking towards the door.
Once outside, you noticed just how loud everything was inside, and felt your hearing come back to you.
Steve stepped in front of you, his gaze not leaving yours. He opened his mouth to speak but immediately closed it, as if changing his mind. He let out an irritated sigh, looking down at the ground before lifting his head back up.
"This sounded better drunk," he mumbled to himself, and took a deep breath.
"I've been dreading this conversation for the past month." Steve looked at you. "I-I had this talk with my mirror, my closet, my car, my keys and my-, with practically every inanimate object I could find to prepare myself fro this and I still don't feel ready. It's not like that kept me from much though, so umm-" he sighed, running his hand through his hair.
"Do you love him?"
Everything in you froze at his question. You held your breath as if he knocked it out with a simple question.
"W-what?" You whispered.
"Do. You. Love. Him?" Steve asked again, but this time he looked...Scared? Hurt? Was that hurt in his eyes? You kept staring back at him in shock, and you both knew it wasn't because you didn't hear him. You both knew who he was talking about.
"No."
That one, simple word slapped Steve back into the present and he let out a long and shaky sigh as if something was visibly lifted off of him.
"I don't love James," you continued, your breathing barely under control. "But Steve, what's going o-"
"Dump him." He interrupted you and you were breathless again. Not exactly because of what he said, but how he said it. The raw emotions in his eyes, his bright brown eyes, made it unable to look anywhere that wasn't him.
"Break up with him, leave him, do something please, because I can't take this anymore." He shook his head his voice trembling from his emotions.
You felt your eyes burn seeing Steve, your best friend, the boy you were irrevocably in love with, in this much visible pain. Your heart was screaming for an entirely different reason now.
"Can't take what anymore? You-, I-I don't understand, what are you saying Steve?" You asked him on the verge of tears.
Steve took a step closer to you and you could see just how desperate he looked. His chest was heaving, clearly just as out of breath as you felt. His lips trembled as he opened his mouth to speak.
"I can't watch you date James any longer, because I might just light myself on fire. And I don't mean that literally, but that's what it feels like when I see you two together, because it just reminds me of the-,my biggest loss in my whole life, because it feels like I have lost you," he swallowed before quickly continuing. "A-and I know how desperate I'm sounding right now, but frankly, I don't give a damn, because I have lost one entire month of my life that I could've spent with you!"
"And whose fault is that?!" You asked back but immediately regretted it. Your eyes went wide at your own words and you watched Steve's face fall.
"I-I'm sorry, Steve I didn't mean that-"
"You think I don't know that?" He asked and it made you shut up. "I know I screwed up, okay? I ditched you if I could, I made things awkward for you and-, damn it I'm the one who arranged the fucking date for you, what the hell did I expect?!" Steve exclaimed at his own actions.
"We both screw up, okay? You think I would give you hints while "dating" someone else if I didn't want you to ask me out?" You air quoted dating and watched Steve's face slowly go from confusion to realization.
"What? What do you mean by "dating"?" He air quoted back to you, sobering up.
"It was fake!" You exclaimed, all the pent up emotions bubbling to the surface. "We were pretending to date each other so you would get jealous! All the times I talked about him and showed him off at your work, I was hoping you would have enough of it!"
Your breathing became ragged as you tried to slow down your racing heart, but Steve didn't give you a chance to collect yourself from your outburst, because in one second he was holding your face in his hands.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please tell me I have a chance to make this right. I'll-I'll beg if I have to, but just tell me I still have a chance to be with you," he paused, "If you love me just half as much as I love you. I won't screw it up, I promise you."
You didn't notice when you began crying, just that Steve wiped your cheeks with his hands despite on the verge of crying himself. You opened your mouth to say something back to him, not caring how much your voice trembled.
"I-I don't even know-, I-It's, fuck-why is it this hard to say I love you when I actually have to say it?" You complain and feel Steve's hands began to shake on your face and it makes you look up at him.
"Steve? Oh-" You let out a surprised gasp before his lips crash onto yours.
There's nothing slow in the way he kisses you, no, he pours every ounce of his repressed jealousy and desperation into the way he moves his lips. You might sound crazy, but you swear you can taste his hopefulness.
It's not like you're holding back either.
You grip the shirt at his chest with such force you would worry you might actually tear it, if you cared about that at the moment. No, at the moment you were busy with trying to make him taste your own emotions. The kiss becomes frantic, and suddenly the two of you are trying to eat each other up.
Steve pulls apart just enough to mumble onto your lips. "I love you." He kisses you again, then moves to your jaw. "I love you," he kisses your neck, "I love you so goddamn much." He nibbles at the spot between your ear and neck, letting out a quiet groan at your gasp.
"I love you Steve," you whisper onto his skin as you kiss his jaw. "I've been in love with you since you put on that ridiculous Scoops outfit." You kiss him again and he pulls apart briefly to look at you.
"That long? You've been in love with me for almost two years?" Steve asks you with wide eyes, voice disbelieving and you just nod. "We could've been together for two years?" He asked with a teary chuckle and you smiled back at him.
He leaned his forehead against yours and let out a long exhale, before quickly snapping his head up. "Wait did you answer? Do you give me a cha-"
This time it was you who interrupted him, kissing him the same way he did mere moments ago. It seemed Steve didn't have to be told twice to kiss you, because he instantly followed your rhythm, even deepening the kiss.
"Guess you sobered up Steve, huh?"
The voice made both of you pull away and turn towards the sounds. Robin and James were standing a few feet from you, with a smug smile on their faces.
"You guys look like you've seen a ghost," James added casually. You and Steve stood stiff next to each other, trying to look normal and comically failing at it.
"Come on, don't act like you weren't down each others throats! We're glad you finally got your act together."
"Robin?" Steve asked with a tight voice.
"Yes, dingus?"
"Go back. Or go home. I don't care. Leave us alone."
"Ooooh, the lovebirds want some alone time?" James asked on a lady-like voice and it was your turn to glare at him.
"James?"
"Yes, hun?"
"I'm dumping you."
"Given that you were basically dry humping Steve, I gathered that."
"Okay, if you don't leave than we will." Steve said and looked at you for permission before taking your hand and pulling you away.
You glanced back and saw Robin and James wave and laugh at the two of you. You turned back to Steve and squeezed his hand once, still not completely believing what happened.
Steve loves you. Steve kissed you. Steve is in love with you.
It wasn't until you were sitting in the passenger seat of Steve's car that you didn't know where Steve was taking you.
"Where are we going Steve?" You asked as he started the car.
"Mine. Or yours. Whatever you want," he said and looked at you for further instructions.
"Well, if you ask me, I wouldn't mind continuing what we were doing before," you told him with a small smile and Steve smiled back at you. "Yeah, you want that?"
"Yes, I want to do that. Very much so, but...no funny business, Harrington," you whispered, leaning closer to him and he mirrors your actions.
"We could watch paint dry for all I care, if it means I get to hold you all night," he whispers and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sincerety in his voice.
"Making up for lost time already?" You ask him playfully and he pecks your lips before shifting the car into gear.
"Never too soon to start earning my boyfriend status, right?"
The road is dark, the only thing shining is the headlights of the car. It's quiet between you for a minute before you turn in your seat to face Steve.
sam levinson sleep with one eye open because tell me why euphoria is genuinely the most graphic show I’ve ever seen but conveniently the scene of rue fucking a woman is off screen?? oh don’t piss me off
Summary: When Steve wakes up, the truth finally surfaces. Is this the end of you… or a new beginning?
Warnings: angst, established relationship, married couple, arguments, marriage issues, pregnancy, infertility issues, maternity, motherhood, emotional distress, accident, injuries, alleged cheating, presumption of infidelity, divorce mentions
English isn't my first language, so be understandable and gentle, thanks!
Word count: +15k
Author's note: I hope you’re ready, because all your questions will finally be answered and everything will be revealed. Are you ready to find out? I definitely can’t wait to read your reactions and what you think. I really hope you love this chapter as much as the previous ones… if not more. Let me know what you think with a comment, your feedbacks are really important for me. And if you want to support me even more, reblog it. I'd really appreciate it. Now enjoy it and thanks for reading!
Two days after your conversation with Kirsten, the doctors told you the coma was no longer necessary and that they could begin reducing the sedatives.
They explained everything in careful, clinical terms — what it meant, how his body would respond, what to expect over the next few hours, the next few days. You listened, nodding when it felt appropriate, your eyes fixed on them as if you were following every word.
But you weren’t.
Because the only thing that truly registered, the only thing that stayed with you, was one simple fact.
Steve was going to wake up soon.
Aside from that news, your days didn’t change much. You still followed the same routine you had built for yourself since the accident.
You waited.
You sat by his bed, watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, listened to the steady rhythm of the machines. You spoke to him, quietly, filling the silence when it became too much. Other times, you just stayed there, your hand wrapped around his.
Somewhere along the way, everything had started to feel… suspended. Like time had paused, caught between what had been and what was supposed to happen next. The separation, your argument, the diagnosis — it all felt distant, almost unreal. There were moments when it barely seemed like it had happened at all.
And something almost ironic about it — cruelly so.
Just two weeks before, you had left him, walked out of your home and spent an entire week avoiding him, refusing to see him, to hear him out.
And now…
Now you spent every single day at his bedside, watching him breathe, sitting beside him for hours just to be close to him, taking care of him like nothing had ever happened. Like you had never left.
You had slipped back into your place so naturally it almost felt strange.
You were his wife again.
In a strange, unsettling way, the accident had restored something that had broken between you, forcing everything back into place.
But none of that was real. You knew it wasn’t. Because the moment Steve opened his eyes, reality would come rushing back in and everything you had been avoiding would still be there, waiting for you.
And that scared you.
The moment he woke up, there would be no more hiding from what came next.
It was a kind of contradiction. You couldn’t wait for Steve to regain consciousness but at the same time, a quiet fear lingered beneath it all — tight, persistent, suffocating.
At some point, you decided it was finally time to prepare a bag for him — clothes, basic things he would need when he woke up. Which meant going home. Your home. The same one you had left almost two weeks ago. The thought alone made your chest tighten.
When you parked in front of the house, your hands stayed on the steering wheel for a moment longer than necessary. Your eyes lifted slowly to the front door.
The memory came back so vividly it almost felt real. Steve standing just a few steps away from the car the day you had left, His chest rising and falling too fast, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. You could still see the confusion in his eyes and hear the pain in his voice as he begged you not to go. To stay.
You swallowed hard and blinked, forcing the image away. Then you exhaled, steadying yourself, and stepped out of the car. You unlocked the door and stepped inside.
For a split second, you expected to hear Steve’s voice calling your name from another room. The faint sound of movement upstairs. Or to feel his arms wrapping around you, welcoming you home after a long day.
Instead, there was nothing.
Just silence, settling around you immediately, heavy in a way that felt unfamiliar in a place that had never been quiet before.
You took a few steps forward, your gaze moving slowly around the living room. Everything looked exactly as you had left it.
Almost.
Your eyes caught on the coffee table — on the empty beer bottles scattered across it, a few more near the edge like they had been set down carelessly and forgotten.
Your chest tightened.
Steve wasn’t like that. He drank, sure, but occasionally. Never too much. Never like this.
It was the only real sign he had been there at all. Otherwise, the house felt untouched. As if he had simply been passing through it, existing in it without really living in it.
Your throat tightened slightly.
That place didn’t feel like home.
Not without him.
Because it had never really been about the walls.
It had always been him.
Now you felt out of place in it. Like an intruder.
You swallowed the thought down before it could settle too deeply and turned toward the stairs, taking them quickly, almost on instinct, until you reached the bedroom.
The door was still slightly open as if someone had left in a hurry, without bothering to close it first. You pushed it wider and stepped in, stopping almost immediately on the doorway.
Steve’s side of the bed was still unmade, the sheets wrinkled and half-pulled loose like they had been left in the middle of something. The books he had found were still scattered across the floor. On his nightstand, Eddie’s stash and a lighter sat exactly where he had left them.
Your side of the room was untouched. Your things — the one you hadn’t taken with you — were still there just as you had left it. Your chest tightened as the realization settled in. Steve hadn’t moved or packed anything away. He had left it all there. Like everything had been waiting for you to come back and press play again.
You swallowed and forced yourself to move. You bent down, picking up the books from the floor, stacking them one by one. You smoothed the sheets absentmindedly, straightening the bed just enough to make it look less abandoned. When you finished, you walked to the closet and pulled out one of Steve’s duffel bags, setting it on the bed.
For a moment, you just stood there, staring at it. Then you started packing — a few changes of clothes, toiletries. You folded each piece of clothing with care, placing it inside one by one, slowly.
Your mind pulled you back to two weeks earlier. When you had done the same thing — only faster, messier. Throwing your things into a suitcase, without stopping, too focused on leaving before he came back. Before he could stop you.
Your hand stopped for a second, your fingers tightening slightly around the fabric you were holding.
Coward, a little voice whispered into your mind.
You swallowed hard, your throat dry, sore.
It was true. You had chosen the easy way out by not giving him a chance to speak and decide.
Your grip softened.
And in doing so, you had hurt him anyway. Maybe more.
You brought the shirt to your chest, holding it there for a moment, your eyes closing briefly as you breathed him in. You lowered it slowly, smoothing it out before placing it in the bag with the rest.
If you had just talked to him from the beginning… Maybe things would have been different. And now maybe you wouldn't be in an empty house, silently packing a bag to take to your unconscious husband in the hospital.
You zipped the bag shut, the sound cutting through the silence of the room. You stood there for a second, your hand resting on top of it. Then you picked up the bag and walked out of the room, down the stairs, and toward the front door. Your hand lingered on the handle for just a moment before you opened it. As you stepped outside, you wondered if you would come back one day.
Or if that was another goodbye again.
—
The next day, the doctors stopped the last of the sedatives.
Now it was up to Steve.
They told you it could take hours. Maybe a couple of days.
The moment they said it, a silent countdown started in your mind. You found yourself checking the clock constantly, watching the minutes pass and counting the hours. It had become like a hobby by now. A boring, slow one.
Every time you looked at him, you wondered if that would be the moment in which his fingers would twitch. Or if his eyes would finally open. And as the hours passed, the anxiety that had been sitting quietly in your chest began to grow.
You needed him to wake up. To hear his voice. To see his big, brown eyes open and look at you. You needed to be sure that he was really okay. That he was still… him.
Even though the doctors had been reassuring, the bleeding had resolved and the fractures were healing well, they had also mentioned possible complications due to the head trauma. Cognitive ones as memory loss or speech issues.
You didn’t know which one scared you more.
And you hoped you would never have to find out.
—
As hours passed and you waited for Steve to wake up, you began to prepare yourself on what to say. How to say it. Because you knew that the moment he woke up, reality would follow. And everything you had left unfinished would still be there, waiting. You had a conversation to resume. Many things to discuss.
And Kirsten, of course.
Your jaw tightened slightly at the thought.
Despite everything, you hadn’t forgotten. You couldn’t. Even if part of you wanted to push it aside, just for a little longer.
Your mind had shifted from imagining them together — filling in the blanks with your worst assumptions — to replaying every single word Kirsten had said to you. Over and over again. Like a broken record. Since that conversation, you had gone through it countless times in your head, picking it apart, analyzing every detail, every pause, every expression.
Trying to understand what was real.
Trying to figure out what had been left unsaid.
Robin’s words echoed faintly in your mind.
Let him explain.
You exhaled quietly. Even though you had already spoken to her and knew what had happened that night, you would listen to Steve. To his version. He was the only one who could remove all doubts and clarify everything.
What if she had lied?
In the end, you didn’t know her and maybe that night something else had happened. Something she might not have told you. Something she might have left out. But you knew Steve. You knew him well enough to know when he was lying or not. So you would let him explain and you would listen. Really listen. All the way through. Without interruptions. Without shutting him out. Or walking away.
You owed him that. To yourself, too. And to your marriage.
Your gaze dropped to your joined hands, swallowing hard.
There were things you needed to say as well.
In the days you had spent there, sitting beside him, watching him fight through something you couldn’t see, something had shifted. You had had time to think and to replay everything. You had questioned your own choices. And some of them didn’t sit right anymore.
You had things to admit. Mistakes to own. And you had made decisions — new ones— that would change everything. Again.
Your grip on his hand tightened slightly.
“Wake up, Steve,” you murmured, your voice low, almost lost in the quiet of the room.
Because no matter what waited for you on the other side of that moment, you needed him there for it.
-
By the time evening settled outside the hospital windows, the room had dimmed into that quiet, bluish half-light that made everything feel suspended.
You were sitting beside Steve, a sheet of paper resting on your lap, a pencil moving slowly between your fingers as you worked on a sketch, trying to keep yourself busy.
You hadn’t left his side all day, refusing to go home. The doctors had warned you he would likely be confused, agitated and you didn't want to risk Steve waking up alone, while you weren't there. You wanted to be there for him — to soften that moment as much as possible.
Your gaze lifted toward him again, almost automatically. It had become a reflex at this point—checking, even when you didn’t realize you were doing it.
You sighed quietly.
He was the same as he had been all day — still, quiet. No changes yet.
Your eyes began to drop back to the paper when you saw it, freezing instantly.
His fingers had moved. Just slightly. So faint you weren’t even sure it had happened. Maybe you had imagined it, you thought.
You blinked, your breath catching. Your eyes quickly flicked to his.
They were closed.
Your gaze snapped back to his hand.
The fingers were still. Immobile.
Your heart started to beat faster, your grip tightening slightly around the pencil as doubt crept in. You had imagined it, you told yourself. You had to have. After all, you were exhausted. You hadn’t slept properly in days. And it wouldn’t have been the first time your mind played tricks on you.
You swallowed, forcing yourself to look again, and waited.
One.
Two.
Ten seconds.
Then you saw again.
A small, uncoordinated twitch of his fingers.
You blinked. Once. Twice.
His fingers kept moving.
It was real.
Your chair scraped loudly against the floor as you stood up too quickly, the sound barely registering. The paper and pencil slipped from your hands and fell onto the seat behind you as you moved closer to the bed, your eyes locked on him.
“Steve…” The name left your lips before you could stop it, barely more than a breath.
His eyelids fluttered. Slowly. Uncertainly. Like even that small movement required effort.
Your heart stuttered in your chest as you reached for his hand, wrapping your fingers around his, tightly, holding on. “Steve,” you repeated, your voice trembling now.
His eyes opened — just a fraction at first — then closed again almost immediately, like the light was too much. His brow furrowed faintly.
A second later, he tried again. This time they stayed open a little longer, unfocused. He blinked, slow and heavy, his gaze drifting across the room without really seeing it. Then his eyes widened and his breathing turned uneven, shallow, like his body was trying to catch up with something it didn’t understand yet.
“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice breaking despite your attempt to steady it. “It’s me. I’m here, Steve.”
Your hand tightened around his, careful not to hurt him, as your other one moved to his hair, brushing it back gently from his forehead, your touch careful, delicate.
His eyes finally found you, tilting his head slightly toward you and the tension in his features eased, just a little. He swallowed slowly.
You felt your chest tighten.
“You’re in the hospital,” you continued softly, forcing the words out through the emotion building in your throat. “You had an accident, but you’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”
You forced a small smile.
He didn’t respond. He just kept looking at you, his gaze fixed, almost searching. Like he was holding onto the only thing in the room that made any sense. Like if he looked away, even for a second, you might disappear. You couldn't even imagine how scared and confused he must feel.
A flicker of panic rose in your chest.
“Steve?” you said again, slower this time. “Can you hear me?”
No answer.
Your stomach dropped.
What if he didn’t recognize you?
The thought hit fast, sharp, stealing the air from your lungs as the doctors’ warnings echoed in your mind, again and again.
Consequences. Memory loss. Speech issues.
You swallowed hard, your grip softening unconsciously around his hand.
“I— I’m going to get someone,” you said quickly, the words rushing out, stumbling over each other as panic crept into your voice. “I’ll be right back, okay? I just need to call a doctor—”
You started to pull away but his hand tightened around yours. Not strongly. He had just woken up and was still weak, but still strong enough to stop you.
Your breath caught as your eyes dropped to where your hands were joined, then snapped back to his face.
His lips parted slightly, his throat working as he tried to speak. The sound that came out was low. Rough. Like it hurt.
“…don’t…”
The word barely made it past his lips. But it was there. Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made you dizzy.
He could speak.
You leaned closer immediately to hear better, your heart pounding.
“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to—”
He tried again, his breathing faltering, uneven.
“…go…”
Each word seemed to cost him effort.
“…please…”
Your chest tightened painfully as your eyes filled with tears, blurring your vision.
“…don’t… leave me.”
You pulled away from him. A shaky breath left your lips, something between a sob and a laugh, relief and emotion crashing together all at once. You shook your head quickly, your fingers tightening around his as if to reassure him.
“Hey—hey, no,” you said softly, your voice trembling despite your attempt to keep it steady. “I’m not leaving you. I’m right here.”
You leaned closer again, your thumb brushing gently over his knuckles.
“You’re okay,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “You’re okay.”
The fact that he could speak and reach for you was reassuring, easing some of the fear that had been building in your chest for days.
“I just need to tell them you’re awake, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”
His grip didn’t loosen immediately. His eyes stayed on you, wide, uncertain, like he didn’t trust your words. Not completely.
You smiled at him, forcing yourself to gently pull your hand free, slowly. Your fingers lingered for a second longer before you stepped back. “I’ll be right there,” you reassured him again.
You turned and moved quickly toward the door. “Nurse!” Your voice echoed down the hallway, sharper, urgent. “Nurse! My husband — he’s awake — I need a doctor! Can I get a doctor, please?”
Footsteps approached almost immediately. A nurse appeared at the end of the corridor, her pace quickening as you explained, words tumbling over each other. “He just woke up — he’s conscious, he’s talking—”
She nodded and turned without hesitation, hurrying off to call a doctor.
You turned back and walked quickly into the room, your eyes immediately finding him again. You crossed the space in a few quick steps and reached for his hand again, wrapping your fingers around his.
His gaze returned to you instantly.
“Hey! The doctor’s coming,” you said softly, your voice gentler now, steadier. “Everything will be okay.”
A few minutes later, the nurse returned, this time accompanied by a doctor. You instinctively stepped slightly to the side to give them space, though your hand remained wrapped around Steve’s, your fingers unwilling to let go completely.
The doctor approached calmly, offering Steve a small, reassuring smile before reaching into his coat pocket.
“Steve,” he said gently, “can you hear me?”
Steve’s eyes, heavy and slow, shifted from you to him. It took a moment, but he gave a faint nod.
“Good,” the doctor continued. He lifted a small penlight, bringing it up carefully. “I’m just going to check your eyes, okay? Follow the light for me.”
The beam moved slowly from side to side. Steve’s gaze followed, sluggish but responsive. The doctor watched closely, studying the movement, then repeated it once more before nodding to himself.
“Alright,” he said quietly, more to himself than to either of you. He lowered the light and straightened slightly. “You’re in the hospital,” he continued, voice calm and steady. “You were in an accident. You’ve been unconscious for a few days, but you’re safe now.”
Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to process the information.
The doctor watched him for a second, then reached for the chart at the foot of the bed, flipping it open.
“Do you remember what happened?” he asked. “The accident?”
Steve hesitated. You felt your breath catch in your throat without realizing it, your body going still beside him. His gaze drifted briefly, unfocused, like he was searching for something in his mind and coming up empty.
Then, slowly, he shook his head.
Your chest tightened. You forced yourself to swallow, keeping your expression steady even as something uneasy settled deep inside you.
The doctor gave a small, thoughtful nod, as if the answer didn’t surprise him, and made a quick note on the chart. Then he looked up. His gaze shifted — first to you, briefly — before returning to Steve.
“And do you recognize this woman?” he asked.
The question seemed to echo in the room as every muscle in your body went rigid, your eyes locking onto Steve’s face, searching for something — anything — that could answer that question.
Steve’s eyes found yours. His gaze lingered, quiet, intent, studying you. As if he was trying to understand something just out of reach.
You forced a small smile, encouraging, though it felt fragile, uncertain. You swallowed.
Seconds stretched as your heart pounded loudly in your ears, each beat sharper than the last.
Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he nodded.
Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made your knees weak. Air rushed back into your lungs as if you had been holding it the entire time.
“…my wife,” Steve managed, his voice rough, low, the words dragged out with effort. “She’s… my wife.”
Your breath left you in a quiet, unsteady exhale, something in your chest loosening all at once.
He remembered you. He knew who you were.
He was still your Steve.
The doctor gave a satisfied nod, jotting something down. “Good,” he said simply.
He closed the chart with a soft snap and looked back at Steve.“For today, I think that’s enough,” he continued. “We’ll run more tests tomorrow. For now, the most important thing is that you rest. Try not to tire yourself out.”
Steve gave the faintest nod, his eyelids already starting to droop again.
“You’ve been very lucky, Mr. Harrington,” the doctor added. Then he stepped back, exchanging a brief glance with you before he turned and made his way toward the door, the nurse following closely behind.
After a second, the door closed softly and the room fell quiet again.
For a moment, you didn’t move. A small part of you hesitated, suddenly aware that you were alone with him again. You weren’t sure what to do. How to act. Or what came next.
You swallowed slowly, then turned back toward him.
Steve was already looking at you.
You took a small step closer. Then another. Careful. Almost unsure.
“Hey…” you said softly, your voice quiet. “How do you feel?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes stayed on yours, steady despite the exhaustion behind them. Then they fluttered shut for a brief second — too long — before reopening abruptly, like he was checking that you were still there.
“…okay,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, each word slow, heavy. “Just… tired.”
The effort it took him to speak was evident in the way his breathing hitched slightly afterward.
You nodded gently, your expression softening. “Yeah,” you murmured. “That makes sense. You should try to get some sleep.”
He shook his head almost immediately, though the movement was weak, unsteady. His eyes were already half-closed.
“But… Don’t… want to.” The words came out uneven, dragged between breaths.
Your hand moved instinctively, brushing lightly over his forehead, fingers threading gently through his hair. “Hey,” you said softly, almost a whisper. “It’ll help. You heard the doctor — you need to rest.”
At your touch, some of the tension in his face eased a little. His eyes opened once more, slower this time, searching for you. “Will you… be here?” he asked, his voice quieter now, fragile. He swallowed after, like even that had taken effort. “When I wake up…”
The question lingered between you.
For a second, you didn’t answer. Your chest tightened, your gaze flickering over his face — taking him in like you were trying to memorize him, or maybe reassure yourself that he was really there. Your eyes filled with tears. Then you nodded.
“Of course.”
You hesitated for just a fraction of a second before adding, softer. “I’ll be here.”
His eyes stayed on you for another moment, like he was holding onto that answer, before the weight of exhaustion finally pulled him under. His grip loosened, the eyelids drooped and his breathing evened out again, slow and steady.
You remained where you were, your hand still resting lightly against him, your thumb absentmindedly brushing against his skin.
-
Sometime in the middle of the night, a strained sound pulled you out of sleep.
You were curled on your side on the small couch, one arm tucked under your head, the thin hospital blanket barely covering you. You frowned, still caught somewhere between sleep and waking, before it came again — low, uneven. A quiet groan. Your eyes snapped open when you realized where it was coming from.
You pushed yourself up immediately, the blanket slipping off as you crossed the room in a few quick steps, barefoot against the cold floor.
“Steve?”
He was exactly in the same position you had left him but something was wrong. He was restless. His eyes were still closed but his expression was tense, brows drawn together. His jaw was clenched, and his head moved faintly from side to side against the pillow, like he was trying to shake something off.
Another strained sound left his lips.
Your stomach dropped. “Hey… hey, it’s okay,” you said softly, reaching him, your hand settling on his arm. “Are you in pain? Do you need me to call someone?”
He gave you no response. The only sound in the room was his uneven breathing.
You leaned closer, your grip tightening slightly. “Steve?” you called again, a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
You shook him gently, not wanting to hurt him, and then suddenly you stopped.
It wasn’t pain.
He was having a nightmare.
You moved your hand to his shoulder, about to wake him when his lips parted, a broken sound slipping out.
“…no…”
You froze.
“…wait…”
Your breath caught.
“…Kirsten…”
The name hit you like a shock. Everything in you went still. Your fingers loosened against him as you just stared, your chest tightening, your breath suddenly shallow.
For a second, you weren’t sure you had heard it right. But the name lingered in the space between you. Clear enough. Heavy.
Steve’s head shifted once more against the pillow — then stilled. His face relaxed. His breathing evened out, slow, steady, like whatever had held him had finally let go.
As if nothing had happened.
You didn’t move for a second. You swallowed, your throat dry, your chest tight as something unsettled twisted deep inside you. Then, slowly, you stepped back, your hand slipping away from him. You returned to the couch and lay down again, staring at the ceiling, your body tense, your mind completely wide awake now. Every time you closed your eyes, you heard it.
Kirsten.
Over and over again.
You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn’t help.
What had he been dreaming about? Why her?
Your thoughts spiraled before you could stop them.
Had he been remembering the night he had spent with her? Which part?
Had it meant something?
Your stomach twisted, almost making you want to throw up. You swallowed, trying to get rid of the nausea. You felt hurt in a way you didn’t quite know how to name.
The name echoed again.
Kirsten.
Until, eventually, exhaustion pulled you under and you fell asleep.
-
Morning came quietly.
When you woke, it took you a moment to remember where you were. Your body felt stiff, your neck sore from the awkward angle you had slept in. The thin hospital light filtered through the curtains, pale and diffused, settling softly across the room. You blinked, still half-asleep, and turned onto your other side — the one facing Steve’s bed. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows to check on him.
He was still asleep.
His breathing was steady, his face relaxed, peaceful. You let yourself fall back against the couch with a quiet sigh, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before finally forcing yourself up.
You moved slowly, careful not to make noise, and reached for your bag. From it, you pulled out a change of clothes and your small toiletry pouch. Before heading to the bathroom, you glanced at him again. Only then did you slip inside and close the door softly behind you.
The cold water helped you to wake up completely. Then you brushed your teeth and changed into a pair of jeans and a white blouse, leaving the top buttons undone. You braided your hair with quick, practiced movements, your reflection staring back at you — pale, tired, like you had aged years in just a few days.
For a brief second, your mind betrayed you and Kirsten’s image appeared before you with her perfect hair and flawless make-up, put together in a way you didn’t feel right now. Your jaw tightened as Steve’s voice, whispering her name, echoed again in your mind.
Your stomach dropped.
Your gaze shifted back to your reflection. Then lower. To your body. A body that suddenly felt… wrong. Defective. While Kirsten was everything you didn’t feel like in that moment. Younger. Pretty. And probably fertile.
The thought landed sharp and heavy, tightening your throat.
Maybe Steve had seen it too that night. He must have looked at her and found her beautiful. Maybe he had seen something easier in her. Simpler. Someone who didn’t come with defects. Unlike you.
You swallowed.
Was that why he stayed?
Before you could spiral further, you reached for your makeup and started applying it with more focus than necessary. Controlled. Precise. Like it could fix something. Or at least hide it.
When you stepped back into the room, your eyes lifted instinctively to him.
Steve was awake, propped slightly against the pillows now, his posture still weak, shoulders slouched.
You froze for half a second. “Hey… you’re awake,” you said after a moment, a little too quickly, a hint of surprise slipping into your voice. You gave him a small smile.
He didn’t look away. “You’re here,” he said, like he wasn’t entirely sure of it. Like he needed to say it out loud to believe it.
Something in your chest shifted. You set your pouch down on the couch and moved closer, your your steps first quickly, then slower, more careful as you approached his bed.
“Yeah, of course I am. I just — I went to freshen up a bit,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom. “You know… look somewhat presentable. I haven’t exactly been at my best these —”
“You look beautiful.”
The words came without hesitation.
You blinked, caught off guard. Your mouth parted slightly, whatever you had been about to say dissolving before it could take shape. For a second, you just stood there, a little stunned — then a small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips.
There was a brief pause.
“Well…” you cleared your throat lightly, your gaze briefly dropping before lifting back to him. “You don’t look that bad yourself, all things considered.”
There was a hint of amusement in your tone, an attempt — gentle, careful — to ease the tension. But inside you the anxiety was eating you up.
You stopped beside the bed, suddenly aware of how close you were.
“How are you feeling?” you asked, softer now. “Did you sleep okay? Are you in pain?”
It felt strange standing there or talking to him after everything. Not in a bad way. Just strange as the last conversation you had shared still hovered somewhere between you, unspoken but present. Like an echo neither of you could quite shake.
And there was the distance too. Not physical. But more like you were both trying to find your footing without knowing where the ground was.
Steve hesitated. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he answered. “I’m… okay, I think,” he said, his voice still rough, low from disuse. “A little sore. But… I guess it could be worse.”
He shifted slightly against the pillows, the movement slow, careful. His eyes drifted briefly around the room, as if grounding himself. Then back to you.
“I—” he started, then paused, like he had to gather the energy for the question. “How long was I out?”
“A week.”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard. His lips parted slightly. “Oh.”
Then, he nodded faintly, his gaze dropping for a second as he processed it, shoulders sinking just a little deeper into the pillows.
For a moment, the room fell so quiet you could hear just your own breathing, your heartbeat loud in your ears.
You sat down on the chair beside his bed, leaving a careful distance between you.
It felt wrong. Being this close to him — in the same room, within reach — and not touching him. You kept your hands folded tightly in your lap, fingers laced together as if that alone could keep you still. Because part of you wanted to move closer. To reach for him. To take his hand, feel the warmth of his skin, reassure yourself that he was real.
But you didn’t and stayed where you were.
“Do you… remember anything?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now, more cautious. “About the accident, I mean.”
Steve lifted his gaze to you. For a second, he just looked at you — like he was trying to read something in your expression, something you weren’t saying. Then he shook his head.
“Not really,” he admitted. “I mean… it’s all kind of blurry. Pieces, maybe. But nothing that makes sense.”
You nodded faintly, though your mind had already moved ahead.
What else didn’t he remember?
Did he forget what had happened with Kirsten or the dream he had last night?
“I think I… had too much to drink,” he continued, slower now, as if choosing each word carefully. “The last thing I can clearly recall is being in the car and—”
He stopped. His expression shifted almost instantly. His eyes flickered, unfocused for a second, his face tightening, the color draining slightly from it as if something had just clicked into place.
You leaned forward in your seat without thinking. “Hey—hey, what is it?” you asked quickly, the edge of panic slipping into your voice. “Are you okay? Does something hurt?”
Steve blinked a few times, trying to steady himself, his breathing uneven for a moment. “No, I’m okay,” he said finally, though his voice came out rougher than before. “It’s just…Was anyone else hurt?”
The question caught you off guard.
You frowned slightly. “What?”
“The accident,” he clarified, his voice tense now, more awake than before. “Was there any victim? Anyone—”
“No,” you interrupted gently but firmly, shaking your head. “There were no victims.”
He went still. For a moment, he just stared at you, searching your face — making sure. Then his shoulders dropped, a quiet breath leaving him, relieved.
“Okay… okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, nodding faintly.
But you could see he was still tense. His gaze lowered briefly, his jaw tightening again as something else settled in.
“I just…” he started, then paused, swallowing. He dragged a hand over his face, slower this time. You could see it — the moment where he had to decide whether to say it or not. “I just remembered something,” he said finally, his voice lower now, heavier. “Something you should know.”
Your heart sank, even though you already knew what he was going to tell. Or at least, you thought you did.
Still, you didn’t say anything. You just nodded, giving him space to continue.
Steve dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, like he was trying to gather himself. Then his hand dropped, almost unconsciously, to his other one. His fingers closed around his ring finger, rubbing at the bare skin where his wedding band should have been. Back and forth.
“I…” His gaze slipped away from yours, fixing somewhere ahead of him, unfocused—like it was easier to look at nothing than at you. “I wasn’t alone.”
The words landed heavier coming from him, making everything more real.
“There was someone else in the car with me,” he went on, his voice uneven, low. “A woman.”
You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. Hearing it out loud from him made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. Final in a way you couldn’t undo.
You stayed still, silent and let him continue.
Let him explain, Robin’s voice echoed clearly in your mind.
“After… after our argument that night,” he continued, slower now, like he was piecing it together as he spoke, “I couldn’t go home. I just —” He shook his head faintly. “I didn’t want to be there. Not without you.” His eyes flickered briefly toward you, then dropped again almost immediately. “I needed to get out. To not think for a while. I was…” He exhaled sharply. “I was a mess. Angry. Tired. Everything at once. And I didn’t —” He swallowed, dragging in a breath, like even saying it out loud cost him something. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
You lowered your eyes to your hands, your fingers curling slightly into your palms.
“So I went to the Hideout,” he continued. “Just to have a drink. But… Instead, I ended up having a few.”
A humorless breath left him.
“And that’s where I met her.”
He let his head fall forward, his hands coming up to his face as if the memory itself was too much.
“She—” he started, then faltered. “She asked if she could sit.”
A brief silence stretched between you.
“I… I knew what she was really asking for. What she really wanted,” he admitted, dropping his gaze. “And I know that it’s not really an excuse but… I felt so alone.” His voice edged with something close to shame. He swallowed, eyes briefly closing. “I thought a little company wouldn't hurt. So I let her sit next to me.” A small pause, like even saying it felt wrong. “We started talking. And she… started flirting.”
His fingers tightened slightly against the bedsheet, the fabric wrinkling beneath his grip.
“I should’ve left,” he muttered. “I know that. I should’ve gotten up and walked away.” A pause. “But I didn’t. And I didn’t stop her,” he admitted, voice lower now.
Your breath caught quietly in your chest.
“I stayed. I kept drinking and she kept—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “We kept talking. She started touching my arm, laughing at everything I said. She… she listened to me like it actually mattered.”
You stayed still while a sharp, uncomfortable heat spread through you — jealousy, immediate and instinctive. The image formed before you could stop it: her sitting next to him, leaning in, smiling, touching him like she had any right to. And this time it felt so much worse. Because it wasn’t just something your mind had made up. It was real.
Your jaw tightened.
You didn’t like it. You didn’t like the idea of another woman sitting that close to your husband, touching him, thinking she could have him. Especially knowing he was married. It irritated you more than you wanted to admit, a quiet, persistent anger settling under your skin. Who she thought she was?
But she wasn’t the first to act like that.
Steve had always been the kind of guy girls noticed. The one they looked at a little longer than necessary. Even now that he was married. Women still flirted with him like it didn’t matter. Like the ring on his finger meant nothing — or worse, like it wasn’t even there.
You had seen it before and every time you had brushed it off, not at all worried. You knew Steve wasn’t interested. That he didn’t care about them. But this was different. Because this time… he had stayed. He had let her flirting.
In any other moment, you would’ve snapped and asked him why. Why he hadn’t walked away. Why he had stayed. But the questions died before they could reach your lips. Because you already knew the answer. Or at least part of it.
Your fingers pressed harder into your palms.
You had pushed him there. With your words. Your choices. The things you had said that night. You had told him to move on. To find someone else. And maybe in the end he had listened to you.
Steve dragged a hand through the bandage covering his hair, clearly unsettled now.
“And it felt good for a minute,” he exhaled, almost bitterly, dropping his gaze.
For a second, you forgot how to breathe. The words hit deeper than anything else. Your throat went dry, your pulse quickening as something fragile inside you shifted. You swallowed, slowly, painfully. You wanted to ask him what he meant. What kind of good. And how far it had gone. But the words wouldn’t come out. They stayed lodged in your chest, tangled with everything else you were feeling — jealousy, guilt, fear.
How good Kirsten had made him feel? Better than you?
“Everything you said that night kept… echoing in my head,” he added more quietly. “About moving on. About finding someone else.” He let out a short, humorless breath. “And I don’t know if I was trying to prove something, or just —” He hesitated. “Or just stop thinking about you for five minutes.” Another pause. “Maybe I just wanted to see if I could do it,” he admitted, voice rough now. “If you were actually right and I could… move on as you had said.”
His gaze dropped, sighing.
“It’s stupid. I know, ” he muttered. “But I wasn’t really thinking. Not clearly, at least.”
Silence fell again, heavier than before.
“I should’ve left,” he repeated under his breath. “But I didn’t.”
He swallowed.
“And then…” His voice faltered, uncertainty creeping back in. “I — she — we —”
Frustration flickered across his face as the memory slipped out of reach again.
“Jesus… I… I don’t remember,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s all messed up in my head.”
He let out a small, disbelieving breath, shaking his head. “I — I don’t even remember her name.” A hollow laugh slipped out, but there was no real amusement in it. “I swear, I don’t,” he added quickly, almost desperately, like he needed you to believe that. As if that detail changed anything. As if it made things better. “I don’t remember.”
He sounded wrecked.
Ashamed.
You couldn’t look at him. Your vision blurred as your eyes filled with tears, your focus dropping to your hands resting in your lap. For a second, you just sat there, breathing through the tightness in your chest. You squeezed your eyes, hard.
Then, barely above a whisper.
“Kirsten.”
Steve turned toward you, his brow furrowing. “What?”
You lifted your gaze to him, quickly brushing the tears from your cheeks with the back of your fingers. “Kirsten,” you said quietly. “The girl. That’s her name.”
A beat.
“Wait—” His confusion deepened, something sharper slipping in right after. “How… how do you know that?”
“She —” You cleared your throat and went on. “She came here. A few days ago. While you were still in a coma.” You paused, watching his reaction carefully. “She wanted to see how you were. And we… talked. She told me everything, Steve.”
Silence fell over the room.
For a second, Steve just stared at you, like he hadn’t fully understood. Then something in his expression shifted — confusion twisting into something closer to panic. He shook his head once. Then again. Faster.
“Wait—no, I— I don’t know what she told you, but I—” His voice stumbled over itself, his breathing picking up. “We didn’t— I mean—” He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair, careful around the bandage. “I swear to you, nothing happened. At least— I don’t think it did. I would remember that,” he added, almost to himself, his voice faltering.
His eyes searched yours, desperate now.
“My memories are messed up, okay? I told you, they’re not clear, but I wouldn’t—” He shook his head again, more forcefully this time. “I couldn’t. Not to you, not—” He broke off, frustrated, dragging a hand down his face. “I mean, yeah, maybe I— I might’ve flirted a little, I don’t know, I was drunk and pissed and not thinking straight, but I wouldn’t—”
He stopped, breath uneven, clearly spiraling, trying to fill in the gaps before they could turn into something worse.
You couldn’t help it.
A small smile tugged at your lips.
You tried to hide it, pressing them together, but it was there.
He was unraveling in front of you, so visibly shaken, so desperate to explain himself, to fix something he wasn’t even sure he had broken.
When you were the one who had broken everything.
It did something to you.
“Steve,” you said, a little gentler now, but still firmly.
But it seemed like he didn’t hear you.
“I didn’t do anything, I didn’t — I mean, I don’t think I did, I wouldn’t just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head again. “God, I sound like an idiot, I just— I need you to know that I would never—”
“Steve,” you repeated, louder this time.
He stopped, meeting your eyes.
“Stop,” you added. “I know everything.”
For a second, he didn’t move. Then his expression shifted — tight, uncertain, almost bracing for impact. His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, like he was already preparing for whatever version of the story he thought you had heard.
You could see in his face — the fear, the guilt, the way he was already punishing himself for something he wasn’t even sure he had done.
Your gaze dropped briefly, your fingers fidgeting restlessly in your lap. You drew in a slow breath, trying to keep the composure you had been holding onto since the beginning of this conversation. You glanced around briefly, your eyes unfocused as the memory of your conversation with Kirsten surfaced — clear, vivid, like it was happening all over again. You remembered every single word she had said, very detail.
You let yourself fall back into it as you told Steve everything.
-
You swallowed hard. “Sorry for what, exactly?” you asked after a moment, your voice firm, cold, already bracing yourself for the worst.
Kirsten’s gaze shifted between you and Steve, lingering on him for just a second longer. There was hesitation in her eyes, like she wasn’t sure where to begin or what to say. When she finally spoke, her voice was small, unsteady.
“The accident,” she said, her words catching in her throat. “I… I’m so, so sorry.”
You blinked, your brows furrowed.
Her composure broke almost immediately. A soft sob escaped her, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as if she could stop it. “I—I’m not very good at driving,” she went on, her voice trembling, uneven. “And it was raining… it was raining so hard. There was water everywhere. I could barely see the road and then —” She shook her head quickly, sighing, like the memory overwhelmed her. “Everything happened so fast.”
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue.
“I’m really sorry. Truly. It was my car. I was driving.” Her hand lifted slightly, gesturing toward Steve’s unconscious body on the bed. “This should’ve happened to me. Not to him.”
You frowned, confusion settling in, pushing past everything else.
Her words didn’t match the story you had been building in your head.
She let out a shaky breath, noticing your expression. “If I just… If I hadn’t offered him a ride, maybe he’d be fine right now,” she added, quieter now, guilt laced through every syllable. “It’s just that —”
You interrupted her, unable to hold it in any longer. “Wait — what?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. “I… I don’t understand. A ride? To where?”
Kirsten blinked, startled by your reaction.
“To you,” she said, more cautiously now. “He wanted to come back to you.”
You stared at her, your heart skipping a beat. The confusion only deepened, your mind struggling to keep up.
“To me?” You repeated, almost under your breath.
“We were both at the Hideout,” she continued, trying to explain, her words still uneven but clearer now. “We were talking. Drinking. And at some point he started telling me about you.”
You held her gaze, trying to keep up. She paused, studying your face as if to make sure you were following.
“He talked about a fight you had had earlier,” she said. “I probably shouldn’t say this but… he was a mess. He kept saying it wasn’t over. That you two still needed to talk. That he wasn’t going to let it end like that.” A faint, almost sad smile flickered across her lips. “He was… very determined. Drunk, yes, but determined.”
Your heart stuttered in your chest.
“At one point, he just stood up,” she went on. “He started looking for his keys, saying he had to go. To you.”
You felt you breath catch.
“But he wasn’t in any condition to drive,” she added quickly. “He was completely wasted. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. He was so set on it.” She paused, glancing down at the floor. “And I don’t know…” She started saying. “It was kind of… romantic, in a way. Maybe a little desperate, too. But… romantic. The way he talked about you. The fact that he wanted to get back to you no matter what.” Her voice softened. “He looked so heartbroken. And I don't know… I think I felt sorry for him.”
A quiet breath left her.
“So I offered to drive him,” she finished. “I figured… at least I could make sure he got there safely.” A faint, bitter exhale followed. “Besides,” she added, almost as an afterthought, “by then it was pretty clear I didn’t stand a chance anyway.”
Her gaze flickered back to Steve.
“And then… well.” She gestured lightly toward him, toward the hospital bed, the machines, the silence that surrounded him. “We — You know the rest.”
The room had fallen completely still after that, while your mind had been racing, trying to rearrange everything you thought you knew into something that made sense.
There was one thought that kept surfacing, louder than the rest.
You looked back at her. “He… Steve was coming to me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost fragile, even though you already knew the answer. But a part of you needed yet another confirmation. To be sure.
Kirsten nodded without hesitation.
“Yes.”
That single word settled deep inside your chest, echoing in your mind. If Steve was trying to come back to you, it meant that…
He hadn’t been going somewhere else. Not to her. Not to anyone.
You dropped your gaze for a moment, your thoughts shifting, narrowing, until only one question remained. The one that had been haunting you from the very beginning.
You swallowed slowly before asking. “So… you and Steve… nothing happened?” Your voice faltered slightly despite your effort to keep it steady. “At the bar. And after, in the car. It was just… a ride? That’s all?”
Kirsten nodded again, more firmly this time.
You felt like you could breathe again, as if you had been underwater until that moment and was only now resurfacing.
Kirsten let out a small sigh. “Look, I’ll be honest,” she said. “When I saw him sitting at the bar, alone, I thought…” She hesitated, a faint, embarrassed smile tugging at her lips. “I thought I’d give it a shot,” she admitted.
A brief pause.
“But I never really had a chance,” she added quickly.
You lifted your eyes to her again.
“Yeah, he was… polite,” she went on. “Charming. He listened to me, answered my questions. But when he started talking… he only talked about you.” She shook her head slightly. “And he wouldn’t stop.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I think I learned more about you than I did about him,” she added. “My wife this, my wife that… and always something good.”
Something in your chest tightened.
“Once we got in the car, he fell asleep almost immediately,” she added, a small, almost fond smile appearing despite everything. “Didn’t even make it five minutes.” She shook her head slightly. “But nothing else happened,” she said, more firmly now. “He didn’t even touch me. Not once.”
Her gaze held yours.
“You’re… very lucky,” she said quietly.
For a moment, you just stared at her. Then your eyes drifted to Steve, slowly. To the man lying in that hospital bed. The man who, even at his worst, even broken and drunk and hurting, had still chosen you. Even when it would have been so easy to let go, to give in, to choose something easier. Someone else. But he hadn’t. He had still tried to come back to you.
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, followed by a soft smile. You shook your head faintly.
“No,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.
You looked back at her.
“I’m the lucky one.”
-
A quiet settled in the room when you finished speaking.
Your eyes stayed fixed on Steve’s face, waiting for his reaction. You held your breath without even realizing it.
He didn’t speak right away. His gaze drifted slightly, watching everywhere and nothing at the same time, as he tried to process every word, to fit it somewhere inside what he remembered. His eyes flicked to you. Then, after a moment, he spoke. “So… nothing happened?” His voice low, careful as if he wasn’t still sure.
You shook your head slowly.
For a second, he just looked at you. Then his eyes closed, and a long breath left him — deep, shaky, like it had been trapped inside his chest for several minutes. His shoulders dropped as he sank back into the pillows, tension draining from his body, giving way to something softer. Relief. Pure, unfiltered relief. Like a weight had finally been lifted.
But it didn’t last.
His expression shifted again as his eyes opened, something heavier settling in their place, his gaze back on you.
“I’m sorry.”
You frowned immediately, blinking at him in confusion. “What? Steve, I just told you nothing happened—”
He shook his head, slower this time, certain. “Yes, it did.”
The firmness in his tone caught you off guard. There was no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. Just quiet conviction. He swallowed, his eyes dropping to the blanket, fingers brushing absentmindedly against the fabric.
“I still let her sit,” he said, his voice rougher now. “I knew what she wanted and I still— I didn’t stop it. I stayed. And I let her… flirt. And I…” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “I shouldn’t have. It was wrong.”
You didn’t speak. You weren’t sure you could.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, softer this time.
You swallowed, your eyes dropping to your hands as they twisted together in your lap. “It’s okay, Steve,” you said after a moment, your voice gentler. “Really. You don’t have to apologize.” A small pause. “I’m not even in the position… I mean… I was the one who told you to move on. To find —”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the chair.
“Yeah, but I never wanted that.” His voice cut through yours, sharper this time, tinged with frustration.
You looked up at him, surprised by his tone.
“And I don’t want it,” he added, more firmly, like he needed you to understand.
He dragged a hand through his hair, careful around the bandage, exhaling through his nose as he tried to steady himself. “I tried,” he went on after a moment, quieter now. “I tried to listen to you. To do what you said.” His gaze drifted somewhere ahead of him, unfocused. “To imagine it. Being with someone else. Seeing if I could feel something.” A small, bitter breath left him. “If it could be that simple.”
He let out a short, bitter breath.
“That’s why I talked to her,” he admitted. “At first, I thought… maybe.” He shook his head faintly. “But it wasn’t.”
Your chest tightened.
“But I couldn’t.” His gaze lifted, finding yours and holding it this time. “I was sitting there with her and all… all I could think about was you.” His voice softened, something raw slipping through. “About us. About how wrong everything felt. All of it. Being there, talking to her… even listening to her.” A small pause. “I didn’t want to be there. Not really. I wanted to be home. With you. I wanted to fix things. To talk to you. That’s all I wanted.”
The words settled between you, heavy and real.
“Being there with her…” he continued, slower now, like he was choosing each word carefully, “it just made everything clearer.”
You held his gaze, barely breathing.
“I don’t want her,” he said. “Or anyone else.”
Something in your chest cracked open.
“I don’t need to try or imagine,” he added, his voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing on him. “Because I have you.”
Your eyes filled before you could stop them.
“You’re the one I want,” he finished quietly. “No matter what.”
No matter if you could give him kids or not, you thought he wanted to say.
You couldn’t speak, your breath catching in your throat. You remembered Nancy and Robin’s words. When they had said exactly the same thing. But hearing Steve pronounce them was different. More real. It wasn't just the words of two friends trying to comfort you anymore.
Your throat tightened, emotions rising too fast, too overwhelming to put into words. You dropped your gaze for a second, blinking rapidly as tears blurred your vision.
“Everything I said that night at Nancy’s house…” he continued, softer now, his voice rough with emotion. “I meant it. Every word.”
You swallowed hard, looking back at him.
“I meant it when I said it wasn’t over,” he added. “Not for me. And I think —”
A soft knock interrupted him.
The door opened before either of you could react, and a nurse stepped inside, pushing a breakfast cart, her presence sudden and almost jarring against the intimacy of the moment. You both turned toward her at the same time.
“Good morning,” she said with a polite smile, her voice gentle, professional. “Time to eat.”
You straightened slightly, forcing a small smile in return, but you could feel it — that lingering weight between you, the conversation left hanging mid-air. When you looked back, Steve was already looking at you again.
“We need to talk,” he said under his breath, just for you.
You nodded quickly. “I know,” you whispered. “I need to talk to you too.”
For a second, it felt instinctive to reach for him and close the distance.
But you didn’t.
You stayed where you were, your hands still, your fingers curling slightly into your palms instead.
“Later, okay?” You added after a small pause.
His gaze lingered on yours for a second longer, searching for any trace of doubt. Then he gave a faint nod, his jaw tightening just slightly before his attention shifted back to the nurse — who had just asked him something neither of you had actually heard.
-
But later never seemed to come.
The moment you had promised each other kept slipping further away, pushed aside by one interruption after another.
Right after breakfast, they had taken Steve for a series of tests. You had watched as they wheeled him out of the room, his hand slipping from yours at the last second, his eyes lingering on you like he didn’t want to let go.
When he returned, the doctor followed with good news. Steve was responding well. The scans were clear and there were no signs of complications from the head trauma. He was officially out of danger. They would keep him a few more days, just to be sure, and then discharge him.
You hadn’t realized how tightly you had been holding your breath until that moment. It left you all at once, a quiet, shaky exhale as relief settled deep in your chest, loosening something that had been knotted there for days.
Not long after, the room had started to fill with visits — first one person, then two, then more. Word had spread and now everyone wanted to see Steve.
The energy in the room shifted completely. Where there had been tension and quiet before, there was Nancy’s calm voice, Robin’s unmistakable, relentless chatter and Dustin’s comments filling every corner of the space. Despite the bruises, the bandages, the lingering exhaustion, Steve seemed more like himself with every passing minute. He rolled his eyes at Dustin, muttered under his breath, pushed back weakly when the teasing got too much.
Dustin shook his head, arms crossed. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Can’t believe what?” Steve asked, already annoyed.
“That this is how you almost died,” Dustin said. “A car accident. Seriously, dude?”
Steve stared at him in disbelief. “I didn’t exactly plan it, Henderson.”
“Yeah, but you survived demogorgons and Vecna,” Dustin went on. “And then, boom! Seatbelt takes you out.”
“First of all, that’s not how seatbelts work! And secondly, that's not exactly how things went.”
“Still embarrassing,” Dustin muttered.
Steve let his head fall back against the pillow. “I’m not having this conversation.”
Everyone in the room burst out laughing, including you.
Anyone else, hearing words like demogorgons or Vecna, would have frowned in confusion.
But not you.
You knew exactly what they meant. Steve had told you everything about the Upside Down, not long after you had gotten together. At first, you had thought it was some elaborate story to scare you or make you laugh. But then El had shown you what she could do and suddenly, nothing had felt impossible anymore.
After that, things had started making sense — the way Steve had somehow become responsible for a group of kids, the looks they all exchanged sometimes, full of meaning you couldn’t quite grasp at the time, and their silences.
Your gaze drifted back to him. He was listening, nodding along, answering when he had to but every few seconds, his eyes found you again. Like a reflex. Like he couldn’t help it.
Sometimes your gazes locked for a second too long, something unspoken passing between you before you were the one to look away, your cheeks warming despite yourself. Other times, he was the one to break it, turning back to whoever was talking to him, forcing himself back into the conversation.
But you could tell he was waiting, watching for a moment alone with you. You had seen it more than once — him starting to say something when the room finally quieted, only for the door to open again, another voice cutting in, another interruption stealing the moment away.
Part of you was relieved for those interruptions. They gave you space and time to breathe, to think and to process everything that had already been said before adding more on top of it. Before addressing the conversation you had put on hold since before the accident.
When the room became too full and the noise too much, you slipped out quietly, using small excuses — coffee, water, fresh air. But more than once, you found yourself standing in front of the vending machines without taking anything, staring blankly at the rows of snacks as your mind replayed his words.
I want you. No matter what.
You leaned your shoulder against the cold wall, exhaling slowly, your arms crossing loosely over your chest.
Now that everything was clear — what had happened that night, what hadn’t — there was nothing left to question. No more misunderstandings to hide behind. No more reasons to put off the conversation you had left unfinished. The one you had been avoiding from the beginning.
You closed your eyes for a moment as the thought settled in your chest, quiet but undeniable.
The next conversation would matter.
And it would change everything once again.
Maybe it would be even the last.
-
The door clicked shut a few minutes past eight, and for the first time in hours, the room fell quiet.
You both exhaled almost at the same time, relieved, exhausted.
You were still sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, your shoulders relaxing, when Steve’s voice broke through. “I thought they’d never leave.”
A small laugh slipped past your lips, soft, almost whispered. “What can you do? You’re basically a celebrity right now. Everyone wants to see…” You tilted your head, a teasing glint in your eyes. “What was it they used to call you? King Steve?”
He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head against the pillow as he remembered his “glorious days” in high school. “Yeah… well, I don’t feel much like a king right now.” He hesitated. “Don’t think I ever really was.”
There was no bitterness in his voice. Just tired honesty.
You pushed yourself up from the couch and walked toward the bed, slow. You stopped just short of it, leaving that small, careful distance between you.
“It’s been a long day,” you said gently, smiling. “You must be exhausted. Do you want—”
“I want to talk.”
The words cut through yours, firm but not harsh. You stilled. For a second, you just looked at him, as if to understand whether he truly meant it.
And he did. You could see the determination in his eyes.
You took another step closer, your hand resting lightly on the edge of the mattress, fingers pressing into the fabric as if to steady yourself.
“Now?” you asked, your voice softer, uncertain. “Are you sure? It’s late. We could —”
Steve shook his head. “No.” His voice was calm, but resolute. “I need to do this now.”
He shifted slightly against the pillows, wincing almost imperceptibly before settling again. His gaze stayed on you, steady despite the exhaustion written all over him. “I need to know that this —” his hand lifted weakly, gesturing between the two of you “— that this isn’t just… temporary.”
You swallowed.
“I need to know what happens when I get out of here,” he added, his voice dipping, rougher now, choosing each word with care. “I mean between us,” he clarified, his voice quieter. His eyes flickered over your face, studying you, trying to find an answer. “You’ve been here all day, barely leaving my side. And we —” He stopped, exhaling shakily, his gaze dropping for a second. “It feels like before. Like nothing changed. Like nothing happened.”
Your fingers curled slightly against the mattress.
“And I don’t know if it… if it is real,” he admitted. “Or if you’re acting like that just because I’m here like this.” His jaw tensed slightly, swallowing. “Because you feel like you have to.”
Your heart pulled tight in your chest. You shook your head almost immediately, a small, instinctive motion. You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him it wasn’t true — that you really wanted to be there. For him. And not just because he was your husband.
But Steve didn’t give you the time to reply and the words caught in your throat.
“I don’t want to assume anything,” he went on, his gaze dropping briefly before finding yours again. “I don’t want to think we’re okay if we’re not.”
There was no accusation in his voice — just careful, restrained fear.
“So I need to know,” he said, more quietly now, the words slower, “if this… if you being here… means we’re not over.” His voice faltered slightly. “Not even for you.”
You swallowed.
“That you’re going to stay once I’m out of here,” he added, barely above a murmur. “Or if…” He swallowed, his throat working visibly. “If you’re just going to leave again.”
The words hung between you. Steve’s jaw tightened slightly, like even saying it out loud cost him something.
“Because I can’t do that again, I can’t lose you again,” he admitted, his voice stripped of everything but truth. “I need to know where we stand,” he finished, softer now. “Before I start hoping for something that isn’t there,” he added under his breath, almost more to himself than to you.
Your breath caught.
“Please,” he begged.
The word was barely a whisper, but it hit you harder than anything else he had said. The tears burned behind your eyes, threatening to spill. Seeing him like that — so open, so vulnerable — broke through every last defense you had left, any resistance still intact. You swallowed hard, still feeling the weight of his words pressing against your chest. Then you nodded slowly.
“Okay… let’s talk.”
You moved to the chair beside his bed, sitting down and turning slightly toward him. The distance between you was smaller now, but it felt heavier than it should have.
The room fell into silence.
You lifted your eyes to him, but dropped them almost immediately, your fingers fidgeting together in your lap as you searched for the right words.
You cleared your throat softly. “There’s something you should know first,” you said, your voice low, hesitant. “Something I didn’t tell you this morning.”
Steve didn’t speak. He just watched you, waiting. His expression tightened slightly, like he already knew he wasn’t going to like what came next.
You lowered your gaze again, drawing in a slow breath. “After I talked to Kirsten… that day…” You hesitated, your lips pressing together for a second. Then, without softening it — “I called a lawyer.”
Steve’s eyes widened, his grip tightening around the bedsheets, the confusion visible in his hands.
Your fingers curled tighter together as you forced yourself to keep going, rushing on before he could say anything. Before he could think the worst.
“I had already contacted him before the accident,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, a trace of embarrassment creeping in. “To start the divorce process,” you added after a brief moment of hesitation.
You knew that confessing it wouldn't help your position. If anything, it might make things worse. But it seemed right to you that he knew. It was the least you could do, especially after he had told you the truth that morning.
You looked up at him, almost cautiously, afraid of his reaction.
He didn’t say anything right away but you saw the shift in his expression, the hurt in his eyes before he could hide it. His gaze drifted away from you, landing somewhere across the room, unfocused, nodding, like he was just processing what you had said. Then a breath left him — something close to a dry, humorless laugh.
“Right,” he muttered. “Thought of everything, didn’t you?”
The tone was light, but not enough to hide the hurt underneath. Enough to make your guilt grow.
You closed your eyes briefly, shaking your head. “No… I didn’t,” you said, quickly, more firmly this time. “That’s exactly the point.”
When you opened your eyes again, you looked straight at him. “I thought I had everything figured out,” you went on, slower, more honest. “I thought I knew what I was doing. But I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking clearly. And I ignored many things. I ignored you. Your opinion. Your feelings. And it wasn’t right.”
Your hands shifted slightly against your knees, restless.
“That’s why I called the lawyer again,” you added, glancing away for a second before meeting his eyes again. “I told him to stop.”
Steve turned his head toward you sharply, caught off guard.
“What?” he asked, almost under his breath. “Stop?”
His grip on the sheets loosened slightly, though not completely. His eyes searched yours carefully.
“Really?”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I told him not to go through with it. Not to file anything.”
You let out a shaky breath, your eyes dropping for a moment before lifting back to his.
“I messed up, okay?” you said, your voice unsteady. “I know that. And I’m… I’m sorry.”
The words came out before you could stop them—and once they started, they didn’t stop. “I shouldn’t have done what I did,” you went on, faster now, like you needed to get it all out before you lost the nerve. “I shouldn’t have made that decision on my own. Without talking to you first. Without even… asking you what you wanted.”
Your gaze dropped again, this time longer as shame crept in, heavy and undeniable.
“I kept telling myself that I was doing the right thing,” you admitted, a faint, bitter edge slipping into your voice. “For you. For both of us.”
You let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “But clearly…” you gestured weakly between the two of you, your throat tightening, “that’s not what happened.”
You pushed yourself up from the chair then, unable to sit still anymore. You started pacing slowly beside his bed, your arms wrapping around yourself for a moment before dropping again.
“And the worst part is…” you went on, your voice quieter now, more honest, “it wasn’t even really about you.” You swallowed, hard. “I told myself, I told you that it was,” you said, turning slightly toward him. “But it wasn’t. Not completely, at least.” A pause. “I was just doing what I thought was right… for me.”
Your eyes stung, your vision blurring as you blinked quickly.
“Because I was scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. Your hands lifted, gesturing vaguely in front of you, restless. “Terrified, actually.”
You started moving again, slower this time.
“Scared that you’d stay with me… and then one day realize it was a mistake. That I was a mistake,” you said, each word heavier than the last. “And I didn’t want to be something you’d regret.”
Your arms crossed tighter over your chest, like you were trying to hold yourself together.
Steve shifted slightly on the bed.
Your words had hurt him.
“I could never—” he started, his voice low, tired, but you shook your head immediately, cutting him off before he could finish.
“You don’t know that, Steve,” you said gently, but firmly.
You sank back down onto the chair, your energy suddenly draining out of you all at once.
“And it’s okay. Because none of us do,” you continued, softer at first. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow… or in a year… or five.” Your voice started to pick up again, less steady now. "You could leave me one day,” you said, repeating Robin’s words, faster, more anxious. “You could stop loving me.” A small pause. “Or maybe I could be the one to change. To want something different.”
You let out a slow breath, closing your eyes for a brief moment before looking at him again.
“I don’t want that,” you added quickly before he could misunderstand your words. “Obviously. That’s not what I want at all.” Your lips pressed together briefly. “But it’s possible. Everything could happen.”
Silence stretched between you again, less sharp but just as heavy.
“I spent all this time…” you went on, quieter, steadier now, “focusing only on the worst possible outcome. On the idea that you’d end up unhappy. That you’d leave.” You shook your head faintly. “I never even considered the alternative,” you admitted. “That maybe you wouldn’t. That we might actually… be okay in the end.”
Your eyes softened slightly as you looked at him.
“That you might stay,” you finished.
The room fell silent. Steve sighed — a slow breath, exhausted. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with frustration. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this?” His eyes searched yours, trying to understand. “About what you were feeling. I would’ve told you that—”
You leaned back against the chair before he could finish, exhaustion washing over you all at once. Your head had started to ache somewhere along the way, a dull pressure building behind your eyes. You pressed your fingers to your temple, rubbing slowly.
“I told you, Steve. I was…” you exhaled, your voice faltering. “I was scared and… and a part of me didn't accept it at first. The diagnosis. I couldn’t believe it.”
You hesitated, your hand dropping back into your lap, fingers curling together.
“It…” you continued, your voice trembling now, thinner, like it might break at any moment. “It felt like it wiped everything out. Every certainty I had. Everything I thought I knew about us… about the future… was gone.” Your eyes filled with tears, your gaze slipping away from him. “I think… a part of me just… convinced itself that the only way we could keep being as happy as we were… was if we had kids,” you admitted, swallowing hard.
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.
“And when I found out that I might not be able to…” your voice cracked, breaking under the weight of it. “I thought that was it. Because I couldn’t give you the life we wanted anymore. And that we — I couldn’t make you happy anymore.”
More tears followed, quiet, unstoppable now.
“I thought that I wouldn’t be enough for you,” you whispered. “Not like that. Not in the long run. And that you’d get tired one day.”
“So I decided to leave you,” you went on, your lips trembling. “I thought… if I let you go first, if I stepped away… you’d still have time to realize that dream with someone else. To have what you’ve always wanted.”
You let out a shaky breath.
“I really thought I was doing the right thing,” you added, almost bitterly. “For you.” A pause. “I didn’t want you to sacrifice that life for me. But really… I was just trying to protect myself from the moment you’d realize I wasn’t enough.”
Silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. Steve looked at you, like he was trying to understand how you had carried all of that alone. Then he exhaled slowly.
“I didn’t fall in love with the idea of a family or... six little nuggets,” he started, his voice softer now, more careful. “I fell in love with you.” He shifted slightly against the pillows, wincing just a little, uncomfortable, but he didn’t stop. “I mean, yeah — I'd like to have them,” he admitted, more plainly. His gaze held yours. “But I want them with you,” he went on. “Before you, I didn’t even think about that stuff.” He let out a small breath. “You’re the reason I started wanting it in the first place. And I’m with you because I love you. For a hundred reasons that have nothing to do with…” He trailed off, hesitating for a second, searching for the right words. “…with whether you may be fertile or not.” The way he said it was a little awkward, a little unsure — but completely sincere.
A small, unexpected laugh slipped out of you through your tears, shaky but real. Steve’s expression softened just slightly at the sound of it.
“And anyway…” he added, a little more tentative now, like he was thinking out loud, “there are other ways.” He shrugged faintly, one hand shifting against the blanket. “We could adopt,” he said. “Or… I don’t know, there’s that thing—” he frowned slightly, trying to remember, one hand lifting before stopping halfway as if he remembered the bandages, then awkwardly scratching just beside them instead, careful, “what’s it called? I read about a technique somewhere. When they —” He gestured vaguely, frustrated with himself.“—when they, like… help with that. Medically.”
“IVF,” you said quietly, finishing the thought for him. “I’ve already looked into it,” you went on, your fingers twisted together in your lap, nails pressing lightly into your skin. “But it’s expensive, Steve. Really expensive. And we can’t afford that right now. Not with the mortgage, and everything else…” You shook your head faintly, your gaze dropping. “And it’s not even guaranteed to work.”
“And adoption…” you added, softer now. “I thought about it. I did. But I didn’t think it was something you’d want.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully, afraid of how they might sound once spoken out loud. “You always talked about having kids that looked like us. Your hair, my eyes… things like that.” A breath caught in your throat. “So I just assumed that… you wouldn’t want a child that —”
You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, something almost incredulous crossing his expression. “What?” he said, not sharply, but with quiet disbelief. “That they wouldn’t have my blood?”
He shook his head immediately, like the idea itself didn’t sit right with him.
“I don’t need that,” he said, more firmly now. “I don’t need them to look like me. Or to be… biologically mine.” He hesitated for a second, like he almost didn’t want to say it. “Look at me and Dustin,” he went on, his voice softening just a little. “We’re not related, but he’s—” he let out a small breath, searching for the right word. “He’s like my little brother. That’s not… less, just because we don’t share blood.”
Your eyes lifted to him.
“And my students,” he added after a second, quieter now. “Half the time I worry about them like they’re my own kids.” A faint, almost self-aware smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Probably more than I should.”
The smile faded as he looked back at you, more serious again.
“I don’t want some perfect little version of me,” he said. “Honestly, that sounds like a nightmare.” A brief pause. “That stuff… the hair, the eyes — it’s just something people say. A fantasy.” He drew in a slow breath. “What really matters is… What I want is a kid who’s healthy. Safe. Happy.” His voice softened, warming slightly despite everything. “Someone I can take to the park. Show how to play baseball when they’re ready.” A small shrug. “Or not baseball. Could be anything.”
Something in your chest tightened at the image.
“What I’m trying to say is…” he continued, his voice quieter, steadier. “We have options. We can adopt. We can try IVF, if that’s what you want.” He glanced down briefly, then back up at you. “I don’t care how much it costs. We can save, take a loan, whatever.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself picture it again. Not the version you used to imagine — the one where everything was easy, predictable, where the child looked like the two of you, shared your features. This time it was different, blurrier in some ways, less defined… but somehow still real.
You saw yourself and Steve side by side, a child between you. You couldn’t quite make out their face, couldn’t tell whose eyes they had — if they had either of yours at all. And for the first time, it didn’t matter. Because you were happy. And that was all that mattered.
Your chest tightened, something fragile and unfamiliar unfolding inside you.
Hope.
You hadn’t let yourself go there in weeks. Not since the day you had left him. Every time that image had tried to surface, you had pushed it away, shut it down before it could take shape. Like it wasn’t yours anymore. Like you didn’t have the right to want it.
But now… it didn’t feel impossible. Not the way it had before.
It could exist.
“Or…” Steve added, softer now, “we don’t do any of that.”
Your breath hitched slightly.
“We don’t have kids,” he said simply. “And that’s okay too.” He held your gaze then, fully, no hesitation or uncertainty left. “I mean it,” he went on. “I don’t need any of that.” His fingers loosened slightly in the sheets. “Whatever our family looks like, I want it to be with you.” A small pause. “I just want you,” he added. “That’s it. That’s the only thing I’m sure about.” He exhaled softly, almost like he was letting something go. “Everything else… It’s just extra.”
Tears kept falling, unstoppable now, slipping down your cheeks as if something inside you had finally given way. This time you let them come and run free.
“Even after all this?” you asked, your voice trembling, fragile. You swallowed, your throat tight. “You still want me?”
Steve didn’t hesitate. He nodded, his gaze steady despite the emotion shining in his eyes. “I think I’ve been pretty clear about that,” he said quietly.
He had. But part of you still needed to hear it again. Needed to be sure.
Steve’s expression shifted, something more serious settling in.
“What about you?” he went on, softer but no less certain. “What do you want?” He asked, his eyes holding yours, searching. “What happens to us when I get out of here?”
You hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands as they twisted together in your lap. You tried to steady your breathing, wiping your cheeks quickly, though the tears kept coming.
What do you want? The question echoed in your mind, louder than everything else.
“I… I don’t know if I want to adopt,” you admitted, your voice uneven. “And I don’t know if I want to try IVF. Not right now, at least.” You shook your head faintly, exhaling. “I think I need time to… to process everything first. To accept that I might not be able to have children of my own.” Your voice softened, quieter now. “I need to learn how to live with that before I can decide anything else.”
A small pause followed.
You still wanted kids. That hadn’t changed. Even when you had tried to convince yourself otherwise or told Steve the opposite. And now you knew that maybe, in some way, there was still a possibility. Not in the way you had imagined. Not the way you had planned so many times before. But still… a chance. A future. With him.
Just not yet.
First, you needed to heal.
And maybe, somewhere along the way, the two of you could find each other again.
You lifted your eyes back to him.
“But I’d like to figure it out with you,” you added, more firmly this time, even if your voice still trembled. “With you by my side. I want to see what our future looks like… together.” A faint, uncertain smile touched your lips. “At least as long as we both want one. What do you say?”
Steve’s eyes grew glassy, the emotion there no longer hidden. He let out a quiet breath, something in his shoulders easing, like he had been holding it in for too long. He nodded. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice rough, unsteady. “I’d like that a lot.”
You nodded too, almost instinctively, your chest tightening with something overwhelming and warm and disbelieving all at once. You tried to wipe your tears again, but they kept coming, slipping through your fingers.
“Hey…” Steve murmured, his voice softer now. He shifted slightly and extended his hand toward you, palm open. “Come here.”
You hesitated for a second, glancing at the bandages, the fading bruises along his skin. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you said quietly. “Your injuries—”
“I’ll be fine,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head faintly. Then, after a small pause, his voice softened even more. “It’ll hurt a lot more if you keep staying that far away. We’ve been apart long enough.” A faint hint of a smile tugged at his lips.
You knew he wasn’t just talking about the few steps between the chair and the bed. He was talking about all those days you had spent apart from each other. The distance you had created due to your stupid decisions. A distance that had almost cost you everything. A distance you weren't used to.
Since the moment you had met, you had never been this far from him for this long. Not like that. A few hours at most.
Something in your chest gave in completely, preventing you from arguing again. And you didn't even want to do it. You couldn’t. You needed him just as much.
Carefully, you stood and moved closer, climbing onto the bed with slow, cautious movements. You made sure to avoid the worst of his injuries, adjusting yourself until you could lie beside him without causing him pain. You settled on your side, resting your head against his chest, just over his heart. Your hand followed, splayed lightly against him as if to make sure he was real. His arm came around your waist almost immediately, holding you close, firm, like he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t.
When you had both settled, you exhaled at the same time.
The warmth of his skin against yours seeped in slowly at first, then all at once. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoed beneath your ear — strong, constant. It filled your senses, drowning out everything else. And just like that, something inside you unclenched. The tension that had been coiled in your body for days melted away, leaving behind a deep, heavy exhaustion you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel until that moment.
You closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting yourself sink into him completely, into the quiet rise and fall of his chest. You let his heartbeat lulling you into something softer, calmer.
“I thought I lost you,” you whispered after a while, your voice barely audible, trembling at the edges.
Steve’s hand moved slowly along your back, up and down in a soothing rhythm.
“I told you,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, “you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
A weak breath of a laugh left you, but it broke halfway through.
“I’m sorry,” you started, but the words caught in your throat.
Your body shook before you could stop it. The tears came harder this time, deeper. Not sharp or panicked like before, but something else entirely — something that had been building for too long.
Relief.
Because he was here. Alive.
And he was okay.
Because despite everything—everything you had done, everything you had almost destroyed—he was still choosing you.
And you were still there. With him.
You buried your face against him as the sobs finally broke free, quiet but uncontrollable, your fingers clutching lightly at his shirt.
You didn’t hold them back this time. You didn’t even try to. You just let go.
“I’m sorry,” you repeated, again and again, your voice muffled, uneven, like the words themselves weren’t enough to hold everything you felt.
Steve didn’t stop you. He just held you. His hand kept moving along your back, slow, steady, grounding. His other arm tightened slightly around you, anchoring you in place as you let it all out.
And for the first time in days, you stopped holding yourself together. You finally let go.
“Hey… hey,” he whispered softly, his lips brushing your hair again. “It’s okay.”
You cried into his chest, your body gradually easing with every breath, every quiet sob.
“We’re okay,” he murmured. “We’ll be fine.” His voice was firmer this time. It left no room for any doubt or uncertainty.
You clung to him a little tighter, your breathing slowly evening out, the weight inside your chest beginning to lift, little by little.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it.
And this time — you didn’t fight it.
And here we are, almost at the end of this story! I say 'almost' because… there will be an EPILOGUE! And then that’s really it, even though I’m having a hard time letting this series go. But all good things must come to an end, right? So let’s give it the ending it deserves! I can’t wait for you to read it, and don’t get too comfortable just yet, there are still tears ahead, so keep those tissues close.
Now returning to this last chapter... Did you really think I wouldn't give them a happy ending, or better another chance? I'm a total sucker for them. I was just messing with you, guys. Steve would never cheat on her! Sorry if I made you cry or sad in the last parts, it wasn't my intention (or maybe it was), but I wanted to keep some mystery until the end. I really hope that this chapter makes up for all my sins! Let me know what you think about it :)
The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter twenty five
⭐︎ Can you, can you find me?
Warnings: hurt/comfort, grief, angst, mentions of death, sunshine losing her family, fluff fluff fluff at the end I promise
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Word count: 10.5k
Summary: Can Steve save you from the darkness that is pulling you down after the loss of your family? Or will it claim you the way it once claimed him?
Author's note: We are slowly coming to an end :') two more chapters and this story is over! Thank you @hellfire--cult for writing this with me, and proofreading even on your trip! ilyyyy
series masterlist
☀︎
Steve’s fingers cascade through your hair, carefully picking out the strands and adding them to the braid. His touch is soft and gentle, like he is afraid to hurt you. Your eyes are closed, and you listen to his breathing, focusing on it as if you need to hear it, like you need to know that he is still here, that he didn’t stop breathing.
You hear birds chirping outside and the sound of Eddie’s and Nancy’s quiet chatter. The sun is shining, and the light is coming through the blinds in the RV. You know that you will be hit by warmth when you step outside, you know that you will walk out and look up to see a blue sky, so different from the one above your house, so different from the place where you buried your family, so different from what used to be your home.
It’s been four days since you found your family dead. Four days since you left them behind. Four days since the end of the world came crashing down on you.
Two days ago, you crossed the border between Nevada and California. Everyone is so close to reuniting with their friends and family now Everyone except for you.
“Alright.” Steve’s voice is soft as he fixes the hair tie at the end of your braid. “Done.”
You open your eyes and take a deep breath. You turn to face him. He is already looking at you – soft brown eyes filled with guilt and sadness. He insisted on doing your hair, you started neglecting it, no longer bothering to braid it after getting dressed, he does it for you now.
His eyes are scanning your face, looking into yours intensely, like he is trying to find something.
You place your hand on his knee and squeeze it. You don’t smile or kiss him like you normally would. He doesn’t expect you to. He doesn’t deserve it, he thinks.
“Thank you.” For taking care of me. You don’t say it, you don’t have to.
Steve nods. His eyes soften, and his heart clenches in his chest. Before you remove your hand, he places his own on top of yours, giving it a tight squeeze.
“Of course.” He whispers. He wants to kiss your hand so badly. He wants to pull you into his arms so badly it hurts; he wants to do so many things, but he is afraid.
You try to smile, but you can’t. You look into his eyes for a moment before you pull away. You get up and walk away, leaving the RV. He stays there for a moment longer. He sits there, staring into a blank space. His chest is aching. Everything in him is aching. The guilt has been eating at him, dragging him down slowly, pulling him back into the pit you pulled him out of when you stumbled into his life. He feels like it’s his fault. He feels like it’s all his fault. Like he was the cause of it all. He told you what you would walk into so long ago; he laid it all out for you, and then he spent months hoping that what he said wouldn’t be true, but it is, and now he doesn’t know what to do with himself, with you.
You are still standing. You are still breathing. You are still talking, not much, but you talk when you have to; he didn’t even do that when he lost Robin. He can tell that you are trying to stay strong, even after losing your entire family, after losing everything you fought for. You are strong, so much stronger than him. He carried so much hate in his heart when he was grieving. Hate that you don’t feel, not even towards him, not even when he deserves it.
You are strong.
But you are suffering.
You don’t eat. Your face is losing color, a little more day by day. The light in your eyes has faded that day on what once used to be a sunflower field. It’s gone. And Steve, he feels dead inside, now realizing more than ever that he can’t, that he could never live without you, that if this means losing you, it also means losing himself with you. It means death.
He wants to be there for you. He wants to fix this, but how can he? He can’t bring back your family.
He doesn’t realize that tears are running down his cheeks until he runs his hand down his face. He wipes them away quickly and gets up to walk into the bathroom. He splashes his face with cold water and fixes his hair. He looks into the mirror for a moment before he turns away with a heavy heart.
He walks outside.
Eddie and Nancy greet him with tight-lipped smiles, and he nods at them. His eyes instantly look for you. You are sitting on your camping chair, holding a cup of coffee in your hands. Your face is turned away from him, eyes focused on the hills afar, though your mind is somewhere else. He looks down, seeing the untouched bowl of oatmeal on the ground next to your chair. The steam is still rising from it, and an extra amount of brown sugar melting on it. He takes a deep breath and glances at Eddie, who is already looking at him, and he knows that he was the one who handed you your breakfast.
Your friends are worried for you, in the same way they worried for him. Steve remembers it now like it was yesterday, how Eddie brought him food when he was hauled up in his room, grieving Robin. How Eddie kept showing up despite Steve yelling at him to leave, how he sat beside him, and even tried to feed him when he refused to pick up the food himself.
Steve clears his throat and nods at him.
“You guys can get some sleep.” Steve mumbles, looking between Eddie and Nancy. “We will sit out here for a while before we get back on the road.”
Nancy tears her eyes away from you, though she lingers by your side for a moment longer. She puts her hand on your shoulder, squeezing it before she makes her way inside.
“Yeah.” Eddie sighs. His eyes look for yours, but your gaze is still stuck on the cup in your hands. He can’t even be the cheerful self he always is. He can’t bring himself to be the comedic relief the team has. He is hurting for you, and he feels like he is selfish for having some people waiting for him while you have none.
Nancy feels the same way. She is excited to finally find the community, to be reunited with the rest of her family, her friends, but there’s some place inside of her that she refuses to feel that excitement. It felt unfair. Unjust. You didn’t deserve this, you of all people, didn’t deserve what happened to you.
She gets up reluctantly, walking towards Steve so she could whisper to him, even though she knew you didn’t even listen. Not because you couldn’t, you just wouldn’t process anything if words were not directed your way.
“Make her eat… I tried, but–”
“I know. I’ll take care of it… Just go rest.” She gives a final nod, looking towards Eddie. His eyes finally leave your figure, not really knowing what to do anymore. His way of handling grief had always been physical touch… Which is something he knew you weren’t particularly welcoming right now.
“Just call us if you need something… I marked the map…” He looked at the sky, passing by Steve to pat his shoulder before letting Nancy go into the RV first. The door closed, and now it was just him and you.
He walked over towards you, pulling a chair to sit next to you. He licked his lips, grabbing the pot of oatmeal from the floor, stirring it a bit as he tried his best to smile.
“Always a lot of sugar. Eddie and you probably have your blood sugar on the very floor.” He tried making a joke, anything that would get a reaction from you, but he got nothing. He had envisioned this moment differently from what it was now.
The winter was coming to an end, the weather turning warmer and warmer the closer you got to the coast, where everyone was waiting for all of you. He imagined your smile, jumping around, excited to finally settle, to finally be with him the way you two had talked about. He imagined you sitting here with him, talking about how you two were gonna live together. If you would get a cottage, a bungalow, an apartment, anything that’s there.
He imagined that you two would be bickering about what decorations you could have inside the home. What roles would the two of you decide on to contribute to the community. He imagined you… With your family. He imagined that your mother, your father, and your brother, would be around all of you right now.
He imagined a happy ending for you… But now, he doesn’t even believe he is worthy of being that for you.
Not when you look like your soul is gone. Not when you look like a puppet. Not when you look like… Like Max did two years ago… How he probably looked like before you even met him. Everything he imagined was gone in the lapse of hours, and he doesn’t think he’ll see it again.
He can’t see a future, not because he doesn’t want you… But because he doesn’t think he deserves you.
“Baby… You need to eat…” He softly spoke, trying to make you look at him. He grabs a spoonful of the oatmeal, and raises it towards your mouth. Your eyes dart to it, and you shake your head slightly.
“I am not hungry, Steve…” Not Stevie. That little nickname was gone.
“I know… I know, but you need to eat. I’ll be happy with just a few, okay?” Your eyes meet his for just a moment, before you nod and open your mouth so he could feed you. Your eyebrows meet in the middle, and your eyes closed as if swallowing hurts you. You put the cup down on the floor, before grabbing the bowl from him as well as the spoon.
He was trying not to shake as he grabbed himself a bowl, and he wasn’t hungry either, but if he ate, maybe that would make you eat more too. Your bites are small, just taking bits of it every ten seconds. You eat slowly, almost as if you were a robot and you were commanded to do so.
The silence killed him, but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if apologizing would gain anything at all. Maybe you hated him and you were not voicing it. Maybe you found him despicable now. Maybe you didn’t want to be by his side any longer.
He didn’t want you to remember that day. He didn’t want to say anything at all that would make you revisit that memory, but he wanted to. The lump in his throat grows each day, and it’s turning painful. Yet, he cannot speak a single word.
“Smell the corpses around you!”
He can’t believe himself. He can’t believe he said something like that to you. The words keep repeating in his brain, and even if he holds you at night, it was as if he was holding a cold doll. You never said anything. You never kissed him, held his hand, nothing. He cried himself to sleep the past few days, making sure you were asleep so you wouldn’t hear him.
And even when he held you, the nightmares began creeping in. That same scene, in front of Robin’s grave, over and over again, and each time your face becomes more and more visible. Clearer. Then, the scene changes, to you standing over your family’s graves.
Graves. Everything involved graves.
You put the spoon down, and Steve snapped out of his thoughts, looking at how much you ate. Not even half. Fuck. Should he push you to eat a little more? He didn’t want to command you to do anything, but he was worried that you were withering away. That it was what you decided instead of following him into the community.
“You… can you eat a little mo–”
“No.” Your voice was cold. Colder than the entire winter the four of you went through. Fuck, it hurt. He was afraid that he would turn away from you for just a second and that you would run off. He was afraid that you… would–
Both of you straightened up when you heard an animal cry. Steve immediately stood up, grabbing onto the first thing at hand, which was Nancy’s rifle. It wasn’t far away, and it sounded like a painful noise. You slowly got up from your chair, looking towards the far end bushes.
The RV’s door opened, Nancy and Eddie rushing out with guns in their hands, wearing their sleep clothes.
“What was that?” Nancy asked quickly, looking at the same spot. Steve pointed the rifle, waiting for whatever was grunting behind the bushes.
“I don’t know, but there are no red clouds, can’t be monsters.” Another cry came out, making the four of you straighten up, and all guns were pointing at one specific bush that was rustling just a few feet away.
Suddenly, a deer came out, stumbling on its feet, blood smeared over the belly, as if mauled by another animal. Relief washed over, because this meant that wildlife was living in this side of the country.
Nancy had flashbacks to 1983, seeing an injured deer in the forest, and her hand could not pull the trigger… Just like now. She didn’t want to kill this deer, even if it was suffering and bleeding to death.
But Eddie and Steve were too. You all got closer, as the deer finally stumbled over, breathing heavily. The opportunity of eating meat, fresh meat, appeared in front of you, yet, no one could give the final blow.
“Eddie… Do it…” Nancy asked, but Eddie’s hand was trembling as it pointed at the deer’s head. Images of your mother’s corpse falling onto the ground before him after he pulled the trigger flashed before his eyes. Just like your mother, the deer didn’t ask to be bitten. The deer tried to run away most likely, yet it got to her.
“I– Steve–” Eddie was borderline panicking, and Steve noticed. His rifle pointed at the deer’s head, but again, he stopped. What would you think of him if he killed an innocent soul, even if it were to help it? Would you look at him in disgust? Would you look at him differently? Would this death remind you of what happened four days ago?
“Maybe… We can leave her to… go by herself…” He said with a trembling voice. Eddie and Nancy were still petrified, looking down at the bleeding animal, knowing it will suffer until it finally decides to part.
“I think that’s… for the best–” Nancy couldn’t finish talking before she saw something slamming down on her peripheral vision, and next thing she saw was that the deer stopped moving after a final cry.
The three of them turned their heads your way, as you straightened up with the machete in your hand, the blood of the animal dripping down from the blade. You had cut the head off, or well, almost. They were frozen, because you were the last person they thought would do this.
Even before knowing what happened to your family, there were many times where you rushed to the RV so you wouldn’t see Eddie hunting a rabbit. You would sometimes eat with guilt, but you knew that you had to eat meat.
But this time, you were the one to strike.
“She is not hurting anymore.” Your voice was made of steel as your eyes never left the nearly decapitated animal before you. Steve’s eyes were wide, tears threatening to fall at any given moment. This wasn’t you. This definitely was not you.
“Sun–”
You didn’t let Steve finish that nickname. You didn’t like it anymore, and he could feel that. He saw you turn around, and walk back towards the chairs to clean your weapon with a water bottle. He heard a sniffle, and he turned to see Nancy looking away, hiding the tears that formed in her eyes.
“I-I don’t think it’s safe to eat,” Nancy mumbles, wiping her cheeks. “We don’t know what bit her… so…”
“Yeah, I’ll uh… I’ll carry her away, don’t think it’s safe to have a bleeding animal lying around our camp.” Eddie says, looking down.
Steve nods, though his mind was already elsewhere. Nancy immediately left, passing by you without a second glance because she couldn’t bear to see you this way. Normally, you would be crying your eyes out if you were the one that had to do that. You would be saying sorry, over and over again. You would be asking her to reassure you this was the right thing to do for the animal.
But you were outside, cleaning your machete as if you hadn’t just cut the neck off that deer. She couldn’t blame you, and she couldn’t be mad at you for who you were now. But she could be scared. She didn’t know if you would return to your old self anytime soon, but it was scarier to think that it would not return at all.
After an hour, Eddie and Steve were washing off the blood from their hands and arms. They did their cleaning behind the RV, in a bucket, soaking their arms in.
They were in silence, already noting that it was 9 AM, and Eddie had yet to sleep.
“You can go finish washing inside, Eds. I think Sunshine is done with the shower… I’ll hit the road soon–”
“Steve…” And he knew that tone. He knew that Eddie was going to talk to him about something that Steve was not sure he wanted to talk about.
“I know. I know, and–”
“What can we do? She is not herself… It’s been days–”
“She lost her entire family, Eddie, what do you expect?” Steve’s voice was loud, angry, and his eyes snapped to meet his best friend’s.
“I understand that. Don’t snap at me as if I didn’t!”
“What do you want her to do? To just wake up and smile and be her cheery self again?” Steve scoffed, trying to pretend as if his own words were not cutting through his heart. Eddie frowned, looking down at the reddened water, pulling his arms out of the bucket.
“Steve, she is not the only one who changed.”
And Steve froze. He could feel his fingers shaking underneath the water, and a cold sweat wrapping all around his neck.
Finally, he couldn’t handle it anymore, his hands coming out from the water, not caring that it was cold or if there was still blood on his skin. The palms of his hands came to cover his eyes, shaking his head as the tears started flowing down, the lump in his throat breaking loose.
“I can’t pretend that I didn’t cause this… I can’t pretend that I wasn’t the one who broke her–” Eddie’s eyes widened, his hand coming to rest on Steve’s shoulder.
“You can’t blame yourself for this Steve… Her family didn’t die because of what you said–”
“I destroyed her that night, Eddie.” The metalhead’s hand fell, tilting his head in question as Steve’s hands finally dropped. His cheeks were stained with tears, water, some dirt and blood from not washing thoroughly. “I killed some of her hope that night…”
Eddie just stood there, a frown in his face.
“You didn’t destroy her, and you shouldn’t blame yourself for it…”
“It’s not a matter of me manifesting it or whatever. It’s not about me telling her the future or some shit. It’s the matter that she is like this because this is how she felt when I said those words. At that moment, it was a split second of her hope fading, yet she held onto it… But now, that feeling is permanent because it’s true. I caused it. She already knew what her reaction would be, because I put that thought in her head before.”
Steve finally sobbed, frustration clear in all of his features. He kicked the bucket with his foot, making Eddie jump at the action. Steve wanted to scream into the sky, but he didn’t want you to hear. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to act that you were okay for his sake. Eddie slowly approached him, putting a hand on his shoulder, but Steve instantly turned to wrap his arms around his best friend, sobbing into his shoulder.
“Steve, she is not like this because of that… Please, understand that not everything is your fault…”
But he wasn’t listening. He wasn’t processing any of his words, because he knew that he was right. He knew that he fucked you up all those months ago. Then he kept fucking you up by saying that your family was waiting for you, that your family was alive, that your family would be welcome at their community.
His voice broken, his soul crashed, and the reality of the situation finally settled in,
“My sunshine is gone…”
–
Another day passed, and you were still nowhere to be found.
Body, you were present. Spirit, it was missing. Steve’s fear grew, and grew, and each day he was more sure that you were not in there any longer. He didn’t know how to bring you back. He didn’t know how to fix you. He didn’t know what else to do, nor how to interact with you.
Your embraces were becoming nonexistent. That clinginess he had learned to love from you was gone. You preferred alone time, rather than spending time with everyone. Nancy tried to talk, but your responses were just hums and nods. No one knew how to converse with you anymore.
He felt as if his own soul were leaving him. He felt like he was losing you, and it was killing him slowly. Will he ever get you back again? Will you ever come back to him…? And if you do, will you ever be happy again? Will he get the chance to make you happy? And… How can he compare to your family?
He can’t.
No one can.
“Do you really think… she is gone? That this is her new self?” Nancy asks Steve as they both sit at the steps of the RV’s door. You are sitting under a tree, looking at nothing in particular as the wind blows through your hair. Hair that Eddie helped wash because lately, Steve couldn’t help you eat or take care of you like in the past days. He couldn’t because he believes he shouldn’t be the one to do it, thinking that he is doing you a favor, because why would you want him to help you? He who broke you long before you found your dead family.
The lingering fear that you don’t want him around grows bigger and bigger, that you no longer feel what you felt for him before that day, that you feel the opposite now. He fears that he makes you uncomfortable, that you feel disgust when he touches you.
“Yeah…” He says with a broken voice. He doesn’t want to accept it, but for now, it did seem like it. It might take years if you do return to your old self, but even then, he doesn’t know if you would ever act like it again.
“I tried… Eddie tried… I don’t know if I should even talk about it with her, you know… About her family… I don’t even know if she accepted what happened yet…” She spoke softly, nervously, looking at Steve for some advice, but she saw his eyes starting to lose their own spark.
“I don’t know…”
“Steve–”
“Nance, I tried too… We are not her family…” At that, Nancy finally recoiled, looking at him.
“We can be–”
“Nancy, she is gone. She doesn’t feel that way, and she shouldn’t need to. We can’t force her to settle with us.” His words were knives, swords, spears going through every inch of his body. He didn’t want to accept that fact, but there really was no more hope in him either.
Nancy stares at him in confusion, in shock, like she can’t believe what she is hearing. Anger rises inside of her.
“What… so you are just gonna give up on her?” Nancy asks through gritted teeth.
Steve’s head snaps towards her, and his blood runs cold, color fading in his face. He frowns at her.
Nancy’s blue eyes are glaring into his; her nostrils flare.
“After everything she did for you? After everything you two have gone through… you are just gonna give up on her, leave her to suffer through her grief… by herself?” Nancy’s voice trembles. “You are gonna do this… to her?” She points at you.
Steve’s hazel eyes are full of pain, of heartbreak.
He would rather die than do this to you, but her words make him realize that this is exactly what he’s been doing these past few days, and it shatters his own heart. But how can he explain that he’s keeping his distance, not because he doesn’t know how to handle you, but because his guilt is killing him alive, because he fears that you hate him after what he said to you.
He shakes his head and his eyes water.
Nancy’s eyes soften when she sees the tears in his eyes, though her anger is still burning inside of her.
“Eddie told me what you said to her.” Nancy says with a clenched jaw. She turns away from him and looks back in your direction. “But I think you should know her well enough to know that she would never hold some stupid words against you, words that were said when you were still grieving–”
“I told her that–”
“That is Sunshine we are talking about, Steve.” Nancy talks over him, shaking her head.
Steve closes his mouth. He runs his fingers through his hair.
“She is grieving her family, she is suffering not because of what you said, but because she lost her entire family, and now she is losing you too? Why? Because you can’t forgive yourself for what you said to her months ago? Because you worry about something that she probably isn’t even thinking about. You think you are doing her a favor by staying away, by pushing her away, now when she needs you the most?”
Steve almost chokes up. She is right. He knows she is.
But it wasn’t only his worry that kept him away from you; it was also shame. Shame for all the words he threw at you.
“If you love her, which I think you do… then be there for her the way she was there for you. Fight for her the way she always fought for you. You hurt her before, don’t do it again, not now, not ever. She needs you. And if someone can bring her back, it’s you.” With those words, she leaves him sitting by himself, though she lingers by the door of the RV for a moment. She turns around in his direction, but her eyes are on you. “She brought you back, didn’t she?” She taps the door before she walks in, closing it softly.
Steve’s face softens. His eyes well up with tears once more as he watches you. Your eyes are closed, leaning against the tree. It looks like you are enjoying the sun.
Nancy is right.
He knows she is.
He knows what a fool he is. He knows the mistakes he made, the same ones he is repeating again; pushing you away. He is already regretting so many things he could have done differently; he could have done better. And now he is on his way to making more mistakes, causing more regrets, something he never wanted to do with you, not you.
A tear rolls down his cheek, watching the wind mess up your hair, which you tuck back behind your ear.
You should be the one to decide whether you still want him or not, not him, right?
He brings his hand up to his face, wiping his tears away. He looks down at the grass, and his eyes catch onto something by his boot, something he didn’t notice before. A little flower, the only one growing on this field it seems. He picks it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. You didn’t even notice it. You love flowers, you are always looking for them, yet you didn’t see this one.
He gets back up on his feet, his eyes finding your figure again. He stands there for a moment, twirling the flower between his fingers as he looks at you. His heart aches for you, and it aches even more when Nancy’s words repeat themselves in his head.
You fought for him, you always did, even when he pushed you away, even when he was mean to you, when he tried to keep you away from him by throwing awful words at you. Even when he gave you the cold shoulder. You always fought for him.
Seeing you like this, all alone in your grief, it breaks him.
It’s not that he gave up on you; he never would, not even when Nancy threw that at him. He would never give up on you, but going over her words makes the guilt twist even worse in his chest, the same guilt that kept him at arm's length from you, the one that made him keep his distance.
Distance he needs to close again, so he can try, try, and see if you are really better off without him by your side.
He approaches you slowly, careful not to startle you. He doesn’t call for you, doesn’t say your name. He just settles down beside you, sitting on the grass next to you. You don’t move at first, still keeping your eyes closed, enjoying the sun.
He is looking at you, eyes trailing over your face, the crease between your eyebrows, the softness of your skin, your lashes that flutter from the kiss of the wind, the curve of your lips that he misses so much. His eyes get stuck on the small scar on your cheekbone, the one you took when you fought one of the guys that attacked you that day on the road, the day when you killed for him.
Steve’s breath gets caught in his throat when you open your eyes and turn to look at him. His heart stops for a moment as he scans the look in your eyes, like he is trying to find something that could absolutely break him – he doesn’t find it, he won’t, not even if it’s something he feels about himself. If anything, your eyes soften.
For a moment, you both just look at each other. No words, no exchanges, nothing. Your eyes stay connected, and your knee bumps into his when you angle your body towards him.
Your body language speaks enough words. You wouldn’t do this if you didn’t want him around, right?
His lip twitches when your eyes find the flower between his fingers. Your eyebrows rise up in surprise, and he sees something he hasn’t seen in what feels like forever; hope.
“The flowers started blooming for you, Sunshine.” Steve whispers shakily.
Your brows scrunch together, lips parting for a second before they close again. You look up again, and the look in your eyes kills him. Emotions he thought were gone completely flash in them. It makes his heart beat strongly, aching yet feeling alive again.
Without second guessing it, he scoots closer to you. He brings his hand up to your face, shaky fingers tuck your hair behind your ear, before he puts the flower in your hair. His heart screams for you as he feels you so close again. Everything inside of him starts hurting, like his body, his soul can’t understand why there was this distance between you in the first place, like everything in him was dying slowly the longer he kept away from you.
He can feel your eyes taking in every inch of him; he can hear your soft breathing, matching the shakiness in his own.
He can’t help but place his palm against your cheek, cupping it. He caresses your cheekbone with his thumb. And he almost breaks right there when you close your eyes and lean into his touch. Your eyebrows are still drawn together as though you are in pain, as though you are suffering, but his touch is slowly mending it. You bring your hand up, and for a moment, he fears that it’s to remove his touch from you, but instead, you press your palm against the top of his hand, lingering there for a moment before it slides down to his wrist, and you wrap your fingers around it, holding onto him.
Steve feels his heart beating strongly at the gesture.. His eyes well up with tears, and the coil in his throat tightens. He has to hold back the sob that starts rising up.
You are still in there.
You are still here.
You are still here, and you need him.
You need him more than anything.
And he knows exactly what he needs to do, what he’s been wanting to do for so long now.
-
On your next stop, which seems to be your last before reaching the community in California, Steve goes off on his own. You are completely unaware of it, waking up to an empty bed isn’t new these days. You lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling. The sun is already up and bright, peeking through the blinds and the curtains, casting a warm orange light over the RV.
Steve’s scent lingers on your pillow, the only comfort you get when he isn’t next to you. It takes you a while to sit up on the bed, to let your feet touch the ground. Your eyes fall on the flower he gave to you a few days ago. You found a small glass and filled it up with water, wanting to keep the flower blooming.
You make your way into the bathroom, splashing your face with water and brushing your teeth. You take a look at yourself in the mirror, something you had been avoiding these past days or maybe even weeks. You don’t know how much time has passed since leaving your house, but your chest tightens when you look at yourself. Your skin is dull, and the circles under your eyes are dark despite getting enough sleep. Your cheeks are hollow, and your collarbones are more prominent than they were before. You stand there for a moment, staring at your reflection, staring at it like you can’t believe what you are seeing.
You know why he looks at you like that.
Every time you catch him staring, you see the pain in his eyes, the sadness, the grief. He looks at you the way you looked at your dad, the way you looked at your mom. Like you are already gone, and he is grieving you.
But you are not gone. Your heart is still beating. At least you can feel it when you press your palm against your chest. It’s still there.
You don’t know how much time passes while you're just standing there and staring at your reflection, but you almost yelp when the RV door bursts open. Your hand stays pressed against your chest, and you turn to look at whoever hurried inside.
“Sunshine.”
Steve stands in the doorway, and his eyes shine with something that’s been missing in your eyes; excitement. His expression falls a little when he notices the way you are still clutching your chest.
“Are you okay?” He asks softly, taking a step towards you. He looks you up and down, the look in his eyes now replaced by worry. He holds his hand out to you, though not touching you.
“Yeah, just startled me, that's all.” You nod and remove your hand from your racing heart. “Did you need anything?”
Steve blinks. His lip twitches when he remembers what he came for.
“I– I want to show you something.” His voice is filled with excitement. “Get dressed, I’ll wait outside.” He is determined, not taking no for an answer. He looks you up and down once more before he leaves again, closing the door behind him.
Confusion grows inside of you when you hear bickering outside, or well, it sounds more like Steve getting scolded by Eddie and Nancy for something. You stand there for a moment, listening, but you can’t make out their words. Their scolding continues even after you are done getting dressed; they only stop after you step outside.
The anger in Nancy’s eyes that was directed at Steve instantly fades when she looks at you. Eddie’s expression immediately softens too.
“Is everything okay?”
Eddie nods, his eyes flicker back to Steve for a moment, glaring.
“Yeah, peachy.”
Steve steps forward, and he holds his hand out to you, ignoring his friends who are looking between you.
“Come.” Steve murmurs softly to you.
Your confused eyes find his, and he only nods at you, like he is encouraging you to take his hand.
You take a deep breath and place your hand in his. His fingers instantly curl around your hand, and he squeezes it. “Let’s go, Sunshine.” He pulls you away from the RV and from your friends. You give them a puzzled look, but they only shrug at you.
You don’t know where he is taking you, don’t even have an idea of where he could lead you, but you still follow him without questioning him. You would follow him everywhere. You look around as you follow his footsteps. He is leading you through a huge field, one that leads to a forest.
He doesn’t talk, and neither do you.It’s darker in here, but rays of sunlight peek through the trees from above. You hear the birds singing, feel the wind nip at your skin, blowing through your hair. The smell of soil and pine lingers in the air. You can’t help but take a deep breath. You have always liked the smell of the forest; in a way, it gave you a sense of freedom and safety. When you adapted to the new world, you had always looked for shelter in the woods; they always kept you safe.
Steve’s warm hand keeps squeezing yours, his thumb brushing over your skin. You look down at his hand, and you realize just how much you have missed his touch. The lack of his presence by your side didn’t go unnoticed by you. Even in your grief and in the state of numbness you were in, you noticed how he touched you less and how whenever he looked at you, there was pain and guilt in his eyes. You know him well enough; he stayed away, thinking he was doing the right thing for you.
You’re so lost in thought, looking down at his hand, you don’t realize that the trail through the forest is already ending, and he is leading you out to a clearing. You squint your eyes when the sun hits you directly in the face. Something yellow flashes in your peripheral vision, and you turn towards it. Your lips part in surprise when you see the butterfly; your eyes follow it.
It’s been so long since you’ve seen a butterfly or any other insect, for that matter, and it shouldn’t surprise you as much since you’ve been stuck in the cold states for the past few months, but even before that, you barely saw any butterflies or bees or even animals out here.
You almost bump into Steve’s back when he stops walking, too distracted by the butterfly. He turns around, still holding your hand. His hazel eyes shine so bright with hope, while yours mirror the emotions he felt when you just met him.
Your eyes don’t stray away from his. His lip twitches slightly, curling into an anticipated smile.
“Look around, Sunshine.” Steve whispers, squeezing your hand.
You furrow your eyebrows, staring at him for a long moment before you slowly tear your eyes away from him. You look down, noticing how green the grass is, noticing the little flowers growing, not just one or two, there are so many of them.
Steve is watching your face, taking in the way your expression changes, how your eyes widen, and your lips part. You look up at him, and his breath gets caught in his throat when he sees the look in your eyes.
He nods at you, smiling softly.
You squeeze his hand and look over his shoulder, only now noticing that the flowers didn’t only grow in the little spot you are standing in, they are everywhere, blooming in different colors, taking up all the space in this field, filling it with life.
You walk around him and take a step forward. Your hand slips from his grasp as you take another step and then another, walking further into the field where the flowers grow bigger and taller. You turn, and everywhere you look, you find another flower, yellow, orange, pink colors, everywhere.
Steve’s feet carry him to you slowly. His eyes take in all your reactions. His heart beats so strongly, squeezing in his chest as something he can only describe as fascination crosses your features. Your eyes light up, and he sees you. He sees traces of you coming back again. Your hands reach out to touch the flowers, and your lips curl into a smile. The sun shines down on you, kissing your skin. The wind blows through your hair that grew even longer in these past few months. You look like an angel. His angel.
“You saved me.” Those words fall from his lips easily. His voice is shaky, and his heart beats strongly, especially when you turn around to face him. “You saved my life, Sunshine.”
You stay quiet, standing still in your spot as your eyes trace his features. He steps closer to you, closing the distance between you with each step he takes. Your breath gets caught in your throat when you really look at him. The circles under his eyes are prominent like your own. His cheeks are more hollow too. His face lost color just the way yours did. His features are etched with pain. He is suffering because you are suffering.
“That day you stumbled right into Hawkins… I don’t think it was a coincidence, you know?”
You tilt your head in confusion.
Steve takes another step closer. He huffs at the memory, smiling slightly.
“I wasn’t supposed to be on patrol that day, and you weren’t supposed to walk down that route. You once told me that Robin would send me a sign… I think she sent you, or well, she sent the bat that ripped the map from your hands, so you would walk right into Hawkins because, knowing you, you must have tried to follow the bat.”
You scrunch your nose up, making him smile.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Steve murmurs, and finally, he stops right before you. He reaches for your hand. “You found me. You found me during a time in my life when I was dying, when I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and never open them again, but then you happened and god… I’m so fucking happy you happened, Sunshine. You are everything I dreamed of.” He stops for a moment, taking a deep breath. “And you are the light in my life that pulled me out of the dark hole I was trapped in. I… I wanna be that for you now.”
He doesn’t realize just how much his hands are shaking until you tighten your hold on them. His eyes well up with tears, and he closes them for a moment, needing to collect himself before he continues. Everything he’s been holding back is ready to be spilled.
He opens his eyes again, and he breathes shakily as he looks into your eyes.
“I know I will never replace your family– and I don’t even want to do that!” He says, wide eyed, like he worried that he said the wrong thing. “But–” He stops as a tear runs down his cheek, the sob he’s been trying to hold back is rising up now. “I want to start a new one with you. I want to become your family. Eddie too, Nancy too– but especially me. I want to marry you, have children if you desire so, and I want to make you feel safe and loved… Because I love you so much. I love you so fucking much, you have no idea.” He cries. Tears cascade down his cheeks, and he is shaking so much.
And you, you stare at him for a moment, wide-eyed and lips parted.
And the world started making sense once more, despite the darkness that surrounded you the last few days. The skies cleared from the red clouds that invaded your mind. The world had color again. And finally, you took a breath. A breath that you felt so strongly, as if you had been drowning or lacking it lately.
Your heart beats stronger than it has in a while. Your knees nearly buckle. You stare at him, at the tears in his eyes, at the way he looks at you with nothing but love, with nothing but despair.
Your family is gone.
But it’s not.
You have found one on the way here. You found him. You found Eddie and Nancy. You still have one. And the one about to come with him, the man who just gave you his heart.
“So please… please come back to me, Sunshine. I need you. I–” You cut him off by pressing your lips against his. He sobs against you, though it’s one out of relief the moment he feels your arms wrapped around him, the moment he feels your lips moving against his, the moment he feels you again. He doesn’t even know where to touch first. His hands cradle your face, wiping your tears as he deepens the kiss, swallowing your whimper.
His hands then slide down to your neck and your shoulders before he pulls you against him, wrapping his arms around you so tightly that he pulls you flush against him. Neither of you knows how long you stand there in each other's embrace, kissing, but it’s all you need right now, all you want. Only when the lack of air breaks you two apart do your lips stop moving, and you pull away, but only enough to catch your breaths. He leans his forehead against yours, sniffling.
“I love you, Steve. I love you so much.” Your voice is shaky, full of tears, just like your eyes that get blurry all over again as you look at your man. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I was just so afraid, after losing them… all I could think about was losing you too, and I can’t lose you, not you.” Your voice breaks once more, tears continuing to roll down your cheeks.
Steve’s brown eyes widen, and his heart nearly explodes in his chest. Light rushes back in, and he can’t even help the cry from falling from his lips.
“You– You love me? Sunshine, did you say you love me?” He whispers, his hand finding your cheeks again.
Your heart almost breaks when you hear the surprise in his voice, like he can’t believe that you feel this way about him.
“Of course I do,” you whisper, leaning closer to peck his lips. “I love you.”
The look in his eyes kills you. He is genuinely surprised and shocked that you actually love him. Another tear rolls down his cheek, and you catch it with your thumb, wiping it away.
For the first time in a while, you both feel joy, happiness. Your souls are beginning to heal from this pain.
Steve can’t help but smile through his tears, and his eyes light up when you do the same.
“I love you so much more, my sweet girl.” Steve whispers before he leans in and starts pressing kisses all over your face, pulling that beautiful sound of your giggle out of you, making his heart flutter and his smile widen.
Your hands catch his face again, and you pull him away from your face so you can look at him.
“You… You want to marry me? You want to have kids with me?”
Steve nods so quickly, “yes I do, baby.”
You could feel every emotion crushing towards you at once, your lips trembling, and Steve knows. Steve can feel it as your body starts shaking. He knows you will finally let it all out.
“They’re gone…” You start talking, small, almost a whisper. Your eyes had so many swirling emotions that he couldn’t keep up with. They look lost and ready to burst. He nodded slowly, his eyebrows falling, and his eyes softened.
“Yes… They are… They are, Sunshine…”
And finally, finally, you break.
You pull away as your breathing starts to become erratic, hunching as you grab at his biceps for support as your cries fill the field. Your tears start coming down heavily, your grip is bruising but he holds onto you by your elbows as he helps you to not fall on the ground. Your stomach is twisted as if you had been punched, but you just sobbed. You were heavily crying, letting your suffering out.
“They didn’t deserve that! They– My mom! My dad! My brother! They’re gone! They’re gone!” He just lets you cry, tears running down his own cheeks to see you like this, but he knows you have to cry. Your mind is flashing with the images of that day, the bodies, your house, the sunflower field, the graves.
Your cries continued, and finally your knees gave in, falling to the ground and he followed, still holding onto you. You were trying to breathe, chest heaving rapidly, and Steve suddenly grew worried because he didn’t bring the inhaler with him. He sat on the ground, quickly pulling you to his chest. His arms wrapped around you, as he rocked the two of you, trying to soothe you.
“I know… I know, love…” His voice was choked up, and the side of your face was against his chest as you held onto him. You were still crying, choking on your spit.
“Why them… Why…” Your voice was lower now, slowly calming down from your breakdown, and he kept rocking the two of you, kissing the top of your head and keeping his lips there as he clenched his eyes. If you were in pain, he was in pain.
It took minutes for your breathing to come back to normal, or at least a bit. Your eyes opened, spotting the flowers that were all around you, waving at you thanks to the wind. Slowly, another emotion started creeping in. The one you had lost. The one you almost forgot existed.
Hope.
You slowly pulled away, straightening up to sit next to Steve, but his arms were not leaving you. Your eyes searched for his, and then the images of him trying to feed you came. The ones of him doing your hair, helping you wash yourself, even helping you sleep. So lost in your grief, you didn’t realize how much he was showing that he loves you.
You felt completely… loved. Realizing that not only he loves you. Eddie and Nancy love you too. They all tried. They all tried to bring you back… And the feeling of being abandoned, or lonely without any family… Vanished.
Your blood family is gone, and that pain will never go away. Nobody will replace them… But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a family at all. The man before you wants that. He wants that with you. He wants a forever with you. He wants a little one with you. He wants it. He wants to be in your life for as long as you let him.
Which is forever.
“You’re… Through this whole winter… You have been my sunflower, Steve…” Your whisper is soft and filled with so much love. A kind of love he never thought he would get to feel.
His eyes well up with tears all over again. He can’t describe the feeling that is coursing through his veins, not even if he tried. He cups the side of your face and he looks down at you with nothing but adoration.
He can see that the wall between you, your wall of grief had vanished again and now he gets to see you, to feel you again.
“Winter is over, can I still be your sunflower?”
His question makes you laugh softly. You nod and lean into his hand, closing your eyes as another tear rolls down your cheek. He wipes it away and kisses your forehead.
“Please.” You whisper.
Steve pulls you into his arms, needing to hug you, needing to hold you and you don’t hesitate to bury your face into his chest, breathing in his scent as he buries his face in your neck.
For a while you sit there, surrounded by the flowers, by the nature that stayed untouched from the dead and the evilness that spread across the world, the one that touched you both. The one that took Robin. The one that took your family. The one that led you to finding each other.
“You said that Robin sent me to you…” You whisper, pulling away from his chest to look at him.
He nods, smiling softly.
“I think… I think my mom sent you.”
You know that she was gone long before you met Steve. It didn’t happen on your journey. It didn’t happen while you were in Hawkins or after you left. It happened long ago. Your family was gone by the time you left New York.
Steve's lips curl into a sad smile. He brings his hand up to your face, tucking your hair behind your ear.
“Yeah? You think they teamed up?”
You nod, blinking away tears.
“You know… I would have found you in the old world too.” Steve murmurs, face suddenly growing serious. “This, us, we belong together. Perfect world or this one, I would always choose you.”
Everything inside of you bursts into joy, feelings that you were afraid of lately rushing through you again. The love in his eyes makes you melt into his arms even more.
“I would always choose you too, Steve.” Your voice breaks and his trembling hands pull you in, closing the gap between you so he can kiss you once more. And he keeps on kissing you, holding you the way he couldn’t in these past days.
You don’t know how much time passes of you sitting out here on this field, loving one another but when you finally return to your camp, you feel like yourself again. The aching in your heart won’t disappear anytime soon but you feel so much lighter than you did this morning.
Eddie and Nancy get up from their chairs when they see the two of you coming back, hand in hand, a sight they haven’t seen in a while.
You squeeze Steve’s hand and turn to him to find him already looking at you. He gives you a sweet smile and an encouraging nod. After a moment, your hand slips from his and you pick up the pace, making your way back to your friends. You stop before them, looking between them for a moment. Eddie’s worried but hopeful eyes, Nancy’s sad ones. And then, you take another step forward and throw your arms around both of them, pulling them into a hug.
They both freeze. Both stiff beneath your touch. Eddie’s eyes lock with Steve’s, who is standing a few feet away from you. His eyes are glassy, red rimmed. It’s clear that he cried, though his lips are curled into a smile, eyes filled with the softness that was missing. One look at him and Eddie knows, he brought you back. He is the first to wrap his arm around you.
A shaky breath falls from Nancy’s mouth, a sigh of relief. Tears well up in her eyes as she slowly wraps her arm around you.
“Oh Sunshine.” She whispers, pulling you closer.
Eddie wraps his arm around Nancy as well and for a moment, the three of you hug, holding each other. And Steve, he stands there, watching with a smile on his face. He hears your sniffle, he sees the tears that Eddie is trying to hold back, he sees the way Nancy clings to you.
He always knew how much they loved you but seeing this fills his heart with warmth. You are so loved.
“Whatcha standing there like a creep?” Eddie calls out to him, wiping his tears away. “Get your ass over here, man.”
You and Nancy giggle at that. You let go of Eddie and hold your hand out to Steve, smiling at him over your shoulder. The smile he missed so much. The smile he yearned for. He walks over, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. He moves in between you and Eddie, wrapping his arm around his shoulder and his other around your waist. He gives Nancy a nod, a silent thank you for talking sense into him. She knew just what to say. And Eddie, he squeezes Steve’s shoulder and gives him a proud smile.
He has come a long way since leaving Hawkins.
“Thank you.” You whisper, breaking the silence between you all. “For everything… For being my family.” You don’t need to say much more to touch their hearts. You don’t need a speech to show gratitude. These words, the tears in your eyes, the love you showed them all on this journey and how much you fought for them was enough.
“Thank you for coming into our lives, Sunshine.” Nancy whispers, reaching for your hand. “You’re my family too, my best friend.”
Eddie’s brown eyes are glassy. He tries to hide the tears but it’s hard to do so when he sees you back again, when he sees the smile on your face and the softness in your eyes that he wasn’t sure would come back again.
“You’re my family too. You are the only one who knows who my sweetheart is, I think it’s safe to say that you are my favorite family member.” Eddie chuckles, ruffling your hair.
Nancy rolls her eyes at the mention of his sweetheart.
Steve chuckles and shakes his head at his best friend.
The sound of your giggle makes them all light up though.
You lean your head against Steve’s shoulder and he doesn’t hesitate to lean his cheek against the top of your head.
“Okay…” You whisper, wiping at your cheek yet again. “You two should get some sleep.” You look between Eddie and Nancy, who share a glance before they look back at you.
“We wanna stay up.” Eddie clears his throat, his arms falling to his sides as he is the first to break the group hug. “If the roads stay clear we’re gonna arrive at the community tonight.”
Nancy nods, looking down.
Steve might have managed to bring you back, but you still need to come to terms that you will be the only one without a family there, without someone waiting for you. You are the reason why they are finding their families in the first place.
Steve’s hand stays pressed against your waist, he pulls you closer against him.
“Oh.” You nod, eyes finding Steve’s for a moment who is already looking down at you, who will stick by your side no matter what. “Okay, yeah. You still need some rest though.”
“I will drive, Sunshine will keep me company, right?” Steve speaks, his hand reaching for yours.
“Yeah, I’ll keep you company.”
Nancy and Eddie both feel relief seeing you smile again, seeing you back again, seeing you be yourself again, even if not completely yet. Though they both feel their heart aching, knowing that tonight you will have to watch them reunite with their families, the way you couldn’t.
“Now go… lay down for a bit, Steve and I will have some breakfast before we hit the road, right?”
Steve’s eyes light up, a mixture of hope and relief swirling in them. It’s been a while since you have eaten a proper meal, a while since you had been the one to bring it up in the first place, even when you don’t end up finishing your bowl of oatmeal fifteen minutes later, he is still satisfied with the small step towards healing. You finish your cup of coffee that is too sweet as always and you clean up, getting ready to get back on the road one last time.
You get comfortable in the passenger seat while Steve settles down in the driver's seat. You welcome his touch when he reaches for your hand and you give him a small smile that he returns instantly.
“Ready?”
You look outside, at the sun beaming down, at the road waiting for you. The sky is blue, clear of any clouds. For the first time in a while, the feeling in your chest is one of peace. You know the rest of this journey will be smooth. You know that this is the last time you will be sitting in this seat, looking out onto the road, looking out for any danger. This will be the last day where you will have to fear for his safety, for his life, for your friends’ life.
This journey won’t end the way you always thought it would. Your parents, your brother were supposed to be here now with you. They were supposed to greet the gates of the community with you but instead they greeted the gates of heaven.
You didn’t think it would end like this.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
But life had different plans for you, for your family.
But the darkness didn’t claim you, not even when you thought it did.
You look into the eyes of the man you love, and you know that everything will be okay. He squeezes your hand, his lips touch your knuckles, his eyes shine for you.
“Ready.”
And your future with him is just in reach.
Because by nightfall you are greeted by the breeze of the ocean and the gates of the community.
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