Summary: After moving to the same city, you and Steve quickly fall back into an easy friendship, but will it stay that way?
Can be read as a stand alone friends to lovers piece or as the final part of the Lost Love series. Either way, get ready for some serious situationship feels. 13k words (buckle up)
Steve Harrington x fem!reader, a lil smutty, a lil angsty, a lil fluffy
a/n: I had way too much fun writing this. Clearly this is one of my favorite tropes because I totally pull from some of my fave movies. I've had a great time writing this and an even greater time interacting with all of you!!! thank you all for reading my work. There will be more to come :)
June 1992
All the windows in Steve and Robin's apartment are wide open. Two metal fans worked overtime to flow in whatever cool breeze Chicago could offer this summer. You and Steve are glued to the television, watching the NBA Championship game - Chicago Bulls versus the Portland Trail Blazers.
You and Steve are very serious about the Bulls. It was something you bonded over in the early days of your friendship. Your dad was from Chicago, so you grew up a Bulls fan while Steve wanted to be a contrarian, and the Indiana Pacers sucked in the 80s, so he vowed his allegiance to the Bulls, and baby, being their fan was so sweet right now.
The jersey you gave Steve for his 19th birthday clung to his body, sticking to him due to the humidity in the air. You sat literally on the edge of the couch cushion, palms sweaty and pressing to your knees as the fourth quarter slowly came to a close with Bulls up. Steve stands beside you, hands on his hips and an empty beer bottle in the back pocket of his short shorts, tan thighs on display.
"They're going to three-peat," you say, eyes still glued to the screen.
Steve shushes you, "Don't jinx it."
You point to the screen as the time slips below a minute, "it's happening!"
With less than twenty seconds to go, the Bulls are only up by two points. You and Steve hold your breath as Michael Jordan steps up to the free-throw line. He sinks the first shot in. You bring a hand up to your mouth, the tension too much to handle. Steve puts his hands up to his head, stressed.
"He's doing it," you say, "it's happening-"
"Shhhh!" Steve waves you off, but you don't care. You're way too excited.
Jordan makes the second free throw and you jump up from your seat. Steve puts a nervous hand on your shoulder, eyes glued to the screen.
The Blazers take the ball down the court and they miss! The Bulls have the ball, they run out the clock, and they have it! They win the final game!
You and Steve jump up in excitement, cheering and hollering. He pulls you into a hug and you both jump around, holding onto each other tightly. You don't even notice as the front door opens and Robin walks in.
She slips off her shoes and looks over at the two of you freaking out over the win. Robin shakes her head, "you two are such freaks."
Steve breaks away from you and points at Robin, "We won!!!!!!"
You grab two beers, crack them open, and hand one to Steve who takes it happily. You toss one to Robin and she barely catches it. Steve crashes his bottle against yours and you both sip in celebration of this big win.
Safe to say that you're first week in Chicago is going great.
July 1992
The hot air is thick, making Steve’s dirty t-shirt stick to his body even more than it was during the pickup game. He says his goodbyes to the neighborhood guys as he exits the court, basketball tucked under his arm.
The sun sets as Steve makes his usual walk home. A small breeze blows past him, causing just the slightest bit of relief from the summer humidity.
He smiles, thinking about how great the summer has been so far. He's teaching summer classes in the morning to middle school kids and has the rest of the day to fill his time with whatever he wants. He mostly sees you or Robin, and Amanda.
Amanda, Amanda, Amanda. Things with her are going well, steady. She’s been back and forth between the city and her hometown now that she has the summer off. She hasn’t invited Steve home yet to meet her parents. She says it’s a big step in her family. Steve thought they were at that point, but she’s not as serious about him as he thinks. It should ring alarm bells in his head but he’s not completely bothered by it.
The relationship was still good, easy, nice. That’s what he should want, right? Easy like his parents. Not hard and sporadic like it was with you.
Steve enters his apartment building and jogs up the steps to his unit, feeling the air getter hotter as he rises. The phone starts to ring as he opens the front door. He rushes over to the kitchen and picks it up to hear your frantic voice on the other line.
"If you don't hear from me in three hours, it means I've gone missing and have most likely been murdered," you say. Steve quickly realizes you're being neurotic and not frantic at all.
He chuckles, "Okay, I don't even know where to start with this one."
"I'm going on a blind date," you explain. Steve pauses, unsure of what to think. Then he pauses some more, unsure of why he's pausing in the first place. You can date, that's normal, and he shouldn't feel some type of way about it. Does he feel some type of way? He clearly feels something toward the idea of you dating because he did pause and-
"Yeah, sorry," he crosses his arms, "what's his name? Just in case you do go missing."
You groan, "Brandon, that's all I know. We're meeting at Carmichael's, so come looking for me there."
Steve wants to laugh, imagining what you're doing on the other line right now. He pictures you all ready for your date, waiting by the door on your phone, nose scrunched up because you're nervous. He knows you're being serious because of all the crime books you read.
You were nervous for your first date in Chicago and truthfully, you just wanted to talk to Steve. He would make you feel better.
"Don't worry," he says smiling, "he won't be a total weirdo and murder you. He'll love you. Who wouldn't?"
You smile, nodding your head. You grab your bag from the hook, "thanks, really. Okay, I gotta go. I'll call you in like 3 or 4 hours."
"Woah, woah, woah," Steve jokes, "this Brendon guy is going to have you out past midnight? On the first date?"
You laugh, "First of all, it's Brandon and secondly, fuck off. Ok, byeeeeeeeeeeeee."
"Have fun, byyeeee-" he sings into the phone until it clicks. Steve sets down the phone, smiling a little too wide.
August 1992
"He said I was high maintenance, can you believe that?" You ask from the passenger seat. A bag of grapes sits on your lap. You pop one in your mouth, angrily chewing. Steve sits quietly in the driver's seat, biting his tongue and trying not to smirk. You notice, hitting him on the shoulder. He winces, "Ow!"
"Say I'm not high maintenance!"
"But you're a little high maintenance!"
Your jaw drops, dramatically showing your offense to his statement.
"There are two types of women," Steve explains, "low maintenance girls, and then there's you, high maintenance."
You look out the window at the flat Indiana fields. You two were driving home for the weekend before the kids went back to school.
"Like when it comes to food," he continues, "You don't like tomatoes or onions on your burger and want extra pickles. But, you want the tomatoes on the side, not the onions, because you like the option of tomatoes. You want whipped cream for your shake but on the side. You refuse to buy meat from any other place besides a local deli and even then you get it cut a specific way, you should really become a butcher at this point."
You shrug, "I like things a certain way."
Steve raises his eyebrows at you, "see. High maintenance. It's not a bad thing. I'm the same way about my hair."
He pops a grape into his mouth and you laugh, "Believe me, Farrah Fawcett, I know how particular you are about your hair."
September 1992
Lake Michigan is beautiful this time of year, you think as you and Steve walk along the lakefront. The great expanse of water on one side, the gorgeous city view on the other.
Steve tells you about his holiday plans or lack thereof. His girlfriend, who you swear you really like, is going home for Thanksgiving and didn't invite him. He wasn't so happy with that.
"It's not like she skipped over the conversation entirely," Steve huffs, "she outright told me I wasn't invited."
"Like in a rude way or just plain and simple," you ask, eyes trained on the horizon ahead of you.
"She said it was too soon. That, in her family, inviting a boyfriend to Thanksgiving doesn't happen without a ring on her finger."
You're careful with your words, not sure what to say. So you settle on, "That's intense."
Steve waves his hands in front of him as he speaks, "and I am so not ready for that. I mean, you don't think that was her way of telling me she wants me to propose?"
You want to jump into the frigid water at just the thought of Steve proposing to sweet, beautiful, smart Amanda. But you keep your cool, not letting him see that you feel physically nauseous at the idea of it. So you think about how a friend would answer because you two have become such good friends the last few months. But a question does gnaw at you, and it's honestly a question you'd ask any of your actual friends.
"Are you guys there yet? Like have you thought about getting engaged?"
And to your shameful pleasure, Steve doesn't even miss a beat when he says, "I haven't even thought about it."
You hide your smile, "then don't worry about it. She's just setting a boundary. Amanda doesn't seem like the type to play games like that."
He nods, slowly feeling better about the whole thing because of you.
"Guess I'll be spending Thanksgiving in Hawkins then," he says.
You nudge his side with yours, "there's always room for you at my place. I'm sure my parents would be more than happy to see you."
"You guys still make cornbread?"
Steve pumps his arm up in victory, "I'm so fucking there."
October 1992
The electronics store was lined with the newest television models, speakers, and VHS players. You gaze up at the wall of television sets, lost on which one you could possibly choose. The options were endless and all you wanted to do was watch your movies and All My Children.
Steve comes back with the store manager and points toward the TV they thought best. The manager picks up the box and moves it over to the checkout counter.
You turn to Steve, "Wait, I didn't even pick."
"Relax," he smiled his usual Harrington smile, "I got the very best for ya."
You narrow your eyes at him and he puts his hands up in surrender.
"Within your budget," he explains.
"Thank you," you mouth, brushing past him and toward the register to pay.
Steve settles in beside you as you write out a check. He picks up a tabloid magazine and holds it up to show you. "Okay, who'd you rather," Steve points to the front page of the magazine, "Keanu or Kevin Costner?"
You tilt your head, thinking long and hard about this. "Hmmm," you say,
"No way you don't pick Costner. You made me watch Robin Hood like four times this summer," he exclaims.
The manager thanks you and pushes the TV toward you guys. Steve slides it off the counter not missing a beat.
"But I just rewatched Point Break, so I'm all about Keanu right now," you smirk, holding the door open for Steve. He repositions the heavy TV on his hip as you walk down the busy street.
He laughs, "I think you're missing the point of that movie."
"What? Like I'm not supposed to gawk over the hot men doing crazy stuff?"
"It's an action movie about sick stunts and cool dudes."
"A woman directed it, Steve. It's literally made for women to look at beautiful men."
"Even then, I'm more of a Swayze guy."
"I respect that. Okay, Demi Moore or Julia Roberts?"
"That's just your nostalgia talking."
"I'm not saying Julia Roberts isn't gorgeous. But, yeah you're right, Demi is the forever crush."
"I feel like she'd go for you if you met in a bar or something."
"And have Bruce Willis beat my ass for looking at his wife? No, thank you. I've seen Die Hard and that guy's a beast."
"Ooooh, I change my answer to him."
Steve stops in his tracks, "Bruce Willis?! You're hot for Bruce Willis?!"
People glare at you two as they pass by on the sidewalk. You throw apologies their way while tugging Steve to keep moving.
"He looks great fighting all those bad guys!"
"Not everyone can have beautiful luscious hair like you, Stevie."
"Well, no shit. But, really I don't get it. He looks so old too."
"Older guys know what they're doing."
"Okay, what the hell does that mean?"
"I just think Bruce Willis knows how to handle a woman, that's all."
"Yes, in bed, Steve. Clearly, Demi Moore knows something we don't."
Steve follows as you climb the stairs up your apartment building. "You're saying you can look at a man and know if he's good at sex?" he asks.
"Well, I mean, not all the time. People can surprise you, but yes, you can get a vibe from a guy. You can tell if he's going to make you orgasm or not. Usually, it's a no."
That leaves Steve dumbstruck for a bit. He contemplates your sentiment as you let him into your apartment.
He sets the TV down and begins unwrapping it.
He huffs, "So how many guys have made you cum?"
You look up at him, pausing midway as you unzip your boot, "Steve."
"I'm asking as a concerned friend," he explains.
You slip off the boots and walk over to sit on the couch, "I don't know, like three maybe four."
"Maybe four? How can a guy maybe make that happen?" He's dead serious, like this is all science and totally not blurring the lines of friendship.
"Fine, a solid three guys have made me orgasm," you pause, looking up at him through your dark eyelashes. You shouldn't say the next part, but you do anyway, "including you."
Steve shouldn't like your response as much as he does, but the pride practically beams out of him. His ego physically grew as soon as you said that he's one of the few people to know you like that, to make you achieve something so intimate.
He smirks, turning back to the TV and moving some wires into place. You roll your eyes at him, "don't be gross."
"I'm not being gross," he turns, frowning, "actually I'm quite sad that these other men you've slept with haven't delivered in a way that you so deserve."
You shrug, "it's common for girls. I mean, most guys won't even go down on a girl."
"That's just crazy," Steve shakes his head, "that's half the fun."
You take a sip of your water as he continues talking about this totally inappropriate subject in the most clinical way.
"There are other ways to make your girl cum, like during the actual act of it. Guys are so dumb," he says.
"That's a total myth," you shake your head, "a female orgasm during penetration? Yeah right."
He turns to you in shock, "What? Are you serious?"
Heat creeps up your neck as a hint of embarrassment settles in. You nod shyly, "well it's never happened to me, so..."
Steve stands up, walking towards your seat on the couch. "No one's ever, you know," he lifts up two fingers, moving them together in small circles, "done the dirty DJ?"
He learned that one after you two were sleeping together because you have no clue what the fuck a dirty DJ is.
Steve sits beside you and grabs your glass, pouring out the water into his cup. He lifts the glass between you two, giving you a worried look as you stare back at him in utter confusion. "I'll show you," he says.
"So let's say you're with a guy and he's taking you from behind," he says casually. You laugh in disbelief, "romantic."
"This isn't romance, this is sex," he says in total seriousness, "and you're like back to chest, probably kneeling because that's easiest."
He moves the glass, sticking two fingers inside it, "That's his dick inside you if the description wasn't clear enough."
"Thank you for this visual," you deadpan, eyes locked on his movements.
Steve settles his two fingers on the glass now, toward the rim. He slowly moves them in circles, "now, there's a misconception to be gentle with the clitoris. But, you actually need to be rough with it." He picks his pace up, moving his fingers back in forth at an aggressive pace. Your breath hitches in your throat.
"Get a little rude with it. Really, get after it," he says, his movements coming to an end. He still holds the glass up, so you mimic his moves, circling the glass with your fingers like he did.
"Yeah, like that," Steve smiles, "you're a natural."
"Hmmm," you keep circling your fingers, thinking about how on your next hook up you'll have to instruct the guy to do just this.
Steve watches as you move your fingers. "Perfect," he says, his mind slowing down as the moment settles over him.
You rhythmically move your fingers against the glass he's holding. A silence settles over the both of you as the tension builds up. You let your mind wander to Steve and his fingers, pumping into the glass. He starts to think of you and his fingers on you-
He sets the glass down abruptly, "I'm gonna go home."
Steve stands up, grabbing his coat, "No, no. You live here."
You sit back down and grab a pillow, "yes I do. Bye!"
He quickly leaves your apartment. You look over at the mostly set-up television and groan, sinking back into the couch.
November 1992
Steve sits beside Amanda on her couch. He stares ahead at the moving box tucked under the dining room table. How long has that been there for?
Amanda continues with her speech, "I'm sorry I didn't do this sooner, Steve."
He looks over at her. His tone comes out harsher than he intends, "Exactly how long have you been wanting to break up with me?"
"Steve," she says again, putting a hand on his knee. He stares back at her, urging her to answer his question.
"I swear I only found out about the position a couple of weeks ago, but," she sighs, "I guess I've been feeling distant from you for a little bit now."
"And you're just bringing this all up now?"
Amanda nods. Steve rubs his hands over his face, taking a moment to grasp the situation he's in.
"I don't understand," he says, "things were going fine."
"We've been dating for nearly a year and you haven't even told me you loved me yet," she says, hurt evident on her face.
"But we're not there yet, are we?" Steve asks, genuinely unsure.
She nods, "I was there. I've been there for a while now. Thought you would catch up."
Steve frowns, hating himself for being so oblivious to her feelings. How could he not know that she loved him? Is he that shallow to not even notice?
"Amanda, I'm so sorry," he starts but she cuts him off.
"It's okay, I honestly don't know if I would call it love, you know? I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want just a nice relationship. I want someone who knows I'm the one from the moment they meet me. I want a love that's not easy, but all-consuming, something that drives you crazy," she admits.
Amanda looks up at Steve, "does that even make sense?"
He nods, completely understanding the type of love she's talking about. He only knows that love because he's had it. He has it - with you.
Later that night
After leaving Amanda, Steve slowly meanders back to his place, taking the time to digest what just happened. His stomach aches with the pain only felt after getting broken up with like that. Told that you're not the one. Did he even think that she was the one? What does that even mean?
Steve has always had the same vision for his future - to be a family man, have a wife and a few kids. He knew the attributes he wanted in the future mother of his children. Someone maternal, kind, patient, caring. It was all very logical, a future that any nice girl could slip into. Amanda was a great contender, but she didn't want to just slip into Steve's fantasy. She wants an all-consuming once-in-a-lifetime sort of love, and frankly, Steve doesn't blame her. He just never thought that kind of love was for him. Well, not after he lost you.
He shakes his head, crossing the street. He squints, realizing the street he was on, that without even thinking, his subconscious had led him to you.
Steve presses the buzzer to your apartment over and over again. He looks up at your window and the light is on, but you're not responding to him. He knocks on the front door again, to catch your attention, but instead, your downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Shirley, opens her window.
"What the hell are you making all this noise for?" she yells at Steve. He jumps back, "sorry. You know my friend, she lives above you."
"Clearly she doesn't want to see you if she's not letting you up, kid," Mrs. Shirley says.
Steve shakes his head, jogging down the stairs and reaching into the street to grab some rocks. Mrs. Shirley watches on.
He throws the rocks at your window until it's opening. Your head pops out and eyes land on him, "Steve?"
"I've been ringing you for the past ten minutes!"
"The buzzer's broken!" you explain.
"Will you let this damn boy in?" Mrs. Shirley interjects, grumpily.
You peer down at her and smile, "Sorry Mrs. Shirley!" You drop your keys down to Steve, "Come on up!"
Steve rushes up the stairs, waving at your nosey neighbor as he lets himself into your building.
You immediately notice how disheveled Steve looks as he enters your apartment. His hair is a mess, dark circles are evident under his eyes, and even his outfit isn't put together as usual.
Unbeknownst to you, Steve is not only upset from the breakup. But, he's mostly riddled with confusion. Does he act on his constant attraction to you? That ten-year-long inexplicable pull toward you? Those feelings that never seem to leave him?
He fiddles with your keys for a moment then looks up at you, "Amanda broke up with me."
You eye him, your mind procuring a logical reaction of sadness for your friend while your heart thumps hard against your chest, pumping with the familiar feeling of - what if?
You decide to lean into your logical feelings and say, "Oh Steve. I'm sorry." You expect him to walk toward you and sulk into your arms, but he doesn't. Instead, he remains a healthy distance away from you.
"What happened?" you ask.
Steve looks away, feeling his breath catch in his throat, "She, uh, says I'm not the one. That she's looking for someone who makes her crazy and that she can't live without."
Then you see his chest rise up and down, eyes growing watery as his next words come out shakily, "I guess she can live without me, huh?"
You frown, reaching out to close the gap between you two. You grab his hand and pull Steve in, wrapping your arms around him. He lets himself fall into you, resting his chin on the side of your head, tears falling down his cheeks onto your hair.
He's not sure why he's crying. He didn't think it would affect him this much, but seeing you immediately broke him down, allowed him to let himself feel all the emotions.
You and Steve stayed like that for a while, holding each other in your entryway, something major solidifying in your relationship. For the first time, neither of you wanted anything more from this emotional exchange.
In the past, whenever something bad happened and you needed each other, that's when the intimacy would start, two scared people finding comfort in each other's beds. But this, comforting Steve now, didn't lead to anything more. You two hadn't even thought about it. Instead, you were there for him like a good friend would be.
December 1992
Christmas in Florida was a first for you, the sun warm enough in the daytime for you to dip in the pool with all your nieces and nephews. After a long day, you found yourself sunken into your sister's couch watching old romance movies.
It was just past eleven when your family turned in for the night, but you stayed up to watch Brief Encounter, a 1945 film about two strangers falling in love over time - despite their current circumstances. Whether it was subconscious or not, you called Steve, urging him to tune into that channel and watch it with you.
So you sat on the couch, a throw pillow wrapped up around you and phone held lazily to your ear as Steve joined you from his bed in Chicago, duvet tucked up to his chin as he watched the small television set at the foot of his bed.
"This is sad, like totally sad," Steve sighed into the phone.
"I think it's romantic," you refute.
"They're practically cheating on their spouses."
"Talking isn't cheating."
"These two want to do more than just talk."
"Fine, they may be emotionally cheating, but that doesn't mean they can't be together!"
"Here's what's going to happen," he states, "they'll break up their marriages thinking that their love is stronger, then they'll finally hook up and realize it's terrible and they're actually not meant to be together and-"
"Oh, shut up," you laugh, "you're jaded because of the breakup."
"Love isn't real and I'll die alone," Steve breathes out dramatically.
You smirk, "that's not true. You'll have me bothering you for an eternity."
"A man could be so lucky," he smiles softly as the movie goes on. The two of you cozily watch on either side of the country.
New Year's Eve 1993
The top floor of the Sears Tower is packed with partygoers dancing, drinking, and ready to ring in the new year. You and Steve stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, dressed in your very best holiday attire, gazing out at the incredibly lit-up skyline.
Steve looks over at you as you lift your champagne flute to point at Lake Michigan. Your hair is up high in a slick ponytail, and diamond-crusted earrings dangle down your neck, leading his eyes down to your exposed collarbones. He steals a glance at your figure in this dress, the black satin hugging you in all the right ways.
"It's so fucking dark!" you exclaim at Steve, "like a huge mass of nothingness!"
He can't help but laugh at your usual crudeness breaking his trance. He shouldn't be looking at you like this anyway, Steve thinks, not with you two being such good friends.
Friends don't let themselves linger on bare shoulders and long legs.
Steve looks back out the window with you, "it's pretty scary if you think about it. Miles and miles of water, we can't even see the other side."
You shake your head, flabbergasted by the vastness of Lake Michigan.
Steve steals another glance at you, noticing the shimmer on your cheeks. He smiles and says gently, "You look beautiful."
You look up at Steve, letting his compliment sink in. His eyes bore into yours, really looking at you. Looking at you like no one else has before. You feel a pull towards him, that same magnetic pull you’ve felt your entire life basically, but it drags you in with more force during moments like these. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t feel the pull toward Steve strengthen in the last few months. Before you can respond, Robin's voice hits your ears.
"This party is faaaaaaaaancy," she says with her mouth full of hors d'oeuvres.
You take a small step back, not realizing how close you and Steve had drifted together. Robin turns to you, holding up a full plate of snacks, "is your date like the prince of Chicago or something?"
You laugh, "No, well, not exactly."
Connor, the new guy you've been seeing comes from an aristocratic family that helped develop the city back in the day. They were part owners of the building you were standing in.
"Either way, thank him for me. This party is mint," Robin excitedly approves, downing her drink.
Steve successfully keeps his eye roll to himself. Sure, he knew you were dating someone, but did it have to be another rich prick with the ability to sweep you off on his private jet whenever he wanted to?
"It's almost midnight!" you exclaim, scanning the room, "I better go find Connor. I'll see you guys later!"
And you were off, floating through the crowd to find your billionaire boyfriend. Steve finally let that eye roll out. Robin noticed, shaking her head at his self-inflicted misery. He turns to her, "Please, I don't want to hear it tonight."
She shrugs, hiding her smile, "I didn't say anything."
Unlike other times, Robin drops the subject of Steve's feelings for you, knowing he's miserable enough tonight having to watch you with another guy.
And that's exactly how Steve spends his final hours of 1992. He stands off to the side as the crowd around him counts down to midnight. His eyes find you in the middle of the dance floor, a big smile on your lips as you count down too, wrapped up in Conor's arms. Cheers and confetti erupt around the room, but Steve can only watch you.
February 1993
You float around the large department store, sifting through business attire while Steve happily follows behind you like a puppy. You hold up a grey pencil skirt, "what about this one?"
Steve narrows his eyes, "is that a trick question?"
You shake your head, urging him to answer.
"It's the same one you picked out like five minutes ago," he says.
"This one has a slit. See," you point at the cut in the fabric. Steve feigns understanding, "Ah, yes! A slit! How could I miss that."
You groan, adding it to the selections already hanging from your arm. Steve grabs the clothes from you and holds them so you don't have to. You continue onto the next rack.
"When did we get to the point in our lives where we have more work clothes than fun clothes?" you huff out.
Steve chuckles, "Welcome to your mid-twenties, babe."
You suck in your bottom lip, trying to hide your small reaction to the new nickname. Steve's picked it up, recently calling you babe every so often. Babe, you've got something there, or see you soon babe. It was dizzying sometimes, but you loved it.
"I need more going-out clothes," you state, sifting through a rack of gorgeous dresses.
"Right, for your hot dates with Casanova Connor," Steve says, a definite bitterness in his tone, "I'm sure he'd buy you a whole new wardrobe if you'd ask."
"Actually," you give Steve a look, resting a hand on the rack. Steve stands beside you, head tilted. You sigh, "We broke up."
Steve opens his mouth to speak, but can't seem to find the words. You notice his temporary brain malfunction and try hard for it not to make you happy. But it does - just a little bit.
Finally, Steve finds his footing and asks, "What? When did this happen?" There's genuine concern behind his question. Although the happiness does some to be creeping in.
You shrug, "the other night."
"And you didn't call me? I could have gone over with snacks or-"
"It's okay. Really. I ended things with him," you pick up a dress and scan it over, "so I wasn't that torn up about it."
Now happiness has fully set in Steve and he does his best to hide it. "Oh," he says, a smug smile on his face, "well, good for you then."
"Thank you," you raise your eyebrows at him, wanting nothing more than to change this conversation. So you pick up another dress and ask for Steve's opinion, the two of you continuing to roam the store like two best friends.
But Steve couldn't be more excited to wade into a new territory with you. One where you're both single and closer than ever.
March 1993
The Spring recital at Steve's school is in full swing. He wanted you to hang out backstage to watch the show while he corralled the children, making sure everything ran smoothly.
You watch as Steve kneels in front of a little boy with glasses and a cello bigger than him, giving him a much-needed pep talk. Steve was great at this, you think, letting your mind wander to how good of a father he'd be.
Your eyes linger on Steve's arms fitted into his dress shirt, the sleeves cuffed up around his biceps. His reading glasses sit atop his perfectly fluffed hair. The dress pants tight around his cute little butt in this position.
Steve stands up, making his way toward you. He lets out a breath, "That kid is a ball of anxiety but honestly the best one in the show. The bastard's a little Mozart."
You reach out, your palm landing softly on his bicep, "you're doing great. The kids, the show, everything is amazing, Steve."
He smiles reveling in the compliment before another little voice calls out for him, "Mr. Harrington!!!" Steve gives you a look before dashing into the dressing room.
You smile to yourself, not noticing Tabitha, a nosy fifth grader, appear by your side. She looks up at you, "are you Mr. Harrington's girlfriend?"
You startle a bit, looking down to find Tabitha staring up at you. "Oh hi," you smile, "but no, I'm his friend."
"That's what they all say," the young girl says, rolling her eyes.
Your jaw drops a bit, "excuse me?"
She sighs like an older fed-up woman would, "My dad had a friend like you. Now I have to call her step-mommy."
And with that, Tabitha walks onto stage to start her piano piece, leaving you completely dumbfounded by the audacity of this little girl.
April 1993
For whatever hellish reason, a heatwave had hit Chicago in the middle of Spring. Luckily, the hottest day was a Saturday, meaning you and Steve were posted up on the sandy shore of Lake Michigan.
Steve wasn't being slick. You could feel his eyes on you a lot more these days, between stolen glances at your lips and a hot gaze from across the room. But today, you could sense him peeking over at you in your little red bikini all morning.
To be fair, you were leaving quite little to the imagination in an attempt to get as good of a tan as possible. Also, a part of you knew that wearing this tiny bikini would send Steve reeling. That, of course, was an even better reason to wear it.
You look up at Steve, catching his eye. He doesn't miss your cheeky smirk as you flip onto your stomach, landing just inches away from him. You scoot closer to let your legs lightly brush up against his, your hips bumping, all while you pretend to read from your book. Like your actions weren’t deliberately trying to evoke something out of Steve.
He couldn’t help but suck in a breath, your skin on his feeling hot and soft. Steve braced himself on his elbows, trying to look anywhere than your perfect ass, perky and on full view in that damn swimsuit.
“Steveeee,” you hummed, still not looking at him.
“Can I have some of your soda?”
He nodded, reaching over to grab the corner store to-go cup. Steve held it toward you. But before he could set it down for you to take, you lifted your head and leaned in toward the cup, your pink lips enclosing around the straw. You looked up at him through dark eyelashes as you took a long sip, sucking on the plastic straw.
Steve held the eye contact, letting time and everything else melt away around you two. You could feel his breath on your face with how close he was.
With a small pop, you pulled your lips away from the straw and smiled at Steve, “Cherry cola.”
“Your favorite,” he says, not missing a beat.
The sun hits your skin perfectly, he thinks, the brightness softening your features. Without thinking, Steve reaches out and trails his knuckle down your arm. You don’t stop him. His touch feels like it has in the past - hot, addicting, it makes you hungry. But this time, and maybe it’s your own delusions, it doesn’t feel fleeting like it used to.
May 1993
Being the youngest of five came with its pros and cons. Getting to dress up in a pretty bridesmaid dress was definitely a pro. But now that your sister was tying the knot, you were the only unmarried one left, which meant a lot of speculation was hurled your way at said sister's wedding.
You knew it could be a bad idea to bring Steve as your date. But the thought of spending a whole weekend alone with your nosy family was downright agonizing, and, truthfully, you wanted him to be your date. Four days away in a quaint little Vermont town with good food, drinks, and your family. How could you not ask him to come with you?
Steve of course jumped at the idea, already making plans to find a tuxedo rental. Your friendship had shifted into that uncharted territory - both of you were single and completely enamored with each other. Constantly hanging out or on the phone, meeting each other after work or on campus to grab a drink, a coffee, lunch, dinner, to go see a movie, to sit on his couch and watch Seinfeld, to chat on your rooftop late into the night, to catch a ballgame, to meet your friends for dancing - the list goes on. You two were basically dating without any of the physical benefits.
And this wedding, well, it did something to both of you. Seeing Steve with your family, looking so good in that tux, basking in all his attention the entire weekend. Your heart practically leaped out of your chest whenever you'd look out into the church crowd and catch him already looking at you. He couldn't take his eyes off you the entire ceremony, letting his daydreams wander to the idea of you and him standing up there, exchanging vows.
He was the perfect date, to no surprise at all, and tonight was no different. The reception was in full swing. The wedding band plays another 80s hit while Steve spins back into his arms. You two have been dancing like fools the whole party, drunk off of champagne and the romance of the weekend.
The band begins to play a slow song and you immediately recognize the melody. Steve pulls you in close, one hand tucked into yours and the other easily clasped against your lower back.
"Of course, they're playing The Cure," he laughs lightly.
You think back to high school and all the times you snuck off to meet Steve in his car. The Cure's album playing as you two got cozy in the backseat.
You scoot in closer, your head falling against his shoulder, his chin grazing your forehead as you sway back and forth. Steve breathes you in, letting himself reveal his thoughts out loud.
"I couldn't listen to them for years," he admits. You stay quiet, a slight sadness creeps up.
He continues, "But then, a couple of years ago, a song from their old album came on the radio. You know, the one we loved, and I couldn't help but dance to it. Like it wasn't the sad thing anymore."
You nod, understanding him completely. For years your past relationship with Steve was clouded by the heartbreaking ending when it never should have been. You two shared a love so sweet, so rare - that's what should be remembered.
You look up at him and smirk, "Better to have love and lost, or however that saying goes."
Steve shakes his head, laughing with you. You settle back into him, head resting against his shoulder again. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as the song comes to a close.
Back at the hotel, which was rented out entirely for the wedding, most of the guests your age were excitedly running toward the pool, jumping in with their black-tie attire and champagne bottles.
Steve grabs your hand as you leap into the pool, only to come up for air and have his hand still in yours. The rest of the night consisted of drinking games, swimming races, and diving competitions - the general after-hours wedding debauchery. You were just happy to have Steve by your side the entire time.
As the night drew later and couples slowly peeled off, the pool calmed and the air grew quiet. You look around, realizing the pool is suddenly empty. Just you and Steve in your beautiful clothes floating in the water.
You kick your legs to keep you afloat, bringing a hand up to push your damp hair out of your eyes. Steve dips his head back into the water to wet his hair. He shakes it as he comes back up, running a hand through his wet locks. Your eyes linger on his movements a little longer than intended. He catches you, flashing a small smile - almost a smirk, but it's softer than that.
"I can't believe my sister's married," you bring up out of the blue, trying to shift the focus.
Steve subconsciously inches closer to you, pushing his hands in the water. He tilts his head, "how do you feel being the only single one left?"
Your head lowers. The water just comes to your chin as you speak, "I don't mind. I guess I want to be sure when I get married. Not like Vanessa." You mention your oldest sister now - she's already on her second marriage before 35.
Steve nods, again floating closer to you, "when did she get married? The first time."
"She was 21," you breathe out, blowing bubbles into the water, "married her high school sweetheart."
"Ah," Steve remembers now. He remembers how you threw your sister's failed marriage at him during one of your break-up fights. She was another reason why you insisted you two were doomed. High school relationships never work, you told him - look at my sister.
"At least she's happy now, ya know, with her new husband," Steve said, trying to reason with you.
You just shrug, "True, but she still had to go through that all so young. That's why I'm waiting. To really make sure."
"My parents met in their thirties," Steve starts, "and it's not like they're any more in love than they would have been if they met in high school."
You gaze at Steve as he speaks, taking in the vulnerability in his tone. He continues, "I don't even think they like each other. They just like the life they've built together. It's safe, comfortable, nice."
Steve pauses, looking at you, "A nice and easy life isn't always what's meant to be. So, maybe your sister had to go through some shit to find who she's actually meant to be with. And now she's happy."
You hold his gaze, really looking at him. His brown eyes peer into yours like they're searching for something. You look away, suddenly noticing how still and quiet the space is around you. The last of the partygoers have left, leaving just you and Steve in the pool. The cool water suddenly feels chilly.
Steve notices your shiver and brushes your arm, "let's get you warmed up."
You follow him out of the pool, happily taking his outstretched hand as you step onto the deck. He grabs a thick towel, placing it around you, rubbing it along your arms to create some warmth. You smile, pulling the towel around yourself. Steve grabs another towel and shakes his hair out like a wet dog, sending water droplets your way.
You shriek, "Steeeeeveeee!" You gently shove him away.
He nuzzles his wet head of hair into your towel-covered shoulder, pulling more giggles out of you. Steve pulls back and rubs the towel against his hair again, this time straightening up. You take in his damp state, his white dress shirt sticking to his skin, practically sheer. You of course notice the chest hair peaking out of the shirt.
Steve bumps your elbow with his, "C'mon. I need to get out of these clothes."
You nod - you couldn't agree more.
In your shared hotel room, you wait in the bathroom. Your robe tugged snuggly against your body. Steve was watching some reruns on TV, you could hear his tired laugh from the other side of the door.
Whether it was on purpose or not - you had left your pajamas in the main room and had to go out to retrieve them while wearing just your robe. Now, this would have been a normal interaction if you and Steve were ever only just friends. But for some reason, you were nervous to pass him with basically no clothes on. You weren't sure you could trust yourself.
So you opened the bathroom door, tugging the belt around your robe a little tighter. You spotted Steve sitting on the edge of the bed in front of the TV. His eyes drifted to you as he heard the door open. You smile, eyeing your suitcase on the other side of the room.
Steve shamelessly looked you up and down, gaze drifting up your bare legs, noting how short that robe was on you. He didn't take his eyes off you as you passed him to get to your suitcase, his mind racing. He took a deep breath, now was not the time to think.
Maybe it was the several drinks in his system or maybe it was being at a wedding with you. Whatever it was, Steve couldn't resist but reach out to you as you walked past him again. His fingers grazed your soft thighs, sinking into you.
You flushed, thankful for the dim light in the room, frozen as Steve latched onto your leg. You turn to stand in front of him, his face looking up at you with such a wild look in his eyes. Nerves flood your system, the good kind.
He carefully brushes his knuckles against your thigh before bringing a hand around it, tugging you toward him. Steve keeps his hand on the back of your leg as he says your name, the sweet sound filling your ears. You practically have him on his knees, he thought. You could do anything, say anything, and he was yours. You wondered if he knew that he had the same effect on you.
Steve lifts his other hand to tug on the hem of your robe, confirming your suspicions. You look down at him, taking in his too-small Hawkins gym shirt and boxers. God, he smells good too. Truthfully, nothing else went through your mind at this moment. Just the sight of him and the desire to feel him on you was all that drove your decision-making.
You lift your hands to the linen belt around your waist, tugging the knot undone, working painfully slow with your fingers. Steve hung onto every movement, his breath halting as you carefully let the belt hang to the side, letting your robe hang open just a bit. You grab Steve's hand, his eyes never leaving yours, as you guide his touch toward your stomach, urging him to push open the robe himself.
Steve slowly pushes the fabric away, opening up the robe to reveal your bare body. You wanted him so badly to pull you on top of him then, but he didn't. Instead, Steve wanted to take this moment in. Slowly, painfully.
The rough pads of his fingers graze over your soft skin. Were you always this soft?
He inches up your belly to your chest, lightly tracing over the curve of your breasts. His other hand leaves your thigh and gently reaches at your hip, taking in the new curve there too. He hates himself for missing these changes. Your body suddenly different than he remembered. But you were still so damn soft.
Your whole body was on fire as Steve drank you all in. His eyes gazing over all of you, bare and ready for him. No one's ever done this to you, not even Steve back in the day. Tonight, he wanted to take his time.
His fingers trail down your hip to touch your inner thigh. You suck in a breath as he leans forward, pressing a kiss just centimeters below your belly button. Steve's fingers dance along your leg, getting higher and higher. You grasp his shoulders, bracing yourself.
"So soft," he says between kisses, "you were always so fucking soft."
You step towards him, gripping his face in between your hands. You try to lower yourself onto his lap but he grips your thigh, keeping you in place before him.
He laughs softly, "What's the rush?"
"Steve," you breathe out, giving him a look.
"I've waited nearly a decade for this. Let me take my time," he says confidently. You can't help but give in, releasing your grip from his hair and letting him have his way with you.
Because Steve was right - it had been a long time since either of you had felt this way. Sex was sex, but this, whatever this was with Steve was always different. No matter how much you lied to yourselves, no one ever measured up. Not in life and definitely not in bed.
June 1993
"Fuck, oh my god," you breathe out against Steve's sheets, your cheek pressed into the mattress as he kneels behind you.
Steve's hands grip your hips firmly as he fucks you from behind, your ass slapping against him, skin crashing against skin. He groans, driving deeper into you.
This is what the last three weeks have been like for you and Steve. Dirty, filthy, adult sex that you logistically couldn't have in high school. Or, rather, didn't know how to have yet. Suddenly, you're both grateful for the time apart because now you're adults who actually know what they're doing. Not that King Steve wasn't great in bed, but this Steve - this was a 20-something man who has honed in his naturally intuitive craft of pleasing a woman. And you were loving every second of it.
Steve grabs your throat, pulling you up flush against him. The June air was hotter than usual in his bedroom. Your skin sticky against his as you press your back into his chest. He brings his fingers in between your legs, finding your clit. Definitely not afraid to be rough with his movements.
You let your head rest back on his shoulder, your body bubbling with pleasure, ready to pop at any second. Steve's pace grows faster, sloppier, as you whimper in his ear. Your breaths are soft, your lips perfect and plump, whimpering his name.
"Yes, fuck," you say, your voice loud, "Steve!"
Both of your movements are rough and sloppy as you finish, Steve not far behind you. He bites into your neck as his body shudders against yours, spilling inside you. You let yourself go limp against him, eyes closed and tired from the events of this Saturday morning in bed.
Steve grips your neck again, softer this time. Steadying himself to kiss along the column of your throat to your shoulder. You hum at his sweet touch, the feeling of his lips on your body never getting old.
You look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It's nearly three in the afternoon. You laugh softly, "maybe we should get up."
"Give me a minute," he kisses the nape of your neck, "I'll be ready for another round."
You shake your head, "that would be like the fourth time today!" You pull apart from him, flipping over to sit on the mattress. Steve winces at the loss of contact. He sits back, grabbing absentmindedly at your ankle. He smirks, "I'm down to go all night too. If you are."
"Easy, Harrington. I need to eat."
You smile, laying back and pulling the sheets over you as Steve stands up, fumbling around the room for his clothes. He looks back at you and points, "Don't move, baby."
Steve quickly leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. He makes his way into the kitchen to find Robin sitting at the table with her headphones on. She looks up, glaring at Steve. His eyes widen, "have you been here the whole time?"
She slips off her large headphones and Steve can hear the music blasting loudly from them. "I walked in on, Stevie baby please!" Robin mimics you, overdramatizing your sultry voice. Steve cringes as she continues, "But I put music on when you started going off."
She drops her voice an octave to copy Steve now, "fuck, you're so good. This is so-"
"Nope!" Steve waves his hands, "Let's stop this, please!"
Robin bangs her head against the wall behind her, groaning, "While I'm happy you two have reconnected, please for the love of god fuck somewhere else. She lives alone!"
"I thought you were gone all morning!"
"It's literally three in the afternoon!"
You listen to Robin and Steve bicker, smiling to yourself from your comfy spot in Steve's bed.
July 1993
Light jazz plays from a record player in the perfectly decorated living room of your professor, Dr. Cano's, house. Over your first year of law school, she's taken quite an interest in you, and tonight you were her only current student to get an invite to one of her dinner parties - famous for solidifying her mentorship.
The nerves alone could have killed you, but luckily, she told you to bring a date. So, you brought Steve, your...best friend that you've been fucking incessantly for the past two months and have been in love with for maybe forever. You two were comfortable, confident in each other, letting yourselves actually date. You weren't afraid of where this could go with Steve, you were letting your feelings for him take the wheel and it felt great. Nothing was in the way of your love for once.
You watch from the other side of the room as Steve charmed two city big wigs. The older men laughed with Steve, clinking their scotch glasses against his.
Dr. Cano nudges your side with her elbow, "Thank you for coming tonight. Everyone loves you."
You raise your wine glass to meet hers and slip out a polite 'thank you' before taking a sip. You smile, "I was a bit nervous at first, but everyone is so welcoming, they made it easy."
"I try to surround myself with people who, don't get me wrong, are still very pretentious," she laughs, "but actually want to make a difference, and the only way to do that is to bring in new blood. Like you."
You nod, understanding her investment in you. It feels good, knowing that your life is moving in all the right directions.
Dr. Cano points her glass at Steve, "And your boy is such a hit. Talking to Daniel about the Cubs and then immediately diving into public school reform was really the cherry on top for me."
"He doesn't even realize he's talking to the next senator of Illinois," you laugh.
She shakes her head, "No, but that's what makes him so great. He's down to earth but smart. Honestly could have a good career in local politics."
"Don't put ideas into his brain, Professor. You'll have him dreaming of being the president," you smile wide, peering over at Steve. He looks up, meeting your eyes. He gives you a small wave before the other men reel him back into the conversation again.
You can't help but admire him tonight. Steve looks great wearing his dress pants and dark green sweater. His hair was styled back neatly, his face freshly shaved. He insisted on wearing his reading glasses to 'look smarter' but you told him he would probably be the smartest person in the room, teaching a new generation of lawyers and politicians.
Steve and you walk beside each other on the mostly empty sidewalk, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders. You tuck in close to his side, the light material of your long black dress lets in a cool breeze.
He presses a soft kiss to your head as you wait for the cars to pass before crossing the street. “Mmm you smell good,” Steve mumbles into your hair.
He breaks away for a moment, grabbing your hand to lead you across the street. Your heels click against the pavement as you scurry onto the sidewalk again, Steve’s hand strong in yours.
It’s all so normal. Like this is how it always should have been between you two. Sometimes you let yourself fall into that trap, into a pool of regret and guilt. If you had only pushed your fears aside and asked Steve to move to New York with you. But you can’t blame your 18-year-old self, and things happen for a reason.
And sometimes when you remember how much time you wasted not being with Steve, you hold him a little closer, kiss him a little harder, love him a little more.
August 1993
Something’s in the air. Maybe it’s the full moon or the humidity that had Steve feeling off all day. You two were going to his coworker’s birthday party on some chic rooftop downtown.
Adding to his already anxious state, you were late to meet him outside the hotel. He shouldn’t have been mad but he was. Unreasonably so.
“Hey,” you huff, jogging up to him, “sorry, my train was late.”
You lean up, giving him a quick peck. It’s a quick kiss - a hello, casual, like a couple would do.
Steve looks down at your empty hands, “where’s the gift?”
You pause before letting out a breathy groan, picturing the gift box you insisted on wrapping for Steve sitting atop your kitchen table.
It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but Steve was already feeling like shit after a particularly rough day of teaching summer school. He also recounts the shitty interaction he had with the barista this morning.
Instead of regulating his emotions, he decided to be a total grump and take it out on you.
Steve rolls his eyes and you let out a soft laugh at him, thinking he’s feigning dramatics. But he’s not, and your laugh just pissed him off more.
“You seriously forgot it?” he asks as you walk into the elevator, and you notice his irritated tone.
You shrug, “it’s fine. You can give it to her when school starts.”
“That’s in like two weeks,” he rebuttals.
“I’m sure she’ll need a new Dutch oven then too,” you say, the sarcasm hitting Steve’s ear sharply.
You scoff, “for what? Forgetting the gift? Really?”
“Yes forgetting the gift. It’s a birthday party and we’re showing up empty-handed and late,” he says quickly, “that’s so fucking rude.”
“Geez, Steve, what’s your deal?”
“I just didn’t think you were so inconsiderate,” he huffs as the elevator door opens. Music hits your ears as you step out onto the rooftop bar.
“Fine, I’m sorry for forgetting the gift and for being late,” you grumble, following Steve toward his group of friends. You tug his arm, holding him back just before you reach the group.
His eyes meet yours as you say, “Are you okay?”
Instead of shrugging it off and letting you in, explaining he’s had a shit day, Steve brushes you off with his casual sarcasm, “never been better.”
You scrunch your eyebrows together, but he’s walking up to his friends before you can speak. You push your anger to the side and greet the group, falling into easy step with them all.
You and Steve have practically avoided each other the whole night, the tension between you two at an all-time high, and for what? Because you forgot a birthday gift?
You look at your watch, realizing it’s almost midnight, and reach for Steve. You both had an early morning tomorrow and agreed to leave early. You grab onto his arm, leaning close in a low voice, “We should go. It’s late.”
He turns away from the conversation he’s having and barely looks over at you as he speaks, “Yeah, I’ll meet you down there in a sec.”
You hesitate, never in your life have you felt so dismissed. What the fuck has gotten into him?
So you purse your lips and give him a tight nod, turning to leave without saying goodbye to anyone. Steve of course notices your attitude, letting you walk away.
A whole fifteen minutes goes by before Steve finally meets you on the street. Your arms were crossed at your stomach as you rocked back and forth on your heels. You notice his mop of hair exit the revolving door and you try so hard not to snap at him then and there. Instead, you look away, chin high and jaw clenched.
He can practically see the steam fuming from you. He feels bad for his attitude. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry at you, he just was.
“I’ve been waiting a while,” you murmur, not looking at him.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t ready to go yet,” Steve says, that insufferable arrogance popping out.
You whip your head at him, glaring now, “What the fuck is up with you tonight?”
He stares back at you, asking himself that question. Maybe it’s self-sabotage or maybe it’s what he truly thinks, but Steve can’t help but fixate on all the little things you’ve done “wrong” in your relationship. You were forgetful sometimes, crass and blunt, too ambitious, and narrow-minded at times. But what really got to Steve wasn’t these tiny things, and a part of him knew that, it was that familiar feeling of fear that crept up on him all of a sudden. Things were going too well for you two, and he was afraid to settle in.
You blink back at him, unable to read his tense expression. Your eyes soften, “if this is about the gift, I’m sorry. Okay, really-"
“It’s not about the stupid gift,” he finally says.
Steve shrugs, avoiding your gaze, “Nothing. It’s fine.” He starts to turn to walk down the sidewalk but you step after him, swatting his arm with your purse. He winces.
“Stop and talk to me,” you state firmly.
Steve looks at you hesitatingly, “I don’t know. I guess I’ve been thinking about us. What we are.”
“We’re dating, Steve. It’s not that crazy.”
“But it’s not weird to you? That we’re now this normal couple?”
“No,” you cross your arms, “it feels pretty organic to me.”
He puts his hands on his hips, “even after everything we’ve been through?”
You look away dismissively, “is that what this is about? You’re still hung up on the past?”
“How could I not be?” Steve’s voice a higher pitch now, “You broke my fucking heart.”
“We were nineteen Steve!” You yell, exasperated, “We are different people now, and what we’ve had in the last year should show you that.”
“But how can you be so sure we’ve changed? That we won’t fuck it up again?”
You shake your head, “I’m not sure. But that’s okay. That’s what being in a relationship is. You have to rely on how you feel and I-“
You pause, a small smile creeps onto your face as you say, “And I love you. I know that I love you, so I don’t worry about anything else.”
Steve gazes down at you, pain evident on his face. The crease in his forehead deepens as he shakes his head, “I’m scared.”
Your eyes soften at his vulnerability finally peeking through. You want to reach out to him but you don’t. Instead, he continues, “I’m scared to get hurt again. I’m scared you’ll leave me and I’ll lose you. I can’t do that again. You’re my best friend.”
You suck in a breath, letting his words sink in. Hurt colors your face as you speak, “I can’t just be your friend, Steve.”
He stares back at you, the silence lingers as dread floods through your body, unsure of what the boy in front of you is thinking.
“I don’t know, I just can’t do this,” Steve finally says, the words hitting you like a dagger.
You step forward, “Don’t do this.” You grab his hands, “you’re scared, I get that. But we can do this together.”
He pulls away, avoiding your eyes. You feel a cold rush through you as you’ve lost total control of the situation.
“What can I do? Please just tell me,” you plead, not caring that you’re begging at this point. Something you swore you’d never do for a man. But this isn’t just any guy, this is Steve. Your Steve.
“Of course I love you!” Steve shouts, his chest tightening.
Silence settles over you again, and this time you understand. There’s nothing you can say to change Steve’s mind. Maybe he made this decision way before you reconnected. Maybe he knew from the first time he kissed you that you were never the girl he would end up with.
You look away, eyes watering. A car alarm goes off a few streets over, chatter from down the block, an ambulance blares, the sounds of the city come back into your senses.
You look back up at Steve, his lips pouty and eyes red. “this isn’t me leaving,” you say, your voice small, defeated, “this is you pushing me away.”
Steve looks down at the ground unable to watch you walk away. So you turn, walking down the sidewalk with your hands tucked into your jacket pockets. You almost think he’s going to run after you, calling out your name, and admit how stupid he is and that he didn’t mean any of it. But Steve doesn’t move, he just lets you walk away again, the same way he did all those years before.
September 1993
Things were tough, to say the least, and Robin was caught right in the middle of it. For the past two weeks, she’s watched both of her friends quickly descend onto their own paths of madness.
You poured yourself into your second year of law school, arguably the hardest one of them all. You hardly ever left campus, holed up in the library until late into the night, unable to sleep.
Meanwhile, Steve was doing just as bad. He barely ate, his hair was unkempt, he was irritable, and not the same cool teacher the students remember him to be. He was drinking more too, a lot more. It helped him forget you because that’s what he thought was best. Like forgetting you would save him from any further pain.
It got particularly bad when one night, a Tuesday mind you, he got so drunk he picked a fight with some random guy. Luckily Robin was there, and sober, to stop it. The guy was some rich asshole from out of town - preppy, loud, and obnoxious. Then his buddies called out his name - Peter.
Now it wasn’t your ex-boyfriend Peter in the bar that night. But, Steve, being drunk and never having met the guy, thought that this douchebag was in fact your Peter. So he sauntered up to the guy and punched him square in the nose, which earned Steve a fist to the jaw, knocking him back into the bar so fast he didn’t know what hit him. Robin and the bartender jumped in before the guy and his friends could beat the shit out of Steve. Yet, he still woke up the next day with several bruises and a nasty hangover.
Robin held an intervention as soon as he came back from school the next afternoon.
“This has gone too far, dude,” she says seriously, sitting at the kitchen table across from him.
Steve leans back in his chair, a pack of frozen peas held to his purpling jaw. Robin leans forward, her hands folded together on the table.
"You need to talk to her," she says.
"Because this is the right thing. This way no one gets hurt."
Robin looks at him like he's the biggest dumbass in the world, and right now he may very well be. "How do you feel right now, huh? Are you not in both emotional distress, but also literally in physical pain over her?" she asks.
Steve looks over at Robin, knowing she's right. He's created this giant excuse, an unexplainable reason to break things off with you. But no matter how much he tries to justify his actions, he knows he's wrong. He knows he's just scared and that's not enough of a reason to push you away.
"If she and I really do this. If we become an actual committed couple, how do I know she won't just leave again?"
"You don't," Robin says, "none of us ever know if the person we love won't just magically get up one day and decide we're not the one."
Steve definitely doesn't want to hear this.
She continues, "But also a million other things could happen too. Like a piano falling from the sky and BOOM - she's dead."
"Look," she says, "I may not know the future. But I do know that she loves you, Steve. She's been head over heels for you since we were kids. And yeah, you two grew apart, whatever. But I saw the way she looked at you that Christmas at the Wheelers. That poor girl was ready to sit back and wait for you to be single again. And didn't she?"
Robin leans back, eyes narrowing at Steve, "Don't keep her waiting any longer or you might just lose her for good."
Steve weighs Robin's advice and then your words come to mind, begging him to stay with you - telling him you loved him. This was what he wanted all those years ago and he was too blinded by fear to see it. Even when you were right in front of him.
He lowers the frozen peas onto the table and sighs, "I'm such an idiot. A goddamn fucking moron."
Robin smirks and Steve continues, "She hates me now."
Steve stands up quickly, knocking the chair back into the wall. Robin winces at the crash.
"I need to talk to her," he says, "like now."
Steve crosses the room to grab his shoes, slipping them on as he organizes his plan, "it's Wednesday. She has study group on Wednesday nights."
He locks eyes with Robin and smiles, "I'm really doing this."
She gives him a reassuring nod. Steve takes a deep breath, rips open the front door, and rushes into the hallway.
"Good luuuuck!" Robin yells out after him as he dashes down the stairs and onto the street.
Steve looks at his watch and groans, the trains run further apart on weekday nights. The next one won't be for another 45 minutes. A taxi pulls onto the street. Steve tries to hail it down, but it drives by. He throws his hands up, annoyed. He weighs his only option to get to your campus. Good thing he wore his sneakers.
The library should be mostly empty at a time like this, but some students linger at the tables, peering into their books and swapping notecards with friends.
You had stepped away from your study group a few minutes ago to grab a law deposition needed for the next class. You roamed the law stacks, your mind elsewhere. The last two weeks have been long, monotonous, and heavy. Your mind is in a constant battle between your pride and reaching out to Steve. Ultimately, pride won every time.
He rejected you outright. Sure, his reasoning was completely flawed, but he still let you walk away again. Maybe you two would never get it right. Timing, feelings, the past - maybe it was all too much to get over. Yet you were so hopeful this time. You really felt like this was it. If Steve would have asked you to be his forever, you would have said yes.
But he didn’t and now you were walking like a heartbroken zombie in the Northwestern library.
Steve runs down the street, weaving past people and cars. A taxi cab honks at him for dashing out in front of it. His hand slams on the hood as he runs by.
He runs onto campus, long legs stretching across the grassy quad to the library. He knows exactly where to go, remembering the nights he helped you study or the time he felt you up in between the bookshelves, hands sneaking under your skirt.
Steve skids around a corner, catching sight of you descending the library steps. You say your goodbyes to your classmates, your cute schoolbag hangs on your back. Steve's heart skips a beat as you turn toward his direction. He breaks into another run to you.
Then he's in front of you, standing a few feet away. His breath ragged and his forehead shiny.
"Hi," Steve says, panting.
"Hi," you let out, confused and slightly entertained by the way Steve braces his hands on his knees, hanging his head to catch his breath. You try not to smile, "did you run here?"
"Mhmm," he mumbles painfully, nodding his head and taking a deep breath.
"That's like 15 blocks," you say in disbelief.
He rises now, standing up straight, back to being taller than you. Steve nods, "it is."
You shake your head, feeling hurt more than anything, "why are you here Steve?"
"I fucked up," he says, plain and true, "I thought being friends would be easier, that neither of us would get hurt. But you were right. We can't just be friends. We never were."
You take a measured breath, trying to calm your rising heartbeat.
Steve continues, "I've been in love with you my entire life. I tried to push you out of my mind, believe me, I spent years trying. When things didn't work out with other girls, I blamed it on the usual things. But I always knew the real reason it never worked out. They weren't you."
Steve can't look away from you as he speaks, "I made the second biggest mistake of my life letting you walk away from me two weeks ago. My biggest was when we were teenagers and I let you walk away the first time. I don't plan on letting you do that ever again.”
He steps closer to you, "I plan on loving you forever. If you'll let me."
You stare back at him, mouth suddenly dry and pulse racing. You shake your head, tears filling your eyes, "of course you would do this."
His face falters as you take a step toward him. "Of course, you would run across the city to say something so, so - perfect."
Steve's eyes widen, hope flooding back into him. His breathing calms with every step you take towards him.
You're overwhelmed with emotion. Eyes watery, cheeks red. You want to be mad at him for breaking your heart and making you hate him oh so much the last two weeks. But, you can't. Not when he's standing in front of you pouring his heart out like he is. His lips pink and pouty, big brown eyes staring expectedly into yours.
Steve catches your eyes as they flicker down to his lips and back up to meet his gaze. A small smile creeps onto his face.
"You make it so hard not to love you," you say.
He steps forward, slowly ending the distance between you. Your pulse quickens.
You nod, "but I do love you, Steve. I really, really do."
He grabs your hip with one hand, the other gently cups the back of your head, pulling your body into his. Steve lowers down, your noses touch and his lips hover lightly above yours. He closes his eyes, pausing for just a moment, before closing the gap and pressing down to kiss you - hard and with purpose, like it's the last thing he'll ever do.
But you both know this won't be your last kiss. It's far from it. You'll have thousands of more kisses in your lifetime with Steve, and this one. This one feels like it's just the beginning.
a/n: I love the friends to lovers to exes to friends again to lovers trope so much. it's so messy and emotional, I hope that translated through with this!
tags: @httpazxnth@wwylmlive@xaimary@dogstarbytes@micheledawn1975@ortega29@djodirt@ahead-fullofdreams @andvys
