@arianagrande: it feels impossible to find the words at this time … so for now, just thank you. from the bottom of my heart. i love you all more than words can ever possibly say.
and i missed you. thank you.
𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 : It's your birthday, something that you don't really like. Despite this, you are obliged to attend the party organized by your friend Robin. During the party, you realize that one of the guests is none other than Steve Harrington, the weirdo who keeps making advances toward you, which makes things quite awkward. However, everything takes an unexpected turn when you wake up the next morning with him in your bed…with a hangover and a memory gap.
𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 — Sunshine! Dorky! Steve × Grumpy! Birthday Girl! reader. afab! [no use of y/n!]
𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 — rated 18+ (mentions of sex, swear words, some angst, fluff), there is always consent between Steve x reader. afab! ! — the two of you aren't exactly friends, your connection to him was high school and robin buckley. you're not really a fan of him.
𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 — 6.790
𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 :
"Good morning, sleeping beauty."
"Why am I half-naked in my bed with you, Steve ?" you ask bluntly, not wanting to waste any time. Why is he here ?
I hope you will enjoy reading it. Especially if you love it, don't let it flop.
a/n : i’ve been trying to improve my writing a bit… idk if this draft is any good (?) just think of it as a practice run.
[masterlist] — 💛
“Who invited him ?” you ask in a loud voice. Your longtime friend, Robin, is standing by your side. She seems completely absorbed in a marbled muffin. You prefer them.
She answers you, almost choking with the muffin in her mouth. She doesn’t meet your gaze when she says, “Who ?”
You shoot Robin an annoyed look. Your eyes return to the front of you. The man is standing there, clearly disoriented. It’s as if he’s searching for you in the living room. A slow sigh escapes your lips. You tap Robin on the shoulder, she immediately turns toward you — an expression of confusion and irritation appears on her face. “Don’t hit me like that —”
“Steve Harrington is here, in my house, at my birthday party — what is he doing here !?” You ask the question with a serious expression — without the slightest hint of amusement. Your friend, on the other hand, is grinning widely as she looks at Steve from across the room. Clearly happy to see her best friend — a guy you don’t like at all. You don’t like him.
Robin doesn't answer you, she remains silent. In fact, she just raises her hand and shouts at the top of her lungs, “Steve ! We're here !” Oh well, she's decided to become your enemy now.
When Steve spots Robin in the distance, it’s impossible not to roll your eyes. He starts walking toward you. The thought of having to talk to him makes you feel sick — you really don’t want to speak to him, not at all, because he’s just…
“Where’s the birthday girl ?” Awkward.
You're right in front of him — is he blind or what ?
Steve is now standing in front of the two of you. There's no smile from you directed at him, you'd rather look over at your other friends. They're hanging out, lying all over the couches and on top of them. They seem to be enjoying the party much more than you are, even though it's your birthday. It's funny.
“The birthday girl is here !” You hear Robin say just before she tugs on your elbow to pull you toward her. That’s clever. You were just starting to drift away from them. More specifically, Ambre. One of your friend — who just adopted a puppy. Talking about the little puppy’s behavior would have been both cute and entertaining, as opposed to the awkward situation with this young man — Steve. He seems to be watching you now with eyes sparkling with shades of brown and green. The shimmering hue.
It’s clear that you love sparkling looks — they reflect enthusiasm and joy. That’s why your home is decorated with garlands and glitter. The pink theme is everywhere, with balloons scattered all over the place, sometimes forming shapes of flamingos — you’re a huge fan. If you had the chance to become an animal, it would undoubtedly be this one — the pink flamingo.
Robin deserves an award for the decorations, the pastries, the music playing in the background. This gesture of hers perfectly captures your personality and your outfit for the day — your short, dark pink dress. Your birthday dress — understated. A birthday you don’t like. You hate it, mostly because of Steve now.
Robin, you can only express your gratitude to her, even if you don't like your birthday. Unfortunately, right now, you're feeling resentful toward her for inviting Steve.
He tries to talk to you, but you’re lost in your own world and don’t catch what he’s saying.
You frown as you watch your friend Ambre, sitting on the couch next to Thomas — a childhood friend. They seem lost in their own world, completely absorbed in each other. You wish they would let you in on it, so you could escape this disastrous encounter.
You turn to the person who seems much more engaged in the conversation than you are and say, “What ?”
The poor boy was so captivated by his story that you interrupted him. Steve looks both puzzled and irritated. Too bad. You felt Robin’s foot brush against yours, which made you want to reciprocate by touching her foot — a hard tap. Right in front of you, Steve had stopped talking, the big talker had gone silent. Now he’s looking at you with wide eyes, completely taken aback and at a loss for words.
“I — I was talking to you about… um, I just said happy birthday to you.” Steve, stammering a few words, explains the situation, his eyes shifting hesitantly from you to Robin. He looks embarrassed. You look at him with a neutral expression — without even a hint of a smile — before saying, “Thank you.”
You can hear him clear his throat, Steve doesn't seem too happy with your answer. In fact, he's no longer looking at you. Instead, he turns to Robin, searching for clues as to what he might say to you — he's nervously biting his lower lip.
It’s true that was cold of you. However, that guy is really boring, he’s nothing like the kind of man you’re into. He’s Robin’s friend — not yours.
In an atmosphere of heavy silence, punctuated by the lounge’s background music and the surrounding conversations, you spot Robin, who seems to be whispering silent words to Steve. The moment you set your eyes on him, he immediately catches your gaze — his Adam’s apple bobbing — before turning to take a look over his shoulder.
At that very moment, you notice that one of his arms is hidden behind his back. He’s hiding something, isn’t he ? He’s trying to hide something. And in fact, there really is a very large thing hidden behind him. No — please.
Another throat-clearing sound is heard, and Steve keeps his gaze fixed on you with intense focus. He then casts a discreet glance at your friend, before offering you a friendly smile. It is, indeed, a handsome smile. It must work on some women — but you’re not one of them.
His arm, hidden behind his back, moves slowly. You watch this movement intently, until you are enveloped by a wave of pale pink petals.
A huge bouquet of Gerbera daisies — your favorites — it’s really big.
It was like those boys in high school, with the gifts they gave their girlfriends, which often made you envious of such love — of that kind of greatness. You remain silent, your youthful features betraying no emotion. Steve looks at you.
“Happy birthday again — I — I know these are your favorites… I mean, I don’t know, like I’ve been stalking your life or something — no, no —” These beautiful flowers, offered by his hand, captivate your eyes in a sort of trance. Beside you, Robin’s persistent cough prompts Steve to continue his disastrous explanation, “— I know you like Gerbera daisies, because Robin told me… so I got them for your birthday.” He finishes.
Gerbera Daisy.
In your hand, you hold the bouquet, savoring and breathing in the delightful fragrance wafting from the flowers. With wonder, you breathe in deeply while holding the bouquet close to your chest, admiring these beautiful flowers up close.
As you look up — your nose buried in those pink flowers — you spot Steve, hands on his hips, watching you intently as you handle his gift. Steve seems a little anxious. He’s just like those boys. Girls accept with a kiss on the cheek. Yet you don’t even give him a smile. Instead, you lift your head and catch Robin’s gaze, she’s already staring at you. They seem eager for a reaction from you. They’ll have to wait. You're not one of those girls.
Enjoying the suspense, you turn your attention back to the bouquet you’re holding.
As you lock eyes with Steve, you whisper softly, “They are indeed my favorites… thank you.”
Steve's smile is beaming, his white teeth glistening under the room's lights. Despite the urge to smile back at him, you hold back. I don't love you — have you forgot ?
That's just thoughtful of him, that's all.
Harrington, beaming with joy, scans the room before turning his gaze back to you and Robin, a smile playing on his lips — though it won’t last long.
“And… is that it ?” You ask the question with a look on your face that shows dissatisfaction. It’s an act.
Immediately after you speak, two pairs of eyes turn toward you. However, you only notice Steve’s eyes — he looks particularly discouraged.
You really like these flowers, it’s a sweet gesture, they suit you. Still, since it’s Steve — that guy who likes to flirt with you before getting embarrassed when you don’t respond — you would have preferred a more meaningful gift. Something more special. Flowers are a bit too ordinary. Such a Romeo cliché. A high school thing.
It’s clear that if you’d wanted to, you could have bought it yourself. It’s really very easy.
It’s worth noting that when a boy gives a girl flowers, it’s often a sign that he wants to ask her out — like those boys.
Typical of Steve.
One of your eyebrows raises as you size Steve up from head to toe. He seems hesitant, struggling to find the right words, while casting several anxious glances at Robin. His hands sink into his front pockets, betraying a certain discomfort.
“I — I thought you’d just want flowers… Robin told me you like simple things… so…” You keep looking at him with a questioning expression. Stay strong. You’re aware of your mischievousness, Robin loves to point it out to you.
That’s why you feel a hand grab your forearm before pulling you back. “Wait, Steve, we’re coming back !” Suddenly, Robin’s voice rings out. Steve shoots your friend a look accompanied by a smile that reflects just as much confusion as her expression. Meanwhile, you walk away from him, letting Robin lead you toward your kitchen. This smells like a novel.
In the kitchen, Robin lets go of your arm, you take a step back, the bouquet still in your hand and a look on your face that remains hopelessly devoid of emotion. “You know, you’re really unbearable. He’s trying to do the right thing, and you’re treating him as if he’d spit in your bowl of cereal — just look at the huge bouquet he gave you.”
You roll your eyes. “I treat him just like all the other guys who hit on me but whom I have no interest in dating. Can I just stay single ?” you ask, shaking your head. She needs to get your point.
Robin frowns and steps away. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself with Elijah last Friday — and he’s a guy.”
“A guy who isn’t awkward and thinks he’s a pro at seduction. Ugh — I don’t like Steve, okay ?… I think he’s odd, like a weirdo, and Elijah isn’t a weirdo — he’s thoughtful and respectful !” You share your story with Robin, she watches you closely, her eyes searching yours. Your eyes sometimes drift away to rest on the white kitchen walls or the brown wooden floor. You’re not lying… are you ?
Elijah was nothing more than a one-night stand. After four months without sex, you just wanted to get lucky with a man. Elijah happened to be in the right place at the right time. He was the perfect remedy for you. These days, you don’t even talk to each other anymore. It was just a hookup.
Robin looks at the bouquet of flowers and then gives you a sad look. “Steve really put his heart into choosing a gift for you that was both beautiful and meaningful… I simply suggested he get you your favorite flowers, since he doesn’t know you very well and that bothered him a lot. If I hadn’t cut him off from his extravagant ideas, he might have gotten you a bigger gift.” She concludes by glancing over her shoulder, scanning the open doorway to the kitchen. It offers a perfect view of the living room, where Steve is standing.
You’re watching him closely now. Now that you’ve heard what Robin told you, you seem a little more empathetic. Steve is standing in the middle of the living room, his hands now buried in the back pockets of his pants, while a girl is talking to him right in front of him. It’s your older cousin — she’s four years older than you. Steve doesn’t seem to be paying attention.
His engagement in the conversation seems limited, he prefers to look around. His eyes, with their strange hue, scan the room until they meet yours. Your eyes have changed their opinion of him. You watch him from afar, from that other room — the kitchen. The music still plays in the background, mingling with the voices, you choose to keep staring at him. Don’t look away. Steve keeps staring at you, too. His eyes seem full of questions, his eyebrows now furrowed.
You turn your gaze back to Robin.
You finally give her a warm smile before saying, “I’ll think about it.” You say simply, then bury your nose in the many Gerbera daisies. As you walk past her, you think about heading to your room on the first floor to put the bouquet in a vase — one that was previously filled with old roses.
The look Robin gave you was more intense than the last one. She seemed pleased with your answer. Still, for you, this isn’t exactly confirmation either. You don’t know if Steve really deserves your respect… you’ll see how the evening goes. If things go well, if Steve’s behavior is tolerable over the next few hours, maybe your opinion of him will change. Maybe.
The evening went by quietly, filled with chatter — as everyone eagerly awaited the cake and the unwrapping of gifts. You spent the whole time by Robin’s side, talking with other people you knew. They explained how they’d had to keep quiet about the party. Robin had threatened them if they revealed that your best friend — Robin — was throwing a birthday party for you without your knowledge. You laughed, then played some games in the living room and in your garden, late into the night. The laughter and glances were shared and radiant.
Just as you’d predicted, Steve was always right by your side whenever Robin was near you. Sometimes he would get caught up in a conversation with a guy, then move closer to the two of you — speaking only to Robin. It made you uncomfortable. Strangely, he didn’t speak to you directly — his eyes remained fixed on Robin, painfully avoiding yours. He was ignoring you — that’s not how those boys usually act. They liked those girls.
Steve took it literally. He sadly realized how much you disliked him.
Okay, you must have done something to make him suddenly lose interest in you on your birthday. Your birthday, of all days. You’re clearly meant to be the center of attention.
You were all drunk, downing one red cup after another. Some of your acquaintances offered you a taste of a bottle of full-bodied wine, while others simply handed you a cup as soon as you finished one. And so, as you got drunker and drunker, you realized just how much you missed Steve’s gaze — immensely.
Then, out of nowhere, it happened. Your dependency.
At one point, you were standing by the crackling fire — a bright orange-red glow in your living room — talking with Robin, your best friend from kindergarten — Celine — and her boyfriend. Steve was there too, he smelled wonderful. You took advantage of the moment, especially with the alcohol coursing through your veins. Your body had decided to position you next to him, close — very close, in fact.
You could hear his steady breathing, his undoubtedly expensive cologne was enough to drive you crazy. Your eyes had met his profile, he was facing you out of the corner of your eye. Every chance you got, you studied his nose as you raised your drink to your lips — as an excuse, just to look at him. Okay, Steve has always been hot, it’s no secret… everyone knows it, confirms it — just like you.
You had quietly inhaled his scent, enjoying the smell, while Celine told how difficult her medical studies were — how excessive they were in some ways, she said. Yet, she went on, it was still addictive to pursue them. You were somewhere else. Far from her study problems. Far from medicine.
You caught another glimpse of Steve’s profile as he was now talking to Celine, his hands in his pockets, still looking a bit nonchalant — you wondered if he’d had a drink before coming over. This man wasn’t the Steve you knew. He was more of a young man, knowing how to use his sex appeal — or for once — meanwhile, Celine couldn’t stop laughing at what Steve was telling her. Her boyfriend kept shooting her irritated looks, as if he were scolding her. Yet no one scolded you for your naughty glances at Steve — at his nose, his expressive lips, his eyelashes, his neck.
Maybe it’s also because of your drunken side — it’s starting to take over as the minutes go by.
You admit that, after a few more drinks, you found yourself staring at Steve more and more intently. He was talking to Robin — your eyes were on him — he was laughing, eating some of your favorite muffins that were out in the kitchen, but your eyes were strangely fixated on his fingers. The ones he was bringing to his lips, licking them, putting them in his mouth. It’s a little too… addictive?
You also found yourself blushing strangely when his eyes, glazed over from alcohol — just like yours — fleetingly glanced your way. Your discreet silhouette. You felt like you were in the spotlight. The fear that he might know what your thoughts were conjuring up — all that filth. It was your way of speaking, just your eyes doing the talking. Did he figure it out at some point?
You were actually ashamed of it. Can he know that when he was sitting on the armchair chatting away, a bottle of alcohol in his hand, his legs spread apart, your eyes kept awkwardly drifting to his crotch and perverse thoughts were crossing your mind ? At that very moment, you realized just how imposing he was — it must be big.
At one point, you were playing with several of the guests, while Robin watched from the sidelines. It was a game called Twister, several of you were already on the white mat, standing on the circles arranged in vertical columns starting with red, blue, yellow and green. You had one foot on the second-to-last blue circle and were trying to hold onto a higher blue circle with one hand. Your position wasn’t exactly comfortable, you were trying to keep your balance and you were also laughing with your other friends at their ridiculous positions.
Everyone had too much alcohol in their system — red eyes, high-pitched laughter. Steve was playing too, he must have ended up facing you, legs spread apart — you had to look away. You tried desperately to shake off this sudden obsession with staring at his crotch, but luckily for you, Steve wasn’t looking at you. No, he was laughing, talking with others — with Robin, too. Not you.
She liked to tease him about his skills at this game. You learned from their banter that he used to play this game a lot as a kid. You smiled at that — a little too quickly. Your smile quickly faded when you realized there were others watching.
They were all having fun. You were stuck, unable to join in the fun without thinking about him. Just too close.
However, despite all that — the chatter and laughter, the festive atmosphere — your cheeks still flushed red, knowing that Steve was standing close to you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose, one of your acquaintances steps up beside you. From where you’re standing, you hear the laughter and comments about his posture, then it’s Steve’s turn.
Robin had just spun the wheel for him — as usual — since the game began. She was actually doing it for both of you. The black arrow landed on the right hand, he has to go stand on a red circle right next to you. You feel him move, you also feel his body getting closer to you, you lower your head, unable to bear the position the two of you are in right now. Steve lowers himself until you feel his arms brush against your side. Okay — the position isn’t that bad after all.
You could hear some of the girls complimenting him, Steve just laughs it off and takes the opportunity to crack a few jokes here and there. Deep down, you hate yourself for laughing at what he said. Steve is funny.
The worst part is, you believed him, even as you kept laughing at what he was saying and turned your head to look in Steve’s direction. He did the same, like a magnet, your eyes meeting for a few seconds, him looking at you intently until your cheeks burned, you lowered your head, too embarrassed, suddenly, under his intense gaze. The only intense look Steve gave you today, after the gift.
Then, for a moment, you felt Steve’s arm slide underneath you — at your belly. His arm came to rest against the side of your belly, you shivered at his touch, not having been ready to feel his huge hand on you.
Because of that, you heard Robin shout, “Hey !! You’re cheating, Steve ! He’s cheating !”
All eyes turned to the two of you, you looked over at Robin. She was glaring at Steve. “He lost ! You lost, Steve !” she kept saying. You could hear Steve’s hoarse laughter — it tickled one of your ears. You blushed even more.
“We help each other out. There’s no cheating — my arm was hurting. Just for a second, Rob.” Steve says. You hear his voice echoing beside you, you don’t dare meet his gaze. Your face is down again, eyes fixed on the playmat. After that, you hear Robin’s exasperated sigh and the others’ laughter as they make fun of the situation.
One of the girls — the one running the game — says with a hint of amusement in her voice, “If you don’t take your arm off her waist, it’s game over for both of you.” At that, you immediately turn your attention to the girl — it’s your cousin again. Her eyes are fixed on where Steve’s hand is resting on your waist. Can’t she just let go ? Why are you saying that ?
You hear Steve clear his throat, then his arm slips away from your waist. He says in a melodramatic voice, “My apologies.” His big hand is no longer on your waist. What a shame.
The evening then continued with your birthday celebration. The cake, which Robin had brought you while you were sitting at the table eating — eager for your cake. It glowed with the candles forming the numbers of your age — 24. They all sang in unison. When the cake was placed in front of you, you blew out the candles while making a wish. You then felt something land on your head, slightly cold, you lifted your face and saw Steve. He gave you a mischievous smile as he finished placing the tiara, which you could tell was there when you felt it with your hand afterward. A tiara — everything you’d ever wanted to wear since you were a little girl.
You whispered a “Thank you” to him, albeit timidly, without really bothering to see if he had heard it.
After that, the gifts came out. Along with jokes about your age and gifts that brought back childhood memories. All of this until the evening ended in a black hole of loud music and nostalgia about your teenage years.
The black hole consumed your memories and your senses until you opened your eyes — the atmosphere had changed.
You yawn, the hangover gradually setting in — a headache washes over you like a thunderbolt. You try to pull the blanket up over yourself. It shields you from the morning chill. Who’s the idiot who left the balcony door open ? It wasn’t me.
With this sudden irritation, you grumble into your pillow before turning over to face the other side of your room. With your eyes closed, you taste the flavor in your mouth, the bitterness hits you right away. Disgusted, you squint your eyes and make a mental note that you need to go brush your teeth. But then again, no one else is here to smell your morning breath.
For a moment, you burrow deep into the blankets, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. The cold becomes a little too unbearable, until you feel the bare skin of your body extending beyond your arms. You feel the bare skin of your belly beneath the palm of one of your hands, the sudden sensation of nakedness at your chest, which is pressed against the mattress.
Realizing all this, you furrow your brow and reach down below you. All you can feel are your panties — all your clothes are gone. You’re half-naked.
You suddenly open your eyes, the sight that greets you makes you gasp aloud. You freeze. Petrified.
In front of you lies a man on his back. He still seems to be asleep, wearing the same clothes as the day before, except for his sweatshirt, which is missing and has been replaced by a white T-shirt. The exposed skin on his arms is covered in mountains of moles. His hair is tangled, his hands are clenched into fists on his stomach. Steve is in your bed.
Your headache is getting worse, it’s getting stronger. You prop yourself up on your hands and lower your head to look at your bare breasts. You don’t take a second to wrap yourself in your blanket, pulling it a little too hard as you struggle, which causes Steve’s body to move. His weight is on it. He doesn’t react, he seems to be in a deep sleep. You're panicking.
For a moment, you must have moved closer to Steve, to his body, to check if he was really asleep. The thought of leaving to get dressed crossed your mind. He absolutely must not wake up — especially not to see you like this. And how did you end up like this ? Did Steve do something to you ? Did the two of you…
Questions flood your mind as you continue to gaze at Steve’s peaceful, sleeping face.
As you realize how close you are to him, you take the opportunity to lose yourself in his features — his nose, the freckles on it, the moles on his face, the stubble from a recently shaved mustache. He is handsome, it’s true.
He’s breathing calmly — evenly. His breath brushes against your face, his lips are parted. It tickles your chin. You study his hair, too — dark brown, even though it’s tousled, it looks just as perfect as when he takes care of it. You keep watching him. Your eyes rest on those lips, you linger there a little too long until you realize something. It burns — your face burns, especially your eyelids. There’s a change in the air.
Lifting your eyes, you meet Steve’s gaze, he’s looking at you intently, yet he doesn’t seem taken aback by your approach. You stand there a little too long for your liking until he utters the following words. The husky tone of his morning voice sends a thrill through your body,
“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”
“Why am I half-naked in my bed with you, Steve ?” you ask bluntly, not wanting to waste any time. Why is he here ?
Steve gives you a confused look before glancing around, as if it were obvious, “Hello — and first of all, you undressed in front of me, and second of all, you didn’t want me to leave.”
“You sure can hold your liquor…” You conclude with a bored look — it’s back. The alcohol no longer courses through your veins. You still widen your eyes, realizing exactly what he just said, “Wait — I undressed in front of you? How —” you begin to stammer. At the same time, you sit up to look around — your bedroom, which is a mess. You can see your tiara somewhere on the floor, mixed in with yesterday’s clothes, your red cup too.
Your eyes meet Steve’s again, you swallow before asking in a soft, cautious voice, “Did you fuck me?”
The red flush on Steve’s cheeks makes you want to throw up, he quickly starts saying, “We didn’t do anything. Nothing.” He explains. His embarrassed, shy eyes study your face before looking back at yours — your eyes are narrowed.
You clear your throat, accepting what he just said. You didn’t have sex, that’s a fact. Steve is in your bed, yesterday, you wanted him and you undressed, since you still wanted him. It’s simple. No sex. No misunderstanding. No kiss. Did you want to kiss him ?
You feel a weight on your shoulders, your eyes drift to your hand, which is holding the blanket in place over your chest, clutching it as if for protection. You slowly lift your gaze to look down at Steve’s still-reclining body, he’s now staring at the ceiling. Eyes closed. He still looks asleep. But that doesn’t stop you from asking the following question.
“I took my clothes off… why ? Did I do something embarrassing ?” you ask, slightly alarmed. You look at Steve, who is now looking at you with one eye, he gives you a half-smile before looking back at the ceiling, his hands still clasped over his stomach.
The silence. It's scary.
“You gave me a striptease...” He finally replies. You gasp in horror at this image of yourself, then decide to pull the blankets over you — you curl up in a ball. You keep repeating “no no no!”, you refuse to accept what he just said. This image of you, drunk and lost in a fantasy.
“No ! That’s horrible ! I haven’t sunk that low… tell me that’s all I did.” You try to ask, though you’re afraid of his answer. You’re still hiding from his view.
You hear him sigh, you feel the mattress shift beneath you, as if he’s getting comfortable before he speaks — it scares you. “You also tried to kiss me — no, actually, you told me you hated yourself for treating me like a weirdo and a lousy flirt, that I was the funniest guy you’d ever met… you also explained that you really wanted to kiss me as a way of saying sorry, but I didn’t accept it, even though you kept clinging to my clothes. You said I smelled good…”
You freeze the moment he finishes speaking, you’re completely screwed. So it was true after all. Everything you thought yesterday was just you. Alcohol is no joke, not at all. You remember having feelings for Steve yesterday, which was unusual for you — you admit that — but the idea of throwing yourself at him, wanting to kiss him, and undressing in front of him… why did you undress ?
“What happened next ? I mean… when I took my clothes off… can you explain it to me ?” you ask cautiously, shyly. You can tell, though, that his answer is going to make you blush more and more, you feel like the biggest idiot in the world.
“About that — yeah, hmm, to be honest, you undressed in front of me, because at first you wanted me to take off your dress, then you turned around and told me you didn’t need any help, and that I should just watch…” Steve replies, his voice faltering on certain words. Shame. You close your eyes, the shame and embarrassment having reached their peak in your thoughts.
There’s a long silence between the two of you, you can hear Steve’s breathing, your own and the wind coming from your balcony. You’re still hidden from him — he can’t see your flushed face.
You can hear the few trees rustling in the wind. You sigh and decide to move under the blanket, crawling until you reach Steve. Once you’re next to him, you lift your head from under the blanket and are met by Steve’s face, he’s already looking at you intently — as if he’d already sensed your approach. You’re close to each other, right next to one another.
You hear him clear his throat, glance at your hand resting on his chest — which you’d placed there to help you pull yourself up so you could speak to him face-to-face, up close — and it doesn’t seem to bother you. “Did you dare to look ?” you ask in a low voice.
You try to ignore the scent beneath your palm, his heart is beating fast — just like yours. It’s pounding.
Steve glances at your nose before saying, in a voice as low and hoarse as yours, “No.”
With that reply, you give him a little smile before saying, “Thank you.”
Steve gives you a confused look, you tap your fingers on his torso, watching him intently. A sense of calm hangs between the two of you, you don’t seem embarrassed anymore. After all, he must love you. He does love you.
Maybe the alcohol did something to you — a spell, perhaps. Something that made Steve Harrington seem much more attractive than your previous encounters, one year at Family Video, the next at WSQK.
Steve is a fine-looking young man today — he’s always been attractive, you were just too stubborn to admit it. He exuded confidence last night, which you loved. That’s what you like in a man. Alcohol claimed two victims at your birthday party. You and the man you keep staring at — he’s doing the same.
Steve gives you a flat smile before looking over your makeshift shelter of blankets. “Are you going to… you’re going to stay here.” You shoot him a narrow-eyed look before nodding — your feverish state returning just like last night.
“I’m sorry.” you say suddenly, your voice a little lower. You see Steve’s eyes widen slightly before he narrows them and furrows his brow. He looks confused. “It’s hard for a girl like me to admit… but I realized just how much of a normal guy you are, Steve — not some weirdo from Hawkins at all… I made so many mistakes ignoring your advances that yesterday — I… I realized you weren’t so bad after all.”
Steve looks around, his lips moving silently, no words coming out, as if he’s searching for the right ones to answer you.
“Are you serious ? I mean… are you okay ? Are you drunk again ?” He starts saying this, looking at you, studying your face — your eyes still fixed on him.
Steve props himself up on one elbow to lean forward and face you more clearly. You’re lying on your stomach, he continues, “Do you have a fever ?” His big hand rests on your forehead — it’s cold, comforting — and you immediately pull away, shaking your head, denying the accusation.
“I’m fine.” You’re lying. You’re hungover, obviously — a pounding headache, a dry mouth ever since you woke up. Still, you know how to choose your words right now. You’re being completely honest about what you’ve admitted. He doesn’t seem to get it, though. Get it, Steve.
His hand finds yours — which had been resting on his torso — after it had slipped onto the mattress when he shifted to face you. He takes it and squeezes it before looking you straight in the eyes, you look right back at him. “I think you need something to help with your hangover.” You roll your eyes. You don’t need anything — just him.
Steve is sitting down now. He sounded so confident when he said that that you fell silent, simply looking at him, not trying to argue with what he had said.
Steve may be right after all. Maybe it was the alcohol that put a spell on you, made you lose your head last night with him. Steve is right.
“You’re right.” you say simply, your voice now back to its normal volume. You’ve forgotten about your hoarse voice from this morning.
The breeze from the balcony tickles the top of your head, Steve gives you a friendly look. He’s already getting up from the bed. Your breathing quickens, you keep watching him as he moves away. You aren’t thinking straight, you just let it happen. He hasn’t left the bed yet — but you know very clearly that he’s going to leave. You have to stop him.
You hear the birds chirping outside, then the wind rustling above your head, Steve’s smile, his kind eyes. You lose all self-control, your heart beats faster than usual. You sit up and cup Steve’s face in your hands. You feel his cold lips against your warm ones.
It's just a simple kiss. Quick.
Steve pulls away immediately. He gives you a strange look before staring again at your slightly damp lips, you continue to hold his head in your suddenly weak hands. Your hands don't hold the blanket around your chest.
You feel the breeze sweeping through the room brush against your bare nipples and your bare back, but you pay it no mind — you keep staring intently into Steve’s eyes. He seems to be studying yours in particular. Your eyes return to his closed lips. “Do you accept my apology, Steve ?” you ask, pleading and weak. It’s not the alcohol, no. It’s you, your sober decision.
You want to be like those girls with those boys who are in love with them — the flowers and the kiss on the lips.
Steve’s lips curve upward before dropping back down, you can sense his hesitation, even as you look up to find his eyes already studying yours. Doesn’t he like it ? Isn’t this what he was looking for ? The kiss wasn’t good…
He doesn’t glance at your bare chest, at your nipples, which have hardened from a shiver. A cold shiver from the wind, his fault. You thank him. You want him to look, too.
You open your mouth to ask another question, to pour out your troubles, but his lips part as well, his deep voice beats you to it, “What did you put in your drinks yesterday ?” he asks, a laugh escaping his lips as they curve upward — a playful, teasing smile. A beautiful smile.
Your eyes now light up at the sight of his positive change in behavior toward you. You roll your eyes and say, “Nothing at all.” There it is again — your sullen tone, your pouting face. Steve recognizes you because of that.
Suddenly, you feel one of his hands brush against the back of your neck before moving up to stroke your hair at the back of your head. You can still see a mix of amusement and confusion cross Steve’s face — especially in his eyes, with the faint, youthful wrinkles around them. You give him a smile, he sees it, then returns it — his teeth gleaming.
“You agree…” You whisper, the question hanging in the air between the two of you. He agrees.
The young man standing in front of you — the one who’s been interested in you for months now, your best friend’s friend, a former weirdo — looks you straight in the eye and says, “Maybe.”
His expression remains neutral, though you get the impression that a faint hint of amusement flits across his face — his eyes and lips.
Your eyes narrow, you repeat his own words, “Maybe ?” His hand reaches up behind your head to gather your loose hair — tousled from sleep — and you take the opportunity to move closer to him. Steve doesn’t pull away.
“Yeah — maybe.” Steve gives the same answer again. He’s teasing you, you can tell from his voice. The right corner of his mouth turns up — he’s smiling at you. You’ll quickly realize he’s just teasing you. With that, you see no problem in bringing your lips closer to Steve’s, brushing them against his, your warm breaths mingling. It tickles your chin.
“So maybe.” you repeat. That’s all. Steve nods, his eyes fixed on your lips as they brush against his. You lick your lower lip, before he closes the gap between you.
You are the girl of the boy with the flowers. Gerbera daisies.
Not sure why it's a new trend among fic readers to assume if the fic has not been posted within the week it's inappropriate to comment on it, like the fic has to be hot out of the oven to give feedback for.
I got a comment on a fic that is less than a year old and it was mostly an apology for being a comment on an "old fic" and how late they were in commenting.
Just comment on the fic. Doesn't matter how old it is.
