The lot is lit by two portable floodlights and whatever pale spill the moon is offering. Gravel crunches under boots. Radios hiss softly. Everyone’s moving with that quiet efficiency that only comes from doing this too many times.
You’re checking your pack when Steve steps in front of you.
Not blocking you. Just… there.
“I’m going with you,” you say, tightening the strap across your chest.
The words are calm. Assumed. This is how it always goes.
“No,” Steve says.
You pause, fingers stilling on the buckle. “What?”
“You’re not,” he repeats, voice even, eyes fixed somewhere just over your shoulder.
You frown. “That wasn’t the plan.”
“The plan changed.”
You glance past him, expecting backup. Robin’s busy with a radio. Nancy’s mid-argument with Jonathan. Dustin’s pacing, muttering to himself. No one’s paying attention yet.
You look back at Steve. “Why?”
He doesn’t answer.
That’s when you feel it, that tight, coiled thing under his skin. Not anger. Fear.
“Steve,” you say quietly. “Talk to me.”
He swallows. His jaw works once, like he’s biting back something softer.
“I don’t want you in there.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It is to me.”
You take a small step back, searching his face. “You don’t get to decide this for me.”
“I do tonight.”
Your chest tightens. “Since when?”
“Since I’m done watching you play chicken with death,” he snaps.
The words hit harder than you expect.
You stare at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Something in your posture changes. You straighten, instinctively defensive. “I’ve done every crawl. I know the layout. I know the risks.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” he fires back. “You know them and you go anyway.”
You shake your head, incredulous. “So does everyone else.”
“Not like you,” he says.
The space between you feels suddenly hostile.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you don’t hesitate,” Steve says. “You don’t stop to think if you should be the one.”
“That’s not recklessness,” you say, voice sharpening. “That’s commitment.”
“No,” he says. “That’s you throwing yourself in front of things so no one else has to.”
Robin finally looks over. “Uh… everything okay?”
Steve doesn’t break eye contact with you.
“No,” he says flatly. “It’s not.”
Your stomach drops.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he continues, voice carrying now. “You slow people down.”
That one lands like a hard slap and you take a step back from him without thinking.
“Say that again,” you whisper.
“Every time you’re involved,” he says, forcing it out, “someone’s distracted. Someone’s worried about you instead of the job.”
Dustin freezes. “Steve, what the h-”
“I’m serious,” Steve cuts in. “We don’t need that.”
You laugh once, sharp and hollow. “You mean me.”
“Yes,” he says.
It’s a lie. A brutal one. And he delivers it like he practiced.
“You make things personal,” he adds. “And that’s dangerous.”
Your hands shake as you unclip the strap at your side.
“You’ve never said this before,” you say, quieter now.
“Maybe I should have.”
That’s when it really hits.
Your breath catches. Your shoulders curl in just slightly, like you’re bracing for another blow.
“So this is who you are?” you ask. “You wait until the last second to decide I’m a liability?”
Steve’s face flickers, his eye brows dipping slightly, pain, regret, gone as fast as it comes.
“I’m done catering to it,” he says.
You stare at him for a long moment.
Then you do something neither of you expects.
You pull the gun from your belt and shove it into his chest.
Not hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to mean something.
“Here,” you say. “Since I’m such a problem.”
Steve’s hands come up automatically, catching it.
Your fingers linger for half a second, and then you step back.
Further this time.
Like you don’t trust yourself not to fall into him if you stay closer.
Robin’s mouth is open. Nancy looks furious. Dustin looks like someone just kicked the air out of him.
“What the hell, Steve?” Robin snaps.
He doesn’t answer.
He can’t.
“Go home,” Steve says to you, voice low and final. “This isn’t your fight.”
You nod once.
Slow. Deliberate.
“You don’t get to tell me that,” you say. “But congratulations. You don’t have to anymore.”
You turn and walk away.
Not running. Not dramatic.
Just gone.
Steve doesn’t follow.
He stands there, jaw clenched so tight it aches, hands heavy around the weight of the gun you handed him.
Robin steps up beside him. “What did you just do?”
He exhales through his nose. “What I had to.”
Nancy shakes her head. “That was cruel.”
“I know.”
Dustin’s voice cracks. “She didn’t deserve that.”
Steve finally looks down, shoulders sagging just a fraction.
“I know.”
They don’t say anything else.
Because the truth is already sitting there between them:
Steve just torched something important on purpose.
Somewhere down the road, you’re driving with one hand tight on the wheel and the other useless in your lap, vision swimming just enough to make the headlights stretch and smear. You don’t pull over. You don’t slow down. You just keep going, letting the hurt sit where it landed.
Because if you stop, you might think too hard about what he said.
About how easily he said it.
Back in the lot, Steve is still standing where you left him.
The floodlights hum. Gravel shifts under boots as the others move around him, talking in low, urgent bursts he barely hears. Your gun is heavy in his hands, colder than it should be.
summary: first kiss, first love, first heartbreak. you and steve have never been good at doing things for the first time, not unless you're together. yet there are certain types of tension that not even the strongest friendship can bear, and after years of distance you two can't help but wonder if there's a possibility that all those firsts were only leading you towards forever.
childhood friends to lovers | loser!steve harrington x popular!reader | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.
word count: 22.8k
warnings: this one shot and the content i write are +18, minors do NOT interact. | inexperienced!steve x inexperienced!reader, protected p in v., oral (f receiving) | slut shaming, a bit of body shaming, mentions of heavy discomfort and insecurity around sex.
[dividers by @cafekitsune]
February 1980.
Steve was almost stomping on his way back home. This is why he didn’t do Valentine’s Day; he wasn’t popular enough, he wasn’t cool enough or handsome enough for this kind of celebration. And now that he had to wear these stupid glasses, he was doomed to be alone forever.
‘Steve!’ He heard you shout behind him. ‘Wait!’
‘Not now, Needy.’
‘Hey, asshole!’ You hit his arm as you manage to keep up with him. ‘Don’t call me that.’
He softly laughed under his breath at the annoying sound of your voice. Yet when he looked back at you, he felt the painful thorn of jealousy twisting inside his stomach at the sight of the presents on your hands. You had three different cards, a box of chocolates and a bouquet of three red roses.
Maybe the last one was the most painful to see, because he knew you had gotten it from Peter Callahan, who was three years older than you. No one at school could believe that he had actually given you a Valentine’s Day present at the parking lot after class, especially because you had been so cringey and obvious about your crush from the start. Steve couldn’t help but notice that even Nancy Wheeler had been shocked, staring at the strange exchange between you and the High School boy, because he was too focused on the way she held hands with Jonathan Byers next to the school’s entrance.
‘Sorry.’ He said feeling the jealousy rising on his chest again as he thought about the undelivered envelope hidden in his backpack, with Nancy’s name on top, and three handwritten little words on the card inside that he’d never be able to say out loud to her. ‘I’m in a weird mood.’
You stayed silent for a few seconds as you and Steve walked together to your street’s direction. The sound of the plastic wrapped around the little bouquet annoyed him, as well as the clink of the little heart locket that hung from your neck. It was as unbearable as the sound of your steps, of your breath next to him. Maybe the thing that annoyed him the most was that your worried eyes were fixed on him, and he could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks as he tried to walk faster.
‘I’m sorry about Nancy.’ You finally said.
He rolled his eyes at you, shaking his head as he looked away towards the street.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He still couldn’t face you as he turned into his house’s porch, and you followed behind.
‘Steve.’
‘Do you always have to follow me?’ He snapped, turning back in front of his house’s door. ‘Like seriously, don’t you have any other friends?’
‘No.’ you said crossing your arms over your chest. ‘Neither do you, Steve.’
‘Are we doomed to be unpopular losers forever?’ He complained once he opened the door.
You rolled your eyes at his dramatism as you shut the door behind you while he climbed the stairs of the empty house. As usual, you followed him, hearing the echoes of your steps while you walked down the hallway that led to his room.
He heard you release a sigh when he threw his glasses on the bed before he jumped on it, pressing his face against the mattress as he let out a sound of annoyance.
‘Steve, stop being dramatic.’ You said. ‘We’re not unpopular and we’re not losers. We’re just fourteen. Nobody’s happy at fourteen, look at Joan of Arc.’
‘She was supposed to be in the library after second period.’ His voice was choked by the pillow under his head as he complained. ‘I was going to hide the card inside her copy of The Scarlet Letter.’
‘How romantic.’ You said under your breath as you sat down next to him.
‘It would’ve been romantic.’ He said with his face still against the pillow. ‘It was a letter hidden inside a book about letters.’
‘Oh.’ You said before you repressed a laugh. ‘Steve that’s not—’
‘But you wanna know why she wasn’t at the library?’ He said as he sat up. ‘Because Jonathan Byers left a note inside her locker! I heard Barbara when she was telling Carol during lunch. They were making out in the second-floor toilets.’
You made a face of revulsion as you sat better next to him, and he rubbed his eyes with his hands in frustration.
‘Steve, that’s disgusting.’
‘Disgusting?’ He repeated as he looked back at you. ‘It’s genius! Nobody ever checks the second-floor toilets. Ever.’
‘Yeah, but there’s nothing romantic about making out in the same place people go to pee.’ You said as you searched for his eyes.
‘It’s easy for you to say that, look at all the shit you got!’ He said pointing out at the little pile of presents you had left on his desk.
‘Steve.’ You said looking back at him seriously. ‘Most of the cards are from the seventh graders I’ve tutored this year. And well, yes, I guess I got some nice chocolates from Tommy, but he was very mean about it… He’s always so mean to me.’
Steve sat better on the bed to look back at you seriously, hands resting on your shoulders as he spoke slowly.
‘Needy, a High School guy gave you flowers in front of everyone.’ He said, mortified. ‘And not just any guy, but Peter Callahan. Captain of the basketball team, president of the class…’
‘…Boyfriend of Patricia Solari.’ You shook your head softly.
‘What?’
A smile of pity took over your face as you looked back at him.
‘Steve, Peter doesn’t have a crush on me. He’s seventeen, he’s on his way to college and he’s dating the head cheerleader. Our parents are friends.’ You shrugged. ‘Pat volunteers at the animal shelter with my sister sometimes and I think she mentioned my annoying crush on Peter once and…’
Steve observed the way you looked down at your hands while you bit the inside of your cheek.
‘Patty knows I’ve been having a hard time at school, Steve. She heard Carol call me Needy once at the mall. She just wanted to do something nice for me.’
‘Carol called you Needy?’ Steve’s eyebrows arched at the idea of someone else calling you by the nickname he had given you as his hands fell on your sides. He also knew Carol could be worse that mean sometimes, he had been the target of her practical jokes many times.
‘Promise you won’t tell anyone.’ You asked anxiously as you looked back at him. ‘I don’t need people know that I get pity Valentine’s flowers.’
Steve shook his head softly as he considered this new piece of information, feeling the heat rushing to his face for completely different reasons before he lifted his eyes.
‘Of course I won’t tell anyone, Needy.’ He said softly, then he opened his lips to say something, and he seemed to think about it for a second. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll stop calling you that from now on.’
‘I don’t mind it.’ You shrugged then as you sat closer to him. ‘I actually like it, it’s kinda sweet. I just don’t like it when you’re mean about it.’
Steve took a deep breath as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. He felt the heat rushing to his face as you stood up to walk towards his desk, grabbing the heart-shaped tin of chocolates that Tommy H. had given you today.
‘Right.’ He murmured as you sat next to him. ‘I’ll try not to be mean about it.’
You didn’t say anything else as you opened the tin, instead you just offered him a white chocolate truffle in the shape of a heart as a sign of peace. He took it gladly, taking it to his mouth while you both tasted the sugary, rich texture of the chocolate in silence.
‘If it makes you feel better, Nancy’s got no dignity anyways.’ You said after a while. ‘I wouldn’t make out inside a school toilet even if it was with Peter Callahan.’
‘That’s mean.’ He said, but he was smiling as he took another truffle.
‘I’m just being honest.’ You shook your head as you sat straight next to him. ‘My sister told me a good make out session is all about the time and place. She said that if you get any of those wrong then it can end up being gross.’
‘Hmm.’ He let out a sound of resignation as his eyes got lost on something in the distance. ‘There’s no way I will ever know anyways. Especially now that I’ve got to wear glasses. I’m going to die a virgin.’
‘Oh, Steve, please.’ You rolled your eyes as you extended your hand over his bedsheets to grab the supposedly horrendous glasses. He rested his chin on his hand as his elbow sat on his flexed knee while you cleaned the spectacles with the hem of your skirt. ‘Come here.’
He didn’t move as you carefully placed the glasses over his ears, pushing softly so the bridge would rest over his nose. His eyes stayed on you as your hands hovered on either side of his face, your concentrated stare fixed on the frames before it fell back on his eyes.
‘There we go.’ You said under your breath as a soft smile took over your pretty face.
‘I look like such a nerd.’ He whispered, insecurity overflowing his tone as he looked away. He hated himself as soon as he said it, as soon as you started shaking your head.
‘You look smart.’ You said, trying to search for his eyes. ‘You look like… like Peter Parker or Clark Kent! And even those guys got laid at some point.’
‘If you say so.’ He said sadly.
‘Well, one thing they didn’t do was sit around and feel sorry for themselves, Steve.’ He looked back at you as you crossed your arms over your chest and sat back. ‘You can’t be one of those boys that think everything is about sex. I won’t let you.’
He considered your words as he sat straight, placing his hands over his knees, blushing once again. God, he hated when you lectured him. He hated when you made him blush.
‘It’s not about sex.’ He murmured before shrugging. ‘I guess I just…’
He saw the way you lifted your eyebrows as you waited patiently for him.
‘I’ve liked Nancy my whole life,’ He nervously played with the sleeve of his sweater as he sat closer to you. ‘And it sucks that she doesn’t even look at me, you know? But I also feel that everyone in our grade is constantly talking about kissing and making out and touching and I haven’t experienced any of that. And I feel shitty about it, Needy.’
A few seconds of silence passed, and he finally looked at you when the embarrassment became too unbearable. You were lost in your thoughts, looking at the patterns of his patchwork bedsheets while you bit the inside of your cheek.
‘I get that.’ You admitted softly. ‘I always feel like… I’m destined to live a life where nobody chooses me or something.’
‘Nah.’ He murmured softly. When you lifted your eyes, he was smiling sincerely as he sat straight next to you. ‘S different for girls. You know that. Also, I’ve got faith that’ll you’ll eventually outgrow your annoying phase. You can’t be needy forever.’
‘You’re such an asshole.’ You said under your breath as you pushed his shoulder with yours, but he seized the opportunity to wrap his arms on your side and embrace you into a hug.
The occasions where you and Steve touched were rare. Not only were you respectful of each other’s space in that awkward and almost cruel way so common during puberty, but there was a certain self-consciousness that didn’t allow you two to do the things that came so easily when you were younger. It seemed that at some point between turning eleven and now, hugging had become an abnormality that only took place on birthdays, after reluctant apologies or as a way to appease the effects of a mean joke.
Yet this time it was different. Maybe it was the silence that followed, that felt so mature and unknown. When you rested your head against his shoulder it didn’t feel embarrassing but natural, because it was only then that the weight of your shared loneliness fell in between you and him. It was a pure moment of fully mutual understanding.
‘Needy.’ He called softly.
You sat straight almost immediately, worry taking over your eyes as if such a little gesture would ruin your friendship forever. So needy. It almost tendered him, but he couldn’t say it out loud because he knew you’d call him arrogant. He knew it’d make you feel insecure. He liked that, that you were so careful, that you were so needy. Needy, needy, needy.
You seemed to relax when he kept his hand on your shoulder, inexperienced fingers rubbing softly over the sleeve of your pink knitted sweater as he looked back at you.
‘What’s that thing you sister said?’ He asked softly. ‘About time and place?’
‘Oh.’ You hid your hands in between your knees as all trace of worry dissipated from your face. ‘She said that make out sessions are all about where and when. Of course, that depends on what people like. For example, she said she doesn’t like to do it at the movies because it gives her a false sense of intimacy, because it’s dark but there’s still people around you.’
‘Hm.’ He considered it for a second before he looked back at you. ‘What do you think about that?’
‘Me?’ You asked softly before he nodded. ‘I don’t know. I guess I agree. I don’t mind the when so much, but I do think I wouldn’t be able to enjoy myself if I feel like I might get caught. What do you think?’
Steve’s strokes on your arm stopped for a second as he wondered. He had imagined his first kiss on so many occasions that at this point he didn’t think too much about the little details surrounding the event. He just wanted to be kissed, touched, liked.
‘I don’t think I care about the when or where as much as I worry about the who.’ He said softly.
You nodded once.
‘My sister did mention something about that. She said that…’ Your hands had lifted to play with the little heart locket that hung from the chain on your neck. Steve’s lips lifted softly as he looked back at you, sitting more confidently. ‘She said that when it comes to physical stuff it’s just better to do it with people you trust at first, rather than people you just like. I think about that a lot, especially when I get scared.’
‘Scared?’ He frowned as he leaned back slightly before he whispered softly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I guess I get self-conscious very easily.’ You shrugged as you looked away for a second, because you just couldn’t look back at him while you spoke about this. ‘I don’t want to feel like I’m being taken advantage of just because I don’t know what I’m doing. Or I’m just…’ Your voice turned very small as you swallowed hard, and Steve thought your eyes were turning glossy before you blinked quickly. ‘Kind of terrified that I might not be assertive enough to say no if somebody tries to force me into something.’
Steve swallowed hard at your confession, and he couldn’t help but keep rubbing your arm, this time a bit purposely as he felt himself soften inside.
‘You’re right.’ He whispered. ‘That does sound scary. But it doesn’t have to be that way.’
‘I just don’t want it to suck.’ You said in a tone of resignation as you looked down at your hands.
‘It won’t.’ He smiled down at you as you bit your lip, unsure of his words.
‘How do you know?’ He could feel that you were fighting the need of rolling your eyes at him.
Steve shrugged as he felt a sudden rush of confidence taking over him.
‘I just do.’ He simply said. ‘You’re pretty, you smell nice, you look like a good kisser.’ He shrugged again. ‘You’re needy. Guys like that.’
You finally rolled your eyes at him, shaking your head as he pulled you in for another side hug. He didn’t know where all this sudden need to have you closer to his body was coming from, but his skin was warm, and you did smell good, and he liked it when you got mad at him.
‘What if they don’t?’ You said after a while. Your head had once again found its place on his shoulder and Steve discovered that if he leaned closer to you, you could lay more comfortably under his neck. ‘What if I suck? Or worse, what if I’m good at it but I become so needy nobody wants me?’
‘Needy.’
‘Exactly.’
‘No, Needy,’ Steve said as he leaned back so you’d look back at him. You looked dead worried as his hands soothingly rubbed your shoulders and he nodded once. ‘Stay still. Breathe.’
You did as he said, following the pace in which he was rubbing your forearm on each side of your body as your breathing pattern turned slower. You felt calmer, as he looked back at you, as he studied your face, staring at your partly opened mouth. Maybe it was the sudden air of maturity that had pierced you that afternoon like one of cupid’s arrows, making you feel much more lucid now that you sat this close to him.
‘I guess it makes sense,’ You admitted softly as you studied his face too. Steve had a pretty mouth, his lips were plump, maybe a bit needy too. ‘Right?’
‘As long as you trust me.’ He said softly, looking for your eyes. ‘Do you?’
‘Yeah.’ You subtly tilted your head to your side as you searched for his eyes. ‘Of course I do.’
Steve nodded once, observing your face for a second to make sure that you still wanted this. Or maybe to give you time to change your mind if you wished to.
You didn’t seem to give any signs that you were going to, so one of his hands climbed down over the fabric of your sweater to hold the wrist you rested on the bed. He leaned in slowly, unsure of his movements, of the air in between you two. He wanted you to know that his intentions were good and harmless, that he wanted you to feel nice.
‘I just want a kiss, okay?’ Steve whispered when you closed your eyes. His nose was brushing yours and you looked so pretty, so ready. His heart was beating so hard he could hear it bumping against his ears. ‘Maybe two.’
His mouth clashed softly against the little smile that his last words had managed to steal from you. He wanted to be tender, but he didn’t really know how to, so all he could do after a few seconds of warmth was lean back again.
It caught him off guard when your hand fell on the collar of his neck, keeping him there, not too far and not too close from you as you stared at each other.
‘That was barely a peck.’ You whispered. It wasn’t an accusation, and you weren’t teasing him. It had just never occurred to him that you wanted to experience the full thing with him. Something neither of you how to do, or what it looked like or how it felt. ‘Should we try…?’
‘We can try.’ He said a bit too quick as he sat better on the bed. Your hand was still holding his sweater, and he wanted it there for as long as this kept going. ‘Let’s try.’
You nodded once. This time your eyes stayed open as you pulled him in, looking from his mouth to his pupils as he waited for your warm lips.
Steve tried not to overthink when your lips were on his again. This time you moved your mouth a bit more, catching his lower lip first, then the upper one. It was wet in a good way, in an irresistible way. He couldn’t help but sigh deeply as he felt you open your mouth, like women did in the movies, and he thought it’d be a good idea to maybe embrace you a bit tighter.
His nervous hand rested against your waist, but he didn’t dare to move it anywhere. Higher would be too close to your chest, lower would be too close to your hip. Instead, he just used it as a soft spot to hold on to while he leaned in a bit closer, tilting his head slowly before you decided where you wanted him. Your other hand seemed to respond his question when it came to rest behind his neck, stroking the hair there before you sighed deeply.
Steve pushed his nerves aside then, he tried to remind himself to stay conscious, to pay attention to your reactions, as his tongue first stroked the little gap in between your lips. He felt the effect of this seemingly small gesture everywhere in his body, feeling the blood rushing to find shelter in every single space it could find. He was sweating a little too, but he didn’t get the time to feel embarrassed because your tongue was peeking out of its hiding place too, playing with his in an almost flirty manner that he would’ve never thought you’d be capable of.
There were little sounds of wetness, the results of your shared inexperienced that you tried to ignore. Still, when you both managed to get used to the odd yet melting sensation of each other’s tongues, there was space for a more slow-paced tenderness so improper of your age. You cupped his cheeks and brushed his cheekbone with your thumb, he fisted the fabric of your sweater when you attempted to lean back. It was all there, alive and throbbing in between you two for a second, and then it vanished just as quickly when you had to grasp for air.
February 1983.
‘What are you doing here, weirdo?’ Your voice startled Steve when you walked inside the tent. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’
He looked back at you, eyes peaking over his book as his glasses rested on his nose. The lantern your mom had given you for the trip was next to his face, illuminating the pages he was reading and his blushed face as he seemed to be hiding from your gaze.
‘I just wanted some quiet.’ He simply said before resuming his reading.
‘Steve, everyone out there is about to get drunk and you here reading… what?’ You said, trying to read the cover of the book. ‘What is that?’
He then lifted the book to show you the cover of the novel he was reading, the title wasn’t what got your attention really, it was Stephen King’s name what made you roll your eyes at him.
‘Very on theme.’ You said before kicking his leg over the sleeping bag. ‘C’mon. Out. Now.’
‘I really don’t feel like drinking tonight, Needy.’ He admitted softly as he placed his bookmark back on the page.
‘What!’ You zipped the door of the tent behind you before you looked back at him as if he was insane. ‘Steve, Joyce Byers is fast asleep as we speak, and Principal Hopper won’t be here until tomorrow morning. This is our only chance to do something like this in the middle of nowhere, what is wrong with you?’
‘I just…’ He rubbed his eyes with his hands as he took a deep breath, ‘I just don’t feel excited anymore, Needy.’
He saw the way you looked away half worried, half disappointed as you crossed your arms over your chest. It was cold out there, the oversized turtleneck you wore over your leggings made you look so cozy. He didn’t understand why you wanted so badly to get drunk out there where it was damp and freezing while you could just simply stay here with him.
‘Is this about Jonathan and Nancy?’ You finally said.
‘What?’
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’ You looked back at him seriously. ‘S not like they’ve been trying to hide their lovey-dovey PDA since they got here. How long has it been anyways, four years?’
‘They’re turning three years together today.’
‘Oh my god.’ You let out a growl of frustration as you tapped your foot on the ground. ‘You keep count?’
‘Well, ‘s not like it’s easy to forget. It’s Valentine’s Day, Needy.’
‘You need to get over this girl, Steve.’
‘I am over her.’ He sat up then, crossing his arms over his knees as he looked back at you. ‘That’s not the reason why I don’t want to go out there.’
You didn’t believe him, and he knew it. He still sat behind her in class, you had caught him staring at her neck many times during the last three years as you moved from middle school to high school together. You had witnessed his attempts to establish an honest friendship with her, but Nancy’s receptiveness only seemed to hurt Steve more, because he would never be able to be just friends with Nancy Wheeler.
‘So, why not then?’ You asked softly as you moved to sit next to him. He let you make yourself comfortable inside the little tent as you searched for his eyes, and he thought about what to say. ‘What is it?’
Steve shrugged softly. ‘What it always is. Everyone out there ‘s doing fun stuff and I feel awkward and weird, like I’m never going to fit in.’
‘But you do fit in.’ You murmured as you searched for his eyes, but Steve felt too embarrassed to look back at you right then. ‘I promise you; people are not thinking about it as much as you are.’
‘No, Needy.’ He shook his head softly before looking back at you. ‘You fit in. You’ve got guys like Dylan Dunn asking you on dates and girls like, Danielle Parkinson asking you for help with the yearbook and I don’t even know which college I want to go…’
‘Steve.’ Your hand fell on his shoulder as you searched for his eyes, and he felt so lost. So confused.
Your hand climbed down over his sweater to land on his hand, and you squeezed his fingers with yours, they were cold. He still didn’t know why you wanted to go out there when it was so warm and safe in here.
‘Can you just stay with me tonight?’ He asked softly as he brushed your hand with his fingers. ‘I’ll join whatever you ask me to join next time. I’ll go to one of those parties at Billy Hargrove’s house even if that means I might get punched on the face again.’
You shook your head as you let out a silly laugh, laying back over the sleeping bag as you pulled your sleeves over your hands. He felt more relaxed when he realised you were staying, hearing the noises of teenage excitement in the distance as he laid down next to you.
‘You know, High School hasn’t been what I thought it would be like for me either.’ You whispered softly as you looked up at the tent’s ceiling. ‘And I can’t believe it’ll be over in just a few months.’
He shrugged before looking back at you. The light of the lantern illuminated your profile subtly, and out there, under all the laughs of the drunk teenagers, he could hear the noise of the crickets.
‘I think you’ve done pretty well.’ He said softly. ‘Better than me, at least. People talk about you.’
‘People call me needy.’ You said annoyed as you turned on your side to face him, but you couldn’t look back at him, playing with your sleeves while he breathed next to you.
‘So?’ He said softly. ‘Don’t be silly, I know you haven’t done any of that stuff.’
‘Still.’ You shook your head. ‘Steve, it’s so embarrassing. I’m not that needy, am I?’
‘Sometimes.’ He said under a smile that turned into a laugh as you let out a frustrated sigh.
Steve’s arms caught you before you could even attempt to turn your back to him, and you let him hug you from your side while still playing nervously with your hands.
‘I’m just joking.’ He whispered before kissing your scalp. ‘Don’t be silly, they don’t know you.’
You hummed softly as your body melted into his, searching for his warmth as your head hid in his neck. Needy like only he knew you could be. And he wrapped his arm around you, because Steve had learned that when it came to these things, it never harmed your friendship when he cured that touch starvation you seemed to suffer from. And you weren’t selfish with it, if anything the hand that had climbed to stroke the hairs of his neck was calming his anxiety too.
‘Is it always going to be like this?’ He whispered softly over your scalp. ‘Is she ever going to see me?’
‘I don’t know, Steve.’ You said in the same tone as your arm hugged him tighter. He wondered how you knew that he needed it so much. ‘Maybe one day.’
Steve’s only response was to hug you closer to him, to stroke your back, to hum softly as someone out there shouted drunk words.
‘Do you remember our first kiss?’ He smiled fondly at the memory as he rested his cheek on your head. Softly, you laughed under his embrace. He loved that you remembered it as tenderly as he did, that he could mention it so casually and get a warm reaction in return. There were no secrets between you and him, the kiss had never made things weird. You had been just two innocent kids doing innocent things, it was as simple as that.
‘I do.’ You said softly. ‘Nobody I know has a first kiss story as good as us.’
His smile turned wider at your words, and he couldn’t help but leave another soft kiss on your scalp before taking a deep breath. You smelled good, always good. Always like you.
‘I wish things could be as easy as they were back then.’ He admitted in a whisper. ‘No pressure. No rumours. No bullshit. Just harmless fun.’
You both stayed silent for a while as he kept stroking your back, noticing your breathing pattern, wondering if you were tired. He wanted to keep talking to you, this was your last school trip before graduation in July. Then you’d be gone for college, and he’d be stuck here or maybe away on a different state. Who knew.
‘I mean they could be.’ You murmured under his embrace. ‘If you want to.’
‘What do you mean?’
There was a different kind of spark in your eyes when you leaned back to have a look at him, something serious and yet sweetly familiar overflowing from your gaze while your hands landed on his chest.
‘My sister gave me some condoms. Just in case.’ You shrugged shyly. ‘I thought I might get a chance to use them with Dylan, but…’
Steve stayed quiet as you shrugged again, unable to finish your sentence as you played with the collar of his sweater. He took the liberty of lifting a hand to cup your chin in between his thumb and his index finger, so you’d look back at him.
‘I don’t know?’ Your voice was so small, so low, that everything in him felt weak. ‘I rather use them with you.’
‘As long as you still trust me.’ He rested his forehead against yours then, you were smiling softly as you looked up back at him, feeling the warmth of your skin underneath the layers.
‘What kind of question is that?’ You rolled your eyes as you moved a bit higher up so your faces could be at the same level. ‘Do you still remember how to kiss me?’
He let out an arrogant laugh as he cupped your face, stealing a quick peck from your mouth that got you following his lips as he leaned back teasingly.
‘I’ve actually gotten better at it, Needy.’ He whispered against your mouth. ‘I’ve learned a thing or two since the last time.’
‘Hm.’ You hummed softly as you shut your eyes. ‘Show me?’
Steve slowly took in the image of your pretty face, eyes closed and mouth partly open as he cupped your face with both of his hands. He knew it took a lot more than just attraction to stay so still and so ready for someone, it took trust, it took comfort to be able to be so vulnerable.
His kiss was wet from the beginning. He had made out with a few girls here and there throughout the last years, but he had never known someone else’s mouth so well to be able to explore dominance as he wanted to do it with you.
It was just much easier; it had always been. You melted quickly under his touch, you let him lick your lower lip before his tongue could wander inside. You opened your mouth, yeah, but now you also let out the smallest sounds as he kissed you. Your body had a life of its own, pulling him closer, wrapping a leg on top of his hip. Needy. He just loved it.
Your hands sneaked inside his sweater first, cold skin burning against his hot chest as your tongue stroked his.
‘M so cold.’ You whispered needily under his mouth.
‘S alright, Needy, I’ve got you.’ Steve cooed as his head hid inside your neglected neck. His mouth was messy and hungry as he left wet kisses under your jaw, next to your ear, hands overwhelmed at everything they could potentially touch underneath your clothes. ‘M gonna get you so ready, and then we’re gonna fuck and I promise ‘s gonna be nice and sweet. ‘S that want you want, babe?’
‘Yeah.’ You moaned softly as your hands stroked his hair and you kissed his ear clumsily. ‘That’swhatIwant.‘S exactly what I want.’
He swallowed hard, leaning back slowly, stare falling from your mouth to your lust-filled eyes while something sweet twisted inside him. Steve wondered then, as you looked back at him, how often other people got to share something this pure with another person. The freedom of being embarrassing, clumsy, of not knowing what to do or where to go.
‘Guide me, yeah?’ He said as his hands wrapped around your waist and his nose brushed against yours. He had to close his eyes as he felt the heat rush to his face. ‘Where can I touch?’
‘I-I don’t know.’ You said softly, he could feel you panting under his palm. ‘Anywhere?’
‘Guide me.’ He said again as he shook his head. ‘I’ll touch where you want me to touch.’
Your choky breath echoed through his ears when you placed your hands on his wrists, guiding him through corners of your body that other guys that had absently rubbed or touched with greedy indifference before. His warm, big palms followed your lead as you guided him towards your covered breasts, that he cupped just briefly, eyes still closed, before you directed him lower down. Steve’s hands savoured the curves of your hips before he felt your palm rest on his fingers, guiding them towards your butt while you led his other hand to the warmth in between your legs.
He let out a deep breath when he was able to cup that sweet heat with more confidence, with curiosity. You moaned softly at this simple gesture, and he could feel you turning hotter under his touch, he wondered if you were wet, brain full of stupid horny questions: How much, how sticky, how tasty. His mind filled with obscene thoughts of what he could do to you; what you could do to him, things he had seen in adult movies, things he had thought about in bed, products of his teenage imagination and dirty creativity. He had to take a deep, slow breath before he could get too ahead of himself.
‘Let’s get you naked.’ He painted softly as he pecked your mouth desperately. ‘Before I lose my goddamn mind.’
In a difference instance maybe you would’ve laughed, but instead you let out a sound as desperate as his request. In clumsy movements, you both started getting rid of your clothes. Sweaters falling on the sides of the tiny tent, bottoms ending next to the zipped door. Steve’s glasses were probably the only accessory that was placed neatly next to the lantern before he was pulling your jaw to his face.
He was mesmerized by it all as you whimpered under him: your mismatched underwear, the unshaved corners of your skin, the little scars and moles you had collected throughout the years.
‘Shhh, Needy!’ He whispered against your mouth as his hands wandered from your stomach up to your breasts, stroking them softly before diving his face in them. He was laughing softly over your skin as you whimpered again, unable to concentrate by how turned on you were.
‘I can’t be quiet.’ You said in a half whisper, half moan; then you arched your back when you felt his hands searching blindly for the clasps of your bra.
‘Why?’ He whispered against your skin as he tried to work out the hooks. ‘Are you very needy? Are you needy for me?’
You bit your lip as your hands found his under your back, clumsily unclasping the garment before you threw it away. You were needy, you just were maybe too proud or too horny to admit it. He loved it, smiling against your neck as he left a trace of kisses down to your chest, starting on your clavicles and ending on your perky nipples. He took them into his mouth with greedy intent, making them wet with his tongue, cupping them with his hands. God, he wanted them all to himself. He wanted you all to himself.
Another choky whimper left your mouth when his kisses went even lower. There wasn’t a lot of space on the tent as he sat on his knees to have a better look at you, and he could’ve sworn that for the shortest second, he could hear steps outside.
He was smiling softly when he hovered over your partly naked body, about to tell you that you’d might need to cover your mouth with something if you kept being this loud.
‘Can you wear your glasses?’ The smile fell off his face as you looked at him with arched eyebrows and the neediest, most delicious lustful look on your eyes.
‘What?’ He said with a dumb smile.
‘I like how they look on you.’ You pleaded softly as your hands climbed up his chest. ‘Put them on.’
‘No.’ He laughed softly as he dived his head on your neck, he could fell the goosebumps on your arms when he rubbed the skin there. ‘They’ll get in the way.’
‘Put them on!’ You protested before he choked your scream with his hand.
‘Shhhh!’ He was supposed to be mad, but you were laughing under his hand, and it was contagious. ‘Needy, what the fuck.’
‘Put them on.’ You whispered before you pouted at him.
‘But I hate them.’ He murmured as he cupped your cheeks, then he had a look at your lips, at your chest. He couldn’t believe this was finally happening. ‘This is not how I want to remember it.’
You tilted your head as you looked back at him, the amused stare from before turning softer as you pondered about his words.
‘How do you want to remember it?’
He shrugged before he placed a soft kiss on your shoulder, unable to resist the temptation of rubbing his cheek against it right after.
‘Nice. Hot. Sweet.’ He whispered before he squeezed your side. ‘At the very least like a night where I made the lucky girl feel good.’
‘Lucky?’
‘Can you cut me some slack, Needy? I’m a little nervous here.’
Your laugh was softer this time. He stayed still as you extended your arm to unzip one of the pockets of your bag. Steve could feel the beating of his heart hard against his chest as the silence was filled with the plastic sound of the square-shaped packets you took out of it.
‘There’s no need to be nervous.’ You murmured before he felt your mouth kiss his nose. ‘We’re doing this together.’
He nodded softly, then he took a few seconds to himself before his hand took the condom from your hand.
In silent curiosity you and Steve observed each other’s movements inside the little tent. There was chatter and a bit of music in the distance, but here the air in between you two was filled with tense expectation. He let you pull down your underwear on your own time while he secured the condom, your anxious eyes more focused that the thing was properly placed rather than worrying over his size or shape.
‘Ready?’ He whispered nervously when you two went back to the previous position of you underneath and him on top.
‘Yeah.’ You replied in the same breathless tone.
In dreams or fantasies, you both had imagined it differently, not so quiet and not so awkward and not so rigid. In the tense seconds that followed, you and Steve discovered the importance of a communication that went beyond words and required the outmost attention from each other. You helped him to find the right hole by guiding him gently, and for that you had to make the bold move of actually holding his dick with your hand. Then he had to learn to put his thoughts aside as he pushed himself softly, consciously reading the reactions of your face and body to cause you the minimal discomfort possible.
‘Does it hurt?’ He asked sadly when he saw you flinch. He could feel his dick getting softer at the prospect of hurting you and yet he wanted to be as ready for you as you were for him.
‘No.’ you said softly when you saw him swallow hard. ‘No, sorry it’s just a bit… weird. Maybe it’s the angle, let me just—’
As soon as you arched your back and lifted your knees on either side of you, he was able to feel the difference instantly, now you were giving him more room for him to apply some gentle pressure. He could feel the insides of your pussy, something quite fleshy that stretched the more he pushed, he just wasn’t sure.
‘Am I doing this right?’ He whispered to himself.
‘Yes.’ You said softly as you searched for his face. ‘I think so.’
‘You think so?’ He asked with amused insecurity as he leaned back.
‘Why don’t we—’ You took a deep breath as he tried to push himself once again. ‘Why don’t we just kiss? While you do that?’
‘Okay.’ He said softly, his hair brushed your forehead when he nodded, before he leaned in. Something about it felt sexy, filling his lower stomach with a sickly-sweet feeling that extended over his body when his mouth clashed against yours.
He felt you sigh under his mouth; he felt you repressing your moan as your socked feet crossed behind his lower back. It was soft, cute, needy. You seemed so receptive under him that he ventured to push himself a bit deeper, and it was as if the walls of your pussy were opening just for him, giving him a glimpse of that smooth, soaked place full of warmth that he couldn’t wait to fuck fully.
You let out a choked breath when he finally did, and he kissed you harder, growling against your mouth as he stayed buried deeply inside you before he got the nerve to start moving again. Your walls squeezed him, your tongue spoiled him, he wasn’t going to last long but he wished that it’d lasted forever.
He felt your pretty hand searching for something in between your bodies, and he had to break the kiss to look back at you. His eyes looked down at the obscene picture of his dick getting lost inside you, of your fingers drawing circles over your clit. He almost choked on his breath when he felt the unannounced orgasm approaching while you breathed hard against his ear. He was sweating on top of you, loving it all and hating that it was ending already.
‘Steve.’ You moaned softly as your knees shook next to his hips. His hand was squeezing the side of your waist a bit too tough, but he was trying so hard not to—
‘Shit.’ He said under his breath, placing his forehead on your temple as he could feel his release feeling the condom. ‘Shit, Needy. What the fuck, babe.’
February 1986.
‘I can’t believe you’ve driven all the way home for this.’ Your sister said as she tightened the silky corset of your dress. You stood still as she tied the ribbons over your skirt.
‘Well, I got an invitation, so…’ You said as you turned back to face her. ‘How do I look?’
‘Like you’re insane.’ She said crossing her arms over her chest. ‘I can’t believe you’re about to crash this wedding.’
‘You can’t crash a wedding you’re invited to.’ You said rolling your eyes.
Your sister let out a sigh of frustration as you walked towards the closest mirror to fix your hair. You didn’t exactly look bridesmaid hot, but you looked decent enough to be considered an attractive last-minute guest.
‘I’m pretty sure they just invited me as a seat filler.’ You said as you grabbed your mother’s earrings from the little dish over her vanity. ‘You simply don’t send an invite three days before the main event unless someone else has cancelled.’
‘Wrong.’ Your sister said while you put the jewellery on. ‘You simply don’t send a wedding invite to someone you haven’t spoken to in three years.’
‘I mean we went to school together, and Steve and I were pretty close at some point.’ You shrugged. ‘I think it’s sweet they thought about me.’
The scoff you sister let out made you lift your eyes at her, she was shaking her head as she looked through the window of your parents’ bedroom with her arms still crossed.
‘Aren’t you nervous?’ She turned back to look at you. ‘I mean, you must be a little nervous. You should have a shot of tequila before leaving.’
You let out a snorty laugh as you frowned at her.
‘Don’t be silly, why should I be nervous?’ You said walking towards the bed where your suitcase rested open. You took your coat out of it as you shook your head with a smile on your face. ‘It’s been years now; I don’t think Steve even remembers.’
‘You don’t think he remembers?’ This time she was the one who laughed, and her semblance finally managed to make you feel a bit nervous. ‘You think a shy guy like Steve would not remember that he lost his virginity to the school’s hottest girl?’
‘I wasn’t the hottest.’ You said putting your coat around you, your eyes focusing on the buttons on the front so you wouldn’t look back at her. ‘I was… something worse than that.’
‘Oh, please!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘So, you fucked a few guys during High School, and they gave you a nickname, big deal. My point still stands.’
‘So does mine.’ You said taking a silver purse out of the suitcase. All this interrogation was making your body temperature raise as you put the few belongings you’d need tonight inside the purse. ‘Steve’s… different. People like him don’t change. He was obsessed with Nancy Wheeler and now he’s marrying her. And you think he’s gonna give a shit about fucking The Needy once?’
Your sister shook her head once again before she looked back at you.
‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’ She finally said.
You put the silver chain of the purse over your shoulder before you stood in front of her.
‘You’re full of shit.’ You finally said with an amused semblance. ‘Are you still driving me?’
‘Of course, I am.’ She scoffed. ‘I need to know how this whole thing unfolds.’
Your sister’s words echoed through your mind as you watched the streets of Hawkins from the passenger seat. Aside from the mandatory holiday visits to your family two or three times a year, you barely came back home unless it was absolutely necessary. The town that had once been almost asphyxiating compared to the city where you went to college, was now looking like a juvenile and almost insignificant place in your eyes. Time had healed everything. Or most things, at least.
During these last three years, college had been kinder to you than it had been to most people. There you didn’t have to deal with the whispers of judgmental teenagers in the hallways, you didn’t have to look behind your shoulder when someone shouted some sort of obscene insult at you and everyone around pretended they didn’t hear it. But they knew you did, because you cared. You were so young it was impossible not to care this much about the boys who made promises just to fuck you and then spread the details all around the school. Or to care about the girlfriends you lost when their mothers labelled you as a bad influence, where are her parents? they said, but you didn’t want to tell them. You cared too much to make them feel embarrassed. You cared too much not to be deeply, impossibly hurt when your best friend started dating the girl of his dreams and he slowly faded away, Needy I have a girlfriend now, Steve said, I’m sorry I can’t hang out as much as we used to, Needy. I’m sorry, Needy. Needy, Needy, Needy.
‘We’re here.’ Your sister said when she stopped right outside the church. She was almost jumping ecstatically on the driver seat as her eyes were fixed on your face. ‘Good luck.’
You slowly unclasped the seatbelt, taking a deep breath as you shook your head at her delusional imagination.
‘Thanks.’ You said under your breath as you opened the door.
‘I’m gonna find somewhere to park.’ She said once you stepped out.
‘You don’t need to stay.’ You replied, standing next to the door.
‘Oh, I think I do.’ Her tone was condescending, but there was a glimpse of amusement under it that only years of sisterhood allowed you to detect. ‘I’ll stay around here somewhere.’
You rolled your eyes as you shut the door, turning around to face the lonely church. The foggy atmosphere so common in February made you wonder why Nancy and Steve would choose such a date to celebrate a wedding, the question rang a distant bell on your head.
It was Valentine’s Day, wasn’t it? It made sense, as far as romance could go you guessed it was a popular date to get married. Maybe they had gotten engaged one day like this, a year or two ago. You’d find out later, maybe through the whispers of a teary bridesmaid or through the best man’s speech.
The idea itself seemed absurd for a second. You stopped on your tracks right in front of the church’s doors, What exactly were you doing here? You didn’t know this people. You hadn’t spoken to Steve since graduation, and Nancy had at most shared a few civilized words with you here and there when they started dating right after she dumped Jonathan Byers. You had no right to be here.
‘Oh my god.’ Someone next to you whispered before you realised you were pulled aside. ‘You made it.’
‘Nancy?’ You asked mortified as you looked at the dark circles under her pale eyes. The anxiety rushed to your chest when your eyes fell on her clothes: a long, old, knitted thing covered her waist while she wore leggings and slippers. ‘W-Wha—’
‘I didn’t think you’d come.’ She murmured, her eyes turning glossy as they looked back at you. Your first instinct was to place your hands on her shoulders, wondering if maybe you should offer her your coat. She looked sick, she looked miserable.
‘Nancy, what’s going on?’ You asked softly as she started crying. ‘W-Where’s everyone?’
Nancy looked at something behind your shoulder before she pulled you into a partly open door where you assumed she had been before. Your eyes lingered around the room once you were inside, hearing the door close behind you as you looked at what seemed to be the kind of scene a bride would encounter before her wedding ceremony: a little vanity where products of makeup and skincare were scattered, a few suitcases, a gorgeous white tulle dress hanging on a rack.
‘Do you need help?’ You asked cluelessly as you searched for other people in the room, but it was just the two of you. ‘Where are your bridesmaids? Where’s your mom?’
‘The wedding…’ She tried to say, but she seemed to be about to hyperventilate next to the door and you didn’t have the heart to be impatient, so all you did was guide her to the seat next to the vanity.
Nancy took a few seconds to compose herself as you clenched next to her. She brushed her hair with her hands, it was dirty, rests of mascara had stained the skin under her waterline. She was a mess.
‘Needy, I— I sent you an invitation,’ She finally looked back at you, her eyes still glossy and red. ‘And I changed the time, so you could be here early, so I could talk to you.’
You nodded softly as you looked back at her, patiently waiting for her explanation.
‘I can’t do this.’ She finally said as she stared at your confused face. ‘I can’t marry Steve. And I can’t tell him. I can’t.’
‘Nancy.’ You stood up immediately, feeling your heart beating hard against your chest as you processed her words.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She said in between tears. ‘I know I’m an asshole; I know I’m a coward. I know I’m dropping all this on you…’
‘You better have a good fucking reason to.’ You said then. ‘What the fuck do I have to do in all this?’
‘I need you to tell him.’ She finally said, sniffing softly as she cleaned her teary face. ‘I know I don’t know you very well, I know that you two haven’t been in contact for years, but he’s fond of you and I can’t bring myself to face this shit right now.’ She swallowed hard as she stood up in front of you. ‘I’m sorry I brought you into this, but last week I was drunk and desperate and trying to come up with a good way to do this, and I thought about you, and I need you to do this.’
‘You’re insane.’ You said after a few seconds. ‘Oh my god, you’re… you’re horrible.’
‘I know.’ She said between her teeth as she shut her eyes. ‘I know, goddammit. I know I don’t deserve it but think about him.’
‘Think about him?’ You took a step back as you looked at her. ‘He hasn’t talked to me in three years. And you’re just a selfish— I don’t even wanna say it.’
‘Oh, please, don’t restrain yourself from calling me a bitch.’ She scoffed as her eyes filled with tears again while she looked away. ‘M pretty sure the whole fucking town will once they find out.’
You clenched your jaw at her words, at the way they had reopened a wound inside you that had seemed healed and infantile earlier in the car, but now that you were here it didn’t feel like that at all.
‘When’s that everyone’s supposed to be here anyways?’ You said after a few seconds.
Nancy licked her lips as she looked back at you, a spark of hope taking over her eyes for an instant before she crossed her arms over her chest.
‘Well, Steve should be here in half an hour.’ She said with a hoarse voice as she looked away visibly embarrassed. ‘The wedding was supposed to start at one-thirty.’
‘Right.’ You swallowed hard as you squeezed your fists on either side of you. Maybe your sister was right, and you should’ve had a shot or two before coming here. ‘Okay, how are you leaving?’
‘I-I can call a taxi.’ She said enthusiastically as she realised you were going to follow her crazy plan. It felt unreal for her, for you. ‘I’ll get a room on a hotel not too far from town. I can’t even—I won’t be able to face my family after this.’
‘Don’t be dramatic.’ You rolled your eyes. She wasn’t going to be half as humiliated as Steve, and you were already trying to rehearse what you were going to say to him inside your head. ‘You’re not the first woman to run away from a wedding, and you won’t be the last. Get your shit together.’
Nancy swallowed hard before nodding; it took her a few seconds to realise that you were doing this but that you would never forgive her for it. Maybe no one would. You heard her call the taxi while you put the makeup bag back inside one of the suitcases just to distract yourself with something. If your sister was still parking outside, and you knew she probably was, maybe you could manage to hide the dress before Steve’s arrival. He mustn’t see it, not like this. Not after what Nancy was going to do.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for this.’ She said in a hoarse voice as she stood awkwardly in front of you.
‘I agree.’ You said as you placed your hands on your hips, looking at her while you bit the inside of your cheek. ‘I always knew he didn’t deserve you.’
‘Well,’ She said softly, blinking away her tears. ‘If it makes you feel better, so did I.’
‘It doesn’t.’ You said after a while as you crossed your arms over your chest. You didn’t want her to see you cry, but it all felt so bitter, like a million stitches coming undone. ‘Please go.’
‘Okay.’ She whispered. You knew she wanted to say more, much more. Maybe one day she’ll write you a letter to tell you everything and then you’d might be able to understand. Maybe.
You took a few minutes to compose yourself after her steps echoed outside, down the front steps of the church, along with the sound of the suitcase’s wheels. For what felt like forever, you studied the antique tiles of the little room’s floor as you heard the taxi stop, as you heard the door shut, as you heard the engine in the distance.
Then you turned around to grab the dress. Your eyes lingered on the white tulle, thinking about the time it must’ve taken to sow every bead, every sequin. All that time Nancy had to say something, to reject him kindly. Yet here it was, this orphaned garment with no one to dress, destined to go to waste.
The sound of a car outside brought you back into reality, you decided to hide the dress inside the trunk placed on the very end of the room. The moths would feast on it, and it would never make it to the charity shop, but that was better than letting anyone else see it. Some things were supposed to die from the beginning.
You held your breath as you walked out, searching for him or anyone else, but there was no sign of Steve until you heard someone else’s steps inside the church.
‘Goddammit.’ You whispered to yourself as you silently cursed the moment you thought coming to this hopeless wedding was a good idea.
Inside, the church looked much smaller than you remembered it, but you couldn’t really give it too much thought as your eyes fell on the single figure standing in the middle of the isle. Steve was focused on something on the floor, maybe he was just looking at his sneakers as he stood there wearing some stupid hoodie and jeans. He was wearing his glasses; he had replaced the old frames with a more round and modern shape. He looked so young, so unaware, so familiar. The sight tendered you so much you it brought tears to your eyes, and he hadn’t even seen you yet.
But the sound of your heels echoed through the church when you took the first step, his brown eyes lifted to look back at you, at first confused and then softened by the sweetest realisation.
‘Needy?’ He said softly.
You sobbed a little bit as you ran to his arms through the isle, hurting for him before he could even hurt. Your arms wrapped around his neck, you were stroking his hair, breathing his scent in. You had missed him so much.
His arms hovered over your back before they embraced you tightly, you were crying fully now and his smile was brushing your ear, completely unaware of what was about to happen. You shut your eyes hard when you felt him kiss your cheek, when you heard his tender whisper.
‘I’m so happy to see you.’
You took a deep breath in his arms, hugging him tighter as you wished this moment could last forever, and you both could just stay like this. You holding on to the secret, and him amazed by your return. Nothing else.
‘What are you doing here?’ He finally asked as he leaned back, the brown of his eyes turning serious when he realised you were crying.
‘Oh, Steve.’ You said in a sobby whisper as you tried to find your composure, but he seemed worried, cupping your cheek with his hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’
February 1989.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day!’ Said the young girl behind the counter as she offered Steve the tray with the two coffee cups.
‘Hmm.’ He attempted to give her a smile as he avoided her eyes. ‘You too.’
Steve left the café repressing the sigh caught inside his chest as he searched for the path towards the park. People around walked with bouquets of roses and heart-shaped balloons; he had seen at least two muscular teenagers dressed as cupid handing out flyers with vouchers for some sort of corporation. The world was covered in pink and red, and no matter how hard he tried, the bitter memory of his almost-wedding day still throbbed painfully in the back of his mind.
It still stung, but not everything was lost. Steve was older and wiser now, or as wise as one can be during their mid-twenties. He had things to look forward to, he was about to buy his first apartment, and he had contemplated the idea of getting a dog for the last few weeks. A dalmatian or a golden retriever, maybe. An active, absolutely thoughtless ball of love that would force him to go out for walks every day, something he could take care of. Something that would love him back.
When he found your bench from the other side of the park he stood still as he observed the way you kindly rejected another cupid boy who offered you a flyer. You had been engrossed in a book and now you were looking at cupid almost disgusted, fighting the need to roll your eyes as you resumed your reading.
Every year, for the sake of Steve’s sanity, you pretended to hate Valentine’s Day. Your little tradition had started bitterly of course, the year after the wedding incident when you drove to his parents’ place while he spent the whole morning sleeping through a killing hangover. When he woke up you had decorated the whole place with Halloween garlands, you had put candy corn in a bowl and turned the VHS on to watch horror movies.
You didn’t care that he hadn’t showered or that he didn’t say a word to you as you went through all the tapes he had at home. When he got ready to go to work the next morning, he realised you had washed his dirty dishes, you had put the washing machine on, and you had taken the trash bags he kept telling himself he had to dispose soon before his parents came back from vacation.
After the first year passed, things started to hurt less. The realisation that he had let himself rot into a state of helplessness opened his eyes, he just couldn’t put all his pain on the shoulders of people who wanted to help. People who meant well. You certainly didn’t deserve to see him drinking himself to sleep or wearing the same pyjama for five days straight, he told you so on the phone, he said he was sorry about a million times.
‘Don’t worry, Steve.’ You’d said in a sleepy voice, three or four towns away from him as you laid in bed late at night. ‘I’m here. I’ll hang up once you’re asleep.’
But you always fell asleep first. It was cute, to imagine your partly open mouth, your lashes, your pupils moving behind your closed eyelids. Then you’d call him a few weeks later asking why was your telephone bill so expensive, but he couldn’t tell you that it was because sometimes he fell asleep hearing you breathe on the other side. He couldn’t tell you it soothed him, that it helped him. It would’ve made things weird, it would’ve made things between you and Kyle weird. Steve didn’t even dare to ask how you had gotten rid of your Valentine Day’s plans with your boyfriend to be here with him, and he didn’t want to know.
Now he walked on your direction as a warm feeling took over his body, eyes lingering on the way you fixed your scarf, looking around at the lovey-dovey couples that exchanged cards on the sidewalk.
‘People are going crazy.’ The playful tone of disbelief on your voice managed to lift his lips subtly as he offered you one of the cups. ‘All this kissing and touching on Christmas Day. So disrespectful.’
‘Actually, Needy, it’s St. Patrick’s Day today.’ He sat down next to you, ‘And guess what?’
You gasped innocently, taking a hand to your chest as you looked back at him.
‘What?’
He looked around quickly before he leaned towards you, as if he was going to tell you a secret.
‘Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving.’ He whispered.
‘I thought it was fourth of July.’ You said worriedly, placing a hand on his knee as you looked around you at all the oblivious people in the park.
‘Nope.’ He shook his head with a smile. ‘That’s this afternoon, actually.’
‘Damn.’ You shook your head to yourself as you lifted the coffee cup to your lips. ‘Before we know it’s gonna be New Year’s.’
‘And then we’re thirty.’ Steve finally said as he shook his head. His arm was extended over the bench behind you as you laughed softly, taking another sip of your drink as he laughed to himself too. He had completely forgotten why this little game had started on the first place, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself as he realised you had made him feel so much better in such a simple way.
‘What time do we need to be at the building?’ You asked then as you looked back at him. He was smiling at you, brown eyes lifting softly behind his glasses as he subtly stroked your shoulder over your coat. ‘Steve?’
‘Yeah?’ He leaned back when he realised he had been staring.
‘What time do we need to be there?’ You repeated patiently, completely ignoring his momentary distraction as you searched for his eyes.
‘Uhm,’ He could feel the heat rushing to his neck as he checked his watch. ‘Around six?’
‘Oh, cool.’ You took another sip of your coffee. ‘We can just relax for a while then.’
‘Yeah.’ He said sitting more comfortably next to you.
‘Nervous?’ You asked then. He could see you were smiling from the corner of his eye, then you pushed his shoulder with yours the same way you used to when you were just children.
He shrugged.
‘Not really.’ He said as he looked back at you. ‘I’m with you.’
You laughed softly as you looked down at your coffee, not really saying anything as your eyes got lost on something beyond the sight of the park. Steve enjoyed the way you seemed to be partly flushed; he couldn’t tell exactly, but he did like it when sometimes he dropped some harmless compliments here and there for you and you didn’t acknowledge them. He liked it when you ignored him, when you got him begging for your attention, because he knew you. You were still needy, his Needy, and he knew you loved it, that you enjoyed it. That it was just the adult politeness that kept you from asking for more. But he’d always give it to you. Always.
‘Thanks for doing this for me, by the way.’ He said later that evening as you two stood inside his new apartment. You were standing in the middle of the spacious living room, looking around at all the empty space while he opened a bottle of wine in the kitchen.
‘Don’t be silly, I’ve been dying to help you decorate since you told me you were serious about buying a place.’
You looked back at him with a smile as you observed him pour the wine in the improvised plastic cups you had gotten from the shop minutes ago. It seemed that you hesitated for a second before you started to take your coat off, then you sat down on the floor in front of the balcony, Steve had opened its doors partly earlier and the city noises sneaked inside as he walked back towards you.
‘There we go.’ He said as he sat next to you.
You took the cup he was offering before lifting it on the air in front of you.
‘To you, for being a certified house owner.’
‘And to you, for being here.’ He said before clashing his plastic cup to yours. ‘Thank you.’
You smiled softly before taking the cup to your mouth, savouring the sweetly bitter taste of the wine on your mouth before swallowing. Steve’s eyes lingered on your face as you looked down at the wooden floor underneath you, the sun had set, and the living room was barely illuminated by the distant light of the kitchen. It was so intimate and special, he thought, you being here with him.
‘You know, you do have a tendency to be there on my firsts.’
‘What do you mean?’ You asked as you took another sip of your cup.
‘You know…’ He said as if it was obvious. ‘First kiss, first time, first wedding. And now first apartment.’
‘Shit.’ You said looking around. ‘See, somehow you just made that sound kind of depressing.’ He threw his head back as he laughed. ‘Also, you didn’t exactly get married, Steve.’
‘Well, I’m not repeating that embarrassing moment any time soon.’ He scoffed. ‘I think it’s fair to call it a first wedding.’
‘What about a first attempt, huh?’ You asked then. ‘Think about it, you know the basics of wedding planning now. Next time it happens, you’ll be able to plan in three days what normal people plan in six months.’
He let out a sigh of resignation as he looked at you with an arched brow, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you squeezed his bicep.
‘C’mon, I’m just joking.’ You said innocently as you pushed his shoulder with yours again. ‘I’m so happy you decided to move out of Hawkins. It’s been so nice to have you around.’
Steve hummed to himself before putting his drink away.
‘I’m glad I left too.’ He said sincerely with a smile. ‘Life’s just easier when you’re around.’
You smiled to yourself as your eyes got lost in the lights from the building opposite, the silhouettes inside the windows were too small for you to tell what they were doing, having dinner, watching tv, sleeping. It didn’t matter, it all looked the same from here.
‘Yeah.’ You said softly. ‘Sometimes I can’t believe we spent so much time apart from each other. Feels weird.’
‘It does.’ He said under a laugh. When you looked back at him, he couldn’t help but brush his hair with his fingers, feeling the heat rushing to his face as he looked down to his new, very interesting wooden floor.
A few minutes of silence passed between you two as the sounds of an ambulance eclipsed the chirping of a few insomniac birds.
‘What do you—’
‘Do you ever—’
You both burst out laughing before you looked away, his eyes lingered on your face as he realised you were suddenly turning shy. He licked his lips as he amused himself with the tender view of you being a bit flustered.
‘What were you going to say?’ You finally asked when you could face him again.
‘Uh…’ He shook his head softly as he studied your face. ‘I was just gonna ask what you thought about lenses. What were you going to say?’
‘You mean contact lenses?’ You moved back just slightly, frowning at him. ‘No, I like your glasses. They’re you, they’re Steve. Please don’t get rid of them.’
‘Okay.’ He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. ‘I wasn’t planning to yet, I just wanted an opinion first.’
‘Well, my opinion’s that you should keep them. I like them.’ You said a bit too defensively. He was almost about to laugh at your sudden change of mood. ‘Can I use your bathroom?’
‘Sure.’ He moved back slightly as he tried to understand why you were acting so weird, that concerning frown still taking over your face as you stood up. ‘I think I left some toilet paper inside when we came back from the shop.’
‘Thanks.’ You murmured as you get lost in the hallway that led to the guests’ toilet.
Steve stayed still as you used the bathroom, sitting on the spacious living room as he wondered if he had done or said something wrong earlier, but he couldn’t think of anything. Maybe your mood didn’t have to do with him at all, maybe it was something to do with work or Kyle. Maybe you actually had plans tonight and you were trying to find a way to tell him, the thought filled him with embarrassment, he didn’t want to take too much of your time.
He was doing okay, more than okay, he hoped you’d know that. He hoped you’d knew he didn’t think about Nancy these days, but that this awkward persona that didn’t seem to be able to navigate relationships still lived within him. Maybe that’s why he still didn’t dare to date properly, why he only enjoyed the company of a pretty girl every now and then when he felt more stable, more available. Still, he never seemed to fit into the dating world, as if he was destined to live a life where nobody chose him. At this point he wondered if he even cared at all about being chosen.
You were silent when you turned the toilet’s lights off behind him, coming back to the quiet, dark living room where he sat.
‘Do you need to be home early?’ He asked softly as you sat next to him.
You shook your head. When he looked up at your face there didn’t seem to be a trace of the frown from before, but you did seem thoughtful, different.
‘Are you cold?’ Steve said when his eyes fell on your shaky hands, he was about to stand up to close the balcony’s door when your hand grabbed his bicep.
‘I’m fine.’ You said with a soft smile. ‘The water was just cold when I washed my hands.’
‘Oh, right.’ His hand instinctively wrapped around yours over his arm, rubbing it softly with his palm to try warm you up. ‘M sorry.’
‘S alright.’ You smiled as your hand squeezed his arm. You were moving closer to him and he let out a breath of relief as you did. Steve hadn’t realised he was worried until then, that he had been holding his breath the whole time you were in the toilet.
‘What’s wrong, Needy?’ He asked softly as he looked down at you, he brushed his thumb over your hand when you looked down, hiding from him. His eyes studied you patiently as he lifted his hand to put a strand of hair behind your ear, brushing your cheekbone as he waited for you.
You shook your head softly, softening under his touch. Something warm twisted inside him when you blinked slowly before looking up again.
‘Do you ever think about our first time?’ You murmured. ‘Back in High School?’
He felt the heat rush to his face as he leaned his head subtly, a dizzy smile lifting his lips a little as he pondered about what to say. He shrugged.
‘Sometimes.’ Steve whispered. ‘Do you?’
You looked away then, the anxiety rushing to his chest as you looked visibly uncomfortable, and yet he couldn’t stop stroking your pretty face as you scratched the back of your neck.
‘I guess?’ You said unsure. ‘Sometimes. Senior year was a weird time for me.’
‘I know.’ He simply said as his hand fell from your face, remembering all the stupid things he worried about back when he was eighteen. Nancy, School, College. He should’ve worried more about you instead. ‘But I, uh… I hope that night wasn’t so bad for you. I remember it very fondly.’
‘Oh. So do I. You were so gentle,’ You laughed nervously as you sat better to look back at him. ‘It was perfect.’
Perfect. The word sounded as sweet and soothing as honey when you said it, he couldn’t help but smile shyly at it. In a very boyish way, Steve was still proud that you had been his first, and that you had been his. He treasured the fact that you had chosen him not only once but twice in your life to explore the mysteries of childhood love, because he knew that’s what it had always been.
‘Why are you bringing this up?’ He asked sweetly, wishing he could just stroke your pretty face again. Instead, he just settled for brushing your neck with the back of his knuckles while his thumb subtly touched the line of your jaw as you took a deep breath.
‘I don’t know.’ You swallowed softly as your eyes fell back on the lights outside, ‘I’ve been thinking lately. About innocence and gentleness… I don’t understand why it all lasts so little.’
‘Well, you’re still young, Needy.’ He laughed softly. ‘Pretty sure there’s plenty you can still experience out there.’
‘Yeah, but not like that.’ You said sadly before you looked back at him. ‘Sex’s just… hard to understand sometimes.’
Steve frowned softly as he leaned back, lips opening partly as he tried to search for your eyes.
‘Are things okay between you and Kyle?’
His serious stare made you shrunk a little. You clenched your jaw, you blinked repeatedly as you looked away, but he was still able to see the tears pooling on your waterline. Steve’s hand moved from your neck to the base of your head, diving his fingers in your hair as you refused to look back at him.
‘Kind of like there’s nothing between us anymore.’ You whispered.
‘What happened?’ He asked after a while in the same tone.
‘We’re not…’ You cleared your throat as you frowned uncomfortably. ‘We’re not sexually compatible.’
‘That’s not a valid reason to end a relationship.’ He said seriously.
‘Well, it is for us.’ You said under a bitter laugh. ‘It got… complicated, and difficult, and so painful—’
‘Wait.’ His other hand lifted to finally cup your cheek fully. Worry was now overflowing his eyes as he studied your face. ‘Did he hurt you?’
‘No…’ You murmured as you tried to look down, but he was holding your face firmly. He was now seriously concerned, and you were trying to play down the whole situation like you always did. ‘Not like that, Steve. I meant— What I meant was that it was painful for me to stay and feel that I was never able to…’ You shook your head. ‘I don’t know. He had a higher libido than me, and I wasn’t really into some things, and… I guess it just got too complicated.’
Steve’s stare still stayed on you as you bit your lip. He didn’t know what to do, feeling concerned, disturbed and so sorry for you as you released a sigh, looking visibly embarrassed. He started rubbing your back softly when you finally looked back at him, offering you a sad smile in response.
‘I don’t know what to say.’ He murmured softly. ‘I’m sorry.’
You shrugged subtly in response.
‘S fine, I— I’ve been thinking about maybe getting help, but I’m trying to give myself some time first.’
‘Help?’ He frowned seriously as he looked at you carefully. ‘Help with what?’
You shrugged. ‘With whatever’s… wrong.’
Steve stayed quiet for a second, considering your words before he shook his head.
‘No.’ He scoffed, an almost awkward laugh that filled him with bitterness. ‘Nothing’s wrong with you.’
‘Steve—’
‘Nothing is wrong with you.’ He said the word as if just the implication was an offense. For him, it was. ‘You’re Needy. You’re sweet, you’re funny, you’re smart… There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.’
‘It’s not like I don’t believe those things.’ You said patiently as you shrunk under his touch. Your voice was so small and tender when you spoke again, he could feel himself melt inside. He had never seen you be this insecure. ‘I just don’t understand why sexual chemistry is such a difficult thing for me. I-I just don’t get it.’
He had to lean back a little to have a better look at you, torn between shock and frustration as you took a deep breath.
‘Needy, you can’t just force these things. Sometimes it just doesn’t work, sometimes…’ He took a deep breath as he brushed his hair with his fingers. ‘And why do you assume that this is just a you problem? Maybe Kyle’s not treating you right, maybe he’s not taking the time to make you feel nice, and comfortable, and—’
‘Well, no.’ You said in a sobby whisper as you looked away. ‘I know it is a me thing, Steve. It’s not the first time I struggle with sex, with this. Every single time I date someone it’s the samething: at the beginning I feel fun and wanted, and then time passes and it’s like I become this, sexless boring thing—’
‘Needy, don’t say that.’ He shook his head in disapproval as he looked back at you.
You swallowed hard, sniffing softly as you tried to compose yourself. It was killing him inside, seeing you so unconsolable and small.
‘But it’s true.’
‘No, it’s not true.’ He said softly as the hand that rubbed your back pulled you in from your shoulder. The physical contact that you were so needy of only seemed to make you more emotional, it was breaking him to see you take your hands to your face in frustration, rubbing your eyes as he pressed a kiss on your scalp. ‘Now listen to me, I had sex with you once, and yes it was years ago, but you were sexy and beautiful and just perfect, Needy. Nothing’s wrong with you.’
‘You only say that because you’re my best friend.’ You murmured as you melted against his body, hiding your head under his neck like in the old days, letting him embrace you and kiss your scalp a couple of times more.
‘I say it because I love you.’ He started rubbing your back again, but this time it felt a bit more deliberate, a bit slower, a bit needier.
He did love you, while you rested your cheek against his chest, while you breathed softly under his touch, while you sniffed quietly. He loved you that day at church, and inside the tent and back in his boy room when you were both in middle school. He always had, and as he felt your sad smile against his skin, he felt certain that he would always love you.
‘I love you too.’ You said softly as you tried to get impossibly closer to him. His skin turned warmer under his shirt as he held you more comfortably, feeling your breath turn slower as you shared a sweet silence that was killing him inside.
He couldn’t help but place his cheek on your head, then he squeezed you a bit harder for a second until you laughed softly, it made him smile in response as you sat better to look back at him.
It caught him out of guard when you lifted your hand to touch his face. His heart skipped a beat inevitably as he looked back at you, softened by the shy smile that lifted your pretty mouth. He was so used to the habit of giving you physical contact every time you needed it that it was in the odd moments, while you gave him the littlest glimpse of attention, that he realised how touch-starved he really was.
‘Don’t get rid of your glasses.’ You asked softly as you stroked his cheek. The little pout on your face was making him roll his eyes as the blood rushed to his cheeks. ‘Please?’
‘Okay, Needy.’ He laughed softly. Leaning into your gentle touch, he placed his hand on top of yours and kissed your palm. ‘I’ll do whatever you say.’
You hummed pleasantly, and he loved the little smile of satisfaction that took over your face at his answer. Your hand fell from his face when he leaned back, and he took the spectacles off under your curious stare, moving closer to him when you realised what he intended to do.
‘There.’ he said as he slid the temples above your ears, softly pushing the glasses over your nose.
The sight of your slightly magnified eyes tendered him, he couldn’t help but laugh softly as you took your hands to the frames so they wouldn’t fall.
‘Wow.’ You looked around at the empty apartment, ‘Not only are you insanely blind Steve, but you got a big fat head too.’
‘Oh, thanks, Needy.’ He said sarcastically, enjoying the sight of you wearing his glasses, sitting in his living room. His eyes lingered on you for a second as you kept looking around you while his mind filled with foolish visions of you wearing one of his shirts, walking around with your bare feet, lighting it all up with your presence.
‘You know, maybe I should actually take a trip to the opticians soon,’ you said looking back at him. ‘I’m kind of seeing a bit clearer with these on.’
‘They suit you.’ He said fondly, amused at the way you seemed fascinated by the glasses.
You kept looking around you with the spectacles still on, and just for a second, he hoped that it took you less than a pair of glasses, along with the passing of sweet time, for you to start seeing what was right in front of you.
February 1992.
‘So, it’s a first date?’ Your sister asked on the phone as you applied the pale pink lipstick in front of the mirror.
‘Kind of.’ You said as you rubbed your lips against each other to spread the colour. ‘It’s like, a first date, a blind date and a double date.’
‘What.’ Your sister laughed on the phone, and you rolled your eyes as you placed the telephone between your shoulder and your cheek so you could place the cap on top of the lipstick. ‘How does that even work?’
‘Okay, so, Annie and I know each other from our yoga class, right?’ You said enthusiastically. ‘And a few weeks ago, Steve and I were at the park walking Ruby and we ran into her, and then on my next class she was… asking me questions and I kind of realised where she was coming from so, I thought that maybe I could set them up. So, I mentioned it to Steve, and I did say very nice things about Annie, but you know how he is…’ You sighed as you shook your head, turning off the light of your bathroom as you walked towards your living room. ‘So, he suggested he’d invite someone from work, and we could all go out together.’
‘That sounds like you’re all hanging out as friends.’
‘No!’ You said then. ‘I think I made it very clear for all the parties that it is a date. We’re going for drinks at the local bar and then we’re watching a movie.’
‘So, like a hangout.’
‘It’s Valentine’s Day!’
‘That doesn’t mean anything.’ She said then. ‘Besides, do you even know this guy he’s inviting? Aren’t you worried? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you and Steve might not have the same taste in men.’
You shrugged then, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as you tried to come up with words.
‘I-I mean, no. But I’m sure that if Steve suggested it is because he knows this guy and I might have something in common.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ She sighed on the phone. ‘You’re so oblivious. Do you even know the name of this guy?’
‘Yeah. Tim.’
‘Right. As if you didn’t just come up with that. Is his first name Tiny by any chance?’
‘Okay, shut up.’ You said, rolling your eyes. ‘I think Steve must’ve mentioned it, but I forgot.’
Your sister stayed silent on the line for a second as you brushed your hair with your fingers in front of the living room’s mirror before you turned around to grab your jacket.
‘Listen,’ She said. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t put yourself in this position.’
‘What do you mean?’ Something twisted in your stomach as your put the jacket around your shoulders.
‘You need to be an adult about this.’ She said. ‘Both of you. Have an honest conversation about the obvious tension in this friendship. I get that you want to protect what you two have, but there has to be a mutual agreement.’
‘I mean there’s kind of an agreement.’ You said softly, swallowing hard as you felt the anxiety rising on your chest. ‘Like, an implicit one.’
‘No.’ Her firm tone made you bite your lip and suddenly the back of your neck was sweating. ‘You need to communicate, and you need to place some boundaries here too. Setting him on a date with someone was weird, but it can have very damaging consequences for your friendship too, did you think about that?’
‘Oh, please.’ You said rolling your eyes again, but something heavy was piercing through you as you spoke, and you knew very well that if you didn’t believe your words then your sister wouldn’t either. ‘It’s just a date. Annie’s a nice girl, he deserves a nice girl.’
‘Have you asked him if he wanted to date your concept of a nice girl?’ She said then. ‘Tell me something, honey, have you ever thought about asking Steve what he wants?’
You swallowed hard as you blinked repeatedly, trying to find your words.
‘I don’t think— I…’
‘I think you know what he wants.’ She finally said. ‘And I know it’s not easy to accept, and I know it might be scary because you two can’t live without each other, but that’s my point. Instead of setting him up on dates, maybe you should have an honest conversation so he can move on.’
You released a deep breath slowly as you felt tears polling behind your eyelids. The words were stuck on your throat, they stung and burned inside, they went from reasonable to nonsensical, mixing with your nerves, with this sudden desperation that was tinting you blue.
‘Listen, I gotta go.’ You said softly. ‘I already said yes to this thing, and I have to be at the bar by seven.’
‘Okay.’ Your sister said after a sigh. ‘Good luck, kid.’
You tried to find the strength to thank her inside you, but you remembered vividly how things went the last time she said that.
Forty minutes later you were feeling like a coward as you tried not to hyperventilate outside the bar a few blocks from your building. The things your sister had said on the phone were messing with your mind, making you wonder if Steve hated you for overstepping in the situation with Annie. If you were a bad friend. If maybe there was a way you could cancel the whole thing—
‘Hey, Needy.’
You jumped at the sound of his voice, all the blood left your face as you looked back at him as if he had caught you doing something bad, but all Steve could do was smile at you.
‘H-Hey.’ You said then.
‘Are you okay?’ He took a step towards you, placing his hand on your lower back the same way he had done so many times before. ‘Should we go in?’
He was starting to lead you inside when you looked back at him.
‘Wait. Where’s your friend?’
‘He’s inside.’ He simply said as you both walked through the varnished doors of the bar.
You frowned softly, your mouth opened for a second when you were about to question him again, but then your eyes fell on the table where Annie sat, completely unaware of your stare. Next to her, older and as arrogant looking as usual, was Tommy Hagan.
‘Y-You—’
Steve didn’t say anything, instead he just nodded towards the table as he entwined his hand with yours. You were a bit dizzy and confused as he led you there while you blinked softly.
‘Hey, guys.’ Steve said. ‘Sorry we’re a bit late, thanks for joining us.’
Your mouth was still open in surprise as Steve moved your chair back, so you’d sit. Annie gave you a polite smile as you did, still she looked a little bit uncomfortable knowing that this wasn’t part of the plan at all. And you were so, so embarrassed.
You tried to return the gesture discreetly, a silent sorry taking over your eyes, but then you saw her look down as if she didn’t wish to look at you anymore. It took you a second to realise that Steve was lifting your hand and kissing your knuckles softly before he leaned closer to whisper something to you.
‘You didn’t really think I was going to let you get away with all this, did you?’
His breath stroked your jaw and anyone who wouldn’t know what was going on could’ve assumed that you were just one of the many couples drunk on the Valentine’s spirit, exchanging sweet nonsense over the table. But the reality was different. The nerves were making you sweaty underneath your dress, not only you were confused and so mortified by the whole situation with Annie, but the idea that Steve had outsmarted you in such a simple, easy way was messing with your head.
‘So, Tommy,’ you said as you sat straighter on your chair. ‘It’s been so long since the last time I saw you. I had no idea you and Steve worked together.’
‘Yeah,’ Tommy said then as he looked back at you with an awkward smile. He lifted his beer to his mouth as he took a small sip. You looked from Annie to him feeling a bit weird, not sure if maybe you had interrupted their conversation. She was looking at him attentively as he brushed his hair with his fingers. ‘It’s kind of a recent thing. I started at his office two weeks ago, actually.’
‘Oh.’ Annie said before laughing softly and looking from Steve to him. ‘Wait. Isn’t it a bit weird to be in a date with your boss?’
You looked around confused as your eyes fell on Tommy again, and he let out a snorty laugh as he looked back at her.
‘Well, we went to school together, the three of us.’ Tommy clarified. ‘Steve, Needy and me.’
‘Needy?’ Annie asked as she addressed you for the first time tonight.
‘Oh, it was just a stupid nickname.’ You explained quickly before you turned back to Steve. ‘You didn’t mention that Tommy was working for you.’
Steve shrugged then, looking at you with a small smile as he lifted your hand to kiss it again.
‘Sorry, baby.’ He said softly as his eyes didn’t leave yours. The word made your heart skip a beat as you looked at him expectantly. ‘It didn’t seem relevant.’
He was trying not to smile as he sat back again, and you stayed silent. In the distance you could hear Tommy ask Annie if she wanted another drink, then you heard them both stand up from their chairs to go to the bar, feeling your pulse turn faster as your eyes stayed on him.
‘You’re unbelievable.’ You said.
‘Me?’ Steve lifted his eyebrows as he extended his hand over the back of your chair. ‘I can’t believe you thought pairing me with Miss Aerobics was a good idea.’
‘I can’t believe you brought Tommy Hagan.’
‘This could’ve gone so much worse, Needy.’ He said as he sat closer to you. ‘You’re honestly dealing with the best possible scenario of how this night could’ve gone as we speak.’
‘She thinks she’s on a date with you.’
‘She knows she’s not on a date with me. I’m in a date with you. Because the other alternative would’ve been a mess.’ He said before taking a quick look at the bar. ‘Now, they’re gonna come back and you’re gonna pretend you have a killing headache, okay? There’s no way I’m going to sit through a two-hour movie with them.’
You sighed then, looking down at your hands as you bit your lip. The silence was killing you, but you knew you had screwed up big.
‘Okay.’ You said softly.
‘Cheer up, pretty girl.’ He pinched your chin softly and you looked up back at him. ‘I’m not mad at you for trying.’
Your lips lifted in a little smile as you felt every single inch of your skin turn warm at his touch. You wanted to apologise then, but Tommy and Annie were coming back with their drinks, and just the idea of having to resort to small talk made you feel exhausted already.
‘I’m not feeling really well.’ You murmured as you took a hand to the bridge of your nose. You had to shut your eyes a bit hard as you felt Steve’s hand starting to rub your knee, you were trying not to break character and burst out laughing nervously, but he was very gentle and maybe too good at this.
‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.’ He said softly as he kept rubbing your skin. The previous amusement died down as his tone melted you a little bit inside. ‘Should I call a cab?’
‘Uhm,’ You considered it briefly as you looked from him to the couple sitting on the other side of the table. ‘I don’t know, we just got here, I don’t want to be rude. ‘M pretty sure it’s just a headache that’ll go away.’
‘I think it’d be better if I we go home, babe.’ The hand that rested over the back of the chair lifted to stroke your cheek. It felt so natural because it was natural. You ventured to look back at him and he seemed truly concerned for a second, brown eyes soft and eyebrows partly arched as he searched for the source of your discomfort. ‘It’s not safe to strain yourself in your state.’
‘Oh my god.’ Annie sat back as you felt the blood leave your face. ‘Are you pregnant?’
‘About eight weeks or so.’ Steve said with a satisfied smile. You had to lick your lips to repress the overwhelming emotions taking over your body then. Tommy lifted his eyebrows at the news, but he didn’t say anything, maybe he didn’t care, or he was just as shocked as you.
‘That makes so much sense, actually.’ Annie’s mood had drastically changed at Steve’s little lie as she looked at you with different eyes. Not only she seemed enthusiastic about the announcement, but there was something else in her semblance that made you confirm that this disastrous night was your fault and only your fault. ‘I mean you haven’t exactly been your usual self in class lately.’
‘What do you mean?’ It came out softly and small from your mouth, because you were still trying to process how you felt about Steve’s words, about his hand on your knee, about his concern. About him.
Annie shrugged.
‘Well, you were struggling a little bit with your balance last Friday, and I assumed that it was probably that you were distracted or sleep deprived, but then you also looked a bit different, so I thought oh well maybe she’s just bloated because of bad PMS or—’
‘Uh—’
‘I’m sorry,’ Steve interrupted her then. Knowing him so well, you felt yourself shrunk on the chair, flushed at the way he was placing his hand on the table in such a calculated manner as he looked back at Annie. ‘But I can’t remember at what point of this conversation she was asking for your opinion on her body.’
‘Well, she’s going to gain some—’
‘Listen, Annie,’ Steve said. ‘I don’t know you very well, and I don’t want to, either. But I’m just not going to let you sit here and make my girlfriend, my pregnant girlfriend feel uncomfortable just because you had no Valentine’s Day plans. Do you know the things I had planned for her this weekend, and I had to postpone it all just because she wanted to do something nice for you? We were gonna fly to Miami. Tommy here knows everything about it.’
Your eyes fell back on Tommy, and you were too stunned to speak as you saw him nodding at Annie’s cornered stare. You didn’t know how or when Steve had actually filled in Tommy with the details of tonight, you hadn’t even stopped to consider that maybe he had been as clueless as you from the beginning.
‘Uh.’ You said softly as you looked back at Steve, whose face was tainted with a certain cynicism for a second before his eyes fell back on you. You were suddenly washed by a wave of guilt again as you tried to look at him uncomfortably. ‘Can we leave?’
You could feel Annie’s awkward stare on you, and Tommy’s silence was killing you, but you were too focused on Steve to care. His eyelids looked heavy, behind his glasses, pupils a bit tired as he stared back at you with the tiniest, sweetest smile on his face.
‘Sure, babe.’ He squeezed your hand softly as he stood up. You bit your lip as he entwined them, following as he nodded at the couple on the other side. ‘Annie. Tommy, I’ll see you Monday.’
‘Sure, boss.’ He said with a polite smile before he looked at you. ‘Needy.’
‘Please don’t call me that.’ You said almost apologetically. ‘See you later, Tommy.’
You tried to come up with something to tell Annie, but things had gotten a bit too awkward between you two at this point. There was no way that this attempt of a friendship was going to survive, and you’d have to start looking for a new place for yoga classes as soon as you got home.
‘Did I mention I’m sorry?’ You asked Steve as he opened the door to his apartment.
‘Hmm. About a million times,’ Steve said as he opened the door for you. ‘But I think a couple of times more won’t hurt me.’
‘I’m sorry.’ You said again as you stood on the living room. Ruby’s steps echoed through the floor as she came to say hi to you. You clenched next to the labrador, scratching under her jaw the way she liked it as you looked back at Steve with an innocent pout on your face. ‘Do you forgive me?’
He let out a little laugh as he started taking his coat off. ‘Do I have another option?’
‘Well apparently not,’ Ruby was looking for one of her toys as you stood up, giving him an accusing stare. ‘Given I’m carrying your child now.’
‘Actually, Needy, you’re carrying twins.’ He said pointing at your stomach from the other side of the living room. ‘Sorry to break the news.’
‘S alright.’ You shrugged with a face of resignation as you rubbed your belly absently. ‘I’d find out sooner or later, I guess. After all, they’re coming out of my vagina.’
‘Right!’ He said thoughtfully as he walked towards the minibar. ‘The main event. Do you think I might get invited?’
‘I don’t know actually, let me check the waiting list and I’ll let you know when you should RSPV.’ You said letting yourself fall on his couch. Ruby had come back with a little teddy bear, and she was expecting you to throw it for her.
Steve let out a little laugh as he shook his head, opening a bottle of tequila as you started playing with Ruby. ‘Do you want a drink?’
‘I could have a pregnancy-safe margarita.’ You said when Ruby came back with her little toy. Steve’s eyes stole a glance at you as she rested her head on your knee, and you started petting her.
The apartment was silent as he made the drinks, and you seemed to be lost in your thoughts while you gave Ruby the attention she demanded. He heard you laugh softly once or twice as you petted her until he walked back with the two cocktail glasses. Neither of you said anything for a few minutes as you tasted the bitterly sweet taste of the drink, then you looked back at him for a second. Your eyes lingered on his profile, on the way his glasses hung over his nose, the moles of his neck and his lips. He had always had such a pretty mouth, a good, gentle mouth that lifted in a sweet smile for you more often than you deserved.
‘Hey.’ You said after a while. ‘Why didn’t you say anything about Tommy?’
‘I told you it wasn’t relevant.’ He looked down for a second as he placed his drink on the coffee table. ‘Two weeks ago, he walked into my office asking for a job. Apparently, he got in some sort of trouble back in Hawkins and he needed to leave. He had references, said he was crashing on someone’s couch so I…’ He shrugged. ‘I did him a favour, I guess.’
‘That doesn’t sound irrelevant.’ You said as you placed your drink next to his on the table. Your eyes studied his face for a second as you sat better. ‘It sounds quite the opposite, actually.’
He shrugged again. Steve was sitting in a relaxed posture, but somehow, he seemed so far from you as he stayed on the other side of the not so big couch, focused on the way Ruby licked her toy on the farthest corner of the living room.
‘I didn’t think it was important.’ He said as he looked back at you. ‘I know you never liked him; I know he used to talk shit about you at school. I didn’t think you’d be thrilled to know he’d moved here.’
‘Then why did you invite him tonight?’
Steve scoffed.
‘Because I didn’t want to be there on the first place, Needy. This was your idea.’ He said when he finally looked at you. ‘And if bringing Tommy Hagan with me was what was going to get me out of it then, fuck it.’
‘Okay.’ You said slowly as you felt the guilt sitting on your chest again. ‘But you lied to me, Steve. You told me you’d invited one of your friends.’
‘What friends, Needy?’ He scoffed again. ‘You know all my friends; we hang out with the same people; we share the same circles. How was I supposed to pair you with someone you already knew?’
‘I-I don’t know, I guess I imagined—’ You rubbed your knees with your hands as you looked back at him. ‘I’m not sure what I imagined but you could’ve said no to me, I wouldn’t have taken it personal.’
‘No, Needy.’ He firmly said as he stood up from the couch. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that to me. You know very well that when something gets inside your head there’s no way I can say no to you. Especially things that have to do with my personal life.’
‘Okayokay. I get it!’ You said from your place in the couch, feeling like a teenager that had just been lectured under his stare. ‘I overstepped, I fucked up. I should’ve never suggested this or force you into it. I’m sorry.’
Steve shook his head as he took a deep breath while you bit your lip as you felt the anxiety rushing to your chest. His silence killed your much worse and less kindly than his words.
‘Why Annie, anyways?’ Steve said as he crossed his arms over his chest, he now seemed angrier as a serious frown took over his face. ‘What about this girl gave you the impression that I’d like to date someone like her?’
You opened your mouth for a second, trying to come up with words, stuttering for a moment as you shook your head.
‘I don’t know.’ You admitted. ‘She seemed nice.’
‘Nice?’ He scoffed. ‘Do you think the way she spoke to you was nice?’
‘I didn’t think she was going to come up with something like that, Steve.’ You said slowly as you felt the anxiety turning into anger.
‘Exactly.’ He said firmly. ‘That’s. My point. Needy. You didn’t know this girl and you set me on a date with her. If it wasn’t her, it would’ve been Kristy from work, or Emily from college or your cousin’s friend Alison…’
‘I just wanted to help!’ You raised your voice as you stood up. The back of your neck felt sweaty, your scalp itchy, your cheeks hot as you spoke. ‘I want you to be happy, Steve, I—’
‘Don’t… Don’t.’ He said in the same tone as he took another step towards you. ‘You can’t lie to me Needy, cut the bullshit.’
You crossed your arms over your chest as you blinked your tears away, trying to fight the feeling of anger and defeat you felt inside.
‘Don’t.’ He pointed a finger at you as your eyes fell back on him.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Stop this, Needy—’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t start—’
‘You keep saying don’t don’t don’t—’
‘I don’t want to argue about this anymore.’
‘… And I don’t know what the fuck you mean—’
‘Don’t look at me like that, Needy. Don’t keep pressing on the fucking subject like—’
‘How? How am I looking at you?’
‘Just stop.’
‘Huh? Tell me Steve, how.’
‘Like a— helpless deer,’ He shouted. Steve tried to find his composure as he gathered the patience to look at you again. ‘Like a puppy that I just kicked, like you don’t fucking know.’
‘I’m getting out of here.’ You scoffed as you walked around the table through the side where he wasn’t standing.
‘No.’
‘Yes.’ You said as you made your way towards the door.
‘Needy.’ He said as he stood in the living room with his hands over his hips.
‘You know,’ You turned around on your heels as you stood next to the entrance of his apartment. ‘I find it fucking funny that I’m supposed to be the needy one here, when every single time something happens, I’m the one that shows up for you.’
Steve licked his lips as he let his hands fall on either side of him. You waited patiently as he shook his head, looking back at you.
‘Well, that’s your fault.’ He simply said.
It took you a few tense seconds to process his words. You stared at each other from each side of the apartment until a scoff scaped from your mouth.
‘You don’t say.’ You murmured sarcastically.
‘You know very well that if I tell you how much I need you, you’re going to walk through that door and avoid me for the rest of your life.’ He said as he took a step forwards. ‘I’m not gonna let that happen, Needy. I’m not gonna give you that option.’
‘You’re a selfish asshole.’ You murmured under your breath as you felt the tears pooling in your eyes.
‘If it’s about you, yes. Always.’ He shook his head seriously as he took another step towards you. ‘I want you for me, and I’m going to keep rejecting dates and sabotaging your attempts to see me happy with someone else that’s not you until you give me a chance.’
‘That’s manipulative.’ Your soft voice broke painfully as you felt the tears rolling down your cheeks. You were looking away, embarrassed and unable to hold his stare as he finally stood in front of you.
‘Maybe.’ He hid his hands inside his pockets as he looked back at you. He had always known how much you adored being touched by him, and just the idea that he knew you were craving for it now and he wasn’t going to do it just to prove his point was killing you. ‘But you haven’t dated anyone in three years, Needy. You spend every weekend with me. You have a drawer with clothes in my room, a toothbrush in my toilet, a copy of my keys. This is your home.’
‘Steve.’ You swallowed hard as you looked down because you didn’t dare to stare into his heartbroken eyes and know you were the reason he was hurting.
‘Listen, you don’t need to have me now.’ He said after a while. The so unbreakable façade he had been keeping up for the few minutes was slowly crumbling, by the way he had to clear his throat. By the way he had to swallow hard when you finally looked at him. Heavy eyelids and sad eyes as he shook his head. ‘I can wait. I probably will even if you don’t ask me to.’
‘That’s not fair.’ You whispered as your blinked slowly.
‘I don’t care about things being fair anymore.’ He said seriously. ‘I care about you. Being with you, taking care of you. I love you, Needy.’ He said it so honestly, so openly, that your guilt inevitably turned into shame inside your chest. He kept his dignity intact, and that was something you’d never be able to do. ‘I know you know. I know you’ve known for a while, and I’ve been able to live with it. Why can’t you?’
You stood speechless for a few seconds, unable to come up with the right words as you licked your lips and felt your hot skin almost melting on your face.
‘I don’t think I’m the right person for you, Steve.’ You admitted in a hoarse whisper. ‘I don’t think I’m the right person for anyone, really.’
He shook his head.
‘That’s some stupid bullshit you’ve let yourself believe.’
He wasn’t compassionate as he said it, just honest and vulnerable in ways that were messing with your mind. You stayed quiet as he kept talking, with that sincerity that was slowly turning you into nothing.
‘I get that you’re stubborn and whatever I might say now it’s going to be a hundred percent influenced by the fact that you’re my best friend and I’m in love with you, but you can’t live your life like this, Needy.’ His eyes lingered on your face as his eyebrows arched softly. ‘Sooner or later, everyone wants to be loved. And I want to love you. I do already, it’s effortless, I have… years of practice, Needy.’ He smiled softly to himself as he hid his hands deeper inside his pockets.
‘And I want you to give yourself the chance of… maybe finding out, that you might love me too. That you might be able to.’ He shook his head again as he looked away for a second, gathering the courage to keep going. ‘And I might be a selfish asshole, like you said. I know I can be arrogant, but I get the feeling, Needy, that you do. Because that’s just who you are, and you can’t help it. You just can’t help being the right person. You’ve always been.’
You released the deep breath you had been holding as your eyes searched for any little corner of the entrance to keep your focus on. There was a lot you were considering, but your words mixed up with your anxious thoughts, and there was so much you didn’t know how to address as you cleaned your teary face.
‘Why don’t you come back in, huh?’ He asked softly as you rubbed your eyes. ‘I’ll get you some water, maybe I can run you a bath…’
You finally looked back at him, biting the inside of your cheek as you shook your head absentmindedly.
‘I…’ You said as you lingered on your place. ‘C-Can I just— Can I crash here tonight?’
Steve stayed silent for a second as he stood in front of you. He seemed to hesitate briefly, scratching the stubble on his jaw before nodding.
You nodded too, releasing another deep breath as you two walked back inside. Ruby snored a little bit from the other side of the living room, the cocktail glasses untouched and forgotten on the table as the apartment’s atmosphere became intoxicated with tense sadness.
You sobbed a bit more as he led you into his bedroom, where the lamps barely illuminated his perfectly made bed that remained an unexplored area for you to this day. It was part of the implicit agreement of this friendship that on the common occasions where you stayed after a movie night or a few drinks that you’d sleep on his comfy couch while he stayed here. But tonight, there was no agreement, and just the thought brought more tears to your eyes as you sat down on the edge of the bed.
You could feel his soft stare on you when he sat down next to you, while more shameful tears ran down your cheeks. Steve’s hand rubbed your back as you sobbed again, unconsolable as a child as you attempted to clean your face once again.
‘Why don’t you lay down?’ He asked softly as he rubbed your back, but you now seemed to be having a bit of trouble breathing. ‘Needy.’
‘I can’t…’ You said tearily. ‘Tonight, I can’t. I’m sorry.’
‘You can’t?’ He lifted his eyebrows softly as he looked back at you, trying to search for answers in your pretty teary eyes. ‘You want to go home?’
‘No.’ you said softly as you breathed heavily. ‘I can’t have sex tonight. I’m sorry, Steve.’
‘Sweetheart.’ He said softly before he pulled you in. You melted effortlessly, swiftly climbing onto his lap to hide there.
His hands kept holding you against him as you pulled your knees up to your chest, hiding your head under his neck like you had done so many times before. You sobbed a bit more as he kept hushing those hurtful, weak noises that came out of you. He hid his nose on your hair, he kissed your scalp and rocked you softly as you cried some more.
‘Shhh.’ He whispered as you dozed off. ‘It’s okay. It’s all okay now.’
February 1995.
The weak sun sneaked through the curtains as you felt Steve’s weight move next to you on the bed. You sighed deeply as you stayed on that sweet and sometimes awful state between the real world and the realm of dreams.
Ironically, the idea woke you up fully as his arm wrapped around your waist. You had a dream, one of those that left you squeezing your legs while your body temperature increased unbearably.
Steve was awake, very awake. You could feel his heat against your ass as he kissed your shoulder, but thinking that you were still asleep, he didn’t bother in letting you know.
You swallowed hard as you considered the idea of starting the day like this. Your mind took you back to the faded memories of your dream, where he had done things to you that your body had been craving unconsciously and now it was sweetly begging you to do something about it.
Carefully, you took the hand that was hugging you to kiss his knuckles. You could feel the smile that lifted his lips instantly as he kissed the back of your neck, as he hugged you harder against his body.
‘Good morning.’ He said in a hoarse morning voice. The reaction of your body was instant, you were holding your breath as you moved to rest on your back, finding his sleepy eyes staring at your face already.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day.’ You said softly.
Still smiling, he leaned in to leave a soft peck on your mouth.
‘Happy Valentine’s, sweetheart.’
‘I got you a little present.’ You stretched under his stare as he lifted his eyebrows. ‘How do you feel about finally taking that trip to Miami?’
Steve seemed more awake as he leaned back.
‘Are you serious?’ He asked after a while.
You nodded softly, biting your lip as his smile turned wider.
‘There’s a little problem, though.’ You whispered as you turned to your side to wrap your arms around his neck. ‘It might be on the weekend where my parents’ organised that dinner for their vows renewal.’
Steve’s considered your words as his hand sneaked through your shirt, brushing your hip with his fingers as he bit the smile on his face.
‘They’re never going to find out.’ You laid back on the mattress as he climbed on top of you. ‘We just need to keep the pictures to ourselves.’
‘Oh, they will find out.’ Steve said as he entwined his hands on either side of you. A little mischievous smile took over his face at the way you were sighing deeply, he dragged your hands together over your head as he leaned in. ‘I’m gonna tell them.’
‘If you tell them, you’re going down with me, Harrington.’ You threatened him from your place underneath his body.
‘Oh, really?’ He whispered before he leaned in. His lips brushed yours briefly before their found your neck, sucking softly in a way that made you squirm a little before he was able to press his hard dick against your crotch. ‘I can just tell them you forced me to go with you.’
‘They won’t believe you.’ You said in a half moan, half sigh as his hands lifted your shirt to suck on your nipples.
‘I don’t know.’ He said as he left a trail of soft, wet kisses down your stomach. ‘Can just say the pussy was so good I couldn’t say no.’
‘Not to my parents, though.’ You laughed softly as he pulled down your panties. He laughed loudly in response, shaking his head as he blushed under your stare.
‘Right.’ He kissed the skin over your hipbone when he was able to kneel in front of you again. ‘I’ll have to come up with something else.’
‘Like…?’ You sighed when his mouth first came in contact with your pussy, arching your back at the delicious stimulus of his tongue on your clit.
‘I’ll just tell them you stole my idea for your Valentine’s Day present.’ He whispered against your folds as he dived in again to give your pretty pussy another wet kiss. ‘Naughty girl.’
‘No shit.’ You laughed softly as you opened your legs wider for him, letting out a whimper or two as he kept eating you out. ‘Really?’
‘Literally was going to call the travel agency tonight.’ He laughed too before his hands climbed up to stroke your boobs while he got lost on your taste. ‘S like you read my mind or something.’
‘Sorry— uh.’ You moaned again as your palm pressed over his hand against your breast. ‘That’s nice.’
‘Is it, huh?’ He said with his mouth full as he kept licking you. ‘I didn’t know you were so wet baby, how long has this pussy’s been this soaked huh?’
‘Mhmm.’ You moaned. ‘I don’t know. I had a dream earlier.’
‘A dream?’ He cooed, placing his cheek on your pelvis while two of his fingers dived inside your sensitive slit. ‘Damn, sweetheart. You can’t just wake up this messy and do nothing about it. Should’ve woke me up me earlier.’
You shook your head as you let out another whimper, playing with his hair absently as more wetness leaked out of your pussy.
‘M sorry.’ You moaned softly as you started to move your hips in beautiful, seductive circles that made Steve think about the last time you had been on top of him. ‘Was trying to— Uh. Tryin’ to find a way to ask for your help.’
‘Cause you knew I was going to clean you up, huh?’ He said as he fingered you a bit harder. ‘Spoiled thing, you like it when I clean you with my mouth?’
‘Yeah.’ You said with a choky breath. ‘Fuck.’
Steve leaned back slightly then, mesmerised at the way his shirt pooled over your clavicles, exposing your breasts and the rest of your greedy body for him as you kept fucking his fingers. He adored the way desire always found you casually, no makeup, socked feet, hair unbrushed as you bit your lip in desperation.
‘I’m ready.’ You breathed heavily as you looked down at him with a frown of desperation on your face. ‘Come here.’
‘Are you sure?’ He kissed your pelvis as he kept fingering you in the same rhythm. ‘You can cum like this, baby, I like it.’
‘M sure.’ You nodded enthusiastically. ‘I want you here. Inside.’
‘Inside where?’ He was climbing up your body to leave a nice love bite on your inner thigh. ‘Tell me with nice words.’
‘Inside my pussy.’ You moaned dreamily. ‘I want you inside me, please. I’m so needy.’
He smiled fondly at your choice of words, taking his dick out of his boxers with his free hand as his fingers lowered their pace inside you.
‘That you are, babe.’ His lips brushed your mouth when he said it, sweet and tender as he took out his fingers only to replace them with his heavy, hard dick. ‘Needy, Needy, Needy, My Needy.’
You smiled at the nickname as Steve started fucking you slowly, taking his own time as he enjoyed the folds of your flesh, the tightness of your hole. He left soft pecks all along your jaw, resting his forehead against your cheek as his hand rested on your hip for support.
‘I haven’t heard that one in a while.’ You murmured as you started moving your hips in the same pace as him. ‘I miss it.’
‘You do?’ He whispered.
You nodded softly. The heavy sigh that followed the kiss he placed on your earlobe was longing and a bit shaky. His lashes brushed your cheek lightly, almost tickling your skin as he blinked. He was looking at you, at the way you seemed drunk in your sweet pleasure, fascinated by how immersed you were in what your body was feeling.
‘I’ve been thinking about a new nickname for you.’ He said as he slowed his pace. You instantly opened your eyes to look back at him as he smiled shyly. ‘What d’you think about Mrs Harrington, huh?’
Your eyebrows arched softly as you stared back at him.
‘R-Really?’
The smile on his face was slowly turning wider, lifting the sides of his eyes as he nodded.
‘Think it will suit you.’ He said softly, stroking your pretty face with his knuckles as he fucked you absentmindedly.
You let out a choky breath as your eyes turned a bit glossy, the shadow of a stunned smile on the corner of your mouth as you studied his face.
In the first few months after you two tiptoed around the world relationship, Steve had witnessed your fears with a knot on his throat. Wet kisses and little moans tended to escalate into sobs quickly, and then he’d stop it all and hold you until you fell asleep. Desire was often declined, seduction discouraged. Yet you were still needy of his touch. And he needed you too much not to give it to you. So, he set his mind to break through your vulnerability with patient yet constant attempts. And when he finally did, he found that the innocence he had once known was on the other side, intact and as exquisite as it had always been.
‘What do you think?’ Steve asked then. He was leaning in to swallow the tear that ran down your face. A happy one, a precious one.
‘Think so too.’ You murmured as you hugged him tightly against your body. ‘Yes.’
As you cried softly, he kept loving on you and moving his hips to try appeasing that neediness inside you. That little flame that always remained lit, that lighthouse that kept calling him home. Something innocent and once incomprehensible, that now he had learned how to keep alive and protected under his touch.
🏷️: @cuddlyklaus
author's note: hi my cherubs ♡ first of all, i wanna wish you all a lovely valentine’s day and i hope you enjoyed this shot. i loved writing this thing and it has some of my favourite dialogue i’ve written for this blog. i’m not big on valentine’s day but im happy i was able to bring you a couple of posts, please celebrate yourselves in this lovely holiday even if you’re single or not !!!
i wanted to also thank you all for reading my stuff and the sweet messages i always get. i’m currently living through a very busy time of my life and i don’t think i’ll be able to spend as much time here as i used to. writing helped me to deal with stress and life for a while but i found myself diving too much into the fantasy world to the point where i think my mental health got a bit affected. this has nothing to do with you all because im lucky enough to say i have always been welcomed and treated with the outmost love and respect from this fandom and community. ily all and i will keep checking my inbox but i dont know if i’ll be able to come back with more writing for the next months. i know you’ll understand and i’ll leave all my posts there so you can reread them whenever you want to. - marie. x
♡
I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written work anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.
summary: you and steve have to fake-date after an awkward dinner at the wheeler-byers household—all while you're sure that he still wants nancy.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
word count: 6.9k
tags: (set before stranger things season 5 !!), fake-dating, friends-to-lovers, fluff & angst, requited unrequited love, miscommunication, awkward family dinners, robin = wingman, steve = clueless
cross-posted to ao3
a/n: had to rush this out before vol. 2 came out, just in case steve dies (if he dies, i die) — merry christmas if you celebrate !!
“I’ll give you twenty bucks if you admit it right now.”
“I’m broke, but I’m not that broke,” you shake your head, “Jesus, Rob.”
You’re mildly offended, but not remotely shocked, by the proposal. It’s easier to pretend to sort between The Jesus and Mary Chain and The Stone Roses and Modern English than to listen to Robin try to pry her way into your personal life; your fingers slide against the paper covers as you slot them back into their alphabetical placements. Even if your friend is well-intentioned, she’s completely out of her depth.
“A hundred bucks. A hundred bucks, and I’ll let you select the entire noon roster. That’s a bargain!” Robin rattles on, close on your trail; if she was any closer, she’d probably give you a flat. “Do you know how many times the boys have tried to get me to play The Cramps on-air this month? I’ve lost count. And, sure, the psychobilly stuff isn’t bad—but, hello, it’s the middle of December, not, like, Halloween night. What I’m trying to say is: it’s a pretty hefty deal I’m offering up here. Limited time offer.”
“You’d have to give me a thousand bucks. Or, put a gun to my head.”
“Dramatic,” she murmurs under her breath—not nearly enough to seem any less rude than it sounds, “Does that imply you’re only worth a grand?” You decide to let her think it out, but it doesn’t last for nearly long enough. Robin’s eyes flit from the ground, to the ceiling, and then back to you. She exclaims, “It’ll exponentially improve your mood if you just let it out. It’s psychologically proven!”
Though she’s been trying to convince you for the better part of a month, you still haven’t let up: you will not admit that you’re jealous of Nancy Wheeler. By no means is it Nancy’s fault. In fact, you adore her just a little bit more everyday with the way she takes lead on the crawls and makes sure that everyone’s in top shape for any major emergencies. The fact of the matter is that Nancy Wheeler is still the centripetal force of Steve’s affections. Steve sees her shaggy curls, the denim-jackets placed over floral blouses, the stack of metal bracelets, and his brain goes on the fritz.
The way that he looks at her makes you want to retreat into your own skin—siphon yourself out of existence—and still, you stick around to watch. A train crash you can’t bring yourself to look away from. Part of you wonders if it’s the nostalgia factor of it all—if Steve’s just one to reminisce about the good old days, still caught up on “King of Hawkins.” The worse, and fearfully more accurate alternative, is that Steve is in love with Nancy as she is now. Clever, witty, journalist Wheeler. The kind of gal to chew the ends of her pens and weasel the right information out of people. Strategist with a sawed-off shotgun. Though you’re not one for comparison, you’re sure that she must win in some way or another.
But, your harbored feelings for Steve are hardly anything new. Robin’s known about your little schoolgirl crush—you try to tell her, We’re early-twenties! Not early-tens, to no avail—since you started working at Family Video. You’re sure that’s when it started, because that’s when you had to start being around him five days of the week. Though you’d been a particularly good fly on the wall in high school, graduation swung around quickly. You needed a job to pool up a good sum of cash to move to some far-off city (the cliché smalltown transplant). Family Video was conveniently there. So were Steve and Robin.
Robin takes the record—U2, you think—gingerly from your hands and deposits it into the shelf in some off-place you’ll likely fix within the hour. She places both of her hands atop your shoulders. “Okay. You cannot tell me that you weren’t trying to laser-blast her with your eyeballs last weekend at the Wheeler’s. I saw it.”
You snort skeptically, “Why would I do that?”
“Because Steve was being all Steve. He offered to serve her plate and you were all weird and zoned and didn’t talk until Mrs. Wheeler started asking you about where you got your blouse.” Robin tugs at your collar—hung smile, like she’s got you all figured out—and it nearly makes your left eye twitch.
“Well, maybe, I’m just watching out for Jonathan. He gets all weird and jealous whenever Steve’s involved, and we kind-of, sort-of don’t have time for infighting.” You retreat from Robin’s touch, taking yourself into the little seating area the WSQK has set aside for breaks. You crash down on the coffee-stained orange couch, trying to be as leveled as possible with Robin; she lands just beside you, half-leaned on the back of the couch, legs crossed.
“There’s actually plenty of time for it. It’s been months with zero action in the Upside Down—minus the stupid patrols. Hop’s found nothing. You are scot-free to play this whole thing out. Finally!” Aside from Vickie and radio-hosting, you’re absolutely convinced that this is the only entertainment that Robin gets. “You are the master,” she claps her hands together, bows down to you just slightly, “of the long-game.”
You hate to think of it like that. Like you’d had some deliberate motive. For the first month of knowing Steve (Mr. Cologne-Heavy) in the flesh, you were just slightly dazed by the normalcy of him. He was just a guy—and, frankly, a bit of a dork. Clumsy sometimes, and easy-to-please. You weren’t nearly as serious about your little boy-crush then. Steve was just the nice back you got to look at during your morning shifts, you labeling the VHS tapes and him re-alphabetizing the romcoms.
You liked Steve; he was attentive. He knew that you liked to park your car under the fir in the backlot to keep the leather from frying up under the sun. He knew which customers you despised, and he knew when to step in. He knew that you wanted nothing but silence for the first hour of your shared morning shift—and was ready and willing to sort tapes conversation-less with you. He was your very good friend.
You sat through every single one of his failed matches with a strong-held despondence—even the desperate one-night stand he’d had with one Priscilla Allbright, a matchmaking scheme hatched up by Robin herself; she was the older sister of one of Robin’s theatre-kid buddies, but a tad too mean towards waiters—so it was easily one-and-done. And though Steve had rambled on about his continuous dry spell, you didn’t see it fit for you to throw yourself in the ring. It wasn’t until Steve’s dating ceased that you started to get concerned. He’d just stopped trying after Hawkins split in two. Nancy’s unintended doing.
Robin can’t help it. She wants more than anything to see the two do to shack up. She’s been making nothing but stupid bets and wagers for the past year—and even though she hasn’t made even a dime from it all, she still gets to revel in the satisfaction of you and Steve even being in the same room.
“I’m not jealous,” you affirm—easily ignored by Robin, who stretches her back left-and-right on the cushions.
“I don’t blame you. I’d be freaked too if Vick had some super-cool, fiery ex-girlfriend. No—I’d die!”
—
The next time the five of you get together—you, Rob, Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve—is at another one of those Wheeler-Byers dinners. This is the routine under your newfound militarized quarantine, especially when the Hawkins movie theater has tired of playing the same collection of movies five times over and you can only hit the same bar up so many times. All things considered, you think it’s a nice gesture that the Wheelers have offered up their home; it works out to have everyone under the same roof. They’re just as charitable when they host their little dinners, foldable chairs pulled from the basement and stuffed leg-to-leg at the dining table. Everyone pitches in to help prep—save for Mr. Wheeler, who slouches at the television box watching old tapes of football games from the year prior.
You have a decent spot at the corner of the table, wedged between Robin and Steve. Then, Steve next to Nancy, Nancy across from Jonathan… the usual. Steve has the tendency to jump his leg up and down underneath the table; the friction of his against yours isn’t easily ignorable, and yet you try to keep yourself quiet. In your peripheral vision, you can see the dad-looking sweater he chose for tonight, and his coiffed black hair.
You hate sitting next to Steve. It’s like this every dinner. You, getting passing whiffs of sandalwood and hairspray—trying not to look him in the eyes. Him, oblivious. There’s lots of ruckus; you’re pretty sure that there are four different conversations being shot across the table between the boys (save for a recluse Dustin), the parents, and you half-adults. Though Hop and El are still where they always are at the cabin, you’re sure that Joyce will bring them a well-packed plate the morning after. This dinner, Jonathan has persistently wrestled to pick up Nancy’s plate and serve her food; you’re very sure that she’s irritated by his insistence, because she gently scolds him with “I’m not a child.” Steve snorts, and you… don’t do a single thing. The chatter carries on, and you sit scooping peas over your mashed-potatoes.
You feel Steve lean his shoulder against yours, a too-warm attempt to get your attention. You’re too quiet for his liking. You crane your neck to look up at him, with a too-casual, “Yeah?”
“You know, the ‘indie’ stuff is really growing on me,” Steve chews, “I mean, I don’t really like how it’s all British—Go, Boston Tea Party, right?—but, they sound great.” You’ve been tossing in your personal favorites into Robin’s morning setlists. He’s clearly noticed.
You almost have to laugh. It’s a shocker, coming from him. “You like indie.”
Steve’s brows furrow, nodding his head along mid-question. “I do now. You’re, like, the connoisseur of the stuff. No offense, Rob.”
Robin beams. “Sure. None taken.” You hate sitting next to Steve. Especially when he acts like this.
The conversations carry on. Topics are restricted to normal, non-Upside Down, non-military—a house rule set by the kids. It’s like you’re spies. Steve picks up his reindeer-shaped ceramic mug—no thanks to the cup shortage (the Wheeler’s never hosted parties this big before)—takes a big swig of water out of the top. “You know what I miss? County fair.” Random. He continues, “I would kill for a churro. You guys ever ride the Zipper?”
Will diverts his attention from whatever pre-Calculus assignment Mike keeps moaning about to over to the other half of the table. “Jonathan threw up after the Zipper. Didn’t you?” Though he’s flat-faced, Jonathan’s clearly frothing with embarrassment.
“I did not throw up,” the older Byer brother insists, tone wavering just slightly. Will takes the win, turning back to the rest of the boys to continue rattling on about trigonometry.
“No throw-up talk at the table, please. Dinner,” Joyce warns, lifting her fork pointedly at Will and Jonathan. Tight-leash. You’re sure that she tries very hard to push good manners, especially under the Wheelers’ roof.
Steve carries on, trying to recall under his breath: “I took… Dana Mattey to the county fair? Think I won her a bear.”
“That was me, actually,” Nancy amends. Too loudly. Any existing conversation ruptures, leaving only the lingering silence of a dinner turned sour. Steve softens in his chair, looking at her meekly—before looking straight down at the table; he stops his jittery leg, eerily still. You’re very sure that you can see Jonathan’s knuckles whiten as he grips his fork. Mr. Wheeler grumbles some string of expletives that you can’t quite catch, and little Holly’s eyes flit between her parents and her siblings.
Mrs. Wheeler—already half wine-drunk—jumps to turn the conversation back around. She slurs, “The two of you aren’t seeing anyone?” The direction of her question toward the half-adult end of the table tells you that the question is pointed. The interrogatees: you and Robin. Steve is exempted, clearly. Mrs. Wheeler does this most nights, because Steve’s still very much her daughter’s preppy, popular high school ex-boyfriend.
Robin coughs up a bit—caught off-guard: “Oh. No. I’m not really looking for dates right now. Very career-focused. Radio’s, like, the new TV.” Robin lets out an affirmative, little “mhm!” before scarfing down too much food. Shitty liar. You try to give a nod in agreement, hoping that Robin’s response is satiating enough.
Mrs. Wheeler takes another swig of her wine, and then points lazily with her glass at you: “You?”
“Me.” You feel clammy.
She giggles coquettishly, “Well, you’re gorgeous. There’s got to be guys flocking to see you.” The wine in her glass sloshes left and right with the beat of her matter-of-fact explanation. You hear a little bit of a snort coming from the other half of the table.
“Lucas had a crush on you in middle school after you babysat him for Memorial Day,” Mike snickers, “Does that count?”
“Dude, shut up.” Lucas smacks Mike’s hand down into the table brusquely. You can see the two of them shove each other back-and-forth just beneath the sightline of the dining table. Robin gives you a nudge; the sole of her shoe juts into your calf, trying to urge a response out of you.
You’ve got a choice: tell the truth (you’re the modern-day equivalent of an old maid) or, opt for the easy way out. You choose the latter, replying wondrously—and maybe too proud: “I actually have a date on Saturday night.” Robin stifles her loud guffaw; she’s loving your improv. The rest of your friends—no, the entire table—look quite caught off-guard. Seems like everyone’s hushed up, save for the metallic scraping of forks against plates. It’s the puzzled tilt of Steve’s head that really does you in.
Though, Mrs. Wheeler is pleased enough with your response. “Of course you do, honey. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“He’s… uh…” Now, you’ve really dug your own grave. Your stammering dims her grin, and you’re afraid Mrs. Wheeler can see right through you.
It’s taking you far too long to spill. Robin brings her own drink slowly to her lips—wineglass, filled with apple juice—trying not to wear a sorry look on her face; it’ll only make it worse if she tries to come up with something for you. You’re just about to say a measly “boyfriend from Canada” joke, when Steve wraps his hand around your knee. “I’m taking her to Enzo’s.”
Robin makes a quick inhale-and-snort of her apple juice, and grabs for her napkin to try to wipe away the mess under her nose, dribbling down to her chin. The rest of the table reacts similarly—doe-eyed and curious. How did this happen? Mike murmurs a quick “Bullshit” under his breath, to which Nancy shoots out a stern “Mike!” By the looks of it, though, Nancy and Jonathan are the most confused out of everyone; after all, they spend the majority of the week with you guys at the Squawk, and they’d be able to see if you two were hooking up. And, it certainly doesn’t pair well with Steve’s here-and-there advances towards Nancy. The only person who’s mildly amused happens to be Will, who wears a proud, open-toothed smile on his face.
You try not to look as astonished as they do, but it’s taking a lot of work considering the fact that Steve’s hand is still landed on your knee—fingers edging toward your inner thigh. You’re so packed together in this dining room that you’re sure that the heat pooling off your cheeks easily reaches the other end of the table. You sum up just enough courage to look Steve in the eyes—maybe, to try and seal the deal, convince everyone that you are going out. Steve only gives you that tender, puppy-dog sort of look that he gives to pretty girls. You almost want to punch him for doing this for you. It’s too big of a lie.
When you swivel your head to look back at the rest of the table, everyone’s rather occupied by the sight of the two of you: Steve’s watchful eye and your electrified posture. You smile weakly, “We don’t have to talk about it right now. Lotta pressure.” An un-entertained Mr. Wheeler excuses himself to the living room (presumably, to watch last year’s baseball), and all the chatter resumes accordingly.
—
Robin’s the first to leave. A promise to Vickie to bring coffee for her late shift at the hospital gets her out the door promptly by nine o’ clock; she uses an easy excuse—need to make sure Grandma takes her meds. She doesn’t leave without giving you a wary look—you’ll get a stern talking to tomorrow—before she makes it out the door.
There’s a handful of things that run through your mind as you’re washing the dishes after dinner—up to your elbows in suds as you wash everyone’s plates. It’s Steve who insists on helping you dry them all off with a kitchen towel and file them back into the cabinets. Together, you create a two-person factory line. Wash-and-dry.
“You didn’t have to do that for me,” you murmur to him—hoping that the sound of the sink running will drown out your voices. Everyone else is scattered back around the house by now, but you’re quite sure that the boys are gathered in the living room. Nosy.
Steve shrugs. He leans in to murmur back to you, “Isn’t that what friends are for?” Right. Friends. “And, besides, it’ll get old Jonathan off my back about being around Nance so much.”
Now, you’ve got a better picture. If Steve “dates” you, he’s not nearly as much of a threat to their relationship. You’re not sure how much you like the sound of it. “Yeah. It’s a… good trade.” It’s hard for you not to wince. You focus more ardently on scrubbing the fork in your hand. “But, if they ask about the date—“
Steve tosses the towel over his shoulder, leaning against the counter beside you. “You’re right. Enzo’s is a stretch; I’d pay for it if you wanted me to, but realistically, you’d probably insist that I not do that. We would probably go for fries and a shake at Dee’s. Then, a late showing. Top Gun.” It’s the same old routine you go through every other week: post-work snack and a movie.
You snort, trying not to spritz soapy water on yourself: “God, we’ve seen it like a trillion times.” Steve pops a grin, too—satisfied with making you laugh for the first time tonight.
He leads, “Which is exactly why we would totally go see it again. Boom: flawless plan.” As soon as you slot the last plate into the dish rack, Steve takes the towel over his shoulder and tosses it to you. After drying up, you toss it over the rack of the oven. “Let me walk you out to your car, babe?”
“Asshole.”
—
You’re on one of the wheelie chairs back at WSQK. Saturday opening shift—you and Robin. It’s still shivering-cold this time of year, and there isn’t a bit of insulation. Steve’s not due for thirty, so the two of you are stuffed into the sound booth wrapped in blankets pulled straight from Robin’s trunk. You talk about the dinner, and after the dinner, all while you’re queuing up the setlist and sound cues for today’s morning segment. Robin’s too excited—flailing her arms around, up and at ‘em, pacing back and forth in the studio—while you scribble hard on the clipboard on your lap.
“This is perfect!” she shouts. It makes your right eye twitch; her volume is fifty decibels too loud for six-in-the-morning.
“No, Rob. It’s embarrassing.” You check off cassette numbers, placing the janky plastic cases into their respective slots.
“Sure, he volunteered to be your boyfriend—fake boyfriend—to save you the embarrassment of being a perpetual single. That’s nice and all. But, if you guys keep this up—“
It’s a nightmare just to think about. Every Wheeler-Byers dinner spent with Steve pretending to coddle you. Now, you’re really feeling sick of the military quarantine; New York sounds especially appealing. Or, Antarctica. You have to interrupt her. “We can’t keep it up.”
Robin goes blank, dingy-old Converse glued to the rug beneath you both, before shaking her head with an especially sharp-edged stare. “Sure you can. You have to. Or, it’ll disappoint the hell out of everyone.” ‘Everyone’ and ‘Robin’ are somewhat interchangeable, you think.
“I don’t think he’s going to want to keep it up that long.”
“He might surprise you,” she says earnestly. You wonder if you should trust Robin a little bit more than you do with these matters; after all, she is his best friend as much as she is yours. She carries on, “And, he’ll eventually face the fact that you are the top-tier option. Can’t get better than this.” Robin tugs cheekily at your collar, flouncing your hair a bit. It isn’t until you hear Steve’s Beamer roll up onto the gravel out front that you begin to shove her wriggly hands away. “Okay, okay,” you tell her, “Cool it, Buckley.”
As you carefully smooth down your hair, Steve makes it through the metal front door with a carton cup holder balanced on one hand and his keyring swinging in the other. “Coffee delivery,” he shouts over to the two of you, shoving his keys into his back pocket.
“Robs,” he deposits the cup on the nearest surface by her: counter by the microphones. “Steve, equipment. We talked about this,” she squeaks out, picking up the hot drink and placing it outside of the booth on the sturdier surface of a coffee table.
“Sorry, sorry,” he spews out haphazardly, before sliding over to you. You prop the clipboard gently onto the floor so you can take the coffee cup from his grip. Leaning down to bestow the cup upon you, Steve mumbles, “Girlfriend.” Your hands tremble just slightly as he hands it over to you—fingertips pressing against yours. A strong grip around the coffee cup quells your shaking—but you feel extremely hot-faced. Through the waxed-glass window of the sound booth, you can see Robin flags you with a crazed, wide-eyed smile. You’re only thankful that Steve has his back turned away from her.
“You don’t have to fake it right now,” you tell him. He knows and you know and Robin knows. There’s absolutely nothing to hide amongst the three of you.
Steve tuts softly, “Well, I know that. I’m just trying to build a good habit. I don’t want to be the one who slips up.”
“Well, I definitely won’t be the slipper-upper,” you retort. It’s a half-competitive, half-truthful sentiment that urges you to stand up, shedding your blanket over the top of the rolling chair—still gripping your cup tight. This brings you and Steve chest-to-chest, you tilting your head up to meet his gaze. You swear to God that the sound booth usually feels a lot bigger than it does right now. Steve pulls at the hem of your shirt as he looks over you.
“Actually, speaking of,” Steve perks up, “I wanted to run something by you.” You try to keep it cool, letting a lowly breath pass your lips.
“Yeah?” You can feel heat fanning across your body.
“If any of our friends ask about our little movie-date—like the little P.I.’s that we know they are—we should probably make sure that our stories line up.” Right. Steve wants to make sure that you both have all your bases covered. Clever. You give him a curt nod, under the impression you’ll both just have a little study session after Robin gets off-air, when he says: “We’ll just go on it—the date. As friends.”
You’re not sure whether you should be pleased or frightened, but Steve looks rather adamant about carrying through with the whole ordeal. “Are you sure?”
“Well, yeah. We’ve already put in all this work to keep it up, so we can’t just back down now,” he tells you plainly, “I’ll even bring you flowers to seal the deal. Still, flawless plan.”
The thought of Steve showing up to your doorstep with his stupid cologne and bouquet of lilies is nice. Too nice. A part of you has to wonder whether he’s still doing it for you, or if he’s doing it for himself. Realistically, it’s a bit of both—and you’re not sure if you see this working out well for either of you. You want to tell Steve, No, you should just tell her that you love her, but the sound of Robin knocking over a stack of cassettes just outside the booth makes you falter.
“Flawless plan,” she crackly echoes, before ushering herself to the vinyl shelves. You’re certain that if she turns around to face the both of you, her face will be highlighted red from top to bottom. But, Robin merely huddles herself against the wall—face out-of-sight.
—
Steve doesn’t show up with lilies, because you both leave straight from the WSQK. The sappy offshoot: a couple of daisies picked off the lawn outside. Curfew in Hawkins means any plans are pushed back at least a couple of hours. So, your Saturday night date is more like a Saturday afternoon. The two of you roll up to Dee’s with a Daryl Hall & Oates cassette slotted into the player of his Beamer. It’s better this way, you think. More like you. You’re just glad it’s not Enzo’s, and that neither of you had to dress up. Steve spritzes his cologne, you spruce your hair up a bit. It’s comfortable.
Not too many customers at this hour—so you and Steve get placed at a booth in the corner right away. You wonder how it looks from an outsider’s perspective—if it looks right, the two of you sitting on the same side. The waitress sure buys it, with Steve ordering for the both of you with his arm scooped around the back of your seat. She takes your orders as quickly as she can so she can skitter away to the kitchens, out of sight—probably to smoke a cigarette out back.
Once she’s gone, you turn to Steve with a hint of a smile on your face. “Okay. We should have, like, a good anecdote. Something really cute.” You want to be able to make this whole thing believable for the entire clan that is your friends.
“Right.” Steve tries to think something up, hand rubbing his cheek, eyebrows furrowed. He’s sifting through the possibilities. Then, he gets it—finger successively tapping on the surface of the vinyl table: “This old couple sat right by us and told us that we reminded us of them.” He looks so exhilarated by the little made-up scenario, head perked up like a meerkat out of Nat Geo—that you almost don’t want to shoot it down…
Still, you shoot out: “...Yeah, that sounds like bullshit.” He’s just a little bit offended—shoulders dropped, huffing out in only slight irritation.
He nudges his shoulder against yours. “Go ahead, then. Come up with something better.”
“Okay—we… got bored and played hangman on the placemats,” you volunteer. It’s not a terrible lie; Dee’s has the plain-white paper placemats, and crayons in cups just behind the counter for kids. A pretty good way to stay entertained.
“Just as bad as mine,” Steve retorts, stretching back out with his arms folded by his head, extended against the back of the seat. You’re very sure that Steve has some kind of back issues from everything you’ve been through—he’s always complaining about knots—and it worries you every now and again. Twenty-one going on sixty. It worries you even more when he does the little stretch-and-groan, an occasional test of your self-restraint. You try your hardest not to flick your gaze down to the sliver of stomach that gets exposed in his movement. Steve grumbles out: “My God—that’s gotta be from a movie or something.” Absolutely clueless.
You keep your eyes locked on the table in front of you—hands locked neatly together. “It probably is. God knows how many bullshit romcoms we sped through back at Family Video. Probably printed onto our brains by now.” He snorts.
The waitress comes with the fries—a large plate of them for the two of you, and a cookies and cream shake with two straws plunged into the cup. You don’t remember Steve asking them to group it like that, but to ask the waitress to send it back sounds like so much of a hassle, and you’re already pretending—it would be weird if you didn’t split it. The image of the two of you sharing the shake, nose-to-nose, makes your palms sweat.
Steve doesn’t give you any flack for the panic setting in on your face, just scoots the shake towards you with a nod. You first. “I know you totally dig that stuff. You don’t have to lie,” Steve carries on, “Hots for Swayze big time.” Relief. You pull the straw into your mouth, sipping up a gulp of the shake. It cools you down, only by a bit, and you spend the next couple of seconds focusing very intently on mashing the cookies around the bottom of the cup.
“Swayze’s not my type,” you say. Too much conviction. You know your type well—got it all figured out. So, this piques Steve’s interest; his eyebrow raises up just a tad, and you can feel him eyeing you.
Steve tries again, not before chewing on a couple of fries. “Then, what is your type?” Tall, dark hair, loyal as a German Shepherd, maybe a little bit dense…
“Don’t have one.”
“Everybody has a type,” Steve insists, “I’ve got a type.” He drags the shake towards himself, out from your hands, to take a generous sip. You’re very sure that you have his type all figured out, too.
“Witty and unavailable?” Nancy Wheeler, in two words. This gets him straightened out, trying to check the validity of your suggestion. Steve mulls it over, while you find yourself grabbing for a messy stack of fries to shut yourself up. This is small-talk Hell, and you’re only making it worse for yourself.
Finally, Steve gives a noncommittal shrug—wick of black hair falling over his forehead. You’re even sure that his ears have turned a bit pink; the overhead lights of the diner are bright, not doing him any favors in concealing it. He hums, “That’s one way to put it.” Then, he slides the cookies and cream shake back over to you insistently: finish it. “You’re sure Swayze doesn’t do it for you? No? Okay. The, uh, the Indiana Jones guy,” he guesses.
“None of the above,” you retort, shaking your head with a faint grin on your face. Steve smiles to himself, only satisfied with the fact that he’s giving you a light bit of entertainment.
You spend the rest of the meal—as short as it is—thinking about his answer. It’s still daylight by the time the two of you make it out of Dee’s and back to Steve’s Beamer. On the drive to the movie theater, you’re still thinking about it. About him. It puts you into a bit of a crisis, really. Steve’s in love with Nancy, but he’s out on this date with you. It takes a bit of time to settle with it again: it’s fake, it’s a favor, and Steve’s only half-there on your behalf. He isn’t yours.
Your contemplative silence on the drive to the movie theater makes him only a little bit unnerved. Steve decides to drive the two of you around to the back of the theater—“knowing a guy who knows a guy who’ll let him park his car in the backlot.” You’re pretty sure it’s one of Steve’s old basketball teammates, but you’re not particularly inclined to call him on it. You know it’ll all be pretty patched-up once you make it through to Top Gun. Quoting lines to each other, all whispers and airy laughs, like always. Good friends.
—
You decide to go in one car for the next Wheeler-Byers dinner a week after. Robin’s already inside, planning some monthly interview for the WSQK with Nancy—so it’s just you and Steve in the Beamer, parked up on the end of the block. “Should I give you my sweater?” he asks you, shifting his gear shifting into park, “I feel like that shouts ‘We’re together now.’ You can leave your coat in the backseat, we’ll say you forgot it, and I’ll freeze my ass off. Totally sells it.” He doesn’t wait to hear your response, just slides out of the car and shuts the door soft behind him. Steve swings his keyring around his index finger, coming around to the passenger’s seat to open your door for you. He grabs your hand, helps you out of the car with a steady grip.
Once he shuts the door, you jump to ask him: “How long do you think we should keep this up?” Like a deer caught in headlights, Steve stares at you. He purses his lips.
Erring on the side of caution, he replies, “That’s a good question. How long do you want to keep it up?”
“Well, what if there’s somebody that you really, really like and we have to stage a massive fake-breakup?” A worst case scenario given Nancy breaks up with Ionathan. Even worse: “Or, what if they expect us to kiss?” So, maybe you sound a bit immature, but it isn’t out of the realm of possibility. There’s a chance that—given enough wine—Mrs. Wheeler will become just audacious enough to ask you about the more intimate aspects of your relationship; it’d be strange for you and Steve not to be all attached at the hip. And, other places. Steve seems to think it over, hands moving to rest on his hips. He looks troubled, tapping his sneaker against the sidewalk, eyes darting across your face like he’s trying to glean something off of you.
“Okay,” he decides, a short sigh—before sidling up closer to you. He tries to kiss you—and you let him. He leans in, plants his lips onto yours—your noses tentatively bumping against one another in the quick motion. Steve’s face is hot against yours, and you can hear him let out a guttural sigh as your lips move to meet one another. It’s like a dream, the way he walks you back against the Beamer, and runs his fingers through your hair… He stops as soon as he feels you push against his chest. Your lips brush for a second more, before Steve retreats away from you. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He peels off of you to lean on the side-door of the Beamer beside you. Steve’s hands are stuffed into his jacket pockets, as he looks gravely down at both of your shoes on the concrete. “Stupid idea.”
You have your arms crossed, hand over your mouth. He just kissed you—hard. You can’t say you’re not pleased with it, because you are. Extremely so. But, you’re even more confused by it than anything else. “You’re in love with Nancy,” you spout.
Steve’s head whips up, dumbfounded. “No, I’m not.”
“Uh… yeah, you are. You hate Jonathan, you get all close and weird like you do, and you can never stop staring at her.”
“I don’t hate Jonathan. I love pissing him off,” Steve corrects you. The lack of reaction that you give him makes him startled. He backtracks, “Okay, okay—maybe, I thought I had a shot with her last year, but that was last year. I wasn’t thinking straight, I was all over the place. We’re friends and all now, but that’s it.”
“But, we were talking about—y’know, on Saturday,” you stutter out, “Nance.”
“I was talking about you,” Steve shakes his head, “You’re witty and unavailable and…” His train of thought takes him right up against the truth. Steve is nearly glowing with recognition—you don’t respond, reticent, face hardened with embarrassment: “You’re jealous.”
You almost feel like bolting down the edge of the street, ditching Wheeler-Byers’, and maybe even running home. You open your mouth to protest against the claim, and Steve’s astounded expression just makes you more fired up to prove him wrong. There’s a long string of “I’m not’s” and “You are’s” that passes between the two of you, enough to lose count—God, he’s so like Robin in his stubbornness. No wonder they get along—before you finally shut him up with a loud: “I am! I’m jealous of Nancy, and it drives me crazy. Happy?”
With a tilt of his head and a shrug, Steve murmurs, “I mean, yeah.” You can only reach out to shove him by the shoulder. He lets you push him back a couple of feet, soles scuffing against the sidewalk, before he plants himself more solidly on the ground. He’s trying very hard to conceal the growing grin on his face as you swat at his arms, all pissed and flustered. The second you let up, he grips you by your arms. “I should’ve just asked you on a regular date,” Steve admits, “I kept on putting it off because you’re just so…” He moves his hands to gesture over you. “You. And, with the whole dinner thing, I thought, ‘What the hell, why not take the easy way out of friendzone?’—even though I could’ve just asked you out months ago and solved the whole issue in the first place.”
“We’ve been dancing around each other for no reason,” you murmur.
“Not a lick of it,” Steve nods, shooing you aside a bit to pull open the backseat of the Beamer. “Now, toss your coat in the back.” You shrug your coat off of yourself, taking the heavy lump of fabric and tossing it haphazardly on the leather cushions. It’s shivering cold without it on, but the heat emanating off your face makes up for the lack of layers.
It doesn’t last for long. Steve shuts the door, before grabbing at the bottom of his sweater and pulling it over his head. He gestures for you to come closer to him, before tugging it carefully over your head. You slot your arms through the sleeves, well-wrapped in the warmth of the plush fabric. He makes sure the hem is straightened out, and fixes your hair accordingly. “You’re it for me. No fake-outs.”
You hook your pinkies into his belt loops, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. A flat “oh” slips past his lips as you pull him in, and he makes sure to place his hands around your hips as your lips slot together. Again. And, again. Steve’s wearing a smirk through each of your kisses, nothing but pleased about how it’s all played out. “Can’t wait to do this all the time,” he exhales.
“Let’s get inside. I know you’re freezing to death in just this.” You pull at Steve’s white t-shirt. His shoulders are tightened, arms quickly crossed, and you can tell very clearly that he’s trying not to shiver.
—
Entry into the Wheeler house isn’t anything but excitable. As soon as you're through the front door, Robin peeks the two of you from the staircase—Steve’s red face and your swollen lips; she nearly pushes Nancy over to tumble down the steps, inspecting each of you closely. “Holy shit,” she gasps quietly, “Holy shit! Did the two of you hook up? Say yes.”
“We kissed, you dork.” You have to slap her hand away as she pokes her index finger against your bottom lip. “Don’t say the H-word. There’s kids around.”
“Holy shit, or hook-up?” Steve asks. Neither of you respond.
“Well, I’m just saying that the credit for the H-word should be given where it’s due.” Robin points two thumbs in her own direction, and you reach up to noogie her hair. She yelps, trying to pry you off of her. “Okay, okay, I’ll shut up,” she tells you, but you can see her divert her attention towards Steve with a devilishly pleased expression. Robin punches him without restriction on the arm with a cheerful “You did it, bud!”
Your eyes flit suspiciously between the two of them. She’s proud, and he’s sheepish. God, Robin’s a meddler, but you can’t be completely irritated with her. Nancy makes her way down the stairs behind Robin with a pleased smile—and a teasing “nice”—shot at all three of you before she passes through the hall. You follow her trajectory to the dining room, where you can see the rest of your motley gathering of family moving around to set the table. You’re not nearly as scared to play boyfriend-girlfriend with Steve—especially when you can feel his hand resting securely on the small of your back.
4 Flowers is honestly the best song that k-pop has given to us this year. I really really needed a vocal heavy chill song after all these gibberish songs we've been getting so far. I can't wait to listen to the live version, I'm so sure they're going to slay it, with a live band?!! Omg that'd be crazy
From the bottom of your boots to the top of your hat
Bestfriend! Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
Summary: At a Halloween party at the hideout, Steve's night takes an unexpected turn when you spend your evening flirting with other people. Dressed as a cowboy and fueled by a bit too much jealousy, Steve is forced to face a truth he's been avoiding for years- He doesn't want to be your best friend anymore.
A/N : This song has been stuck in my head for so long, I'm so sorry I just love Ella!
Steve arrived at the hideout shortly after 9 PM, the place packed to the seams with people dressed in different costumes. Halloween decorations hung from every available surface, Cheap cobwebs stretched across the ceiling in the corners, orange twinkling lights glowing behind the bar. He adjusts the cowboy hat that sits on top of his dark brown hair, much to his dismay, as he walks in behind robin.
He didn't expect to see you immediately, given how a majority of the bar is shoulder to shoulder, barely any space between the intoxicated people, but there you were, in the far corner of the bar, sitting down next to Eddie, with Nance and Johnathan sat across from you. A smile grows on your face as you wave at them. Eddie leans down to your ear, mumbling something softly as your face contorts to confusion, and the recognition, before a laugh erupts out of you. And despite the loud noise that surrounds him, he can hear your laughter above all of it.
Robin takes notice immediately before Steve can stop staring
"Oh, you are so done for"
"What?"
You've been looking at her for five whole seconds. That's practically a marriage proposal for you"
Steve rolls his eyes before robin grabs his hand and drags him over to the small table where 2 other seats sat unattended. Your voice pipes up as he plops down next to you.
"Well, howdy there partner!" you say with a fake country drawl, causing his eyes to gaze over your own costume, but he freezes.
Because not only do you look incredible, but your costume also accidentally matches his, minus the hat that you subbed for two braids in your hair.
"I recon there's only room for one of us in this bar" Steve jokes back, his own accent causing a twinge in your stomach.
"Well, you best get to stepping pretty boy, I was here first" You wink, grabbing your empty beer bottle before asking the table if anyone needed a drink from the bar, completely unaware that you short-circuited Steves brain.
As you take in everyone's orders and practically skip to the bar, Steve lets out a sigh and places his hat on the sticky table, running his hand through his now free hair. Eddie lets out a short laugh, eyes bouncing between the two of you.
"So, Harrington...when you gonna ask her out?" Eddie asks, taking a long sip of his beer with a raised eyebrow. Steve chokes on his saliva, causing both Johnathan and Robin to pat him on the back, before the short brown-haired girl answered for him.
"Our poor Steve hasn't come to terms that he is deeply in love with our sweet Y/N" robin says softly, an adoring smile on her lips as Steve aggressively shakes his head.
"I am not in love with her. She's my friend, nothing more." Steve says to the table, as Eddie nods with pursed lips.
"Ah, ok. So, you don't mind the guy that's trying to talk her up at the bar?"
"WHAT?" Steve whips his head around, causing the table to burst into fits of laughter.
Surely enough, there you were with a guy standing way to close to you for Steve's liking. He tips his head down to whisper something to you, causing you to throw your head back in laughter as Steve's stomach bubbles in jealousy.
Wait...
Jealousy?
Steve groans, watching as you talk with your hands, a habit you do when your excited. This erupts a laugh from the guy as he gently touches your arm, your eyes looking up at him with a kind smile.
Steve was out of his chair and walking across the bar without even realizing it, a wolf whistle surely coming from Eddie behind him.
"Hey" Steve grits out, standing next to the guy, easily towering over him.
"Oh..um hey Steve" you say, wringing your hands as your eyes bounce from both men in front of you.
You had always liked Steve, from the first time you met him back in eighth grade, but then he dated every other girl besides you, and well Robin for obvious reasons, so you always assumed you weren't his type. In comparison, you were nothing like Nancy, and while it hurt at the time, you learned to accept it, and tried to move on.
"Uhm...Can I help you with something...? I was just talking to -"
"Garrett!" the blonde said, sticking his hand out for Steve to shake.
"Steve" he said, disregarding Garretts hand and helping you grab the beers and Cherry coke you knew you bought for robin, because while she did drink beer with everyone else, you noticed how her face would twist in disgust when she thought no one was looking. "C'mon, Everyone's waiting for their drinks, don't want them to get warm" Steve grumbled, eyes watching your own as you mumbled an "oh shit right."
"Bye Garrett! Maybe I'll see you later?" You questioned, and Steve had to physically hold himself back from saying that was in fact, not happening under his supervision. Garrett gave you a sweet smile and a nod, his eyes darting between you and Steve and you began to walk back to the table.
Steve was in for a long night.
~
Steve watched is disdain as he watched you dance with Garrett. It started off innocent, a drunk Nancy pulling you and robin onto the dancefloor. You pleaded with Steve to join you, even shooting him your best tipsy puppy dog eyes and pout, but he stayed strong, muttering something about having 2 left feet.
He regretted it now, watching as Garrett placed his hands on your hip as you swayed.
He flicked his cigarette he borrowed from Eddie; his face and body bathed in red from the neon lights that illuminated the hideouts sign, shuttering as the cold October air nipped at his exposed skin. He perched himself on the brick wall of the bar, a soft sigh escaping him as the doors swung open and the cigarette was taken from his grasp.
"Hey" he argued, looking up to see your eyes already watching his angrily.
"What the hell is this Harrington?"
"What does it look like?" He asked sarcastically.
"It looks like a bad habit you promised you'd stop" She spoke angrily, before flicking the cig to the ground and stomping it with your foot.
"Hey!" Steve yelled, at the same time she asked "What the hell is wrong with you tonight?!"
"Nothing"
"Steve"
"it's nothing!"
"Steve Harrington"
He just about pulled his hair out.
"Where's Garrett, huh? Why are you out here wasting your time with me?" he asked staring at her, only to be met with a small smirk.
"You were jealous" She teased, holding out her last word.
"Don't sound so happy about it"
"Why were you jealous, hm?"
And that's when it finally hit him. The answer was embarrassingly obvious.
"I didn't like seeing you hang off some other mans arms. I couldn't stand the fact that some other man could ask you for your number, take you out on dates, or be your person" He said, reaching out for her. A shy smile graced her lips, as he wrapped his finger around her belt loop of her daisy dukes that were driving him insane all night, tugging her to his chest. "I want to be that man. I want to be your person" He spoke softly, his breath hitting her lips.
"Took ya long enough, cowboy" She said softly, rising up on her toes to kiss him. He barely had a chance to react before she stepped back, and grabbed his hat, placing it on her own head.
He just stares.
"You know thats mine, right?"
"Looks better on me"
"You know the hat rule, pretty girl?" he spoke roughly, watching as goosebumps slowly littered her skin.
"Oh do I.." She teased, slowly backing away as he stalked forward. "But ya gonna have to catch me first cowboy" she winked, before turning on her heel and taking off running to the parking lot.
Why was that episode like five minute long?!! I took a bite from my food and the show was over. We need longer episodes for widow's bay!! They are too fucking short. We deserve atleast one hour episodes, like c'mon!!
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend loves you with his whole heart. and sometimes, you’re not sure what to do with something that big.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, established relationship, touch/love-starved reader, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, brief smut, implied past trauma/abuse but nothing explicitly mentioned, heart-aching fluff, character analysis
𝐚/𝐧: flipping my favorite trope onto reader. this one's for all my peeps who have a tough time with physical touch and emotional intimacy
♡ · · · ♡ · · · ♡
Your boyfriend loves easily.
Affection stitched directly into the lining of him, inseparable from the rest of his body.
Touch, to Steve, is instinct before intention.
Automatic and unthinking, his hands find you the way roots find water.
Waiting in line at the fall fair, he hooks two fingers through your belt loop and sways you gently side to side while the Ferris wheel spins overhead in smeared red and gold light.
The air smells like fried dough and cinnamon sugar, cold autumn wind carrying bursts of laughter through the crowds. Steve stands behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder, warm chest pressed loosely to your back while he argues passionately about kettle corn versus popcorn.
Once in a while, he'll slide his thumb beneath the cuff of your sleeve mid-sentence, stroking the pulse point at your wrist, completely unaware that your heart is beating itself raw under his fingertips.
It’s impossible to explain it.
How overwhelming it feels to be loved by someone so thoroughly.
Because Steve never hesitates.
Never acts like affection is something shameful.
Love pours out of him, as naturally as body heat.
If your hands are cold, he interrupts himself halfway through a story just to catch your fingers and tuck them into his jacket pockets alongside his own, rubbing warmth back into your knuckles while continuing his sentence without missing a beat.
If you yawn during movie night, his arm is around your shoulders before the sound can finish leaving your mouth. “C’mere, sleepy girl,” he murmurs automatically, pulling you sideways against his chest.
If your shoelaces come untied in the middle of the sidewalk, he drops immediately to one knee with a distracted, “hang on, baby.”
Rainwater hisses along the curb while he reties the bow tighter this time, fingers quick and practiced, one hand steadying lightly against your ankle. His knuckles brush your skin through your sock and you have to stand there, holding your breath until your lungs ache with it, staring down at the concentration pulling his brows together.
Wondering what it must be like to love someone with your whole heart and not feel like it’s going to break you open.
He’s warm everywhere, your Steve. Warm hands, warm mouth. Warm stomach pressed against your back beneath blankets. He smells like laundry detergent and faint cedar cologne rubbed into the collar of his jackets. Sometimes vanilla chapstick, sometimes mint gum. Always Steve.
And the kisses are constant too.
Quick, thoughtless ones, born entirely from fondness.
The corner of your mouth while waiting for the microwave to beep. Your forehead when he passes behind you in the kitchen. Your shoulder while you lean over the sink brushing your teeth side by side. The back of your neck when he reaches around you for orange juice in the fridge, mumbling a sleepy, “morning, honey,” against your skin before kissing beneath your hairline.
Sometimes he just looks at you for a second. Expression softening imperceptibly, like some private thought crossed his mind, and then he leans over and kisses your cheek with this quiet little hum in his throat.
Like loving you tastes good.
And god, the neck kissing.
It’s terrible.
And right now, in the middle of a museum gallery so quiet you can hear shoes squeak against polished floors, he’s doing it again.
You’re trying to read the plaque beneath some enormous renaissance painting—something about divinity and grief, oil on canvas—but Steve is behind you, arms folded around your waist while he scans the museum brochure one-handed.
One of his hands has slipped beneath your cardigan, warm palm spread low across your stomach.
“Okay, so,” he murmurs near your ear, voice low enough that the sound vibrates through you, “there’s the Greek sculpture thing upstairs, or... there’s apparently a room with these like, tiny dollhouses?”
You wrinkle your nose. “That sounds horrifying.”
“Right?” His lips brush the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Like what if one of them’s haunted?”
Then his mouth finds the hinge of your jaw.
One lazy, distracted kiss.
His lips are soft, slightly chapped from the cold outside. Warm breath spills across your skin afterward, making your pulse jump beneath his mouth. He lingers there, nose nudging lightly against your neck while he keeps mumbling off different sections of the museum.
You feel the shape of his smile against your skin when he finds another ridiculous exhibit.
“Apparently there’s a room that’s just chairs.”
“That can’t be true.”
“No, I swear to god.”
Then his mouth drifts lower.
Open-mouthed kisses this time.
Slow enough that warmth blooms beneath every press of his lips. You feel the faint scrape of his teeth catch your skin playfully before he smooths over it with another softer kiss, his thumb stroking across your stomach.
Your entire body tightens around the feeling.
The worst part is knowing that he isn’t trying to fluster you.
Steve isn’t performing intimacy.
He just never second-guesses affection.
Unlike you.
For you, every touch feels catastrophic.
The second Steve touches you, awareness crashes through your body all at once—your pulse, your breathing, the weight of his hand, whether your hair smells okay, whether your stomach feels too soft beneath his palm, whether someone across the gallery can see this.
Whether you deserve to be loved this openly at all.
“....and Robin said there’s some painting of a guy eating his own son which honestly seems kinda—”
He stops, hand stilling against your stomach.
“Babe?”
You blink hard, staring at the plaque without reading a single word.
Steve leans back, concern creasing immediately between his brows.
“Hey,” his hand slides higher, rubbing gently over your ribs. “You okay?”
“Hm? Mhm.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Another lie.
Your skin still burns where he kissed you.
And underneath all the panic is something worse.
Fear and hunger, knotted so tightly you can’t separate them anymore.
Wanting him closer, wanting him to keep touching you forever. Wanting to crawl inside every warm, gentle thing he gives you and stay there.
Not knowing what you’d do if he ever stopped.
Because as terrifying as it is to be loved this softly, you think losing it might actually destroy you.
“You wanna sit down for a sec?” Steve asks quietly. “I think I still have that granola bar in my bag if you’re hungry.”
You almost laugh, because of course that’s where his mind goes.
Care.
Always care.
“No, I’m okay,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “We can keep going. The uh, Greek sculpture thing sounds good.”
He watches you for a beat longer than comfortable, thumb rubbing against your hipbone through your jeans.
“Okay,” he says finally.
His hand slides up your arm, gently fixing the cardigan slipping off your shoulder. His fingers brush your neck in the process, absentmindedly smoothing your hair back into place too.
And then, because he’s Steve—because affection lives inside him so naturally he doesn’t know how to love except with his whole body—
He reaches down and interlaces your fingers with his.
Warmth immediately fills the spaces between your knuckles, his callused fingers curling around yours with steady, secure pressure.
He keeps holding your hand the entire walk toward the staircase, thumb stroking across your skin while he talks about haunted dollhouses and ugly marble babies and whether you think ancient Greek people had chest hair.
And isn’t it terrifying, how quickly your body has learned what safety feels like in someone else’s hands?
...
It isn’t just the touching.
You almost wish it was.
Because that would be easier to understand.
A touch can be explained away:
Steve’s just naturally affectionate. Steve likes physical contact.
But it’s not just that.
It’s the way he loves you without condition. Without making you earn it first.
A few weeks into dating, he showed up at your apartment carrying a bouquet so enormous it nearly blocked his entire face.
When you opened the door, all you could see were flowers.
Soft cream roses crowded against pale pink delphiniums, petals curling delicately at the edges like silk ribbon. Deep burgundy dahlias bloomed low in the arrangement, velvety and dark as spilled wine, white baby’s breath drifting between everything like tiny bursts of snowfall.
And hidden right in the middle were your favorites.
Blue hydrangeas.
Dusty-blue petals clustered together like storm clouds at dusk, edges fading lavender where the light caught them.
You had pointed them out exactly once while passing a florist downtown.
Three seconds, maybe.
You remembered slowing briefly in front of the shop window because they looked beautiful beneath the warm yellow display lights. Rain had just started misting softly against the sidewalk and Steve had been halfway through ranting about some middle schooler trying to rent an R-rated horror movie with a fake ID. You’d smiled at his story before murmuring, almost absentmindedly, “Those are so pretty.”
That was it.
You hadn’t even thought he heard you.
But Steve Harrington has a habit of holding onto the tiniest details about you like they're something precious.
“Baby, I swear to god,” Steve was saying now as he stepped inside your apartment, nudging the door shut with his foot, “I had the craziest day today. This guy at work tried to return a tape completely melted.”
The bouquet landed in your arms before he shrugged off his jacket.
“Melted,” he repeated, horrified, running a hand through his hair. “Like, fully warped. Looked like somebody cooked that thing in a microwave.”
You stared down at the flowers.
The bouquet was heavy enough that you had to support it with both arms. Thick stems pressed cool and damp against your palms beneath layers of cream florist paper, the wrapping folded slightly unevenly around the flowers and tied together with rough twine that looked suspiciously hand-done.
Not florist-perfect, but Steve-perfect.
The flowers smelled dizzyingly alive: sweet rose perfume softened by rainwater and the cool, earthy scent of freshly cut stems.
“…um, Steve?”
“—and Keith asked me if I did that,” he huffed, toeing off his shoes. “I mean, can you believe that shit? What does he think I do at work all day, destroy tapes for fun?”
“Steve.”
“Yeah?”
You blinked at him slowly.
“What’s…” Your throat tightened strangely around the words. “What’s this for?”
He looked down at the bouquet like he’d genuinely forgotten he walked in carrying it.
“Uh…” His brows lifted slightly. “Flowers?”
He laughed softly after saying it, confused.
But you didn’t laugh.
Because your brain was already doing what it always did: rummaging frantically for conditions. For expectations and hidden meanings tucked beneath kindness.
Your heartbeat started creeping unpleasantly high in your throat.
Was it an anniversary?
Oh god.
Had you forgotten something?
Your stomach dropped, dates scrambling uselessly through your head too fast to follow. One month? Six weeks? Was there something couples were supposed to celebrate this early? Had Steve done something thoughtful and now you were standing there empty-handed like the worst girlfriend alive?
The cellophane crackled beneath your tightening grip.
“Did I…” You cleared your throat quietly. “Did I forget something?”
Steve’s forehead wrinkled.
“Huh?”
“The flowers.”
“What about ‘em?”
Your voice came out impossibly small. “Why’d you get these?”
“Uh, ‘cause I…” He huffed a tiny laugh through his nose, head tilting. “’Cause I wanted to?”
His confusion only made your chest tighten more.
“Is it our anniversary or something?”
His frown deepened. “What? No.”
“Then… why?”
Steve stared at you for a second, slightly open-mouthed now, the soft amusement on his face fading into gentle concern.
“Baby, they’re just flowers.”
You stared back helplessly.
“But why?” you asked again, quieter this time.
“Well, I…” He shrugged one shoulder slightly. “I saw them. And I thought about you.”
The apartment suddenly felt very quiet.
You looked back down at the bouquet in your arms.
The hydrangeas were even prettier up close, petals shifting between pale blue and soft lavender depending on how the light hit them. Tiny sprays of baby’s breath caught between larger blooms like stars scattered through clouds.
A single sunflower tucked near the back, drooping sideways because Steve probably had the bouquet strapped into the passenger's seat on the drive over.
Your throat burned.
“That’s it?” you asked quietly.
Steve let out a soft breath through his nose.
His socked feet whispered against the floor as he stepped closer, one hand rising to cup your cheek.
Big enough to hold the entire side of your face, his palm enveloped you in warmth. Your lashes fluttered at the feeling of his thumb sweeping beneath your eye, brushing over the apple of your cheek, soothing something there without even knowing what hurt.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s it. I saw ’em and thought you’d like them.” His mouth tugged into a small smile. “You stared at those flowers for like, ten minutes.”
You huffed weakly. “It was not ten minutes.”
Steve’s smile widened, encouraged by the sound of your laugh.
“There was this whole wrapping station thing too,” he added, gesturing proudly toward the bouquet still overflowing from your arms. The cream paper rustled softly as he touched it, uneven folds bunching around the stems where the twine had already started slipping loose on one side. “The lady kept trying to help me but I told her I could handle it.”
He tipped his head, inspecting his own work. “Pretty good, right?”
You looked down again.
The wrapping really was crooked. One corner folded inward strangely while another flared too wide, baby’s breath poking free through gaps in the paper.
It couldn’t have been more beautiful.
Steve’s grin turned sheepish, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, I think she stopped helping 'cause I was stressing her out.”
A quiet bubble of laughter escaped you, and the second it did, you noticed the way his face changed. Grin softening, eyes gone warm at the realization that he’d made you smile.
That was the other unbearable thing about him.
How carefully he watches for your joy, waiting for the next chance to do it again.
He really had done all this just because he wanted to.
No special occasions—he just saw something beautiful and immediately thought of you.
You blinked quickly, staring down at the velvety rose petals before he could notice the dangerous sting gathering behind your eyes.
Nobody had ever remembered little things about you before.
Not enough to act on them later.
Certainly not enough to drive across town carrying an absurdly oversized bouquet because of one passing comment you barely remembered making yourself.
But Steve noticed everything.
The tea you always reach for when you’re sick. The songs you hum in the car without realizing. Which side of the bed you like to sleep on. Which sweatshirt you wear when you’re sad. The way you peel pepperoni slices off pizza before eating.
The flowers you paused to admire for three seconds on a rainy sidewalk weeks ago.
Your fingers tightened carefully around the bouquet.
“Thank you,” you managed quietly.
Steve smiled, stepping closer until the bouquet crushed lightly between your bodies, cellophane crinkling in the quiet of the apartment.
“Yeah. Anytime, baby,” he hummed, bending down to press his smile into the curve of your mouth, as natural as breathing.
...
You don’t know why you get like this.
Why your body reacts like it’s bracing for impact when all he’s doing is being gentle. Why his affection makes your chest ache the way it does.
Why your first instinct is always to freeze.
Body going stiff whenever Steve wraps himself around your back in grocery store checkout lines, chin hooked over your shoulder while he complains about magazine prices and rubs his thumb beneath the hem of your shirt.
Sometimes he brushes your hair behind your ear mid-conversation and keeps talking without even realizing he did it. Sometimes he reaches for your hand in his sleep, eyes still closed, finding you beneath the blankets when his body notices your absence before he does.
And you wonder why, in all those sweet, wonderful moments—when he kisses your forehead while waiting for the microwave to beep, when he pulls you against his chest during movies, when he drops to his knees on dirty pavement because he doesn't want you to trip over your laces, when he holds your face in both hands like it’s something precious—you feel this horrible urge to apologize afterward.
Sorry I’m difficult.
Sorry you picked me.
Sorry you don’t realize yet there are easier people to love.
Love had always arrived transactional before him.
Conditional.
Dependent on being easy enough, pretty enough, quiet enough, useful enough.
But Steve loves you without condition.
And being seen that intimately by someone so good—someone as warm and earnest and sincere as Steve Harrington—feels unbearable sometimes.
Maybe that’s why nights like this overwhelm you so badly.
A fancy dinner downtown stretches long past sunset, candlelight flickering gold across Steve’s face while he steals bites from your plate despite insisting twenty minutes ago he was “seriously so stuffed.”
Wine leaves his cheeks faintly pink by the time you leave the restaurant. His tie hangs loose, crooked around his throat, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows. Summer heat still clings to the sidewalks even this late at night, thick with blooming jasmine spilling from flower boxes outside storefronts. Somewhere farther downtown, music drifts through open bar doors, muffled bass and laughter carried through the warm air.
Steve's hand never leaves your lower back, fingers flexing gently against you whenever the crowd thickens, pulling you instinctively closer to his chest.
By the time you drift into the park, your heels are dangling from one hand and your body feels pleasantly heavy from the wine.
The grass is cool beneath your bare feet. Damp earth presses between your toes as you wander deeper along the meadow paths, fireflies blinking through the dark around you like floating embers.
Steve is halfway through retelling some ridiculous story his students had told him earlier that day, pausing every other sentence because he keeps getting distracted trying to kiss you.
Grass stains smear across the knees of his expensive slacks when he finally pulls you down beside him into the field.
“Steve,” you protest weakly, glancing at his pants.
“What?” he asks innocently, tightening his hands around your waist.
“Those are gonna stain.”
“Mm.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, grin lazy. “Worth it.”
You lose track of time there.
Talking between kisses, lying shoulder-to-shoulder in the grass while Steve points out constellations he names wrong on purpose just to make you argue with him. His fingers comb slowly through your hair while your head rests against his shoulder, skin sticking together in the humid night air.
And by the time he gets you home, you’re half-floating.
Steve crowds you against the apartment door before the lock has even clicked shut.
Both hands on your waist, lips sealing over yours. The force of it nudges you softly into the door, his body fitting against yours as he grunts low into your mouth like he’s been holding himself back all night.
Sweet burgundy wine still lingers on his tongue when his lips part against yours.
He’s warm everywhere.
Warm hands sliding beneath your dress, warm mouth against your throat. Warm breath ghosting over newly exposed skin every time he pauses to look at you.
And he does pause, constantly.
Heavy-lidded hazel eyes drag across your face, your throat, the curve of your body beneath his hands, lips gone slack from that third glass of Merlot though his smile tells you he’s drunk on more than just the wine.
His palms skim along the back of your thighs while he kisses down your neck, the soft scrape of his stubble pulling a shaky breath in the shape of his name.
He smiles against your skin, feeling your fingers clutch tighter at his shoulders.
“C’mere,” he murmurs softly.
The bedroom lights stay low when he walks you backward toward the bed.
Blue comforter wrinkling beneath you when he eases you onto your back, following you down, kissing over every inch of exposed skin while your heartbeat stutters harder with each press of his mouth.
Broad palms smooth upward beneath your dress while his lips trail lower, the slow descent of it dizzying; his mouth dragging across your collarbone, the center of your chest, down your stomach, your ribs, each kiss separated by warm breaths and playful nips that make your muscles jump.
And when he kneels at the foot of the bed—nudging your legs apart carefully, lovingly, thumbs stroking slow circles into the soft skin inside your thighs as he settles himself in between—he lets out this quiet little sigh.
Like nowhere else on earth could possibly compare to this.
“Pretty girl,” he murmurs against you, pressing the words directly into your skin. “You’re so beautiful.”
His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your underwear while he glances up at you through heavy lashes, tongue darting briefly to wet his lower lip.
You reach for his hair quickly, panic flaring.
“Steve,” you whisper. “Wait.”
His hands still immediately where they rest on your hips. “What’s wrong?”
You swallow hard. “Nothing, I just...”
Your head spins pleasantly and horribly all at once from the wine and the heat and the sweet boy kneeling between your thighs looking at you like you hung the moon.
“I should shower first.”
His brows pull together. “Why?”
“Because,” you laugh weakly. “I’m sweaty.”
Steve smiles at that, like it’s the sweetest thing he’s heard all day.
He leans in even closer, nose brushing over your clothed mound before he presses a slow kiss there.
“Baby,” he murmurs against you, “I don’t care.”
“Steve...”
“I mean it.”
His hands glide upward along your waist, warm and heavy as velvet, fingertips grazing your ribs on the way up.
“I like you like this,” he says softly.
Then he takes in a breath.
A deep, deliberate pull through his nose, the warm drag of air against the damp fabric making your thighs twitch around him.
“You smell good,” he murmurs, kissing you there again. “Like summer.”
Your face burns, but Steve only smiles wider, already halfway gone.
“Just stay,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you. We can take a bath after, promise.”
He turns his head to the side, nose nudging affectionately along your inner thigh before he closes his lips around the sensitive skin there. The suction is soft at first, teasing warmth into you before the pressure deepens just enough to sting pleasantly.
A new love bite starts to bloom, petal-soft and tender, like a flower kissed awake by rain. His mouth traces over it, soothing the flush of it back into softer color with gentle, unhurried pecks.
“So pretty,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss over the bruise-tinted skin. “My perfect girl.”
To be loved this intensely feels like it could swallow you whole.
Like the warmth of it could burn straight through you.
You don’t even realize you’ve started crying until your breath catches sharply in your chest, a raw, jagged gasp tearing from your lungs.
Steve’s head snaps up instantly.
You jerk your face away in horror, both hands flying to cover your eyes before he can see.
God.
Oh god.
Not now.
Why now?
“Baby, are you—”
His voice cuts off the second your breath stutters again, louder this time.
The mattress jolts beneath you as he pushes upright, fast enough that the bed frame gives a small protesting creak.
“Hey, hey—what’s wrong?”
You can feel him at your side immediately, his quick, uneven breaths brushing against your hands where they're pressed tight to your face.
“Baby, what happened?”
His fingers curl around your wrists, firm but impossibly gentle.
Always gentle.
“Did I hurt you? Did I do something?”
“N-no,” you choke out immediately.
“Then what?” His voice starts to break slightly, turning sharp with worry. “What is it? Honey, what’s wrong?”
You shake your head helplessly, unable to form the words, unable to explain.
The lamp clicks on beside you. Warm amber light spills across everything at once: rumpled sheets and discarded clothes, Steve kneeling beside you, shirt open at the collar, belt buckle undone and tie hanging loose around his neck.
The flowers from dinner are on the dresser.
Slightly uneven in their vase, waterline crooked, the hydrangeas beginning to open wider in the warmth of your apartment.
Embarrassment crashes over you like a wave.
Perfect.
A night he’d planned so carefully—reservations at the candlelit Italian place downtown, your favorite wine already waiting at your table, flowers arranged before you’d even walked through the door—
And now you’re crying halfway through sex because your brain can’t handle something as simple as being loved.
You turn your face away again instinctively, shoulders curling inward, but the tears don’t stop. They come harder, messy and humiliating, gasps of air ripping through your chest no matter how hard you try to swallow them down.
You feel Steve’s hand slide up your spine.
Slow, slow passes between your shoulder blades, fingertips pressing gently.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to hide, okay? You don’t have to hide from me.”
“I’m sorry,” you choke out, wiping at your face uselessly. “I-I don’t know w-why I’m—I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry—”
“No, hey, don’t apologize, baby. Don’t say sorry.”
You resist him weakly when he tries to gather you in his arms.
You can’t look at him.
Can’t stand the thought of seeing the concern on his face after ruining this.
“I just—” You let out a shaky breath, voice cracking completely. “Fuck, I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Steve stills at that.
Then slowly, carefully, he takes your wrists fully in both hands.
You let him this time. Arms trembling the entire way down as he lowers your hands into his lap. You still refuse to meet his eyes, staring instead at the heavy rise and fall of his chest. His crisp white shirt is wrinkled, open at the collar, a faint pink bite mark just above his collarbone where you kissed him during the taxi ride home.
His gaze presses into you, heavy and intent, trying to read what you can’t say.
“I need you to look at me,” he says quietly.
“I can’t.”
“Yeah,” he answers immediately. “You can.”
Another tear slips down your cheek. He catches it without hesitation, wiping it away with the pad of his thumb.
“Please,” he whispers, softer now. “Look at me.”
You finally do.
Steve’s hair is a mess, chestnut strands falling across his forehead where your fingers had been tangled moments ago.
His eyes—warm honey and green and amber all blurred together beneath the low light—are pained, tight with worry and unbearably expressive.
“There's nothing wrong with you,” he says, unshakably certain. “Nothing.”
His lips are swollen from kissing you, parted slightly with how hard he’s breathing.
It’s so painfully clear, how panicked he is.
Steve’s face never hides anything
It doesn’t know how to.
When he’s happy, it shows in the soft wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
When he’s worried, it gathers in his brows, in the tight set of his mouth.
And when he loves, it radiates from him so naturally it feels endless. Like sunlight.
You wonder what that must feel like.
To love someone without fear.
To offer tenderness without expectation, without the quiet dread that grows the more there is to lose.
He reaches up slowly, clearing tear-sticky strands away from your temples, thumb brushing beneath your eye. Still trying to read what hurts, the furrow in his brows asking without words.
You want to tell him.
For him, you’d try.
But the truth feels monstrous once it reaches your throat.
How do you explain that being loved by him feels unbearable sometimes?
That every touch lands somewhere deep inside you that still expects pain?
That he gives and gives and gives, asking for nothing in return, and yet some terrified part of you waits for the bill to come due?
How do you explain that it makes you feel broken, not knowing how to take something he gives so easily?
You part your lips, throat dry and aching.
Steve waits, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your wrists.
Patient.
Always so fucking patient with you.
“I just...” Your voice shakes. You stare at his mouth instead of his eyes, because it’s easier than being seen.
“...I just really love you.”
It rushes out so quickly.
And in a horrifyingly beautiful moment of clarity, you realize it’s the first time you’ve ever said it to anyone.
Ever.
Steve goes still. His brows soften, eyes drooping at the corners. His lips part soundlessly for a second.
“Oh,” he breathes.
You feel his hands twitch against yours, squeezing your fingers unconsciously.
“I love you too,” he says, immediate and certain. “I... I love you so much it’s kind of insane.”
He watches you for a moment, thumb rubbing slow over your knuckles.
“Is that... is that why you're crying? 'Cause you love me a lot?”
A small, startled laugh breaks through your tears; it sounds so simple when he says it like that.
It isn’t simple.
But maybe it also is.
So you nod, watching him visibly come back to himself, drawing out a shaky breath, shoulders dropping heavily like he’d been bracing too, just in a different way.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay. C’mere.”
This time you don’t hesitate.
You fold into him, feeling his arm wrap securely around your back, the other cradling the back of your head.
And what you always used to brace against—tonight, you sink into willingly.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into your hair.
You let your eyes slip shut, burying your face in the crook of his neck, fingers crinkling his shirt as you hold on tight.
“I love you,” you whisper again, the words pressed softly against his skin.
Thank you, you mean.
Thank you for being gentle with me.
Thank you for waiting.
Thank you for loving me like it’s easy.
ʚɞ You and steve had been connected at the hip for years until high school came and he got swept away into chaos leading him to be become someone new, someone too “cool” for you and your friendship. You swore you hated him, swore you’d never speak to him again until he starts hanging around your younger brother and one day shows up at your house drugged and beaten with your brother begging for your help.
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ Hi! i honestly haven’t written in years so this is a little sloppy and all over the place but i figured i should start writing my thoughts down and share them bc who doesn’t love steve. i might try to write a part two if i can be more organized during writing it’s also poorly proofread i just wanted to post it before i got to scared. i hope you enjoy angels 🤍
Wc: 4.1k (ish)
There was no big fight signaling the end of the friendship. no yelling no violent words thrown back back forth no conversation about it at all. It happened under your nose, one day it was there then the next it started floating away too fast for you to react. The two of you met at camp the summer before second grade and from that moment on you did everything together. You went through the transition from elementary school to middle school together and the awkward puberty stage together but nothing could tear you apart until steve entered high school while you were a year younger. You were soft spoken, reserved and shy meanwhile steve fed of the attention of popularity, he loved it to the point of completely becoming someone new. His Freshman year wasn’t so bad you guys still spoke still hung out occasionally but when it was your turn to go to hawkins high he completely acted like you didn’t exist. He walked around school head held high with tommy h and carol and coined the name “king steve”. On your first day for freshman year he walked past you without a glance and from that moment on you knew he was gone.
After adapting to the new environment you learned your so called place in high school hierarchy. You made new friends, got good grades, stepped out of your comfort zone and became someone new. Someone who didn’t let people get under your skin the way steve did freshman year. You avoided him, kept distance and learned to not let it bother you until one day he and your younger brother dustin became some weird kind of friends and now he was showing up to your house casually like nothing happened between you two. And oh you fucking hated it.
July came with heat, sweat, melted ice pops and starcourt mall your new favorite way to escape the sun.
“ i don’t understand why you won’t just say yes he’s been begging to go out with you for like months” mary said as you two casually walked through the mall swinging The gap bags in your hands.
“ Cole is too.. i don’t know not me” you say looking at the floor
“ you mean he’s so much like steve” mary deadpans
the mention of him name makes you snap your head at her with a confused look. it had been years since you spoke about him as your about to be a senior in high school the upcoming fall.
“ don’t look at me like that you know it’s true i mean come on cole’s on the basketball team he’s got girls throwing themselves at him left and right and he does have really nice hair kinda like you know who” she says looking at you observing your reaction
“ok that really makes me wanna go out with him now” you say through laughter as you walk past scoops ahoy not realizing that who mary was comparing cole to stood right inside catching a glimpse of you almost letting it weigh on him. Almost.
Over the next few days you decided that you didn’t want to let your hatred of jocks because of steve hold you back anymore and maybe cole would change your presumptions. To be fair cole was nice to look at, tall, Blonde, Sharp blue eyes and wide shoulders you wouldn’t mind holding on too. You knew steve hated cole in high school and maybe that would have stopped you from going for it in the past but now the thought of letting an old friends past opinions stop you felt wildly stupid.
On your next trip to the mall you and mary ran into cole and his friends and all your fears flew out of the window.
“hey y/n” Cole said walking over to you looking you up and down meeting you half way to stand conveniently directly in from of scoops.
“ Oh hey cole nice uh.. shirt” as soon as the words came out of your mouth you internally cringed but decided to not let that stop you.
“hey thanks came here a few days ago and got it had to come back though i figured id need something nice to wear to the fair since i plan to ask someone special to go with me” he says casually running his hands through his blonde hair looking at you like he was implying something that you didn’t pick up on for a moment.
And then it clicked “ oh really i’m sure she would have a great time with you… and your new outfit” you say offering him and sweet smile but you were internally screaming at yourself because the talking to a boy like this felt so foreign to to since you swore of men at 14.
The conversation continued with mindless flirting and awkward looks until he handed you his phone number written on the back of a half crumpled receipt and told you to call him later before walking away only to turn back and wink at you. You had been so in your own world trying not to sound like a freak but also trying to flirt successfully with no practice that you didn’t realize the eyes looking at you from inside the ice cream shop.
“whatcha looking at sailor” robin said to steve who had been awkwardly standing still scooper in hand. her eyes followed his until they saw you right before you walked away giggling with mary holding the receipt with both hands.
“ohhhhh who’s that, do you know her, should i add a tally under you suck” she said poking his side as he finally moved from his spot he had been in during your whole interaction with cole.
ripping of the sailor hat and trying to fix his hair that’s too far gone he mumbled “ not anymore i used to this isn’t a tally moment robin” he said giving air quotes.
“ this is gonna sound … weird but since i gave up the whole “king steve” act i’ve been thinking about the stupid crap i did” he said as he pushed himself up to hit on the counter behind robin.
“awww self reflection you know that’s a good sign right it’s like stage 3 in becoming less assholey”
“what did you do to her stand her up or something, call her another girls name” she dramatically stopped and turned to face him “did you give her an STD” she said pointing a finger at him.
“ ok what… one i never even had an STD two i didnt stand her up or whatever else your saying… she was my best friend and i kinda went ghost a few years back you know peak assholey phase” steve said hands up in defense.
“ oooooh i see typical prime bird brain steve” robin said before turning to wipe the counter.
“she’s dustin’s older sister” steve blurts out causing her to whip her head around and stare.
“ so you dropped the older henderson and moved on to the younger one… what is it with you and that family” the girl said laughing as steve rolled his eyes and whent to help a customer.
The phone call with cole went better than expected later that night and you finally caved and officially planned to go to the fair with him on saturday giving you three days to try and learn how to flirt but you weren’t hopeful.
The fair was bright and loud, running wild with kids and families. The multicolored lights flashed across the warm July sky as the sun slowly disappeared behind the horizon. The smell of popcorn, cotton candy, and funnel cakes drifted through the air, mixing with the sounds of laughter and music from the rides. Ferris wheels sparkled with glowing lights distracting you from the hand that was wrapped around your own .
“Are you having fun?” Cole asked, smiling as you walked past the game booths.
“Yeah, actually. I was kind of nervous before tonight, but this is really nice,” you admitted.
“I was nervous too,” Cole laughed. “I spent way too long deciding what to wear.”
you smiled. “hey i thought you went and got a new outfit for this specifically”
“I did but the weather is so unpredictable… it’s really damn hot” he said shyly whipping sweat of his head.
you continued walking through the crowded fair, listening to the music and watching the rides speed past and children buzz with excitement.
Cole pointed toward the Ferris wheel. “You know, I think that has the best view here.”
You looked up at the towering ride. “It does look pretty amazing.”
Cole hesitated for a second before speaking. “Would you want to go on it with me?”
“The Ferris wheel?” you asked.
“Yeah. Unless you’re secretly terrified of heights.”
You laughed. “A little, maybe. But I think I can survive one ride.”
“Good,” Cole said, grinning. “Because I’d hate to miss the chance to see the whole fair from up there.”
“Then let’s do it.”
As you joined the line, Jake glanced over at her. “I’m glad you came tonight.”
You smiled. “Me too.” realizing maybe he wasn’t so bad after all
“Dude, why do you keep asking about her?” Dustin asked. “I told you she doesn’t care. Like, seriously. You’re making this way weirder than it needs to be.”
Steve sighed. “I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” Dustin said. “You’ve brought her up three times this week. Three. That’s not normal people behavior.” the boy said pointing a finger in steve’s face.
Robin snorted “He’s obsessed.”
“I’m not obsessed.”
“Sure,” Robin said. “And I’m secretly the mayor of Hawkins and you totally didn’t stare at her at work the other day for like ten whole long painful excruciating minutes”
Steve rolled his eyes “I’m just thinking about it.”
“Thinking about a friendship that ended four years ago?” Robin asked. “That’s somehow pathetic but makes total sense for you.”
“Thanks for the support.” steve said.
“Anytime.” Robin said shoving her face with more cotton candy.
Dustin looked between them “For real though, man. You guys barely talk. Actually, scratch that—you don’t talk at all i mean she acts like you don’t exist when your at my house and you do the same so what’s with the change of attitude harrington .”
“she got boobs, nice ones” robin said smirking
“Ew, Buckley, that’s my sister. Can we not?” Dustin said, pretending to gag.
Robin shrugged.
“What? I’m just saying. It’s not like he’s suddenly interested in her sparkling personality after ignoring her for four years.”
Steve groaned.
“Can both of you stop talking about me like I’m not standing here?”
“No,” Robin and Dustin said at the same time.
Robin pointed her cotton candy at him “Then explain it, Harrington.”
“Explain what?”
“The sudden interest.”
Steve opened his mouth, then closed it.
“See?” Robin said. “He doesn’t even have an excuse.”
“Maybe I just feel bad.”
Robin burst out laughing“Oh, that’s pathetic.”
“Thanks.”
“No, seriously. You spend years not talking to each other, and now you’re wandering around looking like someone kicked your puppy because she won’t magically start being your friend again?”
Steve rubbed a hand over his face “You’re making this sound worse than it is.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Dustin looked at him suspiciously “You know what I think?”
“I don’t, actually.”
“I think something happened at my house that I missed.”
“Nothing happened.”
“That’s exactly what someone says when something happened i mean you are over like all the time.”
Robin gasped dramatically “Oh my God. What if they made eye contact?”
“Robin.”
“Maybe she said hi.”
“Robin.”
“Maybe she asked him to pass the salt and he’s been thinking about it ever since.”
Dustin laughed.
Steve pointed at her “You’re the worst.”
“And yet,” Robin said, smirking, “I’m still not the one asking about Dustin’s sister every five minutes.”
For once, Steve didn’t have a comeback.
That was all the confirmation Robin needed “Oh my God.”
“Don’t.”
“OH MY GOD.”
“Robin.”
“You totally miss her.”
The fair was beginning to wind down by the time Cole walked you back to his car. The bright lights that had seemed so overwhelming hours ago now felt softer, reflecting off the nearly empty parking lot.You held the stuffed bear he had won for you at one of the game booths against your chest as the two of you walked in comfortable silence.
Cole unlocked the passenger door before you could reach for the handle.
“Thank you,” you said.
He gave a small shrug. “Yeah, sure.”
The drive home was quieter than the fair had been.Not awkward.Just calm.The radio played softly in the background while warm July air drifted through the cracked windows.
Cole rested one hand on the steering wheel “I had fun tonight.”
You glanced over “You did?”
He laughed “Was that really that surprising?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
You smiled at the passing streetlights outside “I don’t know. You just seemed nervous.”
Cole groaned “I was nervous.”
“I could tell.”
“Great.”
“You asked me if I was having fun like six different times.”
“Okay, first of all, it was maybe four.”
“It was six.”
“It was not six.”
For a moment neither of you said anything.The houses in your neighborhood began appearing through the windshield.The night suddenly felt like it was ending too fast.Cole pulled up in front of your house and put the car in park.Neither of you immediately moved.
“Well,” you said quietly.
“Yeah.”
The porch light was already on, You looked down at the stuffed bear “Thanks for tonight.”
Cole looked over at you “No problem.”
Another small silence settled between you Not uncomfortable Just neither of you wanting to be the first person to open the door.
Finally you smiled “I had fun too.”
Something in Cole’s expression softened “Good.”
You reached for the handle before pausing “I wouldn’t mind doing this again sometime.”
Cole blinked. Then a grin spread across his face “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” he said, trying and failing to sound casual. “I’d like that.”
You stepped out of the car and started toward your front door.Halfway up the walkway, you turned around.Cole was still there.Watching to make sure you got inside safely.When he realized you’d caught him, he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away with an embarrassed smile.Your smile only grew wider as you headed inside.And Cole didn’t pull away from the curb until the front door closed behind you. Maybe boys weren’t so bad after all.
The days after your date with Cole should have felt normal. Hawkins was still Hawkins the same quiet streets, the same familiar faces, the same routines everyone had followed for years. Yet something felt different. The air seemed heavier somehow, thick with the humidity of late summer and an unshakable feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was because your mind kept drifting back to Cole and the way he smiled when he dropped you off that night. Maybe it was because the town felt strangely tense, Hawkins felt different. Not wrong exactly—just off. Like the familiar town you had known your entire life was holding its breath, and you had no idea why.
The doorbell rang just as you were walking through the living room.
“Dustin!” you shouted. “Your ride’s here!”
No answer. Typical.
With a sigh, you crossed the room and pulled open the front door. The words died in your throat.
Steve Harrington stood on the porch.
For a second, neither of you spoke. You hadn’t expected him.And judging by the look on his face, he hadn’t expected you either.
“Oh.”
“Hi.”
The greeting came out at the same time. An awkward silence followed.Steve shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.You tightened your grip on the doorknob.
“Uh… Dustin’s still getting ready.”
“Right.”
Another silence, A painfully awkward one.
You glanced toward the stairs. Steve looked at the welcome mat.
The years between you seemed to stretch across the doorway. Finally, Steve cleared his throat.
“So… how’ve you been?” The question caught you off guard.
Good, you wanted to say.
Busy.
Fine.
Instead, all that came out was: “Good.”
Steve nodded “Good.”
Silence.
Somewhere upstairs, something crashed “DUSTIN!” your mom yelled.
Steve laughed before he could stop himself. The sound surprised both of you.For the first time, the tension eased slightly.
“Some things never change,” he said.
You couldn’t help smiling. “No. They really don’t.”
Steve noticed Just for a second.
Then Dustin came barreling down the stairs “There you are!” he said, grabbing his backpack. “Why are you both standing there looking weird?”
You immediately stepped back from the doorway “We’re not.”
“You totally are.”
“Dustin.”
“What?”
Steve rubbed a hand over his face “Can we just go?”
Dustin looked between the two of you. Then a grin slowly spread across his face “Oh my God.”
“What?” you and Steve asked simultaneously.
Dustin pointed dramatically “You both still do that.”
“Do what?” Steve asked.
“The talking at the same time thing.”
Neither of you had a response to that.
Dustin’s grin widened“Interesting.”
Before he could say anything else, Steve grabbed the strap of Dustin’s backpack and steered him toward the driveway “Get in the car.”
“You can’t silence the truth, Harrington!”
You rolled your eyes as Dustin continued shouting nonsense all the way to the car.
Steve opened the driver’s door before pausing.For a moment, he glanced back at the porch.
You were still standing there.
Watching.
His expression softened “See you around.”
The words were casual. Simple even.But they were the first real words either of you had spoken to each other in years.
You nodded “Yeah. See you around.”
Steve gave a small smile before climbing into the car.
You tried not to think about Steve after he left with Dustin.You really did.There was no reason to.Years had passed since the two of you had been friends, and even more time had passed since either of you had made an effort to fix whatever had broken between you. Somewhere along the way, ignoring each other had become easier than dealing with it.At least, that’s what you had always told yourself.But for some reason, seeing him standing on your front porch had unsettled something.Not in a bad way.Just enough to leave you confused.
You found yourself replaying the interaction at random moments throughout the day. The awkward silence. The way he looked just as uncomfortable as you felt. The small laugh the two of you had shared when Dustin nearly destroyed something upstairs.Most confusing of all was how normal it had felt.Not the awkwardness.The familiarity underneath it.
Like no matter how many years had passed, some part of your brain still remembered what it was like when Steve Harrington had been someone you talked to every day.
You hated that thought.Especially because things with Cole were going well.Cole was easy to be around. Easy to talk to. You found yourself smiling whenever you thought about the fair or the way he’d waited until you got inside before driving away.
So why was Steve suddenly taking up space in your head?t wasn’t like you missed him.At least, you didn’t think you did.Maybe you were just bothered by the fact that there had never been any real ending. No conversation. No closure. Just years of silence that had slowly turned two former friends into strangers.
The more you thought about it, the less sense it made.Because when you looked at Steve standing on your porch, he hadn’t felt like a stranger.And maybe that was the part that bothered you most.You weren’t sure whether you were remembering who he used to be or realizing that you never completely forgot.
Sleep refused to come.No matter how many times you rolled over or fluffed your pillow, your thoughts kept circling back to Steve.
To the awkward conversation.To the way he had looked at you before leaving.To the fact that seeing him again had stirred up feelings you couldn’t quite name.
By midnight, you finally gave up.You changed into your favorite pajamas—a soft oversized T-shirt and plaid shorts—and settled into bed with a book, hoping it would distract you.It didn’t.
The house had gone completely quiet.Your parents were asleep.Dustin hadn’t been home for hours.The only sound was the occasional creak of the old Henderson house settling for the night.
Then came a loud bang.You sat upright immediately. Another noise followed.The unmistakable sound of someone stumbling into a wall downstairs.
“Dustin?” you called.
No answer.A knot formed in your stomach.
You slipped out of bed and pulled open your bedroom door.The moment you stepped into the hallway, you heard frantic footsteps on the stairs.
Then Dustin appeared Half dragging, half supporting someone beside him.
Your heart nearly stopped.
Steve.
His arm was slung over Dustin’s shoulders while Dustin struggled to keep him upright.
“Dustin, what happened?” you asked, rushing forward.
“I need help,” he blurted That alone was enough to make your stomach drop.
Dustin never asked for help.
Not like this.
Steve’s head lolled slightly as he looked up His eyes seemed unfocused.
Distant.
Like he couldn’t quite figure out where he was.n“Hey,” he said suddenly.
You froze.“Hi.”
Steve pointed vaguely in your direction.“You’re real.”
“Okay,” Dustin muttered. “See? This is what I’ve been dealing with.”
“What happened to him?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“Dustin—”
“Please.”The panic in his voice stopped you.
For a moment, you simply stared.
Steve looked exhausted. His clothes were dirty. There were cuts along his arms and face.Dark bruises spread beneath his skin, blooming in soft patches of purple, blue, and red that reminded you of watercolor paint bleeding across wet paper, color spreading beneath the surface in uneven shapes.Evidence of something painful.Something neither boy seemed ready to explain.
Your chest tightened.“Dustin…”
“Please help me clean him up before Mom sees.”
Steve blinked“Oh.”
Everyone looked at himHe pointed at Dustin “He’s tiny.”
Dustin closed his eyes “I know.”
“And angry.”
“I know.”
“You yell a lot.”
“Dude.”
Steve frowned thoughtfully “I think you’re my friend.”
For the first time all night, Dustin almost smiled “Yeah, idiot. I am.”
Steve nodded like this was the most important revelation he’d ever had “Good.”Then his gaze drifted toward you.
His expression softened immediately “Oh.”
You swallowed“Oh?”
A slow smile appeared on his face “There’s two Hendersons.”
“Oh my God,” Dustin groaned.
You couldn’t help it. Despite everything.Despite the confusion.Despite the bruises and whatever terrible thing had happened.A laugh escaped.
Steve smiled wider. Like hearing it was enough.
Dustin pointed toward the bathroom You nodded immediately.As you hurried away, you couldn’t shake the image of Steve leaning heavily against your brother, bruised and exhausted, yet somehow still trying to smile.
And for reasons you didn’t understand, that frightened you far more than the injuries themselves.
The bathroom door clicked shut behind Dustin “ill be right back,” he said. “Just… make sure he doesn’t fall over.”
“Dustin—” Too late. He was already gone.
You stared at the closed door. And Steve sat on the edge of the bathtub while you carefully cleaned the cut near his eyebrow.
For once, he wasn’t talking.
He just watched you.The kind of stare that made you aware of every movement.
Every breath.
Every second.
“You’re still doing that.”
You glanced up“Doing what?”
“The concentration thing.”
“What concentration thing?”
Steve smiled softly “The one where your eyebrows pull together when you’re focused.”
Your hand paused “You remember that?”
“Of course I remember that.”
The answer came too quickly. Too honestly.
Something twisted uncomfortably in your chest.“You remember weird things.”
Steve laughed quietly “No.”
His eyes dropped to the floor “I remember everything.”
The smile disappeared from your face.Neither of you spoke for a moment.
Then Steve shook his head.“God.”
“What?”
His laugh was softer this time.
Sadder.
“We were such idiots.”
You looked down at the bandage in your hands“Yeah.”
“No.”Steve rubbed a hand over his face. “I mean me.”
The words surprised you.Steve wasn’t usually the type to admit fault.Not even before everything happened.
“I spent years convincing myself I didn’t care.”
You froze. The confession seemed to surprise him too. Like he’d only realized he was thinking it once the words were already out.
“I’d see you at school and pretend it didn’t bother me.”
Your chest tightened. “Steve—”
“I’m serious.”His gaze stayed fixed somewhere on the bathroom floor. “Every time.”
The room suddenly felt too small. Too warm.
You weren’t sure what to do with this version of him. The honest version.The one that wasn’t hiding.
“You’d walk by with your friends and I’d act like I didn’t even notice.” A hollow laugh escaped him. “Then I’d spend the rest of the day thinking about it.”
The bandage in your hand suddenly became very interesting. Because looking at him felt impossible.
“Why?”The question came out before you could stop it.
Steve blinked. Then looked at you. “Why what?”
“Why did it bother you?”
For a second, neither of you moved. The answer seemed obvious. And somehow impossible.
Finally Steve smiled. Not his usual smile. Something smaller. More fragile.
“Because you were my person.”
The words stole the air from your lungs.
Steve immediately looked away As though hearing himself say it had embarrassed him. “We told each other everything.” His voice had grown quieter.
“You knew me before everybody else did.”
The lump in your throat became impossible to ignore.
“Then one day we just…” He gestured vaguely.
“Stopped.”
The silence stretched.
Years of hurt packed into a single unfinished sentence.
You looked down “I thought you didn’t care.”
Steve laughed. The sound was almost heartbreaking.
“Yeah.” His eyes met yours again “So did I.”
Something in your chest cracked slightly.
Not broken. Just shifting. Changing shape.
Steve stared at you for a long moment.The drugs had made him honest. Painfully honest and all of The usual walls were gone. for the first time in years, you were seeing exactly what was underneath.
“You know what’s stupid?”
“What?”
His smile returned.Small.
Fond.
“I saw you on the porch today and all I could think was that you’re still pretty.”
Your breath caught.
Steve’s eyes widened immediately. “Oh.”
For the first time all night, he looked genuinely alarmed. “I wasn’t supposed to say that one.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped you.
Steve dropped his head into his hands “Oh my God.”
“You said it.”
“I know.” His voice was muffled. “I am having the worst day of my life.”
You laughed again. And when Steve looked up, he was smiling too.Like hearing you laugh was worth every embarrassing thing he’d accidentally admitted.
The moment lingered.Neither of you looking away. Neither of you quite sure what to say next.
Then the bathroom door burst open.Dustin stepped inside carrying an ice pack.
He stopped immediately.
Looked at Steve.
Looked at you.
Looked back at Steve.
“…Why does it feel like I interrupted something?”
Steve immediately pointed at him “Your sister is really pretty”
Dustin groaned so loudly it echoed through the entire house. “you are gonna regret that in the morning buddy”
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the rumor going around the moms of the hawkins little league team is that coach steve harrington is single. it's a good thing you don’t partake in petty small-town gossip.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: coach!steve, singlemom!reader, established (secret) relationship, piv sex, overstimulation, pleasure-dom!steve, multiple orgasms, prone/headlock+light choking, rough sex, teasing banter, possessive dirty talk, light/pretend jealousy, light degradation, pet names, aftercare, angst abt being a single parent, fluff, brief child's pov, happy ending (6.4k)
𝐚/𝐧: started as dumb smut, somehow ended up with plot and angst. story of my life.
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
The resounding rumor in the Hawkins Little League baseball program—more specifically, among the women who occupy the third row of bleachers at Elm Street Ballpark every Tuesday and Thursday—is that Coach Steve Harrington is single.
Very single.
“There’s just no way,” Sharon McIntyre sighs for the third time this inning. She squints toward the field, shading her eyes with one hand like she might be able to spot a wedding ring from home plate. “I mean, look at him. Nobody looks like that coaching a little league team.”
“I’m telling you, Shar,” Kelly Dunlop chimes in, iced coffee rattling in her hand. “My sister works mornings at the diner. She says he comes in all the time. Always alone. No ring, no girlfriend, nothing. If he had someone, she’d know.”
Across the field, practice is in full swing. Kids swarm the infield, shouting over one another, cleats kicking up clouds of dust. A bright, metallic clang rings through the air, signaling a clean hit. The whole team erupts into cheers as little Johnny Peters takes off for first, freckles flashing beneath his helmet.
You smile, eyes following the chaos fondly.
“God,” Sharon mutters, gaze fixed entirely elsewhere, “I know he’s young, but does he really have to look like that?”
“How old is he, anyway? Twenty?” another mom asks.
You take a slow sip of your coffee, keeping your expression neutral. You’ve gotten very good at that lately.
“It’s the whole authority thing, right?” Kelly says after a pause. “Give a guy a whistle and suddenly—"
“—suddenly he’s attractive,” another mom finishes.
“Well,” Sharon adds, “I think it’s a little more than the whistle.”
A soft ripple of laughter moves down the row.
Just then, the sharp blast of a whistle cuts through the air.
The effect is instantaneous.
It’s like Pavlovian conditioning, the sudden hush that settles over the stands. Conversations drop off mid-sentence. Heads lift in near-perfect unison. Like suburban meerkats sensing a storm, all eyes snap toward the field.
Every mom here knows exactly what that whistle means.
Coach Steve Harrington steps out from the dugout, lips still wrapped around the whistle, hands signaling a time-out as he jogs toward the pitcher’s mound. His cap is pulled low, shades perched on the bridge of his nose. The top two buttons of his Dodger-blue jersey are undone—as usual—revealing tanned collarbones and just the faintest tuft of chest hair.
He calls out a few pointers to the team, then leans over the plate to demonstrate a perfect, controlled swing.
The pivoting motion tugs his shirt upward, flashing a patch of sun-warmed skin at his stomach. It also strains the fabric of his pants, those khakis clinging to his ass in a way that’s a little snug for a public park.
A very un-subtle sigh rolls through the bleachers.
“Jesus,” Sharon mutters. “I mean, that’s just unnecessary.”
“He’s gotta know, right? There’s no way he doesn’t.”
“That shirt’s always like that. Never fully buttoned.”
A chorus of murmured agreement follows.
You press your lips together, managing to school your expression just as you hear a pair of little cleats pounding toward you.
“Mom! Mom!”
Toby skids to a stop in front of you, panting with effort, helmet crooked, knees grass-stained. He wedges himself between your legs and you reach up instinctively, straightening his helmet before it tips again.
“Mom, did ya see me? Did ya see that throw?”
“‘Course I did, honey! You were amazing!”
His grin goes blinding. “Coach Steve said I got way better this week. He said I’m really fast. Like, like, maybe fast enough to be a pro!”
“Yeah?” you smile, brushing a smear of dirt from his cheek. “You’ve been working so hard. I’m so proud of you.”
Toby nods so vigorously his helmet nearly slips again. He takes a quick gulp from the water bottle you hand him, then darts back to the dugout.
Across the field, Steve is crouched near home plate, murmuring low encouragements as he adjusts another kid’s grip on the bat.
After a moment, he straightens.
Flicks his cap off, rolls his shoulders, then lets his eyes roam over the bleachers.
When he finds what he’s looking for, he flashes a quick, casual smile.
From this distance, it’s broad enough to be meant for no one in particular.
And yet.
You look away immediately, pretending to study the condensation sliding down your coffee cup.
“Oh my god,” Kelly whispers beside you. “I think he looked over here. Sharon, was that at you?”
Sharon scoffs, though the corner of her mouth quirks up. “Please. He smiles at everyone.”
“Mm, not like that.”
You keep your gaze fixed firmly on the cup.
⚾︎
“Alright, Cubs! Awesome job today! Make sure to grab all your stuff. I’ll see you back here Tuesday, yeah?”
A chorus of okay, Coach! and bye, Coach Steve! follows.
The bleachers wake up all at once. Moms rise in unison, purses scraping against aluminum, lipstick caps popping open for quick, totally casual touch-ups meant for no one in particular. Kids spill off the field in excited clumps, chatter overlapping as they relive every hit, every near-catch. Toby’s voice cuts through it all, loud and proud as he recounts a grounder he almost snagged.
You’re stuffing a water bottle into your tote when a voice behind you makes you freeze.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
You turn.
Steve stands there, casual as ever, bat slung over his shoulder, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. His jersey’s still hanging half-open, collar darkened with sweat.
“Hi.”
You purse your lips, stifling a smile. “Hi.”
He stares for a beat too long before he shakes himself, clearing his throat.
“Uh—I just wanted to say Toby did really great today. Kid’s a natural. Solid throw, great hustle. And..." his eyes flick briefly toward the chaos of children behind him, voice dropping a notch, “...he actually listens.”
You laugh softly. “That last part’s news to me.”
Steve grins. Takes a step closer.
His voice slides into a familiar cadence you’ve come to recognize, warm and teasing. “So... I heard you might be on snack duty next week.”
You raise a brow. “You did, huh?”
“Yep. And, you know, I run a pretty serious operation here. Snack’s are a very important part of team morale. So I thought maybe we should… discuss our options.”
You can’t hide the smile this time. “Oh? And what exactly were you thinking, Coach?”
“Well…” he leans closer, eyes glinting. “We might need to talk details. You know… what kind of chips to get, how many… make sure everything’s perfect.”
“Mm,” you nod solemnly. “Sounds important. Why don’t I—”
“Mom! Mom!”
Toby barrels toward you, juice box clenched in his hand like a trophy, still buzzing with post-practice adrenaline.
“Mom, can I sleep over at Jackson’s tonight?”
You blink. “Tonight?”
“Yeah! He’s got the new Super Mario game! And, and, he said we can have pizza while we play!”
You glance up to see Jackson’s mom waving from a few yards away, already herding kids toward her van.
“You sure, baby? I made that lasagna you like.”
“Nooo, Mom, please? Everyone’s going.”
You give in with a smile, smoothing his hair back. “Okay. You want me to bring your stuff over?”
“Nope, he’s got extras!”
“Alright. Be good at Mrs. Miller’s, okay? And say thank you.”
“I will!” He vibrates in place just long enough for you to bend down and kiss his cheek.
“Okay, bye Mom! Love you! Bye, Coach Steve! See you next week!”
“Bye, buddy,” Steve waves. “Great job today. Let me know how that game goes, yeah?”
Toby nods furiously before sprinting off.
When you turn back, Steve’s grinning at you.
Hand shoved in his pocket, rocking lightly on his heels.
He's more boyish than ever, looks downright fucking pleased.
“Well,” he starts, tilting his head, “I don’t know about Toby, but…”
He shrugs, eyes flicking to you with warmth and something unmistakably like intent.
“I could definitely go for some lasagna.”
⚾︎
“You know all the—mmph—the moms are... t-talking about you, right?”
Even with your face shoved into the pillow, words muffled, jaw slack and drooling, you know exactly the kind of shit-eating grin that’s hovering behind you.
“Yeah?” His voice comes perfectly level, lazy with a familiar taunt. Like he’s not ramming you within an inch of your life. “What’re they saying?”
“Mm, Shar... Sharon thinks you’re—fuck, Steve!”
There’s no warning, just the sudden crush of his weight shoving you flat onto the mattress, pinning your stomach against the sheets. His hips snap forward, driving all the way to the hilt in one, long thrust, your body jolting up the bed from the sheer force of it.
You let out a strangled yelp, hands flailing back instinctively, scrabbling at his arms, his hips. You squirm desperately for leverage, clawing at the Dodger-blue fabric bunched around his waist, but he pins you easily, weight sinking down like an anchor. A thick forearm comes around to hook under your chin, wrapping around your neck to hold you there.
“She thinks I’m what?” he breathes, lips pressed to your temple.
“She... she...”
He allows you a moment of merciful reprieve, thrusts slowing to a teasing grind, hips rolling in deep, languid circles against your ass.
“Into her,” you manage. “S-she thinks you’re into her.”
“Huh,” he pants, thoughtful. “Mrs. McIntyre?”
You nod weakly as he adjusts his grip around your neck, pressing up until you can feel your own pulse thundering along the column of your throat.
Then, before you can find your next breath, the weight over you lifts, the pressure around your neck releasing. You suck in a long, trembling gulp of air—the first real one in what feels like forever—just as you feel a pair of hands wrap around your hips, flipping you swiftly onto your back.
You hit the pillows with a startled gasp, chest heaving, legs splaying open instinctively.
Your cunt glistens between your thighs, weeping a slow, sticky trail into the sheets. It’s twitching uselessly, clenching around open air as if it could pull him closer.
From between your knees, your man watches.
The late-afternoon sun cuts through the room in slanted gold, draping his body in warmth and shadow. You take him in helplessly, all the familiar lines of him—the sloped planes of his shoulders, thick biceps and a toned chest that melts into the soft curve of his stomach. The pale-white scars that shimmer along his sides, stark and beautiful against flushed skin.
He’s naked except for that blue jersey. Hanging open at the front, hem brushing over his hips. The last two buttons are gone, thanks to your handiwork.
It’s a miracle his shirt’s stayed intact at all, what with the way you were climbing over each other the moment the door slammed shut.
Savage, open-mouthed kisses giving way to ragged gasps as you staggered through your living room, tripping over the ottoman, narrowly avoiding a vase as you dragged each other toward the bed. His dirt-stained khakis discarded mid-stride, he barely managed to tear your clothes off before hauling you onto the mattress.
Predatory.
It’s the only word to describe the way he’s looking at you now, honey-brown eyes darkened with intent, burning hotter than the molten orange sunset bleeding through the curtains behind him.
He takes his sweet time.
Holds your gaze, unblinking, as he shrugs the jersey the rest of the way off, letting it drop away. He raises a hand up to his chest, palm flat, and drags it slow across his skin. Slides it over his ribs, his stomach, the trail of coarse hair running below his navel, reaching down, down, down, until his fingers brush against the sticky patch of curls at his base.
A pleased, knowing smile spreads across his face as he drinks in your reaction.
“Mrs. McIntyre, huh? I had no idea.”
And even this fucked up—dazed and boneless from the way he’s been drilling his cock inside you for the better part of an hour, buried so deep you can feel him in your stomach—a tiny part of you can’t resist pushing back.
Just enough to test him, to see how far he’ll let you go.
“Don’t act like you’re surprised…” you murmur, words slurring. “You were smiling at her today.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then a low, incredulous laugh.
“At her?”
The hand on his stomach moves lower, thumb and four fingers splayed to form a wide ‘V’ as he cradles the imposing monument he calls a cock. The head of it’s all swollen, leaking, skin flushed from friction and glossed all over with your arousal.
“Huh,” he intones mildly, gaze flicking down between your legs, tongue gliding slow across his bottom lip. “Did I make my girl jealous?”
You scoff, pushing weakly against his shoulders as he makes his way back down, boxing you in between his elbows. “You wish, Harrington.”
He laughs under his breath, soft and playful, before he slams his lips against yours in a filthy kiss, tongues clashing until you’re left panting for breath.
Pulls back with a wet smack, eyes hooded, blazing with amusement.
“Sorry, honey,” he breathes, head tipped in mock sympathy. “Had no idea.”
You roll your eyes, instantly betrayed by the tremor in your voice. “I don’t care.”
“Mm,” he smiles, dipping his head to nuzzle your cheek, mouthing along your jaw while he reaches a hand down without looking. “I think you do.”
His cock drags against your inner thigh as he positions himself against your opening.
“And I think,” he adds softly, “you mean Coach Harrington.”
You laugh despite yourself, breathless, feeling him bury a smile of his own against your neck.
“Nice try... ‘m not calling you that in bed.”
“Worth a shot.”
“Uh-huh.”
Your amusement quickly dies on a moan when he nudges the head of his cock against your swollen clit, dragging it down in a slow, wet schlick to your entrance. The pressure makes you clench, whining when he rubs insistently against your folds without pushing in.
“Steve—"
“Shh, I know, baby,” He smooth a warm palm up the inside of your thigh, pushing it back, spreading you wider. “I got you.”
In and in and in, he bottoms out in one stroke, stretching you endlessly until his pelvis is flush against yours. You take him well—pussy warm and slick from earlier rounds—but the weight of him, the sheer girth pressing into you, draws a low whimper from your throat.
“Yeah?” he breathes. “Is that good?
His lips trail soft, lingering kisses across your neck, one hand coming up to smooth your hair back, cradling the top of your head to shield it from bumping against the headboard.
It all runs so counter to the way he’s thrusting—slamming inside in quick, deep thrusts, hitting your g-spot with such merciless accuracy that your eyes prick with tears.
“God,” he huffs, brow furrowed in pleasure, jaw going slack as he starts hitting that rhythm proper, “You have any idea how hard it was to behave today? Couldn’t stop fucking staring at you. Couldn’t... couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
His eyes roam greedily over the fresh trail of bruises he’s already mapped across your body: deep wine-reds that bloom just underneath the skin, running down your neck, your collarbone, the soft underside of your tits.
“You were looking at me too, huh?” he murmurs, already knowing.
Head lolling back against the pillow, you can only nod, too dizzy and breathless to do more.
“Yeah, baby, I know you were,” he coos, dropping his forehead to yours, lips brushing in a slow, teasing ghost of a kiss. “Sitting up there… looking so pretty. Bet you were making a mess out of the bleachers, huh? Getting yourself all wet.”
You groan, arching against him. “Steve—”
“Tell me,” he grunts, voice rough with need. “Tell me how good this feels. Tell me how much you need this cock.”
“I—fuck—I need it. I’s so good. Feels... feels so good.”
He lets out a guttural groan, pressing down harder, pulling you closer.
“Drives me… drives me fucking insane, you know that? Acting all polite out there, ‘Yes, ma’am…’ ‘Oh, he did just great today...’ When all I want—” He draws his hips back, slamming back inside to punctuate his next words “—is this.”
“Fuck, Steve—!”
The pleasure is blinding, a violent flash-bang to the senses that knocks the breath straight out of you. You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping onto his shoulders for dear life as you tip into your third orgasm of the day. He fucks you through it, murmuring praise, hips pistoning so hard it makes the mattress squeak, the headboard rattle.
And even as the high fades, he doesn’t relent. Light, shallow thrusts that leave you whining, twitching, your clit jolting each time he brushes against your tender g-spot.
“Mm…” you squirm, legs trembling against your will. “Steve...”
“Hm?”
“Can’t... ‘s too... too sensitive...”
“Just one more, baby.” He pants, lifting himself up on his hands. The playful edge in his eyes replaced by a look that’s all earnest now, all intent. “Want you to come one more time for me.”
You groan weakly, shaking your head. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he leans in close, nudging his nose against yours, pressing a soft peck to the tip. “Just one more. One more, baby. For me?”
Your response breaks into a loud groan when his hand slides down to your clit, middle and ring finger pressing slow, firm circles across the sensitive nub, making your cunt spasm around him with each pass.
“Come on, honey,” he whispers, voice soft but insistent, almost petulant in its coaxing. “I never get to take my time with you. Never get to have you like this.”
And even in this state, you can’t stop the wet, fucked-out laugh that escapes you. “You... you had me like this two days ago.”
The memory hits in a dizzying haze. He’d invited you over to his place before practice on Tuesday. Fed you a surprisingly excellent omelet first, then wasted no time bending you over the counter, and then the couch, and eventually his bed—both of you panting and laughing by the end of it, scrambling to get dressed once you realized how much time had passed.
“But we were still rushing then,” he counters, and you can’t muster the energy to argue that three and a half rounds don't exactly count as ‘rushing,’ but maybe for Steve Harrington they do.
“Please, baby,” he murmurs, still thrusting gently. “We’ve got all night today. Wanna see how many times I can make you come.”
“Fuck...” you sigh, head tipping back as another shudder rolls through you. You were convinced you’d come up against a wall, but the moment he angles his thrusts upward, fingers continuing their precise, coaxing swipes over your clit, the smoldering tension in your stomach catches kindling.
The high starts climbing back, somehow, sharper and brighter than ever.
“God, you’re so pretty... so fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, driving in a little harder. “Can’t believe you think I’d look at anyone else when I’ve got you.”
You whine weakly at his words, at the way his voice dips on the words I’ve got you, unmistakably possessive yet so bruisingly tender.
“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he mumbles against your lips. “No one gives it to you like this, hm?”
Your response is a trembling, breathless gasp, mouth brushing against his on every thrust, pressed so close it’s impossible to tell when you’re not kissing.
Long, slow, filthy passes of his tongue as he pries your lips open, gliding into your mouth; he craves this point of connection, always. Every sound you make is swallowed eagerly, turned into something shared.
He breaks easiest when you’re this close, when the air between you disappears and his control gives way to raw, aching need. Instinct pulling him toward a singular desire to stay close, to share breath and spit and praise while he takes you.
“Oh... oh my god—Steve, I’m—"
“Yeah, that’s it, honey. Let go, I’ve got you.”
It almost hurts, this time around.
The slow, exquisite, endless pull of pleasure, cruel hands of a thousand little deaths come to strangle you off. Every nerve in your body feels raw and frayed, tears leaking freely when you shut your eyes tight. You bury your face into his shoulder, nails pressing hard enough to break skin, clinging desperately to his words for some fragment of relief.
“Good girl... ah, shit, s-squeezing me so tight. That’s it. Keep coming, baby. There you go.”
Your cunt spasms uncontrollably around him—long, drawn-out pulses that keep him from pulling back out. He ruts the last few inches inside before spilling deep, groaning against your neck.
“Fuck, yes, just like that. God, baby....”
He always stays inside you afterward, for as long as he can. Kissing, kissing, always kissing, like he just can’t help himself, lips roaming over any patch of skin he can reach. When he finally draws his hips back, he does so carefully, softening the distance with more kisses when you whine at the loss of him.
“C’mere,” he pants, breath still ragged as he rolls onto his side, tugging you in until you fit flush against him. “I’ve got you.”
Warm, gentle strokes against the curve of your back as you level out together, syncing your breaths. The window’s cracked just enough to let the evening air roll in, cooling against heated, buzzing skin.
“You okay?” he murmurs after a while.
You hum in response, nodding once as you tuck your nose closer to his chest, breathing him in. Citrus cologne. Sweat. Steve.
“Wow,” he exhales, half a laugh caught in his throat. “What was that, three times?”
“Four,” you mumble, words muffled against his skin.
“Oh my god,” he laughs fully now, warm and boyish, chest vibrating beneath your cheek. He dips his head to press a quick kiss to your temple. “We’ll do five next time. Promise.”
You groan softly and shove at his shoulder, rolling away to hide your face in the pillow.
You hear him chuckle behind you as he slides off the bed. The soft pad of bare feet follows, sliding across hardwood, then the click of the bathroom light. Water trickles quietly from the sink.
You’re still catching your breath when the mattress dips again.
His fingers brush the backs of your legs, gently coaxing you to turn onto your back. You do, cheeks burning as he carefully swipes the warm, damp towel between your thighs, focused and attentive.
It’s something he’s done countless times before.
And still, it’s the part that always makes your chest tighten.
You push yourself upright once he’s done, settling against the headboard. He tucks the sheets around your waist, smoothing the fabric over your hips before reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand.
Brings it to your lips.
“Steve,” you laugh softly, still flushed, “I don’t need you to hold it.”
“Ssh,” he murmurs, lips quirking. “Small sips.”
You narrow your eyes at him but drink anyway, hands folded uselessly in your lap while he keeps the glass steady. When you’re done, he takes a long drink himself before setting it aside.
He turns back, catches you staring.
“What?”
You shake your head, smile faint. “Nothing.”
He studies you for a beat longer, searching your face, but doesn’t push. Instead, he stretches with a low groan, shoulders rolling until something pops.
“God,” he mutters. “You hungry?”
“Sure. I could eat.”
“You said there’s lasagna, right?”
“Uh-huh.” You start to scoot toward the edge of the bed, but his hand lands firmly on your arm.
“Woah, hey. Where are you going?”
“To... get the lasagna?”
He shakes his head, already moving away. “Nope. Just tell me where it is.”
“Steve, it’s fine, I can—”
“Not happening.” He nudges you back against the pillows, then tucks another one behind your back for good measure. “I got it.”
You open your mouth to argue again, but he’s already pulling his boxers on.
“Is it in the oven?” he calls over his shoulder.
“...Yeah.”
“'Kay. Be right back.” He leans in for a quick kiss, lifting a finger at you as he backs toward the door. “Don’t move, alright?”
You purse your lips, watching him go.
He’s back not ten minutes later, balancing two plates in his hands. Steam curls from the lasagna, edges crisp and bubbling.
“You gonna feed it to me too?” you ask dryly as he settles beside you.
He doesn’t even blink. Just picks up a fork and starts cutting into one of the slices.
“Jesus, Steve,” you laugh, grabbing the plate from him. “I was kidding.”
He hands it over with a grin, watching you take the first bite before digging into his own.
“Oh, hey,” he asks after a while, swallowing around a mouthful. “Did Toby like the new glove? Didn’t see him with it today.”
“Yeah,” you nod. “He loves it. I think he’s saving it for when the old one gives out.” You hesitate before adding, quieter, “Thank you, by the way. You really didn’t have to do that.”
Steve pauses mid-bite, fork hovering for half a second before he lowers it, lips pressing together.
“Yeah,” he nods softly. “Of course.”
You glance down at your plate, tracing a smear of sauce with the tip of your fork. “You know… if he knew it was from you, he’d probably never use it. He’d want to put it on a shelf or frame it or something.”
He snorts quietly. “Guess it’ll be our secret then.”
“Hm,” you nod, the sound coming out thin.
You don’t eat much after that. Staring at nothing, just pushing the food around, lost in thoughts much heavier than hunger.
Steve notices.
He looks up from his plate, cheeks full, a smudge of tomato sauce at the corner of his mouth. He chews slowly, studying you over the rim of his fork.
“Hey,” he says once he swallows. “You okay?”
You blink. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
He watches you for another beat, then sets his plate aside and slides closer. His hand settles on your knee, rubbing small circles.
“Did I, uh…” He glances down, then back up, eyes sheepish. “Wear you out too much?”
You nudge his ankle with your foot, managing a small smile despite the ache blooming in your chest. “No. It’s not that.”
“Okay,” he says softly, not quite smiling back. “Then what is it?”
“It’s... it’s nothing. Stupid.”
“Baby,” he reaches for your hand before you can pull away, fingers threading through yours. He shuffles closer until your knees press together. “Talk to me.”
You close your eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath, then another. Your chest tightens on the exhale.
“Is... is this about…?” His voice trails off, gentle, circling the truth carefully.
You sigh and turn your head, but he follows, refusing to let the space grow.
“’Cause if it is,” he rushes on, urgency bleeding into his tone, “I’m ready. Whenever you are. I mean it. I want to—”
“Steve, stop,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You can’t.”
He freezes, lips parting like he wants to argue. The light in his face shifts: eyes drooping, brows pulling together. So young, stripped of his usual bravado, it hurts to him look at him like this.
“Why... why not?”
“Because I can’t ask you to do that.”
He shakes his head, grip tightening as he pulls your hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart.
“Ask me to do what? Be part of your life? Be around your kid?” He shifts closer, trying to catch your eyes. “I… I wouldn’t—look, I care about Toby. I really do. And I care about you. I lov—”
His voice falters. He swallows hard, throat working around the word.
“I love you.”
You stare at a spot on the sheets, blinking hard, vision going blurry at the edges.
“Baby,” he murmurs, thumb sliding gently under your chin. “Look at me. Please.”
You do. Lashes heavy, eyes shining despite your efforts. He smiles at you then, soft and steady, certainty radiating in a way that makes your chest ache.
“I love you,” he repeats. “I want… I want to be with you. Wake up next to you, go to sleep next to you. Take you places.” He lets out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, that old caravan I bought is a total mess, but... I thought we could fix it up together. Travel a little. Go see the country.”
His smile softens, expression sobering a bit. “And I want to be there for Toby. I know what it’s like to have a shitty dad. I would never do that to him. Ever.”
You make a small, broken sound and turn away, but he doesn’t let go. His thumb keeps tracing the same soothing path over your knuckles.
“And I’m not saying we should get married or—or move in or anything. Just… maybe a couple nights a week? I could come over, help with homework, hang out with him, just be there however you need m—”
You surge forward, pressing your lips to his in a desperate, trembling kiss. He freezes for a heartbeat, then melts into it, arms winding around your waist and lifting you onto his lap with careful, fluid strength.
You cling to each other, kissing in a messy, gasping rhythm, until the salt of your own tears brushes against his lips.
“Hey,” he whispers, pulling back, gently drawing your face into his chest. “It’s okay, it's okay."
You let yourself fold into him, cheek pressed against his bare skin.
"We’ll figure it out. We'll be okay, I promise."
You melt against him, surrendering to his warmth, letting the steady, gentle strokes of his hand calm the storm of thoughts in your head.
Eventually, a small, wet laugh slips out.
“Toby’s gonna lose his mind.”
Steve pulls back a little, meeting your eyes. “You think he’d be weirded out by it?”
You shake your head, a smile breaking through. “No, he’d love it. He already worships you. And then you two would just… gang up on me every day.”
Steve laughs, thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. His gaze is unwavering, soft and intent as he lingers over the lines of your face, like he’s seeing you for the first time.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling. “I’m pretty sure I’ll always be on his mom’s side.”
⚾︎
epilogue
Toby sits at the very end of the dugout bench, where no one else is sitting.
He’s six and a half years old, not a baby anymore, but his legs still don’t touch the ground when he sits. They just kick the air, swinging back and forth, back and forth, cleats cutting little half-circles in the air. He scoots down an inch so the tips of them can scrape the dirt, and he finds a small pebble near the bench post. He nudges it with his toe, then nudges it back, careful not to kick it too far.
Everyone else is out on the field.
There’s the loud crack of a bat, and all the kids start shouting at once: “Mine!” “Run!” “Heads up!” The ball pops straight up into the air, and bonks Nathan Foster on the head when he tries to catch it. Everyone laughs. Even Nathan laughs, rubbing the back of his head like it didn’t hurt, even though it probably did.
Coach Steve says that kind of thing is okay. Messing up is how you learn.
Coach Steve knows a lot of things.
He knows how to line your fingers up on the bat, and how to breathe out when you throw so the ball goes straighter. He says baseball is supposed to be fun, even when you strike out, even when you’re not the best player on the field.
But Toby isn’t having fun.
He keeps his glove in his lap, hugging it tight with both arms like it might slide off if he lets go. It’s new. It's the one Coach Steve bought for him, even though his mom said his old one still worked fine. This one is stiff and smooth and smells good—like a store, or like the inside of Coach Steve’s car. Toby presses his fingers into the leather and traces the thick stitches with his thumb, over and over.
It helps a little.
There’s a worry sitting in his chest. Heavy and squishy, like when you step in mud and it won't let go of your foot right away.
He hasn’t told anyone about it. Not Miss Collins from art class. Not his mom. He didn’t even whisper it to his glove, even though sometimes he tells the glove things—like how fast pitchers make him freeze, or how scared he was on his first day of school.
Today, the worry stays stuck inside, pressing down.
A part of Toby thinks maybe he shouldn’t be worried at all.
Coach Steve said that everything would stay the same. Normal. And most of the things Coach Steve says turn out to be true. So maybe this will be too.
But Jeremy Miller said something different.
Jeremy knows stuff. His dad’s a doctor, and doctors are smart. They do important things.
Toby kicks the pebble a little harder than he means to. It skitters across the dirt floor and disappears under the bat rack with a soft clack.
“Hey, buddy.”
Toby looks up.
Coach Steve is standing at the opening of the dugout, blocking out part of the sun. His whistle hangs from his neck like always, bumping softly against his chest when he steps closer.
“You hiding from me?” he asks, grinning. “’Cause if you are, this is kind of a bad spot.”
Toby shrugs and drags the toe of his cleat through the dirt, making a crooked line. He sort of misses the pebble he kicked away. “I’m not hiding.”
Coach Steve comes in and sits down beside him, the bench creaking under his weight. His knee bounces once, then goes still.
“So,” he says, leaning his elbows on his thighs, looking out at the field. “I was kinda thinkin’ today might be the day you show off that rocket arm.”
The heavy feeling in Toby’s chest squishes tighter.
The words fall out before he can stop them.
“Are you and Mom gonna get married?”
Coach Steve freezes.
Just for a second, but Toby notices. His grin fades, and he blinks like he forgot what he was about to say. His hand comes up and rubs the back of his neck.
“Uh…” he clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, we are, buddy.”
Toby nods. He already knew that. Mom had told him. Coach Steve had told him. Grandma cried a little on the phone when they both told her together. Still, hearing it out loud again makes his stomach feel all twisty.
“Is that…” Coach Steve says, then stops. He presses his lips together. “Is that still okay with you?”
Toby sighs and draws another line in the dirt next to the first one, pressing hard so they match.
“I guess.”
Coach Steve moves a little closer, his arm brushing Toby’s. He rests a hand on his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze, thumb rubbing slow circles like he does when Toby’s nervous before a game.
“Hey, if you’re feeling weird about me and your mom, that’s okay to say.”
Toby swallows. His throat feels tight, like when he’s about to cry but doesn’t want to.
“No, it’s just—” He stops, frowning. “I just want you to be my coach, still.”
Coach Steve turns his head sideways, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I still be your coach?”
Toby’s shoulders curl in. “’Cause Jeremy said that if you’re family, sometimes you can’t do stuff for each other.”
“Jeremy Miller?”
Toby nods. “Yeah. His dad’s a doctor. Jeremy had to have surgery ’cause his ap-pen-di-sigh-tis was broken, and his dad couldn’t do it. They didn’t let him.”
Coach Steve lets out a slow breath through his nose. “Oh.”
Toby grips his glove tighter. “So, if you’re my family… you can’t be my coach anymore, right?”
Coach Steve’s face goes a little funny. His eyebrows pull together, and his mouth does this wobbly thing, like he’s trying to smile and can’t figure out how. He reaches out and gently pushes Toby’s hair back, his thumb brushing across his forehead.
“Toby,” he says softly, “that’s not how that works.”
Toby frowns. “But Jeremy said so.”
“I know, bud. And sometimes grown-up rules are really confusing.” He lets out a small huff of a laugh. “Doctors have rules like that. Coaching’s a little different.”
He waits until Toby’s looking at him.
“I’m always gonna be your coach, Toby.”
Toby wants to believe him. He really does.
“…You promise?” he whispers.
Coach Steve’s face scrunches up more, eyes shiny like maybe some dust blew in from the field. “Yeah, buddy. I promise.”
Toby sticks out his pinky. He doesn’t do that at school anymore, because he’s a big first-grader now, but he still knows it’s the strongest kind of promise there is.
Coach Steve smiles, hooking his pinky around Toby’s, giving it a firm shake.
Satisfied, Toby launches forward. It’s all of him at once, knocking the air right out of Coach Steve.
“Oof, okay—” Coach Steve laughs, arms coming up to catch him. He pats Toby’s back, holding him closer as he rocks him side to side.
Toby squeezes back just as tight. The heavy feeling in his chest lifts, like taking off his backpack full of books at the end of the day.
He pulls back, smiling now, and says the thing he's been scared to say since the day he talked to Jeremy.
“Love you, Dad.”
Coach Steve goes very still. Then he clears his throat and quickly blinks up at the sky, like he definitely got some dirt in his eyes that time.
When he looks back at Toby, that funny, wobbling smile is back.
“I love you too, buddy.”
Toby grabs his glove and hops off the bench. His feet hit the ground, solid and steady.
Coach Steve stands too, quickly scrubbing the dirt from his eyes before turning back to him.
“So. You wanna go show your mom that throw we’ve been practicing?”
pairing: steve harrington x female!reader wc- 6.2k
summary: an all consuming situationship between you & “king” steve harrington.
c/w: porn with a plot 18+, smut, creampie, masturbation, tit sucking, possessiveness, king steve persona, insecurity, dom!steve, shy!reader, dirty talk, miscommunication, toxic relationship, angst, steve’s mean, eventual fluff, oc mentioned
series masterlist | prologue
It’s been two days since your night with the king, two days and the memory of Steve’s skin on yours still feels like a fresh bruise. A dull ache that felt impossible to ignore. Steve Harrington had fucked you in the back of your car then left like it was nothing, like you were just another one of the girls. It’s been hard to feel anything but hollow since then. You felt used, like you were a dirty secret that was already forgotten in the span of 48 hours.
You’ve replayed the interaction thousands of times in your head, tried to remember the feeling of his weight on top of you and the way he looked at you when he was fully inside. Sometimes you try to convince yourself it wasn’t real, that the look was practiced or performed, but something about Steve made you desperate for more. You’ve had a crush on Steve for years, but now everything has changed. Now you know what his rough hands feel like when he’s gripping your hips, what he tastes like after he’s had one too many beers, what sounds he makes when he’s thrusting in and out of you relentlessly.
And you were certain he would act like it never happened.
You waited by the phone both nights over the weekend, hopeful, but never confident that he would call. He never did, and now you were convinced he never would.
It’s Monday morning now at Hawkins High and you couldn’t feel any more exposed as you made your way through the crowd of people to get to your locker. Every laugh you heard in the loud hallway felt like it could be at your expense. You kept your head down for the most part, books clutched tightly to your chest as you tried to make yourself seem small and invisible. Because now you’re just you again, the girl who blends in and the girl who would never have Steve Harrington.
It was easy to fade into the background at school, easy to ignore everything and everyone else, but then you heard him, and once you heard him, it wasn’t so easy to ignore him.
You looked up, and halfway down the hall there he was, surrounded by his best friends leaning against his locker like he ran the entire school. Which he did, if you were being honest. Steve wasn’t looking at you though, he wasn’t even glancing in your direction. He was completely focused on his friends, on the way they were clinging to his every word.
Steve had three core friends in his group that ran the school. Tommy, Carol, and Ani. Tommy and Carol had been hooking up for years, never labeling it but everyone knew they belonged to each other. Ani and Steve were seen together sometimes, flirting or getting handsy, but it seemed pretty detached for the most part. Steve seemed pretty detached at least, he always did. You weren’t sure how Ani felt about it. Steve would bring a different girl home every weekend and by Monday, his arm was back around Ani’s shoulders.
They were loud, loud enough for everyone to know exactly what they were doing and talking about at all times. You could hear the end of their conversation as you hurried past.
“Nah, man. Quarry was weak. My parents are out of town this weekend, We’ll do it right.” Steve said lazily, his back leg kicked up on his locker and arm draped over Ani. His eyes, all brown and soft, slid over you for just a second, lingering for a moment before he looked away like he didn’t see anything at all. It would’ve felt normal but you could see the way his jaw tightened.
Tommy laughed. “Hell yeah, I’ll bring a keg.”
“Keep it chill, Dad will kill me if anything gets broken” He didn’t look at you again before you turned the corner, but his posture shifted. He stood straighter, laughed louder, and tightened his hand on Ani’s shoulder. He was ignoring you as you expected him to, but he knew you were there.
The school day dragged, slow as usual. The feeling of being exposed dampened as the day went on once you realized nobody was talking about you. Nobody was even looking.
You saw Steve again in History. Sitting in the back row, doodling in his notebook and not paying attention. You could see his reflection in the window, and every so often his eyes would flick up and settle on the back of your head before he looked back down and continued doodling. When lunch arrived it felt like a relief, you spotted your friends instantly at the usual table near the back by the bathrooms.
Ale, Becca, Monica, and María were already sat and eating their lunch when you slid into an empty seat. You couldn’t help but glance towards the popular table as you sat down. You never could. For years your friends had known that you’ve had a crush on Steve, but none of them knew that he had you underneath him two days ago. You didn’t plan on telling any of them either, you were embarrassed. It was embarrassing to be just another notch on King Steve’s belt, not because it wasn’t cool, but because he would abandon you like the rest of them.
Ale scoffed as she noticed where you were glancing “Look at them. You’d think they own the place.”
“Steve’s been staring more than usual. You finally catch his eye?” Becca teased.
You tried to play it off with a laugh, but it felt forced. “Doubt it.”
Lunch was normal, you tried to act as normal as possible around your friends. But it was always hard for you to act like you weren’t hyper aware of Steve.
On your way to class, one of your friends from the debate team, Leo, stopped you briefly in the hallway.
“Hey! You get a chance to look over the notes this weekend?” He was smiling, as always. Leo was friendly, the kind of guy who was trusted and liked by many.
“Hey. No, not yet. It’s on my to-do list! Promise!” A smile was on your face, the conversation was normal, and it made everything else feel normal too.
Leo’s hand reached out, squeezing your shoulder with a familiarity that made Steve clench his jaw from where he was standing alone down the hall. He was pretending to look for something in his locker, but his eyes kept drifting back to where Leo had just touched you.
“Alright, alright! Don’t stress about it. We could do it after school on Thursday? Grab a table at the library?”
You nodded with a smile “Yeah, that works great actually” The bell rang, so you both waved bye and continued down the hall, going your separate ways.
Your path was taking you directly past Steve as the hallway cleared. The second you began to pass him, you felt his hand shoot out from his locker and wrap around your wrist. Before you could even register what was happening, Steve was pulling you into the boys bathroom.
“C’mon. In here.” He whispered as you looked up at him.
The second you were both in the bathroom, Steve released your arm, blocking the door by leaning against it. He was looking down at you with that infuriating cocky smirk.
“Nice chat with debate club?” He crossed his arms.
“What? What are you even talking about? That’s none of your business, Steve.” You folded your arms across your chest, clutching your textbook, a little defensive and wary.
Steve laughed, taking a step towards you and putting his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants casually. “Yeah? I think you know what I’m talking about, and I think it became my business as of Friday night.”
His hand left his pocket and reached out to trace the lining of your textbook still folded in your arms. He looked entirely focused on you, possessive in a way you’ve only seen directed at others for a few weeks at a time.
“You shouldn’t be talking to him like that, princess.” Steve said quietly.
The name sent heat rushing to your cheeks that you knew would be obvious. “Talk to him like what? Why do you care? It’s not like you’re talking to me.”
He looked away, taking his hand back to run his fingers through his hair. “I don’t care.” He stepped forward again, the toes of his expensive nikes now touching the toes of your flats.
“You think I didn’t notice you all day? You’re fucking distracting.” The final bell rang, but neither of you moved. Steve didn’t seem to care, which didn’t shock you. He skipped often anyway.
“Im not doing anything. You’re the one who’s acting like nothing even happened between us.” It came out quieter than you had wanted, and it was laced with a hurt that was getting harder to hide as he stood in front of you.
He let out a long sigh at the tone of your voice and turned away, pacing the tile floor. “Jesus. What do you want me to do, huh? Walk up to you in front of everyone? You know how that would go.”
You leaned against the sink “I.. I don’t know, Steve. But I at least-“
He stopped pacing to walk back over to you, crowding you against the sink as he brought a hand up to rest it on the counter beside your hip to cage you in. His voice softened, barely, but you could hear it soften.
“I remember every second. Happy?” All you could do was look up at him, and let out a shaky breath. Your eyes were locked on his, and his were on yours. The overhead lighting made his big brown eyes look like they sparkled. His hair was falling into his forehead, face so close to yours that his nose was almost touching.
His hand moved to cradle your jaw, thumb gently tracing the line and going up to stroke your cheekbone. You felt completely frozen, back under the spell of him.
He’d left you at the party, not called for days, and pulled you into an empty room and now he wanted to give you the attention you’d been starved for. Steve had a way at this, making you forget everything he’s ever done by a simple touch.
He was handsome, yes.
But it was something about his charm.
The way he smiled, or the way he used his eyes to express himself. It made you melt under his fingers, which is why you didn’t move a muscle when his lips moved and found themselves hungrily pressed to yours.
You gasped against his mouth, obediently parting your lips when his tongue began to seek entry. The kiss was desperate, like he had been craving it just as much as you had. The kiss wasn’t soft or gentle, it was deep, insistent, and possessive. He kissed like he was trying to prove something to himself, or maybe you. His other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him the warmth of his body.
You were putty against him. Your hands lifting to rest on his chest, curling your fingers into his polo shirt as soft noises escaped your mouth and transmitted directly into his. He felt so real, so warm, so yours again.
He broke the kiss just barely to murmur against your swollen lips.
“See? I remember.” You could hear the smirk forming on his face.
He kissed you again before you could respond. His fingers moving to tangle in the hair at your neck to tilt your head back so his tongue could dive deeper into your mouth. For just a second, the kiss slowed down, becoming more about feeling than the possession of it all.
His lips traveled from your lips to the corner of your moth, kissing down to your jawline and your neck. It made your heart hammer in your chest, each kiss of his lips on your warm skin feeling like a brand that was settling into place. He was smiling against your skin, and you were smiling as you held onto his shoulders, keeping him close as you inhaled the scent of his cologne.
Steve’s hand began to gently stroke the skin of your neck as he whispered directly under your ear in between kisses “You can’t look at other guys like that. Not after what we did together.” His nose was deliberately brushing against your skin back and forth.
“I wasn’t looking at him like… like I look at you, Steve. I wasn’t.” The confession was breathless. You didn’t owe any explanation to Steve, especially not after the way he treated you. But something about the look in his big brown eyes made you want to reassure him over and over again that it was only him. That it had only been him for years, that you couldn’t imagine anyone else holding your attention captive the way that he is able to.
He smiled a little, a real smile, and kissed you again. His lips taking in your top lip, and the pull of his lip on yours sent sparks through your body. Steve kept angling his head, and each angle made his nose press against your face. Bumping against your cheek and brushing your closed eyelids. The gesture felt more real than anything you’d seen from him before. It was clumsy, and intimate.
This kiss was nothing like the kiss of “King Steve” from the car. You thought Steve was a good kisser when you first kissed him, when he was trying to get another girl off the checklist.
But now he was kissing like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth and the way your tongue moved against his. It was addicting, and you couldn’t stop pulling him in for more. Your hands were all over his chest and hair, traveling up and down his arms and squeezing the muscle that was straining against his polo that was way too tight.
The bell rung after awhile, and the both of you seemed to realize just how long you’d been making out against the sink in the boys bathroom during the middle of the school day.
Steve pulled back almost instantly, running a hand through his hair to fix it.
“Don’t wanna be late for your next class, yeah?”
You were still dazed, lips swollen and parted as you stared at the sudden switch in Steve.
“I….what?”
“Class. You should go.” He walked over to the mirror and fixed his collar. “I’ll wait a minute, don’t need people seeing us walk out together.”
He was putting the mask back on slowly, piece by piece it was coming back together, but you saw what was underneath and you wanted to see that side of Steve again so badly.
“Will I see you later?” You asked hopefully, and he looked over at you through the mirror. His eyes tracing the line of your jaw and lips again.
“Maybe. I’ve got practice.” He shrugged. “Don’t wait by the phone or anything.”
It was meant to sound casual, but it felt like a stone being dropped in your stomach.
“Seriously. You should go.” He gestured towards the door with his head.
“Right. Okay, I’ll see you later?” You lingered for a few more seconds, wondering if he’d say something else or look at you again but he was already back to fixing his appearance in the mirror. Cleaning off any trace of you.
Your skin felt hot as you left the bathroom, eyes wide and fixed on some point down the hall while you walked to class. Friday at the quarry didn’t feel real, but this was even more unbelievable.
It wasn’t rare for Steve to have random girls on his arm, or even have makeout sessions in the bathroom.
You’d heard about the notes he leaves in the lockers of the cheerleaders like Kenzie. But it was rare for Steve to kiss with feeling.
You felt like you were dissociating for the rest of the school day, constantly out of body as you moved on autopilot. Mentally, you were still in that bathroom with your hands on Steve Harrington as his lips pressed to your skin.
Every-time a door opened, your heart would leap in your chest in hopes that it would be him, but Steve was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the school day.
You walked home alone, the same peaceful path you always take through the lawns and quiet houses, but today every thought you had just circled right back to Steve’s lips on yours in the bathroom. Every feeling you felt was so confusing.
There was giddiness, confusion, and a deep underlining of wanting. He told you he remembered every second, but he also told you to not wait by the phone.
Every second of the rest of the night felt like a special kind of torture. The phone on your nightstand seemed to mock you as you tried to do your homework or get ready for bed. Basketball practice was over hours ago. Would he call? He said not to wait, he told you not to wait. But what if he changed his mind? What if he decides to call?
You refused to change out of your sweater because his cologne continued to linger there. You refused to leave your room just in case the phone rang. Every action you made seemed to revolve around if Steve would, or if he wouldn’t.
Your mind raced through every word Steve said to you, replayed the interaction to see if you missed any signs, but everytime you ended with the same conclusion. He had kissed you, again. And he hadn’t called, again. But the memory of him was so sharp, too sharp.
You couldn’t get him out of your head, and it became frustrating in more ways than one. So your fingers moved, lightly tracing down your sweater until they were slipping under the waistband of your pants.
It was wrong. Your fingers weren’t as calloused as his, too soft, not rough enough. But you closed your eyes and tilted your head back. You thought of the way he looked at you with such hunger and possession in his eyes, and then the sudden vulnerability when he admitted that he remembered it all.
Your breath hitched as your thumb began to trace circles on your clit, mimicking the slow circles his thumb was tracing on your hip just hours ago. But lower, much lower.
It was weak, it was nothing compared to feeling wanted and filled by him, but it was enough for your stomach to flutter.
Your fingers moved downwards, tracing your entrance before you were plunging one finger inside, seeking the warmth that he always seemed to create inside of you. Your movements became urgent as you fantasized about him on top of you. His hair brushing against your forehead, his nose pressed against yours, his arms holding you tightly against his chest.
Your teeth were sinking into your lower lip, attempting to hold back the desperate sounds leaving your lips. The image of him was burning on your eyelids as you chased a release that felt so out of reach.
The second you orgasmed, the high dissolved into an emptiness. The confusion and longing were more present than ever now as you waited by a phone that wont ring. You felt foolish and desperate as your mind and body drifted to sleep.
Tuesday morning felt different when it arrived. You didn’t feel as hollow as the day before, the secret of the interaction in the bathroom was alive in your veins. You felt nervous, and curious. Would he do something similar again? Would today include another makeout session with Steve? You weren’t sure, but you were desperate to find out.
When you finally saw him at school, you felt your heart drop and stomach flip. He was standing with his usual friends, doing the same thing he always does, with his arm still around Ani.
You shouldn’t have been shocked, you shouldn’t have expected anything to be different between you and Steve. Everything would’ve seemed completely normal, but then Steve’s eyes slid over the hallway and landed on you. It was only a second, but you saw the way his body tensed up. You couldn’t help but notice the way his laugh sounded strained now as you walked past him to head towards your class. It was a game only the two of you were playing, and you had no idea what the rules were.
The day unfolded in stolen glances across classrooms and hallways, and each time Steve looked at you, the hope in your chest flared a little brighter.
At lunch, Ale seemed to notice first. Every few minutes Steve’s eyes would land on the back of your head before he would look back down before anyone could think anything of it.
She nudged your shoulder with her own “Maybe you should just talk to him? He’s been staring.”
You shook your head “You’re kidding, right? He’s not staring.” You knew you couldn’t talk with him. You didn’t know the rules of the game, but you knew not talking to him in public was certainly on the list.
Ale sighed softly “If you say so.”
“Steve stares at everyone, Ale. He just can’t help it. It’s in his genetics to be a man-whore.” María piped in briefly with a laugh to dismiss the idea.
The comment made you feel relieved that they weren’t pressing the topic further, but it came with a pang of insecurity. Did Steve actually stare at everyone? To the point where even your own friends wouldn’t think he was looking at you? Your brain was exhausted from the amount of confusing emotions you’d been having.
After school you were gathering your things from your locker when you saw him out of the small mirror on your locker door, he was coming down the hallway with Tommy. He wasn’t looking at you, but as he passed his shoulder briefly brushed yours.
It’s a touch you’ve seen a thousand times before, a touch you’ve even felt before, but this time his hand left his jacket pocket and he let his fingers graze your arm. A secret touch in a crowded hallway, and then he was gone.
The touch was small, barely anything, most people wouldn’t think twice about it again. But it was enough for you, enough to keep you on his hook as you walked home with the same hope that maybe tonight he would call.
He was obviously ignoring you, but he was watching you. Marking his territory on you in the quietest way he could. In some part of you, the secret was the thrill.
He didn’t call, but the hope inside of you didn’t fade. He looked. He touched. He kissed you. And that had to mean something.
A week went by of similar touches and silent tension. The moments were so small and fleeting that they were invisible to everybody else, but to you it was everything. Each day that went by was a delicate dance that was completely choreographed by Steve’s unpredictable attention.
On Wednesday, you were heading to the library, arms full of books as you turned a corner and collided with him. For a few seconds you were both completely frozen before his eyes dropped to your lips and you heard a barely audible groan leave his mouth before he sidestepped you and continued down the hallway faster than he was walking before.
Thursday before homeroom you were getting a drink from the water fountain. You could feel him and smell him behind you before you could see him, the signature trace of his cologne taking over every sense. Steve’s arm reached around you to press down on the button, his arm brushing against your side. He didn’t say anything, just held the button down as you continued to drink.
You straighted up and looked up at him through your lashes, water droplets clinging to your lips. Steve’s eyes were locked on your mouth, his head tilted down towards you. The proximity of him was dizzying, your eyes could trace the faint stubble that lined on his jaw.
“You’ve got a little…” Steve’s voice was low, almost a whisper.
He raised his hand to bring his thumb up, brushing the water droplet off your bottom lip. The contact after days without feeling the warmth of him made your breath catch. His thumb lingered, pressing slightly harder into your lip as his eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips over and over again.
Neither of you said anything else as he pulled away and walked quickly down the hall, leaving you frozen at the fountain.
On Friday after school you were heading to your locker, but he was already there, leaning against a locker a few doors down from yours. He was staring down the hallway, as if he was waiting on someone else. You heard him speak without turning his head as soon as you started passing by.
“Don’t make any plans Saturday night.”
It was a command, but it felt like a key unlocking a door that you’d been standing outside and knocking on for days, and you were running inside.
Saturday came around slowly. You weren’t sure what you were doing with Steve, or when, so you got ready bright and early just in case, putting extra care and detail into every choice. Then you waited, and waited.
Evening fell as you stayed up in your room, waiting for the sound of his bmw, but it never came.
Today was also the day that Steve had bragged about throwing a party on just earlier that week in the hallway. The party he didn’t invite you to. You tried not to think about who could possibly be there with him.
The hours stretched. Passing ten and even eleven, then midnight. The hope and excitement that was alive in your chest now felt like a physical weight of disappointment that made your shoulders slump. You felt foolish sitting by your window in the dark.
It felt humiliating, so you got ready for bed and tried to push it away entirely.
Sleep wasn’t coming easy though, you tossed and turned in your bed for what felt like hours until you heard the knocking. The noise was small, but you heard it.
You turned your head to face your window and saw Steve perched on the windowsill, knocking lightly.
“You awake? Open up.” Steve said in a loud whisper, continuing to tap on the glass.
You got out of bed and moved to open the window. You could see him clearer now, and smell the lingering trace of alcohol on his breath. His eyes were heavy lidded, and his body looked sluggish.
“Come on. Let me in.” He glanced over his shoulder out at the dark street, a paranoid look.
“It’s too late, Steve.” You said quietly, it was hard to hide the hurt and disappointment.
“Too late? I’ve been thinking about you all night. Five minutes. Please? I just wanted to see you” A lazy grin was on Steve’s face almost immediately, full of a charm he knew exactly how to use. His eyes widened and sparkled in the moonlight.
He was lying, and you both knew it. But the way he spoke to you with that charm made you hesitate on telling him to leave. He was looking at you like you were the only girl in the world, like he didn’t just spend the entire night at a party without you.
“My parents are asleep, Steve. It’s really late.” You whispered nervously, glancing back into your room.
“We’ll be real quiet. Im stealthy, like a ninja.” His grin widened, and you gave in immediately. The pull of him was too strong when he was looking up at you with such soft sleepy eyes.
“Five minutes. That’s it.” And you opened the window.
His hands gripped on the window as he hoisted himself into your room. He took a step closer to you immediately once he was inside.
“Couldn’t stop thinking about you. That party was fucking boring.” His hand reached out to stroke your cheekbone once, letting his fingers linger there.
“Five.. only five minutes, right?” You asked nervously, but your body was already melting under his touch.
“Mhm. That’s right.” Steve dipped his head, his lips hovering right above yours as he breathed you in. The smell of beer was undeniable this close up.
His mouth closed over yours almost immediately, his hand sliding into your hair and gripping at it to angle your head back. His other hand came up to rest on your hip as he began walking you backwards towards your bed.
“Told you… couldn’t.. stop.. thinking about you” He muttered against your lips in between kisses. The confidence in the way he kissed combined with his hands on you was making you dizzy, head spinning as your body went pliant and allowing him to walk you back towards your bed.
The second the back of your knees hit the mattress, Steve pulled back to look down at you.
“Lie down” It was an instruction, a command. His hands went to your shoulders to slightly apply pressure, guiding your body down onto the mattress.
Steve followed you down, bracing his body on his elbows as he caged you in beneath him. Your fingers began to thread through the hair that curled slightly on the nape of his neck, dragging your nails lightly on his skin.
He kissed you again, but this time it was slower. Your lips moving together in a conversation that only the two of you understood. He sat up quickly, pulling his polo over his head, then immediately met your lips again with his own.
Your hands immediately went back to his chest, remembering what it felt like to run your hands in the chest hair that rested there. Steve sucked in your top lip, causing you to tighten your hands on his chest.
A small whimper left his mouth as you pulled at the hair lightly, he kissed deeper and furrowed his brows together, attempting to silence the needy noises he was making.
“Fuck. You’re so…. fuck.” He sat up again to pull the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders and pushing the gown further to bunch up at your waist.
His head lowered instantly, the warmth of his lips meeting the warm skin of your breast, his tongue working over your nipple until it was hardening in his mouth. His other hand was everywhere, kneading at your other tit, and sliding down your stomach to push the nightgown down entirely until you were in nothing but your panties. He gripped at the flesh of your thighs to spread your legs further for him to grind against your core before he kicked off his shoes, his hand leaving your body to quickly work at the button on his jeans.
Your hands were running through his hair, going down his back and pulling at the skin.
The second he got his jeans and boxers down he shifted his body and lifted his head.
“Tell me. Tell me you want me.” Steve whispered into the quiet room as his head moved to find your mouth, biting gently at your bottom lip. It wasn’t as harsh as his usual demands, something about the look in his eyes was vulnerable in a way you’d never expected from someone who got everything he wanted so easily. He wasn’t asking you to tell him you wanted him to stroke his ego, he was asking you to tell him so he could be assured that did you want him.
“I do want you. I want you, Steve.” You said it as earnest as possible, continuing to run your fingers in his hair.
“Mmm. Good girl.”
His fingers slid down your body, starting at the column of your throat then moving down in between your breasts until he was tracing your bellybutton and hip bone. It was teasing, and it sent chills down your spine.
His fingers dipped lower, past the lace of your panties as he pulled them down, then parted your folds with two thick fingers, getting coated in the wet heat that had been gathering from the touch of him.
His other hand wrapped around his cock, stroking gently to smear the pre-cum all over his length. He began pushing into your pussy slowly, letting you feel every inch of him stretching you open around his cock.
Your eyes rolled back, jaw dropping as you moaned from the feeling of being filled by him again.
Steve continued moving until every inch of him was buried deep inside of you, then his hands came up to press down on your lower stomach, steadying himself there as he began thrusting in and out.
The rythym was slow, and deep. Nothing like the first time. This time you could feel every inch of his cock dragging against your walls before only the tip was inside of you, then him diving back in again.
You arched your back up, turning your face into the pillow next to you to muffle every moan and whine leaving your lips.
Each whimper seemed to fuel Steve, his hands left your stomach so he could shift back down, kissing you desperately and panting against your mouth while his movements became more urgent, the sound of skin slapping together becoming louder.
Your mouth found the side of his neck, tongue tracing over the scattering of small dark moles that dot over his neck. You could feel Steve shudder above you, a sharp breath catching in his throat as your lips moved lower to kiss the moles above his collarbone.
“Mine. You’re… fucking mine..” He panted out
“Steve…. Ohh.. Steeeve…” Pleasure was taking over your body entirely, legs trembling underneath him as he pounded into you.
“Yeah? You like how my cock feels inside of you?” Steve groaned, his hands going back to grip at your thighs while he hiked one of your legs over his shoulder to drive even deeper inside of your stretched pussy.
Steve’s eyes were locked on where your bodies joined, where his cock was sinking inside you over and over again.
“Look at you. Taking me so deep. God, you’re beautiful.” His fingers moved to your clit, rubbing rough and tight circles as he watched you tremble underneath him.
“Want you to squeeze me while im buried deep in this sweet pussy. Yeah? Can you do that for me, princess?”
You nodded eagerly, panting into the air as your hands gripped at his arms and your body twitched uncontrollably. Your pussy was clenching down on him, pulling him even deeper as pleasure radiated out of you.
Steve bit down on his lower lip to stifle a moan and began thrusting frantically, fucking into you so deep that your entire body was jolting back and forth on the mattress.
“Taking my fucking cock so good, baby. Such a good girl, huh? Drives me crazy when you’re such a slut for me.”
“Only you. Only you, Steve.” You whined out as he shuddered above you, his cum filling your insides as your walls milked him dry.
He stayed inside of you for a long minute, his head tilting back as he caught his breath before he let out a soft sigh and pulled out of you, collapsing down onto the mattress beside you.
His arm was thrown over his eyes, chest still rising and falling rapidly. You turned on your side, letting your eyes roam over the sheen of sweat on his chest and the relaxed way he looked when he was all pliant. You wanted to frame it. Steve Harrington in your bed, laying next to you.
“You’ll.. you’ll stay?” The question was vulnerable as you looked up at him.
Steve let out a long slow breath, his arm not leaving his face. “It’s late.”
It wasn’t an answer, it was a deflection.
“Please?” You reached over to trail your fingers across his chest lightly and he finally lowered his arm from his face.
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll stay.” He said it like he was doing you a favor as he rolled onto his side, pulling the sheets up and grabbing his boxers and your nightgown from the side of the bed to slip them back on.
Once you were both decently dressed, he slung his arm over your waist, resting his hand low on your back to pull you closer into his chest.
“Just.. go to sleep.” He muttered into your hair, voice slurring slightly as his lips pressed gently to your hairline.
You nuzzled in closer, smiling to yourself as your body drifted off to sleep being held by Steve Harrington.
You woke hours later, turning over and opening your eyes to find the bed beside you empty and cold. You laid there for awhile, staring at the spot he had occupied. Lifting your hand to run over the cool pillowcase that he rested his head on just hours ago.
You wanted more, you wanted everything. But wanting more from Steve Harrington felt like asking the sun not to set. It was a part of his nature. The leaving was as much a part of him as the charming smile and the possessive hands. The worst part was you know you'll be waiting by the window again next Saturday, desperate to feel that way again. Even if it’s just for a few hours, even if he always leaves.
-
masterlist | taglist | rec acc | series masterlist
♡ likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. thank uu ♡
summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.
word count: 13.6k
warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!
a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)
𝜗𝜚
Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.
He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, Steve.”
“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”
You’re not quite sure where to start.
Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.
The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.
You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.
You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”
You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.
It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?
Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.
Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.
You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”
“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”
If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.
“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.
Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.
He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.
“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”
“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”
“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”
There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.
You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.
“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”
“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”
“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”
“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”
You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.
“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”
“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”
There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.
It’s known, felt. Like a fact.
“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”
“Okay.”
“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”
“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”
Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.
But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.
“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”
“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”
“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.
-
True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.
You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.
His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”
The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”
Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”
We’ll, he says. A team.
You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.
“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.
Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”
He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.
He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”
You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”
“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”
You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.
You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.
Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.
Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.
Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.
Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.
You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.
The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.
Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.
Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.
Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.
“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.
When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.
He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.
“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.
Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.
Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.
It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.
Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.
“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.
“But the frame-”
“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”
“Steve-”
“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”
His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.
“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”
“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”
You laugh wetly into his shirt.
“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”
A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”
-
Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.
Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’
Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.
You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.
By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.
Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.
He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.
You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.
Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”
“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.
Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.
The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.
It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.
Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”
“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”
“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”
“Hey!”
“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”
You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.
It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.
You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”
“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”
“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.
Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”
There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.
“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”
He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.
You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.
You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.
When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.
It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.
-
You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.
He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.
It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.
This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.
After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.
Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.
You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.
Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.
If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.
He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.
You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.
That’s it.
Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.
He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.
Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.
Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.
She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.
“What?” Steve asks.
“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.
She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.
When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.
He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.
Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.
He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”
Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”
“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”
“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”
“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”
“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”
“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”
Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.
“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”
-
That night, your routine was pretty much the same.
Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.
Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.
Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.
After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.
You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.
Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.
He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.
You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.
After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.
Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.
Sometimes it feels like it is.
Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.
“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.
“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”
Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.
“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.
“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”
“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”
“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”
“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.
Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”
“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”
“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”
You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.
When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.
It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.
That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.
He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.
Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.
Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.
“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”
Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”
“You fell asleep.”
“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.
Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.
You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.
Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”
He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.
Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.
You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.
You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.
-
On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.
“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.
You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”
“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”
You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.
You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”
“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”
“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”
“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”
“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”
“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”
So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.
He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.
You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.
“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.
He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.
He knows you. He cares enough to know you.
“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.
At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’
After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”
“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”
“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.
They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.
“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”
“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”
“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”
“He’s not my-”
“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.
Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?
Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.
The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.
You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?
“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”
“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.
You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.
Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.
It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.
You actually like it.
“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.
In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.
Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.
Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.
He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.
As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.
“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”
You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”
You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”
“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”
“We’re not stealing.”
“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”
You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.
Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.
He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.
“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.
“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”
“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”
Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.
You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.
He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.
“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”
His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”
You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.
It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.
-
You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)
But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.
Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.
Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.
So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.
You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.
Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.
By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.
“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.
Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”
You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.
Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.
You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.
The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.
You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”
He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”
“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”
“So you don’t want the waffles then?”
“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”
“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.
Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”
Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.
And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.
Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.
You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.
Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.
You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.
What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.
You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.
Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.
You’ll miss it, you think.
Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.
He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.
Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”
You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”
He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”
“That’s what I thought.”
When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.
A similar one stretches across your own lips.
-
Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.
And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.
The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.
He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.
Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.
He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.
Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.
When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.
Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)
He hopes it’ll be worth it.
Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.
Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.
He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.
Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.
His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.
He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”
“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”
“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.
Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.
Steve’s never nervous around you.
“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”
“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”
You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.
What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.
It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.
When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.
Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.
Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.
“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”
“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.
You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.
This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.
When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.
“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.
“You sure?” he asks.
“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”
“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”
Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.
Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.
Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.
He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.
“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”
“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”
“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”
“I guess I will.”
You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.
His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.
-
You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.
You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.
You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.
Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.
Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.
“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”
You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.
“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”
“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”
You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”
He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”
“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”
He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”
“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”
He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.
Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.
“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”
“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”
“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.
“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”
Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.
He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.
So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”
You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”
“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”
You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”
Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”
Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.
You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.
He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.
His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.
“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.
Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”
And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.
-
You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.
Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.
Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.
Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.
Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.
As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.
His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.
In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.
It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.
“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.
“Mhm,” he hums.
Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.
“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”
You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.
“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.
“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”
“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.
“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”
Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.
He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.
It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.
You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.
Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.
“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.
You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”
Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.
You don’t.
Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.
It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.
You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.
Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.
Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.
You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.
It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.
You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.
Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.
You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.
What the fuck just happened?
-
It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.
Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.
You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?
You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.
You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.
Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.
He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.
It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.
Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.
Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?
Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.
You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.
He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.
So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.
Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”
“No, shut up. I need your help.”
“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”
“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.
“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”
Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.
“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.
Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”
Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”
Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”
Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”
“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.
He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.
“What do you mean?”
“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”
Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.
You are worth the risk to him.
“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”
“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”
Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”
-
With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.
You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.
You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.
The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.
How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.
The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.
Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.
You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.
For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.
So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.
Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.
You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.
You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”
You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.
“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”
You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”
“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”
You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.
Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.
“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”
“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”
You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”
“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”
“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.
Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”
“What about when my apartment is ready?”
He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”
You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.
You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.
It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”
“You won’t. Not ever.”
You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.
The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.
“So what happens now?” You ask.
“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”
“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”
He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”
Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”
“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”
He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.
𝜗𝜚
thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you think!! it helps more than you know <3
Steve hates that you don’t like him, and you love how much he hates you. fem, 2k
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
“You cannot keep bringing your nerds with you to movie night, Dustin.”
You don’t bother acting offended, though Eddie and his entourage of idiots all glare and hiss accordingly. “You said we were invited, Henderson!” Eddie says, slapping Dustin’s arm.
Dustin throws up his hands. “I didn’t know how long he’d have the tape, and he won’t let me borrow it because you lost The Thing! You want to watch the movie, don’t you?”
You’d been lured here under the impression that Steve was hosting a watch party. This does not seem to be true. Steve huffs this bitchy little sigh and rolls his eyes as he steps back, opening the door to allow you all inside. Eddie kisses Steve’s cheek as he passes and Steve says, “Gross,” with enough venom to make you laugh.
He glares at you next.
“I brought jiffy pop,” you say. Two packages of the stuff, actually. “And Reese’s.”
“Good for you.”
“Can I make it?”
“And ruin the stovetop? No. I’ll do it.”
You shut the door behind you and allow yourself to marvel at the caves and caverns that make up the Harrington house. Daniel Harrington is a rich bastard, and while Steve might not get the sort of allowance you’d imagined, he still gets to stay here. You let out a low whistle.
“I like what you’ve done to the place,” you tease lightly.
Steve doesn’t answer. You wave at Robin and the others as you pass the living room, glad when Robin waves back enthusiastically.
Steve huffs. “Come on,” he says.
You’d already been going, but you hurry to match his pace into the audacious kitchen. Steve’s stovetop could cook for ten, and the main counter is already laid out with snacks, sodas, and red cups. You lean on your elbows between chocolate covered pretzels and a bowl of fruit, wondering if tonight’s the night Steve might blow his lid. The wager is a generous sixteen dollars accrued between losers. Eddie thinks Steve’s gonna crack tonight. Jeff and Gareth both agree that the end is near but not nigh; a week or two and he’ll throw you out on the street. Cindy and Mindy have better faith in your ability to charm him, both girls betting on months further ahead.
From the way he’s looking at you, you aren’t sure you’ll make it to the end of Hellraiser.
It might have something to do with your chewing. “Uh, sorry,” you say, pushing the bowl of pretzels away from you.
He shrugs. “It’s fine. Who cares, right? What’s mine is yours.”
His sarcasm is acidic.
“Aw, thank you, Stevie. I didn’t know you felt that way.”
Steve snorts. It’s not a nice laugh, but something in your chest pulls hot and rough at the sound. He practically throws your popcorn onto the stovetop and lights the burner, his shoulders tensed under a warm brown polo, steam curling out of his ears with every second you stand there behind him. The metal of the container starts to creak in the heat, but you wait for the first pop of popcorn inside before you slip around the counter to stand beside him.
“Where’d you get the movie?” you ask.
Steve doesn’t answer. So annoyingly immature. You love the stupid haughtiness lining his eyes and the set of his mouth as he ignores you. It’s a tad smug, poorly concealed.
“I didn’t know you liked horror.”
“How could I? Do jocks even watch movies?” he asks.
Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. “Do they?” you ask.
“I worked at a movie rental.”
“Well, one doesn’t like to assume.”
Steve scoffs, as if to say, that’s rich. It confuses you enough to have you fall silent, turned completely to Steve as he shakes the jiffy pop over the heat. He looks less angry and more sad for a moment, his almond eyes in a sorry downturn you’d happily kiss back upwards again, until he feels you looking and snaps his gaze to yours. His glare comes alive. “What?” he bites.
“I didn’t say anything?”
“Why are you looking at me?”
You widen your eyes, a little showfully. “Am I not allowed?”
“Why would you want to?”
“Is that a trick question?” The popcorn pop-pop-pops, quicker now, a steady rhythm. “Why do people usually look at you, Steven?”
“Are you guys coming?” Robin calls.
“In a minute!” Steve sounds as annoyed as he looks.
“I’m just asking!”
He swings open a cabinet door and slams a bowl onto the kitchen counter. Risqué, he tears open the jiffy pop like it isn’t scaldingly hot and upends your popcorn into the bowl.
You like seeing his twitchy brow, the way he clenches his fist when you take a step forward, but you’re not as eager for a beating as you might pretend. “I can go home, if you really don’t want me here. I wasn’t trying to abuse your hospitality, or anything.”
Your careful monotone attracts his incredulity. “Why’d you even wanna come, anyways? You knew I’d be here, didn’t you? It’s my house.”
“That’s exactly why I came.”
“To fuck with me.”
“‘Cos I like you, Steve.” You take pleasure in his lack of response, reaching over his arm to turn off the heat on the burner, the weight of his eyes like a burn on the side of your face. “Despite what you might think.”
“Since when?”
“Since forever?”
“You called me a neanderthal.”
“You were being rude.”
“You told Dustin you’d rather be caught dead than date me?”
“Is that what I said?” You meet him head on, staring right into his eyes with that flirty flare of your lashes and a gentle smile, something to mess with his head, even as you tell him the truth. Is there anything so fun as making Steve’s heart pound? His lips part in surprise. “I don’t think that’s what I said. What did Henderson tell you, word for word?”
“He said you’d rather die than go on a date with me.”
“Well, I told Dustin I’d rather die than go to see Wham! with you when he implied you had a spare ticket.” You tilt your head gently to one side. “But that was hyperbole. I could’ve toughed it out… given a good enough reason. I told him I’m persuadable.”
“That little shit didn’t tell me that.”
“No, he’s fine. You were so sweet to me before, but I like this version of you.” You follow the line of his neck to his Adam’s apple. It bobs as he swallows nothing at all. “Bitter suits you, H.”
“I think you’re fucking with me.”
“Do you want it in writing?”
You drag the bowl toward you and shovel a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth. It’s fresh and crunchy, still hot in their centres. You’re tempted to smile at Steve with kernels in your teeth, but you pout a little for a kiss instead and watch his jaw go slack.
“No?” you murmur when he doesn’t move, licking your teeth clean.
“You’re evil,” he says, reaching for your side, his hand behind your back and pressing you closer as his brain works overtime, “you knew he lied to me?”
“He didn’t lie, Steve, he just told you what he thought I meant. I lied, a little. Just to see what you’d do.”
You should’ve expected the kiss. His hands are on your body and you’d goaded him, invited him, but the press of his lips to yours isn’t half as spiteful as you’d pictured. There’s no clack of teeth or sudden gasp as he yanks you into his chest, just heat as he closes the distance between you and folds you into a half-embrace, his free hand covering your collarbone as he gives a firm, testing kiss. Quick as anything, he pulls away, eyes flashing open again to yours that hadn’t managed to shut.
“Fine?” he asks.
You offer him a real smile.
The second kiss is more like what you’d imagined. It’s not better, but harder, and greedier, the hot seam of his mouth meeting yours as the bridge of his nose nudges your own, too close, too quick. You sew your hand into his hair, tugging him back when you need to breathe. He presses a needy kiss into the line of your jaw rather than part from you, and you start to wonder if you should’ve been more flexible about the Wham! concert.
“You still like me, then,” you say happily.
“Yeah. Apparently,” he mutters, red blush spread over his nose and the tops of his cheeks. He looks like he could sit you down and bite you hard if you let him.
“Let’s sit together,” you say, hip checking him as you turn to leave.
He grabs you by the top of the head and gives you a back-and-forth shake, though whether it’s affection or a warning is up for debate. It’s not cruel in any capacity, at least.
