All the Ways We Almost Didn’t
⋆˚✿˖° pairing: batman! Steve Harrington x sunshine!fem! reader
⋆˚✿˖° summary: You're just a regular college girl in New York-juggling classes, late night study sessions and your own little bubble of friends and playlists- until you crossed paths with steve harrington, your bestfriend's grumpy, rude, insufferably hot and devilishly attractive brother. but what you don't know is, you two have met far long before he ever let you see who he really was.
⋆˚✿˖° word count: 18.6k (how'd i even do that lol)
⋆˚✿˖° warnings: max is steve's sister in this one (i js love them sm), angst (teeny bit), fluff and smut(MDNI!!), steve is a little grumpy at first, reader has boobs and vagina, very cliche plot, reader kinda thirsts over steve a lot lol, mutual pining, mention of byler, steve is down bad for the reader and is mentioned as a pathetic yearner (cuz i love me some men who yearn), unprotected p in v, breeding kink, breast play, praise kink, jealous steve, possessive steve, soft dom steve, cunnilingus, dustin and eddie are steve's bestfriend in the story.
⋆˚✿˖° Author's Note: credits to @angeliicide for this beautiful divider <33. It's finally out!! after lots and lots of procrastination, I finally completed this story. based off a fake scenario I made before going to sleep a few days ago. hope you guys like and enjoy it 𖹭.
You hated the rain. You absolutely despised it-especially in moments like this when you’re wanting to go home from a tiring day of university and your clothes are fully drenched in water. A gush of uneasiness and annoyance washed over you as your soaked jeans stuck to your legs. You missed your bus home, and the next one wouldn’t arrive for another hour. great, what a wonderful day. You didn’t have the patience nor the energy to wait for the next bus so you decided to book a cab for yourself. The downpour was heavy- almost angry as it fell down the streets of New York and Just when you wanted some moments of mental peace, a loud scream emerged from behind you, the type of scream to cut through the rain. You turn instinctively, heart jumping into your throat. An elderly woman stands near the entrance of a small convenience store, her thin coat soaked through, her grocery bag split open at her feet. Oranges roll across the sidewalk, one disappearing into the gutter. You watched as two guys–tall and muscular, towering over her. One of them snatches at her purse strap, tugging it roughly. She clutches it tighter, her hands trembling. The other blocks her path, leaning in with a smirk that makes your stomach twist. “Please,” she says, her voice breaking. “Please, just leave me alone.”, you heard her wail out, a plea in pure desperation. Your breath comes shallow. Your mind screams at you to stay out of it: you’re alone, it’s late, it’s raining, and you’re already exhausted. But you move your feet anyway. “Hey!” you shout, the word escaping before you can overthink it. Both men turn towards you. “What are you doing?” you demand, stepping closer despite the way your pulse pounds in your ears. “Leave her alone.”One of the men scoffs. “Mind your business”
“It is my business,” you shoot back, even though your hands are starting to shake. You step toward the woman instead, trying to put yourself between her and them. “Are you okay, ma’am?” The man holding her purse jerks it again, harder this time.Something cold floods your chest.“Give it back,” you say, your voice lower now. Firmer. Rain drips down your lashes. You can’t tell if you’re shivering from cold or fear. The second man steps toward you. “You wanna be a hero or something?”
You knew what you were getting yourself into, but something in you couldn’t just walk away.
“Just give it back” you mutter to the men in front of you. You’re too focused on the way the man in front of you squares his shoulders, too close now, invading your space. Your heart is pounding so loudly you almost miss it, A tall silhouette standing in the rain, cape heavy and dark against the storm, unmoving and silent. The older woman’s eyes widened, not at them, but at something behind them. The men froze. There was a sudden eerie silence dawning upon the rainy street– something which you couldn’t quite decipher until you turned around and saw him.
Batman. You had heard about him a lot. He was all over your for you page- on tiktok, instagram, youtube, everywhere. You thought those videos were just fake until this moment as your breath hitched in fear. Before you could think much about the moment, you were pulled out of your thoughts by loud footsteps, thumping away– growing farther and farther every second. You watched as the tall, masked man handed over the handbag to the lady. The lady patted him, going on about being grateful to him for saving her life.
A little while after, she turned towards you, pulling you in a gentle hug and whispering a soft, maternal tone a “thank you” in your ear. A smile graced your lips as you watched the lady walk away, feeling proud of yourself for helping her until a sudden honk of a car startled you. You turned around to see the cab you had booked. the cab. Shit. you had totally forgotten about your cab in this spectacle. You rush to the cab, taking a seat inside as the cab rolled off on the road.
What you failed to notice was the way his expression softened beneath the mask as he watched you, how his eyes followed the curve of your smile, how they lingered on your kindness and how he stayed there in the shadows, unmoving, until your cab disappeared into the distance.
The third semester of your university hovered over your head like a Victorian ghost that refused to be laid to rest. You were currently sprawled out on your bed, a coffee mug on the side table and various kinds of books, papers, stationeries adorning the piece of furniture where you are supposed to sleep.
“Girl it’s not even that serious it’s just the beginning of the third semester”, you hear a familiar voice speak up. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.
With a deep sigh, you remarked, “Max, I'm not born with a silver platter like you. I really, really need to pass this semester or else my scholarship will be revoked”. Max had been the only person because of who you survived your first year at college. You had a few shared classes with her during your second semester and your friendship blossomed from there. She was bold where you were gentle, sharp-tongued where you were soft-spoken, and unapologetically blunt in ways you could never quite manage. Where you met the world with warmth and quiet optimism, Max faced it head-on with confidence and a hint of mischief. And maybe this contrast in both of y'all's personalities was the main factor for this unbreakable friendship that you had formed with her.
“You act like I don’t take my grades seriously,” she said, arching a brow.You gave her a tired look in return, resting your chin against your palm. “You don’t have to worry about losing a scholarship, Max,” you replied quietly. The teasing expression on her face softened almost instantly. “Hey, hey, look at me” she muttered softly “you’re gonna pass the exam, hell, you are going to be the top of our class: again.” she chuckled as she emphasized the again with a rolling of her eyes “you are hardworking, smart and intelligent. I know you’re gonna kill the third semester” you felt a wave of relief wash over you at her gentle words of affirmations.
“You’re going to pass,” she said firmly, like it wasn’t even a question. “You always do. You just panic before every major semester like it’s the end of the world.” You huffed softly, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. She glanced at her phone briefly, brows furrowing for a second before she let out a small sigh.
“Oh, by the way, I might leave a bit early today,” she said casually, stretching her arms. You looked up from your notes. “Why?”
“My brother’s in the city,” she replied offhandedly, like it wasn’t a big deal. “He said he’d drop by and take me out for dinner or something.”
“Your brother?” you asked, a hint of curiosity slipping into your voice. You knew about him in passing, but Max rarely spoke of him. From what little she had told you, he was her older brother who worked at a firm in Chicago and was almost always occupied with work. Max nodded absentmindedly, still looking at her phone.
“Yeah. He’s actually thinking of shifting to New York for a while,” she said casually. Your brows lifted a little in surprise. “Really?” “Mhm. Work-related stuff” she replied, shrugging lightly. “Apparently Chicago was getting ‘too predictable’ for him.”
You let out a small, amused breath. “He sounds very serious.” Max snorted softly. “That’s one way to put it. Good old Steve Harrington.", she sing-songed. The name lingered in your mind for a second. Steve. Steve Harrington.
You leaned forward slightly, curiosity now more evident in your expression. “So… what does Steve actually do?”
“Something corporate and boring” she muttered, waving her hand dismissively. “He works at a firm, handles big cases, barely sleeps, and acts like a grumpy old grandpa all the time. He’s my older brother, so obviously he acts like he has his entire life together,” she added dryly. “But he’s just overly responsible and annoyingly protective.” She paused for a moment before adding, almost as an afterthought, “If he does end up moving here, you’ll probably see him around sooner or later.”You nodded lightly, pretending to return your attention to your notes.
“Alright babe, I’ll see you tomorrow at the campus” you watch as max waves at you before closing the front door of your room. though the name had already settled quietly in your thoughts, lingering far longer than it probably should have.
The next day began like any other, filled with hurried mornings and half made breakfast. It was your final test for the semester and it had gone better than you had expected.
“Honestly, I’m just glad that I am passing this test or else my dad would’ve kicked me out of the house” max rambles, “he had warned me last semester if i failed this one, he’s gonna marry me off to that douchebag son of my dad’s business partner. But I’m passing with average grades so I’m finally relieved that I don’t have to marry that shitface”.
You could only nod, your attention hardly being on whatever she said. You were thinking about taking a part time job at the cafe across the street to where you live. Today was your interview and you were, to say, a little nervous about the same. It was around 2:30pm, and you had your interview at around 4:00pm. If you had your lunch right now, it would take you around 3:00pm to finish it and you’d have to travel for an hour or so for your interview which was pretty impossible today as there were strikes organized by cab drivers and by metro it would take more than an hour to reach there.
“Max, you know I can't lose this job” a solicitous tone filled your voice. “What do I do?”
“Uhmm” you hear her making thinking sounds and after about a minute, she goes “my brother can drop us home” she exclaimed “he’s bored and idle and maybe could be of some use to me for once” she laughs “I’ll call him” she said.
About fifteen minutes later, a Lamborghini Vision GT pulled up at the university entrance, instantly turning heads. You watched with your eyes wide, jaw hanging open as the car stopped right in front of your university entrance. “Come on, my brother’s arrived” Max says ever so casually.
“Holy fuck, this is the car that your brother drives?” the words slipped out of your mouth in sheer disbelief before you could even process them. “Yeah” she laughs “my dad bought it for him on his 22nd birthday. He’s been using it ever since” she carries on. You knew your friend was loaded, but you didn’t expect her to be this loaded.
The windows of the car rolled down with a soft mechanical glide revealing a man with soft brown hair and a naturally serious expression, while his dark eyes partially hidden behind tinted glasses scanned the surroundings with quiet attentiveness. He looked older than most people around campus, probably around his late twenties. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his forearms, a dark watch resting loosely around his wrist. A charcoal coat lay folded over the passenger seat beside him, suggesting he had taken it off rather than bothering to wear it in the mild afternoon weather. He was intimidating, but intimidatingly attractive. get a fucking grip on yourself.
His gaze landed on Max. “You’re late.” Max scoffed immediately. “I said after the exam. Exams don’t end on your schedule, Steve.” “They ended twenty minutes ago,” he replied flatly, eyes narrowing just a little. “They ended fifteen minutes before” she shot back. He let out a quiet breath through his nose. “Still late.” He said as he rubbed his eyes as if he was done with max already.You stood there awkwardly beside her, not knowing what to do between their banters and moreover, you didn’t know what to do because you were fucking mesmerised by the gorgeous guy standing in front of you who happens to be your bestfriend’s brother.
Max rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh my god, relax. The world did not collapse because you had to wait.” “The parking guy almost fined me,” Steve muttered, clearly still grumpy, fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. “Cry about it,” Max snapped back. He finally noticed you then. His eyes flicked toward you, sharp and assessing, not unfriendly exactly but just distant. Like he was trying to figure out why you were standing next to his sister. He stepped out of the car with a quiet shut of the door, adjusting his jacket slightly as he walked around to the front, posture straight, expression still unimpressed. Up close, he smelled faintly of a clean, woody cologne with a soft citrus note, subtle but noticeable when the breeze shifted. Max gestured lazily between the two of you. “Steve, this is my friend.” A pause. Steve looked at you properly this time, gaze steady but cool, brows slightly furrowed like introductions were an inconvenience he hadn’t planned for.
“Hi,” you offered, a little hesitant and scared.
He gave a small nod instead of a smile.
That was it? Just a “yeah”?
“Wow. So polite. So charming. Amazing first impression.” Steve shot her a look.
“I didn’t ask to pick up extra people.”
“I told you this morning,” Max fired back.
“You said you might have a friend.”
“And I do. Congratulations, you can process information.”
His jaw tightened slightly before he looked back at you again, voice calmer but still clipped.
“You live far?” He said, his dark eyes piercing through you. You suddenly felt too small. Hesitantly, you respond
“Uhm I actually live on the opposite side of the city” you said, afraid he might decline dropping you there. “It takes an hour by road to reach there. But I don't have to go home right now. Could you please drop me across 9th street, near the bleming’s cafe? I have my first job interview and I am gonna run late if you don’t drop me. I would be very grateful to you.” You went on. As much as you were scared of Steve, this was the only way you could reach your interview on time.
Before he could answer, Max nudged his arm. “Stop being grumpy. She just finished exams.”
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, then glanced at you once more—still reserved, still a little cold, but noticeably less dismissive than before.
“…Get in,” he said finally, causing you to squeel in excitement, which earned you a disgusting look from him.
You slid into the backseat, trying to act normal— like your heart hadn’t done the most embarrassingly dramatic little flip the moment he stepped out of the car.
Which was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. He was just Max’s brother. A slightly rude, mildly grumpy, unfairly good-looking brother who smelled expensive and looked like he belonged in a magazine instead of outside a university gate. Totally normal. You buckled your seatbelt, eyes very deliberately fixed on the window, and absolutely not on the rearview mirror where his gaze occasionally flickered back to check traffic. Except… it was right there. And purely by accident obviously, your eyes drifted up.
And then immediately back down.
From this angle, you could see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, and the faint crease between his brows that never fully disappeared, like he was permanently annoyed at the world. Even the way he drove was controlled, precise, effortless.
You swallowed and looked out the window harder, as if the passing trees were suddenly the most fascinating thing on earth. Max was rambling beside you about the exam, but her voice blurred into the background as your brain betrayed you completely. Because why did he look even better when he wasn’t trying? Why did that stupid cologne linger every time the air shifted? Why did he have to be tall and quiet and intimidating and so fuckable?
You pressed your lips together, nodding at something Max said that you hadn’t actually processed, while very carefully avoiding looking at him again. And then, of course, he adjusted the mirror. For half a second, your eyes met his. Your stomach dropped instantly. You looked away so fast it almost hurt, suddenly very invested in the seatbelt strap, the car door, the stitching on the seat— anything but him. Not a word left your mouth, but your thoughts were spiraling.
You leaned back slightly, exhaling quietly, pretending to be calm while your brain betrayed you again the second his hand brushed through his hair at a red light.
This was going to be a problem.
You stood in front of your new workplace and glanced behind at the luxurious car standing on the street. You turned around and spoke in a tone filled with gratitude, “thank you so much Steve for dropping me. I really appreciate this small gesture that you’ve done for me,” you finished softly, offering him a warm, slightly sheepish smile.
“It’s no bother” he replied back, short and direct. The smile gracing upon your lips faltered, the atmosphere getting a little too awkward for you until max broke the tension.
“Stop scaring her man. Just because your ass is annoyed to pick and drop us doesn’t mean you act like a total fuckhead” she gruffed at her brother.
“I am not scaring her!” Steve exclaimed.
You let out a soft laugh before quickly covering it with a cough, suddenly aware of how his attention shifted back to you the moment you did.
“I still appreciate it,” you said gently. “First day at a new workplace is already nerve-wracking. At least now I didn’t have to show up looking completely lost.”
“It’s alright” he goes on “all the best for your new job.” he said with a serious frown on his face, which made you question whether you said something too buttery or something way too wrong.
His eyes moved briefly, scanning your face, your posture, the way you stood fidgeting with your sleeve—before settling again, quieter this time.
You cleared your throat quickly, noticing him staring at you and gestured toward the building. “I should probably go before I’m late.”
Max gave you an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Text me the second you survive your first shift.”
Steve didn’t say anything but his eyes stayed on you as you turned toward the entrance, as if unconsciously tracking your steps. He watched as you entered the cafe, not moving until the door closed and you’re finally out of sight.
Your first day at work was great. You made a friend there– a coworker named Will Byers. It turned out he was in the same university as you but just in different majors. He was a business major and was a fun little guy to work with. It was around 7:00pm when your shift ended and you walked out towards your apartment. While your first day at work wasn’t entirely bad, however, it had worn you out. As you reached your apartment, you fumbled for your keys in your backpack, and opened the door to find your friend Max along with- wait what? Why is Steve Harrington here?
Sure, Max is your roommate and lives in this small flag along with you but you hadn’t expected her brother to be in you both’s haven. You noticed three suitcases lying on the couch and you knew what was about to come next.
“My brother’s gonna live with us till he finds himself some good place to live in” max barges you out of your thoughts. “
“Max, I can live in the hotel nearby”, Steve gruffed, sounding like he hates the idea of living with his sister and her young, boring and pathetic best friend.
“Oh shut up, Steve, you’ve done so much for me. This is the least I could do for you.” Max says.
Oh this is a very bad idea. At least for you. You cannot live with a guy you have been massively drooling over, especially when he is your best friend’s brother.
“I— um,” you started, trying to sound casual. Not like your brain had just short-circuited. “It’s fine. Really. The spare room’s empty anyway.” You forced your face into what you hoped was a normal, polite smile instead of the internal chaos currently happening inside your chest.
“You know you don’t have to if it makes you feel uncomfortable”, Steve says, trying to find an ounce of uneasiness in your eyes, eyes scanning your face.
Your breath hitched for a minute second because of his gaze. You couldn’t believe the effect this man had on you already without doing anything.
“No, it’s fine really. I’m totally not uncomfortable. You’re not in the way. Half the time the apartment is dead silent till like nine.” you smiled. You wonder if he should know that he should be the one to be uncomfortable considering the dirty thoughts you’re having about him.
“Great then, now that it’s settled, I am gonna doze off. This day was a long one. Steve’s gonna take up the spare room beside yours "Max said, yawning and stretching her arms, heading towards her room, peeping her head outside the room and mumbling a soft “goodnight” before slamming the door shut.
You were now standing in your living room with Steve, who was quietly dragging one of his suitcases toward the spare room like he’d rather wrestle luggage than acknowledge the slightly awkward silence settling between the two of you.
For a few seconds, the only sound in the apartment was the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the soft thud of wheels against the floor.
You shifted your weight from one foot to the other.
“…You can leave that,” you said softly, nodding toward the suitcase. “I can help.”
“I’ve got it,” he replied without looking up.
You lingered anyway, fingers fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie as he pushed the suitcase into the spare room and set it down beside the bed. He glanced around once, quick and practical, like he was mentally mapping the space.
“It’s not much,” you said, hovering near the doorframe. “But it’s clean. And the window gets nice sunlight in the morning.”
He hummed in acknowledgment. “It’s fine.”
You lingered near the couch for a moment before speaking.
“…You don’t have to unpack everything tonight,” you said gently. “You just got here.”
“I prefer getting it done,” he replied, not looking at you as he adjusted the handle of the suitcase.
“That room barely gets used,” you admitted, leaning lightly against the wall. “So… it’s nice that someone actually will.”
He hummed softly in acknowledgment.
A small silence settled between the two of you and then unexpectedly, he spoke.
“I meant what I said earlier.”
You blinked. “About what?”
“About the hotel,” he clarified. “I was fine staying there.”
You nodded slowly. “I know.”
“I didn’t want you to feel obligated just because Max insisted.”
That made your heart pause for a second.
You shook your head quickly. “I wasn’t obligated.”
He finally looked at you then.
“Are you sure?” he asked, voice quieter now. “It’s your apartment too.” The sincerity in that question caught you slightly off guard.
“Yes,” you said, softer this time. “I’m sure. We all agreed, remember?”
He held your gaze for a moment longer, like he was searching for any hint of discomfort.
Finding none, he exhaled quietly and leaned back against the dresser.
You fiddled slightly with the sleeve of your hoodie. “Besides, it would’ve been weird if you stayed in a hotel while your sister and her roommate live ten minutes away.”
“I didn’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding,” you replied instinctively.
Then, a little more shyly, “You’re family to Max. That automatically makes you… not a stranger here.” god you sounded like one of those high school girls who were pathetically in love with that one older senior.
“You’re very accommodating,” he said, tone even. Neutral, Almost formal.
You let out a small, awkward laugh. “That’s a polite way of saying I didn’t complain.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh,” you murmured, suddenly very aware of how quiet the hallway had gotten.
A small pause followed as he unzipped one of the suitcases, neatly pulling out a few folded clothes and placing them on the chair like he was already mentally settling into a routine.
You lingered by the doorway, unsure whether to leave or keep talking.
“So… uh,” you tried, voice softer now, “you’ll be working late most days?”
You nodded slowly. “Makes sense. Max mentioned your office is pretty demanding.”
God, why was he so difficult to read?
You shifted your weight slightly. “If the apartment ever gets too noisy, you can just tell us. Max tends to blast music while studying and I—”
“I don’t mind noise,” he cut in, not harshly, but firmly enough to end the ramble.
Your lips pressed together mid-sentence. “Right. Okay.”
He glanced at you then, briefly, as if noticing the way you immediately quieted.
“I’m used to worse environments,” he added, a little more measured this time.
“That sounds… concerning,” you said lightly.
You nodded, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “Well. Still. If you need anything, you can just ask. You don’t have to treat this place like some temporary stop.”
His gaze lingered on you for a moment. “It is temporary,” he replied simply.
“Oh,” you said, softer now.
He folded another shirt before speaking again. “I appreciate that you and Max agreed to let me stay. I won’t interfere with your routine.”
You blinked. “You’re not interfering.”
“I prefer keeping things orderly,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard the reassurance. “I leave early. Come back late. You probably won’t notice I’m here most days.”
That, for some reason, made your chest feel a little tight.
“That’s… not necessary,” you said quietly. “You don’t have to make yourself invisible.”
For a fraction of a second.
Then he straightened, zipping the suitcase halfway shut.
“It’s easier that way,” he said.
You nodded slowly, sensing the invisible wall he had very carefully placed back between the two of you.
Another brief silence passed.
Then he stepped towards the door, one hand resting on the handle, posture already shifting back into that composed, distant version of himself.
“Goodnight,” he said, voice low and polite.
You offered a small smile despite yourself. “Goodnight, Steve.”
And then the door closed with a soft click, leaving you alone in the hallway– staring at the now-shut spare room door, heart doing something very inconvenient as you exhaled slowly.
He was everything that a girl would hate in a man– reserved, quiet, guarded, careful which, unfortunately for you, only made him harder to ignore.
The next few weeks passed by quickly. You busied yourself with university work and your part time job, not having enough time to stay at home. He would leave before you even woke up- the apartment quiet, his room door already closed. And at night, when you stumbled back home half-asleep, kicking off your shoes and dragging yourself toward your room, the spare room would still be empty.
Then, at midnight, always at midnight you would hear the front door of your house opening and the soft thud of shoes before hearing the spare room clicking open. It always made you wonder, what the fuck did this man actually do? At first, you brushed it off. Work transfer, busy job, corporate life, whatever. That’s what Max had vaguely mentioned, anyway.
As you lay on your bed everyday after a long day, your thoughts would wander alongside the sounds of the door clicking open. Sometimes they made you snort into your pillow.
Was he some sort of a drugdealer? Or some mafia member? Or some local thief? You spoke out your thoughts, before putting your hands on your mouth, afraid he might hear it.
The theories got more ridiculous the more tired you were. One night he was an underground boxer.
The next, a secret agent.
Because what kind of normal person came home that late, every single day, and left before sunrise?
At some point, you stopped paying attention to it. It became like a routine you had started to accept. Maybe he did work late and had much more responsibilities on his head than the others.
A few days after, Max went to visit her boyfriend Lucas, who was back in town for a week after his first year at college ended. You knew Max was going to stay with him for more than just a few hours- maybe a couple of days at least, considering the way she had been unusually excited all morning, humming to herself while packing an overnight bag that looked suspiciously heavier than necessary for a “short visit.”
She moved around the apartment with an energy that felt almost contagious, tossing clothes into her bag and checking her phone every few minutes, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“He just got back yesterday,” she said casually, zipping her bag shut before glancing at you. “And his place is closer to campus, so I might as well stay there for a bit.”
You nodded, leaning against the kitchen counter. “For a bit?”
Max shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Two days. Maybe three. Depends.”
She grabbed her jacket from the chair and slipped it on, already halfway out the door in both mind and body.
“You’ll survive without me,” she added with a teasing grin. “You’ve got food, WiFi, and my brother to keep you company.”
Your stomach did a small, traitorous flip at that.
“I do not need entertainment,” you muttered, trying to sound normal.
Max snorted. “Sure you don’t.”
The sound of her phone buzzing made her perk up instantly. She glanced at the screen and rolled her eyes fondly. “Lucas is downstairs.”
She slipped on her shoes in a hurry, swinging her bag over her shoulder before pausing near the door. For a brief second, she looked between you and the quiet hallway that led to Steve’s room, a knowing look flickering across her face.
“I’ll text you,” she said lightly. “And don’t overwork yourself, okay? Eat. Sleep. Be a functional human.”
You let out a soft laugh. “Drive safe.”
With that, she opened the door, stepping out into the hallway before peeking her head back in one last time.
“Bye! Don’t miss me too much!”
The door shut with a soft click a second later, and just like that, the apartment fell into an unfamiliar kind of silence.
And you realised how fucked you are going to be because for the first time since Steve had moved in, it was just you and him in the apartment.
The next day unfolded at a slower pace than usual.
For once, there was no blaring alarm dragging you out of bed at an ungodly hour, no frantic rushing between lectures and your part-time shift, no half-eaten breakfast abandoned on the kitchen counter. It was your day off– a rare kind of quiet you didn’t get to experience often.
You had spent the morning doing small, mundane things like folding laundry that had been sitting untouched for days, reorganizing your notes, and finally allowing yourself to sit down without the guilt of unfinished tasks hovering over your head like a storm cloud.
You decided to go make yourself a cup of coffee. As you went to the kitchen, you couldn’t help but notice no coffee mug near the sink, which made your mind wander to the not so friendly guy living in your apartment.
Steve usually would have a coffee before leaving in the morning and no coffee mug on the sink indicated that he was at home. You hadn’t seen him leave that morning. You hadn’t seen him leave that morning which was… odd. Was he still asleep? Was he sick? Or had he come back so late last night that he simply didn’t have the energy to leave again? You shook your head slightly, mentally scolding yourself. Why did you even care? It wasn’t like you two talked much anyway. He was polite. Distant. Quiet. Grumpy, even.
Your gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the hallway that led to his room before a sudden, soft sound from the hallway– the faint click of a door handle snapped you out of your thoughts.
The room door slowly opened, revealing a sleepy Steve. His hair was a complete mess, falling in soft, uneven strands over his forehead like he hadn’t even bothered to fix it after waking up, adding a rather soft and dreamy look to his already absolutely gorgeous face.He wore a loose, slightly oversized t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats that hung comfortably on him. The shirt was creased in places, the collar a little stretched, like he had either slept in it or changed without really paying attention. Nothing about him looked put together this morning.
His eyes were slightly half-lidded, dark circles faint but noticeable if you looked long enough, and his expression carried that same distant tension he always seemed to have, only softer now, less guarded in the quiet of the morning.
He stepped into the hallway with unhurried movements, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck as if trying to ease out a knot of stiffness before his eyes landed on you. He stopped mid-step when he noticed you standing near the kitchen counter, taking in the oversized hoodie you were wearing, and the mug of tea cradled between your hands like you had nowhere else to be and all the time in the world to exist peacefully.
Something in his expression shifted. Barely.
“…You’re not at work?” he asked, voice rough and low, slightly hoarse like he had just woken up.
You shook your head softly. “Day off.” You could feel your knees wobble at his deep, hoarse voice.
A small nod followed, and he looked away almost immediately, like lingering too long would reveal more than he intended.
He walked past you toward the kitchen, his steps quiet but heavy, and as he reached up to grab a glass from the cabinet, his sleeve shifted just slightly.
For a brief second, you caught sight of it.
A faint bruise near his wrist.
Another mark, darker, just beneath the fabric of his sleeve before he subtly tugged it down.
The silence stretched for a few seconds after he stepped into the kitchen, the soft sound of water running filling the space between you.
He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water in silence. The sound of it pouring felt louder than it should have in the quiet apartment.
It was just the two of you. No Max. No distractions.
You cleared your throat softly, trying to sound casual instead of like someone about to embarrass herself.
“So,” you began lightly, tucking your legs beneath you on the couch, “you do exist in daylight. I was starting to think you were allergic to mornings.”
He didn’t look at you immediately. Just took a slow sip of water.
“I’m not,” he said flatly. “I just don’t like them.”
You smiled faintly. “That’s very poetic of you, Steve.”
That made him glance over.
“Poetic?” One eyebrow lifted slightly. “That’s the word you’re going with?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, pretending to think about it. “Very brooding. Very mysterious. Very ‘I have secrets and refuse to elaborate.’”
He let out the smallest breath through his nose– not quite a laugh, but dangerously close.
“You watch too many movies.”
“And you avoid answering questions too much,” you countered, tilting your head slightly. “What do you even do that keeps you out till like… midnight every day?”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Work,” he replied simply.
He held your gaze this time– steady and unreadable.
“Stuff?” you repeated. “That’s not an answer.”
You huffed, dramatically offended. “Wow. I’m just trying to make conversation. You don’t have to interrogate me like I committed tax fraud.”
“You’re the one interrogating me,” he said dryly.
“And you’re being suspicious,” you shot back.
A beat of silence passed between you.
“You think I’m suspicious?” he asked, folding his arms loosely across his chest.
You immediately regretted everything.
“I mean– not in a bad way,” you rushed, trying to recover. “Just like… mysterious, quiet and slightly intimidating.”
“Intimidating?” His tone shifted– amused now.
You nodded firmly. “Yes. especially when you glare.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “So your face is just permanently judging people?”
He looked at you for a long second before replying, his voice monotone-
“Oh?” you tried to sound unaffected. “And which category do I fall under?”
He hesitated, just barely before his gaze softened in a way so subtle you almost thought you imagined it.
“You talk too much,” he said instead.
You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. “That was so rude.”
You opened your mouth to argue, then paused.
He almost smiled. Almost.
“You’re very loud in the mornings,” he added.
“Sometimes. It depends on my mood.” you shrug.
“Oh. so does it mean you get all loud and excited around me” you could hear the slight cockiness in his voice.
“You wish, harrington” you replied though you couldn’t deny that your heart did a small, stupid flip at that sentence.
You leaned back against the couch, trying to regain composure. “You know, for someone who doesn’t like mornings, you’re surprisingly talkative today.”
He shrugged slightly. “You started it.”
“Wow. Blaming me already.”
He took another sip of water, watching you over the rim of the glass.
“You’re not as subtle as you think,” he said casually.
“Subtle about what?” you asked quickly.
He tilted his head just slightly, studying you.
“Nothing,” he replied, too smooth. “Just an observation.”
You stared at him, suspicious.
He set the glass down and pushed himself off the counter.
“For someone who thinks I’m intimidating,” he said, almost offhand, “you don’t really act like it.”
You blinked. “Like what?”
“Like someone who’s intimidated,” he clarified, leaning back slightly against the counter, arms loosely crossed. “Most people keep their distance.”
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Maybe I just don’t get scared that easily.”
He studied you for a moment at that in a quieter and thoughtful way.
“Don’t you?” he repeated, softer this time, like he was testing the words rather than mocking them.
The shift in tone caught you off guard. For a second, the air between you changed.
Then he straightened slightly, the grumpy composure slipping back into place.
“I’m gonna shower,” he said, voice returning to neutral.
“Oh,” you blinked. “Okay.”
He turned toward the hallway, then paused.
“And try not to accuse me of being a drug dealer again.”
Your jaw dropped. “YOU HEARD THAT?”
“I hear more than you think.”
And with that– the faintest hint of smugness ghosting his expression, he disappeared back down the hallway, leaving you alone on the couch, staring after him with your heart racing and your dignity slightly wounded.
You’re going to have a hard time living with this man.
The morning went by you reading random books that were lying on your bookshelf, watching random youtube movies and taking random internet quizzes. It was a boring day and you were also tired of bedrotting and doomscrolling all day long. So, it was then decided that today you were going to make lunch for yourself– which was actually crazy considering you might burn the whole kitchen down, keeping in mind your….amazing cooking skills.
You stood in the middle of the kitchen for a solid thirty seconds like it was some kind of battlefield, hands on your hips, staring at the ingredients you had dramatically taken out of the fridge as if they might assemble themselves out of fear.
“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, as if giving a motivational speech. “This is easy. People cook every day. Millions of people. Children cook. How hard can it be?”
The silence of the apartment did not reassure you.
You tied your hair up in the messiest excuse of a bun, rolled up your sleeves with an unnecessary level of determination, and turned on the stove like you were about to perform surgery instead of making lunch. You took out the packet of chicken patties from the fridge.
this can’t be that bad, right?
You took out two of the patties, oil the pan, and placed the patties in the sizzling oil. While the patties were cooking according to you, you busied yourself with cutting the rest of the vegetables. You read the instructions from the cooking book you followed, “to keep the patties on the pan for 10 minutes before flipping it” or so you thought.
To say that Steve wasn’t bothered by the clattering and clinking of the utensils was a lie. He had been trying to work for the past one hour and the sounds from the kitchen weren’t helping much. He knew the kitchen was probably a mess by this time but all he could do was sigh and move on with his work, not disturbing you from whatever mess you were creating until–
Until he smelled something burning from the kitchen. In the plight of worry, he rushed out of his room, towards the kitchen, scared that you might blow down the house.
He watched as you cut the bell peppers into slices while humming a song under your breath
“Are you sure that thing that you’re making is edible?” you jump at the voice coming behind you- familiar but surprising. You turned around to see Steve standing by the refrigerator, looking at the pan, wide eyed.
“Come on Steve, I may not be the best cook but I’m definitely not the worst to burn down my own food. I have been cooking since I was like- what? 15?” you squeak out.
“Oh yeah i can definitely see that” there was a hint of judgement and sarcasm in his voice.
“Trust me, you’re gonna love what I’ve made. I’m making myself a chicken burger. D’ya wanna try?” you asked him with a smile– all hopeful and sweet.
Steve felt so bad to tell you that you had burnt something. You were just too sweet for that. He watched as you went over to the pan to flip your chicken pattie, only to find the patties on the pan had turned into something that would resemble a coal piece or a leather jacket– something totally inedible.
“Oh” was all you could mutter. “…it’s supposed to be brown, right?” you mumbled, gently nudging it with the spatula, laughing awkwardly.
“…were you,” he finally said, voice calm and low, “trying to cook…”
His gaze flicked to the pan again.
“…or conduct an experiment?”
You turned to him slowly, defensive already. “They were supposed to be easy.”
He glanced at you sideways, one brow lifting faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching, trying to hold back his laughter at the scene unfolding.
“You left it on high heat, didn’t you?” he asked casually.
“I flipped it!” you argued. “Eventually.”
“Okay,” he said calmly, assessing the damage. “We can’t save this.”
“I gathered,” you muttered.
He glanced at you– not teasing now, just softer. “Did you even let the oil heat properly? Or did you just go full chaos?”
“I did not go full chaos,” you said defensively. “I..just followed the instructions from the book.”
That earned you the smallest, realest smile.
He set the spatula down. “Move.”
You shuffled aside anyway.
He opened the freezer, pulled out the rest of the patties, and this time actually read the instructions on the back. You watched him from the side, arms crossed, pretending not to be hyperaware of how close he was.
“Medium heat,” he murmured. “Three to four minutes each side.”
He put the pan back on the stove, added just enough oil– not drowning it like you had and waited. Actually waited. No dramatic flipping. No panicking.
You leaned against the counter, watching.
He shrugged. “When I need to.”
That was very him. Minimal.
You tilted your head slightly. “Who taught you?”
There was a brief pause as he adjusted the flame.
“My mom,” he said after a second in a casual tone. “She works late. Used to, at least. So I learned.”
You nodded slowly. “That’s… kinda nice.”
He glanced at you. “Burning food isn’t nice.”
“I meant you learning from her.”
He didn’t respond right away. Just slid the patty into the pan once the oil was ready. The sizzle this time was controlled, steady. Not aggressive.
He stepped back slightly and leaned against the counter beside you.
You both stood there for a moment, watching the patty cook. The tension from earlier felt different now– less sharp, more… domestic. Quieter. Comfortable in an awkward way. You wonder if he could see how much heads over heels you are for him but that’s a conversation for another day.
“You always get this bored?” he asked.
“When I’m alone too long, yeah.” You hesitated, then added lightly, “I start narrating my life like it’s a documentary.”
He huffed softly. “I heard.”
Your eyes widened. “You did not.”
“‘Millions of people cook every day,’” he quoted in a flat tone, mimicking you just enough to make it obvious.
You stared at him. “You were listening.”
He shrugged. “Thin walls.”
“Or you were paying attention.”
He didn’t take the bait. Just reached forward and flipped the patty smoothly.
You gasped dramatically. “That’s so unfair.”
You bumped his shoulder lightly. “Show off.”
He didn’t move away. That was new.
After a second, he asked, “So what were you doing all morning?”
“Reading. Watching random YouTube documentaries about things I’ll never need to know. Took a quiz that told me I’m spiritually slutty.’”
He blinked. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know, probably that I fall in love with fictional men and random concepts a little too easily?”
That made him laugh–actually laugh this time.
You froze for a split second because you hadn’t heard that sound from him before.
He cleared his throat a little after, like he hadn’t meant to react that openly.
“You?” you asked quickly, before he could retreat again. “What were you doing?”
He looked at the pan instead of you. “Just… stuff.”
He sighed faintly. “I’m applying for something.”
You smiled a little. “You hate talking about yourself.”
He glanced at you, something unreadable flickering across his face.
“Maybe,” he admitted quietly.
The patty was done. He turned off the stove and slid it onto a plate. This time, it looked edible. Actually good.
He grabbed another one and handed you the spatula.
You blinked. “With supervision?”
You rolled your eyes but took the spatula anyway. He stayed close-not hovering, just near enough that if you messed up, he’d catch it.
He leaned slightly closer to check the heat. “I’m plenty of fun.”
“Oh?” you said lightly. “Prove it.”
You watched as he looked at you and suddenly you felt too small under his intense gaze. You watched as he took 2 strides across the kitchen, standing right infront of you-closer this time. You tilted your head upwards, to try to get a look at his sleepy and gorgeous morning face, a sight you might not be blessed by in the future.
“Careful with your words, sunshine, because you might not like my idea of fun if I stop holding back.” he said in a murmur, a silence creeping in between you two as you processed his words.
After what felt like minutes, Steve broke the silence.
“Alright, have fun eating your chicken burger.” he said casually, as if he hadn't knocked out all the breath from your lungs. You watched a smirk plaster on his face before walking back to his room, leaving you in a flustered mess.
The next few days slip into something that almost feels normal.
Steve goes out in the evenings. Comes back late. Not ridiculously late, just… late enough that you start noticing the pattern. Shoes by the door. Quiet footsteps. The low hum of the shower running when you’re half-asleep.
He still talks to you. Still helps with small things. Still makes sarcastic comments when you burn toast or leave cabinet doors open. So nothing feels off exactly– just the way things are supposed to be.
Which somehow makes you think about him more.
Tonight, you’re sprawled on the couch with a blanket and your phone when the news suddenly cuts to some dramatic footage.
“—the vigilante known as Batman was spotted again late last night—”
You immediately sit up. Of course you do.
Right then, the front door clicks open.
Steve walks in like he always does— quiet, composed, jacket slightly creased like he’s been out longer than he planned. His eyes flick to the TV for a split second. Not long. Just enough to register it. Then they move to you.
“You’re still awake?” he asks, voice calm, like it’s any other night.
“You’re still out late,” you reply without looking away from the screen.
He exhales through his nose, almost amused, and sets his keys down. “It’s not that late.”
“Well, technically it is still 11:57pm so I wouldn’t count it as midnight.”
You ignore that. “I’ve seen him before.”
That gets his attention properly.
“Seen who?” he asks, walking into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water.
“Batman,” you say, like it’s obvious. “A few months ago. Near the convenience store down the road.”
There’s a small pause. The kind that’s easy to miss if you’re not looking.
Then, casually, “And you’re just mentioning this now?”
You shrug, still watching the blurry footage on TV. “It didn’t feel real at the time. It was raining and everything was chaotic. Some guys were bothering this old lady and then he just showed up out of nowhere.”
Steve leans against the counter, glass in hand. “You were close?”
“Yeah. Like, really close. Two steps maybe.”
He goes quiet for a second, thinking about that in a way that feels oddly specific.
You grin a little without realizing. “He was… intense. Quiet. Very dramatic entrance, by the way. Just handled everything and left.”
Steve’s mouth twitches faintly. “Sounds inconveniently efficient.”
“You’re so unimpressed,” you mumble.
You finally look at him. “He was kind, though. Didn’t make a scene. Didn’t scare the lady more than she already was. Just… did his thing.”
He studies you then. Not in a creepy way. More like he’s trying to read how serious you are.
“And you didn’t see his face?” he asks.
“Couldn’t. Mask. Shadows. Rain. Very cinematic situation.”
A quiet hum leaves him, like he expected that answer.
You hug the pillow closer and add, almost absentmindedly, “He was kind of hot, though.”
That makes him blink. Just once.
Not shocked. Not dramatic. Just processing.
He takes a sip of water before speaking again. “You’re calling a masked stranger hot.”
“You’ve never had a mysterious-crush moment in your life?” you shoot back.
He gives you a look. “Not usually with men who drop in from rooftops.”
You laugh. “It’s the vibe. The confidence. The whole “i protect the city and everyone loves me but doesn't know me” thing,”
He walks a little closer, resting his hand on the back of the couch, not sitting– just there. “Or,” he says calmly, “he’s just someone who knows what he’s doing and doesn’t panic under pressure.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. “You’re weirdly defensive of him.”
“I’m not defensive,” he replies, almost instantly. “I just think people romanticize things they don’t fully understand.”
You tilt your head. “You sound like you know him personally.”
That earns a small, dry smile. “I don’t. I just don’t think wearing a suit and brooding automatically makes someone impressive.”
You grin. “So you’re saying you could do better?”
He lets out a soft huff, shaking his head. “That is not what I said.”
He glances at the TV again where the news anchor is speculating about Batman’s identity, and something in his expression tightens for a second— subtle, controlled, almost gone as soon as it appears.
“They won’t figure it out,” he says quietly.
You look at him. “You sound very sure.”
He shrugs, but it’s a measured kind of shrug. “If someone wanted to stay hidden, they would.”
You squint at him. “Why do you look like you’re answering a personal question?”
He finally sits on the edge of the couch, keeping a small, natural distance between you. “You overanalyze everything,” he mutters.
“And you deflect everything,” you counter immediately.
That actually makes him smile a little.
After a beat, he adds, more casually, “So if he wasn’t… dramatic and mysterious and whatever else you’ve decided he is— would you still think he’s hot?”
You blink. “That is such a specific question.”
You think for a second, then shrug. “If he was still brave? Yeah.”
His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than usual. Softer. Quieter.
Then he looks away first, clearing his throat lightly and reaching for the remote.
“Good to know,” he says under his breath.
You don’t catch the weight behind it.
To you, he just looks like Steve again— slightly tired, a little cocky, acting normal like always.
But when the screen flashes another clip of Batman disappearing into the dark, you don’t notice how his grip on the remote tightens just slightly, or how his eyes track every detail like it isn’t just news to him.
The cafe is quieter than usual for a weekday evening, the soft hum of the coffee machine and distant chatter filling the space as you wipe down the counter absentmindedly.
Will leans beside the register, scrolling through something on his phone before glancing at you.
“You’ve been smiling at nothing for the past five minutes,” he says casually.
“You literally just sighed while staring at the sugar packets.”
Your hand freezes mid-motion.
Will snorts. “What’s going on with you lately?”
Because saying it out loud makes it slightly embarrassing.
You lower your voice. “Can I tell you something without you being weird about it?”
“That depends. Is it illegal?”
You fiddle with the edge of a napkin. “.....I think I have a crush.”
Will straightens instantly. “On who?”
You groan softly. “You cannot laugh.”
“I am already prepared to laugh.”
You glare at him before mumbling, “Max’s brother.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“The tall one?” Will asks slowly.
“The one who drops you sometimes?”
He lets out a quiet laugh. “Oh, you’re in deep.”
“I am not in deep,” you whisper defensively, cheeks warming. “It’s just a small crush.”
“You talk about him during shifts.”
“You do. ‘Steve came home late’, ‘Steve barely eats’, ‘Steve looks tired’, ‘Steve smells nice’--”
Your eyes widen. “I did NOT say that last part out loud.”
Will smirks. “You absolutely did.”
You hide your face with both hands for a second before groaning into your palms. “This is so embarrassing.”
“What’s he like?” Will asks, more curious now.
“…Quiet,” you admit. “Kind of grumpy.”
“And he’s barely home,” you continue softly. “Leaves early. Comes back super late. Sometimes he looks exhausted. Like he hasn’t slept properly in days.”
Will raises an eyebrow. “That sounds suspiciously dramatic.”
“I KNOW,” you whisper. “I literally thought he was some mafia guy at one point.”
Will nearly chokes on his laugh. “You live with him!”
He shakes his head, still amused. “So the real problem is…?”
You sigh, resting your chin on the counter. “…He barely notices me.”
That comes out quieter than you expect.
Will’s expression softens slightly.
Then Will’s phone buzzes and he glances at it. “Oh! Speaking of distractions— some people from the uni are throwing a party tonight.”
“Yeah. Mike’s hosting it tonight. Some freshman’s party or something like that. Would you wanna join?”
You immediately shake your head. “Nope.”
“You need to stop overthinking about your mysterious crush and go outside like a normal person.”
You open your mouth to argue.
“…Also,” he adds casually, “since Lucas is in the city, Max might show up.”
That makes you pause mid-protest.
“…Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But I’m leaving early if it’s awkward.”
Then he tilts his head slightly, studying you.
“…You’re totally dressing up, aren’t you?”
Will points at you. “Oh, he is done for.”
Your face immediately heats up.
“You are actually the worst coworker ever.”
You weren’t planning on standing in front of your mirror for this long.
It was just a party. Not a wedding. Not a red carpet. Just a stupid college party Will guilted you into attending.
And yet here you were, turning slightly to the side, adjusting the strap of your dress for the fifth time.
It fit you well. Maybe a little too well. It was a leopard print, sleeveless dress– a long one with a slit on one side. It hugged your curves perfectly. You exhale.
“Relax,” you mutter to yourself.
When you step out of your room, heels clicking softly against the floor, you’re not expecting Steve to be sitting on the couch.
Elbow resting on his knee, scrolling through something on his phone, hair slightly messy like he’s run his hands through it too many times.
He glances up absently when he hears you.
His eyes take you in once, fully checking you out from head to toe, his eyes lingering on your legs a little too long. You suddenly feel very aware of your existence.
“You’re going somewhere?” he asks.
His voice sounds normal. Maybe a little lower than usual.
“Yeah,” you say, adjusting your bag strap. “There’s a college party. Will convinced me.”
You hover awkwardly near the door for a second. “Is it… too much?”
The question slips out before you can stop it.
He looks at you properly this time.
And whatever casual expression he had before shifts slightly. Not softer. Not harder. Just more focused.
“No,” he says after a second. “It’s not too much. You look beautiful.”
Your heart races at the compliment, millions of butterflies erupting in your stomach. Did he just call you beautiful!?
Then, almost as an afterthought, “Just, don’t let anyone bother you.”
You blink. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he says calmly, standing up now, “college parties aren’t exactly known for good decisions.”
You roll your eyes lightly. “I can handle myself.”
He looks like he wants to say something else but he doesn't.
Instead, he steps past you to grab his jacket from the chair.
“You’re going out too?” you ask.
“Out,” he repeats vaguely.
You narrow your eyes slightly. “You’re so mysterious for no reason.”
He gives you a faint smirk. “Stop caring too much about me, sunshine. You’re gonna be late for the party.”
The way your heart fluttered at that was not at all okay.
“Fine,” you mutter, opening the door. “Don’t wait up.”
“I don’t,” he says lightly.
But you don’t miss the way his eyes linger as you step out.
The party is louder than you expected.
Music vibrates through the floor, people are laughing too hard, talking too close, moving too much. The lights are dim and warm, and everything feels slightly chaotic.
Will finds you near the entrance almost immediately.
“Okay,” he says, looking you up and down. “You did not warn me you were going to look like that.”
“Like what?” you ask defensively.
“Like you’re about to ruin someone’s sanity.”
You shove his shoulder. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious. I bet Steve was drooling over his mouth when he saw you in this dress.”
Your face heats instantly. “Why are you bringing him into this?”
“Because,” Will says simply, “if he sees you, he’s done.”
You try very hard not to smile at that.
Will gives you a look that says you’re delusional, but doesn’t argue.
For the first half hour, it’s fine.
You talk. You laugh. You try to ignore how loud everything is. You sip something that tastes mostly like juice and sugar. You even forget about Steve for a few minutes.
Then Will gets dragged into some conversation across the room.
You’re left near the drinks table again.
A voice suddenly cuts through your thoughts.
“You look a little lost.”
A guy you don’t recognize stands a little too close, hands shoved into his pockets, a faint smirk on his face.
“I’m fine,” you reply politely, offering a small smile.
“You’ve been standing alone for a while,” he continues, eyes scanning you in a way that makes your shoulders stiffen slightly.
“My friend is here,” you say, glancing around instinctively for Will.
He leans a bit closer. “Still. Kinda boring to stand alone at a party, don’t you think?”
You take a small step back. “I’m just waiting for him to come back.”
“Or,” he says, lowering his voice slightly, “you could dance.”
“Everyone dances,” he insists, reaching out slightly as if to guide you.
You pull your hand back before he can touch you.
“I said I’m okay,” you say more firmly this time.
Something in your tone finally shifts the atmosphere.
His smile drops just a little.
“Relax,” he mutters. “I was just being friendly.”
You nod stiffly, heart beating a little faster now. “Right.”
A few minutes later, Will still hasn’t returned.
The music suddenly feels louder.
The room feels more crowded.
And your social battery? Completely drained.
You slip your phone out, texting him quickly:
Leaving early. I’ll text you when I get home.
Then, without waiting for a reply, you quietly make your way toward the exit, exhaling the second the cool night air hits your face.
The street is calmer. Quieter. Safer.
Or at least, it feels that way for the first few minutes.
Your heels click softly against the pavement as you walk, hugging your arms slightly against the breeze. The city lights blur gently along the sidewalks as you try to find yourself a cab.
You don’t notice the footsteps behind you at first. Then they don’t stop. Then they don’t fade either. Your pace slows slightly. So do the footsteps.
“Hey,” a familiar voice calls from behind.
It’s the same guy from the party.
“I just wanted to talk,” he says, walking faster now.
Your grip on your bag tightens instinctively. “I’m going home.”
A shadow drops between you and him so suddenly that you nearly gasp.
The man stops immediately.
“You should leave,” a low, controlled voice says.
The guy scoffs at first, then properly looks up.
And immediately steps back.
He leaves quickly. Too quickly.
Your heart is still racing when you finally look up.
Black suit. Cape. Mask. Broad shoulders standing under the dim streetlight like something pulled straight out of a myth.
He turns his head slightly toward you.
Up close, he looks bigger. More intimidating. And oddly… tired.
“You shouldn’t be walking alone this late,” he says.
His voice is deep. Measured. Familiar in a way that makes something in your chest flicker.
“I was at a college party,” you mumble, still staring at him. “I didn’t think it would get this late.”
“You should still be careful.”
You blink, then- because your brain completely abandons logic, you blurt out:
“I think you’re really cool.”
He goes completely still.
You immediately cover your face. “Oh my god. Why did I say that? Please ignore that.”
“You’re safe now,” he says after a moment, voice slightly tighter than before.
You peek at him through your fingers. “Can I ask you something?”
He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t leave either.
“You saved an old lady a few months ago,” you say softly. “Near a convenience store. In the rain.”
“I was there,” you continue, a small smile forming despite your nerves. “You were kinda intimidating. But also very hot. In a mysterious way.”
His shoulders visibly tense.
“And your voice sounds weirdly familiar,” you add, tilting your head slightly. “Like I’ve heard it somewhere before.”
He turns his head away just a fraction.
But the way he says it is careful as if he’s choosing every word.
Like one wrong slip might reveal something.
Under the dim light, you notice the faint scuffs on his suit. The exhaustion in the way he stands..
It reminds you of someone who comes home late.
Someone who smells faintly of clean laundry and expensive cologne.
Someone who always looks tired.
“You should go home,” he says quietly.
And just before he disappears into the shadows, his gaze lingers on you for a second too long.
But like someone who already knows you.
The next morning felt strangely normal. Too normal.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, the faint clinking of a mug echoed from the kitchen, and for a second it almost made last night feel distant. Like it had happened to someone else.
You shuffled in, still a little tired, only to find Steve already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in his hand. His hair was messy, sleeves pushed up, dark circles faint under his eyes like he hadn’t slept much.
He glanced at you briefly. “Morning.”
“Morning,” you muttered, grabbing a glass of water.
There was a short silence.
Then, casually too casually, you said, “Some guy at the party yesterday was being weird.”
Steve didn’t react immediately. But his grip on the mug tightened slightly.
“Weird how?” he asked, voice calm. Too calm.
You shrugged, trying to play it down. “Just wouldn’t take a hint. Followed me out when I left.”
“Did he touch you?” he asked.
Your head snapped up. “No! God, no.” You continued, leaning against the counter. “He followed me till the second block. Near that old pharmacy street.”
And that’s when it happened.
Steve frowned slightly. “The one with the broken streetlight?”
The words slipped out so naturally it almost didn’t register at first.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Then he took a sip of his coffee like nothing happened. “Nothing. Just guessing.”
“I didn’t say anything about a streetlight.”
Before he could reply, the front door suddenly burst open.
“I AM BACK!” Max’s voice echoed dramatically through the apartment.
Max walked in like a hurricane, dropping her bag instantly. “You two survived without me? Impressive. Any fights? Any unresolved tension?”
You choked on your water. “Max.”
She squinted at both of you. “Why do I feel like something happened while I was gone?”
“Nothing happened,” Steve said flatly.
You said at the exact same time, “Nothing happened.”
Max’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Hm,” she hummed. “I don’t trust either of you.”
You watched as she grabbed her suitcases towards her room.
Steve set the mug down slowly. “That area’s poorly lit. It’s not exactly a safe stretch at night.” he suddenly brings up the unfinished conversation from earlier.
“That’s oddly specific,” you said lightly.
He shrugged. “Common sense.”
But he still wasn’t looking directly at you.
And that, more than anything, felt off.
You watched him carefully now.
“You knew the exact block,” you continued, softer. “And the lighting.”
He exhaled quietly through his nose, clearly choosing his words now. “You said old pharmacy. There’s only one on that side of town.”
His answer was logical and quite convincing.
Something about the way he answered felt rehearsed. Too quick. Too aware.
You let it drop. But the thought lodged itself somewhere deep in your mind.
Because later that evening, when the news flickered on and the anchor’s voice filled the room—
“last night’s incident occurred near the abandoned pharmacy lane—”
Your head turned slowly toward the TV.
Who was suddenly very still beside you.
“That’s the same place,” you said quietly.
Just leaned back against the couch, eyes on the screen but unfocused, jaw slightly tense like he was thinking three steps ahead instead of watching the news.
You tilted your head. “You seem to know a lot about areas Batman shows up in.”
That made him huff softly.
“Or,” he said, voice even, “maybe Batman just operates in predictable high-risk zones.”
You stared at him. That wasn’t a normal response.
And for the first time since you’d met him, a small, unsettling thought crossed your mind — not loud, not dramatic, just quiet and persistent.
Steve didn’t look surprised by the news.
He looked… familiar with it. As if it was a regular thing for him.
The apartment was unusually quiet that night. Not the peaceful kind of quiet.
The kind that pressed against your ears.
Max had gone to sleep hours ago, her door shut, the faint hum of her fan the only proof she was home. You had tried to study, tried to scroll, tried to distract yourself with anything remotely productive, but your mind kept drifting. To the news.
To the conversation. To him. The thoughts spiralled in your mind, a very unsettling type of anxiety filling you as you thought more and more about Steve.
What if he was the one to save you that night? What if he was the one to help the lady on that rainy day? What if Steve is….him?
You were curled up on the couch, a half-finished cup of cup noodles growing cold in your hands, when you heard the soft click of the front door. Your head lifted immediately.
It creaked, contradicting its usual full swinging. It felt like whoever was entering didn’t want to make noise.
Your brows furrowed. It could only be steve at this hour.
“Steve?” you called out, voice quiet.
Just the sound of the door shutting and growing footsteps, Uneven ones. You knew something was wrong, or maybe it was your instincts. Your stomach dropped.
You set the cup down instantly and stood up, heart beginning to pound for reasons you couldn’t quite explain yet.
And then he stepped into the dim light of the hallway. His hair was damp, slightly disheveled. His jacket hung heavier on one side, and the first thing you noticed was the dark stain spreading across the fabric near his ribs.
“Steve–” your voice came out sharper than you intended. “What the hell happened to you?!”
He froze like he hadn’t expected you to still be awake.
“I’m fine,” he said almost too immediately, as if he wanted to brush this topic off.
He moved past you, heading toward the hallway like this was routine. Like bleeding through his jacket at midnight was a normal Tuesday occurrence.
You blinked in disbelief and followed him. “You are literally not fine. You’re bleeding.”
“That is not a scratch,” you snapped, grabbing his wrist before he could disappear into his room.
Slowly, he looked down at your hand around his wrist, then back at your face.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Up close, you could see it better now– the faint cut near his eyebrow, the exhaustion sitting deep in his eyes, the way his breathing was slightly heavier than usual.
“You should be asleep,” he muttered.
“And you should not be walking into the house looking like that” you shot back.
A faint, tired huff escaped him. Almost like a laugh that didn’t fully form.
You ignored him completely and gently tugged his sleeve. “Sit.”
Then, reluctantly, he lowered himself onto the couch like he didn’t have the energy to argue properly.
You disappeared into the bathroom before he could protest again, grabbing the first aid kit with slightly shaky hands. When you came back, he was leaning forward, one hand pressed lightly against his side.
The sight made your chest tighten.
You knelt in front of him without a word.
“I’m going to check,” you said quietly.
That single word stopped him.
He exhaled slowly, jaw tightening, but he didn’t stop you this time.
Carefully, you pushed his jacket aside.
There were bruises. Fresh ones. Fading ones. Cuts that looked far too recent to be accidents.
“…You don’t get these from office work,” you murmured.
You opened the first aid kit, fingers working gently as you cleaned the wound near his ribs. He flinched slightly when the antiseptic touched his skin, but didn’t make a sound otherwise.
“You’re always coming home late,” you said softly.
“Always tired. Always injured.”
Your fingers paused for a moment against his side.
“And you always have an explanation that explains absolutely nothing.”
He let out a quiet breath through his nose.
“You’re overthinking,” he said, but his voice lacked its usual sharpness.
“The broken streetlight,” you continued calmly. “The pharmacy lane. The train bridge on the news before they even said the location.”
Your hands trembled slightly as you pressed the gauze against his wound.
“You react before I finish sentences about him,” you added, quieter now. “Like you already know what I’m about to say.”
You finally looked up at him.
His face was unreadable, but his eyes-
His eyes looked as if he got caught.
Like he knew exactly where this was going.
Your voice dropped to almost a whisper.
“You knew where I was that night,” you said. “Near the pharmacy. You knew the lighting. The exact block.”
His jaw clenched faintly.
“And tonight,” you continued, heart pounding louder with every word, “you walk in past midnight. Injured. Again. On the same night the news says Batman got into a fight downtown.”
The room felt suffocatingly quiet now.
Your hands slowly fell away from the first aid kit. You swallowed.
And then Very softly, you ask him,
“Steve, are you..Batman?”
It was a rainy day–clouds thundering in a way that silenced the sounds of the busy street. Steve stood at the edge of the rooftop, cape heavy with water, scanning the street below out of habit more than urgency. Being a vigilante wasn’t easy– you had to stay alert all the time, despite any weather or climate difficulties, you had to observe the city for any signs of crimes, and to stay out of sight from the police for your sake.
Steve had grown up with superheroes, watching superman movies, smallville, and reading every other comic book about the same– but he hadn’t expected himself to become one. Before his mind could wander into a never-ending spiral about why he chose to become the person to guard the city in the shadows, he heard a sharp scream down the street.
His head turned instantly toward the convenience store entrance where an elderly woman stood trembling, her grocery bag split open at her feet as oranges rolled uselessly into the gutter. Two men loomed over her– one tugging at her purse, the other blocking her path with lazy cruelty. He was already moving.
Because someone else stepped forward first.
Drenched. Exhausted. Clearly afraid.
And still walking toward danger anyway.
He frowned behind the mask.
Most people avoided situations like that. Looked away. Walked faster. Pretended they hadn’t seen anything.
Your voice shook, your hands trembled, and yet you still placed yourself between them and the woman like fear and courage were existing in the same breath. Reckless. Stupid. Brave.
When one of the men stepped closer to you, invading your space, something cold settled in Steve’s chest. That was enough.
He dropped down in silence.
The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The men froze. Fear worked faster than force most nights. They ran without a fight, cowards to the core.
He retrieved the handbag, handed it back to the woman-but his attention drifted to you. You watched him, wide-eyed, in disbelief, like you were still deciding whether he was real.
And then you smiled at the old woman.
Steve felt as if all the air from his lungs had been knocked out. The way you smiled at the lady- so genuine, so sweet, as if you were just a ray of sunshine embodied.
He told himself that was the only reason his gaze lingered a second too long as you rushed into your cab.
He followed the vehicle only until it disappeared past the avenue and then he forced himself to stop.
But it did not. Steve couldn’t. Even if he tried to. He couldn’t erase the image of you smiling at the lady so softly, your dimples popping out. Every time he slept, every time he closed his eyes- all he could remember was your hair, drippy from the rain and your smile and maybe your brown eyes and how it looked at him.
It should have ended there.
But fate had other plans and so– It did not.
Steve had to move from Chicago to New York for his job– the job which actually ran his house, and kept his stomach full. He had his sister studying in NYC, so It wouldn’t be a problem for him to stay with her for a while till he finds himself a place to live in.
“Oh, and Steve, I have a roommate” Max told him as they were packing his stuff to be moved from Chicago. “Hope that’s not a problem for you”, she told him and truth to be told– he did not have a problem, because he wouldn't give two shits about a person living in the house where he would be only to sleep and to have dinner. All he wanted was a roof where he could sleep until he found a new place to move.
“Oh no no, I’m totally fine with your roommate.” he said, his tone too casual for something that was totally not going to be casual for him in the future.
So when he went to your college and saw you laughing with Max, his world stood still. You were wearing a sundress- your hair blowing in the wind and the dress matching the weather that day. he couldn’t help the blush forming on his cheeks at the sight of you.
He knew if he opened his mouth he was probably going to say something rubbish or embarrassing. So that’s why he stayed rather quiet, and serious, and intimidating- so that you wouldn’t ask too many questions about him or he wouldn’t say something that might scare you or weird you out.
Living under the same roof as you had not been part of the plan. Temporary arrangement, Max had said. Spare room. Just until he found a place.
Temporary, he told himself.
Except days turned into routines faster than he expected.
He started observing even the slightest things about you. The way you stayed up late at night browsing the internet, the way you only ate cup noodles when you got too stressed from work, the way you would blast on cigarettes after sex when your periods were near. It made him feel pathetic. He was pathetic. A pathetic, hopeless guy who had fallen in love with his sister’s best friend.
You were so easy to be around with. He felt at ease whenever he talked to you– at your snarky remarks, at your weird laugh, at your very bad attempt at flirting– he liked everything about you.
And that was when the problem began.
Because one night, after patrol, exhausted and more distracted than usual, he made a mistake. He told Dustin and Eddie, two of his bestest friends.
Silence fell over the garage immediately.
Dustin slowly rotated his chair toward him like a detective who had just heard a confession. Eddie sat up so fast the couch creaked under him.
“You have a crush,” Dustin said flatly.
“I do NOT have a crush,” Steve replied instantly.
Eddie gasped– loud and dramatic. “Defensive. That was defensive. Oh, he’s doomed.”
Steve dragged a hand down his face. “I said there’s a girl. That’s it.”
“You’ve fought armed criminals with less tension in your voice,” Eddie said, squinting at him.
Which, apparently, confirmed everything.
Dustin leaned back slowly. “Timeline. When did this start?”
“It didn’t ‘start,’” Steve muttered.
“It was a rainy day. She stepped in,” Steve said before he could stop himself. “For an old woman who was getting harassed by two men. She was scared and still did it.”
Eddie blinked. “…You remember the details.”
Dustin folded his arms. “You live with her, don’t you?”
“You’re living with the girl you like?” Eddie asked, scandalized. “That is psychological torture.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” Dustin said calmly.
“You are near the college area more often,” Dustin continued.
Steve leaned forward.. “She called Batman hot, by the way.”
That made both Eddie and Dustin look up.
“…What?”, they said in unison.
Steve went on. “Max mentioned it. Party incident. Batman shows up. The girl thinks he’s hot.”
Eddie slapped his knee. “You’re literally competing with yourself. That is the most pathetic love triangle I’ve ever heard.”
“I am not competing,” Steve muttered. He leaned back, exhaling slowly.
Because they weren’t entirely wrong.
Because you didn’t look at him like the city looked at Batman.
You looked at him like he was just… Steve.
Eddie studied him for a moment before delivering the final blow.
“Harrington,” he said dramatically, “you are not just crushing.”
“You,” Eddie finished, pointing straight at him, “are a full-blown, emotionally repressed, pathetic and a hopeless yearner.”
Steve stared at them in silence.
Then muttered, tired and resigned,
“…This is why I don’t tell you things.”
But later that night, back in the apartment, when he heard you laughing softly at some stupid internet quiz in the living room about “which Henry the VIII’s wife are you? " he realised something far more inconvenient than their teasing.
You still had no idea that the man you were slowly getting comfortable with over burnt lunches and quiet conversations…
was the same one who had been watching you from the rooftops since the night you stood in the rain, shaking and scared, and still chose to be brave anyway.
The words just hung there between them.
For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even blink. The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the quiet ticking of the clock near the kitchen.
Steve’s hand tightened slightly around the edge of the table.
“You shouldn’t joke about stuff like that,” he said finally, but his voice came out rougher than usual. Not annoyed. Not amused. Just… tired.
He let out a slow breath through his nose and ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly when his fingers brushed too close to the bandage near his temple. You noticed that. Of course you did.
“You came home at 3 a.m.,” you continued, softer now but steady. “Injured. Again. You dodge questions every time. You disappear randomly. And that night… at the party…” Her voice faltered for a moment. “He knew my name. Before I told him.”
“And the voice,” she added quietly. “You tried to make it deeper. But when you got hurt just now and spoke normally…” She swallowed. “It was the same.”
There was a silence between you two.
He leaned back slightly, staring at the floor like it might suddenly have answers written on it.
“You’ve been spying on me?” he asked?
She hesitated. “It was very obvious that I did not even have to try to make an attempt at spying.”
He looked at her every so softly, lashes batting with his breaths heavy and uneven. He laughed under his breath.
“I tried,” he said quietly. “God, I tried to keep you out of it.”
“Out of what?” she whispered.
He looked at you for a long moment, like he was weighing a hundred different decisions all at once. Then he shook his head slightly, almost to himself.
“You have no idea how hard it was,” he said, voice low, “to keep this secret hidden from you.”
“You are an idiot,” you said automatically, and the normalcy of it slipped out before you could stop yourself.
“You were scared that night,” he said suddenly.
“At the party.” His gaze softened, and it made her heart stutter in a way she hated. “You tried to act fine. But your hands were shaking when you grabbed your phone.”
“You…” you stopped. “You noticed that?”
“I notice everything about you,” he said without thinking.
The second the words left his mouth, the room went still again.
He stood up abruptly, pacing once, dragging a hand down his face, trying to physically pull himself together.
“I was supposed to tell you,” he muttered. “Not like this. Not when you’re looking at me like I’m some criminal.”
“I’m not,” you said quickly. “I’m not looking at you as some sort of a criminal. I’m looking at you as a guy who saved me twice, a guy who was always there when I was in trouble.”
He looked up at you, tending his stomach wound, biting your lips as you made an attempt to concentrate on wounding up his injury. God you looked so ethereal it made steve stop breathing.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m Batman.”
Your eyes flickered to the bandages, the bruises, the way he was standing slightly angled like he was used to protecting his injured side.
“You could’ve died,” she whispered.
“I’ve almost died a lot of times,” he replied.
“I wasn’t trying to comfort you!”
Their voices rose for the first time, tension finally cracking through the restraint that had been holding everything together.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded.
“Because I didn’t want you dragged into my mess!” he shot back, then immediately lowered his voice when he saw her flinch.
“Because the second people know, they become targets. And I wasn’t about to let that happen to you.”
The way he said it made your chest ache. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” she said, quieter now. “I do if it keeps you safe.” “That night,” she said slowly, “you followed me.” He didn’t deny it. “You were there the whole time.” “I always am,” he admitted. Her breath caught. “And you just watch?” she asked softly. His expression shifted into something raw. “I make sure nothing happens to you.” The weight of that settled over her in a way that was almost overwhelming. “You’re insane,” she murmured. “All these times I thought it was mere paranoia but it wasn’t. It was you. God, steve” He let out a quiet huff. “Yeah. Probably.” he said, a look of guilt gliding over his face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner.”
You stepped closer before he even realized you were moving. “You lied to me,” she said. “I protected you.” “You shut me out.” “I kept you safe.” It was then when you realised how close you both were standing. The proximity made your brain mushy. He was too close, close enough to see the tiny cut near his lip. Close enough to feel the tension radiating off him like heat. His hand hovered near your face before gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear “You shouldn’t be this close to me,” he murmured. “Then why aren’t you stepping back?” she asked.
Before you could process the words leaving your mouth, you felt yourself backed up to the wall, and a pair of soft, plump lips falling onto yours, kissing you over so tenderly. It was hesitant at first, almost like he was testing if you’d push him away. And when you didn’t move away, the kiss deepened just slightly, filled with weeks of unspoken tension, worry, and something he’d been trying very hard to ignore. Steve tightened his grips on your waist while your hands landed on his shoulders. You tasted exactly how he imagined you to taste like strawberries and vanilla. His breathing was uneven as he stepped back, running a hand through his hair again, avoiding her eyes now. He suddenly realised his actions, eyes widening and hands retrieving from your waist. “That” he started, then stopped. “That shouldn’t have happened. I’m so sorry” he suddenly said, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite understand. Without another word, he turned and walked toward his room, shoulders tense, every step heavy like he was forcing himself to put distance between you and him before he did something even more reckless. “Thank you for tending my injuries and have a good night” he said, his eyes looking at you for one last time before closing the door behind him. You watched as Steve closed the door, half dazed and half in awe. After what felt like hours, you touched your lips, recalling the memory of the way he kissed you and it made you kick your feet and a squealing and blushing mess- butterflies erupting in your stomach.
It was safe to say you slept soundly that night.
Steve starts avoiding you so subtly at first that you almost convince yourself you’re imagining it. The way he suddenly has “errands” whenever you’re in the kitchen. The way he answers in short sentences instead of his usual teasing, drawn-out replies. The way he doesn’t look at you for longer than a second anymore, like looking at you is a bridge he’s no longer allowed to cross. And it hurts more than you expected it to. The kiss replays in your head on loop– the way he pulled you in, the way his hand tightened just slightly at your waist, the way he kissed you like he’d been holding himself back for months. Before he walked away. Three days passed like that. Three days of quiet mornings, distant conversations, and the sound of his bedroom door clicking shut a little faster whenever you enter a room.
By the fourth day, you’re sulking so obviously that Max doesn’t even bother pretending not to notice. “You look like you’re questioning your existence right now” she says flatly, plopping down beside you on the couch. You groan into the cushion. “He’s avoiding me.” Max doesn’t even need to ask who, because she already knew the answer. “Steve?” You lift your head slowly. “…Is it that obvious?” She snorts. “He practically sprints out of rooms when you walk in. It’s embarrassing.” Your chest tightens. “He kissed me.” Max freezes mid-scroll. “…He WHAT?”
“AND THEN,” you sit up dramatically, voice rising, “he confessed he’s Batman, kissed me, and now he’s acting like I’m some kind of emotional hazard.” Max stares at you for a solid five seconds before bursting into laughter. “Oh my god,” she wheezes, “you fell for a vigilante AND a coward. That is insane.”
“I am not laughing,” you say, even though your lips twitch. Before she can reply, Will walks in, holding two mugs “I heard raised voices,” he says carefully. “Should I be concerned or entertained?” Max points at you. “Steve kissed her and is now acting like a divorced man who lost custody of his feelings.”
Will chokes on his drink. “He finally kissed you?” You glare. “Why does everyone say ‘finally’ like it was inevitable.” Will and Max exchange a look. “Because,” Max says slowly, “that man has been down horrendous for you since day one.” Will nod. “Like… painfully obvious.” Your eyes widen. “WHAT?” Your face burns. Max leans forward, suddenly serious. “Okay, focus. He kissed you and now he is avoiding you like plague. He is emotionally repressed and in all my 22 years of existence, I have never seen him act like this.”You hug a pillow tighter. “So what do I do? Ignore him back? Pretend I don’t care? Cry dramatically in the hallway?”
Max’s eyes sparkle with something dangerous. “…No.” Will sigh immediately. “Oh no. That tone is never good.” Max grins. “We make him jealous.” You blink. “Excuse me?” “He’s clearly spiraling,” she says, counting on her fingers. “He likes you. He kissed you. He’s scared. So now he’s avoiding you to regain control.” Will adds gently, “Which means he still cares. A lot.” “And,” Max finishes smugly, “the fastest way to snap a man out of emotional avoidance is strategic jealousy.” “That sounds toxic,” you mutter weakly.
“That is very effective, trust me.” Max corrects. Will hesitates. “…Ethically questionable, but emotionally persuasive.” You stare at both of them. “I don’t even have anyone to make him jealous with.” Max’s grin widens slowly. “Oh,” she says. “You absolutely do.” Your stomach drops. “…Will.” Will nearly spits out his drink. “ME?” Will looks between you and Max in horror. “I did not sign up to be used as a prop in a romantic psychological experiment.” “You’re not a prop,” Max says sweetly. “You’re emotional support bait.” You bury your face in your hands. “This is insane.” But despite yourself… a tiny, petty part of your heart perks up.
Because maybe– just maybe.
if Steve really does care, he won’t stay indifferent for long.
The apartment feels too small that evening, like the walls are pressing in with all the tension you’ve been swallowing for days. Max and Will don’t waste time. Max “casually” texts Will to come over for pizza and a movie, and he shows up twenty minutes later in a soft gray sweater that makes his eyes look even warmer, carrying that easy, gentle smile he always has. You’re on the couch in the tiny shorts and oversized hoodie you know Steve likes when Will sits down right beside you instead of in the armchair. Max shoots you a look that says go big or go home before disappearing into her room with some lame excuse about assignments. At first it’s innocent. Will laughs at something you say, leans in a little. You let your hand rest on his forearm when you reach for the remote, fingers lingering just a second too long. His skin is warm under your palm. “You always smell so nice” he murmurs, voice low and playful, eyes flicking over your face. “It’s unfair, honestly.” You laugh, soft and bright, and squeeze his arm gently. “Flatterer. Keep going, I’m listening.” He grins, tilting his head. “Harrington’s an idiot for not noticing those pretty little dimples on your cheeks whenever you smile” Your cheeks heat, but you keep the touch, thumb brushing his wrist. It’s light. It’s nothing. But it’s working, your pulse is racing for an entirely different reason now as you hear the front door open.
Steve walks in still in his dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened, hair a little messy from the wind. He freezes in the doorway when he sees you. Sees Will. Sees your hand on Will’s arm and the way Will is leaning in, complimenting you like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Something dark flashes across Steve’s face,his jaws tightening and his shoulders going rigid. His eyes lock on your fingers against Will’s sleeve for a beat too long before they snap to your face. You feel it like a spark against your skin. He doesn’t say anything. Just kicks the door shut harder than necessary and stalks straight past the living room toward the hallway.
Max pokes her head out of her room, eyes sparkling with evil delight. “Phase one: complete.” You barely have time to process before Steve’s voice cuts through the apartment, low and controlled. “Kitchen. Now.”Your stomach flips. You stand, legs shaky, and follow him. The second the kitchen door swings shut behind you, he crowds you against the counter. Not touching yet, but close enough that you can smell his cologne and the faint leather from his jacket.
“What the fuck was that?” he asks, voice rough. “You letting Byers put his hands all over you? Laughing at his little compliments like I haven’t been losing my goddamn mind for four days straight?” You lift your chin, heart hammering. “You’ve been avoiding me, Steve. What was I supposed to do, sit around waiting while you pretend that kiss never happened?” you say, voice raising a little yet coated with a sense of hurt and ignorance.
His hands land on either side of you, caging you in. “I kissed you because I couldn’t fucking breathe without you. I’m Batman, I’m supposed to keep people safe, not drag the brightest, sweetest girl I’ve ever met into my shit. But seeing you touch him-” His voice cracks. “I wanted to rip his arm off.” The way he said it caused a deep, warm ache in your lower belly. You watched as your thighs clenched unknowingly at his words, legs already wobbly. You summoned up all the courage and ounce of sanity you had to murmur three words that would break this band of tension. “Then stop running,” you whisper.
With that said, his mouth crashes into yours, desperate and filthy, tongue sliding against yours like he’s starving. You moan into it, hands fisting his shirt, and he groans, lifting you onto the counter in one smooth motion. “Bedroom,” he rasps against your lips. “Now. Before I fuck you right here where anyone could walk in.” Before he could say more, you shut his mouth by kissing him harder, deepening the kiss and sliding your tongue into his mouth. Steve groaned into your mouth, tongue fighting for dominance as the room fills in with lewd noises. He carries you out of the kitchen, smirking down at will who was sitting on the couch, his eyes filled widening as he took in the sight of you and Steve.
He carries you down the hall like you weigh nothing, kicks his door shut, and drops you onto his bed. The second your back hits the mattress he’s on you, mouth on your neck, hands shoving your hoodie up and off. “Jesus, baby,” he breathes, eyes dark as they rake over your bare chest. “Look at you. So fucking pretty for me.” He doesn’t waste time. His mouth closes around one nipple, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch and whimper. His fingers pinch the other, rolling it slowly, perfectly, until you’re gasping his name.
“Stevie-please” The nickname hits him like a live wire. He pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, eyes blown black. “Fuck. Say that again.” “Stevie,” you whine, needy and trembling. “Baby, please, I need you.”
He loses it. A low, wrecked sound rips out of his chest and he’s kissing down your stomach, yanking your shorts and panties off in one rough tug. His hands spread your thighs wide. “Such a good girl,” he praises, voice gravel-rough. “Already so wet for me. This pretty little pussy missed me, didn’t it?” He licks a slow, filthy stripe up your center and you cry out, hips bucking. He pins them down with one forearm.
“Shh, sweet girl. Let me taste you.” He sucks your clit into his mouth, two thick fingers sliding inside you without warning, curling perfectly. “Fuck, you’re tight. Taking my fingers so well already. Gonna make you come on my tongue first, yeah?” You’re a mess, whining, moaning, fingers twisting in his hair as he eats you like a starved man. Every lick, every curl of his fingers draws out more praise. “Yeah? Feel good, baby? Hmm? You’re dripping down my chin,such a needy little thing for me.”
“Come on my tongue, pretty girl. Let me hear you.” You shatter, thighs shaking around his head, as you felt the familiar knot in your stomach snapping, his name breaking on a sob. He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling through the aftershocks. Then he’s crawling up your body, shedding clothes, cock hard and heavy against your thigh.
“Need to be inside you,” he growls, lining up. “No condom, want to feel all of you. Gonna fill you up, sweet girl. Breed this perfect pussy until you’re dripping with me. You want that?” “Yes, yes, baby, please” He thrusts deep in one smooth stroke, stretching you open. The groan he lets out is broken. “Fuck-tightest, warmest little heaven. Taking me so good. My good girl.”
He sets a punishing rhythm, one hand pinning both of yours above your head, the other gripping your hip. You’re moaning helplessly beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist. “Look at you,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “So fucking beautiful taking my cock. You love me that much, huh? Letting me ruin you like this?” “I love you,” you whimper, tears pricking your eyes from how good it feels. “Stevie, I love you”
His thrusts turn deeper, slower, grinding against your clit with every stroke, a small grin plastering on his face. “Yeah, sweet girl? ‘s true that you love me?” “I love you- love you so much” you mewl out, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him closer and deeper into your cunt.
“God, baby… I love you too. So fucking much it hurts.” He kisses you messy and sweet, still fucking you senseless. “Gonna come inside you-fill you up until it takes. You’re mine. Only mine. Isn’t that right? Mine to breed, mine to fuck and mine to love. ” You come again with a broken cry, clenching around him so hard he follows right after, groaning your name as he spills deep, hips stuttering through every pulse.
He doesn’t pull out right away. Just collapses half on top of you, still pinning your wrists, breathing hard against your neck. “Never avoiding you again,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses to your jaw. “You’re stuck with me now, sweet girl. ‘m not running away from you.” You smile, dazed and blissed-out, and tug at his grip until he releases your hands so you can wrap your arms around him. “Good,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Because I’m not letting you go either… Stevie.” You felt his cock hardening and twitching instantly, a smug look forming on his face, as you watched him hover over you again.
“Are we really going that way, baby?”
“Come on i know you-” Before you could finish your sentence, you felt Steve pressing his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss, his dick sliding into your still wet cunt.
The May sun feels almost too bright as you step off the graduation stage, gown billowing around your legs, cap tassel smacking your cheek because you flipped it way too hard. The lawn is packed, but your eyes cut straight through the crowd to Steve. He's standing near the back in a brown formal suit, arms crossed like he’s trying to look casual. Max is right beside him, jumping and screaming your name so loud her voice cracks; Will’s clapping steadily with his boyfriend Mike's arm looped around his waist; Eddie’s got both hands cupped around his mouth yelling “Hell yeah, that’s our valedictorian!” while Dustin bounces next to him like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. You jog down the steps and straight into Steve’s arms, a smile grazing your lips and small giggles fall out of them.
He catches you, lifts you just enough that your feet dangle for a second, face buried in your hair. “Hey, graduate,” he says, voice soft and rough at the same time. “You fucking did it.” You laugh against his shoulder, arms locked around his neck. “You’re gonna make me cry in front of half the campus, Harrington.”
“Let ‘em see,” he murmurs, setting you down but not letting go. His hands slide to your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “I’m so proud of you, Hiya. All those all-nighters, all the times you thought of throwing your laptop out of the house, all those mental breakdowns were worth it. you crushed it.”
Before you can answer, Max crashes into you both, nearly toppling the three of you. “You’re officially too smart for us now! Don’t forget the little people when you’re famous!” Max and Will, a year junior to you, had just entered their final year in college. Will hugs you next, gentle and quick. “You looked so happy up there.” Eddie slings an arm around Dustin’s shoulders, grinning wide. “We’re throwing the biggest pizza-and-movie night this weekend to celebrate. No arguments.”
Steve’s hand finds yours again, fingers threading through yours like it’s muscle memory now. You glance around at them, your loud, chaotic, chosen family and it hits you how easy this feels. No more awkward “whose friends are these” moments. They just… show up. For you. For him. For whatever dumb thing you’re all doing next. Steve leans in, lips brushing your temple. “Got something to show you. You free for the rest of the day?”
The ride is quiet, just the two of you in his car, your fingers laced with his. He leads you up to a tree-lined street in Brooklyn, past brownstones and bodegas, until you stop in front of a narrow four-story walk-up. The buzzer has a fresh label: STEVE HARRINGTON 4B. You blink up at the building. “You… moved?” “Signed the lease last month,” he says, pulling keys from his pocket. “Wanted to surprise you after today.” You follow him up the narrow stairs, four flights, your thighs already burning by the time you reach the top and he unlocks the door.
The apartment is small but bright: big windows letting in late-afternoon sun, hardwood floors that creak under your sneakers, an open kitchen with just enough counter space for two people to bump hips while cooking. There’s a couch that looks suspiciously like the one from his old place, a couple of boxes still taped shut in the corner, and a single framed photo on the windowsill, you and him from last fall, laughing in Central Park, leaves in your hair. You walk slowly through the space, trailing your fingers along the wall. “It’s nice. Really nice.” Steve watches you from the doorway, hands in his pockets. “Yeah?”
You nod, but your voice comes out quieter. “You’re really moving here. Out of the old place.” He steps closer, turning you gently to face him. “I’m not moving alone.” Your breath catches. “What?” “I didn’t sign this lease thinking I’d live here by myself, Hiya.” His hands settle warm on your waist, thumbs brushing the fabric of your dress under the unzipped gown. “I want you here. Mornings where you steal all the blankets. Nights where we fight over who gets the remote. Your books on the shelves, your coffee mugs in the cabinet, your laugh bouncing off these walls. I want this to be ours.”
Tears sting your eyes as a feeling of happiness creeps over you. “Steve…”
He kisses you then, slow, careful, like he’s giving you time to say no. But you don’t. You kiss him back, hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. When you pull apart, foreheads touching, he whispers, “Move in with me. Please.”
You laugh through the tears, nodding fast. “Yes.” His grin breaks wide and boyish. He kisses you again, deeper this time, joyful,then scoops you up just enough to spin you once in the empty living room, both of you laughing like idiots. When he sets you down, he keeps his arms around you, swaying a little like you’re slow-dancing to music only the two of you can hear.
First official tour,” he says against your hair. “Kitchen’s got that weird corner cabinet you can fill with all your spices. Bedroom’s got a window that looks over the street, good for people-watching when we’re too lazy to go out. And the couch…” He winks. “Already broken in from when I moved the boxes.” You bury your face in his neck, smiling so hard it hurts. “You’re ridiculous.” “Stil you love me” he says simply, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“I love you” you say, looking at your boyfriend with nothing but love in your eyes.
And in that hush, with the city humming far below and forever stretching out ahead like an open road, you realize you could never forget him-not the grumpy guy who used to roll his eyes at your playlists, not the best friend’s older brother who once made you want to scream and hide in the same breath. Somewhere along the way, without you even noticing, that same man became the one you fell in love with completely and irrevocably. The one who fights shadows by night and fights for lazy Sunday mornings with you by day. The one you want to wake up to every morning, fight over movie characters settings with, argue over games with, grow old and ridiculous alongside.
The one you want to spend the rest of your life with. “Welcome home, graduate.”
And for once, forever doesn’t feel like a promise too big to keep-it feels like home.
i hope you guys loved reading this story and if you did, please like and reblog it. thank you so much for reading it <3.
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