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Steve Harrington x Fem!reader
summary: based off of the song "Figure you out" by voilĂ . reader is dating someone who doesn't actually care for her, and Steve hates seeing she's with someone who doesn't care for her like he does.
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When Steve left, you finally listened to what he had told youâdo what makes you happy.
You stayed downstairs in your room, sitting cross-legged on the floor with your back against the bed frame. The record player hummed softly in the corner, spinning a familiar album, the kind that made your chest feel warm and full. The gentle crackle of the needle filled the spaces your thoughts normally occupied.
You picked up the book youâd been meaning to read for monthsâthe one you always set aside because you never had the energy, or the quiet, or the peace of mind.
Now, for the first time in what felt like ages, you had all three.
You opened it. Began to read. And for once, the words actually sank in. Your shoulders loosened. Your breaths came easier. The ache in your chest felt a little less sharp.
You felt like you again. Not a ghost floating through your own life. Not something unseen, unheard, uncared for.
The sun slipped lower outside your basement window, casting a soft, golden glow across the pages of your book. And instead of feeling lonely, you felt something newâsomething warm.
A little after Steve left and youâd settled into your book, you heard the front door openâyour parents finally home. Their footsteps crossed the floor above you as they talked about their day, voices drifting in and out like background noise you didnât bother to tune into.
About twenty minutes later, the sound changed; the soft clatter of pans, the low hum of the stove, and soon enough, the smell of food began to work its way downstairs. You already knew what that meant: in about half an hour, youâd be summoned.
You kept reading anyway, sinking deeper and deeper into the pages until the world around you faded entirely. Time slipped by without you noticingâat least, not until your momâs voice cut through it all, calling your name from upstairs.
You set your book aside and paused your music, letting the quiet settle in. On your way out of your room, you caught your reflection in the mirror. You looked⌠okay. Better than you expected. At least it didnât look like youâd been crying just a few hours earlier. Your face seemed calmer now, softer somehowâlike something heavy had finally loosened its grip on your shoulders.
With a small breath, you headed upstairs. The warm smell hit you first, and when you reached the kitchen, you found your mom placing a dish of shepherdâs pie on the table. You couldnât help the faint smile that tugged at your lipsâone of your favorites.
You slid into the seat to the left of your dad, who always sat at the head of the table. He glanced at you and smiled as your mom took her place on his right.
âHow was your day, sweetheart?â your dad asked, already taking a bite of shepherdâs pie.
You stared down at your food for a moment, then lifted your gaze to meet his, and then your momâs. You shrugged lightly.
âIt was okay,â you said, finally taking a bite
Your dad nodded as he chewed his food, swallowing before you spoke again. âHow was yours?â you asked, lifting your fork.
That was all the invitation he needed.
He let out a tired sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before speaking. âBusy,â he grumbled. âOne of the new recruits messed up the paperwork on a case, so I had to stay late and fix the whole mess. And then dispatch kept calling about that break-in over on Maple Street.â He shook his head, already slipping into work mode even at the dinner table. âSome days I feel like Iâm running a daycare instead of a police station.â
You nodded like you were listening, even managed a soft hum of sympathy, but his voice quickly faded into background noise. Youâd grown up with stories like theseâchaotic shifts, clueless rookies, situations that could go bad fast. Being the head of the station meant he was always tired, always stressed, always thinking about the next call before the current one even ended.
You wanted to care, and part of you did. But your mind kept drifting.
It kept drifting back to your ex, and everything that had fallen apart so fast it still made your chest ache.
But more than anything, you kept thinking about Steve.
How heâd answered the phone without hesitation. How heâd shown up earlier than he said he would, breathless from rushing, still smelling faintly of the cologne heâd put on. How heâd brought you flowersâyour first flowersâholding them awkwardly, like he wasnât sure if it was too much or not enough.
How heâd sat with you, not rushing you or filling the silence just to fill it. How he let you talk about whatever rose to the surface, offering steady, thoughtful words when you needed them and quiet when you didnât.
You stared down at your plate, the warmth of the food rising faintly in the air, and felt something settle in your chest. Not chaos. Not longing, exactly. Just⌠something warm..
Your mom called your name gently, pulling you out of the soft haze in your mind.
You blinked and looked up. She was watching you with that worried, motherly sort of tenderness that made your chest tighten.
âYou okay, baby? You seem like youâve got something on your mind,â she said.
You paused, fork still in your hand. You debated brushing it offââIâm fine,â âjust tired,â something easy. Something safe. But the weight of the day, the break, the crying, the healingâit sat too heavily to swallow back down.
You exhaled, the sound shaky even to your own ears, and stared down at your plate as you pushed a piece of potato from one side to the other.
âI broke up with Connor,â you said finally.
Silence settled over the table like a soft blanket. Your parents exchanged a glanceâquick but full of understanding. Theyâd liked him. Your mom was excited when youâd first introduced him, happy to see you dating someone who seemed kind and respectful. Your dad had his fun with it, shoving chores at Connor and pretending it was an initiation ritual.
But they werenât blind. Theyâd seen the slow shiftâyour distance, the way your smile thinned when Connor called, how your mom had ended up sitting on the edge of your bed more nights than one, gently trying to coax out what you were feeling. And your dadâs joke about âshooting him if he stepped out of lineâ had become less of a joke over timeâbecause you knew he meant it. If Connor ever hurt you, really hurt you, your dad wouldnât hesitate.
Your mom set her fork down, her face softening. âOh, sweetheartâŚâ she murmured.
Your dad cleared his throat quietly, his eyes fixed on you with an unexpected seriousness.
You swallowed, unsure what to say next, the air thick with the aftermath of your confession.
Your dad cleared his throat, setting his fork down with a quiet clink.
âDo I need to go to his house?â he asked, voice low but steady. âGive him a little chat?â
You knew that lookâstern, controlled, the same expression he used with criminals who swore they didnât know why theyâd been arrested. If you so much as nodded, heâd be grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.
But you shook your head softly.
âNo, itâs okay, Dad. Just⌠wasnât working out anymore.â You lifted one shoulder in a small shrug, trying to make the whole thing feel smaller than it was.
Your dad exhaled through his nose, humming in understanding, though his jaw was still tight. He didnât like seeing you hurt. Not ever.
Dinner after that was lighter. The three of you eased into safer topicsâwork stories from your mom, a funny situation at the station from your dad, and a few comments about the movie theyâd watched last night. It was familiar and comforting, the soft clatter of cutlery and low hum of family chatter wrapping around you like a blanket.
When the plates were clean, your mom stood and stretched. âAlright, sweetheart. Dishes.â You nodded automatically. There was no universe in which you could avoid dish duty, breakup or not.
You stacked plates into the sink and started the warm water. The kitchen felt softer now, lit only by the overhead light and the faint glow from the living room. You were halfway through scrubbing a casserole dish when you heard footsteps, and your dad came to lean against the counter beside you.
âI got some Nanaimo bars,â he said casually, like he hadnât been watching you all dinner. âWe could have a couple. Put on a movie.â
You paused, glancing up at him. He was tryingâtrying to pull you out of your own head, trying to give you something to look forward to, trying to make sure today didnât end with you alone in your room replaying every painful detail. He wasnât perfect, but he cared. Deeply.
A genuine smile tugged at your mouth.
âYeah⌠thatâd be nice, Dad.â
His face softened. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, warm and familiar. âAlright,â he murmured, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze before straightening. âIâll set it up.â
You watched him walk out of the kitchenâpausing only long enough to snag the box of Nanaimo bars off the counter like a kid stealing cookies.
You gave a small smile before turning back to the dishes, finishing them with careful, methodical movements. Once the last plate was rinsed and set on the drying rack, you pushed your sleeves down and wiped your hands on a dish towel.
Heading into the living room, you found your dad already settled in his chair, a box of Nanaimo bars resting on his stomach. He glanced up as you entered and offered the box with a small, knowing smile.
âWant one?â he asked.
You returned his smile, reaching out to take a bar before settling onto the couch between your parents. The movie played softly on the screen, and for the first time in hours, you felt a quiet sort of peace. Warmth from the room, the soft laughter of the film, and the comfort of being with your family wrapped around you like a blanket.
For a little while, the heartbreak, the stress, and even the memory of your exâs words faded into the background. You could just⌠be.
Steve stepped inside his house, expecting the usual chaos of his parents moving around, but the place was silentâtoo silent. He frowned, taking his shoes off by the door. This was becoming a pattern, and he hated it. They were never home anymore, leaving him alone with nothing but the hum of the empty house.
He trudged into the kitchen, his socks gliding slightly against the floor, and noticed the blinking light on the phone. Picking it up, he pressed play on the message. His parents cheerful voices filled the room, telling him theyâd gone out for supper and left some money on the counter for pizza.
Steve let out a frustrated sigh, tossing his head back. Of course. They were never around. He jabbed a finger at the cash left neatly on the counter and muttered under his breath.
Steve stood in the quiet kitchen, arms crossed as he stared at the money on the counter. He thought about calling you over, sharing a pizza, just hanging outâbut he knew your parents were probably home, already had dinner planned. His chest tightened, a mix of frustration and disappointment settling in. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head and muttered, âGuess itâs just me tonight.â He grabbed the phone and ordered a pizza for himself, feeling the empty weight of the house pressing in around him.
The next morning, you woke up earlier than usual, the soft light of dawn spilling through your window. You moved through your morning routine on autopilotâquick shower, brushing your teeth, getting dressed. Today, you decided to leave your hair natural, letting it fall around your shoulders.
Stepping out of the bathroom and into your room, you paused for a moment, letting your eyes scan the wardrobe as if it held the answer to the day. After a momentâs thought, you settled on black bell-bottom jeans paired with a simple black tank top, layered with a green flannel for a touch of color. You kept your makeup light, just enough to highlight your features, and added your usual jewelry and a spritz of perfume. With your bag slung over your shoulder, you took a final glance at yourself in the mirror before heading upstairs.
You found your dad sitting at the dining table in his cop uniform, eyes scanning a paper with a Diet Pepsi resting beside him. You chuckled softly as you made your way into the kitchen. âReally, Dad? Pop at seven in the morning?â you teased.
He let out a soft laugh. âYou know I donât like coffee, baby,â he said, and you nodded in agreement.
Grabbing an apple, you took a bite, enjoying the crisp sweetness. Your dad placed his car keys on the table without looking up from his paper. âTake my car today,â he said.
You froze. Your dad never let you take his car. Hesitantly, you reached for the keys. âYou sure?â
He nodded. âYeah. Hopper and I are going for breakfast, and he said heâd pick me up. Be careful with her, okay?â
âI will. Yes, Iâll be careful,â you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.
âOkay, good. Now go to school, or youâll be late,â he said.
You finished the apple quickly, planting a quick kiss on the top of his head before heading to the front door. âLove you!â you called out, your heart fluttering with excitement at the thought of driving your dadâs car for the first time.
You slid into the driverâs seat of your dadâs 1967 Chevy Impala, running your fingers over the worn leather of the steering wheel. It was a beautiful car, one he treated like it was his own child, cared for meticulously. It felt almost wrong to be behind the wheel, yet the excitement bubbling in your chest was impossible to ignore. You popped one of your dadâs cassettes into the playerâA-ha, one of his favorites, and somehow one of yours too from all the hours youâd spent listening together. As the opening notes filled the car, you eased out of the driveway, a grin spreading across your face. There was something undeniably cool about driving your dadâs car to school, the morning sunlight glinting off the polished chrome as you cruised down the street.
The drive to school felt almost surreal. The crisp morning air filled the car as A-haâs familiar synth lines floated through the cassette player, and for a moment, the world outside seemed quieter, slower. The events of yesterday still weighed heavily on your chest, but the sharp sting had softened just enough that it no longer felt unbearable. You traced your fingers over the steering wheel, letting the hum of the engine and the music lull your thoughts, though your mind kept drifting back to Steve.
Would he notice you today? Would he smile, maybe even say something, or would he pretend like nothing had happened, like yesterday never occurred? Your ex had a way of ignoring you even in the same room, making you feel invisible, like your presence didnât matter at all. And somehow, the idea that Steve might do the same made your stomach twist. But he wouldnât, would he? He had stayed last night, listened to you, comforted you without ever making you feel like a burden.
You caught yourself hoping heâd notice you today, hoping heâd meet your gaze in the crowded hallways, and a small, almost shy smile tugged at your lips. Why did it matter so much? You werenât sure. Maybe it was because heâd shown you that someone could see youâreally see youâand it felt like a warmth you hadnât realized youâd been missing.
Glancing at the rearview mirror, you took a deep breath. You had survived yesterday. You had survived the fight, the humiliation, and the heartbreak, and now you were heading into a day that felt⌠lighter, somehow. Not completely free of worry or sadness, but lighter. Stronger.
The familiar streets of Hawkins slowly came into view, the sun casting a soft glow across the houses and trees. You slowed down at a stop sign, watching a few students shuffle to school, backpacks slung over their shoulders. Your heart gave a little flip at the thought of seeing Steve walk through those halls. Would he be with Robin or Dustin? Or maybe heâd notice you first.
Your hands tightened on the wheel for just a second before you shook them loose. You had to stop overthinking. One thing was certainâyou couldnât go back. You wouldnât go back. And the thought of seeing someone who had truly cared for you, someone who had made you feel like more than just a ghost, made your chest ache in a good way, like anticipation mixed with a touch of fear.
The school loomed ahead, a familiar, looming building buzzing with the energy of students. You pulled into the lot, heart still thudding, and parked the Impala with a careful precision your dad would have approved of. As you stepped out, the morning sunlight hit your face, and you closed your eyes for a moment, taking it in. You were alive. You were here. You were free.
A sharp honk pulled you out of your thoughts, and you turned just in time to see Steveâs Beamer glide up beside your dadâs Impala. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight, and then you caught sight of Robin in the passenger side, grinning. You waved enthusiastically, feeling a small rush of warmth seeing her.
Steve parked smoothly beside you, and Robin practically bounced out of the car, her eyes immediately roaming over the Impala. âOoo, you have your dadâs Impala today? Iâm surprised he actually let you take it,â she said, admiration dripping from every word.
You crossed your arms over your chest, a little pride swelling in your chest. âYeah, me too,â you said with a small smile. âHe said him and Hopper were getting breakfast, so he let me take it.â
Before you could add anything else, Steve stepped out of his car and let out a low whistle, eyes flicking over the sleek lines of your dadâs car. You glanced over your shoulder and caught him staring, his expression one of genuine awe. âJeez⌠sheâs a beauty,â he said, voice low and amused, his gaze lingering just a little longer than necessary.
When you glanced over at Steve, your heart skipped a beat for a moment. He was wearing simple Levi jeans and a blue crew neck, nothing fancy, yet he somehow looked effortlessly good. His hair was perfect, as it usually wasâwell, except for yesterdayâbut even slightly messy, it suited him, and you found yourself smiling at the sight. When he stood beside you, you caught a faint whiff of his cologne, and you couldnât help but melt at the scent. It was warm and intriguingâspicy, woodsy, with a hint of something floral. You couldnât quite place it, but all you knew was that it smelled good, like him, and it made your chest flutter in a way that surprised you.
You felt a faint heat rise to your cheeks, and a small, soft chuckle escaped you. You werenât entirely sure why you were blushingâmaybe it was the attention, or maybe it was Steveâs words and the way he looked at the Impala, like it was something more than just a car.
You nodded in agreement as you opened the car door and grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. Locking the Impala, you tucked the keys into your pocket with a small smile.
âHow fast does she go?â Steve asked, grabbing his bag from the trunk along with Robinâs and handing hers to her.
Robin raised an eyebrow, curiosity lighting her face. âYeah, Iâm wondering tooâhow fast can baby go?â
You shrugged, letting out a small laugh. âI⌠Iâm not really sure,â you admitted as the three of you started walking toward the school.
âThe fastest Iâve gone in the Beamer is 147 km/h,â Steve said matter-of-factly, a proud smirk tugging at his lips. You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him lightly with your elbow. âYeah, thatâs because itâs a new car, Harrington,â you giggled.
Steve pretended to clutch his side, staggering back a little as you gave him a playful elbow. âHey! Iâm sure your dad added some crazy mods onto the Impala to make it go faster,â he said with a smirk, leaning down just enough to meet your gaze.
You rolled your eyes, about to fire back a teasing comment, when Robin cut in before you could answer
âYeah, I remember that! We almost ended up in a ditch!â Robin exclaimed, throwing her hands up for emphasis.
Steve rolled his eyes, trying to keep a straight face. âNo, we werenât, Robin. No!â
âI swear, we were going too fast! The whole damn car started shaking and veered toward the ditch!â Robin insisted, her hands flailing dramatically.
You couldnât help but laugh, the sound light and carefree. âI believe you, Robin,â you said between giggles.
Steve let out a groan, but it wasnât an annoyed oneâmore playful, like he couldnât help but indulge the story.
As the three of you continued walking into the school, the laughter lingered, the teasing bouncing between you all.
âSee! Even she believes me, and she wasnât there!â Robin said, glancing at you with a triumphant smirk.
Steve chuckled, shaking his head. âOkay, fine, yeah, we almost went into the ditch. Keyword: almost.â
All three of you continued talking as you made your way to your lockers. Yours was right beside Robinâs, which made things easy as you unlocked it and began gathering your books for class. Steve leaned casually against the locker beside you, watching you with that familiar smirk playing on his lips.
âLetâs race after school,â Steve said, his smirk widening as his eyes met yours.
You blinked at him, wide-eyed. âRace? Are you trying to get my ass grounded?â you laughed, thinking he couldnât possibly be serious.
âI know a good place where we can race. No cops,â Steve said, trying to persuade you.
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. He actually was serious. You closed your locker, books in hand, and Steve raised an eyebrow. âSo⌠what do you say?â
You bit your lip, thinking it over. Shaking your head, you finally said, âNope. Doesnât sound like a good idea.â
Steveâs eyes widened in shock. âOh, come on! What could I do to make you race me?â
A smile crept across your face as an idea struck. âWe go to McDonaldâs after, and you pay for me. Whatever I want,â you said, looking up at him, fully expecting him to say no.
But he didnât hesitate. âDeal!â he said, and you rolled your eyes playfully.
The bell rang just then, and Robin breezed past you, waving over her shoulder. âSee you lovebirds later!â she called, disappearing into the halls.
You and Steve both flushed at her words but didnât respond. Instead, you glanced at him as you started walking toward your first class.
âIf I get in trouble, Steve Harrington, Iâm throwing you under the bus. Youâll deal with my dad,â you laughed, shaking your head.
âFine by me!â Steve called after you, grinning as he followed along.
You looked back at him and giggled. âGo get your stuff for class, silly. You donât have chemistry,â you said.
âYes, maâam,â he said, still smiling, and wandered off down a different hallwayâbut not before taking one last glance back at you.
When Steve walked into the other hallway, he couldnât stop the smile tugging at his lips. The image of you climbing out of your dadâs Impala kept replaying in his headâGod, you looked good behind the wheel of that car. He kept imagining how badass youâd look racing him later, how effortlessly cool⌠how hot.
He hadnât meant to stare when he stepped out of his Beamer, but the sight of you had caught him off guard. The black bell-bottom jeans that fit you just right, the simple tank top under your flannelâcasual, but somehow perfect on you. And your hair, falling loose over your shoulders, catching the morning light as if it were something out of a movie. Even your perfume lingered in his senses, soft and warm, the kind of scent that stuck in his head long after you walked away.
He tried not to overthink it, but there was something about youâsomething magnetic, something he couldnât pull himself away from even if he wanted to. Everything you did, every little detail about you, felt⌠entrancing.
Steve shoved his bag into his locker and grabbed the binder he needed for English, though he already knew he was late. The bell had rung a full minute ago, and Mrs. McCall would definitely tear into him for it, but⌠honestly? He couldnât bring himself to care. Not today.
He clicked his locker shut and started down the hallway at a lazy pace, hand tucked into the pockets of his jeans as his mind drifted right back to youâbecause lately, it always seemed to drift to you.
He replayed the morning over and over. The way you smiled when you saw Robin. The way you laughed when he bragged about his Beamer. The way you bit your lip when he asked you to race himâlike you knew you should say no, but he could see the thrill in your eyes.
And God, he hoped youâd hang out with him at lunch.
His chest tightened at the thoughtâstupid, teenage hope twisting itself into a knot. Maybe youâd eat with him and Robin in the cafeteria. Or maybe youâd sit outside if it was nice out. Maybe heâd get the chance to make you laugh again, to watch that scrunch of your nose when you tried not to smile too hard.
He didnât know why it mattered so much. It just did.
Lost in his daydream, Steve slowed even more, dragging his fingers through his hair as he imagined what heâd sayâsomething cool, or funny, or at least not completely embarrassing. Anything to keep that spark in your eyes when you looked at him.
Late for English or not, he couldnât stop the grin forming on his face.
He really, really hoped youâd say yes.
It wasnât usually this badâmost days you actually liked the classâbut today, every minute felt painfull slow. You kept sneaking glances at the clock, hoping the hands might jump ahead out of mercy, but every time you checked, it looked like theyâd barely moved at all. Torture.
You slumped deeper into your seat, twirling your pen as you doodled aimlessly along the margin of your worksheet. Shapes, little spirals, a half-finished flowerâanything to keep your mind from melting into boredom. But it didnât stay on the paper for long. It drifted, circling back to the only thing that had really been sitting in your chest all morning.
The way his eyes lit up when you agreed to race him. The stupid, smug grin he wore like heâd just won the lottery. The way he leaned against your locker like he belonged there, talking you into something that shouldâve been a terrible idea.
And it was a terrible idea.
Your first time driving your dadâs Impala by yourself, and you agreed to race in it. If you dented itâhell, even scratched itâyou could already imagine the lecture⌠and the funeral arrangements. For yourself.
But that wasnât the part that stuck with you.
The wrongness of it. The rush curling low in your stomach every time you pictured the stretch of empty road Steve claimed had âno cops.â Your dad would kill youâbut something about the whole thing made you want to do it even more.
Maybe it was rebellion. Maybe it was adrenaline.
Or maybe it was the way Steve Harrington couldnât stop smiling at you this morning, like the idea of racing you was the best thing to happen to him all week.
You tapped your pen against the page, heart fluttering as you tried to focus on the formula written on the board. No use. Your brain was already out in the parking lot, engine revving, Steve smirking at you through his open window.
Finallyâmercifullyâchemistry ended. You packed your things faster than the rest of the class and slipped into the hallway, swallowed instantly by the usual break time chaos.
Youâd barely taken ten steps when you felt a tap on your shoulder.
You turned, half-expecting Robin⌠but instead found Eddie Munson grinning at you like a gremlin caught doing something he very much planned. Your childhood best friendâolder than you, yet somehow still a grade behindâleaned his elbow dramatically against a locker.
âHey, Eds,â you said, unable to hide your smile.
His eyes immediately dropped to your pocket where he knew the Impala keys were. He wiggled his eyebrows. âI see youâve got Baby today.â
You snorted. âYes, I do. I donât know what possessed my dad to hand over his car but⌠here we are.â
Eddie nodded solemnly, because he knew firsthand how your dads entire soul lived inside that Impala.
âSoâŚâ Eddie began, drawing the word out like he was about to propose something outrageous. You groaned instantly, spinning on your heel and marching down the hall. âNope. Whatever it isâno. Absolutely not.â
You heard him jog after you. âPleaseâjust hear me out. I swear this is the last time.â
You stopped in front of your locker and leveled him with a look. Eddie stood there, all hopeful eyes and pressing his hands together, fully aware you almost never told him no.
âI forgot a few things at the trailer,â he confessed, âand Iâve got band practice after lunch. If I show up without my stuff, the guys will actually murder me. Likeâphysically end my existence.â You exhaled sharply as you switched out your textbooks. âEddie, you need to keep track of your crap better. You canât rely on me to rescue you every time.â
âYeah, yeah, responsible adult voice, I hear it.â He leaned his shoulder into the locker near yours. âBut come onâyouâve basically been our unofficial band mom since we were twelve. You canât abandon your children now.â
You paused, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. ââŚYouâre making it weird,â you deadpanned, though a reluctant laugh escaped.
Eddieâs grin grew, those pleading puppy-dog eyes settling on youâthe ones he absolutely weaponized.
You groaned, defeated. âFine! But this is the last time I save your ass, Munson.â
Instantly, Eddie swept you into a bone-crushing hug that made a few sophomores jump out of the way. âThank youâgod, you are the best,â he said before releasing you and backing away with dramatic flair. âMeet you at the Impala at lunch!â
And with that, he spun on his heel and strode off down the hallway, curls bouncing. You watched him go, exhaled a long suffering sigh⌠and found yourself smiling anyway.
Steve had watched most of your interaction with Eddie from across the hall on his way to your locker. He slowed down without meaning to, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of Eddie Munson of all people leaning against your locker like he belonged there. Steveâs brain scrambled for a reasonâany reasonâwhy Munson was talking to you. And when Eddie pulled you into a hug, Steve felt something sharp twist in his chest.
Steve already didnât like Eddieâheâd âstolenâ Dustin from him onceâand now seeing him near you only made that dislike worse.
He almost turned around right then. He shouldâve. But his feet wouldnât move, not until Eddie finally walked off, waving over his shoulder at you like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Before you could even breathe, Steve stepped into Eddieâs place, leaning his shoulder against your locker and nudging it just enough so youâd notice him.
You jumped, clutching your books closer. âJesusâSteve, you scared me.â He grinned, like that alone made showing up worth it. âSorry.â
But the smile faded fast. âWhy was freak Munson talking to you?â he asked, the word slipping out harsher than he intended.
You shot him a glare immediately.
Steve sighed and lifted his hands in surrender. âOkay, okayâsorry. That was⌠yeah. My bad.â
âHeâs not a freak,â you muttered as you shut your locker, balancing your books for next period. âHeâs just⌠different.â
Steve didnât argue, but he didnât agree either.
âHe asked me for a ride at lunch,â you continued, adjusting a notebook under your arm. âHe forgot something at home and needs it for after lunch.â
Steve nodded, but the disappointment hit him like a punch to the stomach. Great. Of course. Perfect. Why wouldnât Eddie need a lunch-time chauffeur today of all days? He tried to play it cool, but it still stung.
âWhyâd you ask?â you asked, brow lifting in curiosity.
âOh, no reason,â he said quickly. Too quickly. âJust wondering.â
You studied him for a second, then shrugged. âAnd heâs not weird, you know. If you actually got to know him, you might like him.â
Steve forced a smile that didnât quite reach his eyes. âYeah,â he said, nodding once. âIâm sure I would.â
He wasnât sure at all. But he was very sure he didnât like the idea of Eddie Munson getting even a second of your time when he had been hopingâno, practically counting onâspending lunch with you.
âExcited for after school?â you asked, steering the conversation away from the clearly awkward moment before.
Steve blinked at you for a second, then nodded. âOh yeah. Youâre so going to lose,â he said teasingly. You rolled your eyes at him, giggling. âIâd love to hear that once you lose.â
Steve raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. âIs that a challenge I hear?â
You smirked back up at him, letting the words linger. âMaybe,â you said, dragging out the âmaybeâ just enough to make him chuckle.
âOh, trust me, honey,â Steve said, his grin widening, âyour Impala is going to lose miserably to my Beamer.â You just nodded, pretending to agree. âYeah, yeah, whatever makes you feel better, Harrington,â you teased.
Steve laughed, the tension from earlier completely forgotten, swept away by your playful banter.
You and Steve kept talking the whole way to your English class, your shoulders brushing every so often as you walked. Neither of you even noticed that Steve was still carrying the books he had from first period instead of the ones he actually needed. You were both too caught up in conversation, laughing and teasing each other like nothing else in the hallway mattered.
But the second you stopped in front of your classroom door, you glanced downâand realized.
A small giggle slipped past your lips.
âSteve⌠you didnât get your stuff for class.â
Steve blinked, looking down at the wrong books in his hand, and an embarrassed flush crept up his neck. He tried to brush it off, clearing his throat as if it wasnât a big deal. âOh. Wellâ I have gym, so it doesnât matter if Iâm late.â He shrugged casually, though the pink on his cheeks betrayed him.
You shook your head, smiling as you hugged your binder to your chest. âWhatever you say, Harrington. I just donât wanna be the reason you get in trouble.â
Steve stepped back a little, shaking his head quickly. âOh, donât worry. Me and the gym teacher are tight. He wonât mind.â He insisted with this confident little grin.
You raised a brow at him, dragging out your words.
âIf you say sooooâŚâ
Steve watched the way you smirked at him, and he couldnât help but smile back.
You opened the door to your classroom, pausing in the doorway.
âSee you later,â you said softly, giving him a little wave.
And Steve just⌠stood there for a moment, watching you disappear into the room with that same easy smile on his lipsâlike he didnât even remember he was supposed to be somewhere else.
Steve finally made it to gym classâtwenty minutes late. And just like heâd promised, the teacher didnât bat an eye. Coach Peters just waved him in with a bored flick of the wrist, too focused on keeping a bunch of half-awake teenagers from wandering off to care about Steveâs timing.
They were doing basketball that day, something Steve normally didnât mind. Everyone was split into four teams for warmups, and Steve ended up with Tommy, Carol, and Connor.
He didnât mind Tommy and Carol so much. Tommy was being his usual loud self, and Carol kept complaining about how âbasketball is so stupid, my hair is gonna get frizzy,â while clinging to Tommyâs arm every five minutes. But at least they were predictable, and Steve had leveled out with them enough that it wasnât exhausting.
Yeah⌠that was a problem.
Your ex stood across from him, spinning the basketball in his hands with this bored, arrogant expression that made Steveâs jaw tighten. Every time Steve glanced his way, Connor was already glaring at himâthese sharp, irritated looks that practically asked, âYou got something to say, Harrington?â
Steve muttered under his breath as he passed the ball to Tommy.
âOf course the teacher puts me with him.â
And truthfully? Steve couldnât help himself. Every time Connorâs eyes met his, Steve shot a dirty look right back. The guy didnât deserve you. Not after everything you told Steve yesterday. And the fact that Connor was now acting pissed at him for simply existing made something inside Steve burn.
Connor passed the ball to Carol. She shrieked, fumbled it, and in her panic flung it straight at Steve. He caught it cleanly and started dribbling up the courtâonly to feel a shoulder slam hard into his side.
Steve nearly lost his footing, his sneakers squeaking violently across the polished floor. He planted his feet just in time, stopping himself from flying across the court. When he steadied, he shot Connor a lookâsharp, incredulous, a silent what the hell, man?
He made a swipe for the ball, but Steve pivoted, turning his back to him and shielding it with ease. Behind him, Connor let out a low, smug chuckleâtoo quiet for the teacher to hear.
âYou know sheâll come back to me, right?â he said.
Steve froze for a split second, eyebrows pinching in confusion. He didnât respond. He didnât want to give Connor the satisfaction. Instead, he tried to move around him, only for Connor to slide in front of him again, blocking him from the net with that same infuriating smirk plastered across his face. âTrying to steal my girl, Harrington?â Connor taunted. âHasnât even been a day.â
Steve rolled his eyes, jaw tightening. âIâm not trying to steal her,â he said, spotting Tommy open and firing the ball his way.
The ball left his hands, but Connor didnât chase it. He didnât even look. He just stepped closerâtoo closeâhis voice dropping low. âIâve seen you two around school,â he murmured. âBut I wonât let you take her from me.â
Steve felt something hot, coil in his chest. Anger. Disgust. Protective instinct. All of it at once.
But before he could say anything, Connor spun away, raising his voice like nothing had happened. âCAROL! Do something!â he barked across the court.
Carol jumped, Tommy yelled something about passing, and the game carried on like normal. But Steve stood there for a beat longer, heart pounding, Connorâs words echoing in his head.
I wonât let you take her from me.
Yeah. Steve didnât like the sound of that.
English finally let out, and you packed your things in a hurry. You slipped everything into your locker, shut it with a soft clang, and headed out into the crisp air. You half expected to see Steve leaning against the row of lockers like he usually did, but he wasnât there.
You didnât overthink itâmaybe his teacher held him back, you told yourself as you pushed open the doors and stepped into the parking lot.
Eddie was already waiting, leaning casually against the Impala with his foot kicked up against the tire, curls flowing in the wind. You couldnât help but smile at the sight of him.
But then you spotted someone else.
Steveâstanding at the open trunk of his Beamer, one arm raised as he swiped deodorant under his crewneck like he was trying to erase the gym class off him.
There he is, you thought, a little flutter in your chest.
âReady to rock and roll?â you asked Eddie as you unlocked the Impala.
âAlways,â Eddie grinned, pushing off the car.
You rounded toward the driverâs side, and your smile widened when you caught Steveâs eye. But instantly, you noticed itâthe scowl he wore like storm clouds had settled across his brow.
You slowed. âHey⌠you okay, Steve?â
He looked over at you mid-swipe, deodorant still in hand. He tried for a smile, but it didnât reach his eyes.
âYeah. Just had a rough class,â he said with a shrug. You nodded slowly. âOkay⌠I just wanted to make sure. You seemââ You cut yourself off. He didnât need you prying, not here, not now.
Steve capped the deodorant and tossed it into his trunk before slamming it shut a little too hard.
âDonât worry about me. Iâm good,â he insisted, offering another forced smile. Before you could answer, Eddie poked his head up from the passenger side, hand resting on the roof.
âHey! We gotta get going!â You sighed and shot him an exasperated look. âYeah, yeah, just give me a sec.â
Turning back to Steve, you softened your voice. âLike I was saying⌠we can talk later. After you lose to Baby. About class, I mean. Okay?â This time, Steveâs smile was realâcrooked, warm, the kind that softened something in your chest.
âSounds good. And I wonât lose,â he said confidently. You pretended to agree with a nod.
With that, you slid into the Impala, Eddie buckling in beside you as Steve watchedâtrying his best to act like everything was fine.
Steve stood there in the parking lot, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans as he watched you and Eddie pull out of the space. You gave him a quick wave through the window, and he lifted his hand automatically, returning it with a small, almost shy smile.
He stayed there even after the Impala had fully rolled out onto the roadâits engine rumbling low and powerful, sunlight glinting off the deep, glossy black paint. As much as it twisted something in his chest seeing Eddie in the passenger seat, he couldnât deny it.
Damn, he thought, letting out a slow breath.
Your dadâs Impala really was a gorgeous carâclassic, well taken care of. The kind of car people turned around to look at twice.
And seeing you behind the wheel?
Yeah. Heâd be thinking about that for the rest of the day.
Black Sabbath rumbled low through the Impalaâs speakers, the bass vibrating faintly through the wheel beneath your hands. The sky was a bright blue as you and Eddie cruised toward the trailer park. Windows cracked just enough to let the cool air mix with the music.
Eddie was leaning back in the passenger seat, fingers tapping along to the music as the Impala roared down the road. Youâd been talking about old memories, dumb stuff from middle school, and just catching up after months of barely seeing each other.
Then Eddie said itâso casually, you almost missed it.
âSo⌠your boyfriend not here today?â
You flicked your eyes over at him, surprised. Right. You thought. He still didnât know. A breathy laugh slipped out of you, almost sounding like a sigh.
âI donât really know,â you said, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel. âI broke up with him yesterday.â
Eddieâs head snapped toward you so fast that you heard the movement of his jacket.
âYes way,â you repeated, watching the road. A grin broke across his face, full teeth, full Eddie energy.
âOh my god! Finally!â he practically yelled, slapping his hand on the dashboard like he was applauding you.
You groaned. âEddieââ
âNo, no, no, you donât get it,â he laughed. âI was this close to staging an intervention. That dude sucked.â
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. It was impossible not to. âAre you done praising my breakup yet?â you teased.
âNot even close,â Eddie said, turning in his seat to face you fully. âThis is a celebration. This is freedom. Youâre, like, unchained now.â
You shoved his arm lightly, nearly making him drop his hand. âJustâ behave,â you said, laughing.
Eddie put both hands up like he was surrendering. âFine, fine. But when we get to the trailer, Iâm telling Wayne. That man deserves the good news.â
You groaned again. âEddieâŚâ
âToo late,â he smirked. âHeâs gonna be so proud of you.â
You just shook your head, biting back another smile, Eddie still celebrating like youâd won the lottery.
You two were halfway through a story about something dumb you did when you were twelve when Eddie shot you a lookâone of those smug, knowing ones.
âSo you and Steve, huh?â he teased, wiggling his brows like a cartoon character
You cut your eyes toward him, already rolling them before you looked back at the road. âItâs not like that. Weâre just friends.â
âMmhm.â Eddie hummed dramatically, leaning back and crossing his arms like he was preparing a closing argument. âRight. Sure. Just⌠yâknow, make sure Iâm invited to the wedding.â
You snorted, covering it with a laugh as you took the next turn. âYeah, alright. I expect a cruise as our honeymoon gift, then.â
Eddie barked out a laugh, loud enough to drown the guitar riff for a second. âOh, absolutely. Once my band gets big? Iâll buy you two a whole damn island.â
That made you laugh harder, shaking your head. âYeah, yeah. You better put that in writing.â
âPlease.â Eddie grinned, kicking his boots up on the dashboard for exactly three seconds before your glare made him drop them. âIâm practically manifesting your future for you. I should charge.â
You nudged him with your elbow, the car filled with warmth and guitar. âYou really need to stop. Steve and I are just friends.â
Eddie didnât say anything this timeâjust smirked, that same yeah right expression plastered all over his face as the trailer parkâs gravel roads came into view.
You pulled up along the gravel shoulder in front of Eddieâs trailer, the Impalaâs engine rumbling to a stop. The moment you climbed out, the warm air hit you, carrying that faint smell of pine and cigarette smoke that always clung to Forest Hills.
Eddie led the way, boots crunching on the gravel, and pushed the door open without knocking. You followed him inside, kicking off your shoes as the familiar warmth of the trailer washed over you.
Wayne was on the couch, half-watching the TV with a cup of coffee going cold beside him. His face lit up the second he saw you.
âWell hey there,â he said, rising to his feet. âHi, Wayne,â you greeted, smiling as he pulled you into one of those steady, grounding hugs that only Wayne Munson seemed to know how to give.
âHow are you, sweetheart?â he asked as he stepped back. âNot too shabby,â you said with a small shrug.
âShe finally broke up with her douche of a boyfriend,â Eddie called out on his way down the hall, already halfway to his room.
âHey!â you snapped after him, more annoyed at the phrasing than the truth. You turned back to Wayne, cheeks a little warm. Wayneâs eyebrows rose. âThat so?â You sighed and nodded. âUnfortunately.â
A slow smile crept across his face as he rested a hand on your shoulder. âGood for you, kid. You were too pretty for him anyway.â Your laugh came out small and awkward. âThanks,â you murmured.
Wayne gave your arm a gentle pat. âGo on now. Help Eddie grab his things before he forgets half of âem.â
You huffed out a breathâbecause he absolutely wouldâand headed down the hall after Eddie, the sound of him already rummaging through a disaster of laundry and guitar cables.
âSo, what do you need?â you asked, settling onto Eddieâs bed as he rummaged through his pile of stuffâcables, notebooks, an amp. He glanced over at his guitar, then motioned toward it with a nod.
âCould you grab her? My hands are full,â he said, already starting toward the door. You nodded and reached for the guitar, following close behind. âYou left a lot of stuff, Eddie,â Wayne called from the couch, watching you both walk out Eddie's room.
âYeah,â Eddie replied casually, shrugging as if it were no big deal.
You rolled your eyes. âFrom how you made it sound, you only forgot a notebook,â you said, slipping your shoes on. âSame old Eddie,â Wayne laughed, shaking his head.
âBye, see you later,â Eddie called over his shoulder as he stepped out of the trailer, his hands full of stuff.
âBye, Wayne, take care,â you said with a warm smile, giving the older man a little wave. âYou too, kiddo,â Wayne replied, his eyes crinkling as he waved back.
You followed Eddie to the Impala, the afternoon sun glinting off its polished black paint. Eddie began unloading his gear into the trunk, tossing in cables, notebook, and his amp with ease. You carefully lifted his guitar, feeling the weight of it in your arms, and slid it gently into the back seat, making sure it wouldnât tip over. Once everything was secured, you closed the trunk with a soft thud and climbed into the driverâs seat.
âThanks, you really saved my ass,â Eddie said, snapping his seatbelt into place, a relieved grin on his face. âNo problem,â you replied, adjusting your grip on the steering wheel. âBut this is the last time, Eddie. Seriously.â
âI hear you loud and clear,â he said, leaning back in his seat and stretching his arms out, the corners of his mouth lifting into a mischievous smile. You started the car, the engine humming smoothly under your hands as you pulled out of the trailer park onto the main road. The wind from the open windows carried the scent of fresh asphalt and the faint tang of Eddieâs cologne, and you felt a small thrill as the Impala rolled forward. With Eddie riding shotgun, the two of you headed back toward school, the afternoon sun painting long shadows across the dashboard and the road ahead.
School had finally ended. The last two classes had dragged on, as usual, but your mind wasnât on homework or lecturesâit was on the race with Steve. More importantly, it was on seeing him. And, well⌠on the free food youâd get, which, letâs be honest, mattered just as much, whether you won or lost.
You slung your bag over your shoulder and walked down the crowded hallway, Robin chatting animatedly beside you about Vicky and how âstunningâ she was. You had tried to convince Robin to befriend her, just to see if Vicky would be into her as well, but Robin had flatly refused. âNo way. Thatâd be way too embarrassing,â she had said, rolling her eyes so hard you almost felt them spin. You had simply shrugged and kept walking.
As you approached the exit, you felt an arm drape across your shoulders. You looked up to see Steve, grinning down at you like heâd just won some secret lottery. âReady to lose?â he teased.
You rolled your eyes at him. âStop projecting, Harrington,â you shot back, smirking.
Steve laughed, the sound warm and teasing, and you couldnât help but feel your chest lift a little. âOh, come on, guys! I just want to go home, not race with you!â Robin groaned from beside you, clearly fed up with the two of you.
Steve lifted his arm and let it drop, and you felt a pang of disappointment at the empty space where heâd been leaning. But then he stepped in front of Robin, a sly grin on his face.
âAh, donât get your panties in a twist,â he said, voice low and playful. âIâll drop you off before we do that.â Robin pressed her hands together, closed her eyes, and let out a dramatic sigh of relief. âOh, thank the Lord,â she murmured.
You laughed softly, watching the playful exchange, and felt a little thrill at the thought of racing Steve later. Something about the way he moved, the way he teasedâit made the afternoon feel lighter, full of promise, like anything could happen once the school doors were behind you.
You tossed your bag into the back seat and closed the door with a soft thud. Turning, you wrapped Robin in a tight hug. âSee you tomorrow. Love you,â you said warmly. She smiled back, hopping into Steveâs passenger seat. âYeah, love you too,â she called out as she settled in.
You turned your attention to Steve, who was standing by the driverâs side of his Beamer, eyes fixed on you. âMeet me at Skull Rock?â he asked, voice low and easy.
You nodded. âWhat time do you think youâll be there?â you asked as you opened your door.
Steve tilted his head, thinking for a moment. âA bit after five. Is that good?â
âThatâs perfect,â you said with a soft smile. Steve returned the smile, a hint of mischief in his eyes. âSee you later,â he said.
âSee you later,â you echoed, your heart giving a little flip as you watched him get into his car and drive off, the afternoon suddenly feeling electric with anticipation.
You pulled out of the school lot, the engine of the Impala rumbling beneath you, music blasting as you sang along at the top of your lungs. The wind whipped through your hair, tangling it around your face, and for a moment, you just let yourself enjoy the freedom. You werenât exactly sure what to expect at Skull Rockânot who would win, not how the race would goâbut the thrill of it made your heart race. Steve had a newer car, sure, but you were confident your dad had added a few hidden mods to make Baby even faster.
As you rounded a corner, a gas station came into view, a small red-and-white building with a payphone out front. Shit, I should probably call Dad, you thought, easing the Impala into a parking spot. You grabbed a handful of quarters and stepped out, the late afternoon sun warming your skin as you made your way to the phone. Your dad could still be at the stationâor maybe already on his way homeâbut you figured it was better to check in.
Sliding a quarter into the slot, you dialed his work number. After a few rings, you heard his familiar voice.
âHello, Hawkins Police Station,â he said.
âHey, Dad,â you said, leaning against the glass of the phone booth. âIâm going to be out for a bit.â
âOkay,â he replied. âIf you use a lot of my gas, please fill her back up.â
âWill do, Dad. Love you. See you later.â
âLove you too, kiddo. Be safe,â he said warmly. You hung up, sliding the receiver back into place. With a quick glance at the Impala, you grinned, climbed in, and started the engine. The roar of the car was music in itself as you pulled back onto the road, eyes set on Skull Rock, anticipation and excitement bubbling in your chest.
You pulled the Impala up to the side of the road near Skull Rock. I think this is where he meant, you thought, glancing around at the rocky outcropping ahead. Parking carefully, you leaned back in your seat and caught your reflection in the rearview mirror.
Your fingers fumbled into the backseat for your bag, and you pulled out your lipstick. Gently, you applied it, tapping the color in with your finger to soften it. Satisfied, you put it back and grabbed your perfume, giving yourself a light spritz. The familiar, sweet scent lingered, comforting.
You slid the bag onto the passenger seat and leaned back, letting out a small sigh. The wind rustled through the trees, and the distant hum of traffic reached your ears, but you tuned it all out, lowering the music so youâd hear Steve pull up.
Your eyes flicked to your wrist, checking the time: 4:56. He should be here soon, you thought, a mix of excitement and nerves settling in your chest.
You sat in the Impala, engine humming softly, hands resting on the wheel, music turned down just enough to hear Steveâs Beamer rolling up behind you. The moment he pulled up, you caught a glimpse of his smirk in the side mirror. He leaned casually towards his opem passenger window, clearly trying to look unbotheredâbut you could see the eagerness in his eyes.
âReady to lose?â he called, voice teasing as he straightened up, running a hand through his perfect hair.
âNot a chance, Harrington,â you shot back, smirking, feeling your chest tighten with excitement. Baby rumbled beneath you like she understood the stakes, vibrating in anticipation.
Steveâs grin widened, and he tapped the hood of the Beamer. âOh, weâll see about that. You sure youâre ready to see my Beamer eat that Impala alive?â
You laughed softly, shaking your head. âYouâre dreaming if you think Babyâs going down without a fight.â
Steve leaned out the Beamerâs window, pointing down the stretch of road. âAlright, the finish lineâs just past that bend,â he said, nodding toward a faint line of chalk scrawled across the asphalt. âI marked it earlierâshould be about fifty feet from that oak tree. The first one past the chalk? Wins.â
There was a brief pause as both of you sized each other up, engines idling, the tension between you as electric as the asphalt under the tires. You could see Steveâs gaze flick to your hands on the wheel, your eyes fixed forward, and for a second, everything else fadedâthe world narrowed down to the two of you and the stretch of road ahead.
âThree⌠two⌠one⌠GO!â
And just like that, you were off, tires screeching slightly as the Impala lunged forward. The Beamer responded immediately, sleek and precise, but the torque of Babyâs V8, plus the hidden mods your dad had thrown in, gave you the edge. Steveâs laugh rang out beside you, half thrill, half mock protest.
âYouâre going down!â he shouted over the sound of the engines, weaving slightly as he tried to pull ahead.
âNot today!â you yelled back, adrenaline surging as the wind whipped past, hair flying. The Impala surged forward, rumbling like a beast, and for a heartbeat, it was neck-and-neck.
Steve glanced over, eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and admiration. âOkay⌠okay, maybe your dad did something to that car,â he laughed, trying to keep pace.
You just grinned, leaning slightly into the wheel, feeling Baby respond perfectly to every turn, every push. The finish line loomed aheadâa rough chalk line scratched into the pavementâand with a final surge, the Impala edged ahead, crossing just before the Beamer.
You slammed the brakes, heart hammering, and looked over to see Steve pulling up beside you, laughing and shaking his head.
âYou⌠cheating!â he exclaimed, mocking outrage written all over his face. âCheating?â You teased back, smirking. âI didnât even have to!â
Steve leaned back against his seat, smirk softening into something warmer. âAlright⌠alright, maybe your dadâs mods arenât entirely fair.â
You laughed, you couldnât help the flutter in your stomach at the way he was looking at youâhalf playful, half impressed, and entirely Steve.
You stepped outside of the Impala, the leather seats still warm from the drive, and quickly grabbed your pack of menthol cigarettes from your bag. You lit one and took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl lazily in the crisp evening air before making your way over to Steveâs driver side of the car.
He had already gotten out, leaning against his Beamer with his arms crossed and that infuriatingly playful smirk plastered across his face. âI didnât know the Impala would smoke me out,â he said with a laugh, eyes flicking over the sleek black car like it was some kind of trophy.
You giggled, holding your cigarette between your fingers and tilting your head at him. âTold you Iâd win,â you said with a proud little smile, feeling your chest swell with satisfaction.
Steve feigned a look of hurt, shaking his head dramatically. âNot fair, though. Your dad definitely put some crazy mods on that car. If he didnât, I totally wouldâve won,â he said, his voice dripping with mock indignation.
You just nodded, blowing a thin stream of smoke into the air. âWhatever makes you feel better,â you teased, letting your grin linger.
Steve stepped a little closer, the evening sun catching the highlights in his hair, and tilted his head at you. âYeah, yeah⌠donât let it get to your head, honey. But Iâve got to admit, you handled that Impala pretty damn well. Kinda impressive,â he said, his smirk softening into something almost⌠genuine.
You felt your chest tighten slightly at the compliment, taking another drag and flicking the ash to the side. âTold you I could do it,â you said lightly, leaning casually against the car, though your heart was doing a little flip in your chest.
Steveâs eyes never left yours, playful and challenging all at once. âOkay, okay⌠todayâs yours. But donât think Iâm letting you have an easy win next time,â he said, voice low, teasing, yet there was something in the way he said it that made your stomach flutter.
You laughed softly. âNext time, Iâll win... again,â you teased, feeling the adrenaline from the race and the evening air tingle in your veins still.
Steve chuckled and leaned back against his Beamer, hands sliding into his pockets. âDon't get too cocky, now â he said, his gaze lingering just a little too long as the wind played with his hair.
You exhaled a thin stream of smoke, letting it curl into the evening air before glancing up at him. âWhyâd you seem upset earlier?â you asked, leaning casually against his Beamer, the metal cool against your arm.
Steve shifted slightly, as if caught off guard by the question, one hand running through his hair. He let out a soft chuckle, more nervous than amused. âItâs⌠nothing. Just stuff from class, doesnât matter,â he said, though the tight line of his jaw betrayed him.
You raised an eyebrow, taking another slow drag from your cigarette. âMm-hmm,â you said, voice gentle but teasing. âLooked like it mattered a little, though.â
Steve glanced over at you and let out a soft chuckle. âOkay, maybe a little,â he admitted with a shrug.
You waited for him to continue, but he hesitated, then cut himself off. âUhânever mind,â he mumbled. He didnât want to worry you about what your ex had said.
You raised an eyebrow, trying to coax him. âCome on, Steve. You can tell me,â you said, your voice gentle but persuasive.
He let out a long exhale, running a hand through his hair. âI just⌠donât want to worry you,â he said, looking away for a moment. âWhy would I be worried?â you asked, confused, tilting your head slightly.
Steveâs eyes met yours, and he lingered there for a moment, debating howâor ifâhe should bring up that your ex had claimed you were âhisâ and that Steve was trying to âstealâ you. He shook his head slightly, brushing it off. âItâs just⌠stupid, really,â he muttered, forcing a small smile.
Trying to move away from the tension, he shifted gears. âAre you hungry?â he asked, more casually. âCause Iâm starving,â he continued with a hopeful grin. âI really want a Big Mac.â
You blinked at him, still confused about why he wouldnât open up, but finally nodded. âYeah, I am too,â you said.
Steve exhaled softly, relief washing over him. Good, he thought.
âRace you to McDonaldâs?â he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips as he opened the door to his Beamer. You flicked your cigarette away and smirked back at him, sliding into the Impala. âOh yeah,â you said, your eyes sparkling with challenge.
You jumped into the Impala, slamming the door shut as your pulse hammered with excitement. Both you and Steve circled around the patch of dirt until you were lined up perfectly, facing the long stretch of road back toward Hawkins. His Beamer idled loud and clean beside you; your Impala growled, the engine vibrating through your chest like a heartbeat.
You rolled the window down. Steve did the same, leaning halfway out his window, one arm hanging over the door as he looked at you with that cocky grin.
âOn the count of three!â you shouted over the thunder of both engines.
"Don't cheat this time!â Steve yelled back, pointing a finger at you.
You scoffed and rolled your eyes hard. âI didnât cheat!â
Steve only shook his head like he didnât believe a single word, that stupid smirk refusing to leave his face.
You shot him a glareâthen broke into a grin.
âOne!â you shouted, gripping the wheel tighter.
Both engines roared louder, vibrating through the ground.
Steve leaned forward, ready to launch.
Steveâs tires screamed against the pavement as he shot forward.
âThat cheater!â you yelled, pushing down hard on the gas. The Impala lurched forward so fast it slammed you back into your seat.
âCome on, babyâcome on!â you muttered to the wheel as the speedometer climbed.
The Impala rattled, the wind shaking her frame, but she held strongâyour dad definitely tinkered with her more than he admitted. The Beamerâs taillights grew closer and closer until you were nearly right beside him.
Steve looked over his shoulder at you, hair wild from the wind, eyes sparkling. He winkedâactually winkedâbefore stepping harder on the gas.
âThat fucker!â you barked out, shoving your foot fully down on the pedal.
The Impala roared in protest, then surged forward. You were only a hair behind him nowâyour front bumper kissing the back corner of his Beamer. Both cars tore down the road, engines screaming, the world blurring into streaks of green and gold around you.
You clenched the wheel, breathing fast and loud, eyes laser-focused on the stretch ahead.
Just a little more speed.
And Steve Harrington knew it.
You both continued down the road, engines roaring against the stretch of dark highway as Hawkins blurred behind you. The road started to curveâsharp, mean twists that you knew Baby hated. You muttered a quiet curse under your breath and eased off the gas, the Impala groaning in protest.
Ahead, Steve didnât slow. Of course he didnât. His taillights carved red streaks through the dark as he maintained his pace, getting farther and farther ahead of you with every bend.
âShow-off,â you hissed, tightening your grip on the wheel. Another curve. Then another. The trees were leaning in close now, like they were waiting to catch someone slipping.
You wanted to speed upâGod, you wanted to wipe that smug grin off Steve Harringtonâs faceâbut you couldnât. Baby could go fast, but she wasnât built for high-speed snake roads like this. Not without biting back.
Then the next curve came at you too fast.
Your tires screamed before you did. The back end of the Impala fishtailed hard, jerking sideways as the world tilted. You yanked the steering wheel, trying to counter the skid, trying to keep controlâ
But for a split second, the car was gliding, weightless, pointed directly at a tree.
âOh shit!â you shouted, heart slamming against your ribs. You twisted the wheel again, foot tapping wildly between brake and gas, and somehowâmiraculouslyâthe car snapped back to the road. Gravel spat out behind you as you veered away from the tree by inches. Actual inches.
Your heart was pounding so hard you swore you could hear it over the engine. Your palms were slick on the wheel. You were pretty sure your soul had briefly left your body, taken a lap around the moon, and crash-landed back into your chest.
You noticed Steveâs taillights disappear for a secondâthen suddenly stop a few feet ahead. You eased Baby to a shaky halt right in the middle of the road, the engine ticking under the hood like it was catching its breath right along with you.
Your hands dropped from the wheel and your forehead landed against it with a dull thud.
âOh my GodâŚâ you muttered, dragging in a long, trembling inhale.
And then, for whatever reasonâfor the sheer terror, the relief, the absurdity of it allâyou burst out laughing. A full, wild laugh that came from deep in your chest.
A sharp knock hit your window. You jumped, still laughing, and turned to see Steve standing there, eyes wide and frantic.
You rolled the window down, nearly wheezing from leftover adrenaline.
âYou okay??â Steve asked, bending slightly to look you in the eyes. He was clearly trying not to freak out, but his voice wavered, and his curls were a mess from the wind.
You couldnât stop. You laughed harder. âOh my God, my dad would kill me if he knew this happened!â you managed between breaths.
Steve stared for a secondâthen cracked, the panic melting as he started laughing too. Relief poured off him like steam.
âI swear,â he said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart, âI saw you almost hit that tree and I just watched your funeral flash before my eyes.â You snorted a laugh you didnât mean to. Steve grinned wider.
âI think we should take it slow this time,â Steve said once the last of his laughter faded into a breath. His voice was gentler now, steadierâstill a little shaken.
You nodded immediately. âYes. Definitely.â Steveâs smile was small but real, the kind meant to reassure you.
âIâll drive behind you,â he said, giving the roof of the Impala a soft pat before turning and jogging back toward his Beemer.
You watched him go, your pulse still buzzing under your skin. When he got in and flashed his headlights twice, you exhaled and put Baby back into gear.
The Impala eased forward, much slower this time. Ten under the speed limit felt embarrassingly slow for most peopleâbut for you, right now, it was the only speed that didnât make your stomach twist.
In the rearview mirror, Steve stayed glued behind you. Not tailgatingâjust close enough that his headlights felt protective, like he was physically holding the road together for you.
You kept your eyes forward after each quick glance, focusing on steady breaths, steady hands, steady speed. The night wasnât as loud now; the adrenaline had faded into a quiet hum under your ribs.
You drove all the way to McDonaldâs like thatâslow, careful, Steve shadowing your every move until the golden arches finally came into view.
You and Steve walked into the McDonaldâs side by side, both of your hearts still beating a little too fast from the near-crash adrenaline. The inside was warm compared to the cool evening outside, buzzing with the low hum of fryers and the soft chatter of a few families finishing dinner.
At the counter, you triedârepeatedlyâto pay for your half, but Steve just shook his head every time.
âCome on, Harrington,â you insisted.
âNope, I'd said I'd pay for you,â he said, putting his card into the kunckle-buster before you could even reach for yours. âI got it.â
You rolled your eyes but couldnât help the smile creeping up your face. As much as you genuinely wanted to pay your share, it felt⌠nice. Warm, even. Someone taking care of you for a change.
Once your trays were ready, you both grabbed them and sat at a booth near the window where the fading gold light spilled across the parking lot, painting everything in soft amber.
You unwrapped your food, took a huge bite and sighed. âIâve never had that much fun before,â you admitted with a small laugh.
Steve grinned, already chewing. âYeah, me too.â
You swallowed, shaking your head. âWe should do it again. Minus the almost-dying part.â
Steve snorted. âYeah, definitely. I donât want to explain to your dad why both you and the Impala are dead.â
âBaby,â you corrected automatically.
Steve raised a brow, watching you. Heat flooded your cheeks as you realized how it came out.
âI meanâ Iâm not calling youâ the Impalaâs name is Baby,â you sputtered, waving your fries for emphasis.
âOhhh.â Steveâs eyes widened, and he leaned back, smirking. âBaby.â
âYeah. It suits her,â he said, smiling as he took another bite.
You felt your face soften into a quiet smile of your own.
âYeah. It definitely does.â
âSoâŚâ you started, nudging your tray a little as you looked up at Steve.
He looked back at you with his cheeks stuffed full of fries, eyes wide like heâd been caught doing something illegal. The sight made heat bloom across your cheeks. God, why was he cute like that? He swallowed quickly and wiped his mouth.
âWhatâs up?â he asked.
You took a sip of your drink, gathering a bit of courage. âWhat was it that you didnât want to tell me earlier?â Steve paused mid-reach for another fry. His shoulders rose and fell in a slow nod. âYeah⌠rightâŚâ
It took him a second before he spoke again. You could see him weighing something in his head.
âItâs justâyour ex was being an ass during class, thatâs all.â Steve tried to shrug, like it was nothing.
Your smile faded. Of course. Of course, your ex was already causing trouble. You felt that familiar pinch of irritation settle in your chest.
âWhatâd he do?â you asked, tryingâand failingânot to let the annoyance seep into your voice. You knew exactly how your ex could be when he wanted to get under someoneâs skin.
Steve took a drink, buying himself time. âDonât worry. Heâs just⌠very competitive playing basketball.â
That wasnât it, and you both knew it. Steve had that lookâone he got when he was trying to protect someone from something he didnât think they needed to hear. He didnât want to stir something up. Or maybe he didnât want to see you get hurt.
You nodded slowly anyway. âYeah.â
It was true your ex got aggressive when it came to sports. But Steveâs hesitation told you this wasnât just about basketball. Still, he didnât offer anything else. And you didnât know how to pry without pushing too hard.
So you just poked at your fries, the silence settling between you, warm but tinged with something unspoken.
âDonât worry,â Steve said gently, trying to calm you down. âHe just annoyed me, thatâs all. I get competitive, too.â
Something in his voiceâsteady, warm, believableâeased that tight knot in your chest.
âOkay,â you said slowly.
The subject dropped like a stone sinking into the lake, and the two of you drifted into easier conversation. Steve learned that you and Eddie had been friends since childhood, and the news visibly softened him, smoothing out that tension heâd carried since break. He asked questions, listened closely, and smiled at the parts where your eyes lit up.
He also learned you played guitarâânot as good as Eddie,â according to youâbut even without hearing a single chord, Steve somehow knew you were lying. He could just tell. The way you talked about music, the way your fingers moved when you described chords. You had that spark.
Time passed without either of you noticing. At some point, you glanced out the wide McDonaldâs window and realized the sky wasnât golden anymoreâit was pitch-black. The streetlights glowed yellow against the pavement.
âShit,â you muttered under your breath, eyes darting to your watch.
âWhatâs wrong?â Steve asked, already standing when you jumped up and started gathering your trash.
âItâs late, my dad will kill me,â you said quickly, tossing everything into the bin. Steve nodded, falling into step beside you.
âOh yeahâme too,â he said automatically. Except he knew damn well his parents werenât waiting up. They never were. He could disappear for days, and they wouldnât notice. But he didnât say that part.
âIâm sorry, I really have to go home.â You rushed toward the exit, and Steve followed, not wanting to let the moment just⌠end.
âYeah, no, I get it. Donât sweat it,â he said as you both approached your cars.
You paused at your door and looked up at him with a small smile. âThanksâfor the food, by the way. Iâll get you next time.â
Steve shrugged like it was nothing. âNo biggie.â You rolled your eyes, but your smile widened.
âSee you around,â you saidâand before he could reply, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.
Steve froze for half a second, stunned, before folding into the embrace like heâd been waiting for it all day. His arms slid around your shoulders, strong and warm, pulling you gently against him. He breathed you inâyour perfume, the faint hint of smoke from earlierâand his heartbeat tripped over itself. You smelled really good.
Your head rested against his chest, your arms snug around his torso, and God, he smelled amazing too. Clean, warm, familiar.
You pulled awayâreluctantlyâand opened your car door.
âDrive safe,â you said.
âYou too,â Steve replied, voice softer than he meant it to be.
You shot him a small smile before starting Baby, the Impala rumbling to life. You waved once and pulled out of the lot, the headlights disappearing into the dark on the way back home.
Steve stood there in the glow of the streetlight, watching until you were gone, a stupidly happy smile plastered across his lips.
