steve harrington headcanons

a dump space for things i think steve harrington does, says, or thinks

[harringtonsdiary]

steve harrington x reader fanfiction | fratboy!steve | platonic!stobin (i promise) | mentions of cheating (but it's not real cheating) | mean!steve, playboy!steve | sort of friends to enemies to fwb to lovers | slowish burn | angst | hurt ... eventual comfort

warnings: angst, drinking, mean! steve, crashout, errrrrrr idk... miscommunication words: 8.7k summary: steve harrington x reader fanfiction | fratboy!steve | platonic!stobin (i promise) | mentions of cheating (but it's not real cheating) | mean!steve, playboy!steve | sort of friends to enemies to fwb to lovers | slowish burn | angst | hurt ... eventual comfort a/n: okay so... this chapter just needed to be standalone and so the next chapter will have quite a bit... masterlist | Rules/Playlist

Chapter 16

The group spent all day Monday at the beach—Polly came back briefly around noon to ask if you wanted to join them, standing in the doorway with her floppy hat and concern written across her sun-flushed face. You claimed to be sick, probably a stomach bug from the travel and the change in water. Your voice was hoarse enough to sell it, eyes red-rimmed enough to look convincing.

Nancy and Robin came in later that evening to check on you, bringing Gatorade and crackers they'd bought from the hotel gift shop. Robin sat on the edge of your bed, hand on your forehead checking for fever, while Nancy hovered near the door looking worried.

All you asked them for was earplugs. The industrial kind, the ones construction workers use.

They gave you questioning looks—brows furrowed, mouths turned down—but you claimed it was too loud outside. The music from the beach parties, the people in the hallways, the general chaos of spring break. You couldn't sleep.

They seemed to accept this explanation, returning an hour later with a plastic package of foam earplugs from the lobby store.

But Monday night, it happened again.

Polly didn't come back to the room at all, telling you around ten that she'd give you space since you were feeling sick, that she didn't want to disturb you. Sweet, considerate Polly.

At midnight, you smelled the stench of weed—thick and skunky, seeping through the thin wall that separates your room from Steve's. You could hear the mixture of laughter, low voices, the clink of glass bottles.

And then the bed. Hitting the wall. Again and again and again.

You shoved the earplugs in so hard it hurt, foam compressing then expanding to fill your ear canals, muffling sound but not eliminating it entirely. You could still hear it—feel it, really. The rhythmic thumping transmitted through the wall, through the bed frame, through your bones.

You could see the ugly decorative paintings hanging on your wall rattling with each impact. A sailboat at sunset, trembling. A palm tree, shaking like it was in a hurricane.

As you finally drift toward sleep—exhausted, defeated—you wonder if Steve decided to break the rules with Polly too. Or is it different because it's spring break, because what happens in Miami stays in Miami, because she's not you and therefore doesn't count?

You grab your pillow and scream into it, the sound muffled by fabric and foam earplugs and the knowledge that no one can hear you anyway.

It's Tuesday when you finally decide to come out of your room. Tuesday morning, you decide to keep your head up.

You wake up early—six-thirty, before the sun is fully up, the sky that pale gray-blue of impending dawn. You brush your teeth aggressively, scrubbing until your gums bleed slightly, the taste of mint and copper mixing. You put on your bikini under your regular clothes—denim shorts and a loose tank top, nothing special. And you head down to the hotel bar before most people are even awake.

You down three mimosas before eight a.m., the champagne and orange juice going down easy, bubbles popping on your tongue. The bartender—a guy in his early twenties with sun-bleached hair and a name tag that says "Tyler"—gives you a look after the third one, but he doesn't say anything. It's spring break. Everyone's drinking at inappropriate hours.

By the time you make it to the breakfast buffet, sunglasses firmly in place to hide your slightly glazed eyes, you're pleasantly buzzed. The edges of everything are softer, less sharp. You load a plate with eggs and toast and sit at a table near the window overlooking the ocean.

Robin and Nancy come down first, both looking sleepy but happy, fingers intertwined as they walk. They separate before reaching the buffet line, muscle memory, hiding even here— where they don't have to— but you can see them stealing glances at each other.

Eddie arrives next, looking like he rolled directly out of bed and down the stairs. He's yawning constantly, scratching his bare stomach under his Metallica t-shirt, eyes half-closed as he piles food onto his plate without really looking at what he's grabbing.

Robin slides into the chair next to you, immediately putting her head on your shoulder like a cat seeking warmth. "Does this mean you feel better?" Her voice is muffled against your shirt. "It was totally boring without you yesterday."

Nancy laughs from across the table, but there's an edge to it. "Wow. Thank you, babe. Really feeling the love."

Robin rolls her eyes, reaching under the table to tap Nancy's knee—a touch meant to be private, apologetic. "You know what I mean! Steve's still in a mood, and I don't think I can take another day of Munson nearly getting us kicked out of the hotel again."

"Buckley," Eddie interjects, dropping into the seat across from you and shoving a spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth, "if someone triple-dog-dares me, I gotta do it. That's the law. And I didn't get caught, so technically it never happened."

Nancy leans forward conspiratorially, eyes dancing with amusement. "He went skinny-dipping in the hotel pool last night. Around midnight. Jonathan got a picture—he can show you later."

"Mmm... I think I'm okay," you manage to laugh, though the thought of midnight makes your stomach twist. 

"So sad you weren't there, Hot Shot." Eddie's faux pout is exaggerated, theatrical. "You feeling better?"

You shrug, thinking about the past two nights, your stomach souring even as you try to maintain the smile. You push your plate away, appetite completely gone despite having barely touched anything. "Yeah. I'm ready to get out and get in the water today."

Robin perks up immediately, lifting her head from your shoulder. "Oh yeah! Jonathan gave us the word—they're filming a few miles from here on the beach, and if we show up in time, we might get chosen as extras. We're thinking about leaving in an hour."

Suddenly, Polly walks in, and the energy at the table shifts in a way you can't quite name. She's wearing a big floppy hat that looks like it belongs on a 1950s movie star and a flowing sundress in pale yellow. She looks fresh and rested and beautiful, and you hate her for it.

You notice how Eddie's mouth twitches when he sees her, how the spoon in his hand stops halfway to his mouth, milk dripping back into the bowl in fat drops. He's staring at her with an expression you recognize.

When Polly sees you, her face lights up. "I was wondering if you were feeling better! I didn't see you in our room when I went in to change."

You smile politely, that tight feeling returning to your chest, squeezing your lungs until breathing feels like work. You can't help but look at her, cataloging details. Is her hair mussed from Steve's fingers? Is that a hickey barely visible under the edge of her dress? Did he kiss her the way he kissed you?

"Yeah! Much better."

Polly claps her hands together, genuine excitement radiating from her. "Great! So you're coming with us today? Wouldn't it be so fun if we were in a movie?"

Eddie snorts, reaching up to flick the rim of her enormous hat. "Might be trying too hard there, Penelope. A seagull might mistake it for a nest and try to lay eggs in it."

But he's smirking as he says it, looking up at her with soft eyes, interest written plainly across his features.

You feel a pang of sadness for him. Here's someone else caught in a cycle with someone who will never like them out loud, never claim them publicly. Eddie and Polly, you and Steve—variations on the same painful theme.

Polly's eyes shine looking down at Eddie, and you catch the way she scans him, gaze traveling from his face down to his chest, his arms, then back up. She bites her bottom lip, fighting a smile. "You'll be too pale to show up on camera, Edward. Like Nosferatu. They'll have to use special lighting just for you."

Nancy and Robin groan in unison, and Robin leans into you. "They've been flirting like this since yesterday morning. Walk away now before they start eating each other's faces."

You give them a questioning look, glancing back at Eddie and Polly, Eddie now stood, dramatically offering his seat to her, but she doesn’t go to move. They're standing too close, close enough that they must be able to feel each other's breath, close enough that the air between them feels charged.

They finally break apart when Steve walks in.

He's wearing sunglasses despite being indoors, and his plate is loaded with bacon and eggs and hash browns—more food than you've ever seen him eat at once. You can tell his gaze flicks to you even through the dark lenses, can see his jaw twitch, muscle jumping under skin.

He sits across from you without a word, slouching low in his chair and immediately shoveling food into his mouth like he hasn't eaten in days. He's wearing a striped button-up shirt—vertical blue and white stripes—and black swim trunks, sandals on his feet.

You notice how the collar of his shirt is unbuttoned, hanging open enough that you can see chest hair and—

Your stomach drops.

A bruise. On his pec. Dark purple and roughly circular, with what looks like teeth marks at the center.

The bruise you left. Friday night in his room, when you bit him while riding him, when he'd whimpered and let you mark him, when everything still felt possible.

Your body betrays you—thighs tightening together involuntarily, heat pooling low in your belly at the memory. But then you force yourself to relax, to remember that you're mad at him. Sad and confused and so fucking angry.

You don't have time to examine the feeling too closely because everyone's standing up, gathering their things, ready to head to where Jonathan said the movie is filming.

Sure enough, you arrive early enough to have a chance.

The beach is sectioned off with ropes and barriers, keeping pedestrians away from the filming area. Camera crews swarm everywhere. There are massive cameras on dollies, boom microphones on long poles, lights on stands creating artificial sun. Makeup artists hover around different actors and actresses, touching up hair and powder, consulting with each other in hushed tones.

Nancy leans over to tell you it's not a huge movie. No A-list stars like Tom Cruise or Harrison Ford. 

A casting person makes her way down the line of gathered onlookers. She’s a stout woman with cat-eye glasses and a clipboard, surveying everyone with a critical eye. She walks slowly, deliberately, pointing at random people.

"You. Mmm, yes, you too... you, come on."

She gets to Nancy and Robin, looks them up and down, and nods. "Yes. And yes."

She looks at Eddie, pauses, then says, "Lift up your shirt."

Eddie does as she asks without hesitation, pulling his Metallica shirt up to expose his stomach.

The woman immediately grimaces, face twisting in disgust.

You see why. His entire torso is covered in bruised hickies—purple and red marks scattered across his pale skin like he got attacked by an octopus. They're everywhere, overlapping, some fading to yellow at the edges while others look fresh and angry.

Polly laughs in genuine amusement, reaching past Steve to poke at one of the bruises. Eddie flinches but grins.

"Got carried away," he sighs, directing the comment to either Steve or Polly—you're not sure which.

The casting woman shakes her head firmly at Eddie, moving past him. But she points to Steve. "Yes."

Eddie protests immediately. "Hey! You're not gonna make him take his shirt off? That's discrimination. I demand equal treatment."

"Pervert," Steve mumbles, but there's a smirk tugging at his lips as he flips Eddie off.

The casting director looks at Polly, smiling at first, but then her eyes land on the enormous floppy hat. Her smile drops. She shakes her head and moves on.

Then she stops in front of you, looks you over once, and nods. "Yes."

She continues down the line, and you're left standing there feeling awkward.

Polly and Eddie look genuinely disappointed, matching pouts on their faces.

"I'm sorry," you offer. "I can stay with you guys if you want. I don't need to—"

Polly and Eddie look at each other, some silent communication passing between them, and then Polly smiles at you warmly. She reaches up and takes off her sunglasses—expensive-looking Ray-Bans—and swaps them with yours.

"No, you go have fun! Me and Edward will be... fine. We'll find something to do." She draws out the last words, voice going low and suggestive.

Eddie's grin widens.

"Have fun, Hot Shot." Polly winks.

You hate that even though Polly is sleeping with Steve—the boy you have feelings for, the boy who's been inside you, the boy who broke your heart—she's still so genuinely kind. It would be easier if she were awful, if you could hate her without guilt.

You join your friends—Nancy and Robin bouncing excitedly, Steve standing off to the side with his hands in his pockets—when Jonathan runs up. He's holding a walkie-talkie, wearing a headset, looking official and slightly frazzled.

"Hey guys! Is it everyone?"

"Yeah, just us four," Nancy answers.

Jonathan nods. "Okay, great. Stick together and they'll know to keep you guys in the same scenes. Might take a few hours. Go over there for waivers and releases." He gestures toward a tent with a folding table. "Are we still good for seafood tonight?"

"Yep! Thanks, Jonathan!" Robin shrieks, grabbing Nancy's arm. "Oh my god, Nancy, we're going to be in a movie!"

Nancy laughs, letting Robin pull her toward the waiver tent.

You and Steve walk behind them, very far apart but somehow still awkwardly side by side. Neither of you speaks. Not when you're filling out the small stack of paperwork, not when you're being herded with other extras toward the filming location, not when you're standing in the hot sun waiting for instructions.

The four of you listen to Jonathan's advice and stick together. But when the assistant director starts placing people, he separates you—Nancy and Robin are instructed to go into the water, to play and splash and look like they're having fun.

You and Steve are told to sit on two beach towels under a striped umbrella.

You look at each other. Neither of you protests. There's no time—other extras are being positioned, the AD is moving quickly, and you could get dismissed for arguing. You're getting paid $200 for this. You need to cooperate.

So you listen, and Steve listens, and the two of you awkwardly sit down on the towels that have been laid out in the sand.

You pull off your shorts first, then your tank top, very aware of Steve's eyes on you. You're wearing a baby blue bikini—simple, modest by spring break standards, but it still feels vulnerable sitting here next to him.

You catch Steve's eyes peeking over the top of his sunglasses, see them land on the tattoo on your hip. "Hot Shot" in slightly wobbly script. His jaw tightens, and you see him shift on the towel, adjusting his position.

But he doesn't take off his button-up shirt. Doesn't even unbutton it further. He keeps it on, and you think, probably hiding evidence from Polly. More hickies, more marks, more proof.

"Camera rolling!" someone shouts.

The scene plays out—the main actors doing whatever they're supposed to be doing in the foreground while you and Steve sit stiffly on your towels in the background, barely moving, barely breathing.

"Cut!" The director's voice booms across the beach. "Let's go again. And background actors—you need to look natural. You're at the beach. Relax."

You see the director's eyes land on you and Steve briefly before he turns back to the main actors.

Steve sighs, leaning back and propping himself up on one elbow. His sunglasses are pushed up on top of his head now, but he's not looking at you. Staring at the sand, at the ocean, at anything else.

You awkwardly mirror his position, laying back, and your stomach twists at being this close to him for the first time since Friday night. Since he told you he was bored of you, since everything fell apart.

You swallow hard, eyes tracing his profile. He looks like he hasn't slept—dark circles under his eyes, deeper than they should be after just a few days. His facial hair is growing back in, that patchy stubble you remember from before he shaved it all off. And he's still wearing that shirt, fingers playing with the fabric of his sleeve, fidgeting.

Steve mumbles, so quiet you almost miss it, "I'm glad you're feeling better."

Your jaw clenches so hard your teeth hurt. "Yep. I think it was probably lack of sleep." The words come out bitter, sharp-edged.

Steve looks at you through the hood of his lashes, hazel eyes briefly meeting yours. "Oh."

That's all he says. Just "oh."

"Yeah," you continue, unable to stop yourself. "If it continues tonight, I'm calling in a noise complaint to the front desk."

You're dead serious. You're not above sabotaging another night of their obnoxiously loud sex if it means you might actually sleep.

Steve's brows crease together, confusion clear on his face. "Uh. Okay?" He says it like he's asking why are you telling me this, but he doesn't say the words out loud.

"Cut!" the director yells again. "Reset!"

Another hour ticks by. You and Steve continue to pretend to relax, laying fully on your backs now, staring up at the striped umbrella fabric flapping in the ocean breeze.

You turn your head and can see Robin and Nancy in the water, not entirely pretending to be playful. They're splashing each other, laughing, fingers probably getting pruned from the salt water. Their joy is real. Their love is real.

Steve and you were never real.

After another reset, you prop yourself up on one elbow to face him. Your eyes finally meet properly, and you feel that tightness in your chest again—that feeling like someone's squeezing your heart with a fist.

Steve's brows furrow, then relax. With one hand, he cautiously reaches over and takes your sunglasses off, fingers gentle as they slide the frames away from your face.

He's searching your eyes, and you don't understand him. Don't understand how he could say he was bored of you, could sleep with Polly practically in front of you, but then do this. Look at you like you still matter.

And why do you let him? You're so angry, so hurt, but your body is on fire with the memory of him, aching and burning for something you can't have anymore.

"I'm sorry," Steve murmurs, voice low enough that no one else can hear. "About not telling you Polly was coming."

It pisses you off even more. Because if he was actually sorry, he wouldn't be fucking her. Wouldn't be touching her. Wouldn't be making you listen to it through thin walls.

"It wasn't your job to tell me," you manage. "You all blindsided me. Robin, Nancy, Eddie—none of them warned me either."

"That's my fault," Steve says quickly. "I told them I would tell you. And I didn't. I didn't want you to think—" He stops himself. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever." You sit up fully, hugging your legs to your chest. "I don't really care."

"Yeah." Steve's voice goes hard, bitter. "I know you don't."

He sits up too, pulling a flask out of the pocket of his shirt. But he doesn't take a sip—he tilts his head back and chugs, throat working as he swallows. Once, twice, three times.

You watch him, jaw tight, teeth grinding together. "Maybe slow down, yeah?"

Part of you says it bitterly, angry at him for everything. But part of you says it because you care. You care that Polly joined the trip. You care that she knows secrets you thought were sacred. You care that you haven't seen Steve sober once on this trip—not Sunday on the plane, not Monday, not now. He's always drinking, always chasing something, and it reminds you of stories you've heard about him and Billy, about the accident, about things you don't fully understand.

"Get off my back—" Steve stops himself before he can say "Hot Shot," and the absence of the nickname feels like another loss. He says your name instead, sour and sharp. "Relax a little, will you?"

"Why is she here?" The question comes out before you can stop it, jealousy dripping from every word.

You've never wanted to be this person. Never wanted to show it, especially not when you see the hopeful glimmer that appears in Steve's eyes, the way his mouth twitches like he wants to smile.

"Cut!" the director yells. "Reset!"

Steve takes another swig from his flask, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. You can smell it now—rum, cheap and strong.

"She had nowhere else to go," Steve says, not looking at you. "She was seeing this douchebag, and he left her hanging. Decided to go backpacking through Europe instead of spending spring break with her like they'd planned."

"Right." Your words are hot on your tongue, burning. "And because you're so loyal, you felt like you needed to take care of her?"

Steve's face twists, eyes rolling. He holds out the flask to you. "Here. You need this more than I do."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Because you're acting like a fucking bitch right now."

The director calls cut, and it's a good thing he does, because you were about to do serious damage to Steve's pretty face.

A crewmember approaches—young guy with a headset and a nervous expression. "Hey, so... the director wants to know if you two are a couple. If you’d be okay with you making out for the next shot. He feels like something's missing from the scene and wants to try it."

You and Steve both look up at him, dumbfounded.

You glance past the crewmember's shoulder and see Jonathan, who must know what's happening. He's holding a water bottle out to the director with an apologetic look on his face, clearly trying to do damage control.

You're ready to say no—absolutely not, no way in hell—but then Steve speaks.

"Sure."

Your head snaps toward him, but he's not looking at you. He's staring straight ahead, jaw set, expression unreadable.

The crewmember doesn't wait for your agreement. He jogs back to the director, giving a thumbs up.

"Camera rolling!"

The tension between you and Steve settles like a physical thing—thick and suffocating and electric all at once. You grab his flask without asking and take a long drink, the rum burning down your throat, because you know you're not getting out of this.

And maybe a part of you doesn't want to.

You hope Polly is watching from somewhere on the beach. Fuck, you hope Robin sees. You're tired of the secrets and lies and wishful thinking. You're tired of this not being real, tired of Steve not knowing how much he's hurt you, tired of wanting him to regret everything he said.

"Action!"

Steve's hands find your waist, pulling you closer. Your hands go to his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, feeling the muscle underneath.

Your lips connect.

It's slow at first—softer than you expected, gentler than the anger between you should allow. His mouth tastes like rum and something underneath that's purely Steve, and the familiarity of it breaks something open in your chest.

His hands slide to the small of your back, settling where they belong, where they've been a hundred times before. You sigh into his mouth without meaning to, and he responds by deepening the kiss, tongue tracing the seam of your lips.

Sand is everywhere—in your hair, on your skin, gritty between your toes. The ocean crashes in the background. People are watching, cameras are rolling, and none of it matters because Steve is kissing you like he means it.

But then you remember.

The moans through the wall. The bed hitting plaster. Steve's voice saying Polly's name, or maybe not saying anything at all, just the sounds of pleasure that you recognize, that you know intimately.

A sob catches in your throat, tears stinging behind your closed eyelids. You feel them start to fall—hot and unwelcome, tracking down your cheeks.

You push at his shoulders, breaking the kiss, and Steve pulls back immediately. His pupils are blown wide, brows furrowed in confusion and concern. His eyes are searching your face, landing on your tears, and they go even wider with something that looks like panic.

Your hand moves before you can think about it—hot against his cheek, the slap echoing across the beach. Not hard enough to really hurt him, but hard enough to make a point.

Then you're standing up and running, sand kicking up behind you as you flee the set, the cameras, Steve's shocked expression, all of it.

Behind you, you hear the director shout, "Cut! That's a wrap on scene forty-two! Great work, everyone!"

Eddie and Polly are nowhere to be seen when you stumble back toward the hotel. Your vision is blurred with tears, and you're planning on hiding in your room for the rest of this godforsaken trip.

But when you walk through the lobby, you see them—Eddie and Polly sitting close together at the bar, laughing about something, shoulders touching, completely absorbed in each other.

You go straight to them, sliding onto the barstool next to Polly.

You flash your fake ID at the bartender, who barely glances at it. "Tequila sunrise, please."

You reach for your keycard to give him so he can charge it to your room, but Eddie's hand shoots across you, stopping your movement.

"Nuh-uh." He flashes you a smile, pulling out a different keycard and handing it to the bartender. "Put it on this one."

"Eds, I can't let you pay for my sorrows," you drone, but there's no energy behind the protest.

Eddie laughs, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Love you, Hot Shot, but this is the key to Steve's room. Big boy is paying for us tonight." He winks.

An hour later, you and Polly are drunkenly hanging off each other as you stumble up to your room, Eddie having guided you through the lobby and into the elevator. Another hour after that, Eddie finally leaves, but not before sharing a joint between you three.

Now you're on the bed, staring at the swirling ceiling, watching the fan blades rotate slowly. Polly is sprawled out on the floor like a starfish, arms and legs spread wide, staring up at the same ceiling from a different angle.

Neither of you is talking. You should probably start getting ready for dinner—Jonathan made reservations at some seafood place for six-thirty—but moving feels impossible.

Then Polly speaks, her voice cutting through the comfortable silence. "You're why Steve ended it with everyone, aren't you?"

You swallow hard, the burnt taste of leftover weed bitter on your tongue. You could say yes. Could tell her the truth, get back at her somehow, make her feel guilty.

But why would you be mad at her? She's not the one who wronged you. Steve is. Polly is allowed to enjoy sex just like you do. She didn't know what was between you and Steve—probably still doesn't know, not really.

And even if it was the case that you were the reason Steve ended things, he's taken it all back now. He doesn't want only you like he said he did.

"Does it matter?" you ask, but not harshly. Genuinely asking.

Maybe Polly understands that you know. That you've figured out she and Steve are hooking up, breaking his once-a-month rule the same way you did.

But instead of looking guilty or defensive, Polly giggles. She raises up off the floor and puts her head on the bed next to yours, looking at you with sparkling eyes. You realize you look like teenagers at a sleepover, sharing secrets about boys.

She's biting her bottom lip, grinning wide. "Is he a good kisser?"

Your brows furrow. "You saw that? On set?"

Polly laughs, the sound bright and genuine. "Before Eddie and I left to go back to the hotel," She pauses, then adds more quietly, "But also, I saw you two in his car last week. Outside the library. I'm not a creep or anything! I was just walking by and happened to see—"

Your heart drops. Everyone saw it. The kiss on set, the desperate way you grabbed at each other, the tears.

But then your brain catches up to the rest of what Polly said, and more confusion floods in.

Polly really doesn't care that you and Steve have history, does she? Or is this some weird way of pretending not to care before she eventually sabotages you?

No. Looking at her face—open, earnest, genuinely curious—you don't think so.

No one else knows what Steve's lips taste like. No one else you can talk to about boys like this, giggle about stupid things that feel important when you're young and drunk and heartbroken.

You're tired of lying about simple things.

"Yeah," you admit, a half-hearted smile tugging at your lips. "He's a really good kisser."

"I knew it," Polly breathes, and then her demeanor changes. Goes more sheepish, shy. She's picking at the threads in the carpet, not meeting your eyes. "Do you think... do you think he's a better kisser than Munson?"

You might fucking hate Steve Harrington. But he doesn't have to know your honest answer to this question.

"Yes," you tell Polly, heat rising in your cheeks. "Steve's a better kisser."

Polly grins, then asks softly, shyly, "So you don't like him?"

"Steve?"

"No." Polly's voice drops even lower. "Eddie. You don't like Eddie, right?"

You tilt your head to look at her properly, reading the hope and fear written plainly across her face.

"No," you say firmly. "He's like my brother. I think. I don't have a brother, so I can't say for sure, but—" You laugh. "No. Definitely not."

Polly doesn't laugh with you this time. Instead, her face slowly breaks into the biggest grin you've seen from her yet, and she bites her bottom lip like she's trying to contain pure joy and failing completely.

.-.-.-.

The restaurant sits directly on the beach, built on a weathered wooden deck that extends out over the sand like it's trying to reach the water. String lights are draped overhead, crisscrossing in lazy patterns, casting warm yellow light that competes with the sunset painting the sky in violent streaks of orange and pink and deep purple. The air smells like salt and grilled fish and lime, mixed with the sweet smoke from tiki torches placed at intervals along the railing.

The waves crash rhythmic and steady beneath you, loud enough that you have to raise your voice slightly to be heard. Seagulls cry overhead, wheeling in circles, probably hoping someone will drop food. In the distance, you can hear music from one of the beach parties—something with a heavy bass line that thumps faintly like a second heartbeat.

You're three margaritas in, seated between Steve and Polly at a long table that's been pushed together from two smaller ones. You're not sure how Steve ended up next to you—whether it was intentional or just bad luck, some cosmic joke at your expense.

You know you're being loud. Annoying. Laughing too hard at jokes that aren't that funny, your voice carrying over the general din of conversation. Your words are starting to jumble together, consonants sliding into each other, and your face feels hot—from the alcohol, from the weed you smoked earlier, from the way Steve's thigh keeps brushing against yours under the table.

Your eyes are red and glassy, and you can feel them getting heavier with each blink.

Polly was laughing along with you at first, matching you, but as the night has worn on her concern has started to show. She keeps glancing at you with worried eyes, touching your arm gently when you sway in your seat.

Your brain starts moving in slow motion, thoughts sticky and hard to grasp. You watch as Eddie, who's sitting on Polly's other side, leans close to say something in her ear. She laughs, blushing, and touches his arm—a gesture that would be casual if not for the way her fingers linger.

You know—or at least you suspect after your conversation in the hotel room—that Polly is interested in Eddie. That she wants him the way you want Steve, with that desperate aching need that makes everything else feel small and insignificant.

But she's sleeping with Steve, isn't she? Or you thought she was. Your head is starting to hurt, a dull throb behind your eyes that pulses in time with your heartbeat.

You wonder if Eddie feels like Sammy felt. Being around the girl he likes while she doesn't know what she wants, or knows but thinks she can't have it, stuck in limbo and hoping for scraps of attention.

Or maybe Polly does know what she wants but doesn't think she can have it. Doesn't think she deserves it. Doesn't think it's allowed.

Maybe you know what you want too.

You take another long drink from your margarita, the salt on the rim stinging your lips, tequila burning down your throat.

Steve is next to you, equally drunk. Maybe more drunk. His face is flushed red, a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the ocean breeze. He hasn't touched his food—grilled mahi-mahi sitting untouched on his plate, going cold. He hasn't talked either, not really. Just mumbled responses when directly addressed, otherwise silent and staring at nothing.

You can tell he's slipping into that state—the one where the world goes soft around the edges, where gravity feels different, where you're floating and sinking at the same time. His eyes are unfocused, pupils blown wide and black, and he keeps blinking slowly like he's trying to reset his vision.

Robin notices when Steve's fork slips from his hand, clattering against his plate with a loud metallic sound that makes several people at nearby tables glance over.

"Shit," Steve mutters, fumbling to pick it up, his movements uncoordinated.

Robin laughs, but there's an edge to it—worry masked as amusement. She leans across Nancy to look at him. "Steve. No more, okay? You're done."

And you don't know why it pisses you off.

Why this, of all things, is what makes it all come crashing in—the weight of the past few days, the confusion and hurt and jealousy and love and loss all hitting you at once like a riptide you didn't see coming. It pulls you under, fills your lungs, and suddenly you're drowning in feeling, gasping for air that won't come.

"Geez, Robin," you hear yourself say, voice sharp and unfiltered. "Stop acting like he's actually your boyfriend."

You stab at the food on your plate casually, like you didn't say something explosive, and bring it to your mouth. Chew. Swallow. The food tastes like nothing.

You feel Steve tense next to you—his whole body going rigid, muscles locking. Actually, you can feel everyone tense around the table. The conversation dies mid-sentence. They're all looking at you now, mouths slightly agape, frozen in various states of shock.

Robin's eyes flash with hurt first, then confusion, her face cycling through emotions too fast to track. "I know that," she says slowly, carefully. "But he's been like this every night since we got here, and I'm tired of dragging his ass to bed when he passes out in random places."

Your mind is too jumbled to connect the dots, to understand what she's actually saying. You're still seeing red, vision tinged with anger and tequila and heartbreak. "Stop treating him like a kid."

"Maybe I will when he stops acting like one," Robin snaps back, and her voice has an edge now too, sharp enough to cut.

"Are we..." Steve finally speaks, his words thick and slow. "Are we going to talk about me like I'm not here?"

Robin ignores him completely. She looks you up and down, assessing, and you can see her putting pieces together that you didn't mean to reveal. "And what's it to you? You're not his girlfriend either."

Nancy kicks Robin under the table—you hear the thump of shoe against shin, see Nancy's face twist in alarm. "Robin!" she hisses, low and urgent.

Eddie and Jonathan look at each other awkwardly, having one of those silent conversations that happens when you've witnessed something you weren't supposed to see. Jonathan shifts in his seat, looking like he wants to disappear. Eddie takes a long drink of his beer.

Polly's hand suddenly grabs yours under the table, squeezing tight in what you think is meant to be comforting. But your mind is too slow and too single-minded to figure out who you want to be pissed off at.

Maybe everyone. Yes. Everyone.

"Robin," you say, pulling your hand away from Polly's. "I'm not really in the mood, okay? So let's drop it."

You reach for your margarita glass, fingers closing around the stem, but someone's larger hand wraps around your wrist. You look up and catch Steve's hazel eyes—clouded with alcohol but clearer than they've been in days, focused entirely on you. He's subtly shaking his head, a small movement that says please don't, please stop, please.

"You know what..." You snap your wrist away from his grip, and your words come out slow and drawling, heavy with alcohol and something darker. "You guys are all fucking bullshit, you know that?"

The word—bullshit—gives Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve a visceral reaction. You see them all flinch like you've physically struck them.

You point at Robin, your finger wavering slightly. "You don't even see that your own fucking girlfriend is miserable." Your head lolls to the side, mouth hanging open slightly, wet from the alcohol. "Actually... we're all miserable because our lives have to go according to the Steve and Robin show."

You can see Nancy out of the corner of your eye, her face crumpling slightly, tears threatening.

"I might like attention, Robin," you continue, and your voice sounds far away even to your own ears. "But at least I'm not selfish."

Robin scowls, and when she speaks her voice is tight with barely controlled anger. "If I was selfish, I would be pissed off that you kissed Steve today. Even though my parents could see that movie, and if they see him kissing some random girl—"

"I'm not some random girl, Robin," you snap, leaning forward.

"Oh, you know what I mean." Robin waves her hand dismissively. "If they saw him kissing someone that isn't me, they're going to lose their shit. But no, I haven't brought it up because Jonathan reminded me it's a movie and the scene might get scrapped anyway. And I'm the selfish one?" She pauses, and you can see her winding up for the kill shot. "What about Sammy? He asks you to be your boyfriend, and the moment you're away from him, you're playing tonsil hockey with someone else."

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Polly looks at you with wide eyes. You look away, unable to meet her gaze. You glance at Eddie, who has his elbows on the table, both hands covering his mouth, impossible to tell what expression he's making behind them. Jonathan is leaned all the way back in his chair, hands rubbing his face like he can erase this entire conversation through sheer force of will.

But Nancy gives you a look—her eyes wide, eyebrows lifting, something in her expression that looks almost like encouragement. Like she's saying do it, tell the truth, blow it all up. Or maybe you're imagining it because you're too drunk to read people properly anymore.

You look up at Steve. His eyes are glassing over with tears, but his expression stays carefully neutral, locked down and giving nothing away.

"We were doing the job, Robin," Steve says, and his voice is cold, flat, empty of emotion. "It didn't even mean anything."

Your chair scrapes against the wooden deck floor—loud, violent, the sound cutting through the ambient noise of waves and music and conversation. Your knees are wobbly from the alcohol, and you have to brace yourself on the table for a second before you can stand fully.

You're looking directly at Steve now. He's staring down at his plate, jaw clenched, like he can feel your eyes boring into his skull but refuses to meet them.

"Bullshit," you say again, and the word comes out quiet this time but no less devastating.

Then you turn and walk out of the restaurant, leaving your half-finished margarita and untouched food and the stunned silence in your wake.e

You walk the beach for what feels like hours but is probably only thirty or forty minutes. The sky has gone fully dark now, stars appearing overhead in clusters and constellations you don't know the names of. The moon is nearly full, hanging fat and bright, painting a silver path across the water.

Your feet sink into the sand with each step, making walking harder than it should be. You kick off your sandals at some point and carry them, letting the cool sand squeeze between your toes.

You pass parties—bonfires surrounded by college students, music blaring from boom boxes, the smell of weed and cheap beer thick in the air. Couples walk past you, arms around each other, whispering and laughing, and each one feels like a knife twisting in your chest.

Finally, you find an empty spot—a stretch of beach far enough from the parties that the music is just a distant thump, close enough to the water that the waves are loud, rhythmic, hypnotic.

Your stomach sinks as you stand there, toes in the wet sand where the waves reach, and tears fill your eyes. You're a little less drunk now—the walk and the ocean air have burned off some of the tequila fog—but your head is still heavy, pounding in time with your heart.

You feel like you're breaking apart. Like all the pieces you've been holding together through sheer force of will are finally coming loose, scattering, and you don't know how to gather them back up.

Behind you, a voice says, "We've been looking everywhere for you."

You jump, spinning around, and see Steve standing a few feet away.

His shirt is flapping in the breeze, the striped fabric snapping like a flag. His hair is mussed—more than usual, like he's been running his fingers through it compulsively. He's breathing hard like he's been running, searching, frantic.

You roll your eyes, anger blazing hot and immediate again. You turn back to look at the ocean, crossing your arms over your chest.

Steve's hand touches your shoulder—gentle, tentative, warm even through your shirt. "Come on," he says your name softly, like you're something precious and breakable. "Please. Let's go back to the hotel."

You jerk away from him, spinning around, your hair whipping across your face in the wind. Your eyes are already brimming with tears that threaten to spill over. "Go away, Steve. Like you even care."

"But I do care," Steve's voice cracks, breaking on the words. "I always care about you. I've always—"

"Why?" Your voice raises, carried away on the wind. "So I can go back and listen to you and Polly again? Is that what you want?"

"W-what?" Confusion crosses his face, brows furrowing. "What are you—"

"Every night!" The words tear out of you, raw and painful. "Every night I've had to hear you two together through the wall, and I can't do it anymore. I can't—"

"No." Steve adjusts his feet, tilting his face to look at you fully, eyes widening. He's shaking his head frantically. "No, no, you have it wrong. I—"

"Oh, please, Steve. Give me a break. I don't have time for this." You step back, but he grabs your wrist, holding you in place.

"Polly came on this trip for Eddie," Steve says, words tumbling out fast and desperate. "You have to believe me. When I ended things with her, I told her she should give Eddie a chance. But she said she was talking to someone already, and then Friday after the party, they—" He takes a breath, steadying himself. "Please," he says your name like a prayer. "You have to believe me. It wasn't me. It was never me and her."

Your lips quiver as you think, as the dots finally start connecting through the haze. Eddie's hickies covering his entire stomach. The constant flirting between him and Polly. The way you saw her hand squeeze his knee at dinner. Them being okay alone together for hours while you all went to the movie set. Eddie having Steve's keycard, charging drinks to his room.

And the voice—you thought it was Steve's voice humming in the shower, but earlier when Eddie was smoking the joint with you and Polly, he was humming too. That same tuneless, happy sound. The same toothy grin.

"I believe you," you say quietly, and you do. But your voice hardens. "But it doesn't make a difference. It doesn't change anything. Leave me alone."

You shake your head, pulling your wrist from his grip. You start walking away from him, not toward the hotel but further down the beach, into the darkness.

You hear him swallow hard, hear him curse under his breath. Then your name again, gentle and broken. "Is it true?"

You stop. Turn around. "Is what true?"

"Did Sammy really ask you to be your boyfriend?" Steve's expression is shattered, pieces of it scattered across his face—hope and fear and desperate need all warring for dominance. His eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

"Why do you want to know?" you challenge, even though you already know the answer.

And then he breaks. His voice is gone, reduced to barely a whisper. "You know why, Hot Shot."

The nickname feels like a wave crashing over you—sharp and painful and overwhelming. You're shaking your head again, looking away because you can't bear to see his face. Your lips purse together, trying to hold back the sob building in your throat.

"No, Steve. No, I don't." Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. "How could I when you said those things to me?"

"I know." He's quick, frantic, stepping toward you. "Please, I know. I messed up." Then quieter, voice cracking completely. "I messed up so bad."

He steps forward again, closer now, and his face catches the moonlight. You can see tears on his cheeks, silvered tracks running down to his jaw.

"Please don't," Steve begs, and he sounds wrecked, destroyed. "Don't do it. Don't be his girlfriend. Please say no when you go back. Please."

Your breath hitches. You're crying harder now, chest heaving with sobs you can't contain anymore. "And why not? Sammy's nice. He's good. He's—"

"But I can be good too." Steve's voice is desperate, pleading. "I've been trying. I've been trying to change, to be better. I have changed." He says the last part with slightly more confidence, but it's still broken at the edges, like he's not entirely sure he believes it himself.

"Okay? And what?" You take a step back, needing distance, needing space to breathe. "Are you trying to say I should be with you? Join you and Robin in your miserable lie?" Another step back. "Because I would never be happy. You love Robin. And that's not going to change. You're always going to pick her."

"But I don't love her." The words come out soft, broken, honest. He lifts his hand like he wants to touch your face, but instead it comes to his own chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt over his heart. "Not like—not in the way I love you."

Your eyes widen. You feel yourself step forward involuntarily, pulled toward him like gravity, but then you shake your head and force yourself to step backward instead.

"I thought maybe you didn't feel what I was feeling," Steve continues, looking out at the ocean now. His profile in the moonlight is beautiful and heartbreaking—the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the way tears catch the light as they roll down his cheeks. He closes his eyes, swallows hard, his throat working. "That you didn't want more. But then today, when we kissed—"

He looks back at you, and the way he's looking at you makes your heart stop. Like he's seeing you again for the first time. Like he's doing what he says he feels—loving you, wanting you, needing you more than air.

And that's what makes it hurt the worst.

"I didn't mean it," Steve says your name like it's sacred. "When I told you I was bored of you, I didn't mean any of it. It's the opposite. I could never be bored of you." His voice drops to barely a whisper. "I think I became alive when I met you. That there was this missing piece of me I didn't know was missing until I realized it was you."

Your face softens despite yourself, tears flowing freely now. "What about Robin?"

Steve ducks his head, looking at his feet, and his whole body radiates pain—shoulders curving in, back bowing like he's trying to make himself smaller.

You take a moment to watch him. To really see him—Steve Harrington, golden boy, heartbreaker, your best friend's fake boyfriend, the boy who showed you the stars. You sniffle, wiping at your face with the back of your hand.

"Steve," you say carefully. "I can't deny that I've been feeling things for you. And I do want more. I—"

He looks up at you immediately, hopeful, searching for confirmation, trying to grasp onto the possibility. He steps forward, reaching for you.

But you take a step back, hands coming up between you like a barrier. You swallow hard, tilt your head, bite your lip. Let out a shaky breath that tastes like salt and tears and regret.

"But I don't love you," you force yourself to say. "Not like that."

The lie tastes like poison on your tongue.

There's that weird feeling in your chest again—guilt, heavy and suffocating, mixed with something that might be self-preservation or might be cowardice.

Steve's mouth opens and closes, no sound coming out. He's crying openly now, face crumbling, and he pinches the corners of his eyes like it will stop the tears, like this moment will end if he can reset his vision.

"I should've said something at dinner," he manages to get out through the sobs. "I should've—" His shoulders shake, his whole body trembling. He looks away, unable to meet your eyes anymore.

You steady yourself, planting your feet in the sand, forcing yourself to stay upright when everything in you wants to collapse. You look at him one last time—really look, memorizing him like this. Broken and beautiful and more honest than he's ever been.

"Goodnight, Steve."

And you turn and walk away.

You can't stay. Don't trust yourself to stay. Because you want to ask him to run away with you, to let the tides carry you both far from Robin and Nancy and expectations and futures that have already been decided. You want to give yourself a chance to see if there's a possibility of knowing what loving Steve Harrington could feel like.

But you can't.

So you walk away from the boy you might love, leaving him crying on an empty beach in Miami, and you tell yourself it's the right thing to do.

You tell yourself the pain in your chest will fade eventually.

You tell yourself you made the right choice.

You tell yourself a lot of things as you walk back to the hotel alone, and you don't believe any of them.

[steveheadcannons]

this is actually just what happens when you go on a girls trip to miami

[harringtonsdiary]

don't kiss and tell masterlist

steve harrington x reader fanfiction | fratboy!steve | platonic!stobin (i promise) | mentions of cheating (but it's not real cheating) | mean!steve, playboy!steve | sort of friends to enemies to fwb to lovers | slowish burn | angst | hurt ... eventual comfort summary: When you find out your college roommate/friend robin buckley's boyfriend, steve harrington— who you thought beat all stereotypical frat boy odds— is cheating on her, you find it hard to understand why she still wants to be with him. But there is more than meets the eye. You aren't sure if you want to be roped into it.

Teaser Rules/Playlist Chapter one Chapter two Chapter three Chapter four Chapter five Chapter six Chapter seven Chapter eight Chapter nine Chapter ten Chapter eleven Chapter twelve Chapter thirteen (coming soon) Chapter fourteen Chapter fifteen Chapter sixteen Chapter seventeen

[steveheadcannons]

thinking about how steves parents were probably already away during the quarantine and couldn’t go home for 18 months

[steveheadcannons]

and if i said i think steve gets hung up on nancy again in s4/5 because robin has vickie and he doesn’t want to be alone again and nancy is familiar

what then

[steveheadcannons]

?????????????????? canonical hung harrington is so crazy

[steveheadcannons]

steve is not allowed to participate in campaigns anymore because all he ever does is throw charisma rolls to try and romance you

[steveheadcannons]

been watching a lot of D20 recently might write this

[steveheadcannons]

returned to tumblr mid manic episode to find maroon cardigan deactivated !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :( :( :( does anyone know what happened???? and have any recs??

[edsbev]

steve doesnt realise billy possessed but doesnt question the fact that everyones trying to kill him bc he just figures theyre tired of billy being a piece of shit

[edsbev]

will, quietly in fear: billy…hes a monster

steve: ya i know dude lol i was there when he tried to beat up lucas like 6 months ago

[edsbev]

el, gravely: no theres something…evil inside him

steve: yea its called racism so whats the plan to kill him again

[cherishablematerial-deactivated]

max: we have to stop him

steve: ya no shit he’s a fucking menace so i’m thinking i should hit him with my car any thoughts

[maroon-cardigan-deactivated2025]

THE ONLY EXCEPTION | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: hawkin’s loverboy steve harrington is known for always spoiling his dates on february 14th, yet this year his plans might not go as he expects when he finds out the new girl in town absolutely despises valentine’s day.

word count: 12.6k

early stages of dating, kinda situationship | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

warnings: this one shot and the content i write are +18, minors do NOT interact. smut. protected p in v, a bit of sub!steve but nothing crazy, lots of dirty talk and some angst with happy ending.

author’s note: hiiii <3 i found this unfinished thing on my drafts that i initially wanted to publish on valentine’s day as part of the valentine’s mailbox, but i was soooo busy i couldn’t really finish it back then. there were a lot of scenes that i loved in this so i thought i would write it and post it anyways, that’s why there are probably typos at the end but please ignore them <3 let me know what you think x

[dividers by @cafekitsune ]

You were unreal. The fun was unreal, the sex was unreal. It was about time until you got him whispering sweet nothings as he dived his nose on your hair.

‘Turn around.’ Steve said under his breath, and you were so blinded by the lust that you did exactly as he said. His hand was pulling aside the pretty red thong that barely covered your ass while he fucked you from behind. ‘Love this one.’

In other instances, you would’ve laughed or said something cheeky, but you were too busy letting out pretty moans and pressing your cheek against the pillow to say anything.

‘You hear that, babe?’ Steve said as he fucked you a bit harder, obscene noises echoed through his room as you bit your lip. ‘God, you’re so fucking wet. And this pretty thong’s so fucking filthy. What are you gonna do when you cum on my dick, huh? You’re gonna have to take ‘em off and go home with nothing under that little skirt. And it’s so cold outside, baby. What are you gonna do?’

His dirty talk seemed to be having the exact effect that he wanted, because you were panting helplessly as you fisted the bedsheets under your body.

‘Or should I drive you home all dirty, huh?’ A little smile was lifting his lips as you shut your eyes hard. ‘S that what you want? I’ve got a few ideas of how I could clean them for you.’

You let out a laugh then, a small thing that instantly turned into a moan at the way he kept fucking you.

‘You’re such a pig, Harrington.’ You said under your breath.

‘Oh, but I fuck you nicely, don’t I?’ His hips clashed against your ass firmly then, and he knew that you were rolling those perfect eyes under your eyelids in response. ‘Don’t I?’

‘Shit, yes.’ You finally said as you started to roll your hips deliciously. ‘You fuck me exactly how I like it, Steve. ‘S that what you wanna hear?’

He bit his lip at your tone, at your annoyance. Steve loved it way too much, when you acted like him being obsessed with you was an inconvenience when really, he could feel you, hear you, getting wetter and wetter around his dick.

‘Tell me more.’ He asked, sweating over your body as he could feel himself getting close. ‘Baby.’

Another amused sound left your mouth as you slowly fixed the rhythm with your hips, he had to let go of the thong for a second to brush his messy hair away from his face.

‘Such an attention whore.’ You said under your breath. He opened his eyes to find you smiling as he swallowed hard. Why was it that when other girls were mean he felt nothing but with you it was so hot? ‘Always looking for my praise, huh?’

‘Babe.’ He warned. That funny feeling was growing in his stomach as you bounced on him a little bit more. He was trying to match your pace, but he was too distracted, too mesmerized, too fucked to be able to.

‘What if I tell you I’m about to cum?’ You said in a dreamy voice that he’d be replaying in his head tonight when he showered before bed. ‘Is that nice enough to make you cum with me?’

‘I—’

‘Fuck.’ You moaned as you hid your face on the pillow. His grip on your hip was now strong, his thrusts messy and completely out of pace as you partly opened your mouth. ‘Shit.Your dick’s always so good to me, Steve. So good to me.’

That was it, the littlest crumb of filthy validation and he was already placing his forehead against your back as his dick filled the condom with his hot cum. You panted a little underneath, equally pleased by his reaction and the sex, until a final moan and a subtle spasm from your body let him know you had cum as nicely as usual.

‘You’re too pretty to be this fucking mean.’ Steve whispered against your skin before he kissed the back of your neck.

His dick fell out of your pussy, heavy and damp with your fluids, just to be replaced by his fingers, maliciously inspecting that warm heaven you hid between your legs. You whimpered in surprise for a second, while he sighed heavily, fingering you with no other purpose than his own perverse enjoyment.

‘Ow.’ He said against your skin as you squirmed a little. ‘Just look at how wet this greedy pussy is. And I just fucked her, can you believe it?’

‘Steve ‘m so— s-sensitive.’ You moaned as he kept fingering it. ‘Not gonna cum, but—’

‘What’s that?’ He said. ‘Don’t fucking test me.’

‘It feels good, I’m just scared that I might—’

‘Might what?’ Steve said amused. ‘You already made my sheets dirty, princess. This whole bed is stained by you.’

‘You know I don’t mean to.’ Your complaint was more like a begging moan as you arched your back.

‘I know, baby.’ He cooed. ‘I know ‘s not your fault you get so messy. That’s why I’m fucking you again, gotta make sure you go home well-fucked. Give me another one, will you? C’mon, be good for me.’

The noise that left your mouth then filled him with equal pride and fascination. You melted against his bed like a wild thing, humping the mattress a little as he felt the walls of your pussy clenching for a second time around his fingers.

‘There we go.’ He bit his smile, carefully taking his digits out of you as you recovered from the violent high. When you turned your head towards him, your tired eyes observed how he sucked your wetness off his fingers. ‘Want a taste?’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ You said unamused as you let out a deep sigh.

Steve laughed as you laid on the bed. He stood up to get rid of the condom and clean himself a little as you stayed in the same position until he came back to bed.

His arrogance had melted quickly, looking back at you with that softness so proper of him that had drawn you more than any of his flirty charm. Steve laid on his side next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist in a needy snuggle.

‘Want you closer.’ He said softly as his nose brushed against yours.

You smiled subtly, placing a hand over his cheek before you pecked his mouth in that simple yet tender way that always managed to soothe him.

There was silence for a while, as the world outside his bed started to gain importance. You were both lost in your thoughts for a few minutes, enjoying the post-lust quietness, the tiredness, the simplicity of it all.

‘By the way,’ Steve said then ‘I got a reservation for next Sunday at that French restaurant Nancy mentioned the other day.’

You frowned softly when you opened your eyes, but he didn’t give it too much thought as you let out a yawn.

‘Isn’t that place a bit too fancy?’ You asked as you moved to lay on your back.

He shrugged. ‘So?’

‘So?’ You looked back at him. You poked his nose with yours, giving him a soft smile afterwards. ‘I know I like being spoiled, but I’m a simple girl, Steve. I like doing simple things with you.’

‘I know, I know.’ He shrugged shyly again as he pulled you closer towards him. ‘But you know, it’s a special occasion so I kinda wanted to do something nice. Don’t worry about the money.’

‘Is it?’ You looked back at him with a confused semblance. You opened your mouth partly, hesitating for a second before shaking your head softly. ‘Isn’t five weeks too early to have special occasions already?’

‘Oh, please.’ He rolled his eyes amusedly. ‘Don’t be silly, it’s just Valentine’s Day.’ 

Realisation fell on your eyes as you tensed a little under his embrace.

‘Oh.’

He observed you as your eyes got lost on something on the ceiling.

‘What?’

‘Huh. I just…’ You said tentatively before looking back at him. ‘I just don’t feel that’s kind of my thing, you know.’

It took Steve a few seconds to process your words before he moved purposefully, resting the side of his head on his hand as he flexed his elbow over the pillow. A thoughtful frown took over his face while his free hand stroked the skin next to your belly button, then it climbed subtly to start playing with one of your nipples absently.

‘You don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day.’ It wasn’t a question, yet you were shaking your head softly in response. The statement felt bitter in his mouth. ‘Like at all?’

‘No.’ You murmured as you studied his face.

Steve didn’t like the condescending smile that was threatening to take over your face. Valentines was a very simple thing, a very couple thing. Most importantly, it was his thing. He didn’t understand. 

‘Well, why not?’ He said. ‘You don’t like flowers?’

‘They wilt.’

‘Heart-shaped chocolate?’

‘I’m lactose intolerant.’

‘Cards?’

‘Only on Christmas and Birthdays.’

‘Teddy bears?’

‘Oh, please.’ You seemed visibly annoyed now. ‘Don’t even get me started, what a waste of space.’

‘What?’ He leaned back. ‘What kind of girl doesn’t like Teddy Bears?’

‘Steve, I’m an adult.’

He seemed to be clearly upset by that answer, because suddenly he was starting to number things with his fingers as you moved to your side to face him.

‘They’re cute, they’re soft, they smell good, they’re huggable.’

‘Okay?’ You said. ‘So am I.’

‘That’s beside the point.’ He said as he felt the heat rush to his cheeks.

‘Look at me.’ You said with a new seriousness in your eyes. ‘If there’s going to be one rule here is no Teddy Bears.’

Steve looked away as he sighed. He felt severely immature, but more than that he felt stupid for feeling hurt by your attitude.

‘Listen babe,’ His hand was now finding yours over the space in between your bodies. In a different situation he would’ve simply pulled you in from your waist, but he could feel a pinch of annoyance piercing his chest. He could feel himself hiding from you. ‘I get that you’ve never felt like doing this before, but maybe this can be… a first.’

You looked down at your entwined hands, considering his words as uncertainty tinted your face in a way that twisted his guts. His heart broke a little bit inside as you bit the inside of your cheek before shaking your head.

‘I don’t think so, honey.’

Steve swallowed his hurt as an awkward silence fell in the space between you two. You were still not looking at him as he studied your face.

‘Can you at least tell me why?’

You were visibly uncomfortable, releasing a sigh while you detangled your hands to cuddle against him again. As if it was second nature, he opened his arm for you to find that warm place between his arms that, even though it had only been five weeks, belonged to you and only to you already.

‘Do you remember that day at the lake,’ you said when you were finally resting your head on his shoulder. ‘When we had sex for the first time?’

He kissed your scalp then, smiling sadly against it as his knuckles stroked your cheek.

‘Course I remember.’ He murmured.

‘Do you remember when I asked you about this?’ Your fingers slowly brushed the skin around his neck, the dark pink scar that had left you speechless when he had taken his shirt off that the cold night of New Year’s.

He nodded absently over your head, you had lifted yourself subtly to look back at him, but he couldn’t face you right now.

‘You said some things are hard to remember.’ You kept going softly. ‘That there are some things you couldn’t explain to me. And I understood. Well, this is my thing.’

‘I didn’t know you back then.’ He murmured. ‘I wasn’t ready to tell you.’

‘And are you now?’

Steve stayed silent for a while, pondering about his answer until he was finally able to shake his head.

‘S different.’

You moved then, so you could face him fully. He was only able to look back at you when your fingers stroked his hair, you were staring at him with the outmost sweetness, but there was something cold behind your eyes. Something unfamiliar. Something that he didn’t like.

‘You don’t get to decide if it’s different or not, Steve.’ You murmured. ‘I know you know that.’

‘What’s this?’

Your voice lifted Steve’s mood before he could even see you. When he turned back, you were standing in front of the counter where he had been checking out some tapes, and he couldn’t help but let the dumbest smile take over his face as he leaned in towards you.

‘What’s what?’

‘This.’ You said lifting your palm over the counter.

Steve could feel himself smiling a bit wider, but you were clearly annoyed and though he was enjoying it, he still concealed his amusement by casually placing a hand over his mouth as he inspected your palm for a few seconds.

‘A petal?’ He shrugged.

‘Not just a petal, a rose petal.’ The velvety thing still laid on the centre of your palm as you looked at him with an accusing stare. ‘Why was this inside my car?’

‘I don’t know?’ He laughed as he started piling the tapes next to you. ‘Have you bought any flowers lately?’

‘Steve.’

You observed him work with the same annoyed semblance, but he stayed focused on organising the tapes to avoid your stare. When he clumsily let one of them fall over the counter, you flinched almost instantly, keeping your cupped hands out of his reach.

‘You know, for someone who hates flowers that much, you seem to be taking a little too much care of that thing.’ He smiled at you as he stopped his movements.

‘I came to return it to you.’ You said after a while as you lingered on your place. Steve felt tendered by the way you still held on to it, unsure about what to do with it or how to even hold it.

‘You don’t have to, babe, it’ll wilt by itself.’

He placed his arms over the counter as he looked back at you.

‘I figured.’ You admitted as you took a step forwards, still looking at the red petal. ‘So, you didn’t put it there?’

He shook his head.

‘Maybe it was the wind.’ He said, ‘Or it got stuck to one of your coats.’

‘Hmm.’ You didn’t seem too convinced, but it didn’t matter. A smile was taking over his face as you ventured to stroke the petal with your other hand. He still had to keep his cool when you looked back at him. ‘What do I do with it?’

‘Just throw it away.’ He shrugged, but you seemed to frown at his suggestion for a second before he spoke again. ‘Or maybe put it inside a book.’

‘Oh.’

‘You like that idea?’ He asked tendered by the smile that was taking over your face.

You shrugged, looking down shyly as you partly closed your hand over the petal. Then you rested your arms over the counter in front of him, staring back with softened eyes as if the petal problem was now an afterthought.

‘Anyways, what are you doing tonight?’ You bit your lip in that irresistible way he couldn’t stand. ‘My parents are gonna have dinner at the Patel’s and they always get so drunk there I’m sure they won’t be able to drive back home until the morning.’

‘I thought you had class tomorrow.’

You shrugged. ‘I can skip it.’

He stood back for a second, inspecting your face with fascinated expectation. Steve hadn’t stepped inside your house yet, always looking at the wallpaper of your room from the driver’s seat when you turned the light on after he dropped you off. Always wondering what your pillow smelled like, wondering if you thought about him in your bed at night. He could feel his cheeks turning red as you kept smiling while biting your lower lip, lifting your eyebrow in a sweet question.

‘Again?’ He raised his eyebrows as you bit your lip cheekily, then rolled your beautiful eyes at him.

‘I have a doctor’s note, okay?’

He let out a chesty laugh to himself as he put the tapes away before his eyes fell on you again.

‘What time you want me there?’

‘Late.’ You pointed a finger at him. ‘Don’t come before nine, or I won’t be sure that they’re definitely staying there.’

Late was the perfect time for Steve to park his car on the other side of the street to avoid suspicion from any noisy neighbours. It was cold outside; he noticed when he closed the car’s door before he walked towards your deserted porch. It didn’t last long though, he turned warm as soon as you opened the door, wearing a knitted dress and fluffy socks. You had washed your hair recently, he could tell by the way he could smell your shampoo, but you hadn’t brushed it, and it looked beautifully messy under the warm light of your house’s entrance.

‘Hey stranger.’ You smiled widely at him before your eyes fell on the bags on his hands. ‘What’s this?’

‘Thought that I could cook for you.’ He shrugged before he leaned it to steal a quick peck from your lips. Your mouth was partly open in a sceptic smile as he did, walking into the warm safety of your home.

‘Cook?’ You said turning on your toes as you shut the door behind you. ‘You?’

Steve shrugged as he took his jacket off. He was trying not to let himself blush under your stare, but he was feeling suddenly intimidated at the idea of being inside your house.

‘I can cook a decent pasta.’ He defended himself, lifting an eyebrow as you bit your lip in that irresistible way that would soon make him forget he was hungry. ‘I brought wine too. Where’s the kitchen?’

He followed you as you turned on a few lights that lead to your kitchen. It took everything in him not linger on the little details of your life. The plant pots, the bookshelves, the family planner on the wall. There were dates where your name was written on red ink by two, maybe three different handwritings. He was about to make a joke about how busy you were going to be in the next few months when you called him.

‘Yes?’ He said as he turned around.

‘I said, there was no need to bring salt.’ You said with a mocking face as you held the white grinder he had stolen from his kitchen that night. ‘We got salt here, you know.’

He hummed in satisfaction for a second before he walked towards you.

‘Wasn’t sure.’ He shrugged as he stood next to you over the kitchen table ‘Can I borrow a pan?’

‘Do you wanna borrow some boiling water too?’

He rolled his eyes at you, pushing your hip with his softly as he rolled his sleeves up to start cooking.

An hour or so later you were both in your room, sitting on the floor, back resting against the side of the bed as the dirty plates laid not too far, while Steve refilled the wine glasses.

‘I think it was a success, if you ask me.’ He said.

‘Of course you do.’ You said sarcastically, but then your face seemed to be filled with an accidental tenderness that softened your semblance in a second. ‘Thank you for cooking for me.’

‘S nothing.’ He said as he leaned to his side to get closer to you, shoulders brushing and the warmth of your bodies floating in between you with electricity.

‘You know it’s not.’ You said softly. ‘Where did you learn how to cook?’

He put his glass aside before finding your hand over the carpet, shyly playing with your fingers as you observed him.

‘My grandma teaches me a few things every time I go see her.’ He admitted.

‘That’s cute.’ You smiled, putting your own glass aside as you sat closer to him. ‘Does she live here in Hawkins?’

He nodded softly. ‘She does. Molly’s got a big garden full of different plants and whenever I’m there she tests me to see if I know the difference between a basil leaf and parsley one.’

You lifted your eyebrows. ‘And you do?’

Steve leaned his head softly. ‘Meh…’

He laughed like a child right after, and you followed just like you always did in the instances when he acted like an absolute dork. Making you laugh for the sake of it, doing everything in his hands to hear that sound as often as possible.

‘Come here.’ He finally said when he couldn’t hold it in anymore. No protests left your pretty lips as you moved to sit on his lap. His hands found your hips as if it was second nature while yours were already playing with the collar of his sweater in that almost-casual way, as if he didn’t know what you wanted already.

You didn’t dare to look at him as he leaned in slowly, focused on the way you were closing your eyes in anticipation before he dared to cup your cheek. You leaned into the touch as his nose brushed yours; he could smell your sweet scent here and everywhere else in your room, and he loved it in the most pathetic of ways. He almost mentioned it there, he almost asked you once again. Deep down there was a part of him that felt your rejection for Valentine’s Day was just a way to back away from the possibility of making things official. But this was real already, wasn’t it?

The sigh you let out was slow and the same time so very deep he could still feel the warmth of your breath brushing his face when you opened your mouth. His hand dived inside your hair as your held onto his shirt and he thought, he thought, he thought. Back in school, a couple of years ago, would you have rejected him? Would you had said no if he had sent you a note in class, saying ‘would you be my Valentine, love steve’? A crumpled piece of paper signed in red ink like your name shone on the calendar, calling for him.

He didn’t dare to explore the possible answers to that question, because he wasn’t a High School boy anymore, and you hadn’t been to school together. You were an enigma still, he thought while carefully undressing you under the light of the lamp on your bedside table.

There was nothing under the dress but a pair of pink panties he had never seen before. He held onto them as you kissed his neck and grinded on his jeans, whispering a sweet nonsense that drove him crazy in comparation to the explicit dirty talk you so often indulged yourselves in.

‘…missed you…’ Was all he could grasp in between your hushed sentences. He still didn’t feel brave enough to ask what else you had said because all he could do was hold onto that little glimpse of neediness right there, and before he could do anything you were back at kissing his mouth. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

Steve did as you said, of course. He laid your perfect body over your patterned bedsheets and kissed your stomach with patience, he let you hold his head as your thumb brushed his forehead. Maybe this way he’d might be able to soften you, maybe he could ask you right after, but wasn’t that what he had done last time? And why did he always had to beg for love in the early stages of things? Why couldn’t he just wait?

Your gasp felt like a drug to him when he kissed your clothed pussy, eyes looking up at you waiting for your reassurance, because of course, this was how things had been from the beginning when you met on New Year’s Eve. He had fucked you pretty in the back of his car back in Lover’s Lake, begging inside that you’d give him your number right after. Always begging.

You nodded. That’s how he knew. In a swift movement he removed the bothersome piece of underwear to eat you properly, without inhibitions. A whine of surprise left your mouth when he pulled your hips unexpectedly, your lips lifting subtly before that attempt of a smile was erased by a frown of pleasure. His tongue made sure to wet every single inch of swollen skin in front of him, to move his head only when you applied that subtle pressure that maybe made you think that you had some control over your pleasure, over him. Maybe you did. Much more than he was willing to admit.

Panting heavily, you brushed his hair when he rested his head over your pelvis. He was breathing hard too, he was thinking. You hadn’t cum yet, but he could hear your fastened pulse because his ear that was pressing against your skin. His knuckles stroked the inner side of your thighs then, then he opened his eyes to have a look at your throbbing cunt. In a weird sense it tendered him, how ready you were for him. Would you always be this ready? Would you ever be ready for something more than this?

Steve almost said it then. He called your name, and you moved your head to the side lazily, lips puffy and eyes tired as you wished he kept going. Your hand entwined with his over your hip and you were pulling him upwards to you, making him forget it all. Absolutely besotted by everything you were and how it overwhelmed him before he swallowed hard. When he was finally hovering over you, he called your name again and you seemed more responsive.

‘Huh?’

Your pretty eyes studied his face as he thought about what to say. He let out a scoff-like laugh, an awkward thing that made him feel as if suddenly something pointy was piercing through his chest, something that was filling him with a sweet, demeaning drunkenness.

‘Nothing.’ He whispered as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. ‘M just gonna get a condom.’

Next morning your house was quiet as Steve climbed up the stairs. He had something resembling of a hangover drilling his temples, but he still had managed to take a shower in your bathroom without waking you up before changing into his work clothes.

It was almost instinct what finally awakened you when he walked inside your room with a humming cup of coffee. He had to look away from how adorably you looked stretching on the bed as he placed the little dish with the cup over your bedside table, otherwise if he thought too much about it, he would end up calling in sick.

‘Morning.’ You yawned softly.

‘Morning, sleepy thing.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed as you stretched again. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Hm.’ You reached for his hand on the bed. He had to fight the need to repeat everything you had done together last night when you kissed his fingers, hiding his hand under your neck as if it was a precious thing. ‘Very well.’

Then you lifted your head towards the cup resting on your table and you sat up to inspect it better.

‘What’s this?’ You said lifting the pretty plate where the cup rested

‘Those are sugar cubes.’ He said adorably as a matter of fact.

You took one of the heart-shaped pieces and inspected it closely with a cynical look.

‘They don’t look like cubes to me.’

Steve shrugged.

‘I didn’t make them.’ He licked the smile that threatened to take over his face as he sat closer to you on the bed. ‘Molly did.’

‘Your grandma makes sugar cubes?’ You lifted your eyebrows.

‘Sugar figures.’ He corrected before he laughed softly. ‘She’s into every single hobby you can possibly imagine.’

You stayed in stunned silence, still inspecting the sugary heart on your hand for a few seconds until you dared to throw it inside the humming brown liquid inside the cup.

‘I left a bag for you downstairs.’ He said shyly as you threw in the second. ‘You can use them for your coffee, or you can do what I used to do as a child and just suck on them.’

You laughed softly while you stirred the coffee. As he observed you, Steve felt more serene about your resolutions on Valentine’s Day. He found in himself a sort of peaceful resignation that allowed him to see things clearer, to take space from this thing between you if that meant his heart would make it in one piece. The problem though, was that he seemed certain of it here in the safety of your room, but he didn’t know how long this determination would last.

‘What are you doing today?’ Steve asked to try appeasing his worry.

‘Got a check-up appointment at the doctor’s’ You simply said as you put the empty cup back on the table. ‘What are you doing today?’

‘I’ve got the late shift so… that.’ He already felt exhausted, and he only started in about two hours. ‘Then I think I’m driving Robin to the mall for an express Valentine’s shopping.’

You made a face and looked away as you rubbed your hands over your legs. Steve couldn’t help but frown subtly at your reaction, shaking his head in confusion.

‘What?’ He said then.

‘Nothing.’ You shrugged.

‘Nothing?’ He made a pause. ‘I’m just driving her ‘cause she needs to get some stuff for Vicky.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’ You sat more comfortably in the bed, as if you were uneasy. Steve eyes studied you for a second while you avoided his stare.

‘I can’t even mention Valentine’s now?’ It was only then than he realised how absurd he found this whole situation, how annoyed he was by it, how it hurt him that you simply wouldn’t let him give you this little thing.

‘I didn’t say anything, Steve.’ You raised your voice just slightly as you looked back at him.

He stood up from the bed then, letting out a scoff that made you roll your eyes as you took the covers off your legs.

You were about to say something when you both heard it, the clinking of the keys, the sound of the door opening, steps echoing downstairs as the blood fell from your face.

‘Shit.’ You said under your breath as you stood up quickly.

‘I-I need to leave.’ He murmured as he took a step towards you, before none of you could register it, he was holding your face in his hands. He was brushing his fingers softly but anxiously against your cheeks. He was laughing. ‘How do I leave?’

‘Window?’ You asked apologetically as you looked back at his soft brown eyes.

‘Window.’ He said as if it was the most ridiculously logic idea. ‘Right, window.’

‘Honey?’ Your mom called downstairs. ‘Are you awake?’

You ran towards the bedroom’s window, calculating the height as you opened it for Steve while he gathered his things.

‘I’ll call you.’ He said eagerly then, cupping your face while he nodded reassuringly. ‘Tonight.’

‘Ok—’ But his mouth was already on yours, and you were smiling. He could hear your mom’s steps on the stairs, but it didn’t matter. He was smiling too. ‘Steve.’

He leaned back for a second to inspect your face before he kissed you again. Then he stole a couple more of kisses. Then your mom was knocking on the door.

Steve smiled at you as you felt him softly break your embrace. He was still looking at you as he started sneaking out through the window. It was quick. A smile. A wink. Then he was gone, and your mom was knocking on the door again.

‘What’s this?’ Your voice was barely a whisper when you asked, sitting on Steve’s lap inside the Wheeler’s basement as you held your book against your chest.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed to him you were quieter than usual that night. Not as in you were mad or shy, just more tired than usual. You had fallen asleep for a couple of hours while they all watched a horror movie, completely unbothered by the screams of the kids that he kept trying to shush as he covered you with a blanket over his lap, as he kissed your scalp and rubbed your arm fondly. 

‘So, when are you gonna tell her?’ Nancy had asked while she was sitting next to him. Robin had laughed softly from the armchair next to the couch, she didn’t dare to join in the conversation, but Steve knew that she was listening closely.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He had simply replied as his eyes focused on the disgusting skin of Freddy Krueger on the TV.

‘Steve.’ Nancy bumped her shoulder with his. It took him a few seconds and a deep breath so he could finally look back at her. ‘C’mon. You two are clearly heading that way.’

‘Don’t even bother, Nancy.’ Robin said as he rolled his eyes, rubbing your warm back in a self-soothing way to calm his nerves. His eyes fell down on you by instinct, knowing very well that you were fast asleep but still wanting to check that you weren’t hearing this conversation.

‘I guess that’s for us to decide.’ He finally said as he focused back on the movie.

Steve could still feel everyone’s eyes on him, on the way he was resting his cheek over your head, stroking your knee over your jeans before fixing the blanket. They could all see perfectly how calmly you looked in his arms, how easily you melted against his body. It was nice, but he also felt exposed. And a bit confused.

Now you were awake, but still a bit distracted as everyone played some sort of board game over the rug while you two remained on the couch. He could still tell you didn’t have a lot of energy to join the rest, so all he did was watch the game from his place as you attempted to read your novel.

‘S a card.’ Steve said then. ‘A poker card.’ 

You held the thin, varnished piece of paper in between your fingers as you inspected it with a soft frown, eyeing the printed figure of the queen of hearts. Steve couldn’t tell if you were thinking about the card or about something else. He thought he was being quite sly, perfectly concealing his attempts to reinvent his tactics with the purpose of… exactly what?

‘Where’s it from?’ You asked.

‘S mine.’ He simply said as he put a lock of hair behind your ear. He couldn’t dare to hold your stare, so he had to look down as he flipped the card for you. ‘From my old deck. See?’

Your eyes lingered on the initials stamped at the back, SH. His parents had given the deck to him as a birthday present when he was twelve, and he had carried them around during camping trips, sleepovers and summer evenings of dead leisure time when there was nothing to do. Most of them had gone lost or damaged by time.

‘Thought I’d give it to you so you could use it as a bookmark.’ He simply said. ‘Better than let them lie around my room loosely.’

You let out a subtle chuckle as you flipped the card in between your fingers. Steve thought that you were about to say something for a second, but you seemed to change your mind before placing it between the pages you had been reading before.

Steve insisted on leaving early that night. He could tell that you were fighting to stay awake, and he didn’t want to force you to stay longer that you wished. It had been a confusing week for him too, between his shifts and having to rethink his Valentine’s plans as he tried not to hold it against you, as he tried to avoid his anxiety get to the best of him.

‘Are you okay?’ He finally asked when he parked in front of your house. Only then he realised how worried he was, how concern overflowed from his chest as he looked back at your droopy eyes.

But you were smiling softly at him, shrugging as you undid the seatbelt under his stare.

‘I’m fine.’ You shook your head. ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.’

He gave you a little smile that didn’t reach his eyes, hoping that he wasn’t reading things wrong. That the weird vibe he was getting from you was just his mind playing tricks with him.

‘C’mon.’ He undid the seatbelt. ‘I’ll walk you to your door.’

‘Wait.’ You said resting the back of your head against the seat. He observed you as you smile turned slightly wider. ‘I wanna stay here a bit longer, spent so much of the day sleeping I feel like I didn’t even spent time with you.’

‘You did spent time with me, silly.’ He said as he turned the heating a bit higher. ‘You just were snoring during most of it.’

You seemed much livelier as your laugh echoed through his car, and in just a few seconds you were already climbing onto his lap.

‘I definitely don’t snore.’ You said as you adjusted yourself over him.

‘You kind of do.’ He joked. ‘It’s something like—’ Steve imitated the oinking noise of a pig as you hit his arm with your fist. ‘You can ask Robin, she was there.’

‘That’s so rude, Steve.’ You said as he hid his head on your neck to start showering it with kisses.

‘Mhm, what can I say?’ He said as you leaned your head to the side before whispering on your ear. ‘You make me behave kind of like a pig sometimes.’

Something small, something resembling a laugh and a moan left your pretty mouth then. Your hands started stroking his thighs as his hands wandered inside your sweater, thumbs sneaking under your bra so they could stroke your perky nipples.

‘You do have your moments.’ You said softly as his kisses climbed to your ear, laughing softly at how his nose tickled your skin.

‘S your fault, baby…’ His hands were squeezing your waist a bit tighter, and every single anxious thought that had uneased him before seemed to have disappeared. ‘Now why don’t you jump to the backseat so I can fuck you for a little while before you go to bed?’

He didn’t need to tell you twice. Your laughs echoed through the car as you got rid of your jeans in the backseat while he pulled his down, checking through the windows once or twice if there was anyone outside. But it was as if the street and this moment was only yours. Steve held you by your waist as you positioned yourself, as you sat on his dick, as you felt full by him in a matter of seconds. The sigh that left your mouths was full of relief and pleasure. You were so tight he couldn’t help but swear as he placed his forehead on your chest.

‘You’re so creamy.’ He was fixing his hips just so his dick could reach a bit deeper. ‘Shit. Stay here for a second, would you? Just right here.’

‘Okay.’ You panted softly, fisting the back of his sweater as you felt him turn a bit harder inside you.

‘There.’

He lifted his head from your chest, brushing his nose against you and feeling a drop of sweat run down his back.

‘There, you felt that?’ He asked as he grew fully inside you, and you were nodding enthusiastically as he guided your hands towards his shoulders. ‘Move for me, baby.’

You did so, sensually and slow in comparison with other times, maybe because you were more tired than usual. Steve’s hands squeezed your hips as they rolled in circles, the pretty sight of your belly button and your bare lower body on top of his was driving him insane. It took you a while to adjust and find a rhythm that pleased you, but when you did it was as if something had come back to you, something that he recognised. Something full of need.

Steve felt goosebumps overtaking every inch of his body when one of your hands snaked behind your back and wandered to touch his balls under your body. The little moan he repressed made you laugh against his mouth as you observed his reactions in silence, still moving, still sexy, still impossible to resist.

‘They feel so tense.’ You cooed him in a whisper. He shut his eyes hard as he released a heavy breath, enticed by the way you stroked his balls, thumb rubbing against the edge of the condom on top of them. ‘Tense and full for me.’

‘Fuck.’ He murmured between his teeth. Jaw tensing while you left a wet kiss on his neck, lifting yourself just enough so all that creamy wetness could run down until it stained his seats. He released another deep breath as he felt you rub all your fluids over his sensitive balls, speaking through helpless pants. ‘You can’t be this fucking mean, babe.’

‘Mean?’ You asked softly as you kept moving. ‘I’m just helping, Stevie. I wanna help you.’

Because you were still touching him, your back arched perfectly so he could sneak his hands inside your sweater once again. Steve’s head came to rest on your shoulder as you kept riding him, as you kept stroking him, cupping his wet, full balls while you softly moaned together.

Your skin was hot, you smelled dangerously good as your other hand came to rest over his head, stroking the hair next to his ear. He could hear your laborious breath, the little whimpers, the beat of your heart from here.

‘Let me help you.’ You whispered as he hugged you tighter. All the blood in his body seemed to be running twice as fast the moment you kissed his head. He’d let you. He’d let you help and do anything else you wanted. You were exuding a kind of heat that only made his situation worse whenever you whispered those sweet words. ‘Are you gonna let me? So we can cum together?’

‘Y-Yes.’ He said under his breath as he started to move his hips more enthusiastically, he was almost whimpering with need, begging as his jaw tensed. ‘Yes, baby. Yes, baby. Yes.’

‘There we go.’ You said in a trembling whisper, knees and hips shaking as you let out a moan of extasy that made him lose it just as quickly as you pussy started pulsing around his dick. His lower lip brushed the fibres of your sweater when he opened his mouth at the edging feeling of his orgasm. ‘There we go, baby— Uh. God. Fuck yes.’

He growled once he started to slowly come back to reality while you still clenched your legs around him, holding on to the feeling a bit longer.

‘Shit.’ He said under a laugh. When he finally leaned back, he put a few messy strands of your hair back on their place so he could look at you. ‘You okay?’

‘Yes.’ You said in between laboured breaths. ‘Just a bit… you know.’

He nodded softly as he looked back at your precious face.

‘Yeah. Same.’ He laughed nervously as he leaned back for a second. He was still inside you, but he couldn’t think about anything that wasn’t your fucked out face as he released a pleasant sigh. And just as quick he sat straight to kiss your mouth. ‘Come here.’

‘Steve.’ You panted heavily. ‘Wait.’

‘What?’ He said in between kisses. ‘I need you.’

‘Wait.’ You pushed him softly. ‘Please. Wait.’

He leaned back just as quickly, looking back at your eyes as he tried to find the source of your discomfort, but you were only trying to catch your breath.

‘You’re boiling.’ He said as his hand held your face.

‘We just had sex.’

‘No, I mean like fever kind of boiling.’ He said as his hand rested on your forehead. ‘Are you okay?’

You opened your mouth to say something before you shook your head, looking visibly better.

‘Maybe I’m just catching a cold.’ You said as he lifted your hands to kiss your knuckles.

‘Is there anything you want me to do?’ He asked softly. ‘I could bring you food.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Your mouth was lifting on a silly smile, and you leaned in to leave a soft peck on his lips. ‘My parents are home, I’m gonna ask my mom to make some soup or something.’

‘Good.’ His lips were a serious line, but his eyes were filled with cheekiness. ‘Just make sure to put your pants on first.’

Steve called you early on Saturday to see how you were feeling. He hadn’t even left the bed before he decided to check on you, dialling your number through the telephone on his bedside table.

‘I think I just got a terrible cold.’ You admitted weakly. ‘Sorry, I can’t go tonight.’

‘Don’t worry about it, babe.’ He made a pause as he bit his lips, thinking carefully about his words. ‘Do you want me to go see you later, maybe? Before I head to Robin’s?’

‘I’d love to, but my parents insisted on staying home today.’ You said then. ‘Don’t ask me why.’

He laughed softly for a second before a longing silence took over the line.

‘Why don’t you ask me what you wanna ask me, Steve?’

‘I…’ He took a deep breath as he moved to lay on his side. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about tomorrow.’

‘No.’ you said after a while. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Well…’ He started, feeling that bothersome arrow painfully twisting in his chest. ‘The reservation still there if you change your mind.’

‘I… thought you had cancelled that.’ You said then. ‘I thought you would.’

‘No.’ He said then. ‘I didn’t.’

‘I assumed you would.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I told you explicitly that I didn’t want to celebrate Valentine’s Day, Steve.’ You said. ‘And I thought that you would respect that.’

‘Babe.’

‘What?’ You said then. ‘I have a right to be mad.’

‘Well, yeah, but… is it really that important?’ He said then, feeling his pride sitting like a heavy rock on his chest. ‘I promise you; I didn’t lose any money. I was hoping— I still hope that maybe you feel like going on a date with me.’

‘But I don’t want to.’ You snapped then. He frowned as he sat better on the bed, trying to understand what you meant. ‘I can’t, either. I’m sick.’

You took a deep breath on the other side of the line while Steve tried to find his words.

‘Hey…’ Was all he could say.

‘The problem’s not if it’s important or not, Steve.’ You said then. ‘It’s the fact that I was so straightforward with you and still you tried to change my mind.’

‘I was just hoping—’

‘Oh my god.’ You said under your breath. ‘You tried to change my mind.’

‘I just wanted to maybe find an alternative way to celebrate with you.’

He hated how small it sounded when it came out of his mouth, but he was unsure, so unsure of things. Of what you felt, of why this was such a big deal to him.

‘The petals, the sugar hearts, the card…’ You paused as Steve shut his eyes hard, back falling on the bed as he took his hand to the bridge of his nose. ‘You were trying to convince me. The whole time.’

‘Babe.’ He said calmly. ‘Those were small things. They were so small, actually… I was just trying to show you, that— I don’t know, that we can just do things our own way.’

He heard you sigh hard on the other side of the line. A long, deep sound that hid some frustration behind, some kind of annoyance that almost brought tears to his eyes.

‘This is ridiculous.’ He heard himself say then, and your scoff followed right after.

‘I’ve been so stupid.’

‘Babe.’

‘I don’t care that they were small things. I care about the fact that you couldn’t simply let this go.’

‘Babe.’ He repeated. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise how delicate this subject really was; I thought it wasn’t that deep.’

‘I told you, Steve.’ You said in between your teeth, before your stern tone turned into a distant sob finally fading into a whisper. ‘Why couldn’t you just let it go.’

‘Because I like you. Because I care about you.’ He made a pause, hearing the beating of his heart loud against his chest. ‘I’m sorry.’

Steve held onto the silence on the other side of the line. He swallowed hard at the absence of your voice, of your breath. Until all he could hear was the beeping of the hanging line.

‘It was so dramatic, Robin.’ Steve drunkenly said outside Robin’s house later that night. They were sitting on her porch, drinking a few beers after everyone had gone home. ‘I’ve dated all types of girls, okay? Ones ‘ve been a bit clingy and others cold— whatever, everyone’s different, right? But I had never seen anyone so fucking determined to avoid affection this much.’

‘Hm.’ Robin simply said in the quiet of the night. Steve looked back at her with confused eyes, but her own gaze was lost in the deserted street as she tried to find the right words in the middle of her own drunken state. ‘It does sound a bit dramatic, but like— ‘s not really the end of the world if she doesn’t like Valentine’s, Steve. You’ve been seein’ the girl only for a few weeks.’

Steve stayed quiet for a few seconds before his eyebrows arched, mortified of what he was realising.

‘Do you think I scared her away?’

Robin didn’t say much, instead she just shrugged. Steve felt the anxiety rise on his chest before he saw her best friend hesitate for a second.

‘Fuck, I think I need to burp.’ She finally said.

Steve let out a sigh of frustration before he shook his head. He could perceive a distant part of himself that was trying to sober up, and he was trying to hold on to it as he rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

‘What did I do.’ He whispered under his breath.

‘Steve, it’ll be fine.’ Robin assured as she rubbed his shoulder with her hand.

‘What did I do. What did I do. What did I do.’ He repeated. ‘I should’ve just told her about the scars instead of trying to play mysterious.’

‘Right,’ Robin let out a snorty laugh. ‘Just tell her about the whole other dimension existing under Hawkins, pretty sure that won’t scare her away.’

Steve let out another frustrated sigh as he pondered about what to do.

‘I’m gonna go see her.’ He finally said.

‘Steve, it’s like, two in the morning.’

‘S fine.’ He stood up. ‘I can’t drive so I have to walk home anyways.’

‘Just crash on the couch.’ She said then.

He shook his head softly as he pulled the zip of his jacket up.

‘I need to sober up.’

‘So, you’re gonna walk in the cold?’

‘Robin, I need to think.’ He could already feel the freezing wind helping to clear his mind. ‘I need to find some way to fix this mess. I’m— I’m an idiot. I can’t believe I let her hang up the phone on me like that.’

‘Okay.’ Robin said standing up clumsily, he had to help her climb the little step on the porch before she gave her a sleepy smile. ‘Call me tomorrow to let me know how it went, Romeo.’

Steve stood outside Robin’s house until she closed the door behind her. He thought about her offer for a second, wondering if maybe it wouldn’t be better to just get some good sleep before showing up like this outside your house— but no. He needed to fix this thing now; he’d do the most stupid thing ever if it’d meant he’d get to start again with you. Things could be different; they could be better. You just had to give him a second chance.

He held onto that thought as he walked in the direction of your street. He rehearsed a million speeches inside his head, that at first were quickly forgotten by the alcohol’s effect, but eventually he had managed to scheme a fair argument in his head. It took him a few seconds to realise the truth when he finally stood in front of your house, with its dark windows and dew-sprinkled steps. He was falling in love with you.

Steve had to savour such a revelation for a second as his brown eyes lifted to find your bedroom’s window. He bit his lip as he paced around your front yard. He asked himself once, twice, three times if he was sure, because if he had managed to scare you away with petals, sugar cubes and poker cards then you were about to slip through his fingers like a shapeless sigh.

As he collected pebbles, he bit the inside of his mouth in thoughtful concentration, trying to come up with what to say now that he was aware of this inconvenient detail. He couldn’t tell you yet, of course. Not after what had happened. He’d say he was sorry, he’d shower you in drunken apologetical whispers and sweet nothings and you’d shush him desperately in the darkness of your room. He’d kiss forgiveness out of you. Shit, he though, he’d fuck you softly until you had no other choice but to let yourself be loved. And he’d do it in secret. Yes. Until you were ready.

Assured that he was now confident enough to go on with his plan, Steve calculated the distance between the floor and your window just like he had the day he had to jump out. He threw the first pebble almost unsure, but it did hit the glass like he expected it to. A little smile lifted his mouth as he threw the next one, hoping that you’d wake up sooner or later. He threw another one. And another one. He had to find a couple of more to throw again.

Nothing happened.

The sun started rising at some point. Birds were chirping and the sky turned lilac blue, and Steve was fucking shivering on your porch as he waited for it to be early enough to ring your bell. The drunkenness was now gone, and he was starting to realise what a stupid dumbass he had been by thinking that you’d even wake up. Not only that but his mood and his tiredness was started to mess with his mood too. He had made a fool of himself this whole week. It was obvious that you two weren’t compatible, that you had a different way of looking at relationships. He needed someone who needed him as much as he needed you.

‘Good morning.’ A female voice made him lifted his eyes as he rushed to stand up from the steps of your house’s porch. An old lady was walking into your porch as she observed him quietly. ‘Can I help you?’

Steve swallowed hard before shaking his hand.

‘Sorry, I, uh…’ He hesitated before his foot kicked the floor nervously. ‘I just— My friend lives here, and I needed to talk to her, so… But it’s not urgent so, I think I’m gonna go home.’

‘You mean the young girl, huh.’ The old lady said as she took a good look at Steve.

‘Yeah.’ He said. ‘I guess. I don’t— She doesn’t have any siblings, that I know of.’

‘No, she doesn’t.’ The old lady admitted thoughtfully before her eyes lighted up. ‘Wait a minute, aren’t you Molly Harrington’s grandson?’

‘I, uh…’ Steve hesitated, scratching the back of his head as he felt the tiredness and this woman’s interest making him more annoyed. ‘I— Yeah. I’m Steve.’

‘Steve!’ She pointed at him. ‘Of course, Steve. I’m a friend of your grandmother. We do pottery together. I’m Sally Holland. I live next door.’

‘Right.’ He nodded. ‘Sounds like something she would do. Nice to meet your Mrs. Holland.’

‘Oh, aren’t you charming.’ She giggled as she walked up the steps to your porch. ‘Come in, honey. I’ll make you a cup of coffee while I water the plants.’

Steve stood on the porch, speechless and puzzled as Sally let herself inside your house. Maybe it was his curiosity what made him follow her, or maybe it was just the fact that a cup of coffee sounded like a goddamn dream after all those hours sitting in the cold.

Everything was the same as it had been a few nights ago when you let him inside. He looked around the entrance as Mrs Holland placed the keys on the table, as if he was going to find any clues in the air, as if you were about to walk down the stairs in your knitted dress and fluffy socks. Or as if Mrs Holland was about to tell him that this house had been empty for the last two months and he had imagined you.

‘How many spoons of sugar, hon?’

When Steve lifted his eyes, Sally was holding the bag of sugar hearts he had given you, and that’s when he felt he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Holland. I really— I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m confused.’

The old lady seemed to have been caught off guard by Steve’s words. He had to take a few steps inside as he took a deep breath, feeling uncomfortable every passing second that he didn’t know where you were.

‘Why are you watering the plants this morning? Where’s uh, everybody?’

‘Oh, honey.’ Mrs Holland put the sugar cubes back on the counter as she looked at him. ‘I’m so sorry, I’ve been so careless. I thought you knew. Little— Well, your friend. She’s very delicate, the poor girl. Gets sick easily since she was a child. Apparently, she had seizures last night which ‘s not that unusual, really. So, when the family spends the day at the hospital, I just come here to collect the mail, water the plants, that sorta stuff.’

Steve had to swallow hard for a second as he blinked a couple of times.

‘I’m sorry, what?’

Mrs Holland tsked.

‘Oh, honey.’ She hit her foot against the floor as she shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry. I feel so bad you found out like this. I—’ Mrs Holland pondered for a second as she took her fingers to her mouth. ‘I’d just assumed you’d know.’

Steve stood in your living room for a second before he scoffed softly.

‘I— no,’ He laughed nervously. ‘It’s okay, Mrs Holland. We don’t know each other that well, anyways. I was just— you know, drunk and… kind of in an… honest mood. I guess.’

The old lady stared at him, mortifying silence opening between them before she shook her head and grabbed the keys.

‘Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital.’ Mrs Holland said as she walked towards him.

‘I don’t think—’

‘Come on, now.’ She hit Steve’s arm with her hand. ‘I insist.’

Steve took a deep breath as he hid his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. He couldn’t help but steal a look at your family calendar, hanging on the kitchen like a proof of what you’d hidden from him so well for the last two months. All those appointments right in front of him, written in red ink. He bit the inside of his cheek as he looked down at his shoes, wondering what he had gotten himself into.

‘Why don’t you go inside the gift shop while I ask where she is, huh?’ Mrs Holland suggested once they made it to the hospital’s lobby.

That wasn’t such a bad idea, was it? You and Steve were in weird terms, he was showing up here unannounced, and maybe the best thing he could do was getting you a little something as a peace offering or a forgiveness gift. Except that it was Valentine’s Day.

And yet the gift shop didn’t stock any red-and-pink themed presents, but it was full of everything you despised. Flowers, chocolates, balloons, cards, teddy bears.There was not be mine or love you nonsense to be seen, but all those senseless slogans were instead replaced by sadder statements of get well soon and sorry for your loss blended into the usual it’s a boy! Or it’s a girl! pink and blue ornaments. If you hated it, it was here in three different colours and six different sizes. It would be impossible for him to regain your trust like this.

And it was only then than it clicked.

He didn’t have enough sleep to deal with such a delicate truth, and he was just about to turn on his feet and tell Mrs. Holland to forget it all when his eyes fell on the only silly thing inside the shop that might not cause you another burst of anger.

Steve knew that he was probably taking a big risk, but who gave a shit at this point? Maybe you had already set your mind not to see him again. He had to try.  

A few minutes later he walked out with a small bag, terrified and unsure as he gave Mrs Holland a small smile, and they walked together towards the elevator.

The doors opened seconds later, in a white and cold hallway with an endless number of rooms, he could hear the echo of his steps on the floor, the white sneakers of the nurses making him lightheaded, and the tiredness of a sleepless night mixing with his anxiety.

‘Here it is.’ Sally finally said when they made it to your door. ‘Room 507.’

Steve stood in silence for a second, staring at the white door in front of him before looking at the old woman.

‘Thank you, Mrs. Holland.’

She gave him a small nod, and a sweet smile before walking towards a set of chairs. Steve could still feel her eyes on him when he knocked on the door.

 ‘Oh.’ A woman he had seen in framed pictures inside your room opened the door with a kind confused smile. ‘Can I help you?’

‘H-Hi, Mrs –’ He could feel the back of his neck sweating as he looked at your mother. ‘I’m Steve Harrington. So sorry to intrude, I’m just a friend of your daughter’s.’

Your mom seemed to be amused by this idea, by the way she was shifting the weight of her body as she took a small step back to have a better look at Steve.

‘Huh.’ She said. ‘Nice to meet you, Steve.’

‘Nice to meet you too.’ He said with a shy smile, knowing very well that she could see through him. ‘I, uh— I was just kind of hoping I could— I-Is she okay?’

Her semblance changed just subtly, his heart dropping as resignation took over her and she gave Steve a pitiful smile before stepping outside and closing the door behind her.

‘She’s fine, honey.’ She said touching his arm for a second. ‘We just like to keep an eye on her, you know? There’s been a lot going on. She’s just started a new medication, and it didn’t agree with her. And… well, other things. It’s hard for her, you know? School and everything else. But she had been a bit happier lately.’ She said as she stared at him. ‘I think I know why now.’

The heat rushed to Steve’s cheeks at the way you mother was looking at him, eyes full of satisfaction at this new discovery, until before they fell on something behind his shoulder.

‘Just come in. It’ll cheer her up.’ She squeezed his shoulder with assurance. ‘I’m going to say hi to Sally.’

Steve followed her silhouette with his eyes as she walked away, feeling all the blood in his body running behind his ears, before he got the courage to open the door.

You were dozing off in the bed, eyes lost in something behind the window. Bare face and dry lips lost in an absent semblance until your eyes fell on him.

‘Hi.’ He said after he closed the door.

‘What’s this?’ Your voice was barely above a whisper before you sat down properly on the bed. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Mrs Holland drove me.’

You didn’t seem to like the mention of her name by the way you were biting the inside of your cheek, nodding twice before looking down at the insipid blue hospital sheets.

‘I see you bought me something for the giftshop.’ You said bitterly, looking down at the bag he was holding before letting out a scoff. ‘How thoughtful.’

‘Not really.’ He snapped. ‘This is for the other sick girl I’m seeing, actually—’

‘Oh, really? Is she staying in this same floor?’

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t, your eyes filled with tears that you tried to hide with several blinks as you looked away, swallowing the knot on your throat.

‘Asshole.’ You whispered as you cleaned your eyes with the palm of your hand. All he could do was stand in silence as he felt like an idiot for saying that, for coming here, for expecting so much of this, so much of you. It took one glance at you to realise you weren’t okay at all, your lips dry and cracking, your skin colourless and dull. The way you had been sleepy and so tired lately, how you missed school regularly, all of it was in front of him, and he hadn’t noticed.

He took a few steps towards you, grabbing a chair and sitting next to the bed as you started sobbing softly, but still so inconsolably.

‘Talk to me.’ He murmured.

You clenched your jaw as your stare was still fixed on some other spot in the room that wasn’t him until you finally shook your head.

‘I don’t know what to tell you.’ You said in a broken voice. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing here.’

He scoffed, this time unable to hold on to his patience and compassion.

‘You don’t know what I’m doing here?’ He laughed in disbelief. ‘I slept outside your house the whole night.’

Your eyes fell on him unintentionally before they fell back on the bedsheets, hugging your knees against your chest as you bit the inside of your mouth.

‘Why couldn’t you just fucking tell me.’ He said in a tired whisper.

‘Because it had nothing to do with you, Steve—’

‘Something could’ve happened to you!’ He stood up, fingers pulling his hair as he raised his voice and paced around the room. ‘Sneaking into my house at night or letting me stay at yours without me knowing that you had a condition—'

‘Don’t call it that.’ You said in the same urging tone.

‘You’re so fucking stubborn, you don’t even realise how irresponsible you were being—’

‘Stop fucking lecturing me,’ you said with a voice that tried to be firm but kept breaking at the end. ‘You don’t know anything about me—’

‘You scared me.’

‘You’ve only known me for five weeks, Steve.’

‘I’m your fucking boyfriend!’ He shouted. ‘Didn’t I deserve to know?’

The illicit word silenced you, making you look away almost instantly as you hugged yourself a bit tighter and your eyebrows arched the more you tried to stop your tears.

‘Am I not your boyfriend?’ You could see him kneel next to the bed, placing his crossed arms over the mattress and searching for your eyes with his as he waited for your answer.

Your mouth opened just slightly as you searched for the right words to say, but nothing came out of them as you seemed more lost than before this whole argument stared.

‘I- I don’t know.’ You finally said in a broken voice. And then, a hopeful whisper as you looked at him. ‘Are you?’

Steve let out a soft breathy sound, as if that question was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard in his life. The shadow of a smile trying to lift his mouth, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was terrified, absolutely scared of losing you.

‘Of course I am.’ He said tenderly. You didn’t move as he stood up and sat on the mattress, your limbs so weak he didn’t have to put any effort at all to pull you into his lap, as you hid your face under his neck.

‘I’m not graduating.’ You admitted in a sobby whisper. ‘And I’m already a year behind.’

He kissed your scalp as you cried a bit more, holding onto his shirt while his patient fingertips stroked your arms.

‘S okay.’ His sweet, soft voice vibrated inside his chest as he held you closer. ‘Everyone’s got different timings, babe. Look at me, I still haven’t made it to college.’

‘I don’t even know if I’ll make it that far.’ You sobbed a bit more. ‘I can’t even take care of myself. I can’t find the energy to. The meds don’t work; I’m tired all the damn time.’ His heart broke at the sight of this version of you that was so broken and angry. ‘I’m so exhausted.’

He stroked your hair as you sobbed a bit more, kissing your scalp and soothing you with I knows and its okays and shhhs that sounded like the sweetest nonsense coming from his mouth. Then he cupped your face when your sobs seemed to have subsided, so you’d look back at him.

‘S just bad times, baby.’ He whispered as he rested his forehead on yours. ‘But you’re going to get through them. At your own pace.’

‘What if I don’t?’ You said anxiously as you sobbed a bit more again. ‘What if I can never take care of myself or become independent, or…? I can’t even think— I’m going to slow you down, Steve.’

‘Nononono.’ He whispered as you stared spiralling again, stroking your nose with his before you tried to look away. ‘Hey, look at me.’

You finally did when he lifted your hands to kiss them as he looked into your eyes, the outmost sincerity overflowing from them as he stared at you.

‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’ He admitted in a sweet murmur. Arched eyebrows and pupils full of fear as he poured his heart out. ‘Did you know that? It’s kind of pathetic how much I like you.’

You laughed softly at his words, growing a bit shy under his stare as you looked up at him.

‘I like you too.’ You said softly, sadly. ‘Very much. But I don’t want to interfere with any of your plans, Steve. I’ve seen you, you’re always taking care of everyone. Of Robin, and Nancy, and the kids and…’ Your voice broke softly when you started crying again, ‘I don’t want to add another unnecessary burden—’

‘Shhh.’ He said brushing away the few tears that fell down your cheeks with his thumbs, kissing your pretty face one, two, three times. And as many times as he’d need to so he could take those awful thoughts off your head, because there was nothing he wanted more than taking care of you. Because no plan seemed worth it if you weren’t part of it. ‘Don’t do this, okay? I wanna see where this goes, don’t you wanna see where this goes?’

Sadness was still taking over those beautiful eyes as you looked back at him, but you finally nodded, giving in to the sickly sweetness of his words. You stayed silent for a few seconds, as Steve got lost in the purity behind your terrified eyes as he stroked your nose with his, until his mouth found what it was looking for, your needy lips and pretty tongue that melted under his. A little smile on his mouth, contagious, making you smile too, something that you had almost forgotten how to do in the last few hours between the visits of nurses and doctors.

‘Hey.’ You said as you kissed that smile again. ‘What’s on the bag?’

The heat rushed to his cheeks as he remembered the bag, swallowing hard at your curious stare.

‘Uh, nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘I mean,’ He cleared his voice. ‘I bought something downstairs. I just— You’re not going to like it.’

You looked around the room biting your smile, equally intrigued and amused by his awkwardness.

‘Can I at least open it?’

‘Uh… I don’t— Okay, uh, sure.’

You observed his movements carefully as he grabbed for the bag on the floor, before placing it on your lap. You took your time to eye the pink and red bag, Valentine’s themed of course, because there was nothing else in the giftshop.

‘Pretty.’ You said sarcastically.

‘Can you just open it?’ He said nervously. ‘I feel you’re enjoying how much you hate this.’

You let out a snorty laugh before shrugging.

‘I just lived my life surrounded by this, you know?’ You finally said after a while. ‘Cards, and ballons and… everything else.’

Steve swallowed hard as he stared at the bag, the back of his neck sweating again as you contemplated the idea of opening his gift.

‘I figured.’ He said. ‘I’m sorry.’

You didn’t say anything else, the silence of the room disrupted by your fingers finally opening the bag. His eyes stared on your face for a second, heart beating hard against your chest as you took the little thing out of the bag. Were you happy, amused at least?

‘Well, at least is not a bear.’ You said as you lifted the plush piglet, amused at its little nose and curly tail.

‘Does that mean you like it?’ His innocence stole a laugh from you, and he was suddenly so, so confused.

‘Well, it reminds me of you.’ You said squeezing the stuffed animal in your hand. ‘And I like you.’

He laughed now, looking down as he felt the heat rushing to his cheeks while that mischievous cheekiness that made you so beautiful took over your face. He still hid his eyes from you a bit longer, until he got the courage to look at you once again, biting his lip. Thinking about how good things were about to get now that you were his. You looked back at him, probably thinking the same thing, licking your lips briefly, hiding the smile behind them. A few seconds of tension, his arched brow and suggestive smile that earned him a harmless push on his arm with your fist. Your beautiful laugh echoing through the hospital room.

‘You’re such a pig, Harrington.’

i do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written work anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

[maroon-cardigan-deactivated2025]

SAVE ROOM FOR US | steve harrington x fem!reader | PART I

summary: one year after his divorce, steve sets his mind to give his daughter nellie an unforgettable christmas, yet in the midst of his efforts, he finds himself orbiting around the pretty receptionist that works in his office, diving into a holiday season full of secret encounters and sensual indecency.

single dad!steve | STEVE’s POV | coworkers with benefits to lovers | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

wordcount: 24.2k

warnings: this series and the content i write are +18, minors do NOT interact. | slight age gap between steve and reader but it’s not specified | SO MUCH SMUT. protected p in v, dirty talk, masturbation, oral (m receiving), a bit of dom!steve but NO degradation of any kind.

author’s note: HA!!! you guys didn’t think i’d forget to post a little something on christmas week, did you? santa said you’ve all been good so you get a mini series as part of marie’s christmas library… 🤭 idk guys there’s just something about office romances in the air lately that got me sooo creative this holiday season and this is probably one of the smuttiest things I’ve written for this blog, so there u goooooo

[dividers by @cafekitsune & @adornedwithlight ]

It had been almost a year since it happened.

Last January, Steve had to sit down in front of the wooden house doll he had carefully build for Nellie when she was only two years old, despite the fact Lauren argued she was still too young. But Steve had dreamed about building a house for his future little girl since he was in college. He designed the whole thing as if it was a real house, with plans and a model, including the electricity system of little lamps like the ones in his grandparents’ home, that Nellie could turn on and off thanks to the switch he installed outside the doll house.

He didn’t know how else to do this, but he was bitterly grateful that Lauren had left him the responsibility, the weight of the world on his shoulders as he sat his daughter on his lap and grabbed her dolls to try illustrating the situation a little better, to maybe make it a bit more playful, less sad.

‘So, you see how dad shares a room with mom in the doll house?’ He said carefully, holding the dolls he had also bought for her, resembling the three of them. Nellie nodded. He had taken their measures at the toy shop before even drawing the plans for the house. ‘Well, now that’s going to be mom’s room. But Nellie’s room will always be Nellie’s.’

He made a short pause, looking at the way this little baby, his barely six years old baby, looked at the way Steve handled dad’s doll, walking down the stairs next to mom’s and hers.

‘And dad is going to have his own house doll as well. Just like this one. I’ll build it for you. But d’you know what that means?’

Nellie carefully looked at him, eyebrows lifting softly at the uncertainty of her dad’s words. Despite the fact they were playing she knew that daddy was serious, by the way he frowned softly, by the dark circles under his eyes, by the stubble that had scratched her cheek so unpleasantly earlier when he gave her a big loving kiss.

‘It means Nellie’s going to have a room in daddy’s doll house. She’s going to have her own bed and toys. And she’s going to have two Christmases. Can you believe that?’ He took a short pause, swallowing the knot on his throat hard as he mentally prepared himself to look back at his daughter. ‘And the most important thing is that daddy and mommy will love her the same.’

In two months, it’d be a year since Lauren and him decided to finally end things and get a divorce. The word still tasted bitter in his mouth. He didn’t mind being a divorced man who lived on leftovers and beer on the first weeks after he moved out, what he did care about was the label that would haunt Nellie for the rest of her life: the wound of a failed marriage, wandering like a ghost through the corridors of her childhood, through the innocence of her puberty, and the hardships of adulthood.  

The first months he couldn’t sleep. He’d call at six thirty after dinner, and he would chat with Nellie about everything and nothing until her bedtime at eight. Can I speak to your mom? He’d ask after saying goodbye and I love you. And then he’d tell Lauren, Please call me if she can’t sleep. Please call if she has nightmares or gets a fever. If she needs anything. I’m fifteen minutes away. Just please call. Please.

Lauren would dismiss his anxiety as if Nellie was a goldfish or an adult. He knew she loved their daughter, but she had always been so detached and careless that it took him about three months to realise a hard truth about the woman he had once been in love with: He didn’t trust her.

That’s when the custody problems started. Steve demanded an arrangement, that Nellie must live with him every other week or at least more than just a two weekends a month. He got lawyers and witnesses, he was ready to fight for her if it was necessary, not thinking about how much distress this could cause the little girl. But surprisingly, Lauren didn’t put much resistance. When she sat down on the other side of the table next to her lawyer, his ex-wife grabbed the pen to sign the agreement without arguing. What she said forced Steve to be perpetually in debt with her: I just want Nellie to be happy.  He had to accept another hard truth about Lauren then, that maybe she understood love in ways that Steve probably didn’t.

So, he didn’t have to build any more doll houses because his gift to Nellie was moved into his single man apartment, before he changed jobs to start working as a Senior Architect Partner in a new firm and, then he was able to buy a penthouse big enough for him and Nellie. So, she could have a happy childhood where he’d dote her and loved her like she deserved. He didn’t have to grab one of her pyjamas to be able to sleep smelling her scent like he used to the first month after the separation. He didn’t have to hold his breath knowing that he wouldn’t be the first to be contacted by the school during flu season. He didn’t have to say goodnight over the phone ever again, he could just kiss her forehead while she slept safely in the room he had decorated for her in his house. Her only house.

He would never have to worry again. Or at least that’s what he thought.

It all started mid-November, on a Friday. Steve had left work early with the excuse of a doctor appointment, but what he really had to do was attend a parent meeting with Nellie’s teacher.

Robin had picked her up from school earlier that day and would babysit her until Saturday. Naturally, like it happened on such occasions, he ended up in a fancy bar in the city, not too far from the office. Sitting on a stool next to the bar, he played with the amber liquid on his glass, thinking about Miss Fletcher’s words that afternoon.

‘Nellie’s a brilliant student, but she’s been struggling this past year, Mr Harrington. Is it possible you could consider a professional so she can talk about her grief?’

Grief. What did Steve know about grief?

‘Steve?’

His eyes lifted at the sound of his name when he saw you standing next to the bar with your inhibited smile and confident attitude. He recognised you instantly, of course. You were the pretty thing that sat behind the reception counter at work, greeting him every morning with your childishly cheeky smile and contagious charm. Good Morning, Mr Harrington, you’d say with that delightful flirty professionalism that you employed for clients and staff alike, always deceiving, making them all feel like they were the only ones in the room just like you were doing now.

Steve had to swallow his nervous chuckle as he looked at you wearing something else that wasn’t your eccentric yet appropriate outfits that made you stand out even in the luxurious décor of the elitist office you both worked in. You wore a pretty dress that wasn’t too revealing, but it still hugged your curves tightly like a second skin in such a way that the painfully sexy outline of your nipples underneath seemed more like an elegant accessory rather than the obviously bold choice it really was.

Still, it had an effect on him. And he had to try hard to keep his eyes away from your body as he sat better, hating the fact you were placing your purse on the counter.

‘What are you doing here?’ Your sexy smile slowly turned into a softened semblance as you sat on the stool next to him. ‘Are you okay?’

He opened his mouth to say something silly like of course, don’t worry, when you asked the bartender for a couple of shots.

Steve chuckled softly at your boldness, at the way your almost arrogant confidence made it so easy for you to make these decisions without considering if he wanted a shot of cinnamon rum or not, because why would he deny this to you? Why would anyone? You were young and beautiful, so certain that the world was on the palm on your hand. And it probably was.

‘I’m fine.’ He finally said. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good.’ You shrugged. ‘I’m always good. A bit tipsy. It’s my friend Ronny’s birthday.’

You looked behind your shoulder and Steve followed your gaze towards a table where a group of girls and two boys were drinking. He would’ve thought that maybe your friends would be wild and careless, but they seemed to be just enthusiastically chatting and smoking. None of them made faces or reacted at the odd sight of you speaking to a stranger, and that somehow confused him. Did he want to be seen? Why did he wish they’d wonder about him?

‘Nice. Having fun?’ He said looking back at you.

‘Meh.’ You shrugged as the bartender placed the shots in front of you. ‘You’re the best thing that’s happened to me tonight.’

You said it so casually, as if it was a compliment born out of courtesy and not the outmost honesty. Shrugging it off as if it was nothing, you lifted your shot glass, looking back at him with a high brow.

‘C’mon. This one’s on me.’ You said. ‘You look like you need it.’

Steve took a deep breath, wondering if he was grateful or annoyed, pondering if he should. He almost wished Nellie was waiting for him at home, hating the fact that the circumstances were way too adequate for your entertainment, that you looked this hot. That he was this sad.

You’re the best thing that’s happened to me tonight.

He took the shot glass, and you cheered quickly before downing the burning liquid. From the corner of his eye, he saw the outline of your beautiful neck when you threw you head back, the way your cheeks tightened as your swallowed, your eyes shut before they lit up thanks to your smile, that gorgeous, mischievous smile.

If only.

‘That was, uh…’ He cleaned the burning liquid off his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘That was definitely something.’

‘Sorry.’ You laughed, half embarrassed but still smiling as you placed the shots glasses back on the bar. ‘I used to get drunk on this all the time back when I was at school. I remembered it more pleasant. Nostalgia, I guess.’

He smiled to himself, feeling more awake under the alcohol’s influence. Some sort of glittery make up made your cheeks shine under the dim light of the bar as you thanked the bartender, who asked you a funny question that made you laugh like a little kid. His eyes lingered on your face and chest as you flirted back. He loved that it was obvious you weren’t really together here. He hated it too.

The sound of your name made you look back behind your shoulder. Steve followed your gaze once again, your friends were gesturing you to come back, they had grabbed their things. For you, and the fearless romantics out there, the night had only started.

‘Are you going to be okay?’ Delicious concern overflew on that tone you employed with him as you stood up from the stool.

He nodded, a soft smile on his lips that was almost fond, longing for something in you that had once lived inside him too.

‘Go be young and have fun with your friends.’ He said sweetly.

You gave him a warning look. There was nothing you hated more in this world that these pretentious formalities, and he knew it, by the way you reacted at work whenever they reminded you that you were the youngest in the team.

He observed you carefully when you took a step forward, putting your manicured hand over his knee. It wasn’t sexual or compromising, it would’ve offended him less if it was. On the contrary, it was full of concern and worry.

‘Promise me you’ll have fun tonight.’ You said. He could’ve kneeled in front of you right there if you asked him. ‘Yeah?’

He didn’t reply. Instead, he just chuckled in a patronising way that resembled his days of teenage arrogance back in High School. You crossed your arms over your body, pouting like a spoiled thing, like this was a game, before squeezing his knee again.

‘See you Monday.’ You grabbed your purse and walked back to your friends.

He didn’t even try to be discreet as his eyes followed your silhouette leaving the bar. One of the guys in the group wrapped his arm around you, and then you stuck your tongue out, not even bothering to look back at him, still sitting in the lonely stool. His knee was still burning on the place where your hand had been. He knew what that guy was feeling as you pulled his hand down to the side of your hip, he was probably certain that he was the only person in the room. Just like he had been seconds ago. Some of your friends took curious looks at him, still staring at you. But he didn’t care.

Steve asked the bartender for another drink. He stayed on the bar until late, thinking about Nellie, and Miss Fletcher’s words. About Lauren, who insisted she wanted to spend Christmas in the Bahamas with Tom. He’d have to find a way to make her stay, otherwise the promise of two Christmases that he had made to Nellie would be yet another disappointment she’d had to deal with this year. Steve thought about the meaning of the word grief. And at some point, between his third and fourth drink, he thought about you.

He remembered everything. Years of drinking and painful hangovers had made him skilled in the art of drinking and useless in the art of forgetting. He remembered the face of the pretty girl he approached confidently, what he said, how she flirted back. The taste of her mouth in the cab, the texture of her tongue back in the hotel room when she insisted on sucking him. Later on, he remembered very clearly what he asked her to say while her body was underneath him and he fucked her in the same rhythm he always fucked.

‘Tell me I’m the best thing that’s happened to you tonight.’ He ordered.

‘You’re the best thing that’s happened to me tonight.’ She moaned, but it didn’t hit quite the same.

‘Good morning, Mr Harrington.’ You said from the counter, gifting him a sincere smile that didn’t hide complicity or mischief. For him it was a cold Monday after a shameful weekend of hangovers and playdates at the park with Nellie’s friends. For you it was just another glorious overly caffeinated morning at work.

‘Good morning.’ He waved reluctantly with the hand that held his coffee cup, looking around at the Christmas decorations. They were tasteful yet ostentatious, probably done by the interior design team. ‘Isn’t kind of early for this shit?’

‘Careful, Mr Harrington.’ You said pointing a red pen at him. ‘Or you will be put in the naughty list along with me and Mr Munson.’

‘I think I can handle it.’ He said in the same annoyed tone as he walked down the corridor, nodding at Eddie through the glass of his office.

The day had been as dull and cold as any other November Monday. In the morning, he had a meeting with the junior team, overseeing the plans for the next project he was monitoring. It was stressful and hard work, considering he always tried to give enough attention to the interns while still trying to recognise the effort of the full-time designers. In an office like this, work was a lot like parenthood. Occasionally, his eyes still caught your figure as you absentmindedly walked down the corridor, handing out the mail or leading clients to someone’s office.

At lunch you often ate out. He shamelessly followed your colourful silhouette as he looked at the street through the window office. He shook his head in disapproval when you hurriedly crossed the street while the lights were still green and the cars seemed far, eating his alphabet mac and cheese, leftovers of the lunch he had prepared for Nellie this morning.

Everyone was anxious to leave by mid-afternoon. Steve ignored their repressed sighs and shaky knees while he gave a presentation in front the team about the schedule for December. He talked about contractors and projects as if Lauren’s plans of spending Christmas away from Nellie weren’t sitting on the back of his mind, drilling his temples.

His eyes got lost on the image of your silhouette behind the reception as he mentioned the budget for the Christmas party. You were still focused on the computer, hands busy between putting on your coat and typing something on the keyboard as you got ready to leave.

‘Miss —’

You lifted your eyes to find Steve peeking out of the meeting room, the heat rushing to your cheeks as if you had been caught doing something bad.

‘Yes, Mr Harrington?’

‘We’re discussing the Christmas party. If you can join for a second that’d be helpful.’ He said before walking back inside.

Steve wasn’t your boss, technically. Yet he could still ask you things like everyone else did, with an air of false authority that didn’t really affect you. Not a lot of things did, he thought as you smiled softly at everyone as you stood on the very end of the meeting room.

‘Where was I?’ He asked himself as he looked down at the figures on the screen next to him. The subtle noise of your snort made him lift his eyes, his stare never leaving yours as he kept going. ‘Right. Budgets.’

Everyone seemed deeply uninterested except you and that somehow irritated him even more. It was Monday, he was exhausted. He had a difficult afternoon ahead, and here you were, doing exactly what you were supposed to do, why was that so frustrating?

‘Anyone has any suggestions?’ He asked to the room. ‘Any preferences?’

A few people mentioned some places around the area, where they served good food and drinks. Places he had attended on weekends where Nellie was often with Robin, or occasionally, with Lauren. His thoughts took him back to you, standing quietly on the farthest corner of the room. A mischievous smile took over your face as the girl next to you, a junior architect, whispered some sort of joke to your ear.

‘…Or we could split the budget in half and have two parties, just like my parents after the divorce.’ You said.

Your joke was only for her, but you had said it loud enough that it granted you a few laughs from the people around.

‘We’ll discuss the details tomorrow.’ Steve finally said, giving up. You didn’t even lift your eyes to look back at his serious stare, still talking to the other girl while his mood shifted from bad to worse. ‘Have a good evening.’

Everyone stood up from their seats then. He released a deep sigh as some people dived in small talk, checking his watch to make sure that he was still on time to pick Nellie from school and get to her appointment on time. He needed to double check that he had packed some juice for her, so she wouldn’t get too hungry. Maybe he should pick some fruit from the supermarket on the way to Nancy’s, depending on how things would go he could maybe treat her to some McDonald’s after. Just this once.

‘How was your weekend?’ You asked politely when he was on his way out. You were still standing on the same place as before. A pretty scarf wrapped around your neck and your expensive coat hugging you almost as perfectly as that pretty dress had done last Friday. ‘Fun?’

The implication wasn’t hiding any malice or double meanings. You seemed genuine by the way you lifted your eyebrows, and your mouth was partly opened as you waited for an answer. Pretty. Yet why was the blood rushing to his neck? Why did he feel the need to check if his armpits were sweating?

‘Yeah.’ He simply said, not really amused by your interest. ‘I guess. Yours?’

Your shrugged, rolling your eyes with an air of carelessness.

‘Same as usual.’ You said. Then it seemed as if you wanted to say something else, by the way your semblance turned softer and almost insecure, but you composed yourself just as quickly. ‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Sure.’ His eyes still lingered on you as you walked towards the elevator, offering him a friendly smile. Steve thought about last Friday, he thought about your friends. He wondered if they had said anything, probably not, there was no reason to.

Yet your eyes met when you walked inside the elevator, the office almost desertic as he still stood on the entrance of the meeting room. You frowned playfully when you caught him staring, the heat instantly rushing to his cheeks as you smiled in satisfaction. You knew exactly the kind of effect you had on him, maybe you had always known. This was the fun of your weekend.

On the way to the appointment, Nellie was hyped to know they were going to visit auntie Nancy at work. On the backseat, she was singing to a song in the radio, shaking her little feet while Steve’s thoughts were far away, thinking about your attempt of a joke earlier. He still felt uneasy about it. Worse, he felt judgemental. His perception of you had changed in the lapse of an hour, and the guilt set on his chest as he realised this, placing his knuckles over his mouth as he drove absentmindedly.

Ashamed, he let himself ruminate, thinking that maybe you weren’t what he thought you were. Maybe you were just an immature girl who didn’t know what to do after college and casually landed this job to spend her pay checks on designer clothes, and that was it.

But that wasn’t it, really. Steve knew deep down that what was making him uncomfortable was the little piece of information that slipped through your lips today, making him think of a word he hated and avoided at all costs. A word that sometimes came to his mind whenever he looked at Nellie observing the adult world through the car’s window, moments when she looked exactly like Lauren, moments when her eyes lingered on a mom carrying her child in the playground: abandoned.

Steve considered his thoughts as he waited for Nellie outside Nancy’s office, psychology magazines mixed with children books rested on the little table next to the seat. He hoped to God that the guy who had put his arm around you on Friday night was your boyfriend. He hoped that you were messy and careless. One of those girls that asked guys not to put a label on things, the kind that would betray someone’s loyalty for the sake of a blood rushing experience. Someone too busy with the excuse of living life to pay attention to him. He hoped that you were exactly what he disapproved of. What he couldn’t stand, what he had left behind. For the sake of his sanity.

‘Steve?’

Nancy was waiting on the door. He stood up, his eyes easily falling on Nellie’s frame on the little playroom through the glass that separated them. The little girl was too engrossed in a game of dolls to pay attention to him as he followed Nancy inside her office.

‘Have a seat.’

He held his breath when Nancy gave him a friendly smile, closing the door behind her. Another glass wall separated them both from Nellie, and Nancy couldn’t ignore the worry in his eyes as Steve leaned back on his seat, rubbing his hands on his knees while his eyes were focused on his little girl.

‘Everything is fine.’ She assured him with a kind smile. He looked up at her, still feeling the pressure on his shoulders as Nancy had a look at a folder where a little picture of his daughter was stapled at the top. ‘Nellie’s a very smart girl. She’s a very healthy kid.’

‘But?’

‘There’s no buts.’ She shrugged. ‘You’re a great dad.’

‘Nancy.’

‘You are.’ She insisted, ‘She adores you; and I know you adore her. That’s kind of the problem.’

‘What?’

‘Listen,’ Nancy’s sapphire eyes exuded an authority that he expected in the meeting. He didn’t need her to be his friend right now, but maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to just rely on her professionalism. ‘Nellie loves you very much. It’s kind of hard for a kid not to get depressed if one of their parents is unhappy.’

Steve ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath as his eyes lingered on the pictures on the wall, where he stood next to Nancy and Robin on their wedding day. He studied her collection of diplomas, the clumsily drawn pictures that hung next to it.

‘I’m not unhappy.’ He finally said.

‘You’re miserable. And she knows it.’ She said then, looking back at him. Nancy leaned in, entwining her hands over the desk as she considered her words carefully. ‘Steve, a child’s heart is very small. There’s no space for a lot of feelings in it. If Nellie feels happy, it’s like energy: unicorns with rainbows and sparkles. If she feels sad, it’s thunder and darkness and rain with monsters. Are you following?’

‘I suppose.’ He said stubbornly. ‘I’m trying.’

‘Okay, well,’ She proceeded. ‘Nellie is overly empathetic. This is something common in only children with divorced parents. They absorb everything. If she sees you’re sad she doesn’t think dad’s sad. She thinks, what did I do?’

‘I never…’

‘I know. Steve, I know. You’re a great dad, with great intentions.’ She assured him once again. ‘You just need to reassure her a little bit more whenever you fall back into your mourning.’

‘I’m not mourning anything, Nance, I’m over Lauren.’

‘You’re mourning the childhood you wished Nellie would have.’ She said then. Steve leaned back again, considering this revelation. ‘And that’s very noble, but you’re hurting her. I asked her about Tom and Lauren, and she said she’s happy her mom is happy. That was it.’

‘She said that?’

‘She did.’ She shrugged. ‘She doesn’t seem to care that much about Tom. She doesn’t love him, but she doesn’t dislike him. She’s completely indifferent to him. I know you might think that’s a bad thing, but it’s not. It means that she doesn’t see him as a threat. You know I can’t stand Lauren, but what I’m seeing here is that when Nellie is with her, her needs are met. She doesn’t need to compete.’

Steve stayed quiet for a second, feeling his resentment resurfacing as he considered Nancy’s words. He felt anger, sadness, a sense of desperate insecurity that he had never felt when it came to Nellie.

‘That’s not true.’ He said then. ‘Lauren doesn’t give a fuck about Nellie.’

‘That’s how you feel.’ She said gravely, ‘And I understand. But that’s not how Nellie feels, and this is about her. When Nellie is with you, she has to compete with the idea you have of her. With your expectations. She said that for Mother’s Day they made collages at school, and that you stuck hers on the fridge next to her Father’s Day drawing. That’d make sense if you and Lauren were together, but you’re not.’

‘Lauren’s not gonna stick it on the fridge, Nancy.’ He argued. ‘That’s the problem—’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I know that. You know that too.’

‘What if Nellie asks her? Would she say no?’ Nancy asked then. Steve stayed quiet, taking another deep breath as she proceeded. ‘This is important, Steve. She can’t learn to ask for what she wants if you don’t let her. That’s my point.’

‘I don’t want my kid to beg for love.’ He said then.

‘She already is.’ Nancy said then. ‘She’s begging you to let her be what she is: a child of divorce.’

Steve took his hands to his face, sighing hard as he wondered what to do. His eyes jumped back at Nellie on the playroom. She had stopped playing altogether, already looking at him with concern in her eyes, those precious eyes he’d protect against anything in this world. The guilt sat on his chest as he sat straight, giving her a reassuring smile before winking at her through the glass. Nellie smiled back, at first tentative, and then more honestly before she got distracted with another toy in front of her.

‘So, what do I do?’ He finally said, looking back at Nancy.

‘Well, there’s a few things that I think could help in your relationship. As a therapist, I think you’re a great dad. As your friend, I think you’re the best.’ He smiled fondly at Nancy’s words, feeling a little bit better after such a hard conversation. ‘I think you need to be a bit more specific with her on the days where you’re feeling down. I think you try…’  Nancy seemed to hesitate while Steve lifted his eyebrows, listening attentively. ‘I think you try to fill the voids in your life with your love for her. That’s not healthy, Steve. When you feel sad, tell her you feel sad. Because if you can only feel worthy while she’s happy, it’s going to be bad if she doesn’t react how you expect her to. I don’t want you to put that pressure on her.’

He bit the inside of his cheek, considering Nancy’s words before he nodded once.

‘I also want you to reflect on what’s missing in your life.’ She said then. ‘You’re a single dad and that takes a lot of time and effort, but Nellie is your daughter. You need to provide for her, not the other way around. It’s not fair but that’s parenthood.’

‘I kind of feel you’ve been keeping this to yourself for a while.’ He smiled bitterly.

‘I think you know what I’m trying to get at.’ Nancy said, in that tone that Steve had often heard her employ with Mike. Sisterly, condescending, and most times, asserted. ‘You need to start dating.’

‘Nancy.’

‘Steve.’

‘Nancy, I have fun.’ He shrugged in a boyish way that almost made Nancy roll her eyes. ‘Lots of it, actually. That’s more than enough for me for now.’

‘This is not about sex, Steve.’ She said then. ‘This is about moving on.’

‘I told you, I’m over Lauren.’ He insisted.

‘I know you are.’ She said slowly. ‘But you’re not over the fact that you’re not a husband anymore. You came to pick Nellie last Saturday and you stayed around for hours trying to fix things around the house. My house.’

‘I’m an architect.’

Nancy took a deep breath. It was the first time it seemed like she was losing her patience. In other instances, it would’ve amused him, but in this one it made him feel like a lost little boy.

‘Steve, can I say something? Respectfully?’

It took him a while to reply. He had to put his feelings aside, he had to remind himself that he loved Nancy, that she meant well, that this was all for the benefit of Nellie.

‘Yes.’

‘I think you have a domestic fantasy that you’re craving to fulfil.’ She said slowly, observing him from the other side of the table. ‘I’m not here to judge you. It’s a good thing to want to be married, just as it is to want to be single. It’s a good thing to want to give Nellie the loving household you think your child deserves. I just think you need to be flexible and realistic.’

‘How?’ He said after a while.

‘Meet new people.’ She said then, as if it was bad news. For him, it was. ‘Think about why you like them. Think about why you don’t like them. Tell them about Nellie, see how they react. Date them for a few months, bring them to dinner one night with me and Robs. Just date.’

‘I’m a dad.’ He said then. ‘I can’t just abandon Nellie like that.’

‘You’re not the only adult that looks after Nellie, Steve.’ She reminded him. ‘She’s got Robin and me. Even if you don’t like to admit it, she’s got Lauren and Tom too. She could do with an extra person, someone who cares about you. See it that way.’

Steve stayed silent for a few seconds, considering her words. His brown locks who had been brushed and waxed this morning were now messy and oily due to how many times he had brushed his fingers through them.

‘What do you think about workplace affairs?’ He suddenly asked.

Nancy lifted her eyebrows at the bluntness of his question. Steve blushed at the way she blinked repeatedly, keeping his eyes on her face because he felt too guilty to admit that, for once, he didn’t want to talk about Nellie.

‘Do you like someone from your office?’

‘I wouldn’t use the word like. It’s more like attraction.’

‘Is it mutual?’ Nancy sat straight; she was moving slowly but in an asserted manner, carefully taking the cap off her pen but not quite reaching for her notepad yet.

Steve thought about your hand on his knee. He thought about the elevator doors closing, and your smile behind it. He thought about tomorrow, did he want to see you? Did he want to?

‘I think…’ He wondered if you did. ‘I don’t know. She’s flirty.’

‘She’s not an intern, is she?’ She looked back at Steve with a careful stare.

‘No, she’s not.’

That’s what it took for Nancy to grab her pad. She wrote something unintelligible, but Steve was too scared to try deciphering it from the other side of the table.

‘This is unethical.’ She said then.

‘Work affairs?’

‘No.’ She said then. ‘Playing friend and therapist. But let’s do it. Only this once.’

The back of his neck started sweating then, he let out a nervous laugh, but Nancy was too concentrated on her notes to worry.

‘Flirty.’ She repeated. ‘Okay. Does she flirt with everyone or only with you?’

‘She’s… charming. I don’t know. She’s young, beautiful, sexy. She knows it.’

‘Huh.’ Nancy smiled to herself as she kept writing, not quite looking back at him until her semblance turned serious again. ‘Confident.’

‘Very.’ He leaned back on his chair, thinking about you as he rested his fingers on his temple. ‘So much it’s actually unbearable.’

‘I see.’ She wrote something else before looking back at him. ‘What’s keeping you from pursuing this?’

‘Work ethics, I guess.’ He said. ‘I’m a senior partner, she’s a receptionist.’

‘Is she an architect too? An enthusiast, perhaps?’

‘Not really.’ He said, and then his stare got lost beyond the surface of the desk. ‘She doesn’t seem that interested in it, now that I think about it.’

‘So, this is not like, her dream job.’ Nancy said then.

‘Are you being encouraging?’ He asked tentatively.

Nancy wrote down something else, biting her lip in concentration before her pen tapped the pad.

‘What else?’

‘Huh?’

‘What else is keeping you from pursuing this girl?’

Steve’s eyes were taken by an intense air then. She saw the way he bit the inside of his cheek. She knew him too well to know that he was keeping something from her, too tempted to press onto the subject with determination.

‘Steve? What else?’

He looked up, swallowing once as a serious frown took over his face.

‘Different upbringings.’

‘How different?’

‘Her parents are not married.’

‘Not married or not together?’

‘Not together.’

It was as if something clicked then. Nancy’s eyes lifted subtly, but her lips remained frozen in a line as she wrote something else down.

‘Tell me about that. Does it disturb you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe?’

‘Yes.’ He said more certainly, feeling the heat rush to his neck, all up to his face. Suddenly Nancy wasn’t Nancy, she was something else, a vessel where he could deposit all the thoughts rotting inside his head. ‘What if I only want this girl because I feel sorry for her? Or worse, what if I want her because I pity my own daughter?’

‘Steve, don’t.’ She said firmly. His eyes lifted then; he felt that his throat was closing. That suddenly his body was rotten, that his attraction was shameful, his paternity stained. ‘That’s not how this works. At all.’

‘It feels wrong.’ He said after a while.

‘I see why you think that.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But all this Freudian stuff doesn’t work the way you think it does. I think you’re prejudiced.’

‘I think I’m fucked in the head.’

‘That too.’

He laughed softly before rubbing his hand against his clean-shaved chin, considering Nancy’s words. Then he rubbed his eyes, he let out a deep breath before looking back at the playroom where Nellie was now playing with a little piano. It tendered him, that there was this one thing in the world that he was so lucky to have when everything else seemed confusing and frightening.

‘Do you want me to keep you updated?’ He asked when he stood up.

‘No.’ Nancy said honestly, walking around her desk to follow him outside. ‘Just bring Nellie back in a couple of weeks.’

‘Hmm.’ He said as she smiled softly and he wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder fondly before kissing her scalp. ‘Thanks for everything, Nance.’

Steve had successfully managed to ignore you the rest of the week, and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or offended by the fact you didn’t seem to notice. Though you still smiled at him the brief moments in which your eyes locked, there was no trace of that same intimate complicity you had offered him on Monday evening when you left the office.

You still greeted him at the beginning of every shift with that charming charisma of yours, Good morning, Mr Harrington, you’d purr and he would hold his breath as he walked to his office. After closing the door, and before even getting rid of his scarf and coat, he’d allow himself to melt completely.

On Friday evening you were in Eddie’s office, he was giving you a list of clients that were attending an important lunch meeting on Monday, and you were going through allergies and food preferences so everything could run smoothly.

It wasn’t unusual that sometimes you’d stay a bit longer, an hour or two at most, during the busiest periods of the year. Still, he seemed to hesitate when his eyes fell on you standing next to the window, between the desk and the wall, while Eddie sat comfortably on his chair.

‘Yes?’ Eddie said. Your eyes lifted when you noticed the presence of someone else in the room, giving Steve a warm smile before you looked back at the list.

‘Uh, just wanted to tell you it’ll be at least another hour until I’m done checking the renders.’ He tapped the door frame with his pen before giving Eddie a small nod. His eyes fell on you briefly, taking the opportunity to trace the line that went from your tights to your heels as you focused on your task.

‘Huh.’ Eddie’s hesitation made him look back at his business partner, searching for the source of his preoccupation. ‘Just leave it. We can have a look at it on Monday morning. Let’s go have a drink.’

‘Give me forty minutes, I’ll be quick.’ Steve Said as Eddie turned off his PC. You stood on the same place until you looked back at him, granting him your outmost attention as if any of this was your business.

‘Don’t worry about it, man.’ Eddie seemed almost amused, grabbing his coat from the rack as he looked back at Steve with a careless smile. ‘Everything’s ready, the renders have been triple-checked today. It’ll be fine.’

You made a face, as if your presence in the room was unfortunate. Knowing that you weren’t needed, your eyes fell on the desk before you left the office.

‘I don’t feel comfortable leaving this job to an intern, Eddie.’ He said trying to ignore the clicking of your heels on the hallway behind him, your smell, that lovely scent of toasted almonds that was suddenly everywhere around him. ‘You know—’

‘It wasn’t an intern, Steve.’ Eddie said before rolling his eyes and taking his scarf and work bag. ‘It was Allison. The Junior girl? Who actually made them? You’ve been supervising her the whole month.’

‘I know I’ve been—’

‘Let’s go.’ Eddie turned the light off before pushing Steve’s shoulder playfully.

Steve took a deep breath as he decided to drop the subject, making a mental note that he’d have to get to the office earlier on Monday to have a look at the damn renders, just in case. He didn’t want to have to ask Lauren, but maybe she could drop Nellie at school. Giving the fact she had picked her from piano lessons today with the excuse of taking her Christmas shopping, she might be willing to be helpful for once.

When he walked down the corridor with Eddie, you were in the reception area closing the blinds and turning the lights off, picking garbage here and there and dropping it in the little trash can next to the entrance. Steve frowned sceptically as he arranged his coat, wondering where all this sudden parsimony was coming from on a Friday evening, in contrast to your eagerness to leave the office earlier that week.

Eddie didn’t give it a second thought, waiting for you next to him until you grabbed your bag and coat and the three of you made it to the elevator in silence. The tension inside was palpable maybe only for Steve, because Eddie was rambling about a concert he’d be attending on Saturday while you seemed lost on your phone. He was almost waiting for you to join the conversation in that people-pleasing way you tended to employ with Eddie, when the elevator opened on the ground floor.

‘Where are you going?’ Asked Eddie then once you were on the lobby. The bar Steve and him occasionally went to was on the other side of the building and you were walking on the opposite direction towards the subway.

‘Me?’ You asked innocently. It all clicked then. Steve lazily threw his head back, thinking about how stupid he had been by not realising your intentions before. He was going to say something when his phone started buzzing inside his pocket.

He walked away as soon as he saw Lauren’s name on the screen. Inside the lobby, he resorted to stand on one of the farthest corners next to the elevator as Eddie invited you to join them for drinks.

‘Hello?’ He said as he looked back at you, at the way your body language had changed completely from shy to confident. You were back at being your charming, irresistible self, smiling at Eddie, laughing at whatever he said.

‘Hi, daddy.’ Nellie said on the other side of the line.

‘Hey, angel.’ He said sweetly as he looked down from the marble floor to the glass walls of the luxurious building. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good.’ She said.

‘Did you have fun today? What did you do?’

‘We bought lots and lots of presents. And a swimsuit for mommy.’

‘Huh.’ He said then, biting the inside of his lip. ‘A pretty one?’

‘Yep. She got me one too.’

‘Did she?’ He tried to sound impressed, but the implications of Lauren maybe trying to get Nellie to join her on her Christmas trip was starting to eat him alive. ‘That’s nice.’

‘Daddy, can I stay with mommy tonight?’ She asked then, innocently and sweetly as only she could.

‘Let me speak to your mom first, okay?’ He started walking absentmindedly, his eyes not really focused on anything as he repressed a sigh of frustration. ‘Can I speak to her, Nellie, please?’

‘Yes, daddy.’ She said before a pause.

‘Hello?’ It was Lauren’s voice, polite yet intolerable.

‘Hey.’ Steve felt a sense of relief at the fact that he could just speak how he wanted to; dryly and coldly. ‘Does she want to stay tonight? Do you have everything?’

‘Yes, Steve.’ He hated that he could still tell when she smiled on the phone, knowing certainly she was rolling her eyes. ‘She’s very comfortable here, she’ll be fine, okay? We’re just planning a movie night.’

‘Right.’ He took his hand to the space in between his brows as he felt the discomfort sitting on his chest. As if a movie night was enough for her to call this motherhood. ‘Just don’t let her eat too much candy and if she does, please help her floss. I’m kinda trying to get her to build the habit.’

‘Sure.’ She said softly. ‘Anything else? Do you wanna say goodbye to her?’

‘I actually wanted to ask if you could drop her at school on Monday morning?’

Steve’s eyes dared to scan the lobby again, searching for the calming picture of your flirty smile, but his heart skipped a beat when he realised that you and Eddie had probably walked down towards the bar at some point.

‘Oh.’ Lauren made a pause. Steve was about to take his words back when she spoke again. ‘Of course. She can stay until Monday then, and you could pick her up at school?’

Steve’s head was clouded, divided by the dilemma of change, the dilemma of adjustment. This was good, Lauren wanting to spend time with Nellie was everything he had wanted the last few months since she moved back with him. Lauren being present was a good thing. All these reassuring thoughts accumulated like bubbles around the anxious question that was drilling his brain: If he left now to pick up Nellie, would he trust Eddie enough to know he wouldn’t try anything with you?

‘Sure.’ He simply said, trying to swallow the bitterness in his throat. ‘Just call me if she wants me to pick her up, okay? I don’t mind. I don’t want to ruin your plans this weekend.’

‘Don’t be silly, I love hanging out with her.’ Hanging out. Steve rolled his eyes at Lauren’s naïve attitude as he heard Nellie in the background. ‘Sweetie come say goodnight to daddy. Goodbye Steve, see you Monday.’

‘Goodbye.’ He said dryly. ‘I’ll call tomorrow.’

‘Hi, daddy.’ Nellie’s voice seemed to dissipate all his anxiety, though the nerves were still sitting there, in the bottom of his stomach.

‘Hi, sweetie. I just wanted to check with you if you’d be happy to spend the weekend with your mom? Daddy is very busy with work, but if you don’t want to, I can pick you up now. Mommy will drive you to school on Monday anyways.’

‘Okay, daddy.’ To Steve’s surprise, the certainty on her voice reassured him.

She was fine. He could join drinks. He could see you again.

‘That’s my girl.’ He smiled. ‘Just call me anytime and I can pick you up if you change your mind, okay?’

‘Okay, daddy.’ Nellie said. She was fine, he wasn’t overthinking this. She sounded fine.

‘I love you. Have a goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’ She said distracted maybe by the TV or something else.

‘Nellie.’ He called. ‘I said I love you.’

‘I love you too, daddy!’ She laughed, in that contagious way that made him feel relieved.

‘Be good. Do as mommy says.’

‘Okay, daddy…’ She finally said. And Steve took a deep breath before he hung up.

The bar was crowded. Fridays were the most popular night for employees from the surrounding buildings to socialise and relax after the end of the week. He didn’t have to search too hard for you and Eddie, as he was standing next to a chair while you sat on the only stool available next to him, chatting enthusiastically.

He wished he was imagining the spark of surprise that took over your eyes when they landed on him, walking towards the table with a drink in his hand. You looked down back at your drink, nodding at whatever Eddie was saying as Steve finally placed his glass on the surface next to your phone.

‘We didn’t think you’d join.’ Eddie smiled. ‘What got you so busy?’

‘Just needed to ask for a favour.’ He shrugged before taking the glass to his mouth, tasting the burning whiskey.

Steve had never disclosed his family situation to anyone at work. He had never mentioned Nellie or Lauren, and Eddie had always seemed hyperaware of this secrecy he was loyal to, by the way he sometimes dropped information of his own personal life, inviting Steve to do the same. But he never took the bait, and now that you were here, taking a discreet look at his ringless fingers, he wasn’t going to risk it.

‘So,’ Steve crossed his arms over the table, addressing you directly in a way he hadn’t, not even once, this week. ‘What did I miss?’

You sat back, trying to conceal your surprise by looking at Eddie, inviting him to answer. But your boss seemed too busy scanning the room, maybe looking for someone that was worth of his attention. Steve saw the way you sat straight, letting yourself embody the usual confidence he couldn’t stand before your eyes fell back on him.

‘Mr Munson was telling me about how according to him, these occasions are to promote socialising and friendliness in the office, not to discuss work.’

‘All I said was we didn’t have to talk about work here.’ Eddie rolled his eyes with a smile of his face.

Your eyes reacted with the usual childish cheekiness as you licked your lips, giving Steve the false impression that maybe you two spoke a language that he’d never be able to decipher. Yet once, Steve Harrington was the master of these little games. He knew that you weren’t interested in Eddie.

You licked your lips before shrugging. ‘I was just trying to explain to him the similarities between architecture and fashion.’

‘You’re a fashion student?’ Steve frowned softly, leaning back as if he was taking a second look at you.

‘I went to fashion school.’ You corrected, arching an eyebrow. ‘It’s been four years since I graduated.’

‘Right.’ He shook his head subtly, a soft smile took over his features before he lifted his glass and brought it to his mouth, not without speaking under his breath before drinking. ‘Sometimes I forget how old you are.’

Your eyes didn’t leave his face as he swallowed the liquid, the movement of his Adam’s apple slow and calculated as you finally gave in and looked down at your hands.

‘It’s fine.’ You said. ‘I’m used to being reminded I look younger than I am.’

‘Oh, I bet that must be a nightmare.’ He said sarcastically, smiling at you, waiting for your reaction. He was flirting. And you were laughing. It was cute, the way your nose wrinkled when you did so.

‘…Just gonna go get another drink.’ Eddie said then. Steve’s eyes lingered on the way he rubbed your back briefly before he got lost on the crowd on his way to the bar. His eyes fell back on you as yours followed Eddie’s silhouette, and just for a second, he wondered if he was wrong about him and you.

‘Is that code for ‘going to pay for someone’s drink’?’ You smiled before your eyes got lost behind Steve’s shoulder, and when he turned back, there it was: Eddie had stopped in another table where a group of girls celebrated a hen party.

‘I can’t be sure.’ He said when he turned to look back at you. ‘I don’t join work drinks too often.’

‘I know.’ You said confidently. All he could see were your bold eyes staring back at him. Tentatively. In every building project there was a process called architectural risk analysis to identify the potential vulnerabilities of a design. That’s what you were doing now, evaluating the possibilities of risk. ‘Why’s that?’

His hands wrapped around the sweating glass of liquor, trying to come up with an answer that could satisfy the both of you, but that was the hardest part, wasn’t it? To satiate oneself without neglecting the other. He finally shrugged, brushing off your question.

‘I have a life.’

You smiled softly, as if you understood. But you didn’t, not really. It would take you years of sleepless nights to understand the fears of flu season, of having to bite a hard candy for your kid to avoid the dangers of choking. Researching investments to save for college, having a meltdown just at the idea of your kid going away to college. Crying on the school gym at pre-school graduation, crying at the sight of a thermometer, crying at the end of Frozen II. Just crying at the overwhelming reality of what it took to love a little dependable human being.

‘It’s good to be private.’ You said then. Sweet reassurance granting him momentary calm.Now your smile was more sincere, less guarded. There was something soothingly mature about it.‘So many people think of themselves as open books, but most of them are just unaware of what things they put effort into hiding.’

‘I don’t hide anything.’ His tone was serious. He didn’t wish to intimidate you, but you were tapping on flimsy walls, assessing unstable grounds. It seemed like you knew, by the way you didn’t retract or changed the subject.

‘No, but you seem protective of what other people give away easily.’ Your eyes lingered on the surface of the table before you took a thoughtful sip of your own drink. ‘Trivial details. Did you know some of the most fascinating things we know about humans from previous centuries were considered trivial once? Like, we know there were different versions of Shakespeare’s plays just because some people used to sneak into the theatre and write down the dialogue. It was a kind of piracy, I guess, but it still helped to preserve that information. Preservation. Preservation is very important.’

‘Huh.’ Steve’s lips were slowly lifting on a smile. Your hands were wrapping around your glass as you looked at him attentively, kindly. You weren’t waiting for his approval or searching for a spotlight that he would’ve given you anyways, if that had pleased you. You were just merely conversing.

Your eyes got lost on something behind Steve. He looked back to find Eddie smiling at them, leaving with the group of girls he had been speaking to for the last few minutes.

A metallic noise made him turn back; it was the dragging sound of the stool as you stood up. He didn’t say much as you wrapped yourself in your coat, now he looked at you differently. Where he had seen eccentricity before, now he contemplated elegance.

‘You’re very smart.’ He said as you walked out of the bar together. His hand hovered on your lower back, but he didn’t dare to place it properly, like he wanted to.

You let out a snorty laugh.

‘So, I’ve been told.’ You said as you both left the fuss of the crowd behind. ‘Though I wouldn’t say that knowing random facts counts as intelligence.’

‘No, but connecting them to relevant context does.’ He argued as you walked into the cold street. ‘You said earlier you were telling Eddie about fashion and architecture?’

You shook your head softly, rolling your eyes as you lingered on the sidewalk. A few people walked around you, but the street was deserted of the hurrying executives that peopled it in the chaos of the weekday mornings.

‘Was just making a silly argument about skirt hems and the way some architects design the base of their buildings.’

 ‘Huh.’ He repeated, considering your ideas. ‘That’s interesting.’

‘Thank you.’ You said, satisfied. ‘M pretty sure Eddie thought it was pure bullshit, but hey—what’s a design debate worth next to a hen party, huh?’

He laughed then. A full-on laugh that pleased you very much by the way your lips were lifting in an adorable smile.

‘I like talking to you.’ You said then. It wasn’t a confession, maybe it wasn’t even a compliment. There didn’t seem to be any flirtation behind your tone, no mischievousness. Just the honest, uncomplicated truth.

Steve took a step towards you then, hiding his hands inside his pockets. He could feel his own eyes lifting as his mouth turned into a tender smile while he looked at you. You were so beautiful.

‘D’you always say every little thing that pops up into that pretty head of yours?’

You shook your head softly, looking back at him as you bit your lip. This time he dared to stare as your hopeful eyes observed him expectantly.

‘I keep some for myself.’ You took another step towards him; the angular tips of your heels almost touched his shoes. Now he was able to detect another scent underneath the almond, something floral and acid, maybe peony. ‘It’s never good to share too much. In my case it could even be considered improper.’

He made a pause as you stood in front of him, as if you were the imposing chess piece of the queen before she checkmated her prey.

‘Preservation, huh?’ He murmured as you looked up at him.

You nodded softly, the same calm smile lifted your lips subtly as you searched for a signal or waited for one. How funny, he was always the one that had to tread lightly until whoever he was chasing decided it was time to end all the ceremonial preludes to seduction. But with you it didn’t feel like that. Maybe this had been going on for longer than he had realised.

‘Exactly.’

‘Steve.’ You said his name after you both walked inside the room. It was delicious, the way all the formality had melted into this comfortable tension in the short walk to the hotel. You even made some small talk in the lobby as you waited for the man behind the counter to give him the key. ‘Can I call you Steve?’

‘You already call me Steve.’ He laughed under his breath as he placed his coat and work bag on the little desk at the end of the room. ‘You did last Friday, at the bar, remember?’

‘I know.’ You put your coat on the rack instead, while you opened the door of the little closet to place your bag inside. Something about the simplicity of this gesture made Steve feel calm as he walked towards the mini bar. You liked to put things on the place where they belonged. ‘But I wasn’t wearing a bra that night. That changes everything.’

‘Hm.’ The noise was cheeky as he took out a bottle of wine and started to open it. Steve poured the red liquid in the two glasses as he remembered the way that pretty dress looked on you. ‘I know.’

‘You do?’ You lifted your eyebrows with false innocence as you walked around the bed to take the glass he was offering you. ‘That’s so unprofessional.’

All he did was laugh softly, pulling your hand towards him as he led you to the armchair next to the bed. You let him guide you, and he wondered if it was because you were the kind of girl that liked to be leaded or because you could tell he was nervous.

You weight felt perfect and right as you sat on his lap, taking a sip of your wine as if you wanted to savour it. His hand landed on your waist as he put his glass aside, forgetting the drink in favour of stroking your hips with his thumbs over your skirt. You let him take his time to discover the texture of its fabric, to find out you were wearing stockings rather than tights as he had thought earlier.

It wasn’t awkward, but the slowness only reminded you both that you really didn’t know each other.

‘This is a nice shirt.’ Your fingers stroked the fabric over his chest, almost as if you were more fascinated by his taste in menswear rather than in his body. He smiled, because at least it was sincere esteem. Most of the time, the girls he slept with tended to go wild from the beginning. Maybe it was the fact fatherhood had made him look older than he really was, and they wanted to prove that they could search inside him for the young man he had once been. But he didn’t have reasons to try reviving those days of detached lust. As an adult, he knew his body much better than he did back then. He liked to think he had gotten better at reading women’s bodies too.

‘You okay?’ Your voice was full of that unbearable concern you had shown him the week before, but there was a trace of longing in it as your palms stroked his skin over his shirt. ‘I want you, but we don’t have to.’

He shook his head then, sitting straight as his hands dared to explore a little bit more. His nose almost brushed yours as his palms landed on your ass, not quite squeezing but still pressing tentatively.

‘No.’ He whispered, taking in your features, the way your lashes kissed at the corner of your eyelids. You had beautiful skin, you smelled perfect. You were delicious. ‘I want you too.’

‘Then touch me.’ You whispered as your hands climbed all the way up, the way you played with the hair on the back of his neck was sending shivers down his spine, through his legs straight to his dick. ‘You’re holding me like I’m gonna break.’

He blinked a couple of times, still smiling as he dared to push you softly against his body. His other had was bolder, daring to pull your skirt up so you could sit properly on his dick. The impact was the same of both of you, a great relief that echoed through the walls in the shape of two silent sighs. His dick felt so warm and good, guarded by the comfort of that soft skin you hid under your underwear.

You leaned in then, at first careful and then more confident. Yet you didn’t kiss him, instead you only stuck your tongue out to lick his upper lip sensually. It was then, when he felt all the blood in his body running straight to his hard dick, that he remembered.

‘I don’t have any condoms.’ He said under his breath as he shut his eyes. He fisted your skirt in frustration, before he heard you release a little breath as you cupped his cheeks.

‘Don’t worry,’ You were kissing the tip of his nose as if tenderness was a casual occurrence. ‘I got some in my wallet.’

‘You carry condoms?’ He said as you climbed off his lap and went to search for your purse inside your bag.

‘Of course.’ You said as you came back with four little packets. ‘Two for each round and other two in case any of those breaks.’

Steve let out an amused laugh as you smiled back at him before you double checked the expiry date. He observed your movements as you climbed on the bed, your knees were flexed on either side of you, the first button of your shirt was undone. If he leaned back just a little bit, he could maybe take a sweet peek at your underwear.

‘Steve?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Come here.’

He did as you say, sitting on the bed next to you and lifting a hand to brush your cheek with his thumb. It had always been so easy with other girls, why wasn’t that easy with you?

‘What’s going on?’ You whispered as you leaned against his touch. You opened your mouth softly against his palm, the wet inside of your mouth and tongue felt tenderly irresistible against his skin.

‘Nothing.’ He whispered back as you left kisses along his hand. ‘I want you.’

‘You keep saying that, but I’m still dressed.’ You said playfully as you sat closer to him, your hand started playing with the buttons of his shirt and you took the liberty to undo just the first one.

Then you lifted your eyes, looking at his face as he took in the image of your body in front of him. His hand stroked the side of your neck with his knuckles, then it found its hiding place on your waist, playing with that space that connected your skirt with your shirt.

‘I’m not going to ask you anything personal.’ You assured him. His eyes looked up at you and only then he realised his frown had been tense and serious before it softened at your words. ‘And work… it’s fine. I won’t tell anyone. We can separate things.’

We can separate things. The coat in the rack, the bag inside the closet. Nellie at home. Your desk on the entrance. His office at the end of the hallway. Your voice saying you’re the best thing that’s happened to me tonight.

‘Lay back.’ He said as his hands slowly fell off your body, but only momentarily. You did exactly as he said and stayed still as he undid the buttons of your shirt, the excitement sitting on the bottom of his stomach as he opened it like one unrolls the plans of a dreamhouse.

He was taking the lead by unzipping your skirt and leaving you on your underwear and stockings only. Nothing had happened yet, and he noticed than rather than just letting him do whatever he wanted, you were studying him. This possibility excited him even more than your partly naked body, your challenging eyes having a bigger effect on him that the curves of your chest, than the dip of your pelvis.

‘Now it’s you turn.’ You instructed as you sat partly on your elbows. It was fair. He got rid of his shirt first, and there seemed to be a perverse pleasure for you in seeing the expensive clothes you had praised before falling on the floor.

Steve stood in front of you wearing only his boxers before he climbed on top of your body. He still hadn’t kissed you and you were already stretching over the bedsheets, stroking the side of his shin with your toe all the way up to his knee, like two hinges that worked in perfect synchronicity.

‘Want to find out what you like.’ He hid his face on your neck, the tip of his nose stroking down before he placed a kiss on your collarbone. ‘How you like it.’

You arched your back, as if you were serving your perfect breasts on a silver platter for him. His hungry mouth had no other option than blindly search for your nipples inside of your black bra, he pushed the pads down before he started sucking on one of them.

Clumsily, with his mouth still on you, you managed to unclasp the piece of underwear before finally getting rid of it. His mouth didn’t know what to do with all this skin, his nose searched for those parts of you where your smell was stronger: your groin, your armpits, the back of your ears. It wasn’t sex yet, just exploration, selfless curiosity.

You let him enjoy himself for a while until you felt he was fully immersed, puffy lips and hot skin as the evidence of his hunger. Then you pushed yourself up until he was kneeling over you, chasing that kiss you felt entitled to get.

Your tongue took him by surprise as it ventured inside his mouth while your hand stroked the hardness underneath his underwear. You were rubbing as if it was a living thing in need of soothing. There, there. I’ll take care of you so soon, he could imagine you’d say.

His hand wrapped around your neck when you finally pulled the fabric of his underwear down. He wasn’t squeezing, he didn’t intend to. He just held you there as you wrapped your hand around it, spoiling him in a slow death that only you knew how to orchestrate so perfectly. There, there. He thought you’d say, as you touched him. Here I am. Did you miss me?

He had. He had missed you dearly.

Steve’s hands slowly pulled down the fabric of your lacy black underwear as you kept stroking and kissing him. Yet he was fond of patience, he loved to hold half your ass while the lacy hem sat on the lower half of your butt cheeks. He loved savouring the way they seemed to restrain your legs in the same position when they reached your knees. You wanted to obviously open them for him, and you couldn’t.

This need somehow awakened something in you as you were slowly losing your composure, leaving wet kisses all over his neck and chest, toying with his earlobe with your tongue. Your hand blindly searched for one of the little packs on the bed before you leaned back, placing it on his hand.

‘I’ll get myself ready while you—’ But he didn’t let you finish. He held the unopened condom against your hip as his other hand found the damp folds of your pussy, rubbing all that delicious wetness around it to get it real wet.

‘I wanna get you ready.’ He whispered against your mouth, a shameless finger finding its place inside the warmly wet flesh inside you. ‘Let me get you ready, huh?’

You didn’t reply with words, but with choky sighs that left your mouth and you leaned back against the mattress, legs still imprisoned by your underwear until he started to pull them down with your help.

‘Shit.’ You said when you felt the wetness leaking out of you, the tender feeling of Steve’s thumb barely brushing against your clit. You squirmed softly, almost silently, as you finally opened your legs fully for him.

He enjoyed you very much. Your body, its reactions, its mechanisms. The way you looked up at the ceiling when the pleasure that took over you was too much, as if looking down was sinful and unconceivable. But then he knew that the only way to get you to look down was to spoil you with his tongue, something he hadn’t done to a woman in a while. And when he did, he was able to get a whole different set of little noises and dirty words out of you. Getting you ready was an afterthought, what he wanted was to see you fall apart.

But it seemed like the trance he got you in was a spell you were skilled at breaking. Things got too difficult for him when you pulled him in as he fingered you again, chasing his lips and wrapping your hand around his dick. Mine, he wished you’d say.  Mine, mine, mine.

The rhythm was perfect but not enough at this point, your bodies were unsatiable, eager for the friction. Steve could only break the kiss when your moan demanded for an attention he could only give you with his dick. You leaned back as he kneeled in front of you, unwrapping the condom and falling into the temptation of stroking himself maybe a couple of times while his eyes took in the beautiful sight of your needy eyes, the way you swallowed hard in anticipation as he rolled the condom down to his base.

He let you decide, move, show him what you wanted. At first you only rolled to lay on your stomach, looking back at him as his greedy hands squeezed your butt, then traced the lines of your back muscles. He held your hips firmly as you kneeled, head still resting on the mattress, and spine beautifully arched for him as he positioned himself on your entrance.

There were no dirty questions or teasing. For God’s sake, you were holding your breath, you just wanted to be fucked. He couldn’t play with you like this, no. That wouldn’t be fair. He did exactly what your body needed him to do, entering it smoothly until you released that breath in the shape of a moan.

His hips started to move softly as he fucked you from behind, the pretty drops of sweat that adorned your ass like dew wetting his pelvis. He held your beautiful body, loving how aware you were of every single line of it, and wondering if there was anything you didn’t know about it and maybe he could help you discover. Did you know he could feel the folds inside your pussy squeezing? That you had a couple of twin moles in the middle of your spine?

Steve loved what he felt as his eyes lingered on your face against the mattress: the sense of purpose, the calmed contemplation, the illusion of control. The line that went from your neck to your tailbone wasn’t perfectly straight, it changed whenever you arched your back, or if you moved your hips in a certain way. He loved the curve of your butt cheeks, the perfect and intriguing tightness of your butthole. You pressed your knees together to grant him the heart-shaped silhouette of your ass and legs as he pushed in and out of you, and he was losing it, getting drunker on you.

‘That’s it.’ He said as your hips gained pace, his moving too, in perfect synchronicity. You moaned, an animalistic noise that almost died if it wasn’t for the way his dick instinctively went deeper when he leaned in to kiss the sweaty skin in the middle of your back. ‘There we go.’

His arm wrapped around your waist firmly when he placed his forehead against your shoulder blade. You were letting out noiseless whimpers, squeezing your walls around him, as if your pussy could seize him right there. Maybe it could, while he whispered lustful nonsense against your skin that sounded like monotonous prayers of desperation.

‘You needy thing,’ His mouth pronounced the words against your back as you fisted the bedsheets underneath. ‘You needy, needy thing.’

The reception counter was empty when he walked in on Monday. It was so early he hadn’t even seen the janitor in the elevator like he usually did every morning. Steve turned the lights on, his eyes instinctively lingering on your desolated workstation where he was too used to see you sitting whenever he walked inside, before your eyes fell on him and a pretty smile took over your face. Good Morning, Mr Harrington.

As he walked towards his office, he realised he was kind of relieved that he didn’t get to hear the greeting this morning, not because things were bound to get awkward, but because there was a possibility that they wouldn’t, and he didn’t know how to navigate this arrangement yet.

Steve had spent the whole weekend thinking about all the scenarios that his encounter with you could lead to. Not the pleasant ones, but the most fatalistic ones, in which he’d end up hating himself or you losing your job. It also didn’t help that Nellie gladly stayed with Lauren the whole weekend, because he wasn’t used to the house being so quiet, he wasn’t used to have this much time for himself. By Sunday afternoon he had already prepared meals for the week, gone for a walk, done all the laundry and finished that one book that had sat on his bedside table for the last two months. He couldn’t wait until the day was over so he could go pick her up at school.

Nellie’s absence made him anxious, but what really was driving him insane was that all that free time had only filled his mind with memories of what you two had done in that damn hotel room. His clothes still smelled like you, a scent with notes of perfume and sex that seemed to have stained every single garment he wore that night. All the little things he remembered in solitude inevitably made him evoke your body in his bed: the way your mouth felt under his tongue, how your palm was so warm and soft against his stomach.

He’d think about you, he’d pant only for you, and when his body finally found release, he thought about the conversation you had after you had satiated each other that first night.

You were sitting on his lap as his back rested against the headboard, your pussy was brushing the hairs of his leg, he could almost feel the soft wetness right now, as he waited for his PC to turn on and the sirens outside announced the awakening of the city.

You were done having sex by then, or at least that’s what you thought. The TV was on and there were room service leftovers on the armchair next to the empty bottle of wine. Steve’s eyes were admiring the way you carried your naked body so freely as you entwined his hands with yours on either side of your hips.

This was something he was enjoying very much, most of the girls he slept with tended to jump back into their clothes as soon as they were done. Not you. Even earlier, while the lady handed Steve the food tray on the door, you remained hidden by the wall but still laid naked on the bed, exhausted after all the pleasure. You didn’t even move as he closed the door behind him and he found himself smiling at the curve of your hip, at the folds in between your legs. So still and serene. 

He sat better to leave a kiss on your breastbone, loving the way the fat of your breasts brushed against his cheeks subtly when he did so. He looked up at you then, you looked nice without make up. ‘I don’t want things to be weird at the office.’

It was a tentative statement, but his intentions were clear. This was a conversation that you needed to have sooner or later.

‘They won’t be.’ You shrugged as the same eased smile remained on your face. ‘Don’t worry.’

He looked back at you, licking his lips as he considered your words. You had no idea how quickly things could change after this. For Steve, this could all turn into chaos if you weren’t careful. Your semblance turned more annoyed the more he stayed quiet, and you finally rolled your eyes letting out a scoff.

‘Steve, I mean it.’ You squeezed his knee behind you in that same way that had driven him insane last Friday. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about.’

His hand cupped your cheek, studying your semblance as you patiently waited for him to drop the subject, but he could feel the stress sitting down on his shoulders the more he thought about it.

‘Listen,’ His thumb brushed your cheekbone as you waited. So beautiful, and wild with your bare face. ‘We’re breaking a lot of rules while doing this. We both could lose our jobs.’

‘Steve,’ You leaned in so your eyes could be on the same level.‘There are no rules. All those concepts of company policies and codes of conduct are not real. You know that Eddie wouldn’t give a shit if he found out.’ He looked down when your hands rested over your thighs and your gaze turned serious. It was the first time he had ever seen anything resembling of anger taking over your face. ‘If you want this to keep going you need to get rid of the idea that there’s a weird dynamic going on here. I don’t need anything from you, and I find condescension incredibly unerotic.’

He looked up at you again, his hand falling from your face to your waist as he considered your words. They were very fair. Only then he dared to ask himself whyyou had even accepted to join him that night, how was it that you had enjoyed yourself this much. You couldn’t possibly like him as much as he liked you, but there didn’t seem to be any other alternative answers to why you were sitting on his lap so prettily right now. He loved the weight of your breasts, the length of your neck, your hair seemed a little tangled too. He wanted you again, and it had only been half an hour since the last time he came.

‘Do you want this to keep going, then?’ He asked.

You bit your lip. All your annoyance seemed to be gone, and he was relieved to see that it had been replaced by that cheekiness he was starting to adore.

‘I think I do.’ You admitted, leaning in and making him feel that you were the first two people to ever invent complicity. Your confidence was unbearable. ‘Do you?’

A soft smile started to slowly take over his mouth as he nodded.

‘I do.’ He heard himself say.

There was much more he wished to say. He wanted to talk about the first time he saw you sitting behind that reception desk the day of his interview. He was sure you knew he was unable to say more than three-word sentences to you in the first few months after he started because he didn’t want you to tease him the way you teased everyone else in the office. But at some point you had managed to, and after that you never stopped. He wanted to ask you if that had been on purpose. He wanted to apologise for being such a grumpy old man this last year, it’s just that he knew that as soon as you decided to give him a glimpse of attention he’d melt completely.

‘I think you’re very sexy, Steve.’ Your hands played with the hairs on his chest while all the blood in his body rushed straight to his face, and that seemed to amuse you because your smile was turning wider. ‘No need to be ashamed, I know you find me attractive too.’

He laughed softly, sitting straight as he pulled you closer to him. His hands squeezed your ass then, those butt cheeks that he didn’t seem to get tired of, as his smile brushed against yours.

‘I find you unbearably sexy.’ He murmured against your lips, then he leaned in slowly so his mouth could whisper straight to your ear. You were closing your eyes, he could almost feel you shiver. ‘Not only are you beautiful, and the best fuck I’ve had in a while, but that mind of yours is fucking dirty. You’re a delight.’

You laughed then, softly and sexy as he leaned back to have a look at your flushed face. In the tense silence, you studied each other’s face for a second until your hand reached for something on the mattress. Pouting irresistibly, you held the condom wrapper over your cheek. ‘Should we go again?’

Now he had a whole day of work ahead. The lunch meeting at one, a team presentation at three-thirty. A whole day of trying to forget you, and in the meantime, you’d be on the other side of this floor picking calls, ticking lists, smiling freely at the clients and calling them Mr this or Mr that and pretending you didn’t know you had them all wrapped around your finger.

This was the reason why he stayed inside the whole morning, but at twelve-thirty, Eddie knocked on the door to announce that they had to start leaving if they wanted to be at the restaurant on time.

He had uploaded the proposal to his email at least an hour ago, spending the rest of time trying to set a dentist appointment for Nellie, trying to do anything that’d keep him from falling back into his anxiety.

To his surprise, he felt a bit calmer than he thought he would when he walked down the hallway with Eddie by his side. When his eyes fell from the Christmas decorations to your silhouette behind the counter, he immediately felt so much better. While you were engrossed on a phone call and typed something on the computer, he realised that the source of his fear was quite logical: He didn’t trust you yet, but he believed he could. He had to if he wanted to keep seeing you.

‘Good afternoon.’ He rested his arms on the counter when you hung up the phone, your stare was full of a kindness that seemed almost intentional, as if you were tasting the waters before diving in.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Harrington.’ You greeted him back. It sounded pretty, filling him with a warmth that was equally calming and intoxicating. He couldn’t wait to be alone with you again. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Do you have that list of food preferences you and Eddie went through last week?’ He wished he could lean back then, but your perfume was mixing with the scent of candy canes displayed on the counter and suddenly he felt like he wanted to stay there a bit longer.

‘I emailed it to the restaurant this morning, but I can search for it now if you want to.’ You said softly, looking through some papers on your desk as he decided to grab a candy cane to give Nellie later.

‘Please?’ He said then. Your eyes seemed to lift just subtly at his tone, but before fun mischief took over your face, it all vanished just as easily. It amused him that for once you were putting effort on something.

‘Here.’ You offered him a short list of courses handwritten by you.

‘Thank you.’ He said as he took it, too focused on keeping the eye contact to notice the little paper clip at the top. The side of his mouth lifted subtly, yet you still kept your controlled professionalism as you smiled back. Not quite flirty but obliging as usual.

‘You’re welcome, Mr Harrington.’ You simply said. There was a pause as he tapped the candy cane on the counter, and you waited to see if he needed anything else. But all he was able to give you was a brief smile of complicity before Eddie asked him if he was ready to leave.

They walked together to the elevator, sharing a comfortable silence until Eddie’s phone started ringing and Steve looked down at the list as the doors closed. It was then that he noticed it, the little paper clip at the top holding something else behind the list. When he flipped the paper sheet, the small card on the top read a very clear handwritten message: In case of an emergency, it said above your phone number.

What exactly counted as an emergency? He wondered as he drove back home, feeling the pressure of his old responsibilities arise around him as if he had been surrounded by clouds for the last three days. He scratched the back of his neck as Nellie sat on the back watching Bluey on the iPad, checking on her on the rearview mirror every few seconds, fearful that she might choke on the candy cane.

An emergency in your world probably meant something completely different in his, in which school commitments mixed with extra hours of work on a Thursday evening after bath time. Nellie required an amount of care and tenderness that came easily to him even after a day of exhausting work, but where could he find the time to contact you if things got complicated and he needed an hour or two to release stress? More importantly, where could he place Nellie so none of this could touch her, so none of it could hurt her?

‘Daddy,’ Nellie laughed that night as she found him inside her room, sitting on a chair in front of the open doll house. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Was just having a look at your dollhouse.’ He explained with a tired smile as he lifted her to sit her on his lap. He closed the doors of the house then, hiding the inner world of the little rooms inside.

‘When daddy was a boy like you,’ He proceeded. ‘He liked to look at the houses and try to see faces on them. See?’ He pointed at the windows of the top floor that he remembered sticking together years ago when he started the project. ‘These are the eyes, and the door is the mouth. Isn’t that funny?’

Nellie laughed as she opened the doors again, maybe finding him ridiculous or humorous, he didn’t care as long as he got to listen to that laugh forever.

‘Show me here.’ She said then.

‘Well, inside it’s kind of the same.’ He said as he grabbed the little doll that he had named like her to recreate the perfect family they once were. Except this time, it was only the two of them. ‘You’ve got the middle room here where the stairs are. That’s the heart of the house, connecting all the other rooms together, where Nellie’s doll will always be.’

He sat the doll on the edge of the little room and did the same with the one that he used to play himself. They stayed there, almost mirroring them both, and Steve felt suddenly sleepy as he placed his temple against Nellie’s cheek, feeling safe in the comfort of the home where it was just them two.

‘Show me the funny stair, daddy!’

Steve didn’t know how it was possible that she still had the energy to play. Smiling softly, he leaned in, and with the hand that wasn’t holding Nellie against his body he opened the square-shaped door on the little room’s ceiling, revealing the thin wooden ladder that led to the highest room in the doll house: the attic.

‘You like the funny stair, don’t you?’ He said as he squeezed her.

Then he did something silly, something that maybe he was unable to explain to himself, and he took the dad’s doll and placed it upstairs, inside the isolated room.

‘Now daddy’s inside the attic.’ He joked. ‘This is kind of the brain of a house, you know? A bit more inaccessible, full of old things that no one remembers.’

‘Inuccesssible.’ Nellie repeated the strange word.

‘In-accessible.’ Steve repeated. ‘It means a place that is hard to enter. Or when something is difficult to understand.’

Nellie wasn’t paying attention; she was trying to reach out for her doll and Steve let her climb down his lap to play with the house. It had been a while since the last time he’d seen her play with it, and the sight never failed to make him feel that he was doing something right. That all those months of back and forth with Lauren had been worth his effort and stubbornness, because he now had the privilege to live these mundane moments with his daughter. He came home to love. And that had been his choice.

He only realised his eyes were fixed on the intriguing little room at the top of the house until Nellie grabbed the dad’s doll. It didn’t have any accessories inside, and he didn’t think he’d seen her play in it not even once, because it wasn’t decorated or as useful as any other rooms he had designed for her.

As he heard Nellie’s playing voice in the distance, Steve thought about the things he didn’t know about himself, the things about himself he ignored on purpose. This was the life he had chosen, a life of sewing hems on Hello Kitty dresses, of Friday nights playing Legos, of carrying a handkerchief in his pocket in case of a runny nose or tears in the middle of a tantrum.

If he wanted to have space for you in it, he’d have to rely on the hidden ladders that led to the inaccessible rooms of his life. He had to find a balance so things could occupy the places in which they belonged to. He had to convince Lauren to stay during the holidays so Nellie could have two Christmases, so Nellie could be twice as loved or as loved as she was always supposed to be. He had to find a good nanny that could look after her a couple of hours a week, maybe on Friday evenings, maybe on Sundays, he didn’t know. He could play the cards; the game was on his favour. We can separate things, you had said.

What exactly counts as an emergency? He typed on his phone that night when he was in bed.

Nellie had fallen asleep in the middle of bedtime reading, and he couldn’t text you until he turned all the lights in the house off, finding safety in the darkness of his room.

The three dots under your name kept him expectant, feeling how the worries of his day slowly melted into an afterthought, while he was overtaken by a warm, electric feeling on the pit of his stomach.

Loneliness. Boredom. Being visited by three ghosts on the night before Christmas.

He could almost hear your voice as he read your text in his head, laughing softly at your silly joke.

How kind and thoughtful are you. He texted back, his eyes were almost closing behind his glasses as he wished he could be half as witty as you.

Steve’s phone buzzed once again, and he couldn’t help but smile at your words on his screen then.

I’m feeling very generous this holiday season.

A full week of polite smiles and cautious communication at the office went by. Steve and you exchanged a few messages here and there a couple of evenings, but other than a few flirty texts there wasn’t any bold proposals or scheduled meetings. He got the feeling there was an implicit agreement between you two, that the decision of repeating the events from last Friday relied on him while you lived your busy life. This idea filled him with a calculated calm, a feeling of false control that at the end of the day was prompting him to take decisions that he had delayed on purpose out of his fear of change.

On Wednesday evening he asked Nellie what she thought about having Max coming over sometimes to look after her while dad went out with some friends, and she seemed positive about it. He was very pleased by this, since Max had been begging from a babysitting job since she started college back in September, but most times he had preferred to rely on Robin and Nancy’s help if he needed a few hours for himself.

Then on Friday evening he wondered if you’d linger around your desk again at the end of your shift, while they discussed the client’s feedback from last Monday’s meeting inside Eddie’s office. At some point he rubbed his eyes out of exhaustion, standing up with the excuse of getting a glass of water in the break room, and when he walked out into the hallway, he couldn’t help but notice the empty desk.

Have a good weekend, he texted right after he parked outside his home, feeling the embarrassment sitting on his chest, unsure of this, of you, of everything he was doing.

On Saturday there was still no response from you, and though he spent the whole day cooking for Nellie and doting her with the attention he couldn’t give her last weekend, he kept checking his phone every now and then. It grounded him to be back in some sort of familiar routine, in which they practiced spelling and decorated the Christmas tree while the TV was on.

By the evening, he had resigned that maybe the possibility of meeting you privately again was unlikely, that it had been too good to be true and he needed to make peace with that.

‘Are you okay, daddy?’ Nellie asked as he laid next to her on the floor, a mess of crayons and glitter glue scattered around them, he had just finished helping her write her letter to Santa and they were now decorating it.

He laughed softly, resting his cheek against his fist as he looked back at her.

‘Of course, angel.’ He smiled tiredly as he rubbed her back over her reindeer pyjamas. ‘Why?’

‘You look sad.’ She murmured softly, as if he was about to reprimand her for it.

He was about to tell her that he was just very tired from carrying the Christmas tree this morning, but then he bit his lip, thinking about what he had discussed with Nancy.

‘Maybe I am a bit sad.’ He shrugged, still rubbing Nellie’s back to soothe her, but deep down he knew that was just a way of trying to ground himself.

‘Why?’ She sat straight to look better at him with those beautiful eyes he’d die for. She seemed mortified about such news, and he cursed himself then for not doing the easy thing by telling a little white lie.

‘Well,’ He said, trying not to think about you and failing completely, because the more he tried to find an excuse for Nellie the more disappointed he felt about the situation. ‘It’s been a year full of changes for me. Your mom and I separated, then I moved out and started a new job. Then you came to live with me, then we got this big apartment. Sometimes I miss the old house, don’t you?’

‘Hmm.’ She considered his words as she grabbed the yellow crayon to draw a star on top of the letter. ‘My room is bigger here.’

He laughed under his breath, fighting the need to roll his eyes at her. Three years designing the house of his dreams before getting married just to sell it after the divorce, only to have Nellie tell him she preferred this apartment.

‘True.’ He said. ‘But don’t you miss the garden?’

‘I like the balcony.’ She shrugged. ‘I like to see the ducks at the park, daddy.’

‘Huh.’ He was amused, the bad mood he was in before dissipating the more they talked. ‘That’s true, that’s true. We didn’t have any ducks back at the old house.’

She smiled to herself as she kept drawing, not too bothered by the conversation or by his sadness anymore. Steve observed her in silence, tendered by her optimism and her innocence.

‘Nellie, can I ask you a question?’ He asked then.

She was still focused on her letter and not paying much attention as she kept drawing, so all she did was nod enthusiastically.

‘Are you happy?’

‘Yes, daddy.’ She said with a little smile before her face turned into a frown of concentration, sticking the tip of her tongue out as she kept colouring. His arm wrapped around her as he left a soft kiss on her temple, relieved that she was the kind of kid who could answer such a question so quickly and unbothered.

On Sunday Max came after lunch. All she needed to do was entertain Nellie and give her the dinner he had prepared for her around six o’ clock, nothing else. He walked Max around the building for about fifteen minutes to show her the fire exits, then he showed her where he kept the extra copy of the key, how the apartment’s security system worked, and which neighbour to call in case of an emergency.

He was nervous for all the wrong reasons; all he was going to do was meet Lauren in a café nearby for the next hour or so and then try to have an evening to himself. He was trying not to feel guilty as he kissed Nellie’s hairline, as he told her to be good and have fun with Max. The knot on his throat was so painful he had to clear his voice a couple of times as he reminded Max to call him in case anything happened. Inside the elevator he couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing the right thing or not, if this was when he started to fail Nellie.

Lauren was twenty minutes late. She walked inside the café with that air of a 70s it girl that he had once been obsessed with, back at college, and now he understood as her way to make sure that everyone knew she was had careless spirit, whatever that meant. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed, while they were dating, before he proposed, after the wedding, that this wasn’t the life that Lauren wanted.

‘Hey, Steve.’ She said softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek as if they were old friends. Maybe for her that’s what they were.

‘Hi.’ He simply said as she sat down. ‘I ordered you a coffee, but I had to drink it or it would’ve gotten cold.’

‘Oh, you shouldn’t have.’ She put her bag on the seat as she smiled from the other side of the booth, before fixing her bangs with her fingers. ‘I’m gonna be on a caffeine-free diet for a while.’

Steve nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of the mocha he ordered for her. No sugar and almond milk, just like how she had had it for the last thirteen years.

‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ He asked then.

‘Steve!’ She laughed as if this was a date, as if it was all healed between them. He couldn’t match her relaxed air; he was never able to. ‘You’re terrible.’

He shrugged. ‘Why’s that a weird question? Doesn’t Tom want any kids?’

‘Nellie is more than enough for me.’ She dodged the question as she entwined her hands over the table. ‘She’s already perfect, don’t you think?’

Steve smiled softly, bitterly, because he agreed fully. Nellie was perfect. He took another sip of the coffee, this time out of nervousness, before placing the cup aside.

‘Listen, I wanted to talk about Christmas plans.’ He said then, looking back at her.

No matter how serious Steve was, this seriousness was never able to fully affect Lauren. The way her premature wrinkles shaped her lovely face made her look like she was always about to laugh, like there was always a smile hidden on the corner of her mouth. He didn’t like this when it came to these instances, but deep down he hoped that Nellie would inherit these same wrinkles one day. That there was always a smile on the corner of her mouth too.

‘I’m listening.’ She said then.

‘Well,’ He proceeded, ‘I would like you to stay in the city for Christmas. I think it’s important for Nellie to celebrate the holidays with us, whether that is together or separate.’

‘Steve, we already got tickets…’

‘I know, and I understand,’ He said, placing his hands on the table as he tried to find a diplomatic way to have this conversation, ‘But I want you to stay. I need you to do better, Lauren.’

‘Do better…? Steve, I haven’t taken a proper vacation in two years.’ Her voice was soft as usual, even when she was mad, she was never the kind to explode. Lauren always approached disagreements in the same way, shaking her head as if she was facing the challenge of a crossword she could abandon on a whim. ‘I’m sorry, but we’re not cancelling our trip. Besides, I know Nellie prefers to spend Christmas with you anyways, she’ll have such a wonderful time she won’t even miss me.’

‘Lauren,’ He said her name slowly as he repressed a sigh of frustration. ‘This is not about who gets to have her for Christmas, this is about Nellie feeling important. That’s what I want, and that’s what I want you to want too.’

‘But Nellie is important.’ She said softly. ‘This whole argument is so silly.’

Steve took a deep breath, looking away as he started to feel that he was slowly losing his patience.

‘Listen, I’m probably going to host dinner this year, with Nancy and Robin. My parents will be here too.’ He said. ‘I would love to be able to tell her that Santa’s going to leave some of her presents at yours, or something like that. Maybe you can tell Tom and your parents to join as well.’

He observed Lauren grow visibly impatient as she looked away. Under the table, his ex-wife’s heel tapped the floor while she tried to conceal her discomfort. He knew that face very well; she felt trapped. Steve didn’t think Lauren had ever spent one day of her life doing something she didn’t want to do.

‘I’ll host something.’ She finally said. ‘After Christmas. I’ll have a little party—’

‘Lauren—’

‘Tom and I have already discussed it, Steve.’ This is what Lauren did, use her softness inflexibly to get what she wanted. ‘We’re gonna throw a Christmas party on the 27th with some friends and family. I was going to tell you anyways, because I want Nellie with me that weekend. My sister’s staying with the kids, it’ll be nice to have a reunion.’

Steve licked his lips as he avoided Lauren’s stare. He rested his mouth on his entwined hands, elbows over the table as he tried hard to make peace with the fact that he wouldn’t win this battle. That he wouldn’t be able to give Nellie the two Christmases he had promised her the year before.

‘You can come too, of course.’ Lauren said. She extended a hand over the table, her cold, long fingers squeezed the skin over his elbow as she looked for his eyes. ‘Don’t be mad.’

He repressed the need to scoff, the need to scream at her right there in the middle of the café. Steve rubbed his eyes to try to dissipate his frustration as Lauren’s finger brushed against the fabric of his skin.

‘Right.’ He said after a while, still avoiding her eyes. ‘I’ll think about it.’

She was smiling at him. Softly. Dearly. Sometimes, in the instances where she managed to disappoint him in ways he thought were impossible, Steve wondered, just for a second, if maybe Lauren had access to some mysterious feminine truth about life he didn’t know about. Something that kept her exempt from guilt and fear. He wondered if this trait was just a result of her privileged childhood, or if it just ran in her veins, if Nellie had inherited it and would discover it later in life.

And once again, he wondered if his love for his daughter was plentiful enough to make up for her mother’s absence.

Are you busy?

The message was straightforward enough that he was certain you knew what his intentions behind it were. He drove to the hotel before even getting a response from you, too angry to even try to go back home or distract himself in any other way.

Steve’s phone finally buzzed once he was inside room 305. He was distractedly unbuttoning his shirt in front of the mirror while the shower ran in the farthest corner of the bathroom. He didn’t want you to see him like this, all sweaty, reddened by his irritation.

No. Where are you? You message said. Simplicity and honesty, exactly what he needed.

He heard the knock on the door just when he was getting out of the bathroom. The anticipation sat on the pit of his stomach, knowing that the only thing that kept him away from your perfect body was the door. He didn’t even think about getting dressed as he opened it, holding the towel that covered him from his waist down with his hand.

‘Hi.’ Your face was adorned by a perfect smile as you stood on the other side before he let you in.

‘Hi.’ He eyed the yoga pants and the long-sleeved top you were wearing as you hung your jacket on the rack. The perfect zipped front that was not quite fully closed revealed a sports bra underneath. ‘You were running?’

‘Something like that.’ You stood in front of him, your pretty eyes lingering on his wet hair and chest as you crossed your arms over your chest. ‘I was in the middle of a workout when I got your message.’

He took a deep breath as he stood in front of you, already feeling his shoulders relaxing in view of the forecast of an evening with you. All the things you could do together.

‘Sorry I interrupted.’ He said sincerely, trying not to swallow too hard as he felt himself surrounded by your scent of toasted almonds. There was a hint of sweat underneath too, but he liked that. He liked that he could recognise it.

Your smiled subtly, that mischievous air taking over your face as you took a step towards him.

‘Don’t be silly.’ Your hands barely brushed against the hem of the towel. You fisted it, not quite daring to get rid of it yet. Instead, you just whispered against his mouth. ‘It was an emergency, right?’

‘Right.’ He said, repressing a dreamy sigh as you finally undid the knot with your skilful fingers. ‘Yeah. Right.’

‘What was it?’ Your nose was brushing against his as you started to play with his hard dick. Your fingers were a bit cold, but it was nice, he could warm them up quickly. He was closing his eyes as your hand stroked him slowly. ‘Boredom? Loneliness? Ghosts?’

He shook his hand, breathing hard as he felt you kiss his chin, then his jaw.

‘Anger.’ He sighed, but it had all melted so quickly it was as if the word tasted sweet in his mouth now. He wasn’t angry anymore, maybe a bit frustrated, but he didn’t want to think about it right now. He was tired of thinking about it.

‘Oh, anger.’ You cooed as you kissed his neck, licking the little drops of water that mixed with his freckles. All the hairs of his body turned into a goosebump as your other hand cupped his balls. They were so tense and full for you; he had been thinking about this all week. ‘That is an emergency.’

An awkward noise came out of his chest, something that was half a laugh and half a sigh as you kissed down his chest, still stroking him, still spoiling him. He took in a deep breath the lower your mouth went, he swallowed hard, he pulled his hair back in disbelief.

‘You got pretty eyes.’ He said as you looked up at him. It made you laugh in the middle of your serious seduction; the sound never failing at stealing a smile from him.

You let him watch you for a few seconds, the way your breasts peaked out of the top, perky and subtly glazed by your sweat, how your hand was patient with its pace as it went up and down: putting more pressure at the top, releasing it at the base…

He blinked slowly, cupping your face and brushing your cheek with his thumb. Some of the drops that fell from his head landed on your covered shoulders, on your forehead. You didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, as you took the tip of his dick into your mouth. The texture of your tongue on his sensitive head made him weak, he wished he could kiss your forehead while you took him deeper. Thank you, he wanted to say. For god’s sake, thank you.

You made out with him slowly, in ceremonial movements, as you made sure to spread all your spit all over him. Along the length, on his balls. All of him was wet by you, and that only made him harder, heavier. Was this how you felt? Was this how you felt when he was about to be inside you?

Then you took him in properly, fully. For the first few minutes you sucked him tentatively but with consistent confidence, trying to figure out what he liked. He got the feeling part of what made it fun for you was that: the finding out. The discovering. And when you did find out, when you nailed the right rhythm as your hand held his base and balls, your other hand sneaked into your legs, and you started to play with yourself over your yoga pants.

‘Holy shit.’ He breathed out. ‘You really are a needy thing, aren’t you? Getting all wet while your mouth is full?’

You nodded subtly, he could feel the hot breath you released through your nose over his dick. This was his favourite part: finding what he could say so you could get a bit more desperate, and he could confirm it by the way your mouth’s rhythm grew irregular, by the sucking noises that escaped from the friction between your lips and his skin.

‘Show me those eyes.’ He asked then. You looked at him as he stayed mesmerized at the image of your pretty mouth perfectly wrapped around him, at the way your boobs squeezed together in between the angle of your busy hands. You were unreal. ‘There we go. God, you’re gorgeous. Does your pussy hurt? Are you so wet it hurts a little? Huh?’

You moaned at his words then, by the way you looked away briefly it seemed like you were trying not to roll your eyes. He never thought you’d be self-conscious about something like that, but he respected it, it was equally funny and cute.

He laughed softly, pulling himself out of your mouth as he nodded towards your pants. ‘As hot as you look on those they need to come off. C’mon.’

You let out a snort-like laugh as you cleaned your puffy lips, and he walked backwards towards the bed. He rested his back against the pillows lazily, stroking himself while he observed you undress: first that unbearable zip, then the bothersome bra, then the pants along with your underwear.

He let you lead then, not sure if you wanted to keep on sucking him but letting you decide if you wanted to. You crawled in the space in between his legs, kissing his thighs and the skin of his pelvis that surrounded his dick.

Would he ever grow tired of getting hard for you? He couldn’t wait to be inside you, to be able to dive his head on your hair. Before you could make a decision, he sat straight and pulled your ass towards him with his palm, so you’d move further up. Your hands landed on his chest, your weight perfect of top of him as he cupped your ass and held you right there where he wanted you, with your hard nipples pushed against his breastbone.

‘It does hurt a little.’ You said tenderly as your cheek rested on his chest. He had to fight the need to bite his lip and tell you right there that he understood, because God, had he missed you. Had he missed this ass and these hips and these eyes looking back at him.

‘Hmm, let me see.’ His hand ventured on the space where your thigh rested on top of his. You lifted yourself slightly to make space for it, moving further up so your stomach would rest on his lower abs and not on his dick. Then he found it: the damp sticky folds of your pussy. His middle and ring finger dived in easily, stroking slowly as they came in and out of you. ‘There. Better?’

‘Huh.’ You were wrapping your arms around his neck, holding yourself there as you opened your legs wider on top of him. That moany voice mixing with the noises of your wetness. ‘Yeah.’

‘Does it hurt less?’ He whispered against the hair next to your temple, kissing your ear, diving his head on your neck. He couldn’t help but take a deep breath. ‘Does it help when I fuck you with my fingers?’

‘Yeah.’ You moaned, recoiling in his arms, circling your hips to chase for your pleasure shamelessly. ‘It helps. Feels much better.’

‘Wish you could see yourself.’ Steve whispered as he looked at the landscape of your body over your shoulder. ‘From here, I get to see the line of your back, your pretty ass in the air while you move,’ He sighed harder as you seemed to increase the rhythm. ‘The way you open for me. So easily.’

A cry of help left your mouth as you pressed yourself harder against his body, your arms were almost choking him by how hard you hugged him, but it didn’t matter. He wanted you this close and he wanted to learn the way your body talked, and what it was saying was all this tension was the prelude to your sweet release.

He needed to help you, he needed to get you there. Your wetness was staining his stomach, and he could feel your pussy getting puffier the harder he fucked it with his fingers, while you complained beautifully with your little moans.

‘I know.’ He cooed, kissing the bone next to your ear as you moaned again. ‘I know. Just a bit longer ‘til you can cum, messy thing. Just hold on a bit longer.’

And then he felt it as your body tensed like a shy flower bud, taking in a sobby breath while the walls of your pussy squeezed his fingers as if they were saying: Stay a bit longer. Stay here a bit longer and I’ll keep you warm. And did he wish he could.

Later that evening you laid in bed next to him, exhausted by all the creative ways in which you two had found to entertain each other. The sun was setting behind his back through the hotel’s window, but the sight of you with your wet hair and your closed eyes next to him was much more beautiful to see. Even under the scent of the cheap hotel soap he could still smell your perfume.

‘How was your weekend?’ You asked lazily as your hand came to rest on his chest. He held it there, wishing that he could lift it and leave a soft kiss on your fingers.

‘Complicated.’ He said then. Your lips lifted on a smile immediately at his words. ‘Busy.’

‘Hmm.’ You were snuggling closer to him, and he couldn’t help but wrap his arm around you. He was always so cautious about the things he needed from you, while you seemed to be confident that you’d always get what you wanted in the moments that you needed it. ‘I get what you mean.’

He smiled to himself as your nose hid on a space next to his earlobe, because you didn’t. You had no idea. The bitterness came back to him as he thought about his conversation with Lauren earlier; then you wrapped your leg around him and his hand found your knee, stroking it softly to feel better, to forget the fact that he’d have to break the news to Nellie later.

You pushed him away playfully then, that cheeky smile that took over your mouth tempting him to pin you down again to love on your body some more even if he knew he needed to be home by eight. The space inside his arms felt empty as you moved back, his eyes lingering on your naked body as you climbed down the bed.

‘You’re so time-consuming.’ You joked. When you pulled your panties up to your legs, you looked behind his shoulder at him knowing what kind of effect all this parsimony would have on him. A sided smile took over his face as you turned around to give him a last glimpse of your chest before you finished dressing.

He hummed from his place on the bed, the same lazy smile on his face as he observed the little zip of your top closing upwards. ‘You got plans tonight?’

‘Just a family thing.’ You shrugged. You could’ve been lying, maybe you just wanted to leave. Maybe you had that boyfriend to go back to. ‘I have to clone myself every Christmas to help my parents. Child of divorce duties.’

Steve stayed quiet as you searched for your shoes, biting the inside of his cheek as he sat up straight on the bed. The pillow still smelled like you. He hoped you didn’t realise how uncomfortable your words had made him, so he resorted to try to ignore his own awkwardness and indulge his curiosity instead.

‘You don’t have any siblings?’ He asked then.

‘Uh, kind of?’ Your face lit up when your eyes landed on your shoes underneath the armchair, your socks hiding inside neatly. He still really liked how in your life everything had a rightful place. ‘I have a half-sister. She’s five.’

Only two years younger than Nellie. He was about to make a joke about how hard they were at that age, but he kept himself from saying anything as you tied your laces.

‘Right.’ You stood up, brushing your damp hair with your hands before you looked around the room, checking that you didn’t leave anything behind. ‘See you tomorrow, Mr Harrington. Don’t be a stranger.’

He could feel his dick pulse at the idea of seeing you again. You were smiling at him as you took your jacket off the hook, tinting the air with that playfulness that would only leave him wanting for more. Then he called your name.

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t ever call me that outside the office.’ It was a tender threat. ‘It ruins the sex.’

‘Huh.’ You considered his words, a sided smile that was adorably challenging adorned your face. You looked tired though, like you needed a good nap. Then you bit your lip, before opening the door. ‘I doubt it.’

The first week of December passed, Steve’s shifts at work were stressful and your presence on the other side of the floor painful as he impatiently tried to figure out a way to meet you in the hotel again. But aside from his anticipation, things were going well because they were all separated. They were all coexisting, all unaware of each other, living inside the little rooms he had assigned them carefully.

On Wednesday he tried a new experiment and asked Max to pick Nellie at school. She had mentioned it the night before while they were having dinner, as he cleaned a bit of cheese off her mouth and Nellie enthusiastically talked about how her friend Polly had gone to the new Build-A-Bear shop at the mall over the weekend.

Steve told her dad was very busy this week with work, though, that maybe they could try on Saturday if there was time. Yet all Nellie did was look up at him, a conspirative smile on her face as she lifted a little hand to tap his cheek twice, while she asked: Can I go with Max?

‘Do you think is a good idea?’ He had asked Nancy over the phone that night before texting Max. ‘She’s asking for something that she’d be happy to do without me, that’s good, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah, Steve.’ He could feel Nancy smiling as she rolled her eyes on the other side of the line. ‘It’s a good thing. It’s a very good thing she likes her nanny, too. Believe me, if she didn’t like Max, you’d know. Stop worrying, just let her have this.’

So, he did. Now he had an evening off in the middle of a busy week, and you were wearing a new set of red tights that his eyes had lingered on this morning while you walked down the hallway next to his office. It had been quite busy for you too, Eddie was driving you crazy with all the preparations for the Christmas party, something that wasn’t even part of your job in Steve’s opinion. You were both stressed, tired, in need to for some time to unwind.

What are you doing tonight? He texted from his office in a quick break he had taken in the middle of the afternoon. He was having a coffee to try keep himself awake, yet it was your response what filled him with the boyish excitement of a teenager on a Friday night.

Hopefully you.

Then on Friday he was in the middle of a presentation when he received a call from Robin. He let his phone buzz as you stood on the other side of the room making notes, unbothered by his apologies to everyone in the room. He returned the call later inside his office.

‘Is there anything Nellie’s in need of?’ She asked distractedly. ‘Or any toys that you would absolutely disapprove of that I can get her?’

‘I don’t know.’ He said rubbing his eyes. Nellie’s letter to Santa was hiding inside his desk, he pulled the drawer to have a look at what she had asked for in her clumsy handwriting. ‘Let’s see. She wants some sparkly nail polish, apparently. I’m not a big fan of that, but if you get her something clear with a bit of glitter I wouldn’t mind. Just no bright colours, please. She’s seven.’

‘Right.’ Said Robin. ‘What about some red lipstick and blue mascara to go with that?’

‘Robin.’

‘I’m joking.’ She laughed. ‘Okay, what about you? What does your letter to Santa says?’

‘Don’t worry about that.’ He said putting the letter back inside his desk. ‘I’m alright.’

‘Oh, come on, Steve!’

‘Just get Nellie a lot of stuff and I’ll be more than happy, Robs.’ He smiled. ‘Nellie being happy this Christmas is the only thing I care about. That’s the best present you can give me.’

She sighed. ‘So, Lauren is really spending the holidays away, huh?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ He felt the disappointment setting on his chest again as he looked through the window at the grey city. Maybe it’d snow soon, he needed to find those boots he got for Nellie last year and keep them in his car just in case. ‘I mean, Nellie seems to be fine with it, she’s gonna spend some time with her once she’s back. But you know, it’s not the same.’

‘I’m sorry, Steve.’ She said sincerely.

‘It is what it is.’

‘Hey, what are you guys doing this evening?’ She suddenly said. ‘I’ve got the afternoon off and if you didn’t have anything planned maybe I could pick Nellie up at school and go shopping with her. I’m sure she’ll be happy to get you something, last time we spoke she seemed mortified that adults didn’t get presents.’

He laughed softly, considering Robin’s words. Another evening to himself, it seemed almost wrong.

‘It’ll give you some time to start doing some of your shopping as well.’ She insisted. ‘Please don’t leave it for the last minute or you won’t be able to get everything she asked for.’

‘You’re right.’ He said. Though he knew that after such a tiring week and such a busy day buying presents wasn’t on his list of priorities. ‘Just send me a message when you’re done so I know what time I need to be home.’

‘Oh, I’ll cook dinner for her at mine.’ She said then. ‘Nancy’s away on a seminar and it’s been a while since I’ve had Nellie all to myself.’

Relief and guilt sat equally on his chest as he considered what this could mean for him, if you were available tonight. If you were willing to spend an hour or two with him after work. Relief and guilt were building their own rooms, next to each other. They were taking space and making themselves comfortable, and it was unpleasant, very unpleasant. But as long as they stayed separated, he’d be fine.

‘That okay?’ Robin asked on the other side of the line. ‘I don’t want to intrude if you had an evening planned already.’

‘Sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘My head’s all over the place. Of course you can pick her up today, she’d be happy to see you. I can do with a free evening every now and then. Maybe I’ll hit the gym or go shopping like you said.’

He didn’t do either. Instead, Steve spent his evening holding your body on top of his, burying his head on your sweaty chest as you held onto his neck, and he fucked you slowly and sloppily. His tongue searched for any inch of skin that he hadn’t tasted before, but every time he left a wet kiss under your breast or on the dimples on your back, he’d recognise the taste fondly. Oh, yeah. He’d think as you moaned to his kisses, getting his dick wetter over the condom as he went deeper in. I know this place; I’ve been here before. I missed it.

You’d melt completely as usual, that exhibitionist side of you coming out every now and then whenever your eyes met, the room silent as you looked at him looking at you. See? It was as if your body was saying, See what I can do? Aren’t I sweet? You were. You knew you were.

‘What do you think about while we fuck?’ You said that evening while your head laid on his stomach. Your body took most of the bed while he stayed still on the right side, the side he had slept in since he moved in with Lauren after college. ‘Sometimes you seem so… concentrated, but like absently concentrated.’ You proceeded, looking up at him as he stroked your hair. ‘You don’t think about work, do you?’

A chesty laugh left his chest, and you smiled, even you knew that the mere idea of thinking about anything remotely important while he fucked you was ridiculous.

‘No, I don’t think about work.’ He said softly. ‘You know that.’

‘Then what do you think about?’ You turned to your side, this time placing your cheek on his stomach as you looked at him curiously.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Your body, I guess.’

‘You guess?’ You stuck your tongue against your teeth, cheekily. He knew that wasn’t enough of an answer. That was another thing about you, you always wanted long answers, explanations. But not about his life, just about what you did together. You wanted him to explain sex to you, just so you could reinvent it.

‘The way it feels, the way it looks.’ His hand cupped your cheek for a second before it traced its way down your neck. His fingertips soft but confident as he touched down your clavicles, your breasts. ‘I try to memorize you.’

You pouted, mocking him as your hand went to hold his wrist to keep it there. The back of his fingers was brushing your nipple and it was slowly getting hard.

‘Ow. For when you feel lonely and needy?’ You asked.

His smile was turning bigger the more you teased, the closer you got to him. You squeezed your legs together unconsciously, as if your own body communicated with his in ways both of your brains were unaware of.

‘I guess.’ He admitted.

‘You guess a lot, Mr Harrington.’ The back of his knuckles was now stroking the line from your breastbone to your belly button, your skin was full of goosebumps.

‘Don’t press it.’ He felt all the blood rush to his face, but the more you met each other in clandestine hotel rooms, the more comfortable he felt with you seeing him blush.

You laughed loudly as you stood up from the bed, recoiling as if he had attempted to tickle you. His eyes lingered on the pretty dark grey thong that exposed your butt cheeks so perfectly.

‘Do you wanna take some pictures?’ You asked as you reached for his phone inside his coat. ‘For when you’re needy?’

His anxiety rushed instantly the millisecond you held the device on your hand, but you threw it on the bed before walking to pour some wine on your glass.

The screen lit up then, the picture of him and Nellie in Thanksgiving that he had set as his background showing on the screen, you were too busy tasting the red liquid to notice as he took it, reading the label of the wine bottle absently.

‘You don’t have to do that.’ His serious tone made you turn back at him, he was quickly changing his background for a plain one, the one that came with the factory settings. It felt wrong, as if he was lying, as if he was neglecting Nelly in favour of this dirty adventure. But it was a necessary thing to do if he wanted to keep these two rooms separated. You had no place in Nellie’s. In fact, Nellie owned the whole house, and you were only hiding in the attic.

‘I don’t mind.’ You said softly as you offered him a glass of wine too, your tentative eyes looked for his as you sat next to him on the bed. ‘I’d like to know that you think about me.’

He shook his head as he took the glass, the tension of his sudden flow of anxiety slowly dissipating as he sat better to wrap an arm around your waist.

‘S fine.’ He kissed your shoulder. ‘I don’t think is appropriate.’

You seemed amused by something as you took away your glasses, placing them on the bedside table. Then you fixed his messy hair, your eyes focused on his crown before they stared back at him.

‘You’re worrying about imaginary things again.’ You said tenderly. ‘We’re not in trouble.’

He looked away, taking a deep breath. These were the instances where he felt that maybe the difference between your experiences hindered the chemistry you shared. He didn’t know why he was always so attracted to women that saw the world in a careless, eased manner while he seemed to be so fixed in his own ways. This meticulousness had always been helpful when it came to work, when it came to thinking about structures, but not so much when it came to this.

‘Steve,’ His name sounded so pretty in your mouth. He didn’t know why you insisted on teasing him with the whole Mr Harrington thing. ‘Do you know why I like you? Why I like fucking you?’

Steve lifted his eyebrows at your blunt sincerity, at the way you always seemed to bring up the things that normal people would implicitly avoid in a situation like this.

‘I think we understand sex the same way.’

You placed your hand on his knee, and before he could wish you squeezed it like you had done that day at the bar, you did it. A smile full of softness and sympathy set on your mouth then, and he felt so full and warm he almost thought about mentioning Nellie.

‘We know nothing about each other, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be sweet.’ You said. ‘It doesn’t mean there can’t be devotion involved. You don’t make me feel like I’m just a thing you fuck. You fuck me like I exist. That’s not very common, and I treasure it a lot.’

He stayed quiet as you looked back at him, your hand had found a comfortable place behind his neck, and you were playing with his hair. You smiled at him with tenderness, with patience. For the first time since this had all started, he wished you could both stay here and sleep together tonight. Maybe he could fuck you in the morning again, maybe he could take a shower with you right after, see what your body tasted like underwater, rub that cheap soap all over your back and shoulders.

Steve’s hand cupped your face tenderly and you left an open-mouth kiss there, testing the waters before your lips climbed up his palm. It was nicely orchestrated, the way he moved his hands and you your face so you could suck his fingers more comfortably, obscenely. He took a deep breath, feeling his eyelids turning heavier as he reached for his phone on the bed.

He looked at those pictures more often than he would’ve liked to admit, but they remained separated from everything else, hidden in a locked folder that he only opened in instances where Nellie wasn’t in the house or when she was fast asleep in her room. He cursed himself for being so indulgent with your little ideas, because now he wanted you twice as much as he did before when he had to rely just on his imagination to evoke your body.

Another week passed and as Christmas approached, life and work got busier for the both of you. Soft smiles were exchanged at work, you greeted him with the usual charming manners that you used for everyone in the office, respecting the distance you had both implicitly agreed on from the beginning.

The text messages grew scarce as he spent his evenings tending to Nellie, buying presents, falling asleep in front of the TV after dinner. He imagined you were busy too, helping your parents, attending friends’ parties, seeing other people. It was unfortunate, but the space often granted him some sort of lucidity, falling into the conclusion that things were going well because they were in the right order. Most importantly, they were staying in the right order.

On Thursday evening Nellie was playing with Legos while they watched a terrible Christmas movie that Robin had recommended. She was loving it, but he was dozing off on the couch when he received a message from you.

Steve rubbed his eyes under his glasses, yawning softly as he unlocked his phone. There were no greetings or flirty sentences, just an address. A residential address, if he wasn’t wrong. He googled it, confirming his suspicions as he wondered what you were up to, when another message appeared on top of his screen.

I’m cooking Italian tonight.

He swallowed hard, sitting straight on the couch as he wondered how to reject you kindly. It was impossible for him to drive to yours tonight, yet he knew that though sending your home address to him was a bold move, there was also some vulnerability in it. But he couldn’t just tell you about Nellie, that was a part of his life that you weren’t allowed to disrupt.

Taking his phone to his ear, he waited for you to pick up as he walked towards his room. He looked behind his back while he climbed the stairs, making sure that Nellie was still focused and that she didn’t need him. You picked up when he closed his bedroom’s door behind him.

‘Hey, stranger.’

‘Hey.’ He could picture your gorgeous smile perfectly, hating himself a little as he swallowed hard. ‘Listen, I’m sorry, I can’t make it tonight. But I’m free tomorrow if you’re available.’

‘Oh, c’mon.’ You said playfully. ‘We don’t need to schedule it perfectly every time.’ Except he did need to, of course. You just didn’t know that he hadn’t booked Max tonight and that he simply couldn’t give you what you wanted that easily. ‘That’s not how sex works. Sometimes I need you in moments I shouldn’t need you.’ You made a soft little pause. Dreamy and tempting. ‘Like now.’

He shut his eyes hard, repressing the sigh he so badly wanted to release because at this point, he was sure you knew him well enough to know that just one of your purrs was enough to get him hard.

‘M sorry, sweet thing.’ He murmured then. It was a shame, because he would’ve loved to try your food and fuck you on a bed that smelled only like you. ‘I really can’t make it tonight.’

You made a soft sound of protest, followed by a sigh of resignation.

‘I hope you know I’m pouting right now.’

‘I bet.’ He laughed softly. He could picture your lower lip sticking out perfectly, the way your pleading eyes would’ve looked back at him. It was torture. ‘Touch yourself later for me, would you?’

Steve smiled at the breathy laugh that left your mouth then, like his proposition was a pleasant surprise. He couldn’t believe you had him all flushed while he whispered on the phone.

‘Hmm, yeah.’ You murmured dreamily. ‘I’ve got no other option, I guess.’

He tsked, loving the effect his words had on you.

‘Poor thing.’ He cooed you in sweet whispers. ‘Wanna lay down and I can help you?’

‘Really?’ You sighed. ‘S fine if you’re busy, I…’

‘I can do with a little break.’ He said then. ‘Where are you right now?’

‘On my couch.’ Your breath was a bit laboured; he was loving your nerves. He didn’t get to see you nervous very often.

‘That’s nice.’ He said then. ‘Do you touch yourself a lot there? Won’t you make it dirty, messy girl?’

‘Sometimes.’ You whispered softly. You weren’t shy but he could picture you all flushed. ‘I’ve got a blanket though. I’m lying on it now. Feels nice.’

‘Does it?’ He asked sweetly. ‘Are you rubbin yourself ‘gaisnt it?’

‘A little.’ You sighed. ‘It’s very soft.’

‘What are you wearing?’ He threw his head back against the headboard of his bed, trying to picture you in the middle of your living room. The TV on, the blinds open for everyone to see the horny pretty girl who couldn’t help but touch herself in the sofa.

‘Just a shirt.’ You mumbled.

‘Just a shirt?’ He asked. ‘Nothing else?’

‘Nothing else.’ You whispered.

Steve sighed hard, and you did as well on the other side of the line as he sat straight, trying not to give much mind to the erection under his pants.

‘Wish you were here.’ You pleaded softly, horny brain nonsense that came out your mouth as you grew more aroused.

‘So do I.’ He admitted in the silence of his lonely room.

‘M so wet, Steve.’ You moaned as your breath pattern turned faster. ‘S not fair.’

‘I know, baby.’ It slipped through his mouth like running honey. It didn’t matter, you were melting, and he owed you for not being there to fuck you. ‘Promise I’ll make it up to you. I’ll fuck your pretty pussy until it don’t hurt anymore next time I see you.’

‘Mhm.’ You moaned softly before whispering something unintelligible. ‘…please.’

‘Re you gonna cum for me?’ He whispered. ‘Show me much how much you want it, yeah?’

‘Trying.’ You sighed. ‘Hard.’

‘Do it harder, baby.’ He instructed. ‘Like when I do it, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ You breathed out, crumbling right there, far from him. ‘Tell me I’m good, Steve. Tell me I’m good for you.’

‘You are, baby. You’re so good.’ He comforted you; he surrendered. ‘You’re bein’ so good for me right now.’

He would’ve said anything you asked as long as you didn’t cum just yet. He wanted more of this. This complicity, this vulnerability that other people kept to themselves, and you gave away so selflessly.

‘M close.’ You said as if it was a shame. It was. Soon this would be over, and he’d have to face a cold shower and an empty bed tonight while you slept far from him.

‘Tell me how wet you’re for me.’ He asked you then. He wasn’t even touching himself, but he just wanted to hear your breathy voice, your little moans for a little bit longer.

‘M so…’ You sighed. ‘So, so wet.’

‘Yeah?’ He murmured. ‘Can you say my name while you cum, needy thing? Can you do that?’

‘S-Shit.’ You said under your breath. ‘Hm.’

‘Say it, baby.’ He whispered. ‘Say it while you cum.’

‘S… huh.’ You moaned softly. ‘Fuck, Steve. Fuckfuckfuck.’

‘There we go.’ He was relieved, he was dazed. You were too much, a greedy thing that needed care and attention. ‘Good, good. Feeling better?’

You replied with a heavy sigh, taking a few seconds to recover yourself as he stayed on the other side.

‘Yeah.’ You said shyly. ‘Thank you. Sorry I got carried away, I didn’t want to— I don’t know.’

‘Don’t be sorry.’ He smiled tenderly to himself. ‘M happy to help, you always cum so nicely.’

You laughed softly on the other side of the line. A little shy thing that he was going to replay in his mind for the rest of the night.

‘I’m gonna let you go then.’ You said softly after a while.

‘Thank you.’ He said, amused by the way you lingered on the line. ‘Have good night, yeah?’

‘You too.’ Your voice was still dreamy, he could almost picture you overwhelmed, a bit lost after the high of your orgasm.

‘Bye, sweetheart.’ He said before hanging up.

Steve stayed in his room for a while, holding his phone in his hand as he took a deep breath. He scratched the back of his neck as he wondered what the fuck was he going to do now. You weren’t demanding more attention, but you required it. He could see it. Now how could he convince himself to stop after something like this?

PART II | coming on Christmas Eve.

I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written works anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

[steveheadcannons]

i don’t think yall heard me. IN this HOUSE we worship ANYTHING maroon-cardigan writes

[maroon-cardigan-deactivated2025]

what's the name of the game? | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: every winter steve harrington and you fight over the frozen pond between your houses. while he loves to bring his friends to skate, you need to de-stress from the pressure of ballet practice. it’s always an entertaining game between you two until you get the lead role in the winter production, and steve sets his mind to break through your stubborn, overachieving façade.

enemies-ish to lovers | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

word count: 25.6k

warnings: this one shot and the content i write are +18, minors do NOT interact. inexperienced!reader, mutual masturbation, oral (f receiving). reader is a bit rough with poor steve lol but there’s a good reason for it. eating disorders are mentioned discreetly but reader does NOT have one.

author’s note: omg hi angels !!! i was sooo impressed at how popular christmas affairs ended up being like !?!?! thank you so much for your comments, reblogs & asks, i’ve been working a LOT this christmas and you have literally made my whole month with your comments !!! thank you for reading and enjoy this one 🤍

[banners: @adornedwithlight & @cafekitsune ]

It all had started when the new family moved into the big house next door. Before that, every winter, the pond was yours.

It had been probably on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, a couple of hours after lunch. You had quickly taken the ice skates and ran to the frozen pond next to your house to start skating. Your parents were never too happy about this being your other hobby besides dancing, always complaining about how you could never stay still and why can’t she like something simple like building puzzles or painting with watercolours?

But at eight years of age, all you needed was a scarf, your mother’s leg warmers and the skates and you could stay there until the sun set.

Your dad was looking at you from the kitchen’s window, a humming cup of coffee in his hand while your mother was doing her weekly crossword and watched the news in the living room. He didn’t think that the distant image of a father and his son playing hockey would be a problem for you, and he would’ve never imagined that you would be a problem for them.

That’s why he didn’t put the cup down when he saw the little boy skating towards you. He was a bit taller than you, but he must’ve been around your age. Your father thought he was just going to say hi, the boy’s dad was watching from the other side of the pond too. Everything was okay. You were a spoiled only child, overprotected by everyone in your family after being the first granddaughter and niece. He needed to let you be independent sometimes, he told himself, to socialise without needing your parents there, and more than anything you needed to learn to stand up for yourself.

Those were all very logical and healthy ways of thinking about parenthood, he thought satisfied, as he kept observing the interaction between you and the boy. He felt relaxed and confident, even proud of himself. Until he saw the way you pushed the little boy to the ground.

‘Oh, shit.’ He put the cup aside before running to the door, the distant sound of your mother’s voice behind him as he took his scarf and coat to walk outside.

When he got there, you were standing in front of the boy and his father with a frown on your face, and your arms crossed under your big scarf. The dad was helping the boy stand up while you stood silently angry, the embarrassment taking over your father as he lifted a friendly hand in the air.

‘Hello.’ He said. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘She pushed me!’ The little boy screamed at you with an accusing finger once his dad managed to help him stand up. ‘You saw it, daddy! You saw it! She pushed me!’

Your dad looked down at you as you rolled your eyes and looked to your side.

‘She did push him.’ Said the boy’s dad gravely. The tension between the two parents started to arise the more you refused to acknowledge what you had done or apologise quickly.

‘I saw.’ You dad finally said, kneeling down next to you and cursing the day he told your mother he wished you were like him. You were just as proud. ‘Snowflake, would you please explain to me why did you push…?’

‘Steve.’ The other man said, wrapping his arm around his boy before he started brushing the snow off him. Steve’s bravado had disappeared, and he couldn’t help but lean into his father’s touch, processing what had just happened.

‘Why did you push Steve, snowflake?’ Your dad said as he looked for your eyes.

You looked back at your father, very careful not to look back at Steve’s dad to avoid feeling intimidated. He wasn’t happy, and though most times he was patient and indulging with you, you had a feeling this time none of those things would help you.

‘He called me the B word.’

Both men frowned at your accusation, the atmosphere suddenly changing before they looked back at Steve, whose cheeks had recovered colour and were turning even redder now.

‘I called her a brat.’ He simply said.

‘That’s a bad word!’ You pointed at him.

‘It’s not as bad as bitch!’ He argued.

‘Hey!’ Steve’s dad took him by the shoulders. ‘Don’t say that word.’

‘I am not a brat.’ You said between your teeth to Steve as you stood there, ready to push him again if it was necessary. ‘And this is my pond.’

‘Okay, Snowflake, why don’t we—’

‘What happened?’ Your mother’s voice suddenly made them all look up. She had wrapped herself in one of those beautiful cosy shawls you loved to fall asleep on sometimes. ‘Oh, you must be the Harrington’s. I’m so glad to finally meet you.’

Mr Harrington didn’t refuse your mother’s hand as he stood up and gave her an awkward smile before looking at Steve.

‘This is Steve.’ He said putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘We just had a bit of a misunderstanding.’

‘Oh, no.’ You mother said gravely, looking at you before she bent a little in front of the boy. ‘W-What happened?’

‘Your daughter’s a brat.’ Steve said.

And that was it, you were on him again. You heard your mother let out an Oh my god as you both fell on the floor, and you started to scream at him.

‘I told you I’m not a brat!’ Your hands gripped at his hockey shirt.

‘You are a brat!’ He screamed. ‘Get off me!’

You were taken away by a pair of arms that you’d recognise as your dad’s while he swore under his breath, and Mr Harrington had to help little Steve stand up once again.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You mother said mortified as she helped Mr Harrington with Steve. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetie. We’ve tried— She’s just not really good at sharing yet.’

‘This is my—’ Your started saying.

‘Hush!’ Your mother employed a severe tone you had rarely heard her use with you. Her eyes shut blades at you when she looked behind, and that was the day you learned that if there was something your parents couldn’t handle, was public humiliation. ‘Come here and tell Steve you are sorry.’

You crossed your arms, getting rid of you dad’s embrace as you looked from him to the scene in front of you. Steve swallowed hard when your eyes fell on him, and it should’ve given you some sense of satisfaction to know he was now scared of you, but it didn’t. You were too embarrassed by the warmth that ran to your cheeks at the sight of his pretty pink cheeks and his messy brown hair.

‘No.’ You finally said.

Your mom took a deep breath, looking from Steve to Mr Harrington as she offered them an apologetic smile.

‘I’m sorry.’ She said defeated. ‘Give us a few minutes with her. I am so embarrassed about her behaviour.’ She laughed nervously as she stood up, looking from father to son and cursing the day she said she wished to have an opinionated daughter.

‘She’s not usually like this, Steve.’ She proceeded as she smiled to the little boy. ‘I promise.’

‘Please come for dinner this evening.’ Said your dad then. You looked up at him with a frown on your face. Today was supposed to be pizza night. Another thing that this stupid Steve had taken from you. ‘We’ve been living in this neighbourhood since we got married, I wouldn’t like you to feel unwelcomed just because… Well…’

Your dad looked down at you, still with your arms crossed and determined not to apologise for what you had done.

Mr Harrington’s laugh made you all look back at him. Steve looked at his father too, shaking his head with a smile of the defeat before giving your parents an understanding look.

‘She’s got character, your little one.’ He said looking at you for the first time. You finally grew shy then, moving to hide behind your dad’s legs as you felt the heat rushing to your cheeks. ‘She’s gonna make it far.’

That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Not between you and Steve, no. No matter how many playdates your parents arranged, or how many times you were invited to the Harrington’s and Steve to yours, you never seemed to get along and you’d probably never will. But the more your despise for each other grew, the closer your families became.

Every winter there were fights about the pond. At first, they were appeased by your dad, who offered to play hockey with Steve while you skated when his parents couldn’t. On other occasions, it was Mr Harrington who agreed to arrange a new routine for you as long as you remained polite and respectful of Steve’s time on the pond.

Through the years you heard him tell your father many times during dinner, that you should go professional, that you had potential. But you never failed to interject in the conversation and remind Mr Harrington that your mind was set on dancing, and though skating was a beautiful discipline, you weren’t interested in the elitism of sports. Steve’s dad would take a deep breath and give you a smile of defeat, as he had always done, before asking his son to pass him the salad.

It worked like that all through primary and middle school. Until you and Steve became too old to push each other every time there were disputes about the coveted body of water. But then ambition brought subtle changes: Steve started waking up extra early to practice before school, then you’d come back from rehearsals in the evening and changed your ballet shoes for the skates. Peace had been restored, and despite the occasional quarrel, it worked. Until Steve got injured.

It didn’t happen in the pond, but one Friday evening in Hawkin’s ice rink while he was at hockey practice. A bad fall, a crack and suddenly there was a femur fracture, a knee dislocation and three months in bed that cost him his place at college. He couldn’t play anymore.

So, the pond ended up being all yours that winter, just like you predicted years ago, and the tension faded away, almost forgotten. The forced interactions decreased as Steve started working in Starcourt on the weekends and you had to train harder in the dance studio. Then he moved to Family Video and you saw him even less, only when you’d walk into the Harrington’s house when his parents had invited yours for dinner, and he’d be kissing his mom goodbye.

Other times you simply didn’t have the energy to join anyone downstairs, or you stayed at the studio until late. Life got in the way sometimes, but you always, without exception, found some time to put your skates on and go on the ice for a while.

And despite his injury, so did Steve.

‘Look who’s here.’ He said that evening when you appeared still wearing your baby blue leotard and your translucent skirt, only a scarf and legwarmers to protect you from the early December cold.

He wasn’t on his own, and you hated that even more, giving him an unwelcoming smile as you started sliding casually around the ice. While you had always been consistent with your friendships, Steve seemed to change friends every damn season.

First it was Carol and Tommy, sometime around that he started dating Nancy Wheeler. After the incident, he started hanging around with this Robin that somehow needed to be invited to every single family dinner, and along with her there was a group of pre-teens that idolized him. Then it was Eddie Munson, and somewhere along the way there was Nancy again with Jonathan Byers. And today they all seemed happy to come to your pound to smoke weed or skate mediocrely or whatever thing they had planned. And all you needed was some time alone to think.

‘Hey Ice Princess!’ Nancy greeted you from her place next to Jonathan’s car. She was more enthusiastic than usual, and you assumed by her heavy eyelids that she was either drunk or high.

‘Hi.’ You said shyly as you slowed your pace.

‘Hey, do you want a beer?’ Eddie Munson’s voice made you stop in your tracks. You looked from him to Steve before giving him a polite smile and shaking your head.

‘No, thanks.’ You said. ‘I just had rehearsals and I’m tired.’

‘How’s the dancing going?’ Nancy asked, taking a sip of the glass bottle before cleaning her mouth with the back of her hand.

‘It’s going okay.’ You shrugged before smiling and resuming your workout, thinking that maybe now they’d leave you in peace.

It didn’t last long until you heard a very distinctive noise behind you, the familiar scratch of a pair of skates that you’d recognise anywhere.

‘Hey, bratty.’ Steve said as you both kept skating at comfortable distance. ‘What are you doin’ tonight?’

‘This.’ You simply said as you kept skating without giving him the satisfaction of acknowledging the nickname or even look at him.

‘I’m having a party at mine.’ He said catching up with you and skating besides you. ‘Do you wanna come?’

‘Not really.’ You said still looking at the ice in front of you before you looked over your shoulder. ‘Slow down.’

‘I’m fine.’ He brushed it off, but he still had to put one of his hands on your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. ‘Why not?’

‘I’ve got training to do tomorrow, and I don’t like dancing hungover.’ You finally stopped when you started hearing his agitated breathing, rolling onto your skates to finally face him. ‘Steve, you could hurt yourself like this.’

A smile slowly formed on his face as he looked back at you.

‘What’s up with you tonight?’ He said amused.

‘Nothing’s up with me.’ You crossed your arms, studying his face. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘Are you drunk?’ He mocked you. ‘D’you ever hear yourself?’

‘Right.’ You started skating away, but though Steve wasn’t as agile as before, you remembered how strong he still was when he caught your forearm.

‘Wait.’ He said, laughing as he softly pulled you backwards. ‘Okay,okay,okay. I wanna know how your audition was.’

You stood still as you looked back at him, curious brown eyes searching for an answer in yours, the heat rushing to your cheeks in a matter of seconds as you fixed your skirt.

‘How do you know about that?’ You said more shyly than you intended.

‘Your mom doesn’t stop talking about it.’ He rolled his eyes with a silly smile that fell from his face the more his eyes studied you. He swallowed hard for a second, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath then, his semblance turning serious out of sudden. ‘Nobody fucking stops talking about you.’

You nodded once, looking away from him as he let go of your arm, or you slowly pull it away, you weren’t sure.

‘Have fun, Steve.’ You said softly before skating away.

‘Jesus, mom!’ You screamed as soon as you walked through the threshold of your home. ‘You almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing?’

Your mother stood on the entrance, wearing her pyjamas and holding a pair of jeans and one of your favourite tops while she looked apologetically at you.

‘I’m holding the clothes I need you to change to so you can go and stay at the Harrington’s tonight.’

It took you a second to process her words before you could speak again.

‘What?’

‘Well, Steve came here earlier…’

‘Of course he did.’ You rolled your eyes as you walked past her.

‘He said his parents are away tonight and he’s having a little party! And he was so sweet and polite about it as usual. He asked if I could keep an eye on them and told me he wanted to invite you too.’

You let out a scoff-like laugh as you walked into the kitchen to get a glass of juice.

‘Wow. He’s good.’ You said bitterly to yourself. ‘He’s really good.’

‘Honey,’ Your mother said with an accusing tone as she rested against the kitchen’s door. ‘You’ve been training a lot lately, and I think it’d do you some good to hang out with friends—People your age.’ She corrected herself as soon as you gave her an annoyed look.

‘Listen, mom.’ You said pouring some juice on a glass. ‘I hate to burst your bubble, but Steve didn’t invite me because he’s sweet and polite. He invited me so you wouldn’t tell his parents. They’re getting high, and drunk and—’

‘And you’re here talking to your mother.’

You took a deep breath, shaking your head before drinking the juice.

‘I’m not going.’ You said before leaving the kitchen to climb up the stairs. ‘Oh, and by the way, auditions were good. Thanks for asking.’

You heard your mom sigh behind you as you made you way to your room.

‘I told Linda.’

‘What?’ Your peeked over the banister to look back at her. ‘You called his mom?’

‘Of course I did.’ She said. ‘What kind of mother do you think I am? I’d like her to call me if you were having a party while I’m away.’

‘That’s dirty, mom.’ You accused her as you walked down the few steps you climbed, standing in front of her with a face of disbelief. ‘That’s mean as fuck even if it’s Steve we’re talking about.’

‘Which is why I promised her you would stay with them tonight.’  She said stroking your arms.

‘Cause I’m so responsible.’ You mocked her with disbelief all over your face.

‘Well…’

You couldn’t say anything, your jaw open and a hysterical frown taking over your face as you looked back at her.

‘You’re a psycho.’

‘Don’t be dramatic.’

‘You are. A psycho.’ You took a step back as you moved your hands in the air. ‘Why do you need this woman’s approval so badly?’

‘Now don’t be mean, honey.’ She said putting a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘Linda and I are just really good friends. Like you and Barb before she moved away. We want the same for you and Steve.’

‘Well, that’s not really easy, is it!’ You said lifting your hands in the air, feeling suddenly hurt at the name of your best friend. ‘Not with all the ass kissing that goes on in this house!’

‘Honey!’

‘Oh. My god.’ You said taking another step back. ‘Like, really. Joint dinners every week, Mr Harrington practically living on our couch to watch the baseball, and then it’s football at theirs every Sunday. Labor’s Day, 4th of July, Thanksgiving. Like every fucking thing is with the Harrington’s involved! Are you guys like swingers or something? Can’t you do something normal like having a book club where nobody reads and get drunk every now and then at the diner?’

Your mom stood quietly in front of you, shocked and processing your words before the sound of the bell dissipated the tension. You stood on the bottom of the stairs, clenching your jaw as she walked to open the door.

He had changed, and probably sprayed something to cover the scent of weed and beer, because you could smell bergamot from where you were.

‘Just came to pick up the Ice Princess.’ Steve said.

‘Ew, don’t call me that.’ You said stepping down. You gave your mom a severe stare as she got lost on the living room with a smile painted all over her face.

‘I like it, ‘s got a ring to it, you know? Nancy’s really good with nicknames.’

‘Do you need a toothbrush, honey?’ She asked offering your dance bag. ‘I put the change of clothes inside for you.’

‘No, I’ve got one, thanks.’ You said with a straight face before looking at Steve. ‘Come on. I need to get out of here.’

‘I don’t know why you’re so mean to your mom.’  He said as you walked past the pond together. He had sobered up somehow, the weird mood he had shown earlier completely gone, leaving the indifferent Steve you knew so well behind.

‘It’s a mother-daughter thing.’ You shrugged. ‘You wouldn’t get it.’

‘C’mon.’ He pushed your arm with his, and you frowned just a little at his sudden friendliness, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘She adores you. Everyone in this town does.’

You looked down to the snowy ground, not particularly flattered by his comment, but thoughtful about what he had said before. Apparently, people in Hawkins talked about you, saw you. This wasn’t a big town, but with the results of the auditions coming out tomorrow, you wished for once to be tiny and invisible.

‘I just can’t stand her sometimes.’ You admitted out loud. ‘She’s too friendly.’

He let out a snorty laugh. Dry, and so very spiteful that you couldn’t help but look back at him with a frown.

‘Or you’re too cold.’ He concluded as you made it to his front porch.

You didn’t say anything else while he opened the door, following behind. Without Steve’s parents around, the house acquired a desolated, almost ghostly atmosphere. Linda Harrington always made sure that there were flowers in the vases, that there was lightning everywhere, that the kitchen always smelled like raisin bread and coffee.

You peeped through the living room’s entrance to find Steve’s friends all curled up on the couch, hypnotised by the TV while cans of beer and boxes of pizza were scattered on the floor. Nancy’s blue eyes found yours and her lips lifted softly in a drunken smile.

‘You came!’ She said softly.

‘Hi, guys.’ You said shyly as you took a step inside. ‘What are you watching?’

‘Uhm,’ Nancy stretched on the couch before she realised Robin was fully asleep on her shoulder. ‘The Exorcist?’

‘That’s over now.’ Said Eddie amused at Nancy’s state of drunkenness. ‘We’re watching The Nanny now.’

‘The Nanny.’ You repeated as you looked at the TV before your eyes fell back on them.

‘Ya wanna join’ us?’ Said Nancy as she tried to sit down properly. ‘Uhm, tell Steve to bring you a blanket.’

‘She gets really affectionate when she’s high.’ Said Jonathan with a smile.

You opened your mouth to say something, when you heard an unusual thud upstairs. You looked back at them, wondering if only you had heard it, but they all seemed too high and sleepy to even notice.

‘I see.’ You looked down to your shoes before taking a deep breath. This was going to be a long night. ‘I’m gonna check on Steve. To see where ‘m sleeping and stuff.’

‘Sure, Ice Princess.’ Nancy said with a giggle. It should’ve tendered you or you should’ve at least found it funny, but somewhere inside you felt bad. As if she was mocking you in some way you weren’t aware of.

You climbed the stairs quietly, having been in this house so many times before since you were a child. Knowing exactly where they kept towels, what step cracked if you pressed on the right spot, what colours the walls were five years ago before they modernised the place.

You made it upstairs with your bag still on you, wondering if you should just sneak into the guests’ room or maybe remind Steve that you had to wake up early for practice tomorrow. Your train of thought was about to take you somewhere else when you heard another thud, this time less loud, followed by a whine.

‘Steve?’ You softly called before pushing the door of his room to find him sitting on the floor, a painful frown taking over his face as he held his knee against his chest.

‘Jesus, are you okay?’ You said kneeling next to him. ‘What do you need? Where does it hurt?’

‘S just my knee.’ He said under his breath. ‘It’s fine. It’ll go away.’

‘Let me help—’

‘Get the fuck out of here.’ He said clenching his jaw.

‘Fuck no.’ You said sitting better. ‘This was your idea, remember? Now shut up and let me handle this.’

‘I don’t need you to handle— Uh.’ He moaned in pain again. ‘F-Fuck.’

You started to feel hot under your layers, but you still found the nerve to put Steve’s arm around your neck and squat next to him.

‘Put your weight on your other foot.’ You instructed. ‘I’m lifting you in …1 …2 …’

And then swiftly, you lifted him so he could sit on the bed. You heard him complain under his breath again, but at least he wasn’t on the floor anymore and you could help him more easily from here.

He observed you as you breathed heavily by the effort, lifting his other leg along the bed and as a result, making his whole body move until he was safely laying on the bed. Steve stood silently, a bit in shock, looking at you as you got rid of your scarf and jacket, before walking towards the door.

‘M just gonna get some ice.’

You blinked away your tears on the way downstairs, feeling flushed and a bit confused about why you were this emotional. But there was this recurring thought, echoing through your head saying Steve, Steve, Steve. He was supposed to go places.

You poured a glass of water in the kitchen, hearing the distant sounds of the TV in the living room while you drank it slowly. In the freezer you found not one, but about three different types of compresses, and you took the biggest one.

Something took over you then, and you were suddenly moving automatically. You checked that the back door was locked as well as the front door. You took an extra blanket from the cupboard and covered an asleep Eddie with it before taking the remote from his hand and turning the TV off. You did the same with the lights and climbed upstairs, before taking a clean towel to wrap the icy compress with.

Steve’s leg was still flat on the bed, but he was now sitting more comfortably against the headrest, waiting for you. He wasn’t particularly grateful or relieved to see you come back, but you weren’t happy to be here anyways.

He took the compress you offered and leaned in to place it on his knee, and another hissing sound of pain came out from his lips when he did. You stood there for a second until you realised you were staring, and before he realised too, you started to untie your hair.

‘Am I sleeping here?’ You said taking a wool sweater out of your bag and pulling it down over your leotard.

He shrugged.

‘Your friends don’t mind?’ You pressed, looking at him with a straight face. ‘Your little girlfriend?’

‘Nancy’s not my girlfriend.’ He said with indifference.

‘M talking ‘bout the other one.’ You said walking around the bed to find a place on the opposite side.

‘Robin’s not my girlfriend either.’ He said in the same tone as you got inside the sheets.

‘Wow.’ You said sarcastically as you made yourself comfortable. ‘Talk about being bitchless.’

‘They actually think we’re sleeping together.’ You heard him say as you closed your eyes.

‘As if.’ You replied, trying to get cosy in this bed that smelled like bergamot and boy, and Steve.

‘Wouldn’t kill you to moan a little for the sake of my reputation.’ He joked, and this time you actually laughed. It was a subtle thing, but loud enough to make him smile to himself.

Steve stood there, waiting for the pain to pass as you dozed off. It had been a long day, after all. Training from five, then driving to the city and waiting the whole day to be seen for the audition.

‘I’ll drive you to the studio tomorrow morning.’ He said.

You stayed quiet for a while, and he thought maybe you had fallen asleep already. But really you were wondering why he couldn’t just give up and say thank you like a normal person. Thank you for staying. Thank you for helping. Things always had to be so complicated with Steve.

‘You don’t have to do that.’ You said after a while.

‘I want to.’ He simply said before turning the light of his bedside table off and placing his back against the wall to sleep like he had so many times before.

A few hours later you were woken up by something warm on your face. You leaned in for a second, giving in to the soft fingertips that brushed your cheekbone, before they were gone too soon.

‘C’mon.’ Something pushed your leg softly. ‘You don’t wanna be late.’

You growled softly, feeling your body aching in ways it hadn’t in months. Maybe you should’ve left the studio a bit earlier yesterday, or maybe you should’ve skipped skating after such a long day.

Stretching, you opened your eyes slowly to find Steve standing next to you, his eyebrows lifting softly at the sight in front of him. You stayed there for a while, looking at each other, before you looked to your side to find the sky was still dark.

‘What time is it?’

‘Four.’ He said. ‘Where are you training today?’

You took your hands to your face, growling softly before you decided to sit down properly.

‘In the city.’ You said still quite sleepy.

He nodded once. ‘I’ll get the car ready.’

‘Kay.’ You said trying to convince yourself to get up. Only then you noticed he had changed already, and his hair was wet as if he had just taken a shower. ‘How’s your knee?’

Your question seemed to make him uncomfortable, as he scratched the back of his neck looking away from you. But that was normal, Steve’s injury had always been a forbidden subject. Only then you thought that he had probably been drunker than he had let on last night.

‘S good now.’ He simply said before moving to walk towards the door. ‘I’ll wait for you downstairs, yeah?’

‘Sure.’ You said, before he left you all alone in his room.

Hawkins was beautifully quiet in a way it could only be during this time of the year, showered by the atmosphere of sadness, nostalgia and desolation that winter often hid during Christmas time. Steve seemed to understand this pretty well, because he didn’t speak or even turned the radio on as you left the town behind, and the sun started rising.

‘When do you find out if you got the role?’ He said as he parked outside the theatre. You saw the way his eyes lingered on the intimidating building behind you as you opened the door.

‘Today.’ You were trying to be a big girl and pretend you weren’t nervous, but you swallowed hard as you took the heavy bag with you, switching the subject as you stepped out of the car. ‘Thanks for driving me.’

‘Thanks for staying.’ He said in the same plain tone. ‘What time should I pick you up?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ You stood up awkwardly on the pavement while the door was still open. ‘I’ll call dad and ask him to pick me up.’

The frown that took over his face made you feel stupid out of sudden.

‘Your dad’s away fishing.’ He seemed amused at your cluelessness. ‘With my dad? For the fundraising dinner?’

‘That’s tonight?’ You complained with a whine, fighting the need of stepping your foot on the floor. ‘I thought that was next week! Why can’t they just donate some money or just buy the fish like normal people do?’

‘Well,’ He started patiently, ‘Given is an event for the Fishing Association I guess there has to be some fishing involved, you know—’

You interrupted him with a sound of irritation, climbing on the passenger’s seat again and closing the door behind you.

‘Okay. We need to talk, Steve.’

‘Talk?’ He chuckled, sitting back on his seat to have a better look at you.

‘This whole thing between our parents?’ You started. ‘This is like, toxic. It’s sickening, actually.’

‘Sickening.’ He repeated with an amused smile.

‘Why do they need to do everything together?’ You complained. ‘It’s like— God, like there’s no privacy between our families. I can’t remember when was the last time I walked into my house on a Friday evening and I had my parents all to myself.’

Steve lifted his eyebrows then, looking visibly uncomfortable as he scratched the space behind his ear.

‘Uh, have you tried having actual plans on Friday nights?’

You sighed loudly, fighting the need to roll your eyes as you sat on your side.

‘You know I’m right.’

‘Actually—’

‘It’s forced.’ You said stretching the word. ‘It’s just not the fact that they can’t stay away from each other but how they force us to be there too.’

Steve took a deep breath as he sat better on the seat, looking through the windshield as he considered your words.

‘What?’ You finally said after a while.

‘I mean, you’re never really there, are you?’ He finally said.

‘What do you mean?’ You pushed his arm. Though it was demanding, it had been a soft, innocent gesture. Yet you noticed the way he sat better on the seat after it, as if your impulsiveness hadn’t pleased him very much.

‘Well, last week it was the bake sale. And the week before that we all went bowling, even Robin was there.’ 

You rolled your eyes at the mention of Steve’s friend.

‘Hey.’ His voice had turned firm as he started losing his patience with you. ‘All I’m saying is that maybe you’re exaggerating a bit. The only reason they—’ He started saying, but he seemed to be unsure of how to proceed. ‘Well, you know…’

‘What?’ You pressed, feeling the heat rush to your face and even your scalp was turning warm while you crossed your arms over your chest. ‘Say it, Steve.’

‘Maybe it’s been suggested that you don’t do anything other than skating and training since Barb moved away.’

‘So I get a pity invitation because I don’t have any friends?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ He let out a frustrated sigh.

‘You didn’t have to.’ You said in the same tone. ‘Yeah, I miss Barb, whatever, but that’s not reason why I’m not willing to join the circus every weekend. I’m working. Hard. For this.’

‘You are.’ He said, looking through the windshield as you stared at him, challenging him to disagree with you. ‘But you’re… You’re too strict, I’ve seen you, you— You don’t breathe.’

‘I do. Breathe. Steve.’ You said feeling more desperate every second you entertained this argument. ‘But I’m not just competing physically, there’s— There’s the girls whose parents have contacts, the ones that went to dance school— Do you know what it’s like to be surrounded by people whose lifestyle only consists of eating once a day?’

He scoffed then. You had to sit back on the seat with the sudden discomfort of feeling arrogant or vain, irritated at the fact that he wasn’t taking you seriously at all.

‘Get out of my car.’ He snapped.

You stayed there just for a second, wondering if he was joking. But one of the worst things about having grown up with Steve Harrington, was the involuntary understanding you both had of each other’s character.

You squinted your eyes as you tried to read him, and it took you a few seconds of studying him. Of really looking at him, to realise. The nervous movement of his leg, the way he looked through the windshield, his hand instinctively rubbing his leg over his jeans, where you knew there was a scar.

‘You, more than anyone else, know what it’s like to want something so much you get scared of losing it before you even have it.’ You felt the anger rising and the frustration growing as you spoke. ‘The difference is that you lost it, and I won’t.’

And just like that, you grabbed the bag and left his car before he could say something back.

The guilt set on your chest like a heavy rock the whole time you were warming up. It stayed there when you broke through the anxious bodies of the other determined ballerinas to have a look at the board where the roles for the winter production were displayed. It didn’t leave you when you started your training, when you switched from pirouettes to fouettes, and it certainly didn’t stop haunting you as you looked at yourself in the mirror, carefully repeating grand adages until you couldn’t feel your toes anymore.

You were late to the fundraising dinner, but you hoped, you prayed that your parents would be too drunk to reproach you. The soft roar of the taxi’s engine got lost behind you as you walked through the many cars parked outside, climbing the steps of your house and hoping for the best.

There was laughter and music coming from the living room, your cheeks going from freezing to warm as soon as you closed the door behind you. The first few seconds where nobody noticed you were comforting, until Steve’s silhouette appeared through the living room’s entrance.

He was wearing a green sweater over his shirt, and a full glass of wine was on his hand when his eyes looked at you with curious amusement. You were aware that your pride would only make things worse, but there was no part of you that wished to apologise right now.

You were about to move towards the stairs when he walked first, standing in front of the first step. Repressing a sigh, you had no other option but to face him.

‘How were rehearsals?’

‘They were good.’ You simply said before walking past him to climb the stairs.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you heard him follow behind you.

‘Did you get the part?’

‘I got a part.’ You said as you opened the door to your room. ‘I’m very pleased with it.’

You thought that would be enough to keep him away, that he would give up. But as you absentmindedly got rid of your shoes and walked towards your window to close the blind, you heard the door of your room closing.

‘Do you mind!?’ You said as you turned around, finding Steve standing against the closed door, hands inside his pockets and the same unbearably amused stare on you.

‘Not really.’

You shook your head and decided to ignore him, grabbing the dress your mother had picked for you from the closet, still feeling his eyes on you as you did so.

‘Do you want me to have a look at that?’

When you looked up his eyes were on your feet, the bloody bandages wrapped around each one of your toes making you feel way too self-aware.

‘No.’ You hid your eyes from him before walking into the bathroom.

You took another deep breath as you felt him move around your room while you quickly got rid of your leotard. Somehow his calm was frustrating you, his lack of pride had you overthinking about all the different ways in which he could get back at you tonight.

He was looking around your room when you walked out fully dressed. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the way he studied your posters while you slipped on a couple of mary janes, because you couldn’t bother to change the bandages just now and nobody would want to look at those.

You sat in front of your vanity then, swiftly starting to get rid of the bobby pins around your hair bun as you kept an eye on him through the mirror. He seemed chill, he seemed unbothered, it was killing you. Your gaze lingered on him easily through the mirror, leaving his empty wine glass aside as he took a book from your shelf and eyed it casually.

The heat rushed to your cheeks when he looked back to find you staring. You looked down quickly as your hands moved clumsily, your hair tangling a bit as you kept working.

He moved without you having to ask, standing behind you to help you get rid of the tangled pins, your fingers progressively giving up until his took over delicately.

He worked in silence, and you stood there, thinking about a time where your mother used to brush your hair before practice, those days were you still had ballet classes with Miss Cécile. She had left Hawkins years ago now, to retire somewhere far, somewhere in Europe.

‘There’s no hard feelings, by the way.’ He said as he placed the last pins on top of your vanity.

‘Hm?’ Your eyes were fixed on your reflection as you brushed your hair, making sure you remained expressionless as he placed his hands on the wooden surface of the vanity. You could feel the warmth of his body, the softness of his sweater on your back as his bergamot cologne surrounded you.

‘About today.’ There seemed to be some satisfaction behind his tone, but you didn’t want to acknowledge how much his indifference annoyed you. ‘I forgive you.’

You stood then, fighting the need to clench your jaw as you walked towards the door.

‘I didn’t say I was sorry.’

The dinner started as it always did. Because your parents were hosting, your father gave a little thank you speech before everyone sat down. You and Steve sat on opposite sides of the table as people started passing the fish. He let a discreet chuckle out when you wrinkled your nose at the sight of some of the dishes, but you ignored him, focusing on acting as a good host and kindly helping the rest of the guests.

People started to talk and joke, conversations about the town, the upcoming holidays or, well, fishing dominated the table while you stayed quiet. The tiredness of the day was heavy on your shoulders and neck, even your eyelids were a bit heavy.

You tried to sit straighter in an attempt to wake up, wishing you could’ve spent at least half an hour skating outside to bring your energy back, when Mr Harrington addressed you from the other side of the table.

‘Hm!’ He cleaned his mouth with the napkin as you waited to hear what he had to say. ‘How was your audition yesterday?’

‘Uh, it was good.’ You nodded shyly.

‘Did you get a good part, honey?’ Mrs Harrington next to him asked.

You stood quiet for a second, avoiding your parents’ gaze on the other end of the table as you tried to choose your words carefully. All the guests stared at you expectantly, and for a second you were speechless, even helpless, until you felt a subtle touch on your ankle.  

You lifted your eyes to find Steve’s brown gaze already on you. A bit softer than usual, you couldn’t help but swallow hard when the tip of his leather shoe ventured upward to stroke your shin. He lifted his eyebrows subtly, an encouraging sign that brought you back to Earth quickly.

‘Yeah, uhm…’ You shyly played with the drops that fell from your wine glass before looking back at Mr Harrington. ‘Yeah, I did. I, uh… I’m going to play Odette.’ You chuckled nervously. ‘And Odile too, of course.’

‘Oh my God!’ Said Mrs Harrington. ‘Sweetie, that’s amazing.’

‘Congratulations.’ Said Mr Harrington, followed by a few more alike comments from the guests next to you.

You dad winked at you from the other side of the table. There was a sweet smile on his face, you knew he was proud. What you couldn’t understand was why he wouldn’t just say it.

‘That’s wonderful news.’ Your mother agreed with a soft smile. ‘We shall have a little toast after dinner.’

You looked down to your plate, biting the sarcastic smile on your face as you grabbed your glass of wine.

‘After dinner.’

Maybe Steve was the only one who heard you repeat your mother’s words before you took a sip of the drink while the conversation around resumed. He was the one who saw the way you bit the inside of your cheek as the fishing subject arose again, searching for your eyes while his foot kept stroking your leg.

He abruptly lost you a few seconds after, as you crossed your legs under the table, leaning towards Mrs Miller next to you to ask her if she needed any salt for the sprouts.

There was no toast after dinner, just a dessert that you politely declined with the excuse of a headache. Wine glasses kept being refilled, Christmas music played louder, and when everyone moved onto the living room you took the opportunity to sneak away in your bedroom’s direction.

Once you made it upstairs, the sight of Steve coming out of the hallway’s toilet made you stop in your tracks for a second.

‘Downstairs was taken.’ He said before turning off the light.

You nodded once as he walked towards where you stood. He was supposed to go back to the party, and you were supposed to get in bed, but all he could do was stand in front of you with his hands inside his pockets.

‘What if,’ he said before nodding on your bedroom’s direction. You lifted your eyebrows with an unamused semblance. ‘I steal a bottle of wine, and you save me from another conversation about seabass.’

There was still a trace of the charm that had worked for him during High School on his face, his adolescent confidence always took over him after a few drinks. But now those traces faded away much more easily; he took a deep breath as he rolled his eyes and looked down at his shoes.

‘Dad just keeps introducing me to these friends of him.’ He looked up at you. ‘He wants me to beg for a job in finance.’

You chuckled before shaking your head no, but the proposal was still tempting. Your limbs were tired. You hadn’t gotten properly drunk in forever. Your eyes were still on him as you started walking towards your room.

‘Just get something stronger, would you?’

You got rid of your shoes before climbing on top of your covers. It was relieving to feel free to stretch your toes, and flex your feet soles, and crack your ankles. Looking at the ceiling, your started remembering today’s steps in your mind. The passé, the relevé and then…

‘What are you doing, you weirdo?’ Steve said when he walked into the room with a bottle of whisky and two glasses.

You shrugged when he closed the door with his foot. Sitting up, you observed in silence how he poured a bit of the dark amber liquid on the glasses.

‘Just… revising, I guess.’ You took the glass he was offering you.

You took a sip as he shook his head in disapproval. The liquid burnt your throat, but it made you warm and it awakened you, while Steve downed the drink fully before sitting next to you and pulling your legs up to his lap.

You frowned, but instead of saying something you just took another sip of the whiskey.

He carefully started to remove the bandages, frowning painfully at the sight of your poor blistered and bloody toes. You observed him in silence, completely numb to the pain on your feet but entertained by his clear distress as he piled the bandages at the end of the bed, rubbing the bridge of your feet in the process.

‘So…’ He started.

He wouldn’t look back at you as you waited for him to speak.

‘So?’ You finally said.

‘What’s the name of that character you’re playing on the show?’

‘Characters.’ You corrected. ‘Odette and Odile are traditionally played by the same ballerina.’

‘Hm.’ he said as he got lost in his thoughts. You waited for him to say something else, but he just kept massaging your feet.

‘Hm?’ You repeated searching for his eyes. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing.’ He shrugged. ‘Sounds like quite a demanding role.’

‘It is.’ You recognised. ‘We’ve got about three weeks of rehearsals. Opening night’s on Christmas Eve.’

‘Three weeks.’ He repeated humorously. ‘That’s impressive.’

You clenched your jaw in silence before removing your legs off his lap and moving to lay on your side.

‘Hey,’ He laughed behind you as you faced the window. His hand stroked your leg playfully from your ankle upwards, but you kicked him before it could sneak under the skirt of your dress. ‘C’mon, bratty—'

‘Don’t call me that.’ You said squirming and hugging the pillow under your bed. ‘I should’ve known you’d make fun of me. You don’t understand anything.’

‘Aw, c’mon.’ You felt his body fall on the space behind you before his arms wrapped around your waist. His bergamot scent invaded your lugs, and before you could help it you were taking a deep breath. ‘Don’t get mad at me.’

You turned around on the bed, facing him with a serious frown on your face. You’d never been this close to Steve or had even touched him like this. His cheeks were so red it looked as if he had a fever, and his eyelids were heavy as he looked down at you with an amused smile.

‘You’re drunk.’ You simply said.

‘And you’re warm.’ He said with the same stupid smile, his fingers brushed the skin on your back as he pulled you towards him.

You stayed very still as his head leaned in, and for a second you thought he’d might kiss you, but instead he just innocently hid his nose on your neck.

‘You’re so warm.’ He whispered to himself. Your hands hovered on your sides before you lifted an arm and slowly rested your hand on his neck, diving your fingers on his hair to stroke his scalp softly. He seemed to like that, by the little noise that left his mouth when his body melted against yours. ‘M so proud of you.’

It was the softest thing, barely a whisper, but still you heard it. You swallowed hard as he made himself more comfortable, sighing deeply as he started dozing off and you were more awake than you’d ever been in your life.

‘Steve.’ You called as you softly pushed his shoulder to have a better look at him. ‘Don’t fall asleep. C’mon, wake up.’

‘I’m awake.’ He said lazily while his eyes remained closed. You rolled your eyes before pushing his shoulder with a bit more of strength, and that finally made him look back at you. ‘I’m awake! Fuck, I’m awake. Jesus Christ, you really like hitting me, don’t you?’

‘Well, you earn it quite easily, you stupid idiot— Why are you laughing?’

He took a deep breath as he looked back at you with the same annoying smile. The silence was tense as he stretched slowly, never taking his eyes off you while you were still so close you could feel the warmth of his skin underneath the layers.

‘Can I touch you?’ He suddenly asked. It wasn’t blunt, really, just a bit unexpected as his eyes lingered on your dress before they looked up at your face again.

The heat rushed to your cheeks immediately, and that angered you in ways that you refused to acknowledge as you looked back at him.

‘Touch me?’ You repeated softly, almost offended as you slightly moved back. ‘Touch me how?’

Your eyes never left his as he took another deep breath and the hand he rested on your waist drew a trace down the curve of your hip. You stood very still as his hand slid under your dress, fearing that any move you could possibly make would ruin the tension and spoil the excitement you were feeling right now. This was wrong, it was Steve, for God’s sake,but—

‘Like this.’ He whispered when his thumb stroked your upper thigh, so very close from your centre. Then his hand tentatively stroked the hem of your underwear, before it confidently found the warmth of your crotch over the fabric. ‘Here.’

You let out a choky breath as his fingers wandered, stroking softly, as if he was getting to know you. You remained on the same position, not quite opening your legs for him but trying to understand where was all this coming from.

‘Why?’ You asked foolishly, still not able to show your real emotions. The anticipation, the excitement. You knew you were getting wet every second that his fingers brushed over your skin, and surely he did too, because the sides of his mouth were lifting slightly.

He shrugged, looking down at you as his fingers ventured a bit more daringly, finding shelter on that little, sweetly tight gap between your thighs. ‘You seem tense.’

You swallowed hard, clenching your jaw just slightly, because you didn’t know how not to be tense. You didn’t know how to not to be this: the perfectionistic, overachiever kid that everyone in town considered an uptight prissy. Just the thought made you even more anxious.

You looked down then, maybe reconsidering why he was doing this or if you were even cool enough to enjoy it, when he searched for your eyes. You only looked up when his nose brushed against yours, encouraging and so very patient.

‘Can I help?’ He asked softly, his fingers’ touch was even gentler now, almost soothing as he rubbed his fingers against your wet underwear.

You were unable to reply, either by the heat on your cheeks, the rising temperature of the rest of your body or the wet patch that was staining your panties by his sweet yet bold proposal.

So instead, you just opened your legs slightly. It seemed like such a simple gesture had a big effect on him, because when his palm was able to cup your pussy fully, his forehead fell softly on yours while a deep sigh came out of his mouth.

He looked at you carefully, his brown eyes studying yours as his hand played with the upper hem of your underwear. Unable to deal with the anticipation any longer, your own hand sneaked under the skirt to start pulling the soaked fabric. As if your initiative was relieving, he pulled the other side down to your knees, always keeping his eyes on you. Always careful that he was doing the right thing, that you weren’t just yielding.

Then his hand made contact with your warm, sticky, skin. All those nerves sensitive and tender just for him, and something impulsive took over you as your head fell back by the pleasure. A guttural, helpless sound left your mouth when his fingers stroked your clit softly. His fingers were soaked by you, and yet it seemed like that wasn’t enough, by the way he ventured further until the base of his palm was rubbing against your core too.

You were maybe too responsive, your hands found his shoulders to hold on to him, pushing down while you moved your hips.

‘Moan.’ He whispered, it wasn’t an order, but it did feel as if he was giving you permission. Maybe he had noticed how hard you were trying not to be loud, by the way he chuckled softly. ‘I won’t judge. Wanna hear you.’

You shook your head softly, shutting your eyes hard as you repressed yet another whine.

His hand started moving a bit more enthusiastically, finding a circling pattern that excited you in a completely different way. The sudden stimulus made you release a choking breath, and only then, when he saw how your lips parted and your eyebrows arched, he leaned in.

Steve’s lips were surprisingly soft. Despite the strong taste of whiskey, despite the dislike you felt from each other, despite your limited experience, he was so very tender and soft.

This was maybe what messed up with your head, because all you had ever known when it came to Steve Harrington was determined roughness. Pushing his arm, rolling your eyes, laughing at him. And yet here was his delicate tongue tingling your palate; his sloppy lips sucking on yours, while his soft fingertips were buried deep in between your legs. And all you wanted to do was bite him.

And when you did, his hand started moving faster, his lips became much greedier. You moaned shamelessly, and the thought of being unable to be tender or sweet as him was starting to haunt you. It was impossible, you’d never be able to show this much need without fucking it up in the process. Not as he was. But did you have to?

‘Slow down.’ He said with a raspy voice when you grinded more violently against his hand. You dig your nails on his shoulder wishing you’d left marks on him, hoping that you were.

You were searching for that extreme, unreachable release. Daring to open your eyes, you looked right at him to let him see what you were capable of. With Steve, things had always been about proving yourself. His eyes had turned almost absent as he looked at you, the way you were almost convulsing on his hand, the contradiction of the anticipatory ectasis taking over your innocent face.

‘Slow. Down.’ He said between his teeth. This time it did sound like an order, worse than that, his voice had taken that tint from the day you caught him skating drunk.

He was mad at you, maybe, but you couldn’t care. One of your hands dived into his hair and you dared to pull a little bit, softly at first, but the more you moved the more you wanted to turn into a sweet mess on the palm of his hand. You wanted him to feel your pussy pounding, you wanted him to keep looking at you with those lost pupils. As if you were the only thing worth looking at in this cosy room, in this boring world.

Then you pulled harder, letting out an animalistic sound as you started feeling it from your belly. Hot and nice. His fingers were soaked, his skin so warm and eyes glossy as you kept looking back at him with challenging eyes.

‘Slow down, fuck.’ He repeated, the obscene noise of your hips moving and the mattress squeaking worsened the situation. ‘M tryin’ to—’  

You finally released a chocking breath as the walls of your pussy started pulsing, your breaths got mixed with little high-pitched noises, and the sweet orgasm hit you as you pulled his hair once again. This time shamelessly, and so carelessly you heard his chocked complaint in the distance.

The embarrassment rushed to your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath, looking down as he helped you lift your panties again. He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath as he unleashed from your embrace to lay on his back and you waited for something, anything. But he remained quiet, looking at the ceiling as a soft frown took over his face.

You licked your lips, half-confused, half-disappointed, before you turned your back towards him again. The sky was navy outside, but the snow made it all seem much brighter. You knew down there the frozen pond waited for you, and on the other side of it was Steve’s house, with his empty bed that waited for him.

But he wouldn’t make it, not tonight. A few minutes later, his arm wrapped around your waist. This time more carefully, and gentle. He pulled you in, and you let him. When his lap barely touched your ass, there wasn’t a trace of his excitement, and that somehow relieved you, confused you and offended you at the same time.

But you just stayed silent.

He took a deep breath while his nose dived in your hair and you let him. He fell asleep like this, in your bed, and you let him.

Steve was woken up by the sun on his face. He growled and stretched on the bed searching for a body that he knew had been laying next to him during the night, but the space next to him was empty.

When his eyes opened slightly, he recognised your room. The blue dress was on top of your desk and a towel drying on the chair next to the window. He took a deep breath, hugging the pillow where you head had been and rolling onto the other side to get a few more minutes of sleep.

It could’ve been a couple of hours later when he woke up out of sudden. He felt embarrassed and a bit disoriented as he sat up, realising that the sun was much lower than where it had been the first time he woke up.

You were still not in the room, but there was movement downstairs. He stood up from the bed to find the distant figure of your body skating outside. Steve stayed there, looking at you sliding around the pond elegantly, like a lonely swan swimming on a silver lake, and he thought about had happened last night.

The morning was quiet, the snow around the pond glistened and the cold winter sun tinted everything in your room with a blue hue as he stood there with his hands in his pockets, wondering how was it possible, that you could look so delicate from afar and then yet still be so rough whenever he touched you.

After a while, he made his way downstairs, feeling his stomach rumbling and his head pounding by the ghost of a hangover.

‘… Have no idea what to do with her.’ Steve heard the sound of your mother’s voice in the kitchen when he made it downstairs. ‘She doesn’t want to do things with me anymore. I feel… I feel weird. Like, I’m unwanted.’

Steve lingered on the corridor, not sure about why he was suddenly so interested in your parents’ conversation about you.

‘C’mon, honey, she’s just a bit reserved.’ Your dad started. ‘She’s always been… shy, and overly independent. Maybe you’re reading too much into this.’

‘You say that because you’ve always indulged her too much.’

‘Honey—’

‘You have. You do.’ She complained. ‘For her you’re the— the cool parent, the “chill dad”. I’m not. But what does that leave me with? She doesn’t want to do anything with me anymore! No Christmas shopping, or charity activities, or salon appointments… I used to be the one who went to try tutus with her, remember? She hasn’t even mentioned anything about that and I’m pretty sure she must know already when the appointment is—’

‘Honey,’ Your dad interjected again. ‘She’s an adult. You need to let her be.’

‘She’s playing Odette!’ She snapped. ‘She’s wanted to be Odette since before she even had pointe shoes, before she could even walk. And she doesn’t even want to celebrate with me, her mother.’

‘Just give her some time.’

‘Maybe I should’ve told Linda and Ronald not to ask her about it in front of everybody.’

Steve held a breath at the mention of his parents, wondering about what to do. If he should interfere, if anything he thought about the situation was important enough to argue.

‘Honey.’

‘They put her on the spotlight.’ She said. ‘That’s not good for her, she doesn’t know how to deal with it. And… maybe it wasn’t the right time.’

‘The right time for what?’ You dad asked.

‘I don’t know.’ She pondered in silence for a second. ‘For Steve. I mean, did you see his face when they mentioned it?’

Steve started walking loudly towards the living room then, making himself heard around the house as your parents suddenly turned silent.

‘Good morning.’ He said shyly as he walked into the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry I overslept; I didn’t mean to abuse my stay.’

‘Oh, good morning, honey.’ Said your mother with a smile as she took a sip of her coffee. ‘Don’t worry about it, you know this is your home.’

‘Do you want some breakfast, son?’ Asked your dad searching for a cup in the cupboard.

‘I’d, uh, love to.’ He admitted politely with a shy smile, he still didn’t know how he felt about your parents talking about him or his family. ‘But I have a shift starting in half an hour and I still need to shower and search for my vest.’

‘I’ll pack something for you, then.’ Said your dad without waiting for an answer.

Steve observed him grab a container, and before he could protest your dad was already filling it with scones.

‘Are we seeing you at dinner tonight?’ Your mother asked sweetly.

‘Uh…’ He couldn’t reject the scones that your parent handed him, feeling a bit uncomfortable out of sudden. Maybe you had been right, and all this friendship thing between them and his parents was getting a bit out of control. ‘Unfortunately, I close tonight. Robin’s taking the evening off. But I’ll be there next week.’

You dad tsked. ‘That’s a shame. It’s football night.’

‘S a pity, sir.’ Steve agreed, feeling he needed to leave the house soon, or he’d go crazy. ‘But I’ll be there next week.’

‘Have a good day, honey.’ Said your mom as he walked towards the kitchen’s door.

‘Thank you.’ He said without looking back before closing the door behind him.

You were still on the ice, and he wondered how long you had been there as he walked the distance towards his house in silence. The cold was burning his cheeks, and you were only wearing gloves and leg warmers over your leotard and tights.

He looked down at his feet when you spun on the ice flawlessly, and he couldn’t help but clench his jaw softly. Some things just came so easy to you, and he wasn’t really sure if you deserved them.

The first week of rehearsals went so quick that when you made it home on Friday night you could feel a knot in the pit of your stomach.

Training had been ruthless with your body and mind. You had thrown away your ballet shoes mid-week and replaced them with a new pair on Thursday, and no matter how long you had spent banging them against the floor, they still hadn’t been broken in. That was messing with your balance and the overall quality of your performance, it was driving you insane.

That’s why you couldn’t care less about having dinner at the Harrington’s as long as that meant that you were fed and in bed by eleven. You opened the door carefully, hearing the noise of cutlery and chatter as you dropped your bag on the entrance, got rid of your coat, and walked inside.

‘Hey!’ Mr Harrington was standing next to your parents, refilling their wine glasses with a bottle of Chardonnay. ‘Come in.’

‘Hi.’

Steve was sitting next to the only empty seat, and you were looking for Robin everywhere, but she didn’t seem to have been invited tonight. That somehow disappointed you as you stood next to your mom’s chair, smiling shyly at everyone.

‘Hi, sweetie.’ Said your father.

‘Was there lots of traffic?’ Asked your mother looking up at you. You were only about ten minutes late, but she didn’t seem very happy about it.

‘I had to make a quick stop at the mall to get some more tights.’ You explained simply without looking at her as you made your way towards the empty seat. ‘And then I went home to change.’

‘Have you tried on your costumes yet?’ Steve asked as soon as you sat down.

You placed the napkin on your lap as Mr Harrington poured some wine on your glass, wondering why he was asking that or why did he even care.

‘Not yet.’ You simply said, feeling your mother’s eyes on you. ‘They took my measurements today so the first fitting should be next week.’

‘Isn’t that too close from the show?’ Your mother asked, worried.

You shrugged as you grabbed a spoon to get some potato salad. Steve’s stare was on you, but you were too tired to indulge the awkwardness between you two. That and maybe the fact that you didn’t want to tell your mother the costumes were practically ready.

‘You need to let us know when the tickets go on sale.’ Proceeded Mrs Harrington. ‘I’d love to take my goddaughter with me, you know Maxine, right?’

You nodded politely as you took a bit of your food. ‘I know Max, yeah.’

‘We’ll she’s training with Dolly Higgens at the Hawkins theatre.’ She proceeded, putting her fork aside before she sat down better. ‘I know she’s no Miss Cécile, but I was wondering if you could give her some pointers for her Sleeping Beauty audition next Monday?’

‘Oh.’ You stayed quiet for a second before smiling. ‘I didn’t know she was auditioning for next season. She could’ve tried The Nutcracker.’

‘I think she was a bit intimidated by the idea.’ Mrs Harrington said, satisfied by your excitement. ‘But I told her about you, and she said she’d really appreciate it if you’d help her prepare for the audition. As long as that’s not a problem for you, honey. I know you’re very busy right now.’

‘It’s no problem.’ You giggled, excited for the first time in a long while. ‘Of course I’d like to.’

‘I told Steve he could drive you and Max to the city as a thank you for your help.’ She said satisfied. ‘That way I won’t feel like we’re taking time from you.’

‘Oh.’ This time you looked down, trying to conceal your discomfort. ‘That— I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m just happy to help.’ You turned to Steve then. ‘You don’t need to do that.’

An uncomfortable silence took over the table then. Steve didn’t say anything as he extended a hand to grab his glass of wine. When you looked up, your dad hid his eyes from you while your mother cleaned her mouth and proceeded to ask Steve how his shift had been.

The dinner progressed as it usually did after that, but you felt a strange feeling of inadequacy as your parents talked about work and Steve complained about his manager Keith, and your mother started planning some new event for the town with Linda. Yet you still ate your food, said yes to dessert and listened absentmindedly.

‘Don’t worry about that, sweetie.’ Linda’s hands on your arms surprised you when you started taking the plates from the table. Everyone had moved to the living room, and you had thought that by helping, your parents might forgive you for leaving early. ‘I’ll get Steve to clean all this later tonight.’

You opened your mouth to say something, but she didn’t let you speak.

‘Why don’t you go upstairs to get those tapes Stevie got for you, huh? You go watch some movies together, we’re just gonna play a record and talk.’

Before you knew, you were leaving the living room feeling like she had probably dismissed you in a polite manner, but you weren’t sure if you were supposed to feel offended.

You climbed the stairs fighting the need to roll your eyes, wondering how things would’ve been if you had chosen college rather than sticking to dancing. You’d be having a normal life away from the Harrington’s and Hawkins, maybe your parents would miss you enough to visit you on weekends and you could just spend time as a family the way everyone else did.

The door to Steve’s room was briefly open, but you still knocked before coming in. In the darkness, your eyes lingered on the wall next to the door where once there had been hockey trophies and now there were framed pictures of his friends and piles of records and VHS tapes. You’d probably missed that detail last time you were here, when you had found him struggling with his knee on the same spot where he was sitting comfortably now. His eyes lifted when you closed the door behind you before they went back to the TV in front of him.

‘Your mom said you had some tapes for me?’ You asked shyly. ‘What was that about?’

‘They’re on my desk.’ He said without looking at you.

You bit your lip as you walked to the other side of the room where the desk was. On the surface there was a copy of the 1980’s production of Swan Lake by the New York City Ballet, where Merrill Ashley had played the lead. The other one was a version from 1975 by the National English Ballet that Merle Park starred.

‘These are very hard to find.’ You admitted loudly before looking behind your shoulder with a smile, but Steve kept his eyes on the TV, ignoring your comment.

You walked back with the tapes in your hands before sitting next to him. Fixing your skirt as you rested your back on the side of the bed, you wondered how you could thank him without making things more awkward than they already were.

‘How was training today?’ He asked without looking back at you.

‘Honestly?’ You chuckled. ‘It was miserable.’

Your confession was what made him finally look back at you, but you didn’t seem stressed, just very tired. The sight of your puffed eyelids reminded him of your relaxed face when you slept, he didn’t get to see you like that as often as he wished.

‘Surely not as miserable as rewinding tapes for four hours.’ He joked before speaking softly. ‘What happened?’

‘Well, my new shoes are still breaking in and Priscilla Webber spent the whole day watching my développés like a hyena looks at a baby antelope.’

He grabbed one of the cases and took the Merle Park tape out of it.

‘Is she your understudy?’ He asked as he put the tape inside the VHS under his TV.

‘Yep. It’s usually the other way around, I’ve always been the one ready to cover for her.’ You made a short pause when the opening credits rolled up. ‘I don’t think she’s ever been anyone’s understudy.’

He chuckled as he sat back next to you.

‘Sounds like she’s having a hard time.’

‘I fucking hope she is.’ You recognised. ‘She’s unbearable.’

Steve’s eyes stayed on the TV for a few seconds, a subtle frown took over his face as he looked at the screen but didn’t really watch. The reflection fell on his face tinting his cheeks blue and purple at times. After a few seconds of silence, he finally looked back at you.

‘Do you always talk about each other like that?’

‘What do you mean?’ You laughed softly as you rested your cheek against the bed.

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘Aren’t you two members of the same company? Like, you’re putting a show together, right?’

‘Yeah, but we’re not friends.’ You said amused. ‘No one really is, to be honest.’

‘Well, but you’re like co-workers. Kinda. Like, in a normal situation you’d be decent with each other at the very least.’

You looked back at him with a tendered smile on your face, and he didn’t seem to like that very much by the way his cheeks were blushing under the TV glow. You weren’t really offended by his logic, just merely entertained.

‘This is not a team, Steve.’ You whispered patiently. ‘If something happens to me, Priscilla gets my spot and the world goes on.’

‘Hmm.’ He nodded. ‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?’

You shrugged. ‘People work really hard to get to dance at a professional level. It’s expensive, time consuming, and once you turn twenty-five people start treating you like you belong in a nursing home.’

‘Sounds like hell if you ask me.’ He said after a while.

‘Good thing I didn’t.’ You replied looking back at the TV.

Your eyes got lost in the beautiful silhouette of Merle Park as she appeared on the stage like a pale silver ghost. Her make up was at least ten years outdated now, but she still managed to look elegant and perfect.

‘It’s just so fleeting.’ You admitted out loud. ‘The rush of satisfaction when you’re there. There’s also the fear of not getting it right, of giving in to the pain, but, I don’t know. There’s something so humanly beautiful about attempting to reach perfection even when you know it’s impossible. And there’s something… euphoric about proving what your body is capable of.’

‘There are easier ways of doing that.’ He said resting his head against the bed next to you. His knees had flexed just enough to brush yours, and you craved for the texture of his soft fingertips under your skirt. He was smiling, softly, but still cheeky.

‘Yeah, but they’re not all beautiful.’ You murmured.

He looked back at you, studying your face seriously before whispering.

‘You don’t think what we did the other day was beautiful?’

He looked so small then, as he waited for your answer, and you wondered about what to say while your cheeks felt as if they were on fire. You shrugged shyly, feeling that no answer would be good enough, because you didn’t want to tell him that you had thought about it every night this week. You had thought about it a lot.

‘Come here.’ He said patting his lap.

And you did, because somehow you were listening to the Overture for the thousandth time today, but this time it felt like that distant day where you watched the ballet when you were seven. This time it felt as if it had a meaning, as if the ethereal notes had a complete different effect on your body.

‘Tell me,’ He whispered in the dark as his fingers dived under the chiffon skirt of your dress. His greedy hands cupped your butt cheeks before he pushed you down, and your centre hit the erection under his jeans. ‘Isn’t this beautiful? Huh?’

‘We clearly have different concepts of beauty.’ You joked, but the amusement died when he started guiding your hips and your clit was being nicely pressed against his hard cock.

You released a sigh of relief when you started getting wet, throwing your head back as he was learning you did when something really excited you. He lifted one of his hands and softly pulled down the strap of your dress before kissing your shoulder. Every hair on your skin turned into a goosebump, and your fingers sneaked under his sweater, scratching the skin of his back as you rubbed yourself a bit harder against him.

You heard a distant complaint coming out of his lips, but it could’ve been a moan as you pushed yourself against him and your mouth searched for his neck. The TV started playing the familiar notes of the black swan’s pas de deux, melancholic and dark, and so frivolously complicated. He heard you take a deep breath, and you tried to kiss him there as softly as he had pecked your shoulder, but in a matter of seconds you were sucking on his skin while your hips gained speed.

‘Shit.’ You heard him say under his breath. Your hands dived in his hair, making it messy and pulling it a little like you had before. You liked that he didn’t know what to do with you, because you also didn’t know what to do with yourself. Steve was so hard under the warmth of your lacy underwear, and he smelled so good, and his skin was so soft you couldn’t bear it.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but you hushed him with a violent kiss. Your heart beat much faster when your tongue dived inside his mouth and he blindly searched for a dominance that you weren’t going to give him. A guttural noise left his throat then, and when your hand pulled the neck of his sweater to hold on to while you rubbed yourself on him, something changed.

Steve grabbed your waist more firmly; he pushed you harder and it all turned much clumsier and dirtier after that. The moan that left your mouth encouraged him to explore this, something melancholic and dark that hid in the unconscious corners of himself.  Now he was moving his hips with you, your breaths were getting faster, you were staining his jeans for fuck’s sake. It was as if you didn’t know the concept of patience when it came to sex.

‘Fuck.’ You moaned against his mouth; he was looking at the way you shut your eyes hard as he swallowed your breath, mesmerized by the delicacy of your features despite the violence of your body.

He observed you through it all to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you, but you responded gladly to the increasing pressure, to the hard rhythm. Then you opened your helpless eyes to look at him while he squeezed your butt cheek, his fingers wandered a bit further down to find a sticky mess in between the friction of your bodies, and you pleaded with a soft, exhausted whine.

His eyes didn’t leave your face as you came hard, almost painfully as you trembled in his arms. Your legs wrapped tightly around his sides while you panted on his shoulder, the music had been muted by a buzzing in your ears, and you were still trying to catch your breath when he spoke urgently.

‘Take them off.’ His nose stroked yours, his lips so close from yours you could almost taste every word as his hands slipped inside your underwear. ‘Please, take them off for me. Please.’

Steve’s request was urgent and needy, he couldn’t even wait for you to mutter a response as he was starting to pull down the soaked fabric and you blinked repeatedly in confusion.

It took you a couple of seconds to help him pull down the pale blue panties. His eyes lingered on the way a thin thread of wetness kept connected to your pussy, your legs getting a little bit stained with the clumsy movement. He urgently unzipped his jeans as his eyes were still lost on the mystery under your skirt and yours couldn’t leave his dumbed-out face when he pulled down his boxers.

For the first time since this started your movements were slow and delicate, your knees found a place on each side of his legs while he sat more comfortably, and you placed the fabric on his hand. You couldn’t even breath by the anticipation, and by the funny fear that sat on the pit of your stomach as your eyes fell on his veiny and hard cock.

With the same urgency as before, he wrapped your soaked underwear around his dick and started to touch himself softly, but insistently. Your cheeks couldn’t get impossibly warmer as you observed him in silence, equally fascinated and shyly flattered by his desperation.

‘Touch my face?’ He asked in between breaths, his eyelids getting heavier the more he pumped his dick. ‘Please?’

You realised then, that there was an unbearable distance between your bodies now. Sitting carefully, you lifted your shaky hands towards his face and cupped his cheeks, you thumbs stroked the corners of his mouth before you leaned in to kiss him, not knowing if you were doing it right.

But apparently you were, by the way he sighed under your mouth, by how he shut his eyes hard as you licked his lower lip. If only you’d knew how to help him release his tension, if only you weren’t you, maybe you’d be able to be sweet enough to him.

You tried though, clumsily, testing it all as you pecked the little red bite you had left on his neck minutes earlier. Then you licked it, drawing a line up to his ear with your tongue, letting out a nervous breath that he would’ve loved to swallow.

‘Tell me.’ He whispered, feeling your mouth so close from his ear, resting his cheek against yours. He was sweaty and hot against you.

‘W-What?’ You asked nervously. Somehow you felt embarrassedly naked there, even if he wasn’t touching you anymore, even if you were dressed.

‘Tell me.’ He repeated, begging in a vulnerable whisper. ‘Tell me anything, just— just say something, please. I’m so close.’

What could you say to him? What could you offer him that wasn’t rough and battered? What did he want to hear? That this was beautiful? Would it be honest if you said that? No, he’d knew you didn’t mean it.

But it was, wasn’t it? He was beautiful, you thought as your nose played with his earlobe and you pecked his cheek. His request got you feeling clueless, completely speechless for the first time.

Feeling uncomfortably embarrassed, you moved back to face him. Your nose brushed against his while your hands were still on his face, and you let out a nervous, shaky chuckle as his movements increased speed.

‘I don’t know.’ You admitted softly. ‘I-I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.’

He smiled then, equally tendered and amused by this side of you while he studied your face. Your stupidity didn’t seem to discourage him as he rested the back of his neck on the edge of the bed. His free hand stroked your thigh, still touching himself with a patient smile on his face.

‘Just somethin’ sweet.’ He murmured. ‘Anything you can think of.’

You swallowed hard, fearing that you would finally fuck this up.

‘But I’m not sweet.’ You whispered after a while, totally defeated.

He tsked then, shaking his head softly as he sat better. It had all turned much slow-paced than before, and you thought that was odd, that he couldn’t possibly not be desperate to cum. You were confused by his lack of disappointment as his free hand wrapped around your waist to sit you better on top of him. His forehead rested on yours as you looked away, feeling anxious and stupid.

‘You gave me these.’ He said looking down at the obscene yet flattering image of your lacy, wet underwear around his dick as he stroked up and down. His nose poked yours so you’d look up at him. ‘That was sweet.’

‘Hm.’ You shrugged, grabbing the neck of his sweater with your fist.

‘And you slowed down this time. A little, at least.’ He laughed softly as his lips brushed yours. ‘For me.’

‘Well, I want you to feel good too.’ You admitted softly.

‘Yeah?’ He leaned in, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath, getting lost in the warm closeness between your bodies. It was overwhelming, how he managed to get so needy in such a short time. ‘Tell me. How.’

You were breathless at the fact that this was somehow working. You looked down at his fast movements before your gaze fell on his beautiful face again.

‘I just think it’s… nice.’ You giggled, and hated yourself for it, but he smiled with his eyes closed, so it couldn’t have been that bad. ‘Maybe you can keep them and use them again. If you want to think about me.’

‘Do you want me to think about you?’ He asked as his free hand sneaked under your skirt again. He squeezed your bare ass softly, fondly, releasing another deep shaky breath. ‘Huh?’

‘Yes.’ You whispered. The effect of such a simple word made him shut his eyes harder, his lips opening partly but no agony sound coming out of them as his forehead fell on your chest.

Your hands dived in his hair carefully and you couldn’t resist to leave a kiss on his head. He smelled so good, so sweet, so Steve, and the moan that left his mouth tendered you even more. It was loud, as if he was in pain, but you knew he wasn’t.

What took over you then wasn’t animalistic or primal, it was oddly human. You embraced him, hugging him against your chest, hiding his head under your neck as if you were protecting him. You had never protected anyone or anything before, and such a realisation could’ve brought tears to your eyes.

He came hard, by the way he was trying to repress his growls, by how tightly he squeezed your waist and how long he stayed there catching his breath.

The heat rushed to your cheeks as you sat back while he cleaned himself with your underwear before zipping up his jeans. You swallowed hard, feeling the need of crossing your legs as you climbed down of his lap. The TV was still playing the tape, while the soft ethereal music overtook the silence between you.

‘Honey?’ Your mom’s voice from downstairs made you stand up out of sudden.

You fixed your dress as you walked towards the door before you felt Steve’s hand wrapping around your arm. It took you out of surprise when he turned your body back, cupping your face before his lips found yours desperately. His hungry tongue tasted you, licked you, his greedy hands were squeezing your waist again.

You pushed him then, out of habit or maybe out of fear. Steve looked seriously at you, and you felt the anxiety rush to your chest as he took his jacket and walked past you towards the corridor.

‘Oh!’ Your mother’s exclamation made you walk out when she encountered Steve on the stairs. ‘Is everything okay, Steve?’

You were on the top of the stairs now, unable to look at his face as he made his towards the entrance, and your mom stood still with a worried look on her face.

‘Just remembered I forgot to lock the back door at work.’ He said taking his keys from the hook on the wall. He still didn’t look up as he shouted at his parents from the entrance. ‘I’ll be right back.’

You stood on your place, fixing your skirt once again and trying to process what you had done and what had happened before.

‘Is everything okay, sweetie?’ Your mom asked as she looked back at you.

You nodded softly.

‘Yeah. Of course.’ You chuckled as you walked down the stairs. ‘Why wouldn’t it?’

‘It just kind of seems you two got into a fight.’ She said as she followed you back downstairs.

‘Steve and I don’t get into fights, mom.’ You rolled your eyes nonchalantly when you made it to the entrance and picked your jacket and scarf from the rack. ‘We’re not eight anymore.’

‘But he seemed so upset…’

‘We just never seem to get along.’ You shrugged. There was a careless smile on your face but something inside you was unbearably breaking the more you pretended things weren’t wrong. ‘Think I’m gonna go home now, I’ve got a long day at the studio tomorrow.’

You kissed her cheek softly, ignoring the knot on your throat, and then you walked out of the house.

There was no sign of Steve’s car once you closely observed the desolated surroundings of the house. You took a shaky breath in and walked down the steps before walking home in the silent winter night. The moonlight lit the frozen pond like a glistening lighthouse, and for once you allowed yourself to feel lonely.

A snow day in the middle of the second week of rehearsals wasn’t ideal, it was fatal. You had spent the whole morning begging your dad to find an alternate route to the city for you. You promised, promised, promised that if he’d help you pay for a hotel room for the rest of the week, you’d give him the money back as soon as possible, but he reluctantly said no.

So, you had no other option than to grab your skates and spend the morning on the pond as you wondered what to do. You started as you always did, skating in loops for a while before you moved on to more complicated turns. You had just started practicing some harmless jumps that you hadn’t tried for a while, when the noise of chatter and laugh behind you startled you.

The fall was clean, and not too nasty. The heat rushed to your cheeks as you clenched your jaw and stood up while Steve and his friends looked at you from the other side of the frozen pond.

‘Are you okay?’ Max Mayfield was skating towards you now. Behind her, the other four boys that were always accompanied by Steve were putting their skates on.

You cleaned the snow off your butt as you nodded softly, skating in their direction.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ You said skating past her.

Steve’s eyes never left your face as he realised how that had discouraged Max from speaking to you, but he couldn’t concentrate on that for much longer when you stood in front of him.

‘Steve,’ you said. ‘Not today.’

He let out a sarcastic chuckle with a frown on his face, he was holding his own skates on his hand as he looked back at you.

‘I agree.’ He said walking around the edge of the frozen pond. ‘I’m not arguing with you today either.’

‘Steve,’ You insisted as you skated next to him. ‘I really need the place for myself today. Just give me a couple more hours and I’ll—’

‘I don’t care.’ He snapped, stopping on his tracks. The kids had lifted their gazes at his tone towards you, a few of them frowning in confusion at his sudden change of mood.

‘Steve.’ You said more stubbornly, feeling your fingers almost shaking on either side of you because of how angry and stupid you felt.

‘What!’ He screamed at you. ‘I can’t leave the fucking pond whenever you want to! What are you, five? You parents are home, you’re always complaining ‘bout how they ignore you, well then why don’t you go and leave us the fuck alone?’

You stood there, feeling ashamed under his severe stare as you tried to think about a comeback, when Max spoke softly:

‘There’s no need to be so harsh, Steve.’

‘Yeah, I can say the same.’ He said still looking at you.

‘Right.’ You said looking back at the kids, trying to pick up the last pieces of dignity you still had. ‘The pond’s all yours, guys.’

You walked out of the ice with your skates still on, too mad to even take them off yet. After a few seconds walking towards your house, you took a deep breath and stopped. This was dangerous, you could injure yourself and say goodbye to Odette and Odile if you hurt your ankles or knees. You already had a bruise forming on the side of your leg by the previous fall, and you weren’t going to fuck up things this easily.

You threw the skates away from you as you still stood on the snow barefoot, wondering where the fuck you had left your boots, when a soft tap on your shoulder startled you.

‘Jesus.’ You said turning back to find Max’s shy face in front of you.

‘I, uh, sorry.’ She said nervously. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ You said, a bit confused. Beyond her, the kids had already started skating while Steve was putting his own skates on.

‘I just wanted to tell you that Miss Dolly’s at home today, she might be able to lend you the theatre’s studio.’

‘Your ballet teacher?’ You asked excitedly before thinking about it. ‘Holy shit, you’re so right. Thank you, Max.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She smiled softly. ‘Am I still seeing you this Saturday for the audition thing?’

‘Sure.’ You nodded. ‘Right, I’ll make sure to write it down on my calendar.’

‘Cool.’ She said with a wide smile.

You weren’t able to reciprocate her excitement, but you were happy that she was so enthusiastic about getting better at dancing. It reminded you a little bit of yourself.

‘Cool.’

As Linda Harrington had said, Dolly Higgens wasn’t Miss Cécile, but she had trained in Paris and toured Asia as Coppélia. So, when you knocked the door of her house trying to catch your breath and explained everything to her, she gave you the keys to the old studio where you had once learned the transition from first position to sixth.

The place was warmer than your remembered, but the wooden tiles still creaked the same way they did when you were eight. The old curtains had been replaced, but the barres under your stretching ankle still felt the same as the first time you managed to execute a successful plié.

All your ballet clothes were in the washing machine, so you had to resort to shorts, a sports bra and your leg warmers. You were sweaty when you heard the knock on the door. The noise made you frown, so you kept on moving until you heard the knock again, grabbing your shrug from the floor and wrapping it around you before walking to the door.

‘I came to pick up Max.’ Steve said as he stood on the threshold. He was avoiding your eyes, wrapped in endless layers of wool and cotton while you still caught your breath.

‘Uh, she’s not here.’ You said.

He scoffed.

‘C’mon, just tell her I’m outside.’ He looked at you, annoyance written all over his face as he looked back at you. ‘She asked me to drive her to the movies tonight.’

‘Well maybe she meant—’ But he didn’t let you finish, he just walked into the studio to find the large room empty except for the big speakers and your bottle of water.

‘Max?’ He asked loudly. ‘Max?’

‘Maybe she meant her house?’ You crossed your arms over your waist.

‘No.’ He turned back to look at you. ‘No, she said she’d be rehearsing with you and then I could come pick her up.’

You bit the pitiful smile that was trying to form on your face before shaking your head.

‘Our rehearsal’s on Saturday.’ You simply said.

He shook his head then, growing more tense the longer he spent inside the studio, the longer you looked at him from the other side of the room.

‘She wouldn’t lie to me.’ He scoffed.

You shrugged, closing the door behind you as you walked back into the studio.

‘If you don’t mind,’ you said calmly, taking off the shrug. ‘I’ve got things to do.’

But just as you were about to play the music, he snapped again.

‘What did you tell her?’

You scoffed, knowing that he was just looking for excuses to fight with you.

‘Nothing.’ You said, looking at him seriously. ‘I didn’t have to tell her anything. Maybe she couldn’t stand the fact that Hawkin’s golden boy was treating me like shit this morning.’

‘Oh, please.’ He let out a snorty laugh. ‘You got it well deserved.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ You were more than just offended as you walked towards him, letting out a laugh of disbelief. ‘Steve, you ran away.’

‘You pushed me.’ He said between his teeth.

‘What?’

‘You fucking pushed me.’ He repeated. You could see that his cheeks were turning redder by the anger.

‘You kissed me.’ You said slowly. ‘Steve, my mom almost caught us.’

‘So what?’ He said throwing his hands in the air. ‘Who gives a shit? We’re not kids anymore.’

‘I do, Steve.’ You argued, feeling yourself more and more flushed. ‘I give a shit. I have to deal with her belittling me all the time—’

‘Oh, here we go.’ He rolled his eyes, letting out an exhausted noise before he licked his lips. ‘Seriously, don’t you ever get tired of feeling sorry for yourself?’

You let out a sarcastic laugh.

‘Right. I get why you’d like her to know.’ All your patience had ran out, this time all the anger and frustration were taking over you as your heart beat fast. ‘I guess you enjoy the fact she hasn’t stopped talking about you since your accident—'

‘Do you think I like the fact you’re getting everything I wanted?’ He shouted then ‘When you don’t even fucking deserve it?’

‘Yes.’ You said firmly. As firmly as you had asked him to think about you a week ago. He didn’t get to decide if you deserved this or not. ‘In fact, I think you like the pity, Steve. I think there’s no one in this fucking town that feels as sorry for that accident as I do. Because now everyone fucking pities you except me, and that’s probably why you’re doing this— Why you keep kissing me, and touching me and shit, because you want me to pity you so badly…’

You just couldn’t keep your impulses in, and your arms found his chest easily to push him again, to vent, to throw all your anger at him. But as soon as you did, and you realised he was almost flinching, you couldn’t do it. All you could do was pull him from his shirt and kiss him, you were on your tiptoes, you were sighing hard.

He hesitated, and that made you feel desperate, stupid, small. But then a few seconds after his hands were cupping your ass, his tongue was making his way inside you as he pulled you in. He was leaning in to be at same height as you, the cold surface of the mirror was against your back as his wet lips made their way from your ear to your neck. You could feel him hard against your groin, warm under all those endless layers that kept him away from you.

Your desperate hands got rid of his scarf first, before moving on to his jacket. You were squirming against the mirror, desperately trying to chase his lips, when you felt the warm breath of his laugh against your neck.

‘You’re so bratty.’ He whispered before laughing again.

‘Don’t call me that.’ You tried to said it seriously, but you were sighing, you were melting by the way his kisses were making their way down your chest.

‘Can I taste you?’ He said between kisses, slowly kneeling in front of you. His lips were warm and soft against the hem of your sports bra, and you blinked repeatedly as you looked down at him.

‘W-What?’

His hands had entwined with yours and he only stood straight again to kiss you. You were too stunned to say anything as he pulled you down softly, and you followed him, of course. Your back was against the floor, his mouth on your bare stomach as you felt a sweet, yet terrifying rush of energy run down your spine.

You lifted your waist so he could get rid of your shorts, and you were purposefully avoiding his eyes as you felt the fabric leaving your ankles. His gaze was focused on the side of your thigh, a worried frown taking over his features as his fingers brushed against the bruise.

‘Is this from this morning?’ He asked softly.

You were still trying to catch your breath so all you could do was nod.

‘God, I’m sorry, baby.’ He said before leaning in to kiss it. Just the stimulus had you repressing a moan. ‘M so sorry.’

There wasn’t a good answer you could think of, anything that could’ve left your lips would’ve sounded stupid to yourself. All you could do was shut your eyes hard as he kept repeating soft I’m sorrys while he kissed your thighs, your hipbone, the little curve of your pelvis. You weren’t sure what he was apologising for, and at this point you couldn’t even care.

‘…gentle.’

‘Huh?’ Your fingers were already diving inside his brown locks, waiting for the moment where you could pull them that way you liked to.

The warm breath of his laugh brushed against your covered pussy, and you had to fight the need to roll your eyes at it.

‘Was saying,’ He took your hands then and placed them over your breasts. ‘I’m gonna teach you how to be gentle.’

You blinked a couple of times, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks when he kissed you over your panties before his hands stared to pull them down. His eyes lingered from your face to your stomach, down the trail that led to your pussy as if he was fond of the image in front of you.

‘Lift your bra.’ He said then. ‘And touch yourself softly.’

You were too nervous to roll your eyes or get embarrassed by the fact he was telling you what to do. You did as he said, rolling up the elastic fabric and feeling quite exposed, but too needy to worry about it.

The sides of Steve’s lips lifted softly as you stroked your breasts, the tips of your nipples hardening by the stimulus, a longing sigh stuck on your throat as your eyes never left his. You thought of him the first time he touched you, his murmured I’m proud of you, was it so crazy that you wanted him to be proud of you for this too?

‘I said softly.’ He laughed when you pinched one of your nipples. And you laughed too, shrugging while you still looked at him.

‘I like it.’ You confessed shyly.

He shook his head to himself then, before his hands rested on each side of your legs. You looked down attentively, mesmerized and terrified, until he finally leaned in.

His tongue was warm. Wet. Soft. You were a mess of little noises and gulps as you arched your back while he licked your clit. Your hands softly wandered down, but then you remembered he wouldn’t let you pull his hair, and there were no bedsheets to fist as he started sucking.

You shut your eyes hard, sinking your nails on the skin of your stomach as you panted, too overwhelmed to keep the moans in.

‘Don’t do that.’ Steve said suddenly. You looked down then, finding his lips shiny and cheeks pink, his eyes focused on the harmless little half-moons on your abdomen.

One of his hands grabbed yours, kissing your fingertips before sucking them in the same sensual way he had sucked your clit before. Your eyes couldn’t leave his face as his tongue licked the bottom of your middle finger up to the top, leaving them sticky and wet for you, until he guided that same hand back to your bare, needy breasts.

You were breathless as he resumed his kisses in between your thighs, and you pushed your breasts until all his spit had been perfectly rubbed on your nipples, until you felt completely his.

‘Steve.’ You moaned as you recoiled, trying to find sweet ways to beg him to release you from this misery, but other than his name you didn’t know how to do any of this. The sweetness, the softness of it all.

The thought brought tears to your eyes, and you had to shut them hard and move your head to the side to keep him from looking at you like this. It was better if he thought your choky breaths were due to the pleasure, and not because the words you had said to him were drilling your brain.

‘Open your eyes for me.’ He asked then, and when you did, what you found was your reflection on the mirror, his lips working on you as your legs were lightly flexed, your body all exposed for him. ‘Look at us.’

‘Huh?’ You looked down at him, trying to get rid of that image but at the same time wishing you could cherish it forever.

He smiled again, tendered by your cluelessness, by the sudden shyness that sometimes overtook your face.

‘Do you still think this is not beautiful?’ He asked softly against your pussy. You threw your head back when he dived in again, this time more consistently, with the purpose of eating you, with the purpose of ruining you.

‘Cause I think we’re…’ He sighed, hearing you panting and feeling you squirming under his tongue. ‘Hmm.’

‘Shit.’ You finally moaned, as the feeling built from your stomach and you were moaning, maybe crying a little, you were laughing and cumming deliciously. ‘Fuck.’ You laughed again. ‘W-What the fuck.’

You were still catching your breath as he sat up, and he couldn’t help but laugh shyly too, his eyes falling on your uncovered breasts for a second before he looked away. You took it as a sign to pull the fabric down, finding yourself more exposed than you had ever felt in front of him.

He grabbed your underwear and the silent question of if he’d ask to keep them lingered between you. Yet your eyes stayed on his puffy lips as he pulled your panties up through your legs and you let him, lifting yourself so he could place them perfectly, then doing the same with your shorts.

The silence was awkward when the heat and the sweetness died down, tensions from the previous argument resurged in between you two. You sat down as he stood up, putting your shrug back on and playing with its sleeves. Then you felt the need of saying thank you, I’m sorry or please stay.

‘Guess I’ll see you around, bratty.’ He nodded at you. You guessed he was supposed to sound cold, but his lips were shiny, puffy, red. And you wondered if he could still taste you.

‘Sure.’ You murmured, hugging yourself as you heard the door close.

On Monday you climbed out of your car feeling achy and restless. What was supposed to be a resting weekend turned out to be a couple of days of training with Max nonstop. She was better than you thought she would be, and just as stubborn and perfectionist as you were at her age. So, when you figured that spending two days with Max at Dolly Higgens’ studio would save you from another dinner with the Harringtons, you told her you’d help her get the role no matter what.

Steve had driven her to the city for her audition. You knew this because Max had told you several times that it wouldn’t be a problem if you wanted to join them on Monday morning. It shouldn’t have caught you by surprise then, when you saw him on the theatre’s lobby as you walked in with your dance bag.

Max was queuing for registration as you walked past them quickly, lifting your hand in the air as a quick, subtle hi. She waved back at you enthusiastically, while Steve looked at you with a careful smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

‘Good luck.’ You said waving again, before you got lost on the hallway that led to your studio.

A few hours later you were still achy and more tense as you sat down to have a snack.

The forecast for the last week of rehearsals didn’t seem too good. You had been shouted at before, and it was normal to have disagreements with other dancers, but it was obvious that everyone was as nervous as you.

Miss Fyodorova, the ballet mistress, had been constantly repeating you not to tremble, and the more she did the more you did, and the worse it got the easier it was to lose your balance. You had to force yourself to look at your eyes in the mirror to avoid getting distracted, but somehow you were able to see everything you were doing wrong with your pirouettes and it all got so tense and ridiculous everyone was sent to lunch earlier.

The door to the dressing room opened behind you, but you didn’t look back as you took an absent bite of your protein bar. Once again you tried to read the same paragraph from your novel when you heard Priscilla Webber’s voice behind you. 

‘And this is the dressing room. I think I can check if I can show you my costumes.’

You looked behind your shoulder then, because you knew that what she meant was your costumes, though you knew that in a normal show she played one of the Baby Swans. Priscilla was accompanied by an old woman, and the tension on your face dissipated when you noticed the way the lady was looking at the room in fascination before her eyes fell on you.

‘Hi.’ You said shyly.

‘Hi.’ Priscilla said, not too amused by your interruption. ‘This is my grandma.’

‘Hello.’ You were suddenly standing up and offering your hand and your name.

She took it kindly. ‘And who are you playing?’

You looked at Priscilla then, almost searching for her approval, or asking if you should lie. If maybe you should’ve humoured the lady a little bit and tell her that you were his granddaughter’s understudy and not the other way around.

‘She’s Odette, grandma.’ She said ignoring your gaze on her. ‘And Odile.’

‘How wonderful.’ Her grandmother said.

You were about to say thank you when she carefully placed the palm of her hand under your chin, looking at you closely.

‘You’re perfect.’ She said.

‘Excuse me?’ You chuckled.

‘For the role.’ She smiled. ‘You’re wonderful.’

‘T-Thanks.’ You said softly, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks as you tried not to look at Priscilla.

She didn’t seem bothered, though. Both of them stayed on the room for a little longer as you stood awkwardly next to your chair, feeling that your hands were sweating cold.

‘It was nice to meet you.’ She said before walking out, Priscilla was standing on the entrance as she looked at you behind her shoulder. ‘I will see you on the show this Friday, dear.’

‘It was nice meeting you too.’ You lifted a hand in the air.

The old lady finally got lost behind the door and you bit the inside of your cheek as you got lost in your thoughts.

‘Why are you being so weird?’ Priscilla said once her grandmother left.

‘I’m not being weird.’ You murmured. ‘I’m just… I don’t know, nervous.’

You sat down then, feeling her eyes on you through the mirror as you picked your book once again.

‘I know that you wanted to tell her.’ She walked towards you. ‘I don’t need to lie about being the understudy.’

‘Okay.’ You said after a while.

‘Specially just so you can feel better about yourself.’

‘Fine.’ You turned the page without knowing what you had just read exactly, but you were trembling again, and you couldn’t stand it.

‘Though it does makes me feel kind of good to know that you can’t even get your family to visit you.’

You shut the book then, grabbing your things to leave the dressing room.

‘I’m not doing this today, Priscilla.’

‘You should’ve seen yourself back there in the studio.’ She said frustrated. ‘Seriously, you were worse than bad, you were unprofessional.’

‘Fine, well,’ you said standing in front of her. ‘There’s a reason why I get to be bad and unprofessional and still be the lead and that’s the fact that I deserve this.’

‘I deserved this.’ She shouted, you could see her eyes getting progressively glossy as she spoke. ‘I fucking do, and it’s killing me to see you fucking it up!’

‘Well, you don’t have it.’ You said in the same tone. ‘I do. Sometimes, Priscilla, people deserve better than they have, and they still don’t get it. Get over it.’

You left the room feeling a strange sense of dissatisfaction. It wasn’t the first time you two got caught on a quarrel and it wouldn’t be the last, but something about what you said was starting to mess with your breathing pattern. You were thinking about Steve. You were thinking about his accident. Why did you care this much?

Your heart beat fast, and there was a knot on your throat the size of a fist as you walked out towards the parking lot.

It was easy to find his car, you almost had the plate memorised just by how many times you had seen it next to your house. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, of course, eyeing a magazine as you made your way towards him almost stomping.

A frown took over his face when you opened the door, not worrying about anything else as you jumped into his arms, sitting on his lap and clashing your mouths as you felt yourself almost panting by the anxiety. You were trying to show him that you needed him, right now and here more than anything else. Because there was no one else that could understand what you were feeling right now as he did.

He let out a noise of protest, pushing you softly before looking back at your face.

‘What are you doing?’ He asked almost angry.

‘W-What?’ You asked confused.

‘Move, Jesus.’ He said lifting you easily as you moved absently to the co-pilot seat. ‘Somebody can see you, and then what? You lose your place as the lead for this shit?’

He closed the driver’s door then, and you were still confused, blinking a couple of times as you wondered what you were doing here, inside his car.

‘Are you stupid?’ He said then, only then you had noticed the little dot of blood in his lower lip, one that you had probably caused by how unexpectedly you had kissed him.

‘I-I’m—’

He hit the top of the wheel with his hand as he tried to check through the windshield if there was anyone around.

‘This could’ve got you fucking expelled.’

You didn’t say anything, instead you lifted a shaky hand towards his face. Your thumb brushed the bloody spot of his lip as you blinked repeatedly again.

‘Did you bite me?’ He said then, before he tried to look at himself in the rearview mirror. The heat rushed to your cheeks then as you sat back uncomfortably.

‘I-I’m sorry.’ You said. ‘I didn’t realise. I didn’t mean to.’

He chuckled, shaking his head as he cleaned his mouth with his hand.

‘Listen,’ He said after a while. ‘This thing between us can’t keep going if you don’t learn to be a little less rough, okay?’

You nodded softly then. It was so absurd that after everything, this was the one thing that was almost bringing you to tears. You felt so stupid out of sudden. Every single day since this had started you had felt stupid.

‘Like…’ He tried to find words, but all he could do was sit back and look through the windshield while he shook his head. ‘You worry me sometimes. Do any of the other guys liked this type of shit? Did they treat you like this?’

This time you felt the blood leaving your face as you hugged yourself in the seat. You looked away, towards the window, trying to remember any words but unable to find any.

‘I gotta go.’ You said softly, trying to open the door on your side, but it was locked.

‘What?’

‘I have to leave,’ Your voice was shaky and you hated yourself for it as you tried to open it again. ‘I have to go back inside, Steve.’

‘But you still have about forty minutes.’ His voice didn’t sound so harsh as he checked on his watch. Steve’s hand landed on your knee as you tried to open the door again, and then he pronounced the next word softly and sweetly, as only he could.

‘Stay.’

‘I don’t wanna stay.’ You said still hiding your face from him.

‘Why not?’ His thumb was stroking you softly and it was unbearable, you kind of preferred it when he was angry.

‘I’m not comfortable here.’ You simply said, feeling that you were losing oxygen every second that you were trapped in this car.

‘W-Why? Was it something I said?’ He tried to touch your arm, but you flinched at his touch, taking your hands to your face. ‘Hey. I’m sorry I snapped, you just caught me off guard, okay?’

‘I really need to leave.’ You repeated, massaging your temples as you felt yourself shaking.

He sat back then, pondering about what to do. You could feel his heavy breath next to you as you hid your face from him, fighting the tears that were about to leave your eyes.

‘I don’t get to ask about other guys?’ He asked softly.

‘No, Steve. You don’t.’ You snapped as your eyes kept focused on the glove compartment because you just couldn’t look back at him. Because you couldn’t tell him that there were no other guys. There had never been any because you were simply not that likable. ‘Can I leave?’

‘R-Right.’ He said, and you heard the relieving noise of the car unlocking. ‘Will I—’

You closed the door behind you, finally feeling the tears that were in your eyes rolling down your cheeks. Hugging yourself, you rubbed your hand against your cheekbone, deciding that you didn’t have time for this right now. You had to clean your face, fix your make up and go back to the studio, because the opening night was in five days.

Who would’ve thought that the secret to reach perfection was a broken heart?

As soon as you had made it inside there was no more trembling or unbalancing allegros, your face was perfectly able to enact Odette’s agony, or Odile’s malice as you blindly looked beyond your body in the mirror.

There was no doubt you deserved the role, despite what everyone else had try to make you believe. And yet when you left the theatre that night, as soon as you walked out to the desertic parking lot, you were in tears again.

In fact, you had spent the whole week crying in your bed, facing away from the sight of the glistening pond where sometimes you could hear the laugh of a few teenagers accompanied by the voice of someone you couldn’t give your heart to.

Nobody noticed, and often you were thankful while other times you wished you could scream loud enough that he could hear it from his house. But your behaviour of rejecting dinner at the Harrington’s or leaving your parents to have plans by themselves wasn’t new. You could call Barb, but last time she had mentioned she had finals on the week of the show. You were more than desolated, and angry at yourself, you were embarrassed.

On Thursday night you walked into the kitchen to find your mother weaving Christmas wreaths. She smiled at you softly as you moved inside to prepare some tea. Outside, the night was navy and illuminated by the reflection of the snow, you could hear noise coming from the pond, maybe Steve was having another party, or maybe it was just the kids.

‘Are you nervous about tomorrow?’ She asked.

You turned back, resting your back against the counter as you waited for the water to boil on the kettle. She was distracted, adding glue to a little red ball that she stuck next to a fake leaf.

‘Yeah.’ You admitted. ‘Terrified, actually.’

She laughed softly, still concentrated on the design as you looked back at her.

‘You don’t need to worry, honey.’ She sounded as if she was certain of it. ‘You will be great. You always are. I never have to worry about you.’

You swallowed hard, looking down at your slippers as you bit the inside of your cheeks.

‘Sometimes I wish you did.’ You admitted then. ‘Worry. Louder.’

Your mom turned back then, looking at you for a second as she processed your words.

‘Oh, honey, that’s not what I meant.’

‘I know.’ You said immediately. ‘I know, mom. I just— Forget it, I just wanted to ask you if you’d do my hair tomorrow, that’s all.’

Your mother sat back then, a confused stare on her face as you bit your lip and tried to play it cool.

‘Honey, sit down.’

You did as she said, wondering if you’d be able to put your thoughts into words if you had the chance to.

‘Okay, so. First of all, of course I’ll do your hair whether you like it or not.’ You let out a small laugh as she lifted a manicured finger to distract herself with some of the supplies that were on the table. ‘Second, I need to know why, my daughter, the best ice skater in Hawkins, hasn’t gone to her favourite spot in the world not even once during the most stressful week of her life.’

‘Second best.’ You admitted under your breath.

‘He can’t be the first after his injury, honey.’

‘Mom.’

She burst out laughing, and you stayed there in shock that she was trying to joke about something so serious right now.

‘How bad was it?’ She placed her hands on yours.

She lifted her eyebrows at the way you were biting your lip, shrugging.

‘That’s it.’ She said standing up. ‘I’m going there.’

‘What?’

‘I told Linda things weren’t good, and I told your father something was definitely up with Steve, and nobody listened to me…!’

‘Mom,’ you said standing up. ‘It was my fault.’

‘How could it be your fault? You’ve never had a boyfriend.’ She said taking her jacket and scarf from the counter. ‘And if they think I’m not uninviting them for Christmas after their son—’

‘Mom.’ You softly took the jacket from her. ‘You don’t need to uninvite anyone. It was my fault; I handled it terribly. Steve’s patient. And sweet. And I’m… awkward and rough, and cold—’ 

‘Stop.’ She lifted a finger at you then, her eyes had suddenly turned serious. ‘You’re going to stop now; you’re not talking about yourself that way in front of me. You’re the sweetest girl in this town. Everyone adores you.’

‘That’s not really…’

‘It is.’ She said firmly. ‘And you would know this if you ever attended anything with me. Everyone’s constantly talking about you. Half the town is going to the show tomorrow to see you.’

You stood silent as you looked down to your slippers again.

‘This is not about Steve, is it?’ You bit your lip.

‘Oh, it is about Steve.’ She said then. ‘That boy should’ve showed up with flowers and a card as soon as you two had your disagreement. But instead, he has you skipping dinners and missing daylight and exercise. I don’t like him.’

‘Mom…’

‘I am fond of him. I love that kid. But I don’t really like him right now.’

You took a deep breath, trying to hide your smile as you moved to pour the hot water inside your cup. Moving in silence, you decided that maybe you might prepare a sandwich too, given the circumstances.

‘Do you need help with that?’ You sat down next to her, grabbing the other naked wreath on the table.

She hummed for a while as you two worked together, and you drank your tea and ate your sandwich in silence.

‘I thought you’d be happy.’ You said with your mouth full as you sat more comfortably.

‘About you and Steve?’ She laughed. ‘Well, it had occurred to me before, I just thought you disliked each other way too much. You two are too competitive and I never wanted to encourage you to fight. But clearly, I always failed.’

You laughed softly, focused on the wreath because you didn’t want her to notice the way you were blushing.

‘And, well… his parents always pushed him into the whole scholarship thing, and then he had that terrible accident.’  She shook her head. ‘The poor boy’s had a terrible time trying to find his own path, I feel so sorry for him.’

You took a deep breath, thinking about all those awful things you had said back in Miss Higgens’ studio, knowing that you didn’t mean any of them. Your mind took you back to a year ago, when Steve was at the hospital and you spent the whole month skating alone.

‘It was very bad, wasn’t it?’ You murmured.

She swallowed hard before looking back at you.

‘Yes.’ Then she made a long pause before she grabbed another fake leaf, looking at it carefully. ‘It almost made me want to ask you to quit dancing.’ She sighed when she looked at your confused stare. ‘Sometimes I still want you to. I just wouldn’t be able to see you deal with that level of disappointment if something like that happened to you. I’ve got mixed feelings about it, honey, I’m sorry.’

You bit your lip then, considering her words.

‘But that doesn’t matter. You’ve always been stubborn enough to do what you want whether I like it or not.’ She shrugged. ‘As you should, that’s how I raised you. Look at me.’

A soft laugh left your lips as you looked back at her, feeling your eyes turning glossy.

‘You like him, don’t you?’

‘Yeah.’ You admitted softly, hugging yourself. ‘Very much, but I was such an idiot. I was just… so unpleasant and so stupid, mom.’

She laughed softly then, looking back at the wreath.

‘And when have you ever been anything else when it comes to Steve Harrington?’

Steve Harrington had in fact, never felt so unpleasant and stupid in his life. He had dodged Robin’s questions the whole week, he had forgotten to pick Dustin to take him Christmas shopping to the mall, and he had snapped twice at his mom.

It came to him slowly. At first, he had just assumed you were seeing someone else at the same time, maybe some guy from the ballet company, someone from outside Hawkins.

Then he thought there must’ve been something seriously wrong with him, because you never spent this much time away from the pond unless you were sick or away on vacation. He must’ve done something awful to have you avoiding him so purposely.

His friends just assumed he was on a bad mood since soon it would be the first anniversary of the accident, that maybe Christmas had him in this gloomy mood, but when Nancy bumped his shoulder and innocently asked where was the Ice Princess, he just shook his head and started walking back to his house.

A part of him was scared to know what had he done wrong. What if all this time you had been trying hard to like him but never really managed to? What if all those instances in which you threw your head back and your back arched irresistibly at his touch had been just an attempt to please him? Steve knew you could be mean, but were you that mean?

On Friday evening, he stood inside his car longer than necessary, wondering if he should just drive back to Hawkins and throw the bouquet of white roses somewhere far, so no one would ever find out that he had been making a fool of himself.

He had told his parents he wasn’t sure if he would come to the show tonight, some lame excuse about his shifts and Keith. But Robin had made sure that Steve’s schedule was clear, she even double checked that his tank was full, that he was dressing properly. And when she said goodbye on the front porch of the Harrington house, she made him promise to bring back a programme for her.

‘There you are!’ Said his mom as soon as he walked inside the lobby. The heat rushed to his cheeks at the sight of so many acquaintances. So many people were trying to be discreet about the bouquet he held in his hand, except for Max, who was smiling widely at the sight of the white roses.

‘Hi.’ He said with an attempt of a smile.

‘We thought you had changed your mind.’ Said his dad as he put his hands inside his pockets.

‘Sorry, I was just trying to get a tie, and then I… decided I didn’t want to wear one, and… I don’t know. Thanks for waiting for me.’

Mr Harrington nodded, trying hard to repress his smile as the queue advanced and they finally made it to the entrance.

A sudden noise made him turn back, someone seemed to be rushing inside the lobby. A security guard approached the young lady that was panting next to the heavy glass doors, and it took Steve a few seconds to recognise her.

‘Miss, you can’t run in here.’ The man said.

‘I’m sorry.’ She said in between heavy breaths. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought I was late; I got a ticket. Here.’

‘Barb?’ Said Steve as he walked towards here.

‘Hi?’ She said confused for a second until she recognised him too. ‘Oh, hi, Steve. God, I’m sorry, I’m all over the place. I literally ran from the train station. I couldn’t get a taxi with all this traffic. What time is it?’

‘We still got about ten minutes before the show.’ He said.

‘Great.’ She said before her eyes fell on the bouquet in his hand. ‘Oh, no. Nononono— Flowers! I forgot the flowers, fuck. I was gonna get her some on the way, but my train got delayed, and— She doesn’t even know I’m here you know?’

‘I figured.’ His face was overtaken by a pitiful smile, the internal debate taking over him as he looked back at Barbara. ‘I tell you what, why don’t you give her these? You know her better than I do, after all.’

‘Are you sure?’ She said as they started walking towards the entrance of the main theatre. Behind the young lady who was checking the tickets, Mr and Mrs Harrington waited along with Max.

‘Of course.’ He said giving his ticket to the girl as he offered Barb the flowers once again. ‘Here.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ She smiled then. ‘It means a lot. Really.’

He shrugged before walking to join his family. ‘Enjoy the show.’

‘You too.’ She said offering her ticket to the girl.

‘Why did you do that?’ Max asked when he joined them.

Steve shrugged, hiding his hands inside his pockets as they walked inside the theatre. The place was full of people already chatting softly on their seats, as he followed his parents towards the row where your family was waving from.

Max let out a frustrated sigh as they sat down, and he suddenly felt nervous. He wondered if you were, somewhere behind those intimidating red curtains that kept the stage hidden from the audience.

‘Steve, sometimes you can be very stupid, you know?’ Max said before the lights started to turn dim.

‘Shhh.’ He heard his mother in the dark.

Steve didn’t reply. He curiously leaned in as the orchestra walked in, followed by the applause of the audience when the director appeared right behind them.

The was an unbearable silence then. The director lifted his baton, the curtains opened, and the music started. He could feel Max leaning in next to him too, the sight of a few male ballet dancers, the interpretation of some sort of royal scene in which the characters discussed.

‘Where’s she?’ He whispered then.

‘Shhh.’ Max said.

Steve sat back, releasing a sigh as his eyes wandered around the staging, the fairytale-like music that preluded your apparition made him feel equally anxious and inadequate inside the fancy room. He rubbed his leg as he looked at the male dancers, nervously touching that one spot where he knew there was a scar.

Then the scenery changed. The lights were cold and dim, the stage washed in shades of blue, and about thirty different figures in white tulle costumes appeared, but only you wore the delicate silver tiara on your head that granted you the title of principal dancer.

He swallowed hard at the sight of you that wasn’t you exactly, but at the same time held the innocent air that so often you tried to repress but sometimes it slipped unconsciously. It seemed than in Odette you had found a way to expose it openly though, in the ways your eyebrows arched, and you lamented the day that awful spell had turned you into a swan forever.

Steve stood still as he saw you tiptoe around the stage in elegant movements that he knew required excessive amounts of discipline and control. From the distance, his eyes lingered on your hands and arms, as you tried to hide from the price, as you blushed, as you danced. He found himself smiling at the way your movements resembled those he had seen you try on the ice sometimes, his eyes took in the perfect harmony of the choreography, the urgency of the music… and the hope in your face, that mixed with despair the more the show progressed.

He had the pleasure to just watch you for a few hours, as if you were the graceful figure inside a musical box gifted to him on Christmas day, and he wasn’t going to take it for granted. He was enjoying himself.

But then he saw you turn into something else, that was also you in a more obscure and uncomprehensible way.  Of course, he recognised the piece that played that day in his room, when you had so beautifully turned into nothing as your warmth rubbed against his. He couldn’t help to hold onto his seat when you appeared wearing a black version of your tulle dress. Your movements were still impeccable but much more calculated, hiding a certain malice he had familiarised with through glimpses you let him see, but not in such a shameless manner.

The prince lifted you and held you as if you were a leaf, while Steve thought of your mouth, of your hands in his hair, of the weight of your body on his. He swallowed hard at this other version of you, that was not scared of embodying this elegant violence that took over Odile’s body as she stole the only precious thing Odette had left.

He held his breath when he saw you appear again as the poor, desolated Odette who prepared herself to give in to the sorrow of heartache. It was as if the whole audience stayed breathless with him, while the orchestra’s symphony turned progressively darker, ethereally distressing and your own innocence mixed with a doomed melancholy that he knew was yours and only yours. He knew then that you understood loneliness in a way probably not a lot of people did. And yet you were here, selflessly descending into madness in the most delicate and artistically delicious way in front of everyone. The disturbing last notes of the Moderato echoed through the theatre and Odette fell into a painful death in front of him. And then you were gone.

He was still getting used to the lights when they all walked out towards the lobby and his mind was still trapped inside that dreary, foggy stage where your ghost had danced for about two hours. Max kept pulling his sleeve, asking him if he had liked the show and Oh, wasn’t it so sad? Wasn’t it so sad how fate kept people apart in fairytales?

All Steve could do was nod absently as he tapped his shoe against the red carpet of the lobby while everyone waited for you. He scratched the back of his neck nervously as he saw Barb talking to your parents next to the exit. She was still holding the flowers he should’ve given you right after you left the show; with your hair still up a bun and your sparkly make up still on. In another life, you would’ve jumped into his arms right after and he would’ve wrapped you in a hug like a precious thing. He would’ve told you how proud of you he was. But the more he thought about it, the more he felt the insides of his throat closing, the knot of his stomach growing, and the blood leaving his face.

‘I think I’ll see you guys at home.’ He turned to his dad then.

Mr Harrington stared at his son for a long beat before taking a quick glance at the place where your parents waited. Steve thought that for a second he had figured him out, he probably had already if he was smart enough, but he just couldn’t talk about it. Not here, at least.

So, all his dad could do was nod carefully. Steve returned the glance; he was saying thank you, he was saying I’m sorry. As he had so many times before during the last year.

‘Where’s he going?’ He heard the voice of his mother as he made his way out towards the parking lot, but he couldn’t stay. He knew he couldn’t.

The blanket of snow that fell on Hawkins overnight glistened in the quiet morning of Christmas Day. You woke up early, feeling rested for the first time in forever, but you still stayed in bed for a little while, looking at the way the sunlight reflected on the distant snow.

One year ago, you had woken up to the awful news of Steve’s accident. It had happened around lunch, while you slept through a hungover in the living room after spending the whole night watching movies with Barb. You heard the phone in the distance, you mother picked up, and when she gasped, loudly and urgently, you got up disoriented.

Now everything was quiet. Your parents were probably still asleep while you ate your cereal leaning on the counter. They had driven Barb to her parents’ late after dinner last night, when half the town went to Enzo’s to celebrate your success. It had been nice to be the centre of attention, to receive flowers and cards and enjoy the praise after all the hard work. Still, you had to try hard to keep your eyes away from the empty seat next to Max the whole night. Many times your eyes fell on the restaurant’s doors, hoping that maybe he’d walk in with a forgiving smile, but it didn’t happen, and you went to bed feeling in your heart that things were really over before they even began.

That feeling still accompanied you as you looked back behind your shoulder to find the white landscape of the desolated pond through the window. You hadn’t gone skating in a week, but somehow the idea still didn’t seem appealing; maybe you were just tired, maybe in the last few weeks something had changed in you. You felt much more grown, less childish and impatient than before. Sad.

The nostalgia didn’t leave you the whole day as you helped your mother with the cooking and your father lit the chimney. The snow slowly melted as you opened presents, the house filled with the smell of roast and cinnamon, and when your dad took out a bottle of his finest whiskey and the guests started arriving, you excused yourself to get changed upstairs.

It took you a while to get the courage to leave your room. You stroked the front skirt of the black dress as you looked at yourself in the mirror, wondering if the hair updo was too much, if you were too much. Maybe you would avoid the drinking tonight and stay in the shadows of the living room. Maybe all that attention from the day before had left you drained.

You walked down the steps slowly, carefully trying to peek through the bannisters to see who was downstairs. A few of your father’s coworkers, some women that were part of the knitting club your mother attended, Nancy Wheeler’s parents…

No. It was too much, you were about to walk back into your room when Linda Harrington appeared through the corridor.

‘There she is!’ She seemed excited at the sight of you. Her glass of wine was half empty and most of her lipstick was gone, so you assumed she had at least downed half a bottle. You laughed shyly, making your way down as she extended a hand towards you. ‘Our little swan! I still can’t believe how wonderful you were last night.’

Mrs Harrington hugged you from your side fondly as you walked towards the living room together. You recognised a few joyful people from the Fishing Association, and you tried to smile and wave as the noise of chatter and Christmas music made you flushed and a little bit overwhelmed.

It was very warm inside, yet you still rubbed your arms as you looked around the room, maybe looking for your parents but really just looking for him. But Steve wasn’t here, he wasn’t anywhere. He hadn’t come. You couldn’t believe he hadn’t come.

You blinked your tears away as you discreetly made your way back to your own room, passing through a few people that were chatting on the couch, until you made it back to the entrance. And then you stopped in your tracks when you saw the familiar silhouette of Steve Harrington sitting down at the bottom of the stairs with a glass in his hands.

He absentmindedly looked up to find you standing on the living room’s entrance. His eyes went to your hands when you tried to pull your sleeves over your fingers out of habit, but your dress didn’t have any. You felt naked.

Steve looked down at his glass again, and you finally got the courage to walk and sit down next to him. From here, the party sounded like a distant dream; the sound of laughter and chatter were like a forgotten memory, the clash of cutlery and glasses overshadowed by the music while the tense silence sat between you two.

‘Merry Christmas.’ You said softly after a while.

His lips lifted subtly as his eyes still stayed on the drink in his hand. He was about to take another sip, but then he seemed to have changed his mind and put it aside on the step below. You felt silly when he attempted to look back at you, your eyes fell to your hands immediately while all the blood on your body rushed to your face.

‘Merry Christmas.’ He said as well.

You both stayed silent for a while, avoiding each other’s gaze as the party progressed and everyone inside seemed to get more enthusiastic.

‘Congratulations on the show.’ He said then.

‘Oh, thanks.’ You smiled softly at him before looking away to the decorations on the front door. A few people walked out of the living room to go out smoking then, and you and Steve smiled politely at them before they closed the door behind them.

‘You know,’ You started, still looking at your hands. ‘I never said I’m sorry for not going to see you at the hospital after the accident.’

You heard him laugh softly next to you. ‘That was a year ago.’

‘Still.’ You shrugged. ‘It must’ve been hard.’

‘It was hard.’ He said after a while. ‘…It was also very frustrating to see you skate every morning while I was paralyzed in bed. But I got used to it.’ 

You nodded softly, looking at your hands while you tried to find the words to say what you wanted to say beyond your foolish apologies. You were about to open your mouth when he spoke.

‘I’m sorry.’ Your eyes looked back at him as he studied your face. ‘I never meant to upset you that day at the parking lot.’

‘You didn’t.’ You rushed to say. ‘I was just being stupid. I’m sorry, Steve.’

He frowned then, considering your words before he nodded softly. Silence took over once again and you felt your heart beating against your chest as you swallowed hard. Again, you were thinking of the right words to say what you really meant, something, anything that could mend the situation, but you felt as if thousands of invisible eyes were on you as you kept nervously playing with your hands.

‘You’re not stupid.’

‘Huh?’ You said looking back at him. You must’ve looked so clueless, feeling the back of your neck sweaty.

This time his laugh echoed in the little space you shared, as he looked back at you with a softness he had been holding back during these last agonising minutes filled with small talk.

‘You’re not stupid.’ He said again, this time smiling at you.

‘Oh.’ You said under your breath, thinking that if you looked away then maybe your insecurity wouldn’t be so obvious. You felt worse than stupid, you felt defeated. ‘Well, I don’t know. I’ve been feeling pretty stupid the last few days, if I’m honest with you. You see, I…’

His eyebrows lifted subtly as he looked back at you attentively, but your eyes couldn’t hold the sweet brown of his. You turned even more nervous when they fell on his mouth, and then you were looking away again, because your lips had forgotten the rest of the sentence. You tried to hush the voice in your head that reminded you why you sucked so much at this: because you had never done it before.

Steve was about to say something then, but you had finally found some courage, some humble remains of dignity inside you when you decided to speak again.

‘Do you remember,’ You interrupted him with an unintentional aggressiveness, feeling that you had messed up the calm, cosy atmosphere, but well. ‘Do you remember the first time you tried to skate?’  

He sat quietly, maybe remembering, but you weren’t about to let him speak now. You were too hyped to, too terrified to let yourself get carried away by cowardice.

‘I do.’ You proceeded. ‘I-I was seven. It was a year before you moved. I saw these pair of skates at Miss Vinny’s second-hand shop. You know the one that used to be ‘round the old gas station?’ You were almost swallowing every word as you kept going enthusiastically. ‘They were silver and white, and they had stars on them and I just— I went crazy. I needed them.’

Steve laughed softly at your story as you looked back at him feeling more scared every second that passed, uncertain that he knew where you were going, feeling your heart on your throat the whole time.

‘So, you know me, I can’t take no for an answer, and I begged dad, and he got them, of course.’ You kept going. ‘And well, one winter morning he and I went to the pond… I put them on. And I guess I expected to be good at it at the first try, but I had this— this feeling Steve, in my stomach. This awful, sickening vertigo that I felt inside as I stood there. Because I had never done this before.’

He stayed very still as he looked at you, and you swallowed hard as you hoped he’d understand what you meant, you hoped to God that he’d get it.

‘So, I did what I used to do sometimes, what I do still, which is basically throw myself into the unknown and hope for the best and pretend that I’m perfect at something that I’m not.’ You said looking down at your hands, feeling the tears pooling on your eyes and goddammit why were you trying to pull your sleeves again if you knew you didn’t have any? ‘And then I fell.’

You looked back at him, feeling the tears rolling down your cheeks while his eyes were desperately studying your face. His soft hands found your arms and they were rubbing them so softly, as if his fingertips had a lifetime of experience stroking the arms of girls who cried on Christmas day.

‘I fell so hard.’ You admitted to yourself before looking back at him. ‘…And the ice was cold.’

And the ice was cold? You shut your eyes then, hiding your face on your hands and then placing your forehead on your knees as you felt that you had made a complete fool of yourself once again.

‘Hey.’ You knew he was smiling even without looking at him, just by the way he said it. His hands found either side of your head before you felt his mouth kissing your hairline softly. His lips still brushed against your scalp as he whispered. ‘Hey. ‘S fine, sweetheart. I think I’m getting where you’re coming from.’

‘I feel so stupid.’ You murmured.

‘You’re not stupid.’ He tried to search for your face with little kisses that started at your crown and followed down all the way to your ear and cheek. ‘You could never be.’

Your teary face came out of its hiding place then, and you looked back at him fully ashamed and flushed. Your fingers found the collar of his sweater as you tried to get distracted with something, because the hem felt just like the sleeves of your shrugs. Because it felt like him, and it smelled so much like him.

‘I hurt you.’ You said softly.

‘For a very valid reason.’ There was a shadow on his smile on his mortified face as he cupped your cheeks. ‘I should’ve done things differently. I didn’t know.’

You blinked a couple of times before rolling your eyes at him.

‘Well, you must have because I never touched you.’ You said almost annoyed.

He laughed then, throwing his head back before he brought your face close enough so his nose could brush yours.

‘I wasn’t even thinking about that.’ He whispered cheekily. ‘Was too busy looking at you.’

You pushed his chest then, like you had so many times before, but this once he was able to get back at you when he pulled you in playfully, and his lips finally crashed against yours. You melted like ice, like honey, like a little helpless snowflake. And as you deliciously sighed under his lips and your grip on his sweater slowly turned into your flat palm over his beating heart, you thought that maybe there was something deeply sweet inside you that had desperately been trying to come out for a while. It just needed a little push.

🏷️: @keerysfolklore @starrgurl46

I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written works anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

[steveheadcannons]

this blog worships anything maroon cardigan writes

[darth-snuggles]

I honestly don't remotely get the whole fanon thing of Hopper being Steve's surrogate dad.

They barely interact in canon, none of those interactions are particularly positive or emotional, and Hopper practically radiates "girl dad" energy. I don't get the impression that he wants or would particularly know how to handle a son, surrogate or otherwise. Frankly, I think he'd see a son like Steve as a threat/challenge to his own alpha masculinity.

I realize this is hypocritical, given that I'm a huge fan of Steve being adored by Claudia Henderson, but I would argue that that makes narrative sense, because Steve is close with her son. He's not especially close to Eleven--he interacts with her barely more than with Hopper.

I'm not, like, against it, some of my favorite fics and AUs use this trope, but I truly don't understand it. Is there some pivotal moment in the show that I missed, or are we just desperate to give Steve literally any parental figures?

[steveheadcannons]

respectively robin is steve’s surrogate dad

[luveline]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

You want to see the floating lights. Steve wants his satchel back. You come to an arrangement that is mutually beneficial… sorta. tangled!au

10k words, reader insert, fem!reader, medieval times (ish!), begrudging allies, fake dating/marriage, lots of changes from tangled movie but it’s got the spirit, I tried to be inclusive of all hair types but it is magical and floor length nonetheless, magical realism, TW for abusive mother + narcissism, mother is awful, steve is gonna show her the world is a good place!! allies to friends to lovers, pining

˗ˋˏ ☆ ˎˊ˗

Steve's hands are bleeding by the time he works his way into the tower, raw from the rough grit of old hewn stone. He hisses with every handhold he finds, adrenaline staving off the worst of the pain as his eyes scrabble for the next ledge. 

Five feet, three. His hand slaps into the dark wood of a window ledge and he heaves himself up, the joints of his arms screaming in protest. Were it not for the rumbling of horse hooves like an earthquake outside of the grotto he might've given up, hoped for a soft landing. 

The threat of being caught propels him forward. 

He lands on the tiled flooring of the main atrium of the tower with an audible plop of fabric, his satchel clunking hard by his hip. 

"Stars," he says. He breathes hard, trying and failing to slow his heart now he's found sanctuary. 

He lifts his cheek from the mosaic beneath and peers around the room. He gawps. 

It's mostly dark, and still he can make out the intricate, masterful artwork decorating the curved wall. Flowers made up of a thousand colours, petals dripping with dew, their anthers heavy with pollen. A field of every flower he's ever seen and a hundred others he's not familiar with. He has really, truly, never seen anything like it. Not even the spectacle of the Palace could hold a candle to what he sees before him. No books he'd read growing up had ever conjured an image as sharply magical as this.

He pushes up onto his elbows. Sunlight drips into the room from the wooden shutters he’d crawled through, illuminating the feet of each cabinet, a washing basin, and the brick oven under a staircase that ascends into the tower. He sniffs and finds the stick of coal dust heavy in the air; somebody lives here. 

Steve's quickly proven right when you swing from behind an alcove near the kitchenette. 

He startles backward and away from you as you advance, a cast iron pan held aloft in delicate hands and wielded with an intimidating confidence. 

"Holy- Wait! Wait, please," he cries, holding his hands palm out in surrender. 

Steve doesn't suppose you'd been expecting such a feeble intruder. He'd feel a strike against his dignity if it hadn't worked — you slow in the centre of the room, your breath coming in quick pants as the iron pan in your grip shakes. 

You're scared.

You're beautiful. 

"What do you want?" you ask, a pleading sort of twist to your question. "I don't have anything. I don't have anything worth taking." 

"Please," he says loudly. "I don't want anything. Sanctuary for the night, nothing else." 

Your chest rises. Steve feels smarmy, but he finds his eyes drawn to the valley of your chest, the bodice of your dress. A soft and buttery orange sewn with the palest pink and lilac embroidery. It's a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship, lovely enough that he wonders briefly if you're of royal descent, but the dress itself is a peasant's gown. 

His eyes rise back to your unhappy face. Your brows are pulled up at the starts, a delicate display that betrays your fear. 

You glare at him. 

"You can't stay here," you assert.

"One night." Steve pulls his satchel into his lap to procure a small coin purse. He'd love to say it was his coin purse. He cannot. "I have silvers. I can pay you." 

He will not be paying you anything. He won't rob you, though. He's not a total miscreant. 

"You can't stay," you say again, raising your iron pan higher above your shoulder. He sees a flash of something at your hip. "My mother–" 

"Holy stars, is that your hair?" 

You seize up, making an almost inaudible sound of dejection. "No." 

"Are you sure? It looks very much like hair."

Steve anchors his hand to the floor and leans downward to get a better look. You turn with him, attempting to shield your long hair from view and only helping him along. It sways with your movements, the ends near long enough to dance over the floor. 

"You have to leave. Leave!" 

Steve bites the inside of his lip. A rainbow of light arcs through the air and caresses your cheek, and the wind chime hanging in the window tinkles softly with a warm summer breeze. The tower echoes with your huffing breath. The pan is too heavy for you to hold any longer and you let it drop with a wrist-tugging defeat. 

"I'm not trying to scare you. But I really can't leave. I won't harm a hair on your head," he adds with a smile, eyebrows slightly raised in wait of your laughter. 

You don't laugh, nor do you smile. 

"My mother, she'll come home any minute now," you say unconvincingly. 

He tips his head to one side. "Then I'll speak with your mother and get her permission to stay." 

"She won't give it." 

You're really too handsome to be frowning as you are. Steve wants to do as he does with all pretty people and make you smile, but the task feels insurmountable. You want him to leave. He can't. 

"If I leave, I'll be killed," he says. While it's not a lie in its entirety, neither is it a truth.

Your grip tightens around the handle of your pan. "What?" you ask worriedly. 

He feels guilty for garnering your concern though it's exactly what he'd been aiming for, nodding his head gravely. 

"I'm being pursued by ruffians. For days now. I only need to hide here for the night while they clear the forest. They'll look for me elsewhere, after." 

His storytelling voice is clear. Admittedly much too dramatic and yet you eat it up like a child devours spun sugar. Your hands press to your chest, frying pan held in your palm like the pommel of a sword. 

"Ruffians?" you repeat.

He swoops in. "Not to worry. They didn't see me scale the tower, or even enter the valley." He gives you a commending smile. "You're very well hidden."

"Not well enough, clearly." 

"I got lucky."

You back away from him. You don't turn your back to him, smart girl, only widen the gap between your two bodies with a fluttering unease. 

"I wish I could help you," you whisper urgently, "I wish I could. But my mother, if she finds you here, I- I'm not sure what she'll do." 

Steve blinks dazedly. "She would kill me?" 

"No! Of course not." 

"Then whatever it is will be a kinder fate." 

That shatters the very last of your resolve. You visually err on what to do next, how to handle his being here. Steve’s head races with thoughts of the palace guards, of Thomas and Carol, and of you — your skin lit by the sun, and your long, long hair. 

"Do you want some water?" you ask quietly. 

The relief he conjures is as authentic as it comes. "Yes. More than anything." 

—

Your mysterious stranger sits at one end of the table in Mother's seat while you sit across from him, a small clay drinking cup encapsulated by his large hand. You're making no effort to hide how closely you're watching him, though if he's under the impression it's for safety's sake then that's best. 

He's very, very fine. 

You haven't seen a man in person before, and if they all look like this you might wish you'd ventured out of the tower sooner. He wears a worn brown tunic that shows evidence of numerous careful darnings, its top button popped open to reveal a tiniest hint of curled hair disappearing downward. 

The hair on his head and tucked behind his ears is comely as corn silk but much darker. It shines in the descending sunlight now flooding the room. There's a golden tinge to everything at this time that leaves no inch of his person unscathed; his eyes glow with it, his irises a melting brown that reminds you of rare, thick honey. 

"The flowers," he says after an aching pause. "Are they painted? They must have been a huge expense." 

You follow his gaze, surprised at his question in two ways. That he would ask, and that he would think somebody else did them. 

"They're how I spend my summers." 

"Looking at them?" 

You laugh from the pure joy of the complement he's implying, unused to his awed reaction. Mother usually nods or hums at a new unveiling, and one time you'd earned a, "That's wonderful, darling." 

You're not sure she'd actually been looking at the time. 

"I painted them myself." 

The stranger's jaw drops. "A little thing like you?" he asks. 

"I'm hardly little," you deny, neither of stature nor burden. 

"You're young, aren't you? You can't be more than twenty summers."

"What a funny way of speaking," you murmur, more to yourself than him. "I'm twenty. I'll be one and twenty, in a few days." 

His eyes narrow. "Well, what's wrong with you?" 

"What's wrong with me?" 

"You aren't married?" 

You try not to be offended and fail spectacularly. "Most don't get married until they're nearing five and twenty!" 

"Most," he agrees. "But a girl as pretty as you? Who can paint like this? Don't tell me you've been hiding from every man in the kingdom."

You turn your face from him in case he can tell how flustered you are. Two complements in one day is unprecedented. Your heart bump-bump-bumps. 

"Are you married?" you ask swiftly, hoping to redirect this line of conversation away from something as treacherous as your own isolation. Any answer would expose you.

"I am, actually. She has the most gorgeous shine to her face, and her laugh is melodic and sweet as anything, a tinkling sound. She's bronze-skinned, a slight thing, but she's worth her weight in gold." 

He grins. You can't help but smile in response, infected by his endearing affection.

"What's her name?" you ask, voice near a coo. 

"Argento." 

You stare at him. His smile gets so big it looks like it could bruise his cheeks. 

"You're talking about money." 

"She's a brilliant bedfellow, isn't she? She keeps me warm and fed every night. She's a good girl." He sighs and crosses his arms behind his head. His attempt at nonchalance is ruined when he cringes in pain and drops them gracelessly back into his lap.

You cover your mouth and laugh. He's funny. Mother doesn't make half as many jokes. 

Mother. As if the mere thought of her is enough to summon her presence, a shrill call echoes from the bottom of the tower. 

"Y/N, darling, throw down the rope for your mother!" 

You jump to your feet, slippers sliding against the mosaic floor in a hurried scratch. "You have to hide," you whisper harshly.

The stranger pouts at you. "Seriously, let me talk to her, I–" 

You shake your head voraciously at his loud volume and press your finger to your lips, eyes begging with him to be quiet. 

"Please," you whisper, "hide. I'll hide you 'til tomorrow, when she leaves in the morning." 

He doesn't move. 

"Y/N? I don't have all day!" The irritation in her voice is obvious. 

"Please," you whisper again. 

He gets up with a mild eye roll. You rush to the window and look down at your mother where she stands at the bottom, looking impossibly small. 

"There you are! What are you waiting for? I'm not very happy with you, darling." 

You lick your lips. "Sorry!" you call, turning to the rope spooled to the right of the window. You throw the rope over the hook at the top of the frame, pausing when you see the stranger lingering in your peripheral vision at the top of the stairs. 

"What are you doing? Go!" you whisper. 

He nods toward your hands. "Couldn't have thrown that down to me, could you?" 

You shoo him away, his easy laughter doing nothing to assuage your racing heart as you drop the length of looped rope down to your mother. You wait until she's secured her foot in the loop before you start to walk backwards, lifting her weight. 

It doesn't get any less laborious as you grow up. By the time she's reached the top of the tower you can hardly breathe. You cough so hard you feel nauseous. 

"Holy stars, you sound ghastly. And it's completely unbecoming to cough like that without covering your mouth. You know that." 

"Sorry, mother." 

She hums. You can't decipher what it means, but it likely isn't something forgiving. 

"I hope you had some time to think about our argument." 

You hold your clasped hands behind your back, hair tickling your knuckles. "I did… I'm sorry, mother." 

She stares at you for a moment from under dark eyebrows before her face lifts, the wrinkles in her soft forehead appearing more prominently as she says, "Darling, why do you do this? Why do you insist on making me angry?" She raises her hands to your neck, long fingernails weaving seamlessly into the mass of hair she finds there. "You know I'm only trying to protect you." 

"I know," you say, tears burning hot behind your eyes. You will them away. Crying will make it worse, it always does. 

She toys with your hair, eyes on your shoulder. You have the peculiar feeling that though she's looking at you she isn't truly looking at you, but through you. Her eyes are distant, unfocused. 

Her finger wraps into your hair, twisting a strand behind your ear over, and over, and over. You shift uncomfortably at the tugging feeling at the back of your scalp but don't protest to her touches — any touch at all feels like a gift. Mother isn't generous with her affections. 

"Maybe I've been too hard on you," she murmurs. 

You loose a pained breath as she takes her hand from your hair and brings it to your face instead. She draws a line from the corner of your eye outwards, a kind, soft petting that gives you goosebumps. 

"No, mother. I'm grateful for everything I have. I was being unreasonable, I don't need anything else. I… shouldn't have asked about the stars." 

"No, you shouldn't have." 

She moves from you to hang her robe up on the hanger. You tamp down your frowning because mother hates when you make her feel guilty and try to decide how it is you're going to escape to your bedroom for the night. You have lots of questions you want to ask the stranger. 

You spot something out of the corner of your eye as your mother flits to the kitchen. There, on the table, sits two clay cups half empty and at opposite ends. You side eye your mother and find she's distracted herself with putting a wooden log into the oven's belly, grumbling about how you've neglected your afternoon chores. 

You throw yourself in front of the table with a thud. 

"What are you doing?" Mother asks, disgruntled. 

"Nothing! I mean, I'm cleaning up. I forgot to empty these cups of paint after I finished." 

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" 

The thing about mother is that most of the things she says are neutral. Anybody else might think she was being light-hearted or blasé. She phrases everything so meticulously. 

But she is not kind. 

You laugh breathily and turn to the cups. Your heart leaps into your throat when you find the cup isn't the worst of what might give you away. Hooked over the back of the chair is the stranger's leather satchel, a ratty old thing sagging with the weight of its contents. 

You take it. The zipper snags and the cause of the weight reveals itself in a clinking upheaval, a flash of light across the floor. You throw yourself over the chair to grab for it, a mindless scrambling, silver and gems cool and sharp under your hand. You shove it back in the satchel, no clue what it is. You've never seen anything like it. 

"What are you doing?" Mother asks, her voice occluded by the soft bubbling of the cooking pot. 

"It's dusty down here!" you call. 

"Yes, well… it's to be expected when all you do is paint all day, darling." 

"You're right," you say quietly. "Of course you are, mother." 

-

Steve hadn't suspected your room would look as plain as it does. You've a simple bed with a modest quilt and one tired looking pillow, though it's been made with neat folded corners. A stuffed rabbit sits at the bottom, lavender velveteen with a pink button nose. He doesn't touch it, though he'd like to. He's not sure he's ever touched a stuffed animal before. 

He can hear you talking to your mother, or rather your mother talking at you. He must say, she doesn't sound like the easiest woman to get along with. But Steve's never had a mother, so maybe that's just what they're like. 

You have a small table to one corner covered in small trinkets. Shells, stones, papers loose and bound. He flips open the soft cover of a book and finds it filled with pencil sketches, corner to corner of every page. 

You've drawn the most mundane things in remarkable colour and detail. The cooking pot over the stove top, the washing basin, the wooden table. Your slippers, your hair brush. Ordinary things in extraordinary detail, and extraordinary colour. 

He pauses at a loose leaf of brown paper tucked toward the end of the book. It's a bird on the window ledge, a fruit dove. The face and beak are in great detail, white feathers made corporeal by the smudge of hard pastel. The wings are rough, white and pale pinks and greens unrendered. 

Footsteps sound up the stairs. 

Shit, Steve thinks. They're a hurried sound. He's been sussed. He turns on his heel to find a place to hide. 

"Shit," he says, climbing the circular platform that holds your bed and collapsing to the floor, wriggling on his back until he's hidden underneath the bed and sheets completely. 

He holds his breath as the door creaks open. 

"Um… mister… uh, stranger man?" 

He waves his hand from under the bed. 

"Oh, right. Move over," you say, and then you're getting under the bed to join him. 

Steve moves over and suddenly you're there beside him, the two of you pressed arm to arm under your bed. Your smell is impossible to ignore, the fruity fragrance of jasmine and milk-soap. He stares at your face as you settle, your eyelashes fluttering, your subtle smile. 

You turn your head to his. The two of you flinch in tandem, eyes flying away from each other to the underside of the bed. 

Oh, Steve thinks. Holy stars. 

You've painted lanterns on every slat. Purple paper lanterns that glow orange and yellow in their centres, tens of them in different sizes. It's as breathtaking as your field of flowers downstairs despite the major decrease in scale.

"Wow," he says, on impulse, "these are amazing." 

You inhale happily. "Thank you. The floating lights are my favourite thing. They always come out-" You cut yourself off with a cough. "Well. I love them." 

"'Floating lights,'" he quotes. You're strange. 

"I wanted to go see them, but…"

"But mother said no?" 

"No," you murmur weakly. He takes it for yes. "She doesn't believe they're not stars." 

He can hear each individual breath you take this close and suspects that you can hear his own. It's a funny thing to be this close to you when he doesn't know you beyond your painting and your too-long hair. He can see a lot more of your details, your tiny bumps and fine hairs.

"What's your name?" he asks quietly. 

"I'm Y/N." You lay your ear against the wooden floor to look at him. "What's your name?" 

"Steven. Steve will do just fine."

"Steve," you say, like you're testing it out. "Steve, you lied to me." 

His eyes widen. 

"Did I?" he asks, trying to disarm you with a smile and failing yet again. 

"You lied," you whisper. "What's in the satchel, Steve?" 

"It's not what you think." 

"I think it's exactly what I think." 

You're giving him a hard stare. He smiles and smiles and smiles, his facade cracking the longer you look at him. His breath all falls out in a rush, blowing the hair from his eyes as he sighs. "Alright, fine. I lied about the ruffians. In my defence, there isn't a big difference between those fools from the palace and true ruffians." 

You sit up and wack your head on the bed slats above. Steve reaches out to help though there's nothing to do. 

You push his hand away. "Palace guards?" you ask in an urgent whisper, hand held to the top of your head. 

"Obviously. They don't just let you walk out of there without a fight… Wait, why are you surprised?" He measures your sheepish face. "You conniving, deceitful gir!" 

"I might not know what it is, but I can tell it's not the kind of thing someone like you would have on his person," you say, grumbling at his insults. 

His injustice at having been tricked drops away. "You don't know what it is? You've never seen a tiara?”

Your embarrassment is adorable. You change the subject deftly. “You lied to me, let’s not forget. You’re in danger because of the consequences of your own actions. Can’t believe I fell for your sob story. I should tell my mother exactly what kind of man I have hiding under my bed.”

“Who you’re hiding under your bed with.”

You climb out from under the bed with an irritated harrumph. Steve untangles a length of your hair that’s gotten wrapped around one of the beds feet before you can yank your own head back and follows you out. 

“Don’t be mad,” he says.

“You’re a criminal,” you say angrily. 

“Nobody’s perfect.”

Your furious whispers pause when your mother starts to sing downstairs. Steve can see the debate on your face. Yes, he’s a liar, yes, he’s a criminal, and yes, you should churn him back out into the valley. Send his untrustworthy self on his sorry way and wipe your hands of him entirely. 

To do so would mean admitting to your mother that he’s here. 

“Just… don’t talk to me. And don’t steal anything.”

He grins. “As you wish, my lady.”

—

“Y/N?” a voice asks in the dark. 

It’s impossible to relax with him here. You’re worried he’s going to slit your throat while you sleep. You’re doubly worried he’ll see your unattractive resting face. Warped priorities aside, you can’t make yourself sleep. 

“Yeah?” you whisper. 

“The floating lights?”

Your eyes fly open. You get the disorienting feeling of blindness and blink in the dark until you can make out the faintest glow of moonlight under the door. “Yeah?”

“Those are called lanterns.”

You swallow a rough breath. “Lanterns.”

“Mm-hm. They’re made of paper. You light them and send them up with the breeze. The ones you’ve been seeing, they’re probably for the lost princess.”

“The lost princess?”

“Yeah. The entire kingdom floods into the town and each person lights a lantern for her. It’s more of a festival these days, but… They're supposed to help her find her way home. If she’s really lost, that is.”

You hum something, an attempt to reply, but you're too distracted to say anything else. Floating paper. A lost princess. You close your eyes and clouds of purple, pink and orange burn against your eyelids. 

— 

"You want me to what?" 

"I want you to take me to see the lanterns." 

Steve's back aches from sleeping flat on the floor all night long, and his shoulders scream every time he moves from climbing, and his hands are gross and sore with scabs, and he truthfully doesn't have the patience for this conversation. 

"No." 

"Fine. Don't take me, and I will keep the tiara as an innkeeper's fee." 

"There's usually breakfast at an inn," he says. 

You slap a steaming hot bowl of porridge in front of him. You've drizzled the surface with honey and placed red berries over the top to form a smiling face. The heat of the porridge has melted the berries into blobs that break from their skin when he pokes them with a spoon. 

"Oh," he says. Nice.

He looks up to find you dressed in a different gown than yesterday, this one made up of a green bodice with white sleeves and a white skirt. The bottom hem is sewn with dainty yellow flowers, the bodice with vines in a darker shade of green. It's a very sweet dress on an otherwise sweet looking girl, if you ignore the formidable twist of your brow. 

Fine, he'll bite. Your frown is sweet too. 

"I'm not taking you anywhere," he says, about to scoop up a bite of porridge. He's starving. 

You pull the bowl away from him, his spoon diving straight into the gnarled wooden table. 

"You'll take me, or I'll tell the first palacemen that I find who you are and where you were." 

"This isn't how you negotiate." 

"Good thing I'm not negotiating." 

He tries to intimidate you. Steve is not very intimidating. He frowns and he looks unhappy rather than angry, the worst he dips into is a pestered annoyance. His stomach gurgles in the ensuing silence. 

"Why do you need someone to take you? Your mother left just this morning by herself."

You raise your eyebrows. 

Steve sighs. "And if I did take you… then what? I suppose you'll want safe passage home, as well?" 

You slide his porridge a little bit closer to his outstretched hand.

"You'll be coming back this way anyhow." 

Well, yeah. He didn't know you knew that. Steve sighs, the most pained and inconvenienced groan he can muster because everything is awful and he's hurting in six different places. You don’t budge. 

"Fine. Fine! I'll take you into the city to see the lanterns, and I'll bring you home. And you will give me back my satchel and my- uh, findings." 

You push the porridge toward him. "That was easier than I expected."

Steve wishes he could pretend your smugness wasn't sweet, either. Because he isn't going to make this easy for you, not one bit. 

He watches you pack your bag from the table and feels very, very sorry for you. For starters, you don't really have a bag, only a sack for potatoes now emptied. You take two clean dresses down from the clothesline they'd been hanging on and fold them before putting them at the bottom of the sack carefully, and then you're clueless. 

"It'll be five or six days," he says, "now I've lost my horse." 

Lost isn't the right word. His stolen horse had sprinted off into the forest and left him stranded. Another ailment to add to his list — thrown bodily off of a stallion. 

"Do you have any better shoes?" 

You look down at your pretty slippers and grimace. "No." 

"You don't get out much, do you?" 

You ignore him and pull a case of things out from under the small counter in the alcove of your kitchen. You drop a roll of linen bandages into the sack and shove the case back under the counter with your foot as you bring out a block of cheese and a box of matches. 

Poor girl, he thinks. 

"Don't worry too much about it." 

"I'm not worried," you say, topping your provisions off with a punnet of fruit and the last of your fresh flatbread covered in a beeswax wrapping. "This will be fun." 

—

You're scared enough to feel tears welling in your eyes. 

Steve walks ahead of you, shoes hidden by lush green grass as he makes his way toward the valley's exit. You're not sure he's realised you're not behind him, or maybe he has and he refuses to wait. You've finished bricking the secondary entrance to the tower closed again, and while it seems obviously disturbed you have no choice but to hope mother doesn't steer around the back anytime soon. 

Your adrenaline has been pumping ever since you jimmied the tile and unlocked the trap door. Your chest physically aches with anxiety, and your breath has begun to feel short and shallow. 

"Are you coming?" Steve calls. 

You heave the potato sack over your shoulder and take a step forward. 

The earth is soft and hard underfoot, an impossible sensation. You rock your heel back and forth and test the uneven ground for purchase. The temptation to reach down and touch it for the first time is high but Steve's still watching you, so you hurry toward him and try not to fall over. You take a huge, calming breath. 

It smells gorgeous out here. Despite keeping the window cracked and the tower clean, there's a lived-in smell that can't be escaped. Out here, you can practically taste the earth. The crisp air burns your nose. 

Steve keeps a fast pace and neither of you talk. Your companion isn't happy about his predicament and you can't blame him, you've practically taken him hostage. He isn't a poor sport either, and he hasn't been cruel. Quiet, he parts the ivy covering the valley exit and lets you pass. 

The world is even bigger from there. 

"Stay close, okay? I don't know what kind of vagrants we'll come across this far from town." 

You swallow a lump in your throat. "Uh-huh." 

You stay likely too close, your arm gracing his own every now and then. Each time you pull away and each time you end up drifting back toward him. The quiet is impenetrable. You don't know what to say to a man. To anybody. Mother's usually the guiding force of every conversation, and her insistence has left you poorly equipped. 

Steve seems content to languish in silence. 

You walk. You watch the sun move, heat burning your skin by midday. You're not used to walking such long distances or being so exposed to the elements, and by evening you hurt everywhere. Your face shines with perspiration and your shoes chafe your ankles raw, each step a barb. 

As if things couldn't get worse, guilt grabs and holds you. Guilt and fear. What will mother think if she finds out you've left? What would she say? How ridiculously naive, darling. I told you, you aren't to leave the tower. Do you seriously think you know better than I do? Do you think I'm stupid? I'm hurt. I'm hurting that you'd think so low of me. 

You try to shake the thoughts away. A shiver rushes down your spine. 

Steve holds a hand over his eyes, turning his head to the West where the sun approaches the horizon. 

"It'll be dark in a few hours,” he says. 

You nibble the inside of your cheek, voice hoarse and throat dry from your lack of conversation. "Will we camp for the night?" 

He shakes his head, the sun climbing up his neck to paint his brown hair blonde. "If memory serves, there's an inn not far from here." He smiles. "You'll like it." 

"Oh. That's good." 

"Yeah." 

You kick a small stone. "How do you know where we're going?" You'd been on a dirt path now for an hour or two, or rather two dirt paths, worn by carriage wheels. "Everything looks the same." 

"I'm an excellent navigator." 

Sure enough, he navigates the two of you toward a pretty little inn snugly hidden between a crop of towering, leafy trees, a shock of beige and brown in an overwhelmingly green landscape. 

"Le Vilain Caneton," you read off of the sign, giving him a bright smile. "That sounds nice." 

"What did I tell you? You're gonna love this." 

—

Steve doesn't feel bad, at first. 

He throws open the door. The handle slams hard enough into the wood behind it that he's surprised there isn't a cracking sound. He ushers you inside, finding that the handle hasn't broken a hole in the wall because there's already one there. 

It's sleazy, all things considered. Steve has avoided this place pretty much his entire adult life after a trade gone wrong, and while he feels his appearance has changed enough to spare him a skirmish he affects the Steven Harrington manner. Two-timing baby Stevie is nowhere to be seen. 

He's still a two-timer. Case in point. 

"Isn't it charming?" he murmurs to you, hand held aloft behind your back. Not touching but ready to if you step back. 

"Yeah," you say weakly. "Really cute." 

Adorable. 

Steve takes a step that encourages you forward into the main area of the room. The smell of cheap ale blooms and the floor is sticky with it. He regrets how it will likely ruin your pretty slippers but he isn't a coward, walking you right up to the bar where a scary looking guy stands wiping glasses with a dirty rag. 

"Are you the innkeeper?" he asks jovially. "We'd like a room." 

Scary guy squints, looks between you and Steve with apprehension. 

Steve's trying to scare you, not get caught. He throws his arm over your shoulders. You shrink under his touch. It's too late for him to pull away, guilt softening the grasp he has on your shoulder as he lays down a thick facade. 

"My wife's tired as a lamb from walking all day, could we get a hot bath drawn with that?" 

Scary guy spits into the cup with a scoff. "Judy?" he calls out gruffly. 

Steve beams. You curl into him slowly, a flower turning to the sun, hiding from the cold. You still smell of jasmine milk soap after all these hours of walking, but he doesn't miss how the lengths of your hair have grown dishevelled with sweat and wind. He wonders how long it might take you to brush free the knots and tangles. He wonders if you do it in the bath. 

You turn to him with your face shining with a trust he doesn't deserve, like you're seeking his protection. 

"Steve, I don't have any money," you whisper. 

His hand rests in the nook of your neck. "That's alright. Consider it part of your innkeeper's fee." 

"Does this come with breakfast, too?" you ask genuinely. 

Judy, a tall, lithely woman who can't be more than thirty takes her station behind the bar and smiles at you before her eyes follow Steve's arm to his body. He freezes at the calculating tilt of her head, the subtle but not invisible squint. 

"Breakfast is an additional two silvers."

"And for the room and bath?" 

"Ten for the room, five for the bath, two for breakfast." Judy grins. Her hair is like copper, shifting around sharp cheekbones. "Seventeen silvers all together." 

Steve frowns but hands over the money. 

Judy takes you up the first flight of rickety stairs to your room, and nods toward the bathing room as you pass it. She shows you where you'll be spending the night, a ramshackle room with a bed made of what Steve suspects to be more straw than padding. He's relieved at the thick quilt set and folded at the bottom. It looks clean enough. 

"I'll knock when the bath is drawn. Will that be for both of you?" 

And so. Steve had feared this, feared the bath in general, and had forgotten to explain this fear to you. 

"Both of us," he says, nodding. 

You're thankfully smart enough to keep any grievances you have at that to yourself. At least, until the door closes, and you pin him with a look that's a mixture of betrayed and furious. Your eyebrows pinch together. 

"Why did you say that?" 

"It's what's expected of us." 

"By who?" you ask, near belligerent. 

He shushes you, a frown of his own taking form. "By everybody. It's what married couples do, they share the water when travelling. And it wouldn't be proper for you to be in the bathing room by yourself, how could your husband protect your honour?" 

"You're not my husband." 

He shushes you again, this time with a severe expression that finally has you giving pause. Your eyes flash with fear and quickly clear. You take a step back. 

He holds a hand out toward you amicably. "Sorry. But it will be much safer for both of us if we can keep our ruse alive. Someone as handsome as you, it isn't right for your reputation to be travelling with me while you're still unmarried, you know? And for me…" He doesn't want to explain the horrible truth to you. If Steve refuses to leave you, to share you, to let men do what men would like to do to you, that might invite a riot.

"I don't have a reputation," you say. 

He shrugs. "It is safer for us to be married."  He hesitates, remembering why he'd brought you here in the first place. The horrible truth may be unseemly, but it could be enough to get you to bow out. "If we aren't married… Well, it doesn't bear saying." 

"What?" you ask, a curious thing. He loves it, and not only because it works to his advantage. 

"Men will take anything they find beautiful. And without care." 

Your fingers tighten around the mouth of your potato sack bag. 

"I see," you say. "Of course. I knew that, mother always says, but." 

He winces at the reminder of your cruel mother. He feels cruel himself, suddenly, for scaring you on purpose as your mother likely does, for being another member of the opposition in your life. All you want is to see the Princess' lanterns, so much so you've hidden under your bed and painted their colours painstakingly onto each slat of supporting wood. A hidden wish, and one you'd deigned to share with him. He starts to think, Maybe I should just take her. How much could it possibly cost me? 

But Steve's from nothing. He was born from nothing, he grew up with nothing. He is, in the grand scheme of the universe and its many, many stars, nothing. Another orphaned boy destined to waste his life stealing coppers from coin purses and sleeping in doorways. 

The sooner he gets that tiara, the better. No more sleeping outside. No more staring up at the wine dark sky and wondering if any of those blistering stars can hear him. 

If they can, they aren't listening. 

You put your bag down on the floor. It thunks. 

"What have you piled in there, sweetness? A mountain?" he asks, momentarily distracted. 

"Nothing!" you rush to say, standing in front of your bag like it might hide it from his view. 

The door knocks before he can question you further. "The bath!" comes Judy's solid tone. 

"Thank you," Steve says, "we'll be right out." He nods at you. "Your change of clothes?" 

You search through your bag with your shoulders to him, hunched to shield the mystery. 

"You can keep your secrets," he teases lightly. The stars know he keeps his own. 

Through the hallway to the bathing room, Judy kicks open the door, points to the bath as though he might not see it otherwise, and then the small weight by the doorway to keep the door closed. There's no steam to the water. 

"How conning," Steve mutters, closing the door after Judy's departure. 

"What?" you ask, your voice curiously strung. 

"The water’s barely hot." 

"I've never had a hot bath before." 

He looks at you through the corner of his eye. "Never?" 

"Sometimes mother would pour warm water through my hair, but no. Does it hurt, when it's too hot?" 

He can't help grinning at you. "Some of the time," he concedes. "It's a nice kind of hurting, though, do you know what I mean? You'll feel much better after." He chuckles, sticking his finger into the water. It isn't not hot, but it could be better considering its cost. "Not that this could ever hurt you." 

"A nice kind of hurting," you mumble. 

"Mm. You should try to be quick, they might want the bath for someone else soon." 

You nod, eyes darkening with your remembered predicament. You hug your clean dress to your chest. He thinks, suddenly, that your hair looks very heavy, and that it must hurt your neck. 

"I won't look," he says, voice soft with sincerity. 

Your shoulders relax. 

He sits with his legs stretched out and shoes pressed to the door to stop a potential intruder, listening, trying not to listen, as you peel out of your clothes. Your bare feet sound strange over the wooden floor, a shushing sound. Your dress and corset fall in rustling waves. 

You gasp as you step into the water. "Oh," you say, the small sound imbued with a simple, common pleasure. 

He feels the tension like fog over the kingdom waters in summer, when the heat is tangible and the nights are short. You look so soft in your clothes. Outside of them, Steve can only imagine. 

He tries very hard to push it from his mind, feeling an unwelcome heat rise anyhow. He blames it on the humidity of the room. 

You pitter for a moment, in awe of the heat. 

"How–" His voice gets caught. He clears his throat, tries a second time, "How do you wash your hair?" 

"I lather the soap in my hands and–" You seem to be victim of the same affliction as he is. "Steve, could you pass me my soap? I'm sorry, I've left it on the vanity with my dress." 

"If you want me to help you, you need only ask. I've been said to have very hard-working hands."

"I thought you were a thief?"

Steve stands up grudgingly. He usually has much better luck with the ladies, yet all his joking flirtation soars straight over your head. Not that he actually wants it to land, nor does he think he could handle your attention. 

He doesn't look at you as he grabs your bar of soap. He unwraps its beeswax covering and hands it to you, looking decidedly at the damp wall opposite. He feels your wet hand touch his. Your skin is so hot it startles him, and the bar of soap slips between your outstretched fingers, slamming and sliding somewhere unknown. 

"Shit," he says. "Alright, best cover yourself." 

He hears quick movements in the water as he turns to you, throwing his gaze to the floor, only a split flash of your naked skin to be seen. Your soap has rounded the corner of the wooden tub, lying behind your straight back. He kneels to pick it up, scowling at the scum sticking to its underside, and nearly headbutts your forehead as he stands. 

He springs back, and he stares. You have water running in rivers down your face, your wet hair framing your shining cheeks, pooling down. It covers the swell of your chest so precisely that Steve bites his tongue, forcing his eyeline back to your waiting face. You have water in your eyes like tears, their lashes turned to triangles, clinging to one another. 

You look like one of the women from his storybook. A water nymph. A siren. The room is warm with steam, and his cheeks, hot to begin with, emanate enough heat to warm your tub again as he makes the comparison. Your looks alone might draw him to drowning. 

"Steve?" you ask, holding out your hand. 

Hair shifts over your body like a dancing shadow, or a beaming light. He isn't sure. There's something about it that feels extraordinary, not just in the length of it. 

He passes you your soap. Ridiculous, he thinks. Imbecilic. Your hair is hair and nothing more. While you're achingly pretty and you have a fine hand, that is where your remarkability ends. 

"Could you turn around again?" you ask, flustered.

He turns around. 

—

"You brought your pan?" Steve asks you, bewildered. He's standing by the small, thin window, metal-wrought panes that filter the last of the sun's rays. 

You stand shivering by your potato sack and frown at him, setting the pan on the sheets. "I think we might have a more pressing issue." 

"We don't have anything." He seems to appraise your condition. "How do you usually dry your hair?" 

"You wouldn't believe me." 

"How cryptic! I'm afraid you're destined to freeze here, my heart. Or we could take you home, where you may comfortably perform whatever ritual it is that you perform and dry your hair." 

"Wasn't there a fireplace downstairs?" 

"We aren't going back down there." 

"We aren't," you say in agreement, turning his distaste of the collective pronoun back on him. "I'll go by myself." 

"That is a horrible, terrible, awful idea." 

"I'm not going home. I want to– I’m going to see the paper lanterns." 

Steve sighs. After your bath, he'd taken the smaller basin of clean water and washed up, now standing in front of you in his only change of clothes, a darker, navy tunic buttoned to the throat and simple slacks. His shoes are tightly laced even at this hour. You look down at your bare feet and feel majorly abashed by their new blisters and haphazard bandaging. You can't make yourself put your slippers back on. 

He continues his sighing as he crosses the room. He's still grumbling when he opens the door. 

"Well?" he asks, holding it open. 

You pat his arm gently as you pass. "Thank you." 

You trek down the stairs, careful with each footstep that you aren't trodding on a misplaced nail or scary splinter. Wood changes to stone flooring, tiles of a terracotta colour that are large and misshapen. You keep your eyes on them as you cross the room to its only source of heat, a blistering hearth just shy of the room's stage and piano. Somebody sits behind it on the piano bench, though they aren't playing the piano at all, but a great wooden instrument you've never seen. 

"What is that?" you ask Steve. 

He doesn't bend under your attention. He frowns ever so slightly. "What?" 

You point to the instrument as conspicuously as you can. 

Steve takes your shoulder into his hand and guides you toward the fireplace without malice. He's prompting you along, as you've stopped in the middle of the room. 

"You've never seen one of those?" he asks. 

"Not in any of my books." 

"I guess they're still new. That's a vihuela. It's a… it's a nice sound." 

You nod appreciatively, and feel much happier as Steve pulls a nearby chair as close to the hearth as he can without garnering any disgruntled looks from the other patrons. You sneak a peek at their faces. Most are naturally intimidating; there are men with weathered, unkind faces lining the walls with tankards of ale in hand; there are travellers such as yourselves, though they look hardened, sharper than you ever could, coin purses on tables as if daring you to try lifting them; there are women, sparsely, who are sharper in a different way. They remind you of a summer rose, darkly red, a gorgeous head of petals distracting from a thorny stem. 

You sit down in your chair and feel the heat of the fireplace greet your chilled skin, and your soaked back. Your dress has soaked up much of your hairs dripping, the kind of unfortunate happenstance that might spiral into your hypothermic death. Steve puts his chair beside yours and turns his entire body toward yours. You like it. It's like he's hiding you from everybody else, replacing their sneering gazes with his fed-up acceptance. You find extreme comfort in this feeling, as though Steve is the only person in the room with you. 

"Turn to me." 

"What if my hair catches?" 

"You aren't close enough for that." 

You turn to Steve completely. You look like lovers, you must, worse when he takes your slippers and holds them on top of one of his thighs. He has wide thighs, and they make you feel a feeling you don't understand. Everything you know about men has come from Mother or books. Mother claims them to be evil in their entirety. Of the few books you have, and fewer that talk of men beyond the factual, none have ever mentioned why their legs look like that, and why it will make you feel like you've swallowed something much too hot. 

"I'll make sure your hair doesn't go up in flames," he promises grandly, unnecessarily, "consider it one of my guidely duties." 

A shy, pleased smile takes your lips. "Thank you." 

"Yeah, you're welcome." He closes his eyes and tips his head back. "Stars, I'm hungry." 

"I have–" 

"We'll buy dinner. They have hunter's stew here, have you ever tried that?" 

"No." 

He laughs, crossing his arms across his chest. "Of course not. Alright, this will sound gross, but it's really old stew. Years old, maybe decades. They keep adding and adding to the pot with whatever’s in season." 

You don't know everything, or anything, really, but you know that sounds like food poisoning in a bowl. "How doesn't it kill you?" 

"They keep it really, really hot, all day long." 

You like the way he says it, even if he's maybe making fun. He almost sings each word, a melodic cadence to his pronunciation that endears you further. 

"And you've had it? What does it taste like?" 

"See, you'd think it tastes a bit muddled, right? But it's good. You'll like it." 

He makes no move to get up and get the aforementioned soup. You aren't particularly hungry, leaning back just a little so the brutal heat of the flames can warm your damp shoulder. The wetness of your dress is fading, warmed but still undeniably wet, and you wonder if the heat is hurting your hair. Mother always says to keep your hair as far from the hearth as you can at all times, and gets angry when you sit too close. 

The soot, darling. The soot will cling to your hair and ruin it. It is, in Mother's opinion, the most beautiful thing about you. 

Mother. She shouldn't be back home for days now, and still you're worrying. Mostly about being caught. But if you're caught, and she knows you left… 

You have a strange love for your mother. The kind that makes you feel sick in intensity. You want, at all times, to please her. And you know this isn't something she would approve of, Stars, she'd be so disappointed in you for taking this risk. 

You stare up at a wooden beam past Steve's head and try not to tear up. Anxiety eats at you until there's nothing left but your skin, your insides a tangled dark whorl of misery. She must know you've left home. She must know how terribly ungrateful you are for everything she's sacrificed. She must know–

"Are you okay?" 

You blink hurriedly and face Steve, hoping this will dispel the quick-welling tears clouding your vision. It doesn't work: blinking can’t erase years of pent up worry. You wipe your eyes before they can roll down your cheeks and humiliate you further. 

"I'm okay," you say. 

Steve frowns again. He's a frowny guy. 

"What's wrong?" He takes your elbow into his hand.

"Nothing. Uh…" You smile through your embarrassment. "We don't light the hearth at home, often, and uh, I think the smoke is irritating my eyes." You nod for emphasis. 

Steve does not believe you, clearly, but he squeezes your elbow and nods back. 

He looks at your face until you're uneasy. 

"I'll go get that stew,” he says, patting your arm. 

You feel strange once he’s gone. It's nice to be by yourself for a moment. You've spent the majority of your adult life alone while mother goes here, there, and everywhere. You're never allowed to go with her, too stupid for the outside world and all its challenges. 

You look around the room now and wonder if this is really the world she means. Sure, it's foreign, and it's unsettling, and without Steve by your side you might not be left alone as you have been, but you'd expected more. Where are all the insects that make you sick, and the men with cutlasses and shackles? 

Your eyes drift to the vihuela player. He's moved to sit at the opposite side of the fire. He strums lackadaisically at his instrument, his shoulders against the wall and a cup of mead at his feet. It's obvious nobody's given him any coin in a while. 

Behind him sits the piano, glimmering with the flickering firelight. You've read about them, you've even seen drawings of harpsichords, but never heard one played. You wonder what it sounds like. Any music at all is amazing to you. All you've ever heard is singing. One song. 

Steve returns with two bowls of hunter's stew. You're scared to try it but horrified that you might look like a coward in front of him. Again. Your tears had been bad enough. 

You swallow a spoonful and your eyes water unbidden. "Oh, wow." 

"Good, huh?" 

You try not to cough. "It's rich." 

"I guess you haven't had stuff like this before, huh?" He forks through his bowl and pulls out a big pale vegetable roughly cubed. "You like potato?" 

"Yeah," you say, and before you've finished he's pushing the potato against the lip of your bowl and pulling the tines of his fork free. It falls into your stew with a small splash. "Oh. Thank you." 

You try to eat as much of it as you can but start to feel sick somewhere in the middle. You set your bowl aside and Steve, bowl emptied, drops his next to it, wiping his hands together and standing. 

You look up, puzzled. 

"Come on." 

Your hair isn't quite dry, a tugging weight for your neck as Steve slides his hand over your warm shoulder. You worry it might never full dry again, not without a helping hand. 

He leads you up the small platform to the piano. 

You look to him inquisitively. 

"It's alright. I asked them if you could try it. Just try not to play too loudly and disrupt the bard." 

"How do you adjust how loud it is?" 

He pushes down on your shoulders until you're sitting on the bench. "You play softly. It's going to be a little loud no matter what. Don't smash the keys." 

"Are they fragile?" you ask worriedly, holding your tensed fingertips above the white and pitch keys. 

"No," he says, laughing without any judgement, "move over, I'll show you." 

He sits on the bench beside you. There's not a whole lot of room, and his arm presses hot to yours. He places his hand above the keys like he knows what he's doing, and presses down. He plays a line of notes, the sounds a plinking rising melody that has you gasping in awe. 

"Don't," —he presses down a huge chunk of keys, and the sound is awful— "do this." 

You look up to see if anybody's glaring. Then you burst into giggles, face pressed to his shoulder on automatic as you try to smother the sound. He laughs warmly near your ear.

You probe curiously at the keys and try to make a song. You don't know how, don't know one note from another, you can't fathom how someone might make this into anything more than the bard's lazy fingerings. 

"Do you know anything?" Steve asks. 

Do you know anything? Mother demands. Darling, I've told you a million times…

"No. Sorry," you say. 

His voice is sincerely sweet, like he's confused you'd ever be sorry, "For what? I can play you something. Choose a song." 

"I only know the one." 

He blinks at you. You shrink into yourself as he averts his gaze, knowing what he's thinking. How useless you are. 

The song starts slowly. Steve taps one key, and then another. It lends and lists into music suddenly, the repetition of a simple melody. He doesn't sing, just speaks the words as he plays. 

"She sends me a flower to hold me," he says, an echo of song in his tone. "She sends me a flower to– night." He moves his hands up to a higher sound. "She loves me too much, so she's told me. But if she loved me, oh loved me, she might… Come to see me, oh sweetheart, come to see me, oh lover, come to see me, oh darling." He smiles at you. "Come to see me to– night." He clears his throat, hand stilling. "You'd sing the bridge again, but I think I'll spare your ears." 

"Is that yours?" you ask him. 

He drops his hand into his lap. "No. Steve Harrington doesn't pen love poems, I'm afraid." 

"Only plays them." 

His smile turns to a smirk, so sticky it's catching. 

"You're not the mouse I'd thought you were," he says.

"Was this realisation before or after I tried to maim you with a cast iron pan?" 

He's about to answer, a spark behind his eyes, when the door opens wide enough to split its hinges. The origin of the hole in the wall is clear, and he waltzes in with a band of men behind him, grinning. 

"Oh, for Stars’ sake," Steve mutters. 

"What?" you ask. 

The man at the front of the group of men — or, as they step into the light and reveal themselves, boys — sets his one un-patched eye on you and Steve, smiles like the devil, and croons, "Stevie!" 

Steve's smile is gone. 

"Eddie," he says tiredly. 

"You're back!" Eddie looks you up and down, and his expression turns to one of complete surprise. "With a wife? My, my, we have been busy." 

Steve stands, and Eddie, in all his darkness, dark hair and eyes and tunic, his grin turns mean. You hide behind one of Steve's thighs, hesitant. He drops his hand against the top of your head. 

"Why's it matter?" Steve asks. 

"It doesn't." This Eddie sounds all too cheerful. "What does matter, I'm afraid, is the debt between us." 

"I don't owe you anything." 

You watch with widened eyes as Eddie unsheathes his sword. The scabbard has a mottling of shiny reds and blacks, and the blade glows silver to white in the light. It's sharp.

Steve pulls a small knife from his hip. You hadn't realised he was carrying a weapon. 

Eddie takes a step forward, his shoes like a thunderclap across the wooden floor. 

"I'm afraid my Sweetheart here doesn't agree." 

˗ˋˏ ☆ ˎˊ˗

eddie isn’t a bad guy he’s just confrontational <3 thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please consider reblogging i promise it makes a huge difference <3

[maroon-cardigan-deactivated2025]

christmas affairs | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: your christmas turns into a chaotic mess when your boss can’t fly back home and you end up stuck in New York City with him.

millionaireboss!steve harrington x assistant!fem!reader | friend-ish to lovers | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

word count: 26.7k

warnings: this one shot and the content i write are +18, minors do NOT interact. heavy slowburn, lots of pining & yearning. | slight age gap between reader and steve but is not specified | ANGST, tw: loss of a parent (reader’s) | SMUT, spitting, unprotected p in v, oral (f & m receiving).

author’s note: hi cuties ! ♡ i’m so sorry it took me so long to post this but it’s a LONG one so it took me ages to finish it and ages to edit it. this was the first idea that popped into my mind when i started writing down ideas for the christmas library, so i’m so so happy to finally share it with you ! enjoy and lmk what you think x

[banners: @adornedwithlight & @cafekitsune]

‘So, all the presents you pre-approved have already been sent to your father’s home.’ You said distractedly while looking at the list of tasks on the iPad. ‘All wrapped. All carefully tagged for each member of your family.’

‘Right.’ Steve said sitting next to you. You didn’t notice the way he observed you from his seat, eyes focused on how your hands typed quickly on the keyboard as you mumbled nonsense to yourself.

You only lifted your head briefly when the sound of the wind outside became too loud. Your boss’ eyes followed your confused stare until your eyes fell on him. The subtle, shy smile on his mouth made you frown. The way his brown eyes lifted, adorned by young wrinkles, made you feel equally flushed and annoyed. Mr Harrington had this thing sometimes; he would simply look at you and not say anything until you lifted your eyebrows or asked him directly.

‘What is it?’ You said going back to the list on the iPad. ‘Just fifteen minutes until you can start boarding the jet.’

You saw him shake his head from the corner of your eye, still looking at you.

‘Are you excited to go back home?’

‘Absolutely.’ You said going back to the list. ‘Thrilled.’

He let out a snorty laugh to your indifference, and to your surprise, you smiled softly.

‘Who’s waiting for you there?’ He pressed, moving softly towards you. The smell of his expensive pine cologne engulfed you; it had a subtle note of smoke underneath. Somehow that scent always managed to make you feel equally stressed and relieved. ‘Cousins? Grandparents? You have a stepdad, right?’

‘I do.’ You said locking the iPad before looking back at his expectant brown eyes that rarely intimidated you this much. ‘It’s just him and my mom.’

He nodded softly, looking down at his freshly polished shoes. You wondered if he knew the reason they were so shiny was that you had remembered his staff to polish them twice this week. If he knew the reason he was wearing his favourite suit was because you had selected this one for him that morning. That you were the one that had bought the navy cashmere scarf he was wearing, just because you knew his confidence would boost considerably that way. He hadn’t put gel on his hair today, making the few premature grey hairs above his ear more visible.

You resorted to look back at your work phone to stop staring at him.

As his Personal Assistant, you had a vague idea of what was waiting for Mr Harrington back home, the heir of one of the wealthiest corporations in the country. The disapproving stare of his father, siblings that expected he’d make a mistake so they could take over. He had never told you that he didn’t even want to do any of it, but he didn’t need to. Having worked for two years with Steve, you could see it very clearly by yourself.

That could be the reason why he was asking so many questions about you, things he knew already. Just so he could focus on something else.

‘Do you hang out with any school friends?’ He asked then, you lifted your eyes to find his lit up with cheeky interest. He was too unaware to notice, though, that you’d never give him more information than necessary. ‘Got a boyfriend to catch up with over there?’

You were very aware that he knew the answer to that question, having played this game so many times before.

‘I’ve got something better than a boyfriend.’ You said, to what his eyebrows lifted with more curiosity. You opened your mouth to say something, when your personal phone started buzzing inside your pocket. Standing up, he followed your movements with his eyes as you looked back at him with unusual humour in yours. ‘I’ve got two boyfriends.’

You heard his subtle, chesty laugh behind you as you walked in the toilets’ direction.

‘Hey, mom.’

‘Hey, sweetie.’ She said when you walked inside the ladies’ with two other people behind you. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good.’ You replied softly, feeling the anxiety rushing to your chest. You rested your back against the wall, avoiding your reflection on the mirror. ‘Just… busy, you know? I’m at the airport right now.’

‘Hopefully to come visit your mother?’ She pressed.

‘Mom.’

‘Gosh! I just can’t believe that obnoxious man won’t let you spend Christmas with your family!’

‘It’s just…’ You started to say, but your eyes fell on the woman who washed her hands on the sink next to you, trying to hide the fact she was staring through the corner of her eye. You rarely got recognised, but it could happen. Lots of people wanted to get close to Mr Harrington, sometimes you were the quickest way to do that. ‘We’re just very busy this time of the year.’

‘No one should be working on Christmas.’ She argued.

You bit your lip as the woman dried her hands with some tissues. She smiled at you, and you had to be polite enough to return the gesture.

‘I-I was there for Thanksgiving.’ You said once she left the room.

‘Just for three days.’ Your mother complained. ‘Three days.’

‘I know, mom. And I’m sorry.’ You sighed, looking at the ceiling, pondering about what to do. The winter wind outside echoed against the walls of the private airport, and you wondered if it had started snowing yet. ‘Listen, I— I might have an interview scheduled in the next few days.’

‘You’re going to quit?’ She asked after a while.

‘Maybe.’ You swallowed hard. ‘I don’t know. If I get a good offer, I might.’

‘Oh, thank God!’ You rolled your eyes, ‘I just hate to see you working for that spoiled man. And his father! I can tell he’s vile, too. The stories you’ve told me—’

‘Mom— Mom, those are confidential, okay?’ You said quickly. ‘It’s not gossip that you can share on your knitting club, you hear me?’

‘I crochet.’

You rolled your eyes again, checking your watch. ‘Listen, I’ve got a plane to catch, okay? I love you. Hopefully I’ll see you for New Year’s Eve.’

‘Hopefully? You know very well I need you here by the 30th.’

‘I’ll try.’ You said before hanging up.

Outside, you found Steve standing next to his and your hand-luggage. You smiled softly, checking your list once again, and making sure that everything was in order.

‘I know the journey’s super quick, but I made sure to pack some books for you. They should be in the jet already— What?’

‘Nothing.’ He laughed softly when you looked back at him, his eyes took over your frown for a second before he shook his head. ‘Do you have everything? For your family?’

‘Me?’ You asked, before letting out a silly laugh. ‘Of course I do.’

‘Good.’ He said, licking his lips. Almost hesitating. ‘Good. Well, uhm…’

His eyes saw the way yours got lost behind him, probably checking that he was in the right gate.

‘…Try to disconnect a little, okay? Get some rest, maybe turn off every single device you own for a few hours.’

‘What?’ You said looking back at him. ‘Don’t be silly, Mr. Harrington. We’ve got work to do.’

He always laughed when you employed a formal tone with him, and it never failed to make you roll your eyes.

‘I got work to do.’ He said then. ‘You just have to enjoy your Christmas.’

‘Right.’ You said sarcastically under your breath before standing up straight, you opened your mouth to say something, but the noise of the wind against the airport’s rooftop forced you to close it.

Steve observed you in the few seconds it took for the weather to calm down, playing with something inside his pockets. You smiled uncomfortably at him before your eyes fell on the few other people that were around. Cleaning staff, security, a few pilots that walked towards other gates.

‘Why are you being so awkward today?’ You finally said, looking back at him.

‘Me?’ He laughed in that cocky way that irritated you, making you lift your eyebrows in disbelief. ‘I’m just figuring out a way to wish you a Merry Christmas.’

‘Well, Merry Christmas, then.’ You said as politely as you could, ignoring the heat that rushed to your cheeks.  ‘I’ll see you in a few days. I’ll try my best not to call you, but please keep an eye on your emails— What’s so funny?’

He was smiling, amused probably by your irritability or your nerves. He shook his head softly, looking at you with unbearable condescendence.

The speakers called for him then, announcing that his jet was ready to board and wishing him a good journey. This was it. Yet he stood a few seconds in front of you, almost hesitating. Your eyes lingered on his weird posture, on the way he kept playing with his pockets, on the tap of his shoe on the floor.

‘Merry Christmas.’ He simply said with a shy smile.

You didn’t leave until you saw him walk through the gate.

It had been a couple of hours since you had said goodbye to your boss, when you received a call from the recruiter. She had said something about New York’s weather and having to drive back home from Christmas, and now you were having your interview today.

It was fine. You were prepared, and most importantly, you were done with Mr Harrington. The experience you had acquired this last couple of years was invaluable, really. He was generous, and apart from his usual forgetfulness and chaotic private life, he was a good boss. But it had been weeks, maybe months really, of feeling that you needed to leave this job.

If you only knew why you felt this way.

‘I’m so sorry about this.’ Robin said as she walked down the corridor in her red suit.

You stood up from the seat on the reception to her office, shaking your head softly.

‘I just need to leave before the weather gets worse, you know?’ She spoke. ‘The news are showing the forecast’s terrible, and we all need to be home for Christmas, right?’

‘Right.’ You said shyly as you followed her inside.

Maybe not you, though.

‘Please have a seat.’ She said as you walked inside her luxurious office, though you had seen prettier and bigger. Steve’s was probably the size of the whole floor.

You did as she said, your eyes getting briefly lost on the snowy skyscrapers behind her as she sat in front of you.

‘Right.’ She said enthusiastically putting her glasses on, ‘Let’s get to the point. I know you’re familiar with my clients’ work. Not much to say, she’s easy to work with. Believe it or not, most authors are. At least they’re easier than millionaires.’

You laughed softly.

‘Well, I love Miss Wheeler’s work and have followed her since I was in college. It’d be nice to maybe use my skills for the area I specialised back then.’

‘Well, I have to say, your CV is impressive.’ She said going through the piece of paper with your name on top. ‘You could work for the president if you wanted to.’

You smiled softly at her flattery, yet there was something inside you that felt different. Something that felt wrong.

‘It says you’ve been Harrington’s publicist for most of this year too?’

‘Oh. Yeah.’ You sat straighter on the chair. ‘That’s temporary, though. His PR representative… Hannah, she’s currently on maternity leave.’

‘She’s been on leave for six months?’ Her eyes observed you under her glasses with incredulity.

‘Uh, well— Yes.’ You said shyly. ‘St— Mr Harrington, he offered her paid leave for the first year.’

Robin sat back, letting out a defeated laugh. You felt insecure somehow, observing the way she removed her glasses to chew at the temple’s tip.

‘But I can’t offer you that.’

‘Well, you don’t have to.’ You straightened your back even more. ‘I mean, I’m not even planning to—’

‘But you might.’ She left the CV on her desk, biting her lip as you felt your confidence melt. ‘There might be stuff he’s giving you that my client won’t be able to offer. Nancy can be generous but she’s still an author. An Editorial PA earns considerably less than an Executive PA.’ She laughed. ‘Much less. For some it’s like an entry level job, and you’re past that at this point.’

‘But I want this job.’ You argued. It came out so small you didn’t even believe it.

‘Why?’ She asked perplexed.

‘Because I’m…’ What? Because you were what?  Steve had always treated you with respect and trust. He was the reason why you were able to buy your first apartment, the reason why you were almost done paying your student loans. Then what was it? What was it about him that made this job so unbearable? ‘I’m unhappy.’ 

‘Unhappy?’ She repeated. ‘How? Is he a creep or something?’

‘No!’ You rushed to say. ‘No, of course not. Mr Harrington is good— he’s uhm, he’s kind. He’s been very kind to me. I’m just, perhaps… A bit bored.’

You tried hard to believe your own lie, but the truth was that every day with Steve was different. He was always somewhere, doing something new and unique. He was very smart too, it was hard to keep up sometimes, but it challenged you. This, him, was everything but boring. The thought made the heat rush to your cheeks, and as if you had evoked him, your phone started buzzing on your pocket.

‘Boring?’ Repeated Robin as you took the device out to confirm it was Steve. You did something you had rarely done and sent his call to voicemail. Robin’s laugh made you look back at her. ‘Well, I’m afraid to tell you I wouldn’t call working with Miss Wheeler fun. In fact, it will be very monotonous.’

‘I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.’ You pressed. ‘Listen, just because I want a change it doesn't mean I’m capricious…’

‘It’s not that.’ She said leaning in on over the desk. Her eyes were full of kindness, and still, you hadn’t felt this childish in a long time. ‘Listen, you’re overqualified. And Nancy can’t afford you.’

You sat still on your seat, processing her words for a few seconds before nodding.

‘I mean you could apply to work with the FBI.’ She said. You tried to conceal your annoyance the best way you could. ‘Or as I said, with the President.’

You were pretty sure your frown turned worse with every suggestion, so all you could do was try to smile politely. Robin sat down more comfortably, looking back at you with interest.

‘I can check with my contacts if there’s any kind of offer that’s appropriate for your level of knowledge and experience. Someone who could afford you.’

‘You mean other corporate executives.’

‘Possibly, but not necessarily.’

You repressed a sigh, considering your alternatives.

‘I just…’ You started to say, but you seemed unsure of what to say, looking through the window at all those snowy skyscrapers you had learned the names of in the last couple of years working for your boss. You looked back at her with honesty overflowing form your eyes. ‘I have a deep hatred for those kind of men.’

‘You don’t seem to hate Mr Harrington.’

Precisely, you thought. You didn’t. You couldn’t.

It had been a few hours since you had left Robin’s office, and the sense of failure hadn’t left your body. It was odd, you considered, sitting down against the window of your hotel room wearing your silk robe over your pyjama dress. It had been a long while since the last time you hadn’t gotten something that you wanted.

The city looked silent from the window of the Plaza Hotel, a thick layer of snow falling over the buildings, the streets, and the people. You drank the last drops of wine from the glass, surprised at the weight of the bottle once you stretched your arm to refill it. Somehow you had managed to drink a whole bottle by yourself before dinner time.

Once you found the courage to stand up, the room around you moved slightly before you could find your balance, realising you underestimated how drunk you were. You needed some room service, maybe a bath and an early night. And then you’d fix your broken heart tomorrow.

But when you walked to get the telephone to order food, the screen of your work phone showed three missed calls from Steve. He had even called you once on your personal number, the screen had shown you had a pending voicemail.

Your heart beat hard against your chest for some reason, immediately returning the call. You’d listen to the voicemail later, the only thing you were focused on now was the sound of your pulse in your ears as the dialler beeped.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You said as soon as he picked up the phone. ‘I’m genuinely, genuinely sorry.’

His laugh on the other side of the line made you even more embarrassed.

‘It’s fine.’ He said softly, you could hear the heavy noise of the wind on the line. ‘Listen, we had to fly back to the city. The wind was too much, apparently there’s going to be a snowstorm tonight, so… I need a hotel room.’

You shut your eyes, nodding and hating New York City like you never had in your life.

‘Sure.’ You spoke. ‘Right. I’ll sort it out, just give me a few minutes.’

‘Thanks.’ You heard him laugh awkwardly as you searched for your laptop in between your luggage. ‘I’m sorry, too. Like, I was really gonna try hard not to disturb you during the holidays. Did you make it home safely?’

The softness of his tone would’ve had a different effect on you if it wasn’t for the fact all the hotels in the city were booked. You felt your anxiety rise on your chest, the stress starting to beat your temples, thinking about what to do.

‘Are you there?’

‘Yeah.’ You said. ‘I, uh… I-I missed my plane too. I’m staying at the Plaza. I’m gonna try to get you a room here. Otherwise, I will, uhm, maybe have a look at that penthouse we went to see during Thanksgiving?’

‘Right!’ He said as you put him on speaker. ‘I should’ve really bought it, huh?’

You laughed softly as you took your robe off and replaced it with your trench coat.

‘I told you; you need your own place in the city.’ You said looking at yourself in the mirror. If you fixed the buttons and the belt nicely, no one would notice you were wearing just a slip dress underneath.

He sighed in resignation while you fixed your makeup and hair in the hallway mirror.

‘I should listen to you more often.’ He said.

‘Can’t argue with that logic.’ You said walking towards the bathroom to use some mouthwash.

Steve stayed silent for a while as you spit on the sink, it was so quiet you thought for a second that he had hung up.

‘Maybe I should ask my dad—’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ You interrupted him. ‘I’ll get you a room here. At the Plaza.’

‘It’s gonna be impossible.’

‘Not for me.’

He laughed softly, almost tenderly. It was unbearable.

‘I’ll call you as soon as I have a room.’ You said before hanging up.

‘That’s not true.’ You said calmly as you stood in front of the reception counter. ‘I happen to know the person who manages Mr Munson, and I know for sure, that he’s not gonna be staying at the hotel tonight.’

The reception was busy with important guests walking around in their evening gowns and smoking suits. There was jazzy Christmas music coming from somewhere and the cold wind sneaked in from the revolving door every time someone walked inside. You felt overwhelmed, still a bit affected by the alcohol, but there was no way you’d take no for an answer.

‘I can’t confirm or deny confidential information, Ma’am.’ The manager said from behind the counter. He was a tall man with the moustache of a 1940’s detective, almost caricaturesque in the least convenient way.

‘It’s confidential for you.’ You said carefully. ‘Not for me. I know Eddie Munson’s not going to be here tonight because he couldn’t fly to New York. I know that his booking is cancelled. And I know you have a Vanderbilt King Suite available for my client.’

‘As I said, we can’t deny or confirm that information.’ He said with a polite smile that hid everything but politeness behind it. ‘It’s Christmas Eve, Ma’am. There’s no rooms.’

‘Listen.’ You said, feeling defeated. ‘You’re trying to do your job, and so am I. My boss is about to get here in fifteen minutes. He’s a public figure, he needs privacy and security. His family has been staying at the Plaza for generations. I need to get him a room, and you need to provide a service that meets the standards of the hotel. However, I’m willing to make adjustments if that’s needed. He doesn’t need a butler, for example.’

‘Ma’am.’ The way he looked at you made you clench your jaw. It happened sometimes, in restaurants, hotels or venues, when people realised you were just an employee to someone else, and any respect they could have felt for you disappeared as soon as their impression from you changed. ‘I’m sorry. But we have no rooms.’

You swallowed hard before taking your purse and walking out of the lobby. The cold wind burned your cheeks when you stood over the red carpet of the luxurious entrance wondering what to do, as the valet received the well-dressed guests that were arriving. You were so irritated, and so behind work now that instead of relaxing like you were meant to, you were about to cry.

Until you saw Steve’s silhouette getting out of a taxi. He saw you immediately too, it was impossible not to, as you were standing above the steps, almost like waiting for him.

You saw him thank the valet for taking his luggage inside and you felt a sense of defeat once he stared climbing the stairs.

‘Any luck with the room?’ He said fixing his coat as he stood in front of you. Your eyes lingered on the navy scarf a bit too long, and you blinked away your tears so he wouldn’t notice how frustrated you really were.

‘I’m working on it.’ You smiled, trying to hide the fact that you didn’t know what to do.

‘Cool. Should we have some dinner first?’ He asked as soon as you crossed the golden revolving doors.

‘Dinner?’ You frowned. ‘No, I— I’m going to sort this out first. You go ahead and eat something at the restaurant.’

‘You can’t work if you haven’t eaten.’ He said blocking your way before you could walk in the direction of the elevator. He looked down at you with his tired brown eyes and a soft smile. You felt his fingers subtly brushing yours. ‘C’mon.’

‘I definitely can.’ You walked around him in the elevator’s direction.

Steve stayed on his place as he saw you walk inside the open elevator and ask the bellboy for your floor, before he quickly decided to follow you.

‘You’re so stubborn.’ He said under his breath.  

‘That’s why you hired me.’ You reminded him, hugging yourself over your coat. You could see from the corner of your eye, how he was fighting the smile that threatened to take over his face.

And yet that stubbornness was so useless sometimes. The beautiful penthouse Steve had thought of acquiring last month had been sold to a famous tennis player a week ago. You tried to get literally anything, from standard hotel rooms to smaller apartments that would fit your standards, but everything was either booked, unavailable or unhabitable. And the snowstorm was so merciless you couldn’t even consider renting a house outside of the city.

You sighed deeply, fighting the need to rub your eyes as they stung from looking at the screen, when you suddenly closed the laptop.

‘Right.’ You sighed before standing up. He was laying on the bed, reading one of the books you had packed for his trip. The sight was actually calming, you always liked seeing him wearing glasses. ‘I think I can make a couple of calls and see if any of my friends would let me crash at theirs. You can keep the room.’

‘What? No. I’m not kicking you out.’

‘Well, you need a place to sleep—’ You started.

‘So do you.’ He laughed sarcastically before sitting up. ‘What am I? The spoiled asshole that can’t fend for himself?’

You frowned briefly, before letting out an offended snort. You had never had an attitude with each other, not even in your most stressful days at work. Not even when he made your life more chaotic by his mistakes.

‘When did I ever say that?’

He just shook his head briefly, taking his phone out of his pocket.

‘Who are you calling?’ You crossed your arms over your chest uncomfortably, feeling that you had failed him, but being too proud to admit it.

‘My dad’s secretary.’

You swallowed hard, nodding once before you tried to find what to do with yourself. It didn’t help that he was observing your moves the whole time, that was worse than being ignored.

Out of habit, you picked your personal phone to scroll on social media, but the first thing you saw was his missed voicemail from earlier. So, you locked it again.

‘She’s not picking up.’ He said frustrated before putting the phone back inside his pocket.

You both stayed in silence for a few seconds, your bare toes played with the carpet in attempt to calm your nerves.

‘I don’t—’

‘M sorry for snapping on you like that.’ He said. ‘I’m just— I’m sorry, what were you gonna say?’

‘I don’t think is a good idea to keep searching tonight.’ You said, still looking at your feet, too prideful to accept his apology. ’You won’t get anywhere in this weather.’

You lifted your gaze to look back at him, his piercing eyes were looking at you deeply. As if they were trying to decipher something.

‘We can share tonight.’ You finally said, softly and as indifferent as possible. As professional as possible.

He stayed quiet for a while, until you saw the way he swallowed hard at your proposal. It flattered you that the idea could make him feel nervous, but the possibility itself was absurd.

‘I won’t let anyone see us.’ You assured him immediately. ‘You know, rumours and… privacy. I’m still your publicist.’

He let out a choky laugh, quite awkward and low, before nodding.

‘Yeah. Okay, I guess we’ll have to.’ He sighed, looking at you from where he sat on the bed. All trace from stress and tension had left him. You envied that, how he always seemed to let things go easily. ‘Let’s eat something, okay?’

‘You can go ahead and—’

‘No.’ He stood up, taking a step towards you with a boyish smile on her face. ‘How many times do I have to remind you that you need to eat?’

You looked back at him patiently, a cheekiness you were trying hard to hide taking over your face.

‘I meant, you can wait for me downstairs.’ You said slowly, trying hard to repress the smile that mirrored his. ‘I need to change.’

‘You look great.’ He shrugged.

You took a deep breath, looking to your side before your eyes fell on him again.

‘I’m not wearing much under this coat.’ You clarified.

‘Oh.’ He said then. Almost clumsily, he took a step back. It was really tender, the way his cheeks had turned a shade of pink, how he swallowed hard at the mental image of whatever he was thinking about. ‘Right.’

‘Right.’ You repeated, silence taking over while you moved to grab some clean clothes from the small wardrobe next to the room’s door. ‘Can I ask you a favour?’

‘Huh?’

‘Can you try not to make this any weirder than it already is?’

You looked behind your shoulder to find the man standing up in the same place you had left him, hands in his pockets, cheeks flushed and nothing but shyness behind his eyes.

‘We already need to share a bed and spend Christmas together.’ You said, resting your back against the wardrobe. You didn’t seem annoyed by the idea, and neither did he. Still, there were unsaid rules to respect and boundaries to enforce. ‘Let’s keep it professional.’

‘Of course.’ He said after a while, running his fingers through his hair. The warm light of the room mixed with the reflection of the snow outside. He was still blushing, the forbidden grey hairs in between his brown locks turning messy with the movement. You felt very warm in his presence too. ‘Yeah, I would’ve never—’

‘I know, Steve.’ You smiled softly. You couldn’t hear the rest of that sentence; you wouldn’t be able to face him if he finished it.

A few seconds of silence opened between you two before you moved to change in the bathroom.

‘I still think we can have a nice Christmas, though.’ He said before you could close the door behind you.

You nodded softly.

‘I think we can try.’

As much as you tried not to, you always felt out of place. It didn’t help that since you had dived into the luxurious world of the wealthy two years ago, you were more conscious of social cues, more educated on protocol, and therefore more self-aware of your humble upbringing.

You walked into the hotel’s restaurant searching for your boss and trying not to check if people were judging you, with your minimalistic red lip and your simple black turtleneck. It was nothing compared to the fancy dresses the other guests were wearing or their designer shoes.

The restaurant was beautifully decorated with warm Christmas lights and velvet bows of a deep red shade, waiters dressed in white suits walked around with silver trays while an elegant old woman played a jazz piece on the piano. You could appreciate the magical atmosphere, the hopeful air of Christmas Eve that filled you with a deep sense of nostalgia. Often, especially during the holidays, you would ask yourself what it must have been like to grow up like this, to grow up like he did. Surrounded by all this luxury and comfort. And that just made you miss home even more.

Hugging your iPad closer to your chest, your eyes finally landed on him. He was talking enthusiastically to the manager. You lowered your gaze as soon as he made eye contact with you, fitting perfectly in the room full of vain guests. Your boss nodded at you, feeling once again embarrassed by the fact you had been arguing with the man he was talking to just a few hours ago, and still, you hadn’t succeeded at getting Steve a room.

You walked towards his table noticing how everyone around was engrossed in their own conversations. You had learned very early that if you didn’t try to impress anyone, if you didn’t try to pretend you were at the same level as them, they wouldn’t even notice that you didn’t fit in. They wouldn’t feel entitled enough to remind you that you would never fit in.

‘There she is.’ Said Steve as soon as you made it to the table.

‘How are you tonight, ma’am?’ The manager said, pulling the chair out for you.

You looked from Steve to the man for a few seconds before sitting down.

‘I’m okay.’ You whispered softly, sitting more comfortably, and skimming through the menu to avoid Steve’s eyes.

‘I’m deeply sorry about our misunderstanding earlier.’ He said, standing in front of the table.

‘There was no misunderstanding at all.’ You said taking the wine list. ‘As I said, you were doing your job and so was I.’

You closed the menu and looked back at him with an attempt of a polite smile.

‘I’ll have the Malbec.’ You simply said. ‘And olives for starters, please.’

‘Sure, ma’am.’ He said in the same tone, not without smiling to Steve before leaving.

You resorted to have a look at the main courses again, just to distract yourself.

‘I hate it when you do that.’ You said after a while.

‘Do what?’ You didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling.

‘Force people to apologise to me.’

You finally looked back at him. He shrugged, looking at you with that soft smile of his that made it all a bit more difficult.

‘You deserved an apology. And I didn’t force him.’

You shook your head as you unlocked the iPad, you had to update Steve’s calendar and therefore yours had to be arranged too. If you managed to squeeze some work here and there, you’d might be able to visit your mother on New Year’s Eve.

‘Next time I’ll book an extra room just in case, like I did that time in São Paulo.’

‘God, I miss Brazil.’ You heard him say under his breath.

The fond smile that lifted your lips was impossible to conceal. Your eyes seemed lost in the menu, but they were lost in distant memories. You had been working for Mr Harrington just for a couple of months, in which you had indulged your perfectionism to always be one step ahead, perhaps to prove yourself to him. Yet you had miscalculated the days you were supposed to be in South America, and you ended up having an extra twenty-four hours to explore the gorgeous city. That’s when you really started to get to know each other.

‘It was a nice time.’ You agreed.

‘I think that’s something I wanna do more often next year.’ He said as you kept fixing his schedule. ‘Just… travel, see some new places. I only went to Europe twice this year and I can’t stand the fact I only got to see Amsterdam and Zürich through the Taxi’s window; you know?’

‘Maybe sometime in February?’ You said distractedly, tapping the keyboard on the screen. ‘Since January’s going to be insanely busy for you.’

The odd silence after your comment made you lift your eyes. Steve was looking at you with a confused stare on his face and his lips partly open, as if your words had caught him off guard. The heat rushed to your cheeks then, though you weren’t sure why. You were so confused yourself that you were about to double check on the iPad if what you said was true, when the waiter came back with your drinks.

‘Are you ready to order?’

‘Sure.’ He said then.

The tension dissipated as you both ordered, and he behaved as his usual self with questions and little jokes that flattered the waiter. It was noticeable that a few people had clearly recognised him now, as you scanned the room with your eyes, but though curious, they didn’t seem like the kind that would disturb him.

‘Thank you.’ You heard yourself say when you returned the menu.

‘Any bets tonight?’ He asked playfully as he took a sip of his wine.

‘Mhmm.’ Your pondered as you played with a few drops that slid down your wine glass. ‘M sure the pretty one by the fireplace would love a picture with you.’

From the corner of your eye, Steve cautiously looked for the girl you were talking about. She was very young, with that innocent look in her eyes that you had once too. She was more than pretty, with a delicacy in her manners that could only be the result of a fine education somewhere in Europe. You noticed her very early, as soon as you sat down, and her hopeful gaze had turned into a longing stare towards your boss as soon as she recognised him.

‘Green dress?’ You murmured when you realised he still hadn’t noticed. ‘Uhm, she’s wearing a ponytail.’

‘Oh.’ He said. ‘Oh no. God no, she looks nineteen.’

‘She looks at you every three seconds.’ You hid your smile behind your glass before taking another sip. ‘Oh, she’s looking now.’

Steve imitated you and took a sip of his wine, looking the opposite way in a poor attempt not to entertain the girl’s attention.

‘Ah, this one likes you too. Brunette, blue shirt, sitting at the bar. She would totally send you a drink.’

The woman you spoke about had a more feline air than the girl, her movements were slow and yet confident. She was probably known inside some social circle you could never conceive or imagine. Playfully, she ordered a drink before looking behind her shoulder and giving your boss an intentional smile. An invitation.

‘Jesus.’ He whispered to himself.  ‘She could be my mother.’

Your eyes fell on him then, sitting more comfortably on his chair, you couldn’t help but laugh softly at the familiar pink shade tinting his cheeks.

‘She seems used to being admired.’ You murmured, taking another look at her.

‘I guess.’ He said, playing with his napkin. ‘A lot of people are. I’ve never been good at it.’

‘You do have a weird relationship with praise.’

It took you a couple of seconds to realise you had said it out loud. Your heart immediately raised its pace, feeling the embarrassment washing over you.

‘Wow—’

‘I’m so sorry.’ You sat back, looking at him with the outmost terror overflowing your eyes. ‘I’m— that was so unprofessional of me.’

‘No.’ He laughed, it didn’t even seem like it had offended him. He visibly relaxed against his chair, as if this was a casual conversation and not a professional dinner. ‘I’m genuinely curious about why you say that.’

You sat silently, trying to find a way to put your thoughts in order, or to find a better apology.

‘It’s not my place to make any judgments about your character.’

He shrugged, that careless smile that equally irritated and intimidated you was taking over his face again.

‘You clearly have already.’

You took a deep breath, following the wet rings your wine glass had imprinted on the fancy tablecloth.

‘Well…’ You shrugged. ‘Listen, it was just a silly assumption. I’ve just seen…’ You looked back at him shyly. ‘An interesting number of congratulation cards in the trash since I started working for you.’

‘Hmm.’ He was looking down at his napkin before his cheeky brown eyes fell back on you. ‘You don’t miss anything, do you?’

‘It’s none of my business, anyways.’ You said looking down at your glass again.

‘I mean, I guess it’s not.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t mind it. You are a bit right though, but you’re also a bit wrong. I just don’t enjoy this… artificial flattery that surrounds business.’

You nodded then, encouraging him to keep going if he wanted to. He observed you, studied you, licking his lips as he contemplated the possibility of saying more. 

‘Here we are.’ The waiter said when he made it to the table with your order.

Discreetly, you put the iPad and your phones aside to make space for the food, dying to know what else he had to say, but relieved at the possibility of him dropping the subject.

You both said your thanks and started eating as soon as he left, only the sound of your cutlery against the plates and the soft jazz in the background filling the void.

‘That’s one of the reasons why I hired you, you know.’ He suddenly said.

‘Sorry?’ You said cleaning your mouth with your napkin.

‘You’re good at reading other people’s character.’ He clarified. ‘You’re also very discreet, which works for you, but it rarely favours anyone else.’

It was uncertain for you if that had been a compliment or not. He was smiling and so were you, wondering if you should press him on the subject.

‘What do you mean?’ You finally said.

‘You just know.’ He said, taking another sip of his drink. ‘I don’t know how you do it. If I introduce you to someone; a new business partner, a potential client, I don’t know, a lawyer… I just know that things aren’t going to go well if you don’t seem receptive.’

You processed his words slowly, a bit impressed at this facet of yourself you weren’t really aware of. Of course you were protective of Steve’s relations, but that’s why he hired you. It was part of your job to preserve his reputation and legacy, whatever that was.

‘That’s what you pay me for.’ You joked nervously, taking another sip of your wine.

‘Uh-uh.’ He said smiling once again. It felt weird now, as if he had caught you falling back into a bad habit. ‘No, at first I thought: Well, she’s just starting, maybe she’s intimidated by these people or something. And then it became a pattern, you know? A reporter would walk in, and you’d get quiet or tense, and then a few weeks later that interview would become a problem. Or someone would come in, proposing a new investment, and you’d stop doing whatever to keep listening to their pitch. And then months later I’d find out they were bankrupt or selling again.’

You smiled to yourself, feeling rather proud that he was able to see that. You let him stare at you for a few seconds before you reached for your wine again.

‘You do meet a lot of stupid men.’ You admitted, trying to drop the subject.

‘It’s not just men.’ He said then, and this time you weren’t going to look at him as you rearranged your fork and knife neatly over your empty plate. ‘I mean Cecelia was—’  

‘Please.’ You murmured awkwardly, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks. ‘Steve.’

‘I should’ve just, followed my gut, you know.' He said. ‘But what my gut said was that if you two didn’t get along then it would never work.’

You shook your head softly. The names of different guys you had dated in the last couple of years came to your mind: Eliott, Dan, Victor, Theo. There were some others, always complaining about the number of hours you put into work, always insensitive about your sacrifices, and always, always annoyingly noisy about your relationship with Steve.

‘Not every woman you date is going to like me. I mean…’ You let out a scoff-like laugh, it was impossible not to feel a bit uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken. ‘We spend way too much time together.’

Your words hung out in the air as you stayed in silence, and you were unable to look back at him. You did so briefly and failed, he seemed to be lost in his thoughts, biting the inside of his cheek.

Slowly, the restaurant started to take shape around you two. Most of the guests had already gone into their rooms, only the lonely, quiet people who sat at the bar were chatting softly. Taking a deep breath, you smiled at your boss, and Steve tried to return the gesture before he asked the waiter to add the bill to the room.

The wine had only made you more tired and sleepy. You both made it to the room in silence, moving slowly and used to each other’s quietness after a long day.

In the room, you took your pyjama and robe and excused yourself to change in the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, you tried to ignore the subtle shake of your hands as you removed your make up and washed your teeth. Things were about to become so awkward between you and him, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

The screen of your personal phone lit up as soon as you turned the tap off. Almost as if it was a reflex, you looked behind your shoulder, knowing very well there was no way Steve would even think about opening the bathroom’s door.

You locked it anyways, completely lost in your thoughts as you sat on the floor to read Robin’s email. Judging by the few spelling errors, you assumed she had written it on a rush to leave the city.

The job offers listed were equally interesting and disappointing. You didn’t know Eddie Munson was in search of a Personal Assistant, and though the idea sounded attractive, it was also incredibly non-practical. You knew his habits and character by the brief interactions you had had with him in the past, and you knew for certain that the rockstar lifestyle would never be your thing.

You rolled your eyes at the sight of Billy Hargrove’s name, having known him for the last couple of years and certain that you could never work for a man like him. For starters, Steve despised him. You knew he was a terrible boss as well, by the way his PAs seemed to come and go so quickly.

And then lastly, there was Jonathan Byers, whose movies had been continuously acclaimed by the most elitist film festivals in the last five years. Taking a deep breath, you thought about it, you considered it. A movie director that was respected and discreet, someone private enough that wouldn’t compromise your own integrity. He travelled as much as Steve, but he dealt with other kind of pressures that would certainly be less demanding for you. You could do it. Most importantly, you wanted to.

You leaned the back your head against the bathroom door for a second, feeling your heartbeat increasing, until you finally got the courage to reply to the email and stating you were interested in Mr Byer’s offer.

When you went out, Steve was calmly reading on the bed once again. Only the lamps on the bedside table were on, but he was still wearing his shirt and suit trousers. The sight of his glasses, of his undone cufflinks, and his messy hair filled you with bitterness, maybe envy. Deep down, there was also something else, a strange kind of sadness that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t really get rid of. You felt so young, hugging the robe against your body to avoid showing off the silk underneath, but he was too engrossed in his novel to notice your shyness.

You sat on your side on the bed, silently getting rid of your jewellery as you heard him close the bathroom’s door behind him. Absentmindedly, you wondered if it had been you who had made things weird as you turned your lamp off and got inside the covers.

The sight next to you was beautiful, the snowy city quiet behind the thick glass of the hotel’s window. You had been working for him for two years, but it felt much more than that, like a lifetime. Maybe it was a thing about your age and experience, but you had never gotten so attached to a job. And you should’ve never had on the first place, that’s why you had to leave before it was too late.

A smell of body wash and toothpaste filled the air when you heard him turn the light off behind him. You were too warm under all those layers but there was no way you were going to sleep next to him wearing just your slip.

He sighed before turning the light off, and you had to bite your lip to fight the need to ask him if he was okay, if he needed something, but you stayed quiet as he made himself comfortable in the tense darkness.

‘Goodnight.’ You heard him whisper tiredly.

You swallowed hard, too nervous to say anything, pretending to be too exhausted to even reply. After a few minutes, you laid back in the dark, trying to relax and failing at it.

‘Earplugs.’ You whispered then.

‘Uh?’

‘Your earplugs.’ You repeated in the dark. ‘I’m sorry, I forgot them—’

You were about to sit up when you felt his hand touch your forearm softly under the covers. The tender texture of his thumb brushing your wrist soothingly kept you from moving at all.

‘Don’t worry.’ He murmured in the same tired tone. Something inside you, something pure told you that his eyelids were peacefully close. ‘I only need them when I sleep alone.’

‘Oh.’ You said before nodding. Your eyes were slowly getting used to the darkness, but you didn’t dare to look back at him. ‘Right, I did not know that.’

‘S fine.’ He laughed softly, a sweet sound that came out of his chest. He moved, his hand wrapped around your arm delicately, rubbing the space between your elbow and wrist underneath the robe. ‘It helps me to hear someone else’s breathing. It’s weird.’

‘S not weird.’ You whispered sweetly.

‘This okay?’ He asked in the same tone as he kept stroking your arm. ‘Calms me down.’

‘Hm.’ Was all you could say, hearing your heart beating hard against your chest. Nerves mixing up with something else, feeling like you already missed this, missed him like this. ‘S okay.’

‘You’ve got goosebumps.’ He whispered before moving closer to you, feeling all the warmth he radiated in the space between your bodies. ‘Are you cold?’

You shook your head.

‘M fine.’

You both stayed silent for a few seconds as you got used to each other’s presence, each other’s bodies. You knew he was awake, and he knew you were as well. There was certain peace to it though, there was something so indescribably soothing about this shared moment.

‘M sorry you can’t be at home for Christmas.’ He finally said.

You shrugged, finally getting the courage to look at him. He was already looking at you, and for once you didn’t see him as someone who had a professional relationship with. For once, you saw him as just Steve.

‘It’s… fine.’ You said, lost in your thoughts and in his touch.

You wondered if there was really a way in which you could separate this different side of him from the man you saw every day at work. From the man in the finance magazines and newspapers, from the strategic businessman sitting at the end of the table in the meeting room, and the lonely man you sometimes saw looking at the city through his office’s window.

‘Hmm, it’s not fine.’ A subtle smile slowly took over his mouth, and you felt your own lips lifting too. ‘I’ve got some stuff planned to make it up to you.’

‘What?’ You whispered surprised. ‘No, I mean— it’s fine. I’m fine with having a quiet Christmas.’

His soft laugh made you frown before he spoke again.

‘You didn’t even let me cover your plane tickets so you could fly home.’ You looked down in embarrassment, feeling guilty for lying to him. ‘The least you can do is let me try to make it up for the money you lost, and the fact you’re stuck with me during the holidays.’

You wanted to tell him right there, that you had never bought tickets to go home, that you had lied to him and everyone else, because your plan had always been to spend Christmas inside this hotel room applying for jobs, and working, and waiting for his call.

‘Steve…’ You whispered his name in the dark. It wasn’t your intention to make it sound so needy, to make it sound so sad. Maybe it was time to tell him that you had just accepted a job offer, that you couldn’t do this anymore.

‘Please.’ His hand was still brushing your arms softly, his skin was still warm, maybe warmer than before. ‘I haven’t had a nice Christmas in years.’

‘Now, that’s manipulative.’ You joked, and he let out a boyish laugh that made your smile wider. You stayed like that for a few seconds, soothed by the sound of each other’s breathing. Maybe his idea wasn’t so bad, and this would be a nice way to say goodbye. Maybe, for once, you could enjoy his company and the moments you shared together without feeling guilty. ‘I guess I haven’t had a good one in a while either.’

The light woke you up, so you moved to your side where it was less bright and comfier. The rest of your senses started to awaken as well, it was very warm underneath the covers, you suddenly realised your shoulders felt cold, and there was a familiar scent in the air; woody, like pine and cinnamon. It made you calm, but also a bit nervous and tense, because it belonged to him.

Steve was already awake when you opened your eyes, sitting next to you with a different book between his hands. He had changed his pyjamas for a casual outfit that still looked classy on him. His hand was running through his hair, his glasses on top of his nose and eyebrows frowning in concentration. You stretched, at first lazily, and then out of sudden you were sitting up.

‘What time is it?’

‘Good morning.’ He closed the book to look back at you, his eyes studied your face and then the rest of your body as you looked back at him, staring like an idiot. Instinctively, your fingers searched for the robe to find that it had loosened throughout the night. Steve cleared his throat as you fixed it again. ‘It’s uh, eleven.’

‘Eleven?’

He observed you amused as you searched blindly for your phones on the bedside table, but there was no sign of your work phone as you ignored the few text messages you mom had sent to your personal one.

‘What the fuck.’ You said under your breath.

‘I heard your alarms,’ He said then, ‘But I thought it’d be nice to let you sleep.’

You sat quietly for a seconds before scoffing softly.

‘Steve, I’ve got so much work to do.’ You said, breathing softly to try not to lose it. ‘I swear, you’ve no idea. I’m so behind.’

‘You’re not working today.’

‘Of course I am.’ You stood up, securing your robe again as you looked around the room for your work suitcase. ‘I need to update your calendar for the first two weeks of January. Then change your mailbox address of your office in Boston because the moving’s next week, and send someone to get your clothes at the drycleaners back at your parents’ because you’re not there now, so…’

‘You’re not working today.’

‘I have to find time to send Hannah a Christmas present for the baby under your name because I was supposed to do that yesterday, and… Where the fuck is my laptop?’

‘In the safe, with the iPad and the phone I got for you.’

You turned around to look back at him, you felt betrayed and still you couldn’t help but bite your lip when he looked back at you with a rising eyebrow and boyish cheekiness behind his brown pupils.

‘Steve.’

His challenging eyes didn’t leave yours as he stood up from his place in the bed.

‘This is not gonna be a discussion.’ His hands found your shoulders and he leaned a little to have a better look at you. ‘It’s Christmas Day.’

It was too early to feel this flushed, and the way his thumbs were starting to massage you over your robe was only making it worse. You looked back at him, feeling stressed and unsure of how to react to his carelessness.

‘Your life’s going to be a disaster if I don’t.’ You murmured.

‘S very sweet for you to think that my life’s not already a disaster.’ He pinched your chin out of nowhere, and you felt like a shy teenager when your cheeks turned warmer. ‘But we have a lunch reservation in an hour, and you need to get ready.’

His phrasing stayed with you as you styled your hair after your shower, and as you finished your make up. Your eyes stayed on him as he wrapped the navy scarf around his neck while you walked together down the hotel’s corridor. You hadn’t stopped to consider for a second that maybe New York City’s weather had conspired in Steve’s favour and maybe it had kept him from facing things you didn’t even know about.

‘How’s your coffee?’ He asked as you looked at the snowy city through the café’s window.

You nodded as your eyes looked back at the expensive piece of porcelain that you had stained with your red lipstick after your first sip.

‘Delicious.’ You said. ‘Thank you for bringing me here, it’s really pretty.’

The café was as beautiful and as luxurious as any other place that he attended regularly, with long columns and marbled floors. All the little Christmas details had made the lunch a bit more special too: the green and gold serviettes, the pinecone shaped butter, the mini eggnog mousse they gifted you and Steve after the meal.

‘Dad used to bring me here all the time when I was a kid.’ He said before taking a sip from his own cup. ‘I always ask for the same table because this is where we used to sit.’

‘That’s so sweet.’ You heard yourself say. ‘Does it still look the same?’

‘Yeah,’ He leaned in slightly to have a look through the window. ‘It’s outside that always looks different. I used to sit where you are and make sketches of the street sometimes. Have I ever told you I wanted to be an architect at some point?’

You shook your head softly, thinking of a younger version of Steve, with glasses and suits too big for him, who used to sit where you sat now. He was here, as well, looking through the window, staring curiously at the world outside.

‘Come here. Look.’

You leaned in subtly as well, taking in the busy image of the white-coloured street where taxis and bikes coexisted with birds and trees.

‘There used to be a square where that building is now, and a carousel where I wasn’t allowed to go on.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘I loved that thing. I drew that same view so many times I can probably still do it by memory.’

‘I haven’t seen you draw in a while.’ You whispered to yourself before sitting back. You lowered your eyes as you grabbed your spoon and dip it in the mousse once again. ‘You used to do that a lot when you first hired me.’

‘Hmm. Yeah.’ He considered your words, sitting back as he tried to read you while you finished your dessert. ‘Well, you used to leave those little notepads in my office the first months after I hired you and I didn’t know what else to do with them. I thought it was adorable.’

You shut your eyes briefly then, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as you took another sip of your coffee.

‘I thought you needed to… write notes.’ You bit your lip as you tried not to laugh at your own naivety. ‘And— I don’t know, important stuff.’

‘Because you thought I was an important man.’ He said resting his crossed arms on the table to get closer to you.

‘Only for the first month.’ You joked before looking back at the window. 

‘Oh, wow.’ He laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it.

He always acted like a teenager in the rare instances where you had friendly exchanges like these, but you were careful not to cross any lines or get too funny. It was hard though, because it was nice and even if you knew it wasn’t true, sometimes it was good to feel like you were friends.

‘What is it?’ He said when he saw the way you were putting a strand of hair behind your ear as you looked to your side.

‘Can we…’ You nervously played with the tablecloth underneath your coffee cup. ‘Uhm, can we talk about work?’

The way he licked his lips with amusement worried you. You were both two days behind work now and the idea of knowing there was a concerning number of emails accumulating in your phone was making you anxious.

‘Listen,’ It took you by surprise when his hands found yours over the tablecloth, it wasn’t until then that you realised you were cold, just because he was so irresistibly warm. You were too overwhelmed to even know if he realised. ‘You’re an amazing assistant. You’re smart, very capable. Incredibly stubborn. You have a weird relationship with authority but somehow that—’

‘What!’ You exclaimed offended. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You hate following orders.’ He said carefully before squeezing your hands.

‘I don’t!’ You argued, attempting to sit back, but his hands held yours over the table, and he seemed to be enjoying this little argument way too much.

‘You do.’ He laughed like a little kid. ‘You fucking do. Like now, I told you to relax because it’s Christmas and you’re not doing as you’re told.’

‘You’re unbearable.’ You said finally sitting back and feeling your cheeks hotter than ever. ‘Like, I swear. You think everything is a joke.’

‘Right.’ He took a sip of his coffee while you crossed your arms over your chest, feeling your hands turn cold at the absence of his touch. ‘Okay, let’s make a deal.’

‘What kind of deal?’

‘A business deal, who do you think I am?’ He joked.

You scoffed softly, feeling even more flushed than before and wondering where all this confidence was coming from, he had never dared to employ so many double-meaning jokes with you. He had also never dared to touch you like he had been doing or smile at you like he was smiling now.

‘We’ll get to do one work thing— Listen, I’m your boss, so I’m trying to help you out here, okay?’ He said when you were about to roll your eyes. ‘We’ll get to do one thing for work, if you do one thing I have planned for you.’

‘Are we seventeen?’ You scoffed. ‘Absolutely not, Steve.’

‘Come on.’ He insisted. ‘For once, I get to plan your day rather than the other way around. I like it.’

‘So what? You want to be my PA today or something?’

He shrugged, sitting more comfortably in the little booth.

‘It’s my Christmas wish and only you can make it real.’ He said sarcastically.

You took a deep breath. From your place, he looked like the conceited teenager he’d probably had been once, the private-school little shit that you read about in magazines. He’d never get a no for an answer, but you probably could never say no to him either.

‘Do I get my iPad back?’ You asked, biting your lip.

You observed him quietly as he searched for something inside his pocket. He seemed to hesitate for a second, as if he was realising something, and you looked at him with inquisitive eyes.

‘What is it?’ You asked. 

He took a deep breath before placing your work phone on the table.

‘You get this for now.’ He said. ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘All I’m saying is let’s leave the calendar for after New Year’s.’ He argued.

‘The calendar is for January.’ You said hugging yourself as you walked next to him. ‘January is literally right after New Year’s. It needs to be updated now.’

‘I don’t want it updated yet.’ He simply said.

You took a deep breath, walking right behind him as you checked your email and added more things to the list of things you had to do. You had also completely forgotten to call your mother, but the idea of doing it in front of him didn’t make you comfortable.

‘Well, okay.’ You stopped in the busy sidewalk. ‘I guess if we can find a quiet place I can change the address—’

‘I already did that this morning.’

‘What?’

‘While you were getting ready.’ He said. ‘You already called the drycleaners, so we get to do something I planned. Something actually fun.’

He started walking again and you put the phone on inside your pocket as you caught up with him.

‘Being a PA is not about planning fun stuff, you know?’ You said.

‘No shit.’ He said sarcastically. ‘No wonder why I hired you.’

You let out an offended laugh-scoff before punching his side with your elbow.

‘That was very mean.’

‘What kind of boss would I be if I wasn’t a little mean every now and then?’ He said as you followed him inside a shop.

You were about to say something when you realised where you were.

‘…I have an appointment at four.’

‘Of course, Mr Harrington.’ Said the pretty Salesgirl before she offered to take your coat.

‘Do you prefer Dom Pérignon or Grand Siècle?’ She asked you then.

‘Uhm, well I’m work—’

‘We’ll have the Siècle, please.’ Said Steve said instead.

The pretty girl nodded once and got lost behind a corridor as you entwined your hands in front of you and looked around you like a lost deer.

‘Why did you bring me here?’ You murmured shyly at Steve.

‘We’ve got plans tonight.’ He said shrugged. ‘And it’s Christmas. You need a dress.’

‘But this is like…’ You looked around you, detailing the beautiful High-Couture sample gowns that the mannequins modelled. They were all breath-taking pieces, but you couldn’t imagine yourself wearing anything like this. When you turned to look at him, his eyes were already on you. ‘Where are we going?’

‘It’s a surprise.’ He said sweetly, studying your worried semblance as he took a few steps towards you. ‘Don’t worry, you don’t need to wear anything too fancy. I called them beforehand and let them know that you often wear deep shades and lots of black. Thought I have to say, red would look so elegant on you I asked them to add a few specific pieces I thought you’d might like.’ He shrugged, swallowing as he looked away from you. ‘But you don’t need to try them if you don’t want to.’ 

You blinked a couple of times as you tried to find words to thank him, feeling equally flattered and impressed, but still not sure if this was a good idea or not.

Where were you supposed to draw the line? You thought as you stood in your underwear in front of all the different dresses that had been picked for you. If only you hadn’t left your work phone inside your trench coat, you’d have some way of calming your nerves right now. You weren’t sure if this was a good idea at all, if indulging yourself in this friendship with your boss was the safest thing to do.

It was all coming to and end though, you thought as you placed the thin strips of the red dress over your shoulders. In a few days you’d have to sit down with him inside his big office and break him the news, so why were you still worried about being unprofessional?

You took a deep breath, downing the champagne the salesgirl had given you to put your doubts aside. Once the dress was all zipped up, you looked at yourself in the mirror. It was so pretty you couldn’t help but smile, with a midi skirt that ended just below your knees. You stroked the front fabric to find out it had pockets, and that somehow convinced you.

It was like feeling like a child again. You opened the door of the changing room and shyly walked the little corridor that took you back to the room where he waited for you.

‘I told you I’d do everything that was on my hands, and I couldn’t.’ You heard him say.

You walked into the room frowning, feeling as you had so many times before on instances where he was having a work call that turned into a personal one. Or in hard moments when he dealt with relationships outside work, and you didn’t know if he needed an assistant or a friend.

‘Well, I don’t think I’m on a position where I care at this point.’ He said gravely as he took a few thoughtful steps. ‘Why don’t you ask…’

As soon as he turned back his eyes locked with yours, standing above the little steps that led to the room.

‘Dad, I’ll call you later.’ He hung up while his eyes were still on you, and you shyly walked down the steps to meet him in the middle of the little room.

‘Is everything okay?’ You tentatively asked.

‘Everything is perfect.’ He said with an idiotic smile as his eyes looked from the dress to you. ‘You look so beautiful.’

You looked at him, then, ignoring the compliment as you searched for answers in his eyes. He knew that you were trying to read him and succeeding at it.

‘Steve.’

‘Everything’s fine.’ He insisted as he took a step towards you. He looked down at you with a sided smile, his brown eyes overflowing with a happiness that anyone could’ve described as delusional.

As much as you wished to be able to show your emotions as freely as he did, you were still worried about his father’s call, about the state of things back in the office once this little fantasy of his was over. You were about to open your mouth to speak when the touch of his hands on yours stopped you. He looked into your eyes with an intense honesty that you had never seen before.

‘Miss.’ The voice of the Salesgirl made you turn around immediately. If she had seen something, she didn’t say anything, she only walked down the steps towards you, carrying your coat carefully. ‘It’s your phone.’

You smiled at her softly before searching inside your pockets, hearing the distant buzzing and thinking that it was probably your mother. As soon as you took the devices the blood left your face at the sight of the name on your work phone.

‘Would you excuse us for a second?’

The pretty salesgirl nodded discreetly before she walked out of the room. Steve stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at the marble floor and avoiding your eyes as only the sound of the buzzing phone could be heard.

‘Don’t pick up.’ He finally said without looking at you.

‘It’s your father.’

‘Don’t. Pick up.’ He finally lifted his eyes to look back at you.

‘I work for him, Steve. I can’t just—’

‘You work for me.’ He said taking a step towards you. All the softness that overflowed from his brown pupils was gone, in exchange for a coldness that you had only seen him employ with other people, but never with you.

Steve walked away towards the window as you nodded once. The insisting phone still buzzed on your hand as he looked out, isolating himself in that way you often witnessed at his office, and just as all those times before, you stayed silent. He had hurt you, but deep down you also knew you’d never be petty enough to betray him by picking up that call.

Things turned even more awkward when the phone stopped buzzing, the uncomfortable silence falling between you like snow on Christmas day. You waited for one, two, three seconds, and when he didn’t say anything, you climbed the little stairs and walked towards the changing rooms.

The air was cold as ice when you walked out of the shop wearing your clothes and trench coat. You needed to think. You needed to think about what had happened today and last night, and what had been happening in the last two years since the day you started working for Steve Harrington.

It wasn’t hard to make a decision when you crossed the street and got inside the first shop that caught your eye, your heart beating hard with anxiety as you did. As soon as you walked in, the first notes of Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer started playing as if they came from a musical box.

The toy shop had a giant, carrousel-like column in the middle, where pretty dolls were displayed inside their boxes, new and perfumed and magical. Christmas trees of all sizes had been placed around the shop, surrounded by train sets that looked exactly as if they came from those movies you used to watch as a child.

It wasn’t as busy as you thought it would be, tourists walked around taking pictures and videos of the picturesque shop while you browsed in silence and smiled to yourself every now and then. The place gave you a weird sense of nostalgia as your fingers stroked the hand painted roof of the biggest house doll you’d ever seen. You thought of past Christmases back home, the smell of your mother’s food mixing with the scent of wrapping paper, learning how ride a bike on the snowy pavement, the fading memory of your dad’s face…

Blinking away your tears, you found a sunny spot to sit outside, next to the river, hearing the seagulls and the distant melody of the carol singers. Taking a deep breath, you took the phone to your ear and called your mother.

‘About time.’ She complained right before laughing.

‘I’m sorry.’ You shut your eyes before messing your neatly brushed hair. ‘Merry Christmas. I miss you.’

‘Merry Christmas, sweetie.’ She said. ‘When are you coming?’

‘Uhm,’ You bit your lip. ‘I’ll try to get tickets for tomorrow. Or the day after. Or whenever. I’ll be there before the 30th.’

‘Does the evil boss know his?’ She joked.

You swallowed hard, feeling the salty taste of tears in the back of your throat.

‘I’m working on it.’ You sniffed quietly. ‘But don’t you worry about it. How’re things? Was Santa generous this year?’

‘Very generous.’ She said. ‘I got a new perfume, a nice purse…’

‘…And?’ You smiled to yourself. ‘A nice cashmere scarf I hope?’

‘I loved it very much.’ She said. ‘Thank you, sweets.’

‘You’re welcome, mom.’ You said looking at the city beyond the body of water in front of you. ‘I know it’s silly, I guess it just— I don’t know. It’s a nice tradition.’

‘Oh, honey! I know, It’s not silly. It makes me happy too, you know that.’

You laughed weakly, feeling in the verge of tears again, when you felt a body sitting on the bench next to you.

‘Uh, mom, I gotta go.’ You said looking back at him before your eyes focused on the river once again.

‘What?’

‘Sorry, it’s just… work.’ You sighed. ‘I’ll explain later.’

‘In person.’

You made a pause, taking a deep breath.

‘Sure.’ You finally said. ‘Merry Christmas. Love you.’

‘Love you too, honey.’

Steve leaned forwards to have a better look at you as soon as you hung up, and you hated that. You had so many reasons to cry right now and you didn’t want to face any of them, so all you could do was hug yourself while the air froze your cheeks.

‘I am so, so sorry.’ He finally said.

‘How did you find me, anyways?’ You looked back at him.

‘Uh,’ He shook his head, and you could’ve sworn he had blushed a little. ‘Your phone. Your work phone. I can access its location in case you lose it. You know, confidential information and all of that.’

‘That’s quite invasive.’ You tried to joke, but it came out much more passive aggressive than you intended.

‘I know, but it comes in handy when I behave like a complete asshole.’ He said. ‘I’m sorry.’

You looked down, playing with one of the buttons on your coat and thinking about what to say. Maybe the best thing to do was to quit right then. Offer Steve an honest explanation, hand him the phone back and pack. He could keep your room, your check, your heart. Anything he wanted. You just wanted to be alone.

‘Sometimes…’ He swallowed. ‘Sometimes it’s hard to separate work from personal attachments. Especially when there’s not a lot of people around that I can trust.’

Your eyes kept looking at your skirt, your legs, your shoes… anywhere that wasn’t him. It was too hard to look up, to sit here and hear him call this a personal attachment, a business relation, everything except what it was.

‘I keep doing this thing…’ He said. ‘Where I put you in these… complicated, and awkward situations because I desperately need a friend…’

You couldn’t help but look at him then, feeling a mix of compassion and pity and fear and sadness for him.

‘…And it’s so unfair to you.’ He said softly, anxiously looking for a sign of forgiveness on your face. ‘I’m so sorry.’

It took you a while to find the words, to get the courage to look back at this lonely man. It took everything in you to tell him right then, that he wasn’t lonely at all, and that you had always been right here, and as long as you could, you would.

You shook you head softly. ‘I know things with your dad are complicated—’

‘It’s not only about my dad.’ He said moving closer to you. You looked back at him as the freezing breeze blew a few stands of your hair. The sight was overwhelming: his softly frostbitten pink cheeks, his cosy scarf, the scent of his woody pine cologne filling you with longing. You couldn’t help but arch your eyebrows subtly when one of his hands extended over the bench to touch your face, but he seemed to abandon the thought quickly, placing it behind you. ‘You were there when Cece left, too.’

‘Steve—’

‘When she moved out, when she—’

‘Steve.’

‘…Lost the baby.’

You took a deep breath, taking your hands to the bridge of your nose and fighting the need of screaming at him.

‘You know, I don’t need this today.’ You said facing him.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ The touch of his thumb on your cheek caught you completely by surprise, and suddenly you weren’t so angry anymore. ‘I could’ve handled it; I should’ve been there instead of you.’

It was getting harder to keep your tears to yourself, but you still managed to. You had to. You were sure she must’ve told him everything before she left, how she hung on to you after months of ignoring you while she was engaged to him, how she begged you not to say a word until she was ready. And you did. You did, because the idea of seeing him suffer shattered your heart.

And it did anyways. It hurt when he asked you to call the interior designer to get rid of the baby blue wallpaper, when you secretly donated the packs of diapers he had piled inside the closet. It hurt to see him show up to work the next few days as if nothing had happened, to pick up those calls from his therapist every week for a month, asking why he hadn’t shown up. It hurt to find out Cece was pregnant again through the press a year after, not a millionaire businessman this time, but a senator of some kind. It hurt that she called you and thanked you for supporting her through it all.

‘You seemed so happy.’  Your voice almost broke at the end of the sentence, looking back at his eyes helplessly. ‘And Cecelia… she didn’t want you there. I— I had to respect that.’

His mouth turned into a line then, you could see he didn’t like what you were saying, but his touch was still soft as his eyes moved from your eyes to your lips while he considered your words. His bitter frown didn’t change even when his soft palm moved to your neck, and his eyes looked back at yours again.

‘I can’t need you this much.’ He murmured then. ‘It’s not fair to you.’

Your hand caught his on your neck and you gave him a sad smile before looking down at the way your knees instinctively touched his. You wished you could tell him it was perfectly fine, that not only being needed was an intrinsic part of you, but that being needed by him was all you thought about every day.

‘Don’t say that.’ You whispered, squeezing his hand. ‘I’m your friend. You know that.’

‘I’m still sorry.’ He whispered with a sad smile. His thumb drew a line from your chin to your jaw as you looked at each other, sharing a silence full of bittersweet understanding. A few snowflakes that fell from a above sat on your lashes and you both finally laughed together. A thin layer of snow was painting the river white, yet you still felt warm, sitting on this bench next to him.

‘I’ll tell you what.’ You said sitting straight, your hands instinctively started playing with the hem of his navy scarf and you smiled softly at him. The gesture seemed to have lifted his spirit, by the way his lips lifted subtly, and his brown eyes were full of dreamy tenderness. ‘I just saw the biggest, pinkest house doll ever inside that toy shop over there. If you get that for Hannah’s daughter, I’m willing to forget this and actually try to have a fun Christmas with you.’

‘She’s not even one.’ He laughed softly.

‘She’ll love it.’

He nodded once, studying your face while he smiled softly.

‘Consider it done.’

‘We’re going to be late.’ You said in the car, checking the time on your phone.

‘You don’t even know where we’re going.’ Steve said, rolling his eyes at you. The gesture almost made you smile, so used to be the one that always rolled her eyes at him.

‘You said we needed to leave by seven.’ You said annoyed, hugging yourself over your coat. Yet you could still feel the warmth of his shoulder resting against yours.

‘That was just so you could be ready by six.’ He murmured, the warmth of his breath on your scalp made you realise how close you were from each other. You could feel his chin hovering over your head as he looked through the window, the Christmas lights making the snowy streets colourful, the people walking, the distant sound of sirens.

You felt nostalgic, or maybe just deeply comfortable in the back of the car, stillness within the chaos of traffic. Maybe it was something else, you thought as you felt your body getting warmer, you were safe. The thought kind of terrified you, but at the same time, you thought as you leaned in and rested your head against him, it wasn’t so bad to indulge yourself in his company, was it? After all, it was Christmas.

‘Are you okay?’ He murmured.

You leaned even closer to him then, and he heard you swallow hard as your hand wrapped around his bicep. His body couldn’t simply not react to all that warmth, to all that tenderness, and he finally gave in and placed his chin softly on your head.

‘I’m just feeling a bit homesick.’ You confessed in the dark of the backseat.

‘Hmm.’ The back of his finger stroked your cheeks softly to get your attention. You lifted your eyes shyly, giving him a subtle smile before you sat more comfortably. ‘You wanna go back to the hotel?

‘No.’ You smiled at him, sitting back. ‘No, I just— Sorry, it’s just… Christmas, it always— it makes me kind of crazy.’

You laughed awkwardly, feeling more flushed every second you didn’t move away from him.

‘What do you miss?’ He asked then.

You almost choked as you sat better; your cheeks turned even hotter before you could speak again.

‘From home?’ You placed your cheek against the seat and looked back at him as he nodded. ‘I don’t know. I guess more than missing something specific, what I really miss is being a child.’ You looked away, still feeling his eyes on you as you smiled sadly. ‘Sometimes, when I wake up too stressed or overwhelmed, I stay in bed with my eyes closed and I take a deep breath. And you know, just for a second, I feel like I can smell my bedroom again. Isn’t that weird?’

‘It is weird.’ He murmured as you looked back at him. ‘It’s also very cool that you have such a good memory. I always feel like I don’t remember anything about my childhood.’

‘You remembered the carousel back at the café.’ You reminded him.

‘Yeah, but I don’t have memories there. I just remember not being allowed to get on it.’

‘Hmm.’ You considered it for a few seconds before looking back at him. ‘What about your childhood home?’

He shrugged, looking something unspecific in the distance.

‘I don’t know. I guess it smells like my dad’s office.’ He admitted. ‘That’s why I’m always so paranoid about having candles and plants all over my place.’ You laughed then, thinking it was odd but kind of funny too. ‘Even if I spend most of my time travelling, I can’t bear coming back to a house that smells untouched. Like a hotel.’

And yet he still did, you thought as you looked through the window beyond his shoulder. His maids were always telling you how boring it was to work for Mr Harrington, because all they did was clean dust. There was no mess or things to clean inside his home. There was nothing.

‘We’re here, sir.’ The voice of the driver made you sit down properly, looking through the window next to you this time.

The city lights reflected on the river like little candles with dancing, twinkling flames. You were surprised you hadn’t thought about this possibility, but when the driver opened the door for you, you didn’t know exactly how to feel about the luxurious yacht that sat next to the private pier in front of you.

‘So,’ Steve Said once he had made it out of the car. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s nice.’ You simply said.

‘We’ll watch the fireworks from the river.’ He said enthusiastically.

‘That’s nice.’ You repeated shyly. ‘It’s quite, uhm, big.’

‘I know, I had completely forgotten I had it.’ He said taking your hand before he pulled you towards the pier.

You let out a laugh of disbelief as you followed him, feeling his warm fingers entwining with yours.

‘How could you forget you have a yacht?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I never use it. I used to party in these a lot when I was in college, but I don’t really have time for that anymore.’

You took a deep, patient breath while you climbed the stairs towards the upper deck. Your eyes looked around for other people, lingering on the lights of the yacht and the dark waters underneath. You could imagine what you’d find inside, but that didn’t mean it would surprise you less.

‘Give me your coat.’ He said once you walked in behind him.

Inside, the yacht hid a luxurious lounge with leather couches, an extensive bar and a pool table. You let him take your trench coat as your eyes lingered on the other side, where there was a giant TV screen and a couple of armchairs. Somehow the heat rushed to your cheeks at the sight of it all, before a loud pop behind you made you jump.

You looked back to find Steve pouring champagne in two glasses from the other side of the room. He was still wearing his coat, but yours was laying on the chair behind him, and you suddenly felt flushed as his eyes lingered briefly on your uncovered shoulders.

‘This is obscene.’ You said once you stood in front of him.

He laughed then, loudly and childishly while he offered you the glass of the bubbly alcohol. You took it carefully, feeling warm under his stare.

‘You have no other option but enjoying yourself tonight.’ He said with a smile before clicking his glass with yours.

You took a sip of your drink before rolling your eyes and he smiled back at you. He seemed to be enjoying your shyness, your inadequacy, way too much. 

‘I didn’t want the crew to stay during Christmas, but they did leave some food so we’re having a proper holiday dinner upstairs in the dining hall. And then I also asked them to leave a swimsuit for you, in case you wanted to try the jacuzzi.’

You let out a nervous laugh, before looking to your side. Steve frowned softly as he placed his glass on the bar’s mahogany surface.

‘What is it?’ He said, taking his coat off.

‘Nothing.’ You shrugged.

‘You want to go back to the hotel?’ He asked.

‘No.’ you said, feeling a bit helpless, a bit lost. ‘No, it’s not that. This is very nice, Steve.’

‘But?’ He asked, searching for some sort of validation in your eyes.

You shrugged, looking around you before your eyes landed back on him.

‘I just can’t stop thinking about the fact that you had a place to stay the whole time.’ You said softly.

Realisation fell on Steve’s eyes, and something else, something deeper that sadness took over them. He was angry. If it was at you, or at himself, you wouldn’t know. His fingers held the glass he had placed on the bar, pondering with a frown. As if you had caught him doing something bad, something improper.

‘I guess I just didn’t want to be alone on Christmas.’ He played with a few drops that fell from his glass before looking back at you. He swallowed hard. You opened your mouth to say something, regretting your words immediately, but Steve kept talking. ‘Listen, honestly, I didn’t even remember I had this place until this morning. I know maybe spending Christmas with me is not the most appealing idea in the world but—’

‘Steve, it’s not like that.’

‘… I just want you to have a good time.’ His eyes were full of honesty as he looked at you, but a part of you felt he had grown cold at your words. ‘Whether that is here, or back at the hotel, or anywhere. It’s kind of my fault that you’re stuck here, anyways. I shouldn’t have made you work on Christmas Eve.’

You took a deep breath, looking away and feeling the guilt rising on your chest. He had tried to give you a decent Christmas. He had bought you this lovely dress, he had requested a proper Christmas dinner, and all you had been doing all day was lie to him.

‘I’m sorry.’ You finally said, taking a step towards him. ‘It’s not your fault, I’ve spent the whole day being stubborn. I guess I didn’t want us to get behind with work, and— if I’m honest with you, I’ve always had a complicated relationship with Christmas. It’s not your fault.’

You looked at each other for a few seconds before you bit your lip, trying to repress your embarrassment.

‘Okay.’ He finally said, considering your words. ‘What if… instead of going all the way up to the dining hall we just have dinner here in front of the TV, huh? We can watch a Christmas movie or a horror movie or like, a documentary…’

You let out a snorty laugh then, nodding as you smiled at him.

‘Okay.’ You said then. ‘Sounds good.’

‘Great.’ He said with a smile.

It took little time for you two to get used to the comfort of the understanding silence as you brought the food downstairs. As the evening started, you slowly stopped caring too much about the yacht and its excessive luxuries. This was Steve’s life, after all, but there was also no reason why you had to stick to those unwritten rules you followed in professional instances tonight. A few minutes after your third glass of champagne you were taking your shoes off and walking around barefoot as you filled your plate with turkey and stuffing, and potatoes.

Steve followed you by getting rid of his jacket and shoes and you both forgot the armchairs and sat down on the floor to watch The Parent Trap.

‘I can’t believe you’ve never seen this masterpiece.’ You said once the ending credits rolled. You dipped your finger on the cup of gravy before taking it to your mouth. ‘This is on my top five of comfort movies.’

‘I can see why.’ He cleaned his mouth with a napkin before sitting back against the bottom of the armchair. ‘I guess that’s what I get for growing up with no sisters.’

‘You’ve got, what? Five brothers? And none of them were really into cheesy movies?’

He laughed.

‘Apparently not. They all have their own thing.’ He shrugged.

‘Hmm.’ You said putting your plate aside. ‘Like what?’

‘Well, you know Nick. He was always very into music. And then Trevor’s always been into fencing, he always wanted to do it on an Olympic level, but he’s never been that good.’ He joked, placing his elbows on his knees as his eyes got lost on the patterns of the carpet. ‘Jake’s an aircraft engineer, so he thinks he’s the smart one. And then the twins surf, but Dan is better at that than Richie. I don’t know, they all have a thing.’

‘What’s your thing?’ You asked then.

‘Huh?’

‘What’s your thing?’ You repeated.

He shrugged.

‘I don’t think I have one.’ He admitted.

Steve and you stayed quiet as you thought about his words. He rarely spoke about his family to you, but you had learned things about them in discreet silence. It was widely known that Nick Harrington had a substance problem; Steve himself had driven him to rehab many times. You had only learned this because you had to help Hannah handle the scandal that one time the press leaked the address of his rehab centre.  

You knew that Trevor and Jake didn’t get along with Steve, by the way he absently signed the birthday cards you posted to their addresses every year. You always made sure to date them on the inside, above the empty, cold Happy Birthday printed on the card. You knew that the twins were spoiled and ungrateful, because they never cared to learn your name or address you nicely every time they called Steve for money when their father refused to indulge yet another one of their fleeting business endeavours.

‘How come?’ You asked softly as he took the remote control. Steve stayed quiet for a while, switching to a jazz playlist on Spotify.

You thought for a second he wasn’t going to give you an answer, until he entwined his hands behind his neck as he rested his back against the armchair.

‘I don’t know.’ He said as his hands fell slowly on his knees, losing himself in his thoughts before he looked at you. ‘I don’t think I was given the chance to.’

He stayed in silence for a second as your eyes lingered on his face, as if no one had ever asked him this question before. Then he laughed softly, bitterly, and you frowned.

‘Isn’t that funny?’ He said. ‘The guy with all the opportunities wasn’t given one.’

You lifted your eyebrows as you looked down to your knees, processing his words.

‘S fine.’ He shrugged before standing up. ‘I don’t want to think too much about it right now.’

Your eyes followed him as he moved to the bar, grabbing a bottle of wine before walking towards you and extending his hand.

‘C’mon.’ He said with a soft smile. You didn’t know how he did it, or why he didn’t really care about the sad conversation you almost had. ‘I wanna show you the place.’

You grabbed his hand while holding the two empty wine glasses on the other, and he took you on a tour of the yacht. You had already seen the dining hall, big and impersonal but decorated by a giant red rug that felt soft and cozy under your feet. The staff had managed to place an improvised but prettily decorated tree on the further conner, and a few Christmas lights around the place.

It wasn’t until he took you towards the helm that you realised how comfortable you had felt holding his hand the whole time. The area consisted of three luxurious screens that surrounded the captain’s seat, along with the steering wheel and the engine controls.

‘You wanna drive it for a while?’ He joked in the dark as you looked at the weather and pressure data on the screen.

‘Absolutely not.’ You said immediately. He laughed at it, rubbing his thumb against your hand softly as he took you out of the little room. ‘Do you know how to?’

‘Nah.’ He said as he took you through another room, much more luxurious than the one downstairs where you had eaten. There were more L-shaped couches, and a piano at the end. Beyond that, you could see through the windows that there were lounge chairs outside, probably a pool too. ‘…Could’ve learned at some point, but I never liked boats that much.’

You let out a sarcastic laugh as your eyes lingered on the jacuzzi on the other side of the room. Then, walking past him, you took the wine bottle while he looked at you with an amused stare.

‘What?’

You filled your glass before placing the bottle next to his on the crystal table in the middle of the room. Once again, you kneeled next to the table, looking at him still standing up on the other side of it.

‘You know, I’ve heard things about your times in private school.’ You said with a childish smile that he seemed to find funny as he lifted his eyebrows. ‘I used to think they were just rumours, but I can only imagine the kind of things young Steve Harrington could be up to in one of these.’

He rolled his eyes then, walking around the table to sit on the couch like an important man. His brown eyes piercing, almost mischievous, as he rested his back against the cushion with his legs open. The couch was so big he wasn’t even taking all the space, but this was Steve, he was used to having it all.

‘So…?’ You pressed, taking another sip of your drink. ‘Am I wrong?’

He shrugged. ‘You’re not wrong.’

‘So, it’s true.’ You said almost pleased. ‘King Steve.’

‘Oh, Jesus.’ He looked away, shaking his head as you giggled. He took a deep breath, looking back at you as if you were a trouble kid and he didn’t know what to do with you. He leaned in a little bit, placing his elbows on his knees before entwinning his hands. ‘Listen, of course it got out of hand sometimes. You can’t raise a kid telling him he’s got all the money and power in the world and expect him to be a decent teenager. I never said I wasn’t spoiled.’

‘You never said you were indecent either.’ You said softly, looking back at him as you took a long sip of your wine.

His eyes lingered on your face as you swallowed, lifting your delicate hand to clean the drop that fell down your mouth.

‘Some of us have secrets.’ He said after a while. He extended a hand to fill his on glass as you considered his words. ‘You, for example, have many.’

You lifted your eyes to look back at him, thinking that maybe he had figured you out. You thought maybe someone he knew had told him all about your plans to quit, after all Steve knew everyone. You could’ve said something there, act offended or tell the truth. But instead, you just took the bottle back to fill your glass.

‘I’m not interesting enough to have secrets.’ You smiled softly, eyes focused on the pouring liquid as you avoided his stare.

‘I don’t agree.’

‘I know you don’t.’ You simply said with a smile before taking your glass with you as you stood up.

You knew his eyes were on you as you walked around the room, placing the glass on the edge of the jacuzzi before your hand ventured to stroke the still water inside. The sudden bubbling of the water startled you as the lights of the thing turned on, and you heard Steve’s soft laugh behind you.

‘I thought it’d be warm.’ You said foolishly as the heat rushed to your cheeks. Only then you realised how drunk you were, feeling that your skin was more than just warm, your lips were a bit dry, your thoughts all over the place.

The water did turn warm a few seconds later, and you dared to touch its surface again, this time diving your hand a little bit as you rested your chest against the edge of the jacuzzi. It was very quiet, your eyes lingered on the soft waves that the bubbles below created, taking in the colours of the exploding fireworks on the water before you looked up to the window.

You lifted your eyes to look at the sky when Steve turned the lights of the room off, his slow steps echoing through the room until he stood beside you. Only then you wondered how you were supposed to go back home this week.

Resting your chin on the extended arm that stroked the water, you saw Steve placing his crossed arms over the edge of the jacuzzi. He stayed quiet as if you had commanded him to, as if he knew that you needed him to stay like this. As if this silence was his present to you, it felt like that in a way.

‘One Christmas,’ You said then, ‘When I was seven, mom and I woke up and dad wasn’t home. She called him after a couple of hours, and he said he was buying fireworks for that night, and like, that wasn’t weird, really.’ You paused to take in the beautiful explosions in the distant sky, the silhouette of the skyscrapers being illuminated by the colours, the warmth exuded by the attentive body next to you. ‘So, we waited for him to have breakfast together, but he didn’t show up. He also skipped lunch, and we didn’t see him until the evening when he came home and set his fireworks outside. He spent the whole night lighting them up while ignoring us.’ You made a thoughtful, bitter pause before looking down at the water again. ‘He was mad. He had found out he had cancer. I think he didn’t really know how to tell us.’

You felt him swallow hard next to you, and only then you stood straight. Your eyes looked back at him as you rested your fingers on the edge of the jacuzzi. His stare was still on the water as he tried to find his words, but you knew what he was thinking: What can you say to that?

‘Sometimes keeping a secret is just delaying the truth, I suppose.’ He said then. It surprised you that he had come to that conclusion so quickly and effectively, while all you had done was overshare the sad little story of your dad’s diagnosis.

‘I guess so.’ You murmured unsure, before looking down at the water. You both stayed silent for a while, looking at the water as if the jacuzzi was a well that hid all the answers to the drunken questions in your head.

Delaying the truth. Was that what you had been doing these last two years?

‘I need to fly home tomorrow.’ You said, taking a step back, looking at your feet before you started climbing the steps to get inside.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you as you started undoing the zip of your dress. With his lips partly open he offered you a hand that you took as you made it to the border.

‘Mom and I always visit his grave on the 30th.’

‘I can get you tickets.’ He said as you let his hand go, taking a step back as you started undoing the straps of your dress. Something shifted then, the silence was cruel and definite, as if time had turned slower when the dress gently slid down your body and you kicked it to the side.

You couldn’t look back at him as you stepped inside the water, feeling like it wasn’t warm enough to sooth your flushed skin. And yet you kept telling yourself that it wouldn’t happen, that he’d kept it professional and polite between you two, but maybe you didn’t want him to. He had been touching you all day, you had slept in the same bed, for fuck’s sake.

Maybe all you wanted was to challenge him, to see if he dared to. Because if he didn’t do anything here, as you looked behind your shoulder to find him resting his arms over the edge again, then that could only mean that this had always been a one-sided thing.

‘You don’t get to share secrets like this.’ He whispered, shamelessly looking from your face to your body under water before he looked back at you. ‘It’s not fair.’

You turned back fully then, looking into his eyes and knowing he was dying to take a peek at your breasts under that lacy black bra you were wearing tonight. But he didn’t, instead he looked down at his hands as you walked slowly towards the edge, tendered by the red tint on his cheeks. This was so bad. It was so, so bad. Deep down you knew he was weak right now, that there were rules you were breaking, roles that you weren’t adhering to.

‘I know it’s not fair.’ You said searching for his eyes. ‘A lot of things aren’t.’

He looked up again, his eyes studied your face this time. Little drops of water had fell on your cheeks, but your make up was still shimmery under the lights of the jacuzzi.

‘What do you want me to do?’ He leaned in then. Straightforward surrender, maybe the only logical solution. Your faces were only inches away from each other as he challenged you. ‘If you tell me you want me to leave, I’ll leave. If you want me to join you there, I will. If I need to get you out of the water myself, take you upstairs, and make love to you in my bed, I will.’

Your hands played with the water that surrounded you as you looked back at him with partly open lips, wondering if Cecelia, Giovanna, Conny, Harriet or the rest whose names you had never cared enough to learn had been here before. But that didn’t matter, did it? They didn’t have what you had. They weren’t forbidden like you. They were nothing.

‘This is wrong.’ You whispered it as a fact, knowing very well that you didn’t mind, that it was just a cliché that needed to leave your mouth before things could really go deliciously wrong.

‘I don’t think you care.’ He said then.

‘Do you?’ You lifted your eyebrows then, placing your hands on the edge of the jacuzzi as you looked back at him with anxiety written all over your pretty face. ‘Care?’

Steve smiled then, blinking a couple of times as sweet sincerity took over his features slowly, unbearably gentlemanly and patient. His hands found yours over the edge, entwining your hands when his forehead brushed yours and you looked down at the buttons of his shirt, hiding from him.

‘Why don’t you get out and find out?’ He whispered then.

You nodded softly, the silence tense and sweet before you pushed yourself up as he took a small step back and you shyly sat down on the edge of the jacuzzi. He didn’t stay far for too long, catching himself biting his lips at the wet, half-naked image of you splashing water everywhere. His hands found yours on either side of your thighs as he took another tentative step forward, and almost instinctively you opened your legs for him, finding his brown locks with your wet fingers.

His own hands tested your comfort, landing on your hips as you looked down at him with a shy smile.

‘Hi.’ You whispered.

‘Hi.’ He said in the same tone.

You smiled softly, this time more cheekily, as your fingers wandered down, sneaking into his partly opened shirt just because you wanted to feel his burning skin, his chest hair, those corners that you had once forced yourself not to look at.

Unconsciously, you fisted his shirt when he dared to lean in subtly, following your head as your noses brushed, poking yours playfully to break the tension a little. Oddly, knowing that he was enjoying himself in his own time gave you a sense of confidence, you even dared to smile a little before you pulled him in.

You tasted his smile before his lips, maybe he found funny that your urgency seemed almost young and inexperienced, but you knew what you were doing. It took him a few seconds to breathe deeply under your mouth, to gain control by squeezing your waist and lean in even closer to you as your tongue demanded for space in his mouth.

A soft noise left his throat, and you chased his lips to swallow it, begging him to give you another one, please. But now his hands were cupping your face, and you felt more and more like a feather in his arms. It got much worse when he lifted you from your butt with sudden confidence, swallowing the sweet whimper of surprise you let out while he led you to the closest couch.

He let his body fall as you comfortably sat on his lap, making a mess out of his locks as his hands repositioned your thighs closer to him and his needy mouth search for your neck to kiss and bite.

There were so many different instances in which you had imagined the texture of Steve’s tongue before, but you would’ve never thought he’d be so gentle with his teeth as he played with your body. Then, as if he’d reminded this was the first time he had you this close, he chased your mouth for a soft, almost innocent kiss before looking back at you.

‘You okay?’ He asked with a nod.

‘M fine.’ You stroked his face: his beautiful boyishly blushed cheeks, before you leaned in to bite his lip playfully.

The silence was tense as you looked at each other with a cheekiness you would’ve never thought you discovered in each other. You knew now you were driving him crazy, and he knew you were dying to prove yourself. Still holding your challenging stare, his soft hands started to pull down the fabric of your bra.

You were waiting for the moment that his eyes fell on your bare chest, but he was amusing himself by staring at you with his heavy eyelids and cheeky sided smile. Steve was too busy looking at the safest places of you: your eyes, your lips. Yet the boldness of his face slowly died when his hands finally cupped your breasts, and you let out a shaky breath when his thumbs brushed your freezing cold nipples.

He nodded encouragingly as your hands climbed to his shoulders under his shirt and he kept massaging your breasts while your nose brushed against his. While your breaths turned heavier, and your hips started moving softly.

Steve’s eyes were still open, eyelids heavy and pupils glossy while his lips brushed against yours and he swallowed the air your exhaled. His hands wandered down your back, finding a way to sneak under the side straps of your thong, and suddenly the tiny piece of fabric didn’t feel as discreet as you’d thought it was. He gave your ass a good, loving squeeze that left you breathless, and he seemed to enjoy that, by the way he was smiling when he pushed you against his body until your mouth was on his again.

It all turned much slower but much more sensual after that. You skin was hot and full of goosebumps as he held you by your waist to lay your back against the couch. You were dazed, and so overwhelmed as he left a trace of wet kisses between your breasts down to your ribs.

Then, with the patience of a child holding a bird, he placed his cheek against your belly button and looked back at you. His lips were puffy, his cheeks preciously pink. You dared to do something you’d always dreamed of doing and dived your fingers inside those dark brown locks of hair, slowly stroking the hidden grey strands next to his ear.

You could’ve both simply fallen asleep like that, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was stroking your thighs so softly, and your pussy got warmer and wetter the more you felt his weight on top of yours. You held your breath when he pulled your underwear aside, and his finger finally dared to brush those nerves, a thin thread of wetness connecting your pussy with his finger as you kept stroking his hair and he simply looked down to that deliciously sensitive slit in between your legs.

You should’ve been blushing by the way he seemed fascinated by how your pussy pulsed every second he teased you, by how your wetness leaked out, staining his couch in the most sweetly obscene way. He could lick that, yeah, starting from the bottom and then all the way up to your clit. He’d do that for you until you moaned his name, or the word please, he wanted you arching your back, fisting the cushion underneath you. He had thought about this so often that somehow it was hard to know if it was really happening or if this was just another one of his fantasies, another one of those dreams that tended to leave him with insomnia, sweaty and hot in his lonely bed.

There just seemed to be so many endless ways to taste you for the first time and he couldn’t decide which one, so he just went for the easiest one, rubbing his face against your perfumed skin as he slowly left a trail of wet pecks until his mouth was finally kissing your pretty needy pussy.

Steve sighed before you even could, diving his head in between your legs and eating you selfishly as his hands squeezed your thighs. He licked slowly and sensually, from the entrance of your cunt up to your clit before sucking gently, as if he had all the time in the world.

‘…taste so fucking good.’ He said to himself before leaning back. You held your breath as he looked at your shamelessly open and wet pussy while he removed your thong fully, before pushing you knee softly outwards to spit on you. His saliva was warm, and you were so sensitive, the gesture made you release a little moan before his finger dived inside you and you were arching your back again.

His free hand wandered up your hip, admiring your squirming body, the way your chest ascended when you took a deep breath and then softly descended when you released it in the shape of a sweet longing sigh. He grabbed one of your breasts then, this time more firmly, as if he was entitled to, and your own hand squeezed his over it.

‘Fuck.’ You moaned when his finger managed to stroke a particularly nice spot. He had rarely heard you swear before and now he wanted to hear you do it all the time, because your voice made it all sound sweet and harmless. ‘There.’

‘Hmm?’ He asked sweetly, keeping the same sexy rhythm, touching the same damn spot. ‘There?’

‘Ha.’ You moaned almost painfully. ‘Mhm. Yeah. There.’

You were shutting your eyes now, trying not to think too much about how you looked as the wetness leaked out of your pussy the closer you got, feeling it drip down your thighs and ass. Steve’s lips were puffy and wet when he kissed the side of your knee, his hair was stroking your leg unintentionally, his other hand wasn’t pressing your breast anymore, just merely letting you hold it as your breaths turned faster.

‘I don’t wanna cum like this.’ You begged then, opening your eyes to look back at him with arched eyebrows and sweaty cheeks. His eyes were still on you, mesmerised and heavy as he kept his rhythm, not stopping yet.

‘I don’t understand.’ He whispered before kissing your knee again. ‘You look beautiful. I wanna see you like this.’

‘I—’ You sighed heavily, feeling on the edge every second that he kept touching you there. ‘I want you inside me.’

‘You’ll have me.’ He murmured lovingly, still fascinated by the obscenely sweet image of your agonizing body. ‘Soon, baby. So soon. Cum for me first. Cum like this.’

You let out a moany breath again, nails scratching the cushion on your side as he rested his cheek against your knee, drunk by the greed of being the one who could do this to you. You swallowed hard as your hips started to convulse with the rest of your body, and then he felt it, the contractions of your inner walls, your puffy clit pulsing right there under his eyes, glistening with the mix of your wetness and his spit. Your open mouth, noiseless as you held your breath and your breasts pointy and exposed for him before your back landed on the couch again.

‘Shit.’ Your voice sounded so soft and defeated as you closed your eyes lazily, feeling his body hovering over you. Your hands instinctively dived inside his hair when his lips kissed your neck and ear.

‘You were perfect.’ He whispered as you felt the fabric of his pants rub against your sensitive clit by accident, and you were rolling your eyes at how something so subtle was arousing your again.

‘Mhm.’ Your moaned when your blind mouth could finally find his and this time you were messier and dirtier than before, licking his lower lip and wrapping your sweaty legs around his waist. ‘Fuck me.’

He moved you both onto your side, your wet back now against the cushion of the couch as he melted into your body and his arms wrapped around your waist.

‘You’re half asleep.’ He laughed softly, squeezing your naked frame.

‘I don’t care.’ You looked back at him, tasting the wine in the back of your throat and knowing that all your make up was probably ruined by now. You must’ve looked so pathetic, sweaty cheeks, smudged eyeliner, and fucked-out face. It didn’t matter. ‘I’m in love with you.’

He leaned back softly then, studying your face before his hand brushed your cheekbone softly. You were looking at him, pleading that he wouldn’t let you humiliate yourself like this, all vulnerable and naked in his arms.

Steve softly arranged your bodies more cosily on the couch, he lifted himself briefly before placing your head against his chest, stroking your precious hair, smelling your perfumed scalp as your legs remained entwined. And all you were begging was for him not to be too cruel, too patronising, when he’d inevitably break your heart tonight.

‘Are you cold?’ He asked after a while, brushing his fingers against your bare back that was full of goosebumps.

‘Aren’t you going to?’ You were unable to be patient anymore, but you couldn’t face him, otherwise it’d be too embarrassing. And then you had to use that awful wording he used before, belittling yourself even more. ‘Aren’t you going to make love to me?’

Something came out of his chest then, and you frowned. It couldn’t be a laugh, though, there was nothing funny about this.

‘Of course, I am.’ He said then. ‘Just not now.’

‘When, then.’ You said more angrily than you intended to as you leaned back to finally confront him. God, you were drunk. You were a mess of emotions and alcohol, your throat was dry, your ears still buzzing by the long-forgotten orgasm.

It was as if his limbs were instinctively connecting to you, fingertips hovering on your face as they traced a line from your cheek to your chin.

‘I’m tryin’ to find the courage first.’ He explained very seriously. ‘To tell you that I love you.’

You blinked softly, stubbornly, as you frowned. You weren’t unhappy but somehow mad, that you were both this stupid. He stroked your cheek again, his nose looked blindly for yours, and it was if you didn’t want him to kiss you out of sudden. Rejection would’ve hurt less.

‘Come here.’ He said searching for your mouth.

‘Steve.’

‘Come here.’ He said more insistingly this time, pulling your jaw towards him and what else could you do but to give in? He had promised he’d made love to you, and he intended to, by the way his body was turning unbearably hot under all of those layers. He kissed you more purposely then, as your legs wrapped around him again and you unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, softly scratching any bit of skin you could find in the process.

His intentions were patient, but his body wasn’t. You could feel him getting harder as he went in for your neck, your jaw, your temple. At some point he grew too desperate, and the sound of his belt was followed by a clean pull of his boxers and pants, all falling down on the end of the couch.

Now your fingers were able to discover more, to stroke much more skin: the hairs on his stomach, the faded stretch marks under his hips, he had round, firm butt cheeks that you would’ve loved to tease him for, if this wasn’t a sad scenario, if things between you were different.

Your nails left half-moons on his shoulder when his dick first pushed a little through your entrance. Eyes-shut, open mouth and breath held in your chest as he didn’t dare to push himself fully.

‘Easy.’ He whispered on your open mouth, his top lip against yours as he cooed you into it. ‘Slow. Take your time.’

You nodded enthusiastically, because this time you didn’t want to be stubborn, and you really wanted to enjoy this, him. He let himself partly out before pushing a bit deeper, and you seemed to release your breath out, feeling a bit more relieved. One of your hands dived inside his hair as you pulled him closer to you, and he let you guide him as your walls progressively opened for him.

‘You’re so tight.’ He laughed to himself, and you swallowed it before he kissed your shy smile. ‘Goddamn it, your pussy feels so good, baby. You hear that?’

It was the obscene noise of your wetness, of his dick sliding inside you repeatedly in a slow pace.

‘Mhmm.’ You moaned softly as your nose brushed against his, and your hands stroked his cheeks lovingly. ‘Show me?’

The grip on your waist turned tighter then, holding onto you to pull his hard cock in and out of you while your arms wrapped around his neck, and he was finally making love to you, but you were just hugging him, you were saying goodbye to everything he had meant to you.

The thought didn’t let you live, but you were still letting out throaty moans every time he thrusted into you in this sensual rhythm and his cock made you feel blissfully full. You could’ve tried to move your hips a little, but you didn’t want to ruin the perfect synchronicity, and he was so thick you could feel yourself getting wetter while one of his hands held your thigh and your hands stroked his hair lovingly.

‘Where can I?’ He asked urgently. ‘Where?’

You leaned back to have a look at his pretty fucked face, those reddened cheeks, puffy lips, glossy brown eyes that drove you insane. You couldn’t help but leave soft kisses all around his cheekbone, his nose, his jaw.

‘Where do you want to?’ You purred. ‘Huh? Where do you wanna cum?’

He let out a choky breath resting his forehead on yours. You frowned as he slowed his rhythm, letting out an awkward laugh.

‘I don’t know—’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t know if you’re on the pill, or…’

You shook your head then, putting a strand of hair behind his ear. ‘I can take something tomorrow.’

He shook his head then, smiling softly with his eyes closed.

‘Tempting,’ He breathed heavily. ‘But no.’

‘Steve…’

‘Where else?’ He said, frowning painfully as he squeezed your waist and his rhythm fastened once again. ‘Where else can I cum, baby, c’mon on. Please.’

You looked at him with perverse adoration then, wondering how many times you had imagined this scenario before, and how pleased you were by his sweet desperation.

‘Mouth?’ You asked tentatively.

‘Mouth?’ He repeated. His eyes opened in disbelief, panting heavily as you looked at him expectantly. ‘Your mouth?’

You laughed softly. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah?’ He asked again.

‘Yeah.’ You moaned sensually as you searched for his mouth, leaving a sloppy kiss on his lips. ‘Want it inside me. Wanna taste you. Swallow you.’

He sighed heavily before nodding, and you could’ve sworn he had rolled his eyes at your irresistible descriptions.

‘Okay.’ He kissed your temple then; you could see that he wasn’t making much sense anymore and that meant he was probably really close. ‘Lay back for me.’

You did as he said, letting him roll you carefully in the little space until he was hovering on top of you. It was exciting in a completely different way: your eyes could linger on the way his muscles flexed as he supported himself in one arm, on the back of his fingers brushing against your cheek as he adjusted himself inside you again.

Because you weren’t searching for an orgasm now, it was much easier to get lost in the details that would’ve escaped from you if you had been drunk by frantic desire. You discovered he had a nice pretty mole on his chest, hidden by all the hair next to his nipple. The image of his dick getting lost inside you would haunt your nights for years as he squeezed your hip. He had this thing too, where he always licked the skin of your neck before nibbling on it, almost preparing it for its teeth. It was sweet, you thought to yourself as you smiled. He had been as gentle as you had always imagined.

‘M so close.’ He said under his breath, placing his head on your breastbone as he prepared his manoeuvre to cause you the minimal distress.

‘Okay.’ You said softly, kissing his scalp as you tried to encourage him. ‘That’s fine. ‘M ready.’

He let out a humming noise, a repressed whine that turned into a moan as he got closer and closer and you kept stroking his hair, as you kissed the protuberant vein on his temple.

‘Open your mouth.’ He instructed when he pulled out and you did as he said. ‘Open your pretty mouth, goddamn it.’

And you did, yes you did. It was a bit messy, but only a few drops fell on your chest before his dick found a warm place to cum inside your mouth. He didn’t try to push it in, or to do anything else, and you trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t. Steve simply stayed there, mesmerized as you sucked the sensitive tip with the right pressure, as he saw the movement of your throat swallow his hot, bittersweet release. You made out with it, with him until there was nothing else. Until he was clean and soft again.

His eyes lingered on your puffy, glossy lips when he pulled it out of you; his hand stroked your mouth and cheek as you both breathed heavily, and he thought about what had just happened. What you had trusted him enough to do.

Your expectant eyes looked back at him from below, waiting for something, anything to happen as you leaned in against his palm.

‘Bed?’ You finally asked.

He nodded, exhausted, feeling that there was so much he wanted to say but he didn’t know where to start.

You weren’t going to ask any questions or let out any more embarrassing confessions. In silence, you moved in the darkness of the room as you headed for the stairs fully naked, leaving the room intact with the smell of sex and the shame of sadness.

A little scratching noise woke you up a few hours later. When you opened your eyes, it took you a while to remember where you were, as all you could see was the curious face of a seagull poking the window of top of you. Behind the silly animal there was a white sky, a few remains of snow melted on the corners of the glass, and all you could do was take a deep breath as you gathered the strength to move.

Next to you, Steve slept peacefully. Your eyes lingered on all the moles that adorned his back, and the messy locks of hair that rested against the pillow. You remembered he had fallen asleep with his head on your shoulder, and how you stayed at least an hour looking up at the early morning sky through the window before you were able to fall asleep.

You still didn’t know what to do. The events from last night replayed in the back of your head and all you wanted was to pretend that none of it had happened, but inside the yacht it was impossible, considering that everywhere you looked took you back to the texture of his mouth, or the heat of his skin against yours.

Eventually, you slowly climbed down the bed before tiptoeing towards the toilet, where you found a bathrobe to cover your body with before walking down the steps to the second floor. You tried to repress a smile when your eyes wandered around the crime scene: his clothes still on the couch, your underwear on the rug, and the red fabric of the dress scattered on the floor like shameful evidence.

Trying to put aside your embarrassment, you picked all your stuff and got rid of the bathrobe, dressing up as your eyes got lost in the desolated deck outside. The underwear was still damp from the jacuzzi, but it’d have to do. The dress hadn’t suffered any damage; you flattened the skirt, thinking about your shoes and trench coat that were somewhere downstairs.

You took a deep breath, sitting down on the couch where you had let him do whatever he wanted with you last night, eyes lingering on the half-empty wine glasses, on the expensive bottle still resting on the glass table as you pondered. You needed some time to think.

You could think back home. You could book the tickets, leave tonight, and have a few days away from this jungle of a city to think things through, to make a decision. But it was obvious that all the possibilities of staying in this job had disappeared after what you had done last night.

After a while, you resorted to go down to the first floor to get your phone. Maybe call your mother and for once not worry at all about emails or calendars, but it seemed that the more stairs you climbed down in this place the more lucid and terrified you felt about the events of the last few hours.

It was as if you were an intruder in Steve’s paradise of luxury, there was no fucking way there would be space for you in this world of his beyond the job of an assistant. In the back of your mind you had flirted with the possibility, of course, many times. Of maybe becoming something else, as you both had confessed last night, but there was no way this thing between you would survive.

The coat was still resting on the chair next to the bar, and you put it on quickly before your hands dived deep into the pockets to find your phones. And you did find them, but the feeling of something else made you frown as your fingers encountered the velvet square box inside.

Your heart beat hard against your chest as you squeezed the little box in your palm, thinking that if you’d squeeze it hard enough maybe it would become less real. Maybe it would disappear, but no. It was small, and hard to the touch, and very real.

Just then, your phone started buzzing and only when you sniffed softly you realised that you had tears in your eyes. You hoped to God that it was your mother, but instead your personal phone just showed a random number, and it took you a few seconds to make the decision to pick up the call.

‘Hello?’

‘Is this Miss—?’

‘Yeah.’ You said weakly. ‘This is she.’

‘Oh. I’m Jonathan Byers?’ The name filled you with anxiety in a completely different way, looking around the room as you cleaned your face. ‘Sorry, is this a bad time?’

‘No.’ you said immediately. ‘No, Mr Byers, it’s fine. How are you?’

‘I’m okay.’ He said carefully. Your breath still felt trapped inside your throat as he kept talking. ‘I was hoping we could schedule an in-person interview soon? I just wanted to speak to you first before I make you an official offer.’

‘Of course.’ You said, trying to process his words. ‘I just, uh, got caught in some extra work. Is it possible to postpone it after New Year’s?’

A tense silence set on the line as you held your breath before he released an awkward laugh.

‘I thought you needed to leave your current job? That’s what Robin said.’

‘A-And she was right.’ You said, feeling your scalp warm and sweaty. ‘I do.’

Your fingers wrapped around the velvety box inside your pocket once again, holding onto it as if it was an amulet. The words stayed on your throat as you repeated them in your head: I do. I do. I do.

‘What about this afternoon?’ You suddenly said. Looking for a clock anywhere around you. ‘I need to book a flight back home, but I’m staying at the Plaza and if it’s not too far from you, we could meet there.’

‘Right.’ He said then, thinking about it for a second before he took a deep breath of relief.  ‘I have a new production starting on the 15th and…’

You nodded as he spoke, looking behind your shoulder when you thought that maybe you had heard something behind you, but there was nothing. Steve was still sleeping peacefully upstairs as Mr Byers kept talking on the phone and you took your work phone out of the coat to place it on the mahogany surface of the bar.

‘Sure.’ You said to whatever Jonathan was saying before you swallowed hard, finally getting the courage to pull out the tiny little box from its hiding place. A frown took over your face as your thumb stroked the perfect red surface of its lid, licking your lips as you tasted salty tears on your throat. ‘Of course.’

‘…Looking forward to meeting you.’ He finally said.

‘Thank you, Mr Byers.’ You said softly.

Your eyes were still holding the phone against your ear when he hung up. The temptation of opening it was taking all over your body, but you weren’t sure if you would be able to leave this place if you confirmed your suspects, if after all it ended up being true.

So, you did the brave thing, which was also the coward thing to do, and placed it on top of the phone where he had called you so many times before the last couple of years. All through different time zones, during the holidays, or from the office. Whenever he needed you, as an assistant, a friend, or just someone to talk to.

You stood there, looking at the sad little image, knowing that you had to leave soon if you wanted to be on time to get your things ready, check out from the hotel and meet Mr Byers. But you were trying to find a better way to do this. There had to be a much better way to leave without breaking his heart in such a cruel way. You just didn’t know how.

Carefully, you let out a defeated sigh, tying the strips of your coat around you before you searched for a pen, something you could write him an extensive and sincere apologetic letter. But there was not much that you could say or write, was there?

Sighing, you grabbed a napkin from the bar, feeling that time was melting the more you delayed your leaving, the more you searched for words. It was only then that you wondered, really wondered, if there was anything you could offer the man you were in love with.

Give me some time, was all you could write on that miserable piece of paper

The flight back home was short, or at least it felt that way because you couldn’t remember much of it. The whole time you had been looking at your personal phone, now your only phone, wondering if you’d have a missed call from Mr Harrington once you landed.

There was still an unheard voicemail from him that you didn’t know if you had the courage to listen to. You had to start drafting an official resignation letter now that you had a new job, and in the next few days you had to start organizing Mr Byer’s schedule for January while leaving everything in order for Steve’s new assistant.

While your mother drove home, you wondered if there could be anyone who paid attention to the little things as much as you did. Would this new person know in which order to organise his meetings so he could be more efficient? Would they remember to get him some earplugs for his long flights? You bit your smile as you remembered how sometimes you used to tell him that his Friday afternoon meeting had been cancelled when really it was scheduled on Monday, just so he could have an hour or two for himself when things were too heavy. But you knew very well now that most of those things had nothing to do with the role and everything to do with the way you cared about him.

‘Are you listening, honey?’ Your mother said that night when you jumped on the table, thinking that maybe you had heard the buzz on your phone when really it had been your stepdad’s. ‘I said Mrs Vandermann’s now too old to manage the Christmas dinner for the homeless shelter so I thought I might volunteer next year.’

‘Right.’ You nodded. ‘Yeah, sorry, mom. I’m still a bit tired. That’s nice.’

‘Oh, ‘s that awful boss of yours.’ She said standing up from the table, she squeezed your shoulder before getting lost in the kitchen as she kept talking. ‘I’m so happy you won’t be working for him anymore. Ask Allan, he’s everything I’ve been complaining about for the last few days.’

Your stepdad didn’t really say much as he quickly scrolled down the news in his phone. You fought the need to roll your eyes at some of the headlines on those sensationalist websites he used to read, but you weren’t going to start a discussion after skipping Christmas, not now that your mother seemed so happy.

‘There you go, you two.’ She said placing two plates with fruitcake in front of you, before clapping enthusiastically. ‘Oh, I’m so happy we finally get to be together as a family.’

Oh, a family. The thought didn’t leave your head as you finished your dessert, and your absent eyes got lost in the worn face of your father in the pictures. You wondered if you’d tell him about Steve if he was still here, sitting on the place where your stepfather was playing Candy Crush while he complained about the news with your mother. Or maybe they would’ve eventually ended up getting divorced, like most of your friends’ parents who had fallen in love in High School and stayed in town.

That night you lay on your childhood bed, among young adult novels you probably needed to give to charity and boyband posters that the sun had bleached until you couldn’t recognise the face of your favourite member anymore. You had seen him once or twice in events where Steve had been invited to, quietly observing him in the distance, wondering what had your teenage self seen in that man. Then Steve had playfully squeezed your shoulder, mockingly asking you if you wanted to be introduced.

You remembered those things fondly as you played with a worn teddy bear your grandparents had brought to the hospital the day you were born. The thing was missing an eye, and some stitches had given up with time, but you still placed your cheek against its fluffy head in the darkness of your room, hearing the snores of your stepdad in the distance.

Give me some time. That had been your request, and in exchange you had received not only time, but also space and silence. Checking your phone for the thousandth time, your eyes lingered once again on the voicemail notification from two days ago.

You took a deep, terrifying breath before taking the phone to your ear. The dial beeped a couple of times before the robotic voice of the operator told you what you already knew: that you had a missed voicemail from Mr Steve Harrington.

‘Hey.’ He had said, only the sound of his voice had you shutting your eyes hard as you moved to your side on the bed. ‘I, uh. I hope you have a happy holiday. I also hope you rest. Like, really rest. Seriously. Or you won’t get your bonus this month.’

The sound of his laugh almost made you tear up. You both had really ruined something precious, huh? Something innocent and harmless that had your broken heart beating fast now.

‘I just wanted to thank you for your support. These last few months, you, uh, you’ve been incredible. And you’re much more confident, and talented and smarter than the girl I met two years ago in my office. I always knew you’d be great at this job… Maybe too great. I—, well. I was calling for two things, actually. First, I wanted to say I forgot to give you your Christmas present at the airport.’ He made a long pause, sighing softly. ‘Actually, I didn’t exactly forget. I… I want to talk to you in person. I don’t want you to think anything weird about this, and I understand if you think I overstepped, but I just recommended you for a job. With someone else.’ He had stayed silent for a while again, maybe searching for the right words. ‘Someone better. It’s a long story. I just don’t know if I want to… be this person anymore. This… busy businessman, disappointing firstborn. Hated brother. I, uh… It doesn’t matter. It’s got nothing to do with you. I know you won’t agree. Because you see the good in me.’  You sobbed in the pause he took, thinking of all the things that had happened in the last couple of days. ‘Because you’re good. You’re the best, actually. And I hope you have the Merriest Christmas.’

A night of insomnia followed a couple of days of walking around absently, forgetting silly things like where the glasses were or where the shortcut you used to walk through whenever you went to the supermarket was.

‘Here.’ Even your stepdad was a bit worried, surprising you with a humming cup of tea a night while your eyes stayed on the TV without really watching anything. ‘You look a bit sick.’

‘Thank you.’

You did feel sick, worse than that, you felt ashamed. You were going through your resignation letter again, checking for spelling errors or unclear sentences, but it was all very simple: you thanked him for the opportunity and set your last day of work as the 31st of December.

All those ideas you had of leaving things ready for the next person had vanished after you listened to that voicemail. Steve had legal decisions to make, he had to decide which one of his siblings to transfer the business to, if he wasn’t thinking about selling or leasing. He had to call in emergency meetings with partners and employees, he had to inform the press eventually. This was new territory that you could’ve navigated with him if only you hadn’t fucked things up. If you hadn’t left that phone and the little box on top of it. If you were still deserving of it.  

Taking a sobby breath, you pressed sent before closing your laptop. You still needed to start catching up with Mr Byer’s calendar and book plane tickets to go back to the city. But there was too much in your head and still nothing at all. It was 29th of December. Tomorrow it’d be a hard, long day, one of those that reminded you that you had never been good at forgetting.

Steve parked in front of the little cottage, trying to imagine a childhood version of yourself in this very porch, walking around in a Halloween costume or waiting for your mom on the first day of school. He tried to imagine you filling the car with boxes when you were leaving for college, and he tried to imagine you on a day like this, years ago, when your father passed away.

He knew that what he was doing was invasive and probably crossing the lines of rudeness, but after receiving that impersonal and abrupt email he needed to come see you. You didn’t get to reject him just like that after two years of hiding his feelings for you, of dodging the accusations of his girlfriends, of fighting the need of touching you in events where it had seemed imprudent and even indiscreet. Two years of night calls that started as business updates and ended in whispered small talk, while you were in New York and he was working in San Francisco, or you were in Boston while he called from London.

You just didn’t get to end things like this.

His eyes lingered on the Christmas wreath hanging from the door before he dared to ring the bell. It was cold, despite the fact he had gloves he still hid his hands inside his coat, wondering what he’d do as soon as he saw your face. If he’d be brave enough to tell you everything or if he’d just melt and cup your face in his hands.

But it wasn’t you who opened the door, exactly. Someone like you, but older. Steve would’ve hoped that your mother might have been as welcoming and sweet as you, but her eyes hid an unexpected indignation that he could’ve never predicted.

‘Hi, Mrs—’ He said your last name, not sure if your mother still went by it. ‘I’m St—’

‘I know who you are.’ She said, still looking quite irritated. They both stood in silence for a few seconds as she studied his face, until her eyes fell on the navy scarf he was wearing. Steve couldn’t miss the way her semblance shifted just subtly, as if she had realised something. ‘How can I help you, Mr Harrington?’

‘Please, call me Steve.’ He said softly, almost as an apology. ‘I know today is a mourning day for your family, but I was hoping I could speak to your daughter.’

She took a deep breath, considering his words for a few seconds, before she closed the door behind her.

‘Listen, Steve.’ She took a slow pause. ‘You’ve already ruined my family’s Christmas by keeping my daughter working absurd hours.’ She said crossing her arms over her chest. ‘She’s been miserable the last few days, missing her father I suppose, as she always does during this time of the year. I need you to respect that.’

Steve frowned, trying to process your mother’s words as he stood on his place, staring at her like an idiot.

‘Mrs —’ Steve repeated her name, but he didn’t really know what to say.

‘Coming here, on the day of her father’s death, trying to get her to work for you again…’ She shook her head, feeling bad for the lonely man that stood on this threshold asking for you. ‘Even for a powerful, educated man like you, there are limits, honey. You should be home with your family.’

Steve stayed in silence for a few seconds, trying to understand where this all was coming from. His mouth was open, but the words seemed inaccessible to him as he tried to solve this puzzle in his head.

‘Is this what she told you?’ He murmured. And your mother must’ve seen the outmost hurt that his brown eyes exposed so sincerely, because suddenly she felt flushed and a bit foolish at what she had just said.

‘W-Well…’ She said unsure, her eyes falling on the scarf once again before looking back at his face. She then released a long sigh, fighting the need of rolling her eyes as she surrendered. ‘Come on in, I’ll make some coffee.’

Steve’s eyes looked for you, and you were everywhere, in pictures that hung from the wall or were placed above the chimney. His eyes lingered on framed drawings from the first grade, on a poetry contest certificate with your name that must’ve been ten years old placed on a bookshelf.

‘She’s on the basement playing chess with Allan.’ Your mother said, bringing a tray with two cups of coffee into the living room. ‘Those two never agree on anything but they’re insanely competitive.’

Steve smiled to himself at your mother’s words.

‘I’ll let her know you’re here.’ She said after a while.

‘It was a pleasure to meet you.’ He said then. ‘Thanks for letting me in.’

Your mother stood on her place on the other side of the living room table, hesitating, until she got the courage to speak.

‘He used to wear those all the time.’ She seemed a bit moved, by the way her eyes shone momentarily as she looked at Steve’s scarf. ‘My husband. I guess that’s why I let you in. That child, she’s always been good at keeping things from me, but I would’ve never thought...’ She sighed as she shook her head.

Steve stayed still as she looked away thoughtfully. He kept silent, trying to remember where he had gotten the warm piece of fabric that he wore every winter, but he was unable to. It had always been there, on the hotel bed next to his pressed suit, inside his suitcase, hanging from the coat rack in his office.

The sound of steps made them both lift their gaze.

‘Fucking cheater.’ You said under your breath once you made it to the top floor. You were about to walk towards the kitchen when your eyes fell on the scene happening in the living room from its entrance.

Only then, Steve realised he had never seen you wear jeans before. It certainly made you look much younger, the thin layer of skin that peaked between the hem and your cardigan, the way your wrists got lost in those wool sleeves. It was so endearing and warm, and God, he was supposed to be mad at you, but he had missed you too much for that.

‘We’ll talk later.’ Your mother whispered on a passive aggressive tone as she walked past you, getting lost on the hallway behind you.

The heat rushed to your cheeks, you didn’t know if it was because of her disappointment or by the way you hadn’t been able to take your eyes off him sitting inside your mother’s living room. He looked so out of place, inside your childhood home where there was barely space for the Christmas tree.

‘Hey.’ He finally said. There was coffee on the table. She had let him in, and she had made coffee for him. There were some pictures somewhere here, of you taking a bath when you were five years old. You needed to get rid of them as soon as possible, before he saw them.

‘Hi.’ You said then, stepping inside the living room with your hands in your back pockets.

Outside, something moved. You both looked out through the window into the snowy landscape, before a little white bunny hopped away back into the forest.

‘I’ve got your email.’ He said then. Steve stood up as your eyes fell back on him. Forgetting the coffee, and everything else he had prepared to say.

You nodded.

‘I’m sorry that I can’t keep working for you.’ You said after a while.

‘It was either you quitted, or I fired you.’ He sadly admitted. ‘Jonathan said he was impressed by your interview… I told him you don’t disappoint.’

‘Hm.’ You smiled softly, playing with the sleeves of your cardigan. ‘Thanks for the recommendation. He never mentioned it, but I know— I know now.’

He swallowed hard, looking away towards the window, before his eyes got lost in the untouched cups of coffee.

‘I wanted you to be safe.’

You nodded once again; your hands fell on the armchair that stood in between you when you took a step forwards.

‘Thank you, Steve.’ You said sincerely. ‘For everything you’ve done for me.’

He shook his head softly, a soft sad smile taking over his mouth as he studied your face.

‘I should be the one thanking you.’

The awkward silence in between you was filled by the distant noise of your stepdad watching the TV, and your mother’s steps in the kitchen.

‘Would you like to go for a walk?’ You asked then, unsure of what to say. All your life, you had never brought a boy home and suddenly he was here, and you didn’t know what to do. ‘This is a small town, but most people keep to themselves.’

‘A walk sounds nice.’ He cleared his throat.

He guessed you were right; it was a small town but also a desolated one. You walked together around the house towards the forest, hearing the noise of the wind and the sound of your steps over the snow.

‘It’s very quiet in here.’ He said after a while. ‘I like it.’

‘Yeah.’ You said softly as you walked towards a distant bench on the other side of the park. ‘I couldn’t stand it as a child. I needed to leave.’

He stayed silent for a while; you could feel his eyes on you as you kept walking towards the bench, the silence progressively turned worst the longer it lingered between you.

‘Is that why you lied to your mom?’

You looked back at him with an offended frown. ‘What are you exactly accusing me of? Not wanting to come back to my depressing hometown during the holidays?’

He stopped in his tracks there, feeling that his patience was running out as he looked at you. You, who had left. You, who had broken his heart.

‘I’m trying tounderstandwhy you would tell your family that I forced you to work on Christmas.’

‘But you do understand, Steve.’ You said looking back at him, feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks. ‘For the same reason you didn’t spend Christmas with yours, because I can’t stand being here. You never really planned on getting on that jet, did you?’

He looked back at you with a blank face, swallowing hard before you resumed your walk and he tried to catch up with you.

‘How do you know that.’

‘Uh, well—’ You turned back, feeling the tears rushing to your eyes. ‘Maybe the fact that you were planning on giving me a ring?’

His eyes turned soft at the mention of his present, his eyebrows arching as he pictured the circlet inside the little box. One he had chosen carefully with months in advance, one day of September in which you had called in sick. That never happened, it was a sign. The little box had been inside his pocket when he was at the airport, he had played with it back in the café, while you sipped your coffee absently. It had felt like a weight inside his pocket the whole time until he sneaked it inside your coat.

‘Listen, it’s not like that.’ He said softly, taking a step towards you. ‘It’s not that type of ring.’

‘Not that type of ring.’ You sobbed, feeling the cold wind burning your cheeks as you looked back at him, pathetically admitting your defeat. ‘What does it mean, Steve!’

‘Sweetheart,’ He took a step towards you, his gloved hands finally cupped your face as you looked back at him with the outmost desperation. ‘It means whatever we want it to mean, I— I was going to explain it all to you later that same day.’ He blinked softly, swallowing hard. Yet his voice was still hoarse and full of despair when he spoke again. ‘I just didn’t think you would leave me like that.’

You released a sobby breath, looking away into the forest because his hurt stare was too much to handle.

‘I’ve been preparing my resignation since the summer,’ He explained as his thumbs stroked your cheeks, catching your tears as your hands finally held onto his wrists. ‘My plan was always to tell you, but… You know, I needed to speak to my family first. And the more I delayed telling them the more I delayed telling you, that I wanted a life with you.’

You released an exhausted breath as you let him guide your wet face into his chest. You hid your face there, before your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist. Lazily, you moved when you felt he was searching for your skin with his mouth, tiny little pecks warming the skin of your jaw and ear.

‘I love you.’ He whispered.

‘I love you too.’ You said stroking the back of his neck. You could’ve spent hours like this, with no witnesses around, only the snow and the wind surrounding you.

‘What are you doing?’ He laughed against your skin as your hand blindly searched for something on the side of his coat.

‘Nothing.’ You admitted leaning back softly when he started helping you.

He smiled to himself, taking the little box out of his pocket. You stood there looking at the way his eyes went from happy to serious to terrified.

‘You don’t have to take it now.’ He said softly, stroking your cheek as his eyes looked everywhere in you face except your eyes. ‘I can save it for you. It’s yours anyways.’

You shook your head softly then, sniffing a little as you placed your hands on top of his scarf, fixing it even if it wasn’t needed.

‘If it’s mine, I want it.’ You whispered. ‘Can I have it?’

Steve’s soft stare lighted up at your words, and he finally opened the little box in between your bodies. You bit your trembling lip at the sight of the delicate gold circlet, with the simplest, tiniest diamond on top of it. It was whatever you wanted it to be, but you both knew exactly what it meant.

You offered him your shaky hand, looking back at him, your eyes full of terror and adoration as he took it out of the little cushion.

‘Am I allowed to—’

‘If you kneel, I swear I’ll kill you.’ You laughed in between tears.

He laughed again, licking his lips as he slid the ring down your finger. Then his lips clashed against yours, he tasted sweet, he tasted certain while his squeezing embrace hurt your ribs. You tasted his tears and his joy as he leaned back to look at you, all teary and happy.

You both sighed when his forehead rested on yours, finally able to feel the sweet relief sitting on your shoulders, taking over your chest. Your hands climbed to pull him from his scarf as he looked down at you, shaking his head.

‘You’re insane.’ You whispered.

‘I know.’

‘We should keep this to ourselves.’ You whispered again, though no one could hear you here though, not even the forest was awake enough. And the city was far, so very far.

‘I know.’ His finger stroked your cheek as a foolish, childish smile started forming in his mouth. ‘Good thing we’re good at keeping secrets, huh?’

🏷️: @keerysfolklore @starrgurl46

I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written works anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

[supernovafics]

completed series masterlist

pairing: modern!actor!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 6k words

warnings:  explicit language, established relationship, lots and lots of fluff, a tiny bit of angst, smut (18+), unprotected piv sex

summary: you and steve get to spend the weekend together 

author's note: this takes place about six ish months from the epilogue of this series. you don’t really need to have read everything to read this, just know that actor!steve and reader are dating and have been for the past six months, and reader works in film (production/behind the scenes stuff)🫡🫡🫡 this whole thing turned out to be so much longer than i expected omg but i was really missing actor!steve and star of the show so yeah this happened! enjoy<3333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

BONUS | ❝𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒅❞

You were practically jumping into Steve’s arms when he exited the car, not even giving him a chance to grab his bag from the trunk before you were hugging him tightly. 

The soft and happy laugh he emitted in response to your antics made you smile into his neck.   

“God, I’ve missed you.”

His arms tightened around you. “I’ve missed you too.” 

You two stayed just like that for a bit, simply savoring the feeling of finally being in each other’s arms after two and a half months of not having that. Until the cold was hitting you and the red knit sweater you were wearing and Steve’s arms wrapped around you were sadly not enough to keep you warm. 

Reluctantly, you pulled out of the embrace and looked up at him. “Okay, it’s freezing out here. Let’s go inside.”

Steve nodded as he went to grab his bag from the trunk of his Uber; a small suitcase that made sense for this weekend trip to the small town that was an hour away from where the documentary you’d been working on as a producer for the last few months was filming in upstate New York. 

“Does the inside actually match the pictures on the website?” Steve asked as his free hand found yours and the two of you walked up the small path that led to the house you rented for the weekend. 

“Surprisingly yes,” You answered, about to open the front door, but then you remembered something that had somehow slipped your mind in the last few minutes; which actually made sense because being with Steve always managed to do that to you. You stopped walking before you pushed open the door and looked up at him. “Oh, okay, so I kinda fucked up.”  

He gave you a confused look. “What happened?”

“It was really cold in the house when I first got here a couple hours ago, so I turned on the heat,” You started and Steve nodded along to your words. “But, it’s broken or something because when I tried to turn it down, it didn’t work and it won’t turn off, so it’s… pretty warm inside.” 

“Oh, okay, that’s fine,” He said with a quick shrug, completely underestimating just how bad it was because you were downplaying the entire situation. “I thought you were gonna say you flooded the place or something.”

You finally pushed open the front door and let Steve walk in first, taking note of his reaction as he was hit with the heat and immediately went to pull his jacket off. 

He raised an eyebrow at you. “‘Pretty warm’?” 

“I know. I’m sorry,” You said as you pushed the sleeves of your sweater up to your elbows. “I called the lady that owns the place and she said that she can send her brother over tomorrow to fix it.”

Aside from the heat, the place was nice. You gave him a quick tour of the small space; well, only the parts that mattered— the living room that didn’t have a TV but you already had your laptop set up on the coffee table, the kitchen that was actually the perfect size for the meal that you two would be cooking later, the backyard patio that had a fire pit that you quickly told Steve would be perfect for making smores. 

And then there was your bedroom on the second floor. It wasn’t until you were closed behind the door of the room that Steve finally kissed you, spinning you around as you were pointing at the door that led to the bathroom and slotting his lips against yours. 

You knew why he had waited, and why you had put it off too— that first kiss after being apart for so long was never just a kiss; it always quickly led to more and you both hated having to interrupt it. 

You yelped in surprise before instinctively melting into your boyfriend’s touch. His hands were cupping your face so tenderly that it didn’t even bother you how cold they were; in fact, you found it as a nice contrast from the heat that took over the entire house.  

Steve guided you back toward the nicely made bed and then softly pushed you down so that you were lying on it, breaking the kiss. You wasted no time in pulling your sweater up and over your head and tossing it somewhere in the room, leaving you in your black bra. You felt near desperate to get Steve out of the long sleeve he was wearing too, but before you could make any move to do so he was leaning over you and kissing you again. 

Your fingers slipped into the belt loops of the dark jeans he was wearing and pulled him firmly against you. Feeling his hardness pressed against your thigh made you softly whine into the kiss and the quiet groan Steve let out in response sounded like music to your ears. 

He grinded against you roughly and your hips bucked upward at every one of his movements, trying to feel anything through your jeans. You suddenly wished that you had opted for wearing the skirt that you had ultimately decided to save for later. 

With a particularly rough stir of his hips, you moaned into his mouth and your hands shot up to find their home in his hair.  

“I’m sorry,” Steve mumbled against your lips. 

You hummed in confusion. “For what?”

His mouth found your neck, nipping harshly at your collarbone and making you mewl. “I really don’t wanna take my time with you right now.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Good, because I don’t want you to either.”

Clothes were shed and littered on the floor in a matter of what felt like seconds. Your head fell back against one of the pillows and Steve settled comfortably on top of you and between your spread legs, his body enveloping yours completely. You two didn’t even bother getting under the blanket; it was too hot to do so anyway.  

The feeling of his cock pressed against your inner thigh, so close yet so far from where you needed it to be, made you moan and you could feel yourself dripping at the thought of what was to come. You needed him badly and right now. 

As if reading your mind, Steve positioned himself at your entrance and pushed inside of you; your wetness making it easy for him to fill you up completely in one swift movement that made you both gasp. 

Your mind effectively became a pile of mush, but you still were coherent enough to reach up and give his hair the soft tugs that you knew he loved. It made him groan and his thrusts started to pick up speed, not taking things slow just like he said. 

It was the pent up frustration and build up from not having been with each other in person that made you both practically feral for each other. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you so much. Your pussy always feels so good. Takes me so fucking well. Shit, fuck. I love you. I love you so, so much.” Steve’s rambling was a given in moments like these. 

It was always this “hello” sex or subsequent “goodbye” sex where he would ramble on and on about how much he loved you and how perfect you were. His words came out quick and rushed as if they’d been living inside of him for so long and they were finally able to burst out. 

You became pretty much the opposite in these moments, mind running on autopilot as you took everything he was giving you. It was always so hard to form coherent sentences when all you could think about was how good he felt inside of you. 

“Shit, I’m not gonna last long, honey,” Steve said. His hand had a near-bruising grip on your hip as he pushed his cock deeper and deeper inside of you with every thrust. 

“I don’t care,” You told him, finding your voice. “I need you to cum inside me, Steve. Please.”

His hand moved from your hip and snaked between your bodies to find your clit, rubbing tight circles against the sensitive nub to bring you there with him. You let out the loudest moan and clenched around his cock in response and it abruptly sent him over the edge. He came inside you with a groan and a surprised “fuck,” hand finding and squeezing your hip once again. The feeling of his cum painting your walls nearly made you burst with him. 

He buried his face in your neck and you could feel his racing heart against your chest and it made you smile, it also made you want to kiss him. You turned your head a little, pressing a kiss into his hair, but it wasn’t enough for you. 

You gave Steve a little nudge and he lifted his head, looking at you curiously. 

“Let me kiss you,” You told him and he smiled as he leaned in and you closed the rest of the small bit of distance between you two. It was slow and languid, a surprisingly nice contrast from how rushed and intense everything had been a few minutes ago. 

When you felt sated, you pulled back. “Okay, let’s go shower.”

“No, no, wait,” Steve said, lifting off of you a bit. You should’ve known what was coming; Steve hated finishing before you— although, you didn’t really care that much because it never happened that often anyway, and honestly when it did happen you found it quite endearing. But, there was no way that he’d let you get up in this moment without making you come. 

His middle finger found your clit again and you couldn’t help but let out the softest whine and clench around his cock that was still inside you as he started slowly circling the bundle of nerves. “Need you to come for me, baby, okay?”

Your eyes fell shut and you were nodding immediately. “Mm, okay.”

You felt him kiss your cheek and then his mouth was right at your ear as his finger started moving faster and you were bucking your hips upward to feel more. “God, you look so perfect spread out for me like this. Be a good girl and come for me.”

You’d already been close so it didn’t take long for you to come around his softening cock, especially with the soft praises he was giving you. 

“Fuck, fuck, Steve.” He continued stroking your clit through your orgasm, not pulling away until he could tell that you were becoming too overstimulated. 

“Okay,” He said, lips pressing against yours in the softest kiss. “Now we can shower.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You and Steve were really good at long distance— texts and calls and FaceTimes were always frequent and you never went a day without talking to each other, even if it was just a quick conversation— but nothing would ever beat seeing each other in person. The last time was a couple of months ago when you had a few days free and you went back to Los Angeles to see him. It was great, but felt so short, and it already slightly saddened you that this weekend would be the same thing. 

Steve was making grabby hands at you the second you two stepped into the cool shower. 

“Hey, hey, no funny business right now,” You said, playfully swatting his hands away as you pulled the curtain closed. “We need to make this shower quick because there’s this outdoor Fall market thing I want us to go to. It’s like a five-minute walk from here.” 

He pressed a soft kiss against your neck and then gave you a curious look. “Is that a good idea?”

You two were still navigating how to be in public with one another and how to make it work; and if it would even be possible to make it work in the way you wanted it to. You really didn’t want to get pulled into the spotlight and Steve was completely understanding of that, so staying in when you two were together wasn’t uncommon to either of you. And it had yet to feel like a huge deal because when you two only had a few days to spend with each other at a time, going out wasn’t on either of your minds. However, these current circumstances felt pretty different because of where you two were.

You pulled back a little and let your arms come up to circle his neck, your hands finding home in the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, we don’t have to worry here, this is such a small town and a paparazzi-free zone. I promise.”

“Okay,” He nodded, and then his eyes fell shut as you softly started stroking his hair. “So, what do they have at this Fall market thing?”

“I only quickly drove past it so I don’t really know,” You told him. “But, I did see a hot chocolate stand and we have to get that.” 

“Mm, that sounds good.”

“Oh, oh, oh, that reminds me, did you bring me chocolate from San Francisco?” You asked, smiling up at him. 

His eyes opened then and he smiled back at you. “Of course, it’s in my suitcase.”

“God, I love you,” You tilted your head upward to give his lips a quick peck. “We should probably take it out soon and put it in the fridge because of how hot it is.”

 “I’ll grab it after this,” Steve said and you nodded. 

You were the one to pull out of his arms and force you two to do what you were supposed to be doing in a shower, and five minutes later, you both were clean but neither of you made any move to turn off the water. Instead, Steve was turned away from you and you were softly running your finger across his back, doing a sort of connect the dots with the few freckles and moles that were littered across his skin. It would be pretty safe to say that you two were using the shower as a way to cool down from the heat that was taking over the entire house. And although you had proclaimed that this needed to be a quick shower, you didn’t mind wasting a few more minutes in it with Steve. 

“Hey,” He said softly and you hummed in response to let him know that you were listening. “I think that I’m gonna turn down the role for the movie that’s filming in Toronto in January.” 

You abruptly stopped tracing random patterns on his back. “What? Really?”

At first, he simply nodded in answer, and then you poked him a couple times so that he would turn and face you. 

“Yeah, I’m not really into the script or the role that much. And it also would overlap for two weeks with the next thing I’m gonna do in Europe. Those producers said that they can make this overlap work, but I don’t know, I just don’t really want to do the one in Toronto, anyway,” He told you, and then his hands settled on your bare waist. “Plus, if I don’t do it, then that means we’ll get three uninterrupted months together in LA instead of just having December.” 

You tried not to let yourself get too excited at the idea of things working out like that. Once the documentary finished, you wouldn’t have anything big planned until you worked as the Assistant Director on Jessie’s, your good friend’s, next film that was starting in three months. Your plan in the meantime was to go home to Los Angeles and just take a break until then; maybe help out on some local projects here and there because it was hard to completely push your mind away from working. Now knowing that Steve would also be home the entire time made the thought of actually taking a break sound nice.

You gave him a look in this moment, though, because it was impossible for you to not think logically about this too. “You’re not really doing this just for that last reason, right?”

If his answer was yes, you were ready to launch into an explanation about how he didn’t need to do that just so you two could spend more time together. Your schedules had already aligned perfectly and you two would get to spend the holidays together— and that felt lucky and great in itself— so he didn’t need to turn down roles he wanted just so you two could have more moments like this one. You’d been making it work these last six months and you knew that you’d continue to make this relationship work without either of you having to make any crazy sacrifices just yet. 

“No, I meant all of that other stuff,” Steve told you, wrapping his arms around you completely and pulling you closer. “Things were entirely different before you and before us. I used to like taking every role that I was offered because I wanted to stay busy and because I hated taking breaks between projects. But now I don’t wanna work all the time and take roles that aren’t that interesting just to stay busy. Especially not when not doing the movie or whatever else means I get to spend that time with you instead.”

It was honestly really endearing seeing how things were shifting for him because of you and your relationship; it was also a little scary. 

“And you’re completely sure about this?”

Steve didn’t hesitate to nod. “A thousand percent.”

You let yourself accept his words then, knowing that he was telling you the truth.

“Y’know, this means that we’ll finally get a chance to get sick of each other instead of constantly missing each other,” You said, playfully poking his side.

Steve laughed a little. “That’ll be a nice change.”

It was a possibility, but neither of you could actually see that happening, you couldn’t imagine growing sick of him. 

You had wanted to keep things fairly PG, but it was too hard not to kiss him in this moment; threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him close to you, chest to chest and hands grabbing at your hips. He guided you back to the wall of the shower and softly pressed you against the white tile. You could feel his half-hard cock twitch against where it was pressed to your lower stomach and you suddenly felt so close to telling him to fuck you against the wall. 

Before you could beg or even simply ask for that, Steve was pulling away from your mouth and pressing his forehead against yours with a soft breath. “Remember when this was supposed to be a quick shower?”

He was being the logical one in this moment and you were simultaneously happy and annoyed about it. 

You nodded. “Sadly yes.”

Steve moved away from you completely, finally turning off the water and pushing the curtain to the side to grab the towels that you two had hanging up. He wrapped one around your shoulders and then grabbed the other one for himself and wrapped it around his waist. 

You readjusted your towel and before he stepped out of the shower you grabbed his attention with a soft, “Hey.”

You held up your pinky and then continued. “I know you said that you didn’t even want to take this role anyway, but promise me that if there is something that you do really like and wanna do or even like a little or whatever, you won’t turn it down for me and because of us, okay?” 

You weren’t entirely sure why you felt the need to say that in this moment, to remind him that you two would always figure out how to make things work despite all of your guys’ work stuff, but it felt important to. 

He nodded as he lifted his hand and linked his pinky with yours. “I promise.”

“Remember, I take these very seriously, Steven,” You said, smiling up at him. 

“I know,” He said, a small smile on his face, and he was the one to kiss you that time around.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

The hot chocolate was warm in your hands and it felt so nice that it made you not want to drink anymore of it yet; it was still a bit too hot anyway. 

You and Steve were settled on a random bench in the park where the market was happening. After an hour of walking around and buying a few things, you two were away from the busyness of the little shops and stands that took over the park and the hordes of people; it had ended up being more crowded than you had expected it to be.

You looked up at Steve and his beanie-covered head. “You do like the candle, right?”

“Yes, I do,” He answered. “It smells really nice. And you made a very compelling case about smelling it in my place when we’re together and doing fun holiday stuff in December so that really sold it for me.”

You could imagine that probably too easily, and that was exactly what you had told Steve. The cinnamon and vanilla scent perfectly defined Fall and Winter in your eyes and it was nice to think about the cozy smell taking over his apartment in LA as you two spent the holidays together for the first time; watching Christmas movies and baking cookies because why not? The thought of doing that, and especially doing it with Steve, warmed your heart. You hadn’t done anything like that in what felt like forever. Instead, you had always figured out a way to busy yourself with work during that time, knowing that you’d just feel lonely otherwise. Now things were very different.

“I can’t wait for that,” You told Steve softly.

He switched his hot chocolate to one hand so that he could wrap an arm around you. “Me too.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead and then your cold nose and then your lips. Before either of you could make the kiss deeper than the chaste peck that it was, your phone started ringing in the pocket of your coat. 

Reluctantly, you pulled back from Steve and fished your phone out of your pocket. When you saw Jackson’s contact name on your screen, you were quickly both annoyed and worried. He was the director of the documentary and technically your boss, but the entire small crew felt more like family at this point, so that made you feel more inclined to answer the call. 

You sighed, looking away from your phone still ringing, and up at Steve. “I told him that I wouldn’t be available this weekend and he said he’d only call if it was something really important so…”

“It’s okay. Take it,” Steve told you and you gave him a small smile before swiping to answer the call and standing up from the bench. 

For the next ten minutes, Steve watched you on the phone a few feet away, pacing back and forth as you talked because it was too hard for you to be still when you were on a call, especially an abrupt work one. He found you so goddamn adorable; the furrow of your eyebrows and how you’d chew on your lip or become fixated on something as you talked and listened. In this moment, it was the hot chocolate in your hand.  

He loved how serious you got about work, it reminded him of himself in a lot of ways, and he also loved that he got to see both sides of you. The side that happily became consumed by work, and the not-so-serious side where you and he would talk about anything and everything that didn’t involve work. He vividly remembered one night in his bed when you went on the longest tangent about early 2000s music. It was so random and a little weird, but it only made him fall deeper and harder for you. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked you once you were sitting back next to him on the bench and your phone was pocketed away in your jacket again. 

“Yeah, now it’s fine, thank god. Jackson was freaking out because one of the parents wanted to pull her kid out of the entire thing, which would fuck up pretty much everything we’ve been doing for the past few months because she’s one of the main kids that we’ve been following at this performing arts school. According to Jackson, I’m the best at talking to the parents so he put me on a call with the mom, and I managed to convince her to be back on board with everything— I reminded her about how much exposure the documentary is gonna give the school, and in turn her daughter, and she was really happy about that. Apparently, she was getting annoyed that the cameras haven’t been “following them enough” lately, which I think actually has been true, but it’s only because one of the other girls is having more interesting stuff happening right now or something. I don’t really know. But, I told her that that camera time doesn’t really matter because everyone’s gonna get the same amount of screen time in the final cut; which might actually be kind of a lie, I don’t know…” You trailed off with a sigh when you realized how long you’d been talking. “Sorry, now I’m just rambling about nonsense.”

Steve shook his head, smiling at you. “No, I think it’s cute when you ramble about work.”

You two were on the same page about that; there was something about hearing his work stories that had yet to get old to you too. Whether it be about random castmate drama or filming delays, or even stuff outside of filming— like interviews that actually ended up being fun, or ones that had one too many awkward questions— you loved hearing about it all, and Steve was a really great storyteller. 

“If I ever mention wanting to work on something that will involve kids and their parents again, please remind me of this annoying moment,” You said and Steve nodded amusingly at your request. “Oh, and I stress-drank my entire hot chocolate during that phone call, which sucks because I wanted to savor it.” 

“Let’s get you another one and then head back to our sauna for the rest of the night.” 

You laughed at his joke and then nodded. “Solid idea, Harrington.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It was barely nine o’clock when you and Steve fell asleep. You two had cooked a quick meal in the kitchen when you made it back from the park and then promptly ended up in bed, watching a movie with your laptop opened up next to you two because the living room couch wasn’t as comfortable as you thought it would be. 

You two were not even halfway through the movie— some random rom-com that was the first thing you saw when you went to Netflix— when you fell asleep. It was early, but it made sense; Steve had had a long flight from where he had just finished filming in San Francisco and you hadn’t been getting more than five hours of sleep lately because of work.

You honestly didn’t expect to wake up until late in the morning, after you successfully caught up on all the sleep you’d been missing lately with Steve right next to you; you’d come to have the best sleep ever when he was with you. So, when you randomly woke up in the middle of the night, it was because you didn’t feel him next to you. Despite how hot it was in the house, you remembered his arms had been wrapped around you when you fell asleep.

You sleepily opened your eyes and noticed Steve standing in front of his opened suitcase in the corner of the room with his phone pressed to his ear. He was shirtless and had one hand slipped in the pocket of the basketball shorts he was wearing. You were pretty much dressed the same, only in a tank top and a pair of small pajama shorts because it was pretty impossible to wear anything else in the warm house. 

“We’ll figure it out…” Steve said and then you heard him sigh. “She’s sleeping now, so I’ll tell her when she wakes up… Yeah, uh-huh, okay. Bye.”

The call ended and you saw him slip his phone into the pocket of his shorts and then he sighed again, it was a longer and more annoyed-sounding one that time. 

“Tell me what?” You mumbled as you rubbed your eyes and sat up in bed, the sheet covering your body slipped down as you moved, but you didn’t mind. 

Steve turned to you and gave you a smile that even in the darkness that took over the bedroom you could see didn’t reach his eyes. You turned on the small lamp that sat on the nightstand next to you to bring some light to the room. 

“Okay, don’t be mad…” He pulled out his phone again as he walked over to sit back next to you on the bed and then handed over his phone. 

The first thing you saw was the headline— Steve Harrington Spotted with Mystery Girl in New York. You scrolled down and there were a series of pictures of you and him at the park; laughing, smiling, smelling a candle at the candle stand, and your hot chocolates in hand moments after you’d gotten them. It felt weird seeing yourself like that; invasive. It was exactly what you didn’t want to happen.

The remaining bit of tiredness you felt was quickly wiped away and you shook your head. “Oh, oh, fuck, I’m an idiot.”

“That’s not true,” You heard Steve say as you still looked at his phone. 

“Yes, I definitely am. I should’ve known this would happen. Why did I think that just because this is a small town, you’d be able to be normal for a couple days?” Now that you were saying it out loud you knew just how stupid that assumption had been, and you were actually surprised that you hadn’t realized that sooner, or that Steve hadn’t called you out on it. “Was that Tom on the phone?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

“What did he say?”

“First, he was pissed that he had to find out this way; it was very ‘blindsiding,’ and as my publicist, he should’ve known this huge thing. But, he’s glad that it’s at least you because he likes you,” Steve said and you nodded along to his words. “Second, he wants to know what we want to do about it because there are a bunch of other articles coming out calling you my girlfriend and trying to figure out who you are, and also calling Tom and asking for comments and confirmations and all of that stuff.”

The wheels in your brain were already turning, trying to figure out what to do now that the initial shock had worn off. Your eyes were still solely focused on Steve’s phone because maybe the answer would hit you if you kept staring at the picture of him smiling at you as you took what had been the first sip of your hot chocolate. 

Steve kept going when you were quiet for too long. “Tom said that the pictures aren’t too ‘romantic-looking,’ so he can put denials out if we want.”

You still couldn’t figure out what to say. Your mind was moving a million miles a second but not one coherent thought or solution or anything was forming. 

Steve spoke again after a few moments. “I’m really sorry about all of this.” 

That made you finally look at him; he was leaning back against the headboard and pushing a hand through his hair. “What? Why are you sorry?”

“Because I know this is the opposite of what you wanted to happen.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but it’s not your fault,” You told him, placing his phone down on the bed and scooching closer to him. “At all.”

You didn’t want to get pulled into the spotlight, but it was pretty much inevitable, you were finally realizing now. Being with Steve meant that. There was really no way around it, and the more you thought about it, the more you realized that it was kind of surprising that this actually hadn’t happened sooner.

“Whatever you want to do about this, we can do it,” Steve told you, pulling you out of your thoughts with a reassuring hand squeeze. “I’m used to the bullshit pap stuff and articles talking about me, but you’re not, so we could deny this and forget it happened.”

Maybe he was right and you two could forget about it for now, but something like this was bound to happen again. Steve was only becoming a bigger actor— which made sense because he was insanely good, and you loved telling him that and watching him turn a little red and playfully roll his eyes at you whenever you did.

It meant that more eyes would be on him, so what were the options? Lie and hide your relationship forever? Never go out in public with him again? 

That sounded a thousand times worse than what this article and whatever the other ones were already saying about you and him. 

“I don’t think we should deny it,” You told Steve as you moved even closer to him and settled in his lap, knees on either side of him. “This was bound to happen sooner or later, right? So, maybe it’s okay that it happened now.” 

His warm hands found your hips immediately, slipping in the space where your tank top had ridden up and touching your bare skin. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” You nodded and a part of you wanted to simply leave it at that, but then you continued. “We could deny this and forget about it, but something like this is just gonna happen again.” A playful smile tugged at your lips. “Also, it would probably get really annoying keeping us a secret because I don’t know if you know this, but I love you and I’m planning to be with you for a really, really, really long time.” 

Steve matched your smile. “I do know that, but I also really love hearing it.” 

Your hands came up then, settling on his bare shoulders and then moving to the hair at the nape of his neck. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his and his head tilted upward, closing the final bit of distance between you two. 

The kiss was soft and teasing. Steve’s arms circled around you completely and he pulled you impossibly close to him. You let out a soft sound into his mouth at the feel of your chest brushing against his, the only thing that separated you two was the thin black fabric of your shirt.  

He thumbed at the strap of the tank top for a quick second before slipping it off your shoulder, mouth and tongue still solely focused on you as he did so. 

You finally found it in you to pull away after a moment and you met Steve’s eyes and the small pout quickly taking over his features. “Shouldn’t you be texting Tom?”

He shrugged as if that was the absolute last thing on his mind at this moment; you were pretty certain that you knew what the first thing was. “I’ll do it in the morning.”

You decided against questioning and teasing him further and instead whispered a soft, “Okay,” before leaning in to slot your lips against his once again. 

It didn’t matter that the text hadn’t been sent yet, and it also wouldn’t really matter if it wasn’t sent tomorrow or the day after that. Because it wouldn’t really change anything aside from the obvious; and you were making a mental note to make sure that all of your social media accounts were set to private before you started getting bombarded with the inevitable.

At the end of the day, Steve was yours and you were his, you both were so sure and certain of that fact, and that’s all that mattered right then. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

let me know your thoughts<333

(there's a part of me that really really wants to write holiday stuff with these two and i'm gonna think about that for the rest of the night 🫶🏾)

[maroon-cardigan-deactivated2025]

three christmas wishes | steve harrington x fem! reader

summary: every christmas your worst costumer grants you a wish, and every christmas it surprisingly comes true.

enemies to friends to lovers | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

word count: 8k

warnings: NO SMUT. right amounts of angst and fluff. some daddy issues, general swearing, smoking cigarettes & a creepy coworker.

author’s note: hello loves!!! i’m so so happy to be back this december. here’s the first of my christmas one shots for the christmas collection. ♡ let me know what you think !! x

[dividers: @cafekitsune & @issysh3ll]

December, 1983.

There’s so much one can learn about a person by the kind of gifts they buy. This was a truth you learned on your first week working at the gift wrapping pop-up at Starcourt.

It had been your dad’s idea, to teach you a lesson about character and discipline after being found drunk and making out with a boy on Halloween night.

He had considered many kinds of punishments for your behaviour: sending you to Florida to live with your grandparents for a while, enrolling you on a private school, taking your car until the summer. They all sounded much better than finding you a job where you had to wear this ridiculous elf costume and learn the monotonous task of wrapping presents.

Hawkins was a small town, everyone knew each other, and you were almost certain that people were enjoying your father’s punishment a bit too much. That, or maybe you were just surprisingly good at the job.

‘Hey.’ Said your boss, Mike, who was dressed as Santa Claus. ‘They’re calling for you again.’

You were standing in the stockroom with your arms crossed, the back door open so the smell of the cigarettes you shared wouldn’t reach the costumers.

‘Again?’ You complained as you were about to take the first inhale.

‘Seems like you’ve found your vocation.’ He said taking the cigarette from your hand and putting it on his lips. ‘Go. I don’t pay you to smoke.’

‘Uh, you don’t pay me.’ You scoffed, walking backwards towards the shop with a smile of satisfaction on your face. ‘Starcourt does.’

The enjoyment didn’t last too long anyways, since your smile fell off your face as soon as you saw your least favourite costumer waiting at the counter.

‘You again?’

‘Hey, Jinglebells.’ Said Steve Harrington with a sided smile.

Your eyes lingered on the little cigarette behind his ear as he placed his shopping bags on the counter, before you shot him a look full of despise.

‘I expected a bit more of joy coming from Santa’s little helper.’ He joked, pointing at the bags with his chin. ‘Get to work.’

‘Why don’t you get fucked.’ You said under your breath as you started to take the presents out of the bags. A pink mug, probably for his mother, a box of handkerchiefs for Mr Harrington…

‘What’s that, Jinglebells?’ He said as you took out the pink box from Smith’s jewellers. Your eyes lingered on the expensive packaging for a few seconds, stroking the padded surface of the box.

‘I said, why don’t you take a free candy cane while I work.’ You said, distracted.

‘M fine, thanks.’ A few seconds of silence passed between you before you felt a peppermint scent surrounding you, your eyes finding him leaning on the counter. The heat inevitably rushed to your cheeks as you saw the way he looked from your absurd work uniform to the box. ‘You like it? Open it.’

And you did, out of curiosity, lifting the thin lid to reveal a beautiful silver necklace with a heart-shaped lock. On its surface, in the most elegant cursive font, the initials NW were engraved.

Oh.

‘So?’ He was smiling widely when you looked up at him. The most idiotic, sweet smile you had even seen on his jerk face. ‘Do you think she’ll like it?’

‘I didn’t know you and Nancy were back together.’ You closed the box carefully.

‘Yep.’ He simply said before tapping the counter with his index fingers. You took another look at him while you started to unroll some wrapping paper, he was trying so hard to hide his smile, to repress the excitement overflowing his eyes as he placed his arms on the counter again. ‘About two weeks ago.’

‘Huh.’ You simply said before you started cutting the paper. Engrossed in the task, you couldn’t get rid of a certain image off your head: Jonathan Byer’s car parked outside the Wheeler’s house last night, and a couple of nights before that.

‘Can you use the silver paper for the necklace?’ Steve asked, bringing you back to reality. ‘The one with the snowflakes, and I’d like some pink ribbon ‘round it too.’

You stood behind the counter for a second with a perfectly cut piece of green wrapping paper on your hands, before you grabbed the box of handkerchiefs and started wrapping it.

‘Sure.’ You simply said.

You worked in silence for a few minutes, wrapping the other presents first as your mind was still filled with memories from two weeks ago, when you saw Jonathan inside your pretty neighbour’s room through your window while you dried your hair.

It wasn’t a big deal at all, Nancy had seen you make out with guys in your room before too, embarrassment falling on her curious eyes when you moved from someone’s lap to close the blinds behind you. She had seen you sneak out on Halloween, the night that had cost you your Christmas break, when you were supposed to stay home studying. Your eyes had found hers from where you hid in the backyard, and you feared for a second that she might tell someone, until you saw her zip her lips in a promise.

‘I’m gonna go get a coffee.’ Mike’s voice made you jump. ‘Do you want anything?’

‘Uh, no. ‘I’m f— Shit.’ You had to take your finger to your mouth at the sight of blood, another papercut to add to your collection of work incidents.

‘Again?’ Mike said lifting his eyebrows before lowering his voice. ‘You know, sometimes I think you just like to suck your fingers in front of me.’

His insinuation made you take a step aside instinctively, feeling your cheeks getting hot by the unexpected comment.

‘Well, I don’t.’ You said cleaning your finger on your skirt.

He laughed softly as you went back to work, your eyes avoided Steve’s face, who observed the awkward interaction from the other side of the counter.

‘You’re cute sometimes, you know?’ Mike said then. ‘Do you have any more cigs?’

You shook your head.

‘You took my last one.’

‘Well, I get more for both of us.’ He winked at you then. ‘See you later.’

You kept working without acknowledging the incident as the bell rang once Mike crossed the door, only the sound of the scissors cutting the paper and the Christmas music that came from the speakers filling the awkward silence.

‘That guy’s a creep.’ Steve voice made you even angrier somehow. Something about him standing there like an idiot boiled your blood. Worse, it made you feel even more powerless.

‘He just has a little crush on me.’ You shrugged as you finished with the box of handkerchiefs.

‘Isn’t he like thirty?’ He asked. You couldn’t help but clench your jaw when he leaned on the counter again, and his stupid peppermint cologne surrounded you. ‘That’s creepy.’

‘I guess it is.’ You said moving to the pink mug.

‘Shouldn’t you do something about it?’

‘Shouldn’t you get your mom a proper gift?’ You said cutting some tape. ‘Like a silk scarf or something?’

‘A mug is a very appropriate gift.’ He shrugged.

‘Yeah, for a first-grade teacher.’ You said cutting some ribbon. ‘She got you something cool, you know? I wrapped it for her. Why can’t you get her something nice?’

‘Wow, jinglebells, relax.’ He said putting his hands in the air, somehow that made you flushed and nervous, like you were making a complete fool of yourself. ‘Just because your boss likes you all bitchy doesn’t mean you need to act the same with costumers.’

‘Excuse me?’ You said as you put the wrapped mug aside before grabbing the scissors.

‘Put those scissors down.’ He pointed a finger at you.

You took the necklace box and the guilt you felt before had suddenly turned into anger. He was amused, looking at you while you measured the stupid silver paper and cut the ugly pink ribbon with your clenched jaw and your cheeks on fire.

‘You know Nancy and I are neighbours.’ You said casually as you finished tying the bow.

‘I’m aware.’ He said in the same tone. ‘Why is this relevant?’

‘No reason.’ You shrugged as you arranged the freshly wrapped presents on the counter. ‘She just likes to watch me sometimes, you know? Through the window. It’s kinda creepy, actually.’

You licked your lips before pushing the presents towards him.

 ‘Tell your little girlfriend I’ve been watching her too.’

Steve stood silently on the other side of the counter, looking at you with sudden seriousness overflowing eyes. You stood straight, looking back at him, and for a moment you thought maybe he knew what you were talking about. Maybe there was a part of him that already suspected something, but you would never know.

‘W-What does that mean?’ He asked carefully.

You looked down to your hands for a second, the thin papercut still there but not bleeding anymore. Somehow your anger had been replaced by some deep sense of pity towards Steve Harrington.

‘I wish you a Christmas full of revelations, Steve.’

He hesitated for a second, maybe thinking about saying something, before nodding and taking the wrapped presents. You stood on your place as he walked out of the shop, the sound of the bell ringing behind him echoed through your mind until your shift ended.

December, 1984.

Starcourt had its charm. Or maybe you had just gotten fond of it after your first Christmas working there. The smell of pine that came from the giant decorated tree, the old ladies that met every day in the food court to have lunch together, the kids and their colourful knitted sweaters…

It all filled you with tenderness and nostalgia as you silently wrapped presents and longed for a childhood that would never come back. You needed to find happiness somewhere, anywhere these days, because everything seemed so melancholic and fleeting that sometimes it was unbearable.

‘There you go.’ You said giving the little girl behind the counter the freshly wrapped present. ‘All pink and red, just how you asked.’

‘Thank you!’ She hugged the big box as she took quick small jumps. ‘Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! My mom’s going to love it!’

‘I’m sure she will.’ You said with a soft laugh, placing your chin on your hands as you heard the sound of the door’s bell. ‘Just be careful with it, you don’t want to break the pretty picture, do you?’

‘Oh.’ She stopped jumping. ‘Right. Thank you, Miss Elf.’

You let out a snorty laugh before you started cutting new pieces of tape for the next costumer. A tall brunette, dressed in a sailor uniform with shorts that looked like they belonged to a seven-year-old.

‘You’re welcome.’ You said before your eyes fell on Steve.

‘What’s up, Jinglebells?’ He stood in front of you when the little girl left, placing a couple of bags on the counter. You stood silent, with your hands on either side of the counter as you looked back at him. ‘What?’

You still kept silent, a funny smile forming on your face as he stood there with his hands on his hips, you could see he was getting a bit flushed and frustrated and that amused you even more.

‘Are you really gonna make me say it?’ He said rolling his eyes. ‘C’mon. Get to work.’

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the wall behind the counter as your eyes still didn’t leave his. Steve took his hand to the bridge of his nose, before taking a deep breath and licking his lips.

‘Ahoy, sailor.’ He said shaking his hands in the air before placing them on the counter. ‘Better?’

‘How many times have you said that today?’ You tried to repress a laugh as you stood in the same position behind the counter.

He sighed.  ‘About sixty-two. Happy?’

‘Very happy.’ You said standing straight as you had a look at the bags. ‘What do we have here… Let’s see.’

You smiled to yourself as you had a look at the new set of walkie-talkies that you assumed were for Dustin Henderson. You’d never admit it out loud, but it was kind of sweet how much the kid looked up to Steve, it was nice to know the affection was mutual. Then you bit your lip at the sight of a silk scarf, very pretty and with wonderful flower patterns. It could’ve been for anyone, really, but something inside you hoped it was for his mother. And finally, you took out a paperback book with a golden bookmark inside.

‘The price of salt.’ You smiled to yourself. ‘I didn’t know you were a Highsmith enthusiast.’

‘Uh, I’m not— I just— I don’t know.’ He seemed nervous out of sudden, hiding his eyes from you for a second before looking back at you. ‘Is it good?’

‘Yeah, it’s good.’ You said smiling to yourself as you cut some more pieces of tape to wrap all the presents. ‘Silver snowflakes and pink ribbon?’

‘Uh, if you want to.’ He said, placing his hands on the counter while he watched you work.

‘You know she was here before.’ You said as you started to wrap the book delicately.

‘Huh?’

You looked up at him, with his stupid sailor uniform and his frostbitten cheeks and you almost smiled at him kindlier that you would’ve done a year ago. Steve had fallen from grace, but now he was much pleasant that he had ever been, so were yourself. Sometimes life breaks you in irreparable ways just so the light can find a way out, and some people managed to illuminate others despite the fractures, despite the wounds. Maybe one day that’d be you.

‘Your girlfriend.’ You said cutting some of that pink ribbon he had liked the year before. ‘She came here to beg me to tell her if her gift was as good as yours.’

His lips opened partly at your words, and you smiled shyly as you secured the bow on top of the present, putting it aside before you took the walkie-talkies’ box.

‘Jesus, Steve. Relax.’ You laughed at his blank expression as you started wrapping the box. ‘I told her you had bought her something just as good. But that means maybe you need to get something extra. Her present’s really good.’

‘R-Robin’s not my girlfriend.’ He stuttered before swallowing hard. He seemed to recover his confidence then, leaning over the counter with a smile on his face. ‘Like, everyone thinks she is, but she’s honestly not.’

You were not surprised by his flirty tone as you put Dustin’s wrapped present aside.

‘I see. It’s none of my business, anyways.’ You said leaning in before you lowered your voice. ‘But she has this pretty cute charm bracelet, and I heard Smith’s doing a surprise sale tomorrow at five forty-five just for half an hour. Don’t tell anyone I told you, though.’

Steve was about to open his mouth to clarify the situation once again when Mike’s red and white figure appeared at the sound of the door’s bell.

‘Do I pay you to flirt or to work?’ He said walking behind you. Steve’s eyes lingered on the way you discreetly pushed yourself against the counter to avoid even brushing his stupid Santa Claus costume, but Mike didn’t even look back at you as he walked towards the stockroom.

‘You don’t pay me.’ You said under your breath as you took another sheet of wrapping paper. ‘Starcourt does.’

But your boss didn’t say anything as the door closed behind him.

‘What the fuck is up with him?’ Steve whispered as you started to wrap the silk scarf. ‘Why’s he speaking to you like that?’

You looked towards the stockroom before leaning in subtly to keep your voice low.

‘He’s mad at me because I refuse to go out with him.’

‘What?’ He exclaimed a bit too loud.

‘Shhh.’ You whispered, pulling his stupid little red sailor tie. ‘Shut the fuck up. Jesus, he can hear you.’

‘This is fucked up.’ He whispered, his chocolate mint ice cream breath stroked your face as you looked back at him. How funny you had never noticed how pretty the brown in his eyes was.

‘It is fucked up.’ You said in the same tone.

‘You need to quit, Jinglebells.’ He said very seriously before his eyes filled with flirty mischievousness. ‘D’you have any sailor costumes at home?’

But you couldn’t laugh at his joke, looking down before your hands fell from his tie and resumed the work of wrapping the scarf.

‘I can’t quit.’ You admitted softly as you cut some more paper. 

‘M sure if you tell your dad what this creep’s been trying to do, he’ll understand.’ He insisted. ‘I can help you find a job, if you want to, it doesn't have to be—’

‘Steve.’ Your irritation was palpable as you stuck the ribbon over the wrapped present a bit too harshly. ‘Don’t press it. My dad has more important things to think about right now.’

‘I doubt it.’ He scoffed. ‘C’mon, what’s more important than the only daughter he has?’

‘Apparently another family, if you must know.’ You snapped.

He stood there for a few seconds, thinking about what to say while you looked away. But the more he waited, the more desperate you felt. For once, Mike did something smart, something remotely good, and walked back to the front of the shop.

‘Break time. C’mon, get lost.’ He said to you before looking back at Steve. ‘Are you paying card or cash?’

You took the opportunity to sneak out of the awful situation and walk back to the stockroom, feeling the tears pooling on your eyelids and you thought about some place where you could find peace. Somewhere you could escape from this sense of defeat that was slowly eating you alive, but more than anything, somewhere where Steve Harrington’s pity couldn’t reach you.

All wrapped in your coat and scarf, you walked out through the back door to sit down against the wall that faced the desertic employee parking lot. You took a deep breath, fighting the need to leave without finishing your shift, or to leave Hawkins and never come back. It had been months since you had stopped smoking, but ever since your dad gave you the news you had fought the feeling of coming back to the awful habit to deal with your unbearable anxiety.

It shouldn’t have taken you by surprise when you saw the Harrington’s maroon car stop in front of you through your tears. Once upon a time, Steve used to drive through your street almost every day, trying to get Nancy Wheeler back in that so pathetic way only a teenager in love can. It was strange to see his car somewhere else that wasn’t outside that doomed house.

‘Get in, Jinglebells.’ His face appeared through the open window. A sad smile on his lips, and kindness overflowing from his brown eyes. ‘We’re going for a drive.’

You bit your lip as you tapped your foot on the pavement ground, unsure about what to do.

‘C’mon.’ He insisted. ‘I’ve got milk and cookies.’

You let out a scoff-like laugh as you looked back at him with your arms still crossed. You were about to tell him you didn’t find his joke funny, but when he moved to open the passenger door for you, you realised he wasn’t lying. Over the console, there were two humming take-away cups and a pack of chocolate-chip cookies. Rolling your eyes, and feeling your stomach growl, you had no other option than to get in and secure your seatbelt.

This part of the plan had sounded so much better inside Steve’s head, it had sounded so much better coming from Robin’s mouth, who insisted he needed to do something to fix this, and quickly, before it was too late, whatever that meant. Now you two were driving around Hawkins, wearing those stupid uniforms and trying to fight the unbearable awkwardness between you two.

‘I’m sorry, by the way.’ He said when he drove past the school, the sight of snow and naked trees making the atmosphere in the car much sadder.

‘I don’t want to talk about it, by the way.’ You said in the same tone, taking the humming cup of warm milk from the console.

‘Jinglebells.’ He said seriously as the landscape turned whiter and more desertic as you left the town behind. You laughed sarcastically at the absurd and overly corny nickname, used in such a serious and sad context. ‘I’m sorry, really. And I’m pretty sure things with your dad will get better eventually.’

A few seconds of silence passed between you as he kept driving and you felt more anger in your chest, bitter tears at the back of your throat, the feeling that you might lose your voice because of how much you wished to say. Instead, you took a long sip of your warm milk.

‘Tell me about your dad.’ You said after a while.

‘Huh?’ He asked as his eyes kept focused on the road in front of him.

‘Tell me about your father.’ You insisted, moving to your side so you could have a better look at him. A petty smile adorned your lips, but his eyes didn’t linger on it, instead he just observed the way you had crossed your legs on the seat. ‘Why didn’t you get him a Christmas present this year?’

Steve took a deep breath, looking at the side mirror as he kept driving and his knuckles turned slightly whiter as he held on to the wheel. Your eyes stayed on him even when he started to go a bit faster than before, as if you had touched a sensitive subject, as if he wanted to leave Hawkins behind too.

‘That’s what I thought.’ You said before sitting back on your seat, your eyes focused on the snowy image on the window before you couldn’t stand looking at him anymore.

‘S complicated.’ He said after a while.

‘Well, it always is, isn’t it?’ You said to yourself as your eyes took in on the gorgeous picture of Lover’s Lake in the winter. All impersonal, and cold, and yet still beautiful.

‘He’s just ashamed of me.’ He said. You looked back at him while he still looked at the road, taking his hand to his mouth as if he was thinking to himself. ‘I mean, no father dreams of a son who spends his senior year embarrassing himself by chasing the same girl over and over again in front of an obnoxious town. Like what kind of idiot chooses heartbreak over a college scholarship, you know?’

You looked back at him as he took a deep breath, parking in front of the snowy shore before he turned the engine off.

‘You had a scholarship?’ You asked softly as you undid your seatbelt to sit closer to him.

He still didn’t look at you as he stretched his arm to turn up the heating. Your eyes lingered on his face as he shrugged, looking so young and yet so old and beaten at the same time.

‘I could’ve.’ He admitted to himself. ‘I know I could’ve. That’s kind of the hardest part to accept.’

You bit your lip before hugging yourself over your coat. A few snowflakes were falling and melting on the windscreen, the sight of the lake so still and peaceful.

‘He’ll forgive you.’ You finally said, but he started shaking his head and you leaned in to search for his eyes, but his pretty brown pupils seemed to too full of shame and disappointment.

‘I doubt it.’ He admitted with a sad smile. He took a deep breath before looking back at you. ‘He doesn’t even look at me during dinner, you know.’

You smiled sadly too, the atmosphere turning a bit awkward between you two as you took one of the cookies and broke it in two halves. He took the half you offered him absentmindedly, and you bit yours as you looked through the window lost in your thoughts.

‘They always forgive, you know.’ You said after a while, thinking about last year, when you father had sent you to Starcourt. That seemed so far now, as if it was a different life. ‘Why do you think I’m insisting on throwing a tantrum right now? He deserves to suffer a little bit, but he’ll get over it. And so will I, I guess.’

‘S different.’ He shook his head before taking a sip from his warm milk, his eyes hard turned shy again. Or maybe there was something else behind that serious frown that was adorning his face now. ‘He’s got no right to abandon you.’

‘Neither does your dad.’ You said softly. The warmth in the car and between you filled you with a sense of safety your mind had probably forgotten, but your body had not. When he looked back at you, something childlike took over you as you moved closer to him, something pure, maybe protective.

‘I had never thought about it that way.’ He murmured. You gave him a soft, kind smile full of compassion, and he seemed to understand too, laughing softly before his eyes lingered on your face. ‘Thank you, Jinglebells.’

You shrugged, satisfied. Unable to move, but not really sure if you had the right to touch him, to give him the comfort you two so obviously needed that sad afternoon of December.

‘There’ll be better Christmases.’ You said to him, your eyes falling on the space between you before you thought to yourself. ‘I hope. I wish. And… I don’t know. One day the world’ll be kinder. Maybe.’

You saw him nod from the side of your eye before you looked back at him. His eyes had turned softer, a bit hooded and his cheeks seemed a bit pinker than usual. You offered him another shy smile, with maybe some pity behind, and he swallowed hard before his head fell against the headrest.

‘There will be, Jinglebells.’ He assured you with a sad smile. ‘M sure there’ll be.’

December, 1985.

‘Steve’s here to see you.’ Said Max from the stockroom’s door while you searched for more rolls of tape in the closet. You had heard her before she walked in though, the adorable sound of her elf’s costume announced her arrival every time she moved.

‘Oh, nice. I’m starving.’ You said with a smile as you gave her the rolls of tape. ‘Would you mind moving these to that basket over there? We got a big paper delivery coming this evening and I’m trying to get some space.’

‘Sure.’ She said walking towards the back of the stockroom. The bells shaking softly when she turned back quickly. ‘Wait, you’re coming tonight, right?’

‘Of course.’ You said softly, looking at the way she seemed suddenly worried. ‘I wouldn’t miss it.’

‘Cool.’ She said visibly more relaxed before she walked away. ‘Cool.’

You laughed to yourself as you took a roll of red wrapping paper and walked back to the front of the shop.

He was standing on the other side of the counter with his hands resting on it, a soft burgundy sweater underneath his Family Video vest. He smiled as soon as his eyes fell on you, and you couldn’t help but return the gesture.

‘Hi, Jinglebells.’

‘It’s Mrs Claus now.’ You corrected before putting your hands on either side of your red and white dress and posing briefly. ‘You better get used to it.’

‘Nah.’ He shook his head, leaning subtly over the counter. ‘Doesn’t seem right.’

You rolled your eyes, ‘Where’s my lunch?’

‘Ouch. What am I, your employee?’ He scoffed before placing a little box on top of the counter. ‘I actually brought this so you can wrap it for me.’

This time you were the one who scoffed in disbelief. ‘Wow, talk about exploitation.’  

He smiled at the way you mocked him, taking the box of guitar accessories before you started to cut some red paper.

‘You didn’t tell me you got Eddie as your Secret Santa.’

‘Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I forgot.’ He shook his head. ‘S been stressful.’

You stopped the wrapping for a second, looking at the purple shade under his eyes and pushing Eddie’s present aside for a second.

‘You seem tired.’ You said tenderly, your hand found his over the counter for a second and you leaned in subtly to have a better look at his face. He had blushed subtly, but you could see the way his shoulders relaxed at the physical touch, wondering when was the last time you’d given him a hug. ‘Do you wanna talk? I can leave Max alone for a few minutes.’

‘No.’ He shook his head, his finger brushing your hand on the counter as you nodded. ‘S just, you know, this whole internship thing got me a bit nervous lately. I haven’t been sleeping very well.’

‘M sure you’ll do great.’ You reminded him from the thousandth time. ‘Enjoy your last few days working with Robs. And remember to get me that Rear Window tape? Please?’

‘As if you’d let me forget.’ He lifted his eyebrows. You let out an offended laugh, resuming your wrapping, and feeling Steve’s sweet stare still on you. You could see him entwining his hands over the counter as you kept working, comfortable silence falling between you. ‘Who did you get?’

‘Hmm?’ You felt the blood rush to your cheeks quickly.

‘Who did you get? For Secret Santa.’

‘Uh, Nancy.’ You said, taking a step back to look for some green ribbon under the counter. You flexed your knees a little bit as you kept searching, hoping that Steve wasn’t reading too much into your weird behaviour. You weren’t a good liar. Not when it came to him, at least. ‘I got her a Cocteau Twins album.’

‘Oh.’ He said before nodding. ‘That’s good.’  

‘Yep.’ You said cutting some ribbon, a kind of awkwardness taking over the moment as you kept working.

‘It isn’t weird, is it?’ He suddenly said.

‘What?’ You jumped at his accusation, wondering if he had figured you out.

‘I mean, my ex-girlfriend, his boyfriend there, I don’t know.’

‘Oh.’ You felt your shoulders relaxing. ‘I mean, I don’t think so. Unless…’

He lifted his eyebrows, waiting for your words, but you didn’t feel so confident anymore. Looking down at the present once again, you tied the ribbon over it with excessive concentration.

‘Unless you still feel there’s still… something—’

‘Oh god, no.’ He stood straight. ‘No, no, I meant for you.’

‘Me?’ You asked instantly, swallowing hard before you took a step back. ‘What about me?’

‘Well, you knew about Jonathan, when Nancy and I were still together.’ He brushed his hair with his fingers as you stood in your place, looking back at him expectantly. ‘And now you’re my best friend, and like, things can get awkward. ‘Cause you also kind of hold grudges, you know. So, I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.’

You scoffed.

‘I don’t hold grudges. Especially not for you. Jesus.’

‘Bells.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Bells.’ He repeated your nickname patiently. ‘You still refuse to say hello to my dad.’

You shrugged.

‘Dads and I usually don’t get along. Like, look at my relationship with mine.’ You tried to joke, but apparently it wasn’t funny at all for him. ‘Besides, that’s not true. We made peace when he offered to fix my car.’

‘I fixed your car, dummie, you know that don’t you?’

‘I do.’ You recognised, thankful that you were able to put the subject aside. ‘But he made you do it, so we’re even now. Mr Harrington and I? Besties for life, if you ask me. Same with Nancy.’

You pushed Eddie’s freshly wrapped present towards him. A satisfied smile adorned your pretty lips as Steve looked down at you with the same scepticism from before.

Something inside you told you that he could see through you and that he had noticed the way you still exchanged one-word sentences with Nancy no matter how much efforts she’d put into building a friendship with you. She had tried it all: inviting you to her Halloween party, to movie nights at the Wheeler’s with the rest of the group, going Christmas shopping with you and Robin. And yet you still couldn’t do it. You couldn’t forgive her for what she’d done to Steve.

He observed you for a few seconds, as if he wanted to say something, and you waited. The warmth from before seemed to have disappeared, but you didn’t know when or why.

‘Okay.’ Was all he said before lifting a Wendy’s bag from the floor and placing it on the counter. ‘There you go, Bells.’

He took a step back, and you felt helpless, somehow. A bit embarrassed too, without knowing why, as if he knew you were lying the whole time. It had been feeling like that for a while lately. Like everything you did around Steve was a lie. It was ruining your friendship. It was eating you alive.

It was sickening.  

‘Thanks.’ You said softly, with an attempt of a smile on your face. He barely returned the gesture, hesitating for a second before you spoke again, trying to go back to the usual fun atmosphere between you two. ‘We wish you the happiest of Christmas.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Company policy.’ You joked, but inside you were starting to hate yourself a little for your pettiness. You felt a bit annoying, too, your scalp suddenly turning warm and itchy.

‘See?’ He took a step towards the counter again. ‘You do hold grudges. I said something, you didn’t like it, now you’re annoyed at me.’

‘Okay, wait.’ You put a hand in the air between you as you laughed sarcastically. ‘How did this turn into an argument?’

‘It turned into an argument the moment you started lying to me.’ He placed a finger on the counter as he accused you. ‘You’re just— You’re making this weird.’

You scoffed, a bit annoyed at the way things had seemed to have escalated so quickly.

‘Making what weird? What are you talking abou—’

‘Us!’ He exclaimed. You swallowed hard at the way he said it, as if it was a bad word. And you didn’t know why it hurt so much, feeling so small under his stare out of sudden.

You took a step back, trying to search for his eyes, but he looked away from you before he shook his head.

‘Don’t be late tonight.’

‘Steve—’ You called as he started to leave, but he didn’t let you finish.

‘Oh. Right.’ He said sarcastically as he walked towards the door. ‘Merry Christmas.’

The sound of the bell behind him made it all feel so final, and so strange. You weren’t still sure what had you done wrong, or why he hated you all of sudden.

The noise of Max’s uniform made you look to your side, her eyes changing from happy to worried as they fell on your face.

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ She said. ‘Why are you crying?’

‘Uhm,’ You took your hands to your face before you realised there were tears on your cheeks. ‘Nothing, just a bad costumer. The worst kind, actually.’

The worst kind of Christmas too, you thought as you sat in silence on the couch of the Wheeler’s living room. Now, you had never been too anxious around Steve’s friends, but somehow this fight with him had left you wondering if you really fit in the group at all.

He had made you this insecure earlier, with all his talk about Nancy and Jonathan making you uncomfortable. You felt that you’d annoy Max by joining her conversation with Eleven and Lucas, given she had already spent the whole day with you. Eddie was funny, but he seemed to be too engrossed talking to Dustin, Mike and Will for you to spoil the conversation with your presence. You were too proud to try to talk to Nancy and Jonathan, and Robin had spent the last half an hour rambling to Steve while you avoided his eyes on the other side of the room.

At some point it was too much, and you excused yourself to go to the toilet, feeling your hands sweaty and your heart beating fast against your chest. In the bathroom, you washed your hands with cold water for what it felt an eternity, before you could gain the courage to go back there. You only had to face Steve once more and then you could get lost until the New Year’s at least, and then… then what? Was this all then? Was it over?

‘Hey!’ Nancy’s voice on the door made you jump before she knocked twice. ‘Are you okay there? We’re about to start exchanging presents!’

‘I’m fine.’ You said drying your hands on the towel. You opened the door to find her with an unusually wide smile on her face. ‘I’m fine, sorry.’

You followed Nancy back into the living room, feeling suddenly self-aware as you sat on your place between Max and Eddie. Your eyes lifted to find Steve’s already on you, the possibility of an apology was written all over his soft semblance and worried eyes, but you were too proud to entertain the tension. So, you looked away, feeling your heart breaking a little bit more every passing second that you didn’t know what was going on between you two.

‘Robin!’ Said Nancy then. ‘Do you wanna start?’

‘Of course.’ Said Robin standing up from her place next to Steve.

It all felt painfully slow, and the more you had to fake-laugh and smile, the worst you felt inside. It was merry and bright, and so achingly beautiful, how Robin laughed when Jonathan opened the box of reindeer-shaped sleepers that Mike got for him, and when Max jumped at the sight of a new set of tapes for her mixes that Eleven gave her. And yet you still felt so miserable inside, so exhausted.

You snapped out of your sadness when Nancy stood up to give Eddie his present, frowning at the image of the curly haired boy ripping the paper of the box you had wrapped earlier that day. You blinked a couple of times when Eddie took out the lilac-wrapped square of the Cocteau Twins album that you had also wrapped, your eyes lost on the pattern of the rug as you felt Steve’s accusing stare on you.

‘My, my, my.’ Said Robin looking from you to Steve. ‘Look what we got here.’

‘Seems like you two are the last ones.’ Said Nancy in the same playful tone.

‘Who would’ve thought.’ Giggled Max.

The heat rushed to your cheeks as soon as you realised you had been completely set up by his friends, who were more aware of your feelings than you thought, but absolutely clueless about the current situation between you and Steve.

‘Uhm,’ You stood up, feeling Steve’s stare still on you. His worried eyes, his arched eyebrows, and partly opened lips softened you in the most foolish manner. Everything felt so right and at the same time so wrong. ‘I’m just gonna get some air.’

You walked out of the living room feeling more ashamed than you ever had, the heat on your cheeks so unbearable you thought you’d might have a fever.

You’d never be able to show up your face in the Wheeler’s house again, you thought as you walked through the fence that separated the houses, not after this little spectacle, not after never being able to be friends with Nancy, but mostly not after leaving Steve just like that.

The coldness was starting to burn your cheeks as you sat on the little step that separated your house’s door from the garden, feeling embarrassed, and immature, and so incredibly confused about all of this.

The noise of the gate reopening made you look away, cleaning your cheek quickly and trying to repress the need of rolling your eyes at the way Steve was sighing.

‘You can be really proud sometimes, you know.’ He said, sitting down next to you.

‘If you came to my house just to insult me you can leave now.’ You said looking at the snowy backyard, at the navy sky, at the dark pine trees in the distance, anywhere that wasn’t him.

He scoffed, and then you saw him shake his head from the corner of your eye.

‘What’s going on, Bells?’ He finally asked.

You frowned, looking back at him wondering if he was being serious.

‘I could ask you the same question.’ You said irritated.

‘You’ve been so strange lately.’ His piercing brown eyes intimidated you, but you didn’t want to let him know that. ‘You barely call, you don’t hang out with me. You don’t tell me anything anymore.’

‘I could say the same thing!’ You lifted your voice as you sat straight. ‘I found out about your internship through Robin.’

Steve licked his lips then, shaking his head softly.

‘She wasn’t supposed to tell you.’ He murmured before rubbing his hands against each other to warm them.

‘Because you didn’t want me to know.’ You scoffed. ‘Wow.’

‘Because I didn’t want to disappoint you if I didn’t get it.’ He raised his voice, brushing his hair with his fingers. You couldn’t do nothing else than look away once again, feeling guilty out of sudden.

‘Hey.’ Your dad’s voice coming from the door behind you made you jump, you stood then, cleaning your cheeks quickly before looking back at him.

‘Shit, dad.’ You looked down as Steve stood up next to you. ‘You scared the shit out me.’

‘I thought you’d be at the Wheeler’s.’ He said before looking from Steve to you. ‘How are you, Steve? Is everything okay here?’

Steve’s eyes lingered on the apron your father was wearing before looking back at you.

‘I’m good, sir.’ He said with the plain tone he always used the odd few times he had spoken to your father. ‘How are you?’

‘Dad, can you just… leave?’ You said taking your hand to the bridge of your nose, feeling sweaty under all your layers out of sudden. ‘Please.’

‘Hmm.’ He said before looking from Steve to you once again. ‘Sure. Call me if you need anything, sweetie.’

‘Sure.’ You said in a sarcastic tone that Steve caught instantly, but your dad didn’t seem to. Not by the way he subtly smiled at you before closing the door.

‘…So, he’s living here.’ Steve said after a while.

You bit your lip.

‘He and mom are… trying again.’ You admitted softly. ‘Or something like that. I don’t fucking know. My sister’s coming for Christmas too.’

‘Wow.’ He nodded once. ‘Right. So, I guess you were on planning telling me this… when, exactly?’

‘Oh my god.’ You said with a shocking laugh. ‘Are you really making this about you? Do you know how terrified I am right now?’

‘No.’ He said taking a step towards you. ‘No, I don’t know, because you won’t simply talk to me, Bells.’

‘Well, maybe I don’t want to, Steve!’ You screamed, shaking your hands in the air, feeling yourself being carried away by how badly the wound on your chest hurt. ‘Maybe it’s too painful to know it’s not going to work!’

He stood silent in front of you, his eyes studying your face as realisation fell on his eyes. An inquisitive frown took over his face as he blinked a couple of times.

‘Are you still talking about your parents?’

You were shivering now, looking away from him and trying to blink away your tears, when a pair of warm hands cupped your face. Peppermint cologne all over you, washing you in warmth and terror as you felt Steve’s shaky breath brushing your cheeks.

‘Bells.’ He begged gently but firmly as you shook your head. ‘Bells, don’t push me away like this.’

You keep shaking your head, trying to walk backwards, but he still held you softly and delicately, knowing exactly which corners of you had already been broken too many times before.

‘You know it, don’t you?’ He whispered as his thumbs stroked your cheeks. ‘You know that I like you. I mean you must, because I’m terrible at hiding it and everyone knows.’

‘Steve.’ Your hands held his wrists as you looked up at him with fear overflowing your glossy deer eyes. ‘It’s just not a good time right now for this to ha—’  

His lips hushed you, needy but soft as your body melted against his, fitting perfectly against his chest, pulling his shirt clumsily because God, did you want him. His hands pulled your waist against him when your own found his cold cheeks. It was overwhelming, a soft pathetic noise leaving your mouth when his tongue ventured inside your mouth, and suddenly it wasn’t just tender, it was hot. It was daydreams repressed last summer when you shared a tent, it was thoughts you pushed away when your knees were too close from his, it was thinking about him in the warmth of your shower and having to remind yourself not to think too much of him because this would never happen to you.

You took a step back, feeling flushed and unable to think straight. You looked up at him, his challenging eyes waiting for your answer as he cleaned his puffy pink lips with the back of his hand. The silence was killing you, but you were trying to catch your breath, and you couldn’t find the words to say what you wanted to say, to express how scared you really were of fucking things up.

You stood expectantly as he searched for something inside his jacket, taking out a silver box with a pink ribbon. Your eyes turned glossy just at the sight of it. He held it in front of you with an expressionless face, but his brown eyes were hiding for you, and you tried to shake your head just when he started talking.

‘It’s a bracelet.’ He offered to you once again. ‘A chain bell bracelet. ‘Cause I missed…’ He cleared his throat before proceeding and you took a step towards him, wondering if he’d let you touch him again. ‘I missed hearing when you walked into a room.’

You let out a choky breath. Your heart was beating hard as you took the box slowly.

‘Uhm,’ you said after a while, feeling like an idiot as you stood there. ‘I got you cufflinks, ‘cause you know, you’re going to start working in an office and stuff. With your initials engraved. I thought you liked that.’

He nodded softly, looking away as he put his hands inside his pockets. And you wondered if what you were seeing behind his avoiding eyes was a spark of hope.

‘In cursive?’

‘Of course.’ You said under your breath, and then you laughed. Like an idiot. And he smiled too. ‘I know you like that corny shit way too much.’

He couldn’t help but laugh shyly, looking down at his shoes as he kicked the snowy ground. It was adorable, really, how he had gone from being so confident to this timid mess in a matter of seconds.

‘You really know me, don’t you?’ He looked up at you.

You nodded, feeling a knot on your throat and your heart beating hard against your chest.

‘I guess I do.’ You swallowed hard. ‘That’s why you’re not allowed to leave me.’

Your eyes turned glossy again before he moved to touch you, this time less desperate as his hands wrapped around your waist and you slowly let him embrace you in a hug.

‘Then you gonna have to let me stay.’ He said as his hand cupped your cheek once again. ‘Okay?’

You nodded, stroking his nose with yours and waiting for his warm kiss in the middle of all that coldness.

‘Okay.’ You whispered. He kissed your smile then, or a least he tried. His own idiotic smile wouldn’t let him. It wasn’t really easy because after all, it the happiest of Christmas.

🏷️: @keerysfolklore @starrgurl46

I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written works anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

[forevermoreharrington]

steve harrington mouthing 'I love you' as he walks backwards away from you only to trip up a little, glare at the pavement, and then smile back at you like nothing happened <3