DINER TEARS౨ৎ꣑ৎ
꣑ৎpeople are gossiping about you and Steve꣑ৎ fem reader x steve harrington large text version here!
Pajamas on, makeup scrubbed away, hair tidied the best it can be before it gets inevitably messy in sleep, you crawl into bed next to Steve, admiring him for a second in the backdrop of your pink sheets. He looks comfy under the flowery covers and fluffy blanket. Your bedroom tends to run cold but he is a walking heater and you will not sleep shivering tonight.
He opens his mouth to say something but pauses. Immediately you assume the worst. Is this one of those nights where you look like you've been hit by a truck? Steve fills his accidental silence. "You're so pretty like this."
"Hm?" You look down at yourself. No bra, which is good. Pajamas are cute; little shorts with a matching top. The collar has a tiny stain from breakfast some long lost day ago. None of this is anything special. You don't feel pretty in any monumental way, just comfortable, ready to rest.
Steve reaches, but he doesn't have to stretch far. His palm slides into place at the curve of your waist. He is soft now, hair combed, eyes a little sleepy. You love the way he smells when he shaves before bed. He tends to cuddle, and he doesn't like itching your sensitive skin with stubble. Not this month anyways. His shirt is gone, folded and tucked into one of your dresser drawers. Secretly, you hope he'll forget about it, another relic of his for you to wear and treasure.
"You," he starts, drumming his fingers once soft as butterfly wings, "look so pretty at bedtime."
"Steve." Your tone is half exasperated, but he knows you aren't. "I'm squishy right now."
"You're perfect. Always." He leans to nuzzle his nose into your cheek, stealing a kiss. "I love you in your jammies."
Throwing your head back into your pillow, you shut your eyes. "I'm tired."
"Yeah you are, sleepy girl." He kisses your brow. "Come back here. We need lots of rest for tomorrow."
"It's just shopping, Stevie," you mumble, but you let him roll you back. "You're acting like we're gonna go run a marathon."
"In the shoes you wear, baby, you might as well be." Hooking his fingers under your knee, he lifts your leg to rest over his hip, rubbing your calf briefly.
"You do all the heavy lifting," you say into his heart.
"Yeah, cause I'm gonna let you carry your bags. Yeah, right." Steve brushes this off, patting your bottom. "Like that's ever gonna happen."
"Would you turn down the sarcasm?" You kiss his shoulder. Steve tends to monologue.
"Sorry." His chin thumps your forehead. "What do you need to get tomorrow?"
"I don't need anything."
"Humor me, babe."
"Fine. I saw a dress I liked last time I was there. I don't know if they still have it."
"We'll find it," he promises easily, like he can procure it from thin air. His confidence is so sweet that you give him a kiss for it. "Then we'll go to mine after."
"What if you see it and it's terrible?"
He snorts. "Nothing looks terrible on you."
Burying your face in his chest, you spread yourself out like a starfish. Steve hums, splaying a hand over your back. His warm palms never fail to soothe you to sleep.
~.~
He loves the dress; a cute white thing that wrapped around your neck and left your back bare. Steve stood up from his seat outside the dressing room and you thought he might applaud. He picks out a new sweater and slings the hanger with your dress over his shoulder. "Go look around a little more. I'll pay real quick."
You flip through a rack of crewnecks, wondering if he would like the blue or red better. There is a selection of belts you want to look at for him too. You've finally decided on the blue when you overhear his name, whispered around the corner, behind the mirror.
"…his girlfriend?"
"Must be. Boy, what's he thinking?" Two voices laugh, and your heart sinks like a rock.
"I mean, he could have anybody he wants and he picked her? She's not even that pretty."
"She probably blackmailed him. Wanted a crack at the hottest guy in town."
"Yeah, but she seems so sweet. You really think she's got it in her?"
"Honestly, she's got that whole naive act. He probably thinks it's cute."
Tears are blurring your eyes. You try to blink them away, fingering a belt buckle. Is that really what everyone thinks? That you're using Steve for some kind of popularity contest?
"No, I know, I know." You listen back in, brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. "I'll bet she's got something he wants, if you know what I mean. Remember how he was back in school?"
"Well, he'll be done with her soon, then."
You swallow thickly, looking at your shoes, heels aching. Steve was right; they aren't good for walking around.
"Hi. Find somethin' else?" There he is, holding a shopping bag and wearing your favorite smile.
"No." You blink away your tears, hating that you're looking at him different. "I'm ready to go."
"You okay?" His brow crinkles, and his chest is open just in case you need it.
"Mhm." You muster a smile, taking his outstretched hand. "Yeah."
Every detail of him makes your heart stutter. The belt around his waist, his thick arms poking out the sleeves of his polo, the hair falling onto his forehead. It's more than him being pretty, though. Knowing that inside his shopping bag is a little white dress. The way he guides you through the crowd at the mall. You know that if you saw something you wanted to stop for, he would. It all enchants you.
Does anything about you enchant him? He is perfectly lovestruck, but insecurities run deep. Maybe it's a part of you that doesn't think it's possible for anyone to love you this much. It feels like a dream.
You feel it later that day when you are planting daisies in his backyard, smoothing the warm earth around the roots. He plunks one of his baseball caps on your head, kissing the top of it. "Need any help?"
Your fingers are dirt-stained, but he doesn't seem to care, intertwining them with his. "No. I'm all done."
"Want a lemonade?"
You're a sucker for the sparkling lemonades he keeps in the fridge. It almost aches how sweet he's being. Everything you overheard echoes in your ears, and you don't want to be seen right now. "Um, that's okay."
He frowns. "You've never turned down a lemonade." Brushing his fingers over your forehead, as if checking for a fever, he asks, "You okay?"
You know Steve isn't using you. You're too observant not to know. But people thinking you don't belong with him hit a nerve. Maybe it's because you've had that thought, deep and dark and recurring late at night when you can't suppress it.
You feel like you've gotten away with something evil when he opens a lemonade anyways under the pretense of sharing, but he pours your glass fuller. The awful, crying feeling only heightens when he picks up your hand and kisses the knuckles, eyes still on you. Those girls were right. You don't deserve him.
He pats you dry after your shower. You stiffly melt into him when he opens his covers. Sleep finds you in an instant.
You wake feeling heavy. He opens his eyes and watches you, maybe waiting for you to say something. The day before yesterday you sang like a canary, wanting to tell him every minute detail of your day and your dreams. Now, you are quiet, guilty in his arms.
"You okay?" Steve smooths your hair. "What's bugging you?"
"Nothing." You hope your smile is reassuring enough. How does one tell her boyfriend she thinks he's probably doing her a favor by dating her? She doesn't. She waits for him to figure it out and then says all the right things, all of which she is planning right now.
"I can hear you thinking, babe." His fingers find the back of your neck, tilting you up. "C'mon, let me in. What's up?"
Briefly, you consider it, but your reflexes take over. "Just tired."
He fusses over you, fluffing your pillow and then deciding his chest makes a better headrest for you. Steve has a special ritual for you when you're feeling down. His finger traces up your nose, once, twice, and again. He's humming something; the song changes every time. Right now, it's Uptown Girl.
"How about we go get some breakfast, sweetie?" Steve suggests, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. "The diner? We can have pancakes."
"Mm." Your bones are hollow, too weighty to move. Even though your guilt is eating you, it feels better to stay in the safety of his arms than move.
"It'll be good," he promises, slowly sitting you up. "We'll get out of the house. It'll make you feel better."
You're helpless when he's kind, and Steve is never unkind to you.
"What is it you like about me?"
It is desperate and jagged but you are at your wit's end. He has been trying to coax you to speak since breakfast.
It started out fine. Curling into a booth, you met his eyes across the table, smiling when he asks if you want chocolate chips in your pancakes. He held your hand over the table. You felt lazy in the best way, cozy. The diner is mostly empty and old music is playing on the jukebox.
The bell jinglrd after you order your pancakes and orange juice. You were relaxed, listening to him debate which movie you should rent for after dinner tonight.
Steve got up to wash his hands before the food arrives, and you leaned back in your seat, sipping your juice. You heard your name and froze, trying not to turn around. A man's voice. He sounded young. The music has stopped and needs another quarter to keep going.
"Can't believe Harrington was the one to bag her. She's a good lay."
"You and her-?"
"No, but she must be if Harrington's with her. I mean, what else would he do with that?"
You tried to breathe. If you started crying in the middle of the diner, people would talking about you worse than they do now. That's two times in two days you've heard others wonder why you and Steve are together. It feels like a sign, but you don't want it to be.
Now, sitting stiffly next to him on the sofa, you bubbled like a volcano until your question erupted out of nowhere.
He doesn't hesitate, turning to face you all the way. "You're the sweetest person in the whole world. You love everyone you meet." Steve tucks some of your hair behind your ear. "You see the world so different than me and you're always teaching me something new."
"I am?"
"I didn't know I had ladybugs in my backyard until you showed me." He is so gentle touching you. "You showed me how to make your chocolate chip cookies. And uh… I wanna learn about that thing you're always doing. With the yarn."
"Crochet. That's silly stuff." You frown and he cups your cheek, not letting you look away.
"No, not to me." Steve searches your eyes, brow straightening. "You showing me all that stuff? It means everything to me." He softens. "You take the time to show me yourself. Not many people have done that for me."
You swallow. "Steve…"
"Where's this coming from?" He is not accusatory. Your shoulders slump. It isn't any good to keep it inside anymore. He always manages to bring the truth out and you are tired from feeling alone.
"There were some people talking about us yesterday at the mall," you say softly. "And at the diner."
"Is that why-?" He interrupts himself, shaking his head and palming your cheek. "Who? What'd they say?"
"I don't know who it was," you confess, leaning into his hand. Lip trembling, you whisper, "Everyone thinks I'm a slut. They think I'm using you."
"Why would anyone think that?" Steve sounds shocked. There is a wrinkle above his nose and you want to smooth it out. "Baby, they've got it all wrong."
Your voice hitches every other word. "They think it's the only reason we could be together."
He smooths a baby hair from your forehead. "They've just got nothing better to talk about so they're making stuff up." Even though he's trying to reassure you, he sounds upset. Not at you.
"I'm sorry." The guilt is festering, eating at your insides.
"There's nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who's sorry." Steve doesn't move his hand. "I was such an asshole in high school and now it's affecting you."
Your voice is crackly. "You're not an asshole."
"Maybe not now, but I was then." His thumb is curving up and down your cheekbone. "You knew me back then, baby. Smoking, drinking too much, playing up what everyone thought of me."
"You always had a good heart." Pressing your palm there, you hold his gaze. "You're good. So good."
"See? Look at the things you do for me." Steve kisses your cheek, then your chin to make you laugh. He's smiling when he pulls back. "Sweet girl. D'you know how much I love you?"
You pretend you don't so he'll give you more kisses. He frames your face in his hands. "I'll beat up every single person who even thinks about being mean."
"Steve."
"I'm kidding, baby. Just kidding." He guides your head down to his shoulder, slipping his arms around your waist. "Well, maybe half."
"Ha ha." You shut your eyes and he smooths your hair, nuzzling you close.
"Seriously though," he murmurs. "Don't keep it to yourself if it happens again. People are mean, but you don't have to be alone when they are. I've always got you and I'm gonna make sure everyone knows it."
A day or so later, you're browsing at Family Video when you hear your name in someone else's mouth. Steve is next to you, holding the three movies you picked out already. He shifts them to one arm, sliding the other around your waist.
When you walk past the two girls on your way to checkout, he drops a kiss into your hair and you feel a rush of excitement. He is yours.
