♡ promise? ♡
pairing: steve harrington x fem reader
summary: you loved steve more than life itself, but how could you ever tell him how you felt when he could just say you weren't the one he wanted? so what happens when he finds you at a bar—drunk enough to ruin everything.
word count: 6.2k
warnings/tags: pining, yearning, fluff, alcohol consumption, reader gets drunk, cuteness, explicit language, angst, hurt/comfort, crying, petnames, hangover, partial (non-sexual) nudity, NO use of y/n
a/n: i love bella kay so so so much. i knew i had to make a fic based on her new song promise. tysm for all the love on my most recent song fic gold rush!! i hope you enjoy this one just as much! <3
Lately, it seemed Steve Harrington was responsible for all of your fears.
Not because he was dangerous or mean—no, Steve Harrington wasn't kind enough to give you a reason to fear him. In fact, Steve was the sweetest, most thoughtful man you've ever met—always remembering little details, walking you to your car or your door, sometimes, it seemed the only thing he had on his mind was your happiness.
But it wasn't that you were scared of him; you were scared of him knowing.
You were terrified he would find out—that one day he would catch on to how fast your heart beat around him, how shy you got when he was near. You would freeze like a deer in headlights every time he looked at you for too long, reading your thoughts like he was strategizing the best mode of attack.
You wouldn't survive Steve figuring out even half of the things you thought about when it came to him.
He could never know that he was the reason for the bags under your eyes—that the sound of his voice kept you up at night, endlessly singing a lullaby you were too in love with to fall asleep to. He couldn't know that he existed in every thought you had. There was no benefit in him knowing that you would picture him at your side everywhere you went.
This wasn't healthy anymore—your obsession. It didn't take a doctor's diagnosis for you to know your time was limited—that his eyes would be the death of you. You would die as you lived: flying too close to the sun that was Steve Harrington.
But Steve didn't know he was killing you.
Sometimes, you surmised that he did—that he consciously wielded his smile against you, a calculated attack.
But Steve wasn't cruel; he was just clueless.
Steve Harrington had ruined you and everything you were on accident. He had unintentionally destroyed your chance of ever finding happiness in anyone else. He had unknowingly shaped your heart into something new—something that fed you warmth instead of blood, life instead of survival.
So giving him the chance to break it?
That would be suicide.
You weren't sure how many drinks you had emptied tonight. Somewhere between the second glass and the club lights turning into Steve's eyes, you stopped counting. You weren't even that big of a drinker. You didn't care for the paint thinner like taste or the way it would stain your tongue, a permanent aftertaste you couldn't force out.
But the other option was having Steve Harrington plague your sober thoughts.
And you were never much of a masochist.
Every drink felt like a way to flush him out of your system, every shot a means to detox. But Steve Harrington was turning out to be the worst virus you had the horror of contracting.
Steve was in everything around you—every drop of rain that swarmed outside the club, every bitter flavor on your tongue, and every fear coursing through your veins.
You were scared that he would never want you back. You were scared of how he would look at you if he knew the truth.
But most importantly, you were scared to death that you would never stop loving him—that even his rejection wouldn't be enough to deter your foolish heart. Every star you saw, every eyelash that fell, and every dandelion you crossed knew all about Steve Harrington by now.
The reason for your misery as well as the beating of your pulse.
You heard your name being called, ripping you out of your daydream into a new problem: Steve Harrington in the distance.
You blinked at his approaching figure. God, he had the biggest smile on his face—like a child with a crooked grin, he beamed at you, chuckling to himself.
This was in your head, right? A figment of your imagination? You figured you must have knocked yourself out a while back—
"What are you doing here?" Steve's scent invaded your senses as he joined your side at the bar. Now, your dreams with him were more lifelike than you cared to admit, but even in your most vivid dreams you had never smelled him before—his signature cologne that he would take to his grave, his hairspray that lingered in his absence. This was real. Steve Harrington. Here. Live and in person for your viewing pleasure.
You guessed you should've realized by now that the universe had a sick sense of humor.
It wasn't until you saw the tilt of his head that you realized you never responded.
“Hi!" Your voice came out louder than you had anticipated startling Steve. Since when did you sound like that?
"I'm—I’m uh, drinking,” you answered somewhat quieter. Your off-putting and awkward laughter was still doing enough to embarrass you.
Steve nodded, glancing down at your drink. “I see that,” he teased. You blushed, your eyes shifting down at your drink, a sheepish curve on your lips.
Fuck, if only he knew how shy he made you. Steve Harrington had a way of making you feel like you were back to being eight years old, getting quiet around the cute boy in your class, knowing full well he never gave you a second glance.
“You been here a while?” Steve asked. You didn't need to see him to know he was tilting his head at you.
“Maybe,” you murmured, looking back at him. Big mistake. What were you saying again?
“I lost track of time a—a while back.”
“Yeah?” Steve glanced down at the amount of glasses you had collected. “Drowning your sorrows?” He smirked at you. You saw right through it—the blurry state of your mind wasn't enough to keep you from noticing the pinch in his eyebrows, the concern in his voice. That classic Steve Harrington attentiveness he hid under layers of charisma.
“Oh, this? No! No, I'm fine!” You sounded anything but, laughing at a nonexistent joke that may have just been yourself. “Just, um, you know... got thirsty,” you supplied shyly.
Something in your tone seemed to settle with Steve. “How about we get you home, yeah?”
Your eyebrows shot up. Jesus, were you that big of a mess? “Oh, no! No, I—I couldn't ask you to do that.”
“You're not asking,” Steve shook his head, touching your arm gently. The contact could've melted you into nothing if you weren't sitting down. “I'm offering. Come on, I'll give you a ride home.”
Your throat felt dry. You couldn't stop looking at his lips, his hair and the way it fell in his stupid, mesmerizing eyes.
“O—Okay." You tried to get up from your seat, quickly stumbling over your feet as you stood. Since when did those get there?
“Hey, there,” Steve steadied you, his hand on your waist. “Careful now. Don't want you hurting yourself.”
Everything in your head was static with him so close to you. “Think you can walk?” You peered down towards your feet, stepping one foot forward, only to trip on the next step.
“Okay!” Steve immediately caught you. You whined out of embarrassment. Christ, you were pathetic. “It's okay, sweetheart, I got you.” Steve promised, supporting you at his side, his arm draped around your shoulders.
Sweetheart.
You wondered if that could count as attempted murder in a court of law.
Somewhere along the way to your place, everything had gotten a lot more amusing. The silly vocals on the radio, the people walking across the street, and you could swear there were suddenly faces on the backs of the cars.
“Steve! I'm serious, look! That one's smiling!” You enthusiastically pointed in front of you, way too upbeat for this late at night.
Steve nodded along. “I know, sweetheart. You told me two minutes ago.”
“No, that was the mean car!"
"The one that was going to follow us and kill you when you least expect it?" Steve teased.
"It had teeth, Steve!"
Steve laughed at your vivacity. Despite your love for him feeling immeasurable, an argument could be made that you loved making him laugh even more.
You rolled your eyes. "Fine! Laugh all you want, but I'm onto something here."
Steve shook his head, unable to erase the smile you brought out in him. "I'm sure you are, sweetheart, The car's long gone, though, yeah?" Steve smiled, glancing over at you. "No one's killing you tonight. Not on my watch."
You watched the corners of Steve's mouth lift, the subtle change in his features making your heart feel tighter, your thoughts looser—
“You'd be a cute car,” you murmured.
Steve's eyebrow raised. If you weren't so out of it, you might've caught the way the car briefly shifted off-center, his grip on the wheel faltering.
“Would I, now?” Steve questioned, his voice somewhat strained by a stutter you didn't pick up.
“Yeah…” you sighed. You should really stop talking— “You have the most pretty smile.”
Damn it.
Steve cleared his throat. The dark of the night covered up the tips of his ears turning pink. “Th—Thank you, sweetheart,” he stammered. “You—You have a pretty smile, too.”
You felt warmth quickly travel from your neck to your cheeks, the corners of your mouth curving into a shy and nervous smile as your hands fiddled with each other. “Really?”
Steve smiled again. “The prettiest," he glanced over at you, giving you a wink.
If you didn't wake up in the morning, you were sure Steve Harrington would be the prime suspect.
Right under the scary car.
“Okay, there we go. One more step.” Steve carefully guided you into the apartment, each of your steps getting looser and looser. “Just like that, you're almost there.”
With one wrong step, you collapsed to the ground before Steve could stop you. You burst out into a fit of laughter. Steve loomed over you, exasperated. “Having fun down there?”
Steve's question went one ear and out the other. You were full on cackling on the ground, tears springing in your eyes, hunching over, stomach hurting—the kind of laugh that felt like freedom. “I'm on the ground,” you wheezed, running out of breath.
You heard Steve crack up from above. "So I noticed." God, the sound of his laugh made you feel so giddy inside, as if you were the one thing that made him happy. You wanted to be the only thing he required to be happy. You prayed every night to be needed by him—to be craved for once in your life. You wanted to be the one thing Steve Harrington needed to feel alive.
You rolled about to see him smirking over you. Looking up at him like this,—the ceiling light framing his head—you could've very well mistaken him for an angel descended from the heavens, lowered only for you to worship.
"Hi," you whispered.
Steve chuckled under his breath, "Hi, sweetheart."
The moment lingered between you the way memory foam sinks: a subtle, calming descent, luring you deeper and deeper—
"Come on," Steve sighed, extending his hand out for you to take, "Let's get you off the ground."
“No,” you whined, turning away from his hand like a petulant child. "It's cozy down here.”
“Yeah, and dirty,” Steve insisted, reaching for your hand anyway. “And I know you well enough to know you're gonna be pissed in the morning when I tell you you were rolling on the ground.”
You couldn't argue with his logic, but that didn't stop you from pouting as he pulled you up.
Steve shook his head. “Aht, don't give me that look,” he warned. His actions contradicted his father-like tone as he cupped your head in his hands with a featherlight gentleness—one you had never received from yours.
Steve turned your head side to side. “I don't see anything…” he mumbled to himself. You let him bow your head as he checked your roots. “All good, pretty girl." Steve tilted you back up to face him.
The rhythm of your heart faltered. Steve's mouth was curved in a soft smile, his lips soft and kind. You peeked at his eyes only to find them directed towards your mouth.
Time stilled in the space between you. The world continued as normal—cars honked, children slept, insects buzzed in the night—but the air the two of you shared froze, sacred between your bodies. Only when you redirected your gaze to his lips did the space blaze again.
Steve cleared his throat, taking a step back from you, as if the heat your heart emmited burned him backward. “Off to bed, yeah?” Steve sighed, wearing a tighter smile than before.
“O—Okay.” Your euphoric nature had softened. Steve nodded, supporting you with his arm around you again. You whined as Steve attempted to guide you again. “No more steps, Steve. Please…”
Steve huffed. “What, you want me to carry you on my back?” The mischievous gleam in your eyes—that spawned in record time—told him he had made a mistake.
“Yes!” Your excitement came back full force. “Please?”
You stepped closer to him before quickly fumbling on your feet again. Your misstep seemed to convince Steve that carrying you would be simpler than watching you continue to toddle around for another fifteen minutes.
“Okay,” Steve relented. He couldn't shield his smile as you jumped upon his back, squealing with excitement. He settled you up higher, locking his arms around your knees securely. “Hang on tight.”
You let your chin rest on his shoulder as he carried you to your bedroom. Wrapped around his body, you felt safer than ever, encompassed in an illusion where Steve was yours—his body the solace you'd been chasing since you were little, the kind that—
“—Off you go,” Steve huffed as he rolled you onto your mattress, making you squeal again.
You gasped upon feeling your bed under your skin again—as if the covers had secretly turned into clouds in your departure.
“Oh my God!” You snuggled further in the softness of your pillows, your eyes shutting in bliss. “I'm never leaving you again.”
“Not so fast,” Steve called from afar. Your eyes peeked open to see him returning from your closet. “You gotta change, sweet girl.”
It was almost annoying that Steve remembered how much you detested wearing outside clothes on your bed. That fact didn't stop you from pouting with a brief whimper, unable to stand the idea of leaving your newfound paradise—or at least, the only one you could keep.
“I know, I know,” Steve cooed. “Just this one last thing, and then I'll let you stay in bed forever, alright?”
It wasn't long before you caved, outstretching your arms to him. Even intoxicated, you were unable to say no to Steve.
“Wrap your arms around my neck, sweetheart,” Steve muttered before he lifted your body in his arms, carrying you bridal style.
“Where we going?” Your voice came out small as you rested in his arms.
“Bathroom,” he murmured softly to you. You hummed in acknowledgement.
The next thing you knew, Steve was setting you down on the toilet seat. He handled you with such care that it felt like you were fragile—like you were his.
“I'll go get your clothes." He disappeared out the door before you could protest.
His absence felt heavier than you expected. Like there was a weight he was carrying just for you, now abandoned on your bathroom floor.
Your eyes shut, head tilting back. This was ridiculous. Steve had been gone for only a minute, but already you felt like dying if you didn't see him again. Like an addict going through withdrawals.
“Steve?”
“Yeah?” Steve returned shortly, a change of clothes gathered in his arms. “What's wrong?” The tips of your ears turned pink from the sound of his voice, the devotion in it
“I missed you...” you confessed.
You were being too honest. You needed to leave it alone. Steve and you were friends. You wouldn't take that back for the world—not even the one you wanted. Not even the one you were looking at right now.
“Well, I'm back,” Steve grinned. “You think you can change on your own?”
His smile burdened the weight again, lightening the atmosphere. You nodded, standing up with Steve's help.
“Alright, I'll be just outside, okay? Holler if you need me.” He winked at you, leaving the bathroom to give you your privacy.
As you stepped out of your clothes, you couldn't stop yourself from picturing him next to you, his voice, his smile. Why did he have to be so beautiful? Didn't he know how unfair it was? To be plagued by his eyes every minute of your life? You didn't know if you would ever move on from the fantasy that was Steve Har—
Your shirt was stuck
You had tangled your arms on the way out, rendering them uselessly flailing about. You attempted to escape to no avail, making yourself laugh at the absurdity of it all.
“Steve!” You called, giggling.
“What's wrong?” He called from the other side of the door, immediately on alert. “Are you okay?”
“I'm stuck,” you answered, once again trying with no luck.
Steve's voice paused. “Stuck?”
“My shirt!” You started to laugh fuller. Steve opened the door. You felt his hand struggle to find your shoulder. Once he got a grip on your shirt, he carefully helped you get it off, leaving you to find his eyes shut tight.
“Got it?” You vaguely heard the swallow in his throat.
“Yep. Thank you, Steve.”
Steve delivered you a brief nod before tentatively spinning around, trying to find his way back to the door without opening his eyes.
Once you finally got done getting ready for the night, you had enough strength to open the bathroom door without falling over. Steve was leaned back against the wall of the hallway, his eyes focused on your old shirt in his hands—the lacy fabric in his fingers.
He quickly caught your eyes. You would have been more embarrassed if you were sober—your makeup wiped off, hair a mess, and in your old, stained pajamas—but something about the look in Steve's eyes made you feel secure, as if he would never look at you as anything other than beautiful.
“Hi,” you rocked on the soles of your feet, hands swinging about.
“Hi,” Steve replied breathlessly. “You look beautiful.” You giggled at his compliment, taking a few wobbly steps towards him until you were leaning against his chest. He carefully cradled you in his arms once again, bringing you to bed like a husband would a wife.
In this moment, all you could think about was how much you loved him—how it felt like it could burst out of your chest, spill from your heart—you were in so deep, you could've been labeled as drowning.
“I have something to tell you,” you whispered, grinning up at him.
Steve mirrored your expression, glancing down at you. “Yeah, what's that?”
You shook your head. “Can't tell ya. It's a secret,” you answered.
Steve's head tilted to one side. “A secret? Since when do you hide things from me?”
You giggled again, confusing Steve further. “You're not supposed to know!”
“Why?” Steve wondered.
“It's important,” you clarified, dizzy with delight.
“Don't you think I should know, if it's so important then?” Steve asked as he set you down on your bed.
You bit your lip in thought as Steve tucked you in for bed. “Maybe…” you mumbled to yourself. Steve sat down next to you as you pondered. “Okay! But I'll only tell you if you promise me I can take it back.”
“Wh—What do you mean take it back?”
“You know,” you waved your hand, “in case you don't like it.” You just barely caught the pinch between Steve's brows return.
You searched his face. “I just don't want you to get upset with me,” you slurred, trying to explain to Steve that you couldn't dare to risk losing him.
He sighed before tucking back a lock of your hair that had fallen out of place. “I could never be upset with you,” he answered softly. “Okay, I promise whatever you say, you can take it back. No being upset.” Steve vowed, hand over his heart.
Your smile warmed at the gesture. So simple, and yet so Steve. It made your heart flutter.
“Go ahead, then.” Steve encouraged you, obviously eager to hear.
“I like you,” you admitted, chuckling through the sentence.
Steve nodded along, chuckling too. “I like you too, sweetheart.”
“No,” you shook your head, drawing closer. “I like you, Steve.”
Steve froze, his anticipation from before gone in a flash.
“I—I like you so much it's ridiculous,” you confessed, sighing as you fell back against your sheets. “I think about you all the time... What you're doing, what you're thinking, if you're interested in me too.” Everything was pouring out of you now, a dam that was flooding too quick to patch. “But I'm so scared you'll hate me if I tell you. That I'll lose you…” You looked back at Steve, his mouth open but still. “I would rather die without telling you than live a life without you in it, Steve.”
Steve didn't move for a solid thirty seconds. The only sign he was even still alive was the delayed blinking of his eyelids, his thoughts practically audible. The silence dragged like quicksand, sinking you deeper and deeper until it becomes easier to accept your fate rather than claw out of the bed you made.
"Steve—?"
"You should go to sleep." He moved quick, rising from the bed like it was a trap.
"Wait, no. Steve—"
"I'll sleep on the couch," he interrupted. "I'll see you in the morning, yeah? Once you sleep this off?"
Your tongue felt heavy. You wanted to tell him no. That no amount of sleep would keep you from waking up to the thought of his eyes. That he didn't need to leave and abandon you like a problem. It didn't matter if he was in the other room. Mere feet away, his departure would still cut into your heart.
You wanted to scream. To cry. To die in a ditch. But there was no other option than the one he chose for you.
"Okay."
The defeated rejection in your voice gave you deja vu, so familiar you could trace it back to every nightmare that ended this way—with your cards on the table and Steve leaving the game.
"Goodnight, Steve." You felt broken, shattered like the illusion your drunken state had fooled you into trusting. There was nothing in this world that felt as sacred as your relationship with Steve, and you had ruined it within a minute. A new record.
Steve paused in the doorway, turning off your lights with hesitant caution. "Goodnight, sweeth—" He cut himself off. "—dreams," he corrected. "Sweet dreams."
Sweetheart. That beautiful name he handed to you one day, knocking your world off balance, the one thing your worst nightmares couldn't take away from you, and he denied you from hearing it again.
All because you finally told him.
For the first time since you had met Steve, in the dark of your room, seconds away from sleep, Steve's voice wasn't singing you to sleep; the shut of your door scoring your thoughts instead.
In the empty space he had just occupied, you whispered to no one.
"I take it back."
The pounding in your head when you woke up wasn't enough to drown out the ache in your heart.
You wished you had forgotten, but within seconds, everything played back like a horror movie you couldn't get out of your head. You remembered everything—the stumbling of your feet, the symphony of Steve's laughter, the eyes that had fell on your lips—
The way Steve froze, the way he stepped back like you had hurt him, the look of betrayal you saw in his face.
You had ruined everything.
And you couldn't take it back.
The walk from your bedroom to the living room was more treacherous than the one you took last night. Each fall of your feet marching to the rhythm of your broken heart. You couldn't blame the knot in your stomach on Steve. This time, it was all on you.
You hesitantly stepped forward until you could see him. Steve was wide awake, seated on the couch. You could see the stiffness in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders. He looked anything but comfortable, silently waiting for something you knew you couldn't give him.
When he finally caught sight of you, everything between the two of you stopped again. But this time the space wasn't watching the tension unfold—it was glaring.
"You're awake." Steve's voice gave nothing away. You recognized the softness in it—the gentle tone you associated with Steve—but you recognized it was a disguise.
You nodded, standing as still as a statue.
"Sleep well?"
You didn't know whether or not to lie. You had already destroyed the way he thought of you by being honest last night.
"No," you admitted, quietly enough it could be mistaken for a breath.
Steve only nodded back, looking down at his hands. "Yeah, me neither."
Everything was burning like a forest fire. Your heart, your body, your eyes—it was all torching before you could say you didn't mean to light the match.
"I'm sorry," you whispered.
You watched as Steve sighed before facing you again. "Come here," he patted the cushion beside him.
You tentatively came to his side, unable to resist his call. Steve watched you as you moved closer, his eyes never once leaving you as you joined him on the couch. But you couldn't return his gaze—your eyes solely focused on the floor.
“Take these,” Steve handed you the pills that he had left on the table, along with a glass of water. “They'll help with the hangover.” Steve muttered.
As you drank, you wished that he was crueler— that he hadn't been kind enough to make you fall in love with him. That he hadn't let you. It wasn't fair—to make someone fall in love with you if it does nothing more than hurt.
"Will you look at me?" Steve's voice broke you out of your prayer.
You cursed inside your head. If only you were strong enough to resist the flute that continuously charmed you into dancing.
You turned to face him, bruised and defeated. Steve's face crumbled into something sadder, something broken. He sighed under his breath, turning away from you now.
"Are you mad at me?" You finally asked, breaking your vow of silence. Steve immediately denied it, shaking his head.
"No, never. I told you that last night." You bowed your head, falling silent again. This was worse than anger; this was brutal disappointment—something you never wanted to see from Steve.
"Are you gonna take it back?"
Your head shot up at his question. Steve was looking at you now.
"What?"
"Are you gonna take it back?" Steve repeated. "Last night, you made me promise you could take it back."
The memory was as fresh as a wound and yet his reminder made the pain cut deeper.
"Steve—"
“Why?” he begged. “Why would you make me promise that?”
“Because I didn't want this to happen—”
"What, me to ask you if you meant it?" Steve interrupted again.
You scofffed. As if you could've not meant it with your entire being. "Obviously, I meant it, Steve."
"Then why would you want to take it back?"
You shut your eyes, hanging your head. You couldn't tell if your head hurt more from the hangover or the confrontation. This was the last thing you ever wanted. "Well, you're clearly not taking the news well," you pointed out.
Steve went silent. You opened your eyes again to see him looking at you with something that resembled betrayal too much for your comfort. No hangover could numb the shame that pooled behind your eyes.
"I'm leaving, then." Steve shot up from the couch—as if he had just heard his exit line.
"Wait, Steve. No," you took hold of his forearm before he could abandon you again. You didn't want to be a part of this play. You were tired of playing the fool—the pathetic side character who watched him from afar. "Please, don't leave."
The strain in your voice that only came from the shame of crying caught Steve's attention. You watched as he fought a silent battle with himself, warring between you and himself.
"I'm sorry, okay? Please, Steve—" Tears broke free from your eyes like prisoners escaping their cells. "I can't lose you. Please."
The blinding blur in your eyes combined with the steel poker in your head kept you from noticing Steve's arms forming around you, holding you close to his chest as you sobbed out broken apologies.
"I'm sorry. I'll take it back, I promise—"
Steve shushed you gently, kinder than anyone trying to break your heart should be. "It's okay, just breathe."
You couldn't stop crumbling in front of him. You had taken a wrecking ball to everything that made you feel alive. How else were you supposed to feel?
Steve ran his fingers through his hair, still attempting to soothe you. "Please, sweetheart. You're breaking my heart."
"I'm sorry—"
"Stop apologizing," he whispered desperately. "I don't want you to be sorry."
You tried to focus on Steve's heartbeat below your ear, a rhythm that was slowly getting stuck in your head.
"I just want to know why..." he confessed.
You pulled back to face him, wiping your face with the cuff of your sleeve. Steve took over for you, gently wiping away your tears. "Please?" He whispered.
The pleading in his eyes melted every wall you had so carefully built around your heart. You knew you couldn't lose him, but you also knew you couldn't lie to him.
"Is it that you're scared of me?"
His question fired at your heart. "No," you shook your head. "Not you."
Steve tilted his head. He wiped your cheek again, breaking your silence. "But you are scared?"
You exhaled before you reached out for Steve's wrist. If you were gonna do this, you were gonna feel his pulse under your skin—just to prove he was there.
"…I think about you all the time." You finally confessed. Hungover, teary-eyed, and a mess, but you didn't care. "And I want you... So much that it scares me, 'cause I know I won't be able to handle you telling me you don't want me back—"
Steve tilted your head to look at you, halting your train of thought. "What makes you think I would say that?"
You wished you could've answered him, but you were still, lips parted and clueless. "Be—Because we're supposed to be just friends."
"When have I ever looked at you like we're just friends?"
To say you were speechless would be insulting. You weren't yourself anymore. You had changed entirely in a matter of seconds.
Steve just stared at you, as if he expected you to answer any question after flipping your world upside down—some kind of alternate universe where you weren't you and Steve wasn't Steve.
"L—Last night?" You offered hesitantly, trying your best to come up with something, anything for him.
Steve smiled at you, laughing under his breath. "Sweetheart, you were drunk," he pointed out. "I can't make a move on you when you can barely stand up on your own."
You blinked, rendered completely still. Steve smirked at your silence.
"If you wanted me so badly, you could've just said so, you know." The smugness in his voice made your heart ache.
He was teasing you now. Asshole.
"Steve, it's not funny."
"I'm not trying to be funny." His smirk was gone, replaced by long, pleading eyes that asked you for the world. "I—I don't know how else I can tell you I want you."
"Then why were you trying to leave?" You finally asked.
Steve sighed. Scanning the planes of your face with a reverent smile—soft in its curve—he tucked your hair back, handling it like it was precious. Like you were precious.
"I couldn't handle you taking it back," he confessed, "I couldn't accept a confession that you were too scared to commit to."
You were sure the heartbreak Steve had faced because of Nancy Wheeler was resurfacing.
"I don't want you to be scared when it comes to wanting me," Steve whispered, drawing an intimate moment between the two of you. "...And maybe I just wanted to hear you say that you liked me when you weren't drunk off your ass."
Your subsequent laugh brightened Steve's demeanor like sunshine after a storm, casting a beautiful rainbow that lived in his smile.
Your cheeks felt tight as you grinned, ducking your head. "I like you, Steve."
Steve mirrored your expression, beaming like a dog wagging its tail. "Yeah? You like me?" You caught his smug King Steve persona coming back into play.
You rolled your eyes as he began to smirk. You shoved his shoulder. "Don't make me take it back."
Steve chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it, baby."
You felt your heart soar in your chest, completely overshadowing your headache.
A squeal escaped you as Steve suddenly picked you up like he had last night, cradling you in his arms.
"Steve! Put me down!"
Steve shook his head, smiling as he walked. "Nope. You and I are going to spend the rest of the day in bed while you get over your hangover."
You tilted your head as he entered your room. "Oh, are we now?"
"Yep, we are" Steve declared, setting you down on your bed with a dizzying delicacy. He stood upright. "I'm gonna go find some clothes to change into."
You tilted your head, brows furrowing in confusion. "Why? Is there a dress code I didn't know about?" You teased, making Steve roll his eyes playfully.
"No," he shook his head at you, scrunching his nose, "I didn't want to get into your bed with outside clothes on."
Your heart warmed. He really was the most thoughtful man you could ever ask for. You caught his wrist before he could leave, eyes hooded as you looked up at him.
"You don't have to get changed to do that..." Steve's breath caught at the low tone of your voice, intention clear.
"Sweetheart, I—"
"Please?" You whispered, almost pouting. You may not have been able to call Steve yours before, but that didn't mean you didn't fantasize about him night and day—enough to know just how to get your way with him.
The tension in his shoulders melted away as he caved. "Fine, but just my shirt and pants, okay?" You beamed up at him, nodding eagerly.
Steve shrugged off his clothes, unable to contain his smile as you watched him excitedly. Facing you with that pretty smile you saw in everything, he joined you under the covers carefully. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you as close as two people could ever get.
You had been through a lot in your life. Heartbreak, love, loss—but nothing could have ever prepared you for the feeling of Steve Harrington's skin on yours. If your heart wasn't already racing at the speed of light, you might've died on the spot. The warmth he emitted blazed into you—a fire only he could ignite.
The moment felt like a dream. You could have been easily convinced you died of rejection last night and were transitioning into a painful death, being shown the life you lost. But the pain in your skull was enough to assure you of your consciousness. This was real, just like last night at the bar, the universe had finally acted in your favor, granting you the life you begged for where Steve Harrington was yours, to want, to need, to love.
You couldn't be happier next to him—staring at him like he hung the stars you wished upon for this very moment.
"I love you," you blurted out to Steve, catching the both of you off guard.
But Steve didn't freeze like last night. Not even a second passed before his face broke out into the most lovestruck smile—one you had never seen directed in your direction.
"I love you, too," Steve confessed, without an ounce of hesitation. He leaned closer, nudging your nose with his. "Always have, always will."
Your eyes widened before you found your eyebrows furrowing on instinct.
"Really—?"
Steve wasted no time bringing his lips to yours, capturing all of the insecurity that lived on your tongue. His kiss robbed you of your breath, as if he would rather you stop breathing than live in a world where you doubted his love for you.
You attempted to chase his lips as he pulled away to meet your eyes.
"I promise."
And for once in your life, with your lips returning to their rightful home, you believed someone wanted you to love them.
And you weren't going to take it back now.
masterlist
divider credits: @strangergraphics
