borrowed and blue // Fall
Summary: Steve, having enough of his father's constant disapproval, needs to move out of his parents’ house. Reader is back in town after having inherited the old record store on main street, only she has no place to stay. Eddie, being friends with both, brings the two together and offers a solution. Though neither of them can afford a place by themselves, together they make enough to rent a little house at the edge of Hawkins. Follow the two as the navigate life together and deal with the feelings that arise eventually.
A love story told in 4 seasons.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x female Reader
Trigger Warning: Swearing. Mention of alcohol. Mention of food. Slight mention of intimate situations.
A/N: Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.
FALL // AUTUMN
Fall has slowly but surely taken up residency in Hawkins. Half the leaves have turned shades of orange and red while the rest have started deserting the trees and now crunch under your boot with every step you take.
Steve’s woolen sweater does little to keep the cold out but he’d quite honestly rather freeze to death out here leaning against the backdoor of Family Video than be warm and toasty at home.
“ You’re no fun today, dingus. What’s got you looking all gloomy? “ Robin asks before stuffing her face with another bite of her turkey sandwich.
“ Honestly Harrington. You’re a real downer. “ Eddie agrees, cigarette smoke flowing like a veil around his head.
“ Way to gang up on me guys. And anyway, why are you even here? You don’t work here.”
Eddie unabashedly shrugs his shoulders. Really it shouldn’t come as a surprise to Steve. Eddie has somehow made himself a permanent 3rd party in their chaotic friendship after the events of last spring. Wherever Robin and Steve go, Eddie goes. And while he drives him crazy sometimes with his inability to stay still for even a minute and his big mouth, Steve has to admit that he enjoys having another person around.
“ Maybe I want to rent a movie.”
“ You never rent a movie! You just make us bring them around so you don’t have to pay.”
“ He’s got a point there,” Robin admits, snapping her mouth shut when Eddie throws her a sour look.
“ It’s called being smart, Harrington. You should look it up. Anyway, back to you. Why the long face? You know those frowns are gonna leave wrinkles and your face is the best thing you got going for you. No offense.”
“ I take full offense in that actually. “
He doesn’t. It’s the foundation of their friendship — teasing. It comes with the situation. Befriending someone from high school you never thought you could ever have anything in common with is weird. Not a bad weird, but weird either way.
“ Cut the crap. What’s wrong, Steve? “
Robin isn’t serious a lot. Steve thinks he might be able to count the times on one hand. But when she is, it’s a little terrifying. It makes you want to open up to her just so you don’t let her down. There’s a motherly quality in Robin being serious. Steve isn’t sure he likes it.
“ My dad had a go at me again. You know, the usual. “ You amount to nothing. You’re a disappointment. You put shame on the Harrington name””.
“ I’m sorry, dingus. “
“ I just — I can’t deal with it anymore. I need to get out of that house. Every time I look at my dad I see disappointment in his eyes and every time I look at mom I see — nothing. It’s like she doesn’t really care at all. I’m sick of it. “
“ What happened to that place you went to check out the other day? “
Steve lets out a humorless chuckle “ That was perfect and way too expensive for just me. And anyway, what do I need two bedrooms for anyway? Now if one of youuu guys — “
“ Nope. I love living with my parents. They drive me everywhere, they wash my clothes. You know I would but I’m also not stupid. I'm not leaving the nest when it’s soooo comfortable. And I’ll be off to college soon anyway so — “
It sends a shiver through him, the thought of Robin leaving. Robin and Nancy and all of his old friends. Everyone makes their way out of Hawkins at some point, hell even the kids will leave someday in the not-so-distant future. There is nothing here for them. Everyone leaves but him. Well, he and —
“Eddie?”
No answer. Instead, Eddie seems caught in his own thoughts once again. It happens sometimes. He’s probably planning another d&d campaign or something like that, things Steve knows absolutely nothing about. Sometimes it’s endearing, sometimes it’s aggravating.
“Munson? “
“ Huh? What was that? “
“ You wanna move in with me? “
“ Oh absolutely not, we’d end up killing each other. But I might have an idea.”
A smirk spreads on Eddie’s lips that leave Steve feeling a bit uneasy. It’s not that Eddie has bad ideas or that they come from a bad place, he just tends to go over the top a lot of times.
“I hate the way that sounds, do you hate the way that sounds? “ Steve asks, turning to Robin who only shrugs her shoulders in reply.
“You’re gonna thank me later, Harrington. Trust me.”
Dropping his cigarette, Eddie walks past his friends, tussling Steve’s hair in the process, and leaves without as much as a goodbye.
“ Sooo, that’s a completely normal reaction and not totally weird or anything.”
“ Steve, it’s Eddie. What do you expect? But hey, maybe he’ll surprise us and actually has a good idea on how to get you out of your predicament.“
Yeah, maybe. Only it’s way past the time that believing in a maybe filled Steve with any sort of hope.
Maybe stopped sounding like a possibility a while ago.
Maybe is a pipe dream.
Maybe is disappointment wrapped in a neat pretty bow.
"Yeah, maybe.”
“Steve Harrington?”
“ Mmmh.”
“ Pretty boy Harrington?”
“ The very same.”
For the first time since he brought it up (Y/N) lifts her eyes away from the boxes of vinyl records and properly looks at Eddie.
The record store has that certain kind of boxed-in smell. Like dust and leather. Like old books and cardboard. Like home. And it’s hers now. All hers. With all the good and bad.
And there’s no record store without Eddie Munson.
“I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that you are friends with Steve and now you’re asking me to move in with him?”
“I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m just offering a solution to a problem. Steve is — surprisingly kind of cool. He has a stable income, not much but stable. And he’s not nearly as messy as I am. You can take it or leave it. Just think sleeping in the backroom of the record store doesn’t sound super comfortable. “
He’s right. He usually is, (Y/N) just hates to let him know that. Boy gets awfully smug when he knows he’s right.
She’s not sure how many more nights she can go sleeping on the thin futon she keeps at the back office, without ruining her back for all eternity. It’s stuffy in here and nights get awfully cold. Maybe renting a place with Steve Harrington isn’t the worst of all scenarios. But it feels an awful lot like admitting defeat. “I know what you’re thinking. This isn’t you failing, this is you accepting help from a friend, okay? “
There’s a sense of sincerity in Eddie’s deep brown eyes that she will never quite get used to. Beneath the teasing and the jokes there’s a bond so thick it can never be broken. A thread woven by two trailer park kids who never had anything but each other.
“ I hate that you know me so well.”
“ I know. But hey, if it makes you feel better you can return the favor.”
A smirk threatens to pull at the corner of his lips. Barely there but there after all. He knows that whatever he’s asking for, she’ll say yes. He’s her friend, her brother by choice not by blood. There is no way she’ll ever say no.
“ Oh yeah? And what favor would that be?”
“ Give me a job. “
“ Huh? “
“With everything that happened I can’t — I can’t continue dealing. And though I am officially acquitted that doesn’t mean shit in this hellhole of a town. So you can imagine how ecstatic businesses are about hiring Eddie Munson, acquitted in the eyes of the law but still a killer to all of Hawkins.”
She hates the way his voice shakes when he speaks. Though he tries to veil his pain with jokes and laughter, it doesn’t really work. There’s fear and sadness lacing his words. There was always a hidden sadness in this boy but ever since the incident of last spring, of which she still hasn’t heard the entire story, it’s more prominent, less hidden.
“ You’ll always have a job here if you want it. I hope you know that.”
“ Oh, I know.”
“ And I’ll be giving you all the shitty shifts.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else. Aaand you’ll let me have band practice in the back? “
“ Of course.”
And when he smiles at her with the same smile of a 5-year-old Eddie, the one she ran through sprinklers with, the one whose ceiling she glued glow-in-the-dark stars to, she knows she did the right thing. And she’ll do it all over again for the rest of both their lives.
“Soooo I can tell Steve you’re in?”
“ You can tell Steve I’m willing to take a look at the place.”
An overgrown path flanked by elms and maple trees leads up to the property. It’s a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges, a few specks of green still trying to hold onto the last drops of summer. It feels like a dream, a watercolor painting of the perfect fall scenario. Picturesque. Beautiful.
The house is small but enough. It’s cute. It’s homey. There are two bedrooms, a small kitchen, an open area for living and dining, and a bathroom. The floor is brushed wood, the walls all painted a dusty off-white.
(Y/N) can see herself living here. She can almost smell the coffee rising from her mug as she lounges on the bench swing by the front porch. Can taste the lemonade and ice cream and beer she will hand out in summer as her friends hang out in the backyard. There’s a fireplace made for Christmas stockings and a hook on the front door to hang a floral wreath when springtime calls.
It’s easy to get lost in dreams of what could be. And then her eyes meet Steve across the way and she is being reminded of what is.
“ What do you think? “
I think it’s perfect.
I think I want to spend my whole life here.
I think I want to make this my home.
All those thoughts run through her head but none of them make it past her lips. She hardly knows this guy, there’s no way she’s gonna share all her heart's desires with him on a Tuesday morning when he hasn’t even had a coffee yet.
“ I think we’re gonna need a couch.”
She can almost see the gears turning and the lightbulb switching on as the words she spoke start registering in his mind. And then he smiles and she must admit, despite everything in her wanting to deny it, that Steve Harrington has a really great smile. One that almost brings a little glimpse of summer back into the cold fall morning.
“ So that’s a yes? “
“ Yes, Harrington. I think we should try this.”
He goes in for a hug then thinks better of it and pulls his arms quickly deciding to punch the air in excitement instead. There’s a nerdy quality to him. She wonders if he knows. It’s slightly endearing. Slightly.
“ Awesome. Cool. Great. Uh — I don’t have a couch but I do have a TV.” “ Cool! I have a coffee machine, a record player, and a cat.”
Mondays are a drag. Even when you’re your own boss. It’s one of the basic pillars of humanity. Mondays suck.
The air is brisk and sharp when (Y/N) makes her way out of her cozy warm bedroom and steps into the living area of the house. The floor is cold beneath her bare feet. They really need to invest in a rug or something, she thinks before her eyes meet the empty living room. A rug and a couch.
Steve’s door is still closed. The guy doesn’t get up before noon if he doesn’t have to go to work. Or maybe he just doesn’t wander out of his room. It’s been two weeks now and living with him is surprisingly easy. He’s not loud, he’s not messy. He’s barely around as it is. Most of the time he’s either at work or hanging out with this girl called Robin. Who (Y/N) thinks might be his girlfriend, she’s not entirely sure though.
The captain, (Y/N)’s black cat who used to live in the alleyway behind the record store, weaves his way around her ankles, his soft fur brushing against her skin.
"You hungry Cap? Let me brush my teeth real quick and I'll feed you, okay?"
Cap looks up at her with big black eyes and that's as good a reply as she can expect from the chubby cat.
The bathroom of their new house is small and cluttered. There’s makeup and lotions and hair products everywhere. The shower curtain is an ugly shade of washed-out blue and a little too short, which results in the bathroom partially flooding every time someone takes a shower.
Their bathroom is a bit of a mess but it’s a controlled mess, one (Y/N) is slowly but surely getting used to. What she doesn’t expect is to open the door and be greeted by a half-naked stranger.
Confusion and shock color the blonde girl’s face as she catches sight of (Y/N) through the mirror. An oversize shirt falls down her body, ending just below her butt, a sliver of red panties peeking out as she turns around.
“Holy fuck, who the hell are you?”
“You know what, I was gonna ask you the exact same thing.”
“I’m Leslie,” the girl says matter-of-factly as if not knowing should make (Y/N) feel some kind of shame. It reminds her of the way Tammy Thompson used to talk after coming back from her Nashville trip that one time in year 10.
“Good for you, what are you doing in my bathroom?” “ Uh — this is Steve’s bathroom.”
There’s a part of (Y/N) that wants to laugh. That wants to let out a hearty giggle and face the absolute ridiculousness of the situation. Though that part has to submit to the part of her that hates Monday mornings and hasn’t had a coffee yet.
“It’s also my bathroom. Do you see those lipsticks over there? You think those belong to Steve?”
Like the flip of a switch, the girl’s face falls. A deep unease settles over her features making her look much younger than the previous mask of post-coital confidence.
“Shit, are you the girlfriend?”
It’s not the first time someone has asked that question since they moved in together. It comes with the situation. There’s a certain expectation when people of different genders share a living space. (Y/N) thinks it’s absolute bullshit. Men and women can totally be just platonic friends. Not that her and Steve are even that.
“No I’m — you know what? Wait here.”
Life is just a sequence of battles being thrown your way. The art is to know which ones are worth fighting and which ones to pass on to your housemate.
A whiff of cold air slaps (Y/N) in the face as she opens the door to Steve’s room. The blue curtain flows with the breeze finding its way through the open window. It’s the first time she’s stepped foot in here since they properly moved in. His room smells clean, like crisp fall air and fresh linen. And a little bit like expensive cologne. There’s a dresser on one side of the room, his bed on the other. Other than that it’s pretty bare.
Wrinkled sheets hide the bottom half of Steve’s body, his chest proudly on display as he spreads out starfish-like on his bed. Man, that boy has a lot of chest hair. For a moment (Y/N)’s mind goes on a little time travel mission. Back to high school days. Back to when Steve was on the basketball team and took every chance to be on the skins team during training. Did he have as much chest hair then?
Before she can fully form the thought she shakes her head in displeasure. What business has she thinking about Steve Harrington’s fucking chest hair? Absolutely none.
“ Harrington, wake up.”
Nothing. Of course not.
God, she fucking hates Mondays.
“ Steve! Wake the fuck up!”
Absolutely no reaction.
Desperate times, desperate measures.
Grumbling to herself (Y/N) makes her way toward Steve’s sleeping form.
“I swear to god, if I end up seeing your penis I’m going to strangle you!”
In a swift motion, she grabs the pillow from beneath his head and smacks him across his stupid pretty face.
“What the fuck, (Y/N).”
“Oh, that does it then, physical violence?”
His voice is raspy and laced with sleep. It would be sexy if it was anyone but pretty boy Steve Harrington.
“What do you want?”
“I’d like to use my own bathroom in peace.”
Steve lifts his arms off of his face, regarding her with curious confusion. His eyebrow almost disappears behind his stupidly perfect hair. Where everyone else would sport an impressive case of bedhead, Steve’s mane looks perfectly styled as if every strand has been placed with precision. Maybe, she thinks, he’s some kind of wizard brewing potions and casting spells to keep his hair looking nice at all times.
Or maybe his hair is just that great.
“You need my help to go to the bathroom?”
“No, Harrington. I need you to get your friend out.”
“My frie — oh shit.”
He’s not naked. Thank god. He’s just wearing really tight boxer briefs. Gray ones.
It’s a face (Y/N) never thought she’d ever find out firsthand. Steve Harrington is a boxer briefs kinda guy. That’s another thing that comes with living together. Sooner or later you’ll figure out stuff about the other you never needed to know. You’ll know anyway. And from then on the knowledge is yours to do with as you see fit.
(Y/N) tries to push the info to the furthest corner of her brain, right there in a dusty box that holds most of what she learned in geometry class and the names of all the drunk girls she’s ever made friends with in a bar bathroom.
Then again, at least he’s not naked.
It takes Steve a full 25 minutes to convince Leslie that (Y/N) is in fact not his girlfriend and another 20 to get her out of the house. She leaves with a promise of him calling again. It’s a promise he has no intention of keeping, even (Y/N) can tell. It’s a soft lie. One meant not to hurt but to cushion the inevitable fall.
It’s gonna hurt anyway and for a second (Y/N) feels bad for the girl. Only for a second though. Her third cup of coffee washes away those feelings.
“I’m really sorry about that,” Steve exclaims as he drops down onto the floor next to her, his own cup of coffee in hand. “It’s not gonna happen again.”
“We should set up some rules.”
“For when we have dates over?”
“For living together.”
“Okay uh yeah — that makes sense. I guess.”
(Y/N) rips a page from one of the many notebooks lying around.
“What should I call it?” She asks before Steve takes the sharpie from her hand and scribbles something onto the blank page.
Steve and (Y/N)’s roommate rules.
“Okay sounds good. 1. Dates need to be out by morning or announced in advance. That cool with you?”
Steve nods his head in approval, hair shaking with every move.
“ Anything you wanna add? “
“ Mmmm.” His lips almost disappear with the way he sucks them in, trying to speak up but worried about upsetting her.
“ Spit it out, Harrington.”
“You play your music really loudly. And no offense but I can only do so much Bon Jovi before I want to stab a fork in my ear.”
“That is absolutely offensive and also blasphemy but I accept it. Put it on the list.”
A silence settles over the two as the morning sun rises above the horizon, throwing long rays of autumn sun through the windows. A scene quite serene and calm. If it wasn’t for the fact that (Y/N)’s ass is almost numb from sitting on the freezing cold floor.
“We need a fucking couch.” “ We really do.”
(Y/N)’s eyes fall towards Steve’s figure sitting next to her. His chest still bare. His legs still bare. The guy is still in his boxer briefs and one lone sock.
“Put some clothes on man.”
3. No walking around in underwear.
A shrill beeping sound wakes Steve from a dreamless slumber. For a second his mind travels to bad places. Dark memories clouded in fear. Sounds from a world like this but different. Warped and disfigured and wrong.
Then his mind fog disappears slowly but surely and he realizes that he is in fact not in the upside down but at home. At home in his own house in his own room in his own bed.
And the sound? That’s the fire alarm.
Oh shit, the fire alarm.
Throwing his blanket off of himself, Steve hurries out of his room and rounds the corner expecting the worst. Ever since — things started happening, he always expects the worst.
He’s not greeted by flames. There is no fire. Nothing is ablaze.
But there’s (Y/N), looking down sadly at a tray of what he thinks might be muffins. If they’re supposed to be dark chocolate they look perfect. If they’re supposed to be anything else they’re badly burned.
“ What the hell is going on? “ he asks as he pushed the button, turning off the horrible beeping sound.
“ I was stress-baking and ended up forgetting about the muffins while they were in the oven. I blame that fancy-ass wine yours.”
When he left home, Steve took a few bottles of the expensive Cabernet his parents keep in their wine cabinet. Not because he likes to drink it, in fact, it all tastes like bitter, overpriced grape juice to him. No, that was purely out of spite.
“Why are you drinking wine and baking at — “ he glances at the clock on the microwave, “midnight? “
A strand of hair falls in front of her face and for a split second, he wants to push it away, comb it behind her ear. Then he reminds himself that he hardly knows the girl. You don’t go around brushing people’s hair off their faces if you don’t know them. That’s something intimate. Like kissing the top of someone's head. Like tugging them in when they fall asleep on the couch.
“Just — everything with the record store is stressing me out. I’ve never had to manage a whole store by myself. I don’t know the first thing about owning a business. And right now it’s still going alright but what if I mess up? What if people stop coming by and the store stops making money and then we will never be able to buy a couch.”
He’s not seen her like that before. Sad. He hates it. Her mouth is pulled into a frown and where her eyes usually glimmer with mischief and excitement, they look dull and glassy now.
He wants it on record that the glimmer in her eyes was something he discovered purely by accident and not because he looks at her that much. It’s all purely circumstantial.
“So I don’t know anything about owning a business. But I do know one thing.”
“ Yeah? And what’s that?”
“ No matter what happens. People will always need music. People will always need a record store.”
Many times in his life, Steve found himself in situations knowing he said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Stupid intrusive thoughts have tumbled from his lips too many times to count.
This time, he thinks he might’ve said exactly what needed to be said. At least if her smile is any indication of it.
“ Thanks, Harrington. That’s a very sweet thing to say.”
He shrugs his shoulders casually as if it’s no big deal.
It’s a little bit of a big deal.
“And about that couch? We’ll figure that out, I promise. In the meantime — “
He squats down to the floor, opens the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink, and pulls out the thick roll of shiny silver duct tape.
“What are you doing, you weirdo? “
“I’m planning.”
“Planning what? “
“ Our future.”
With a determination that’s even foreign to himself, Steve struts into the living area and kneels down on where the couch would be.
“Come on, come sit on our couch.”
Slowly but surely he creates a, someone lopsided and imperfect, duct tape outline on the wooden floors.
He can almost see it. A cozy L-shaped sofa in the middle of the room. Maybe a nice forest green. Maybe shiny brown leather.
It doesn’t matter really. It will be theirs. In his own home. That he pays for with his own money. Where disappointment doesn’t try to grab and pull at him from every corner. Where he is just Steve and that’s enough.
"Hey, (Y/N)?"
"Yeah?"
"No more midnight baking, okay? Can we put that on the list?"
She laughs and nods.
"Yeah, that's okay with me. Hey, you know what?” (Y/N) asks as she drops down on the floor next to him, crossing her legs and handing a glass of wine to him, keeping one to herself.
“What’s that?”
“I really enjoy living with you. I think we’re a good team.”
“Yeah, I think so too.”
“You know what else?”
“Hmmm?”
“I can’t wait to decorate our house for Christmas.”
Our house.
Steve nods and takes a sip from the glass. Yup, still bitter and overpriced grape juice.
“Maybe by winter we’ll have a couch.”
Laughter echoes through the halls of the little house as it stands nestled between elms and maple trees. The night is inky black but the little light that comes from the house casts a glow into the dark.
There is no pain in this house. It doesn’t live here anymore. There is only laughter. And friendship. And the promise of something more. Something grand. Something that is entirely their own.
Sometimes a maybe is more than disappointment wrapped in a pretty bow.
Sometimes maybe is a chance.
Sometimes maybe is the beginning of something wonderful.