Steve Harrington used to think love was supposed to be easy. you were sixteen, he had ridiculous hair, and the world was just basketball games, late-night drives, and promises whispered like they’d never break. years later, there’s a house with toys on the floor, three kids who somehow have your stubbornness and his eyes, and a silence at the dinner table that feels louder than any fight. the “break” was his idea. that’s the part that keeps him up at night. he said you both needed space. said things had been hard since the baby. said it like he was being mature, like he was helping. now he’s standing in the kitchen that still smells like your coffee, still using his key, still showing up for bedtime stories and burnt waffles on saturdays, acting like he didn’t blow a hole through the middle of his own life. he won’t try therapy. won’t sign papers. won’t take his toothbrush out of the cup beside yours. because letting go would mean this is real. and Steve Harrington has fought monsters, demodogs, actual alternate dimensions, but he’s never been brave enough to fight for you out loud. until the night you quietly say the word divorce… and he finally breaks :(
