Don't Try So Hard - pt. 12
Summary: Moving from sunny California to Hawkins Indiana was the last thing you wanted to do right before your senior year. With zero intentions of calling this place home, and every intention of leaving as soon as you got your diploma, you didn't see a point in trying to make connections. At least, not until a certain popular boy starts trying to get your attention. part 11
pairing: steve harrington x mayfield! reader
word count: 3k
warnings: swearing, plot inaccuracies, sassy! steve, sassy! reader, kinda angst, mostly unedited
a/n: MOMMYS HOME! sorry for shortly abandoning u all school has drained all motivation out of me. BUT got djame impala tickets today so needless to say feeling inspired again.
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He didn’t chase after you when you turned your back, a thought that stays with you as you drive away. But yet again why would he? He didn’t owe you anything. And you’re the one who left, you remind yourself. So why did everything feel so uneasy?
You spent the night at Stacy’s before sneaking back home after you knew your Mom and Neil were at work. The runaway look wasn’t exactly good right before New Year's, but they'd survive. You made sure to leave a note at least this time, claiming an extended stay at Stacy’s (a truth you weren’t sure you’d keep). You also saw Max, reassuring her that everything was good.
You knew your mom needed the car in the morning, so you waited at the house till Stacy was done with her cheer Christmas lunch and could pick you up again.
“I’m happy you’re here,” Stacy randomly mumbles while the two of you watch TV a while later.
“What?”
“I just mean you’ve been so busy recently, I feel like I never see you anymore,” she chuckles before adding on, “you don't even come to photography a third of the time anymore.” Little to her knowledge, photography class was the only time you could slip away to meet Steve at his car without sacrificing your grade.
You shrug, “It just is nice to have a second. I got school, the hospital, max, you know the whole thing.”
“And……” Stacy says cheekily, nudging your shoulder. You furrow your brows at her.
“Oh come on, you’re seriously not gonna tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
She sighs, laying her head on your shoulder, “Fine. Don’t tell me. I just hope he’s attractive at least.”
Your heart basically falls out of your chest as you get whiplash from her words. You feel the heat rushing to your cheeks
“Stacy I-”
“Nope, not talking about it. Just know I'm happy for you.” She pauses, “I’m also reallyyyyyy good at keeping secrets,” she teases. You don’t respond; she doesn’t expect an answer. A surprising sliver of guilt creeps in immediately for not telling Stacy. For as much as she tells you, and for how important she’s become in your life, you really don’t tell her anything. This is why you don’t make friends: you think to yourself, you’re horrible at it.
Being scared of overstaying your welcome, you go and use Stacy’s phone to make a call while she's in the bathroom.
“Hey i’m gonna leave at like 7:30,” You tell her upon her return.
“Oh?”
“I called my house. Billy answered. Said he has to drop off something in the neighborhood anyway. If I walk to his friend's house, he’ll give me a ride.”
She tilts her head, “I really don’t mind driving you babes.”
“No no seriously, don’t sweat it, plus I think we’d both earn some points at home if he’s the one that takes me hope,” you laugh through your breath, playing with your fingernails.
“Whatever loser,” She says, sitting down again, throwing a granola bar she grabbed for you on her way back.
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7:30 arrives, and you find yourself two blocks away from Stacy’s, walking towards a car you know very well.
“Were the two blocks really necessary?” Steve says as you open the door.
“Hello to you too Harrington.” You buckle your seatbelt, looking down.
There’s a pause before you go to look up at him. His eyes are already on you. His jaw is tight, you immediately notice, and he turns his head quickly, not letting the eye contact linger.
The ride back to his house is relatively quiet; a faint Queen song plays on his stereo, one you don’t quite know yet. He opens the front door, letting you walk first as he throws his keys down and turns on the lights.
He sighs, “Nobody else is home by the way.”
You nod, walking to the kitchen, “Good to know,” you chuckle awkwardly, grabbing a glass of water.
“You decorated since last time.”
“Huh?”
You point to the corner of the living room, “Christmas tree?”
“Oh, yeah. Figured better late than never. It’s just a little fake one,” He sits on a barstool, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches your movements. You lean across the counter in front of him, tapping your water glass. You stare at the glass like it has something to say.
“Thank- “Can we please talk about last night?”
You both talk at the same time. You put your tongue in your cheek as you look up at him, your brain moves faster than your mouth as you try to talk, leading you to pause. You look up at the ceiling.
He stutters before continuing, “I just- Did it do something wrong?”
His words shock you and your eyes snap down at him in confusion. “What? Why would you think that?”
“You freaked out on me last night. How else am I supposed to interpret that?”
“It wasn’t about you.” You snap out faster than intended. He looks at you confused.
“It wasn’t-” you pause, “It had nothing to do with you.”
He doesn’t respond right away. He just keeps looking at you.
“I Uh-” you pause again. Fuck this was hard. “You know what? It’s not important. I was just being dramatic”, you breathe out, “ And I guess I got scared,” you mumbled out.
“Scared?”
“Fuck can we not talk about this anymore please?” you nervously laugh.
He pauses before nodding slowly, eyes still locked on you. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”
“What are you gonna cook for me or something?” you joke.
He’s completely serious.
“No way you know how to cook.”
He gets up from his seat with a smile, “Offended.” He walks into the kitchen, opening a cabinet. “Do you like pasta?”
“What do you have an apron and everything?”
“You are such a little bitch,” he laughs, “Pasta yes or no.”
“Sure whatever,” you go to grab the tv remote and sit on the couch, “Thanks I guess.”
“You and your sister are so much alike.” The words cling to you and catch somewhere in your chest. You don’t quite know how to process them.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you finally respond.
He lets out a breathy laugh while filling up a pot of water, “You very much should.”
The rest of the night passes by, and it doesn’t take long after dinner for you to end up where you always do, tangled up in his sheets.
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The next morning, you’re wrapped in a blanket against his headboard fidgeting with a Rubik’s Cube when he comes in the room.
“Where the fuck did you even find that?” He turns his head with a laugh and hands you a cup of water. He sits cross-legged in the middle of the bed and chucks a Hershey bar from his pocket at you. “Found this too.”
You flinch before catching it, “You couldn’t have brought an apple or something?” You laugh.
“I haven’t exactly gone grocery shopping. My parents were supposed to be home yesterday, but plans changed I guess. I can make us breakfast or something if you really want.” He reaches for his nightstand to grab the TV remote and changes positions to plop next to you on the pillows. He scooches himself close enough to be able to rub mindless circles on your forearm. You go to put your water on the nightstand, wincing at the movement.
“You okay?” He asks.
You half- laugh and sigh, “I’m fucking sore you asshole.”
“Right…” He takes a second to think before he jokingly puts his hand up for a high five with a grin.
You don’t respond to him, yanking the tv remote from his hand and turning it on.
“Oh come on, humor me a little.”
You roll your eyes and click through channels, landing on one playing A Charlie Brown Christmas. “You’ve done better.”
He elbows you gently and lets out a breathy laugh. He looks at the TV and raises his eyebrows, “Charlie Brown?”
“What,” you say defensively.
He shrugs, “Seems a little too soft for you, that's all,” as he shifts to lay his head on your shoulder.
You lightly flick his forehead and his eyes look up at yours.
“You really are all bark no bite,” he taunts
“I do bite,” you fight back.
“You nibble maybe,” he looks back at the TV.
You roll your eyes with a huff, shifting in your spot. “Can you drive me home soon?”
“Suddenly we’re in a rush to get home?”
“I have to get my car, I have things to do today. Or at least try and get my car,” you take a piece of the Hershey bar, “I might have to drag Stacy with me.”
“Well why don’t I just drive you?” He says it as if it’s second nature. Like it’s obvious. It sends a sting down your back.
You sigh, “I have to go to the mall and get gifts. It will take a while.”
“Perfect, so do I actually.” His persistence makes your stomach turn.
“Steve.”
“I’m just offering,” he throws a hand up, “it makes no sense to drive you home just so you can maybe drive yourself when I have to go anyway. I’ve been putting it off for like weeks.”
You rack your brain for excuses: “I don’t have a shirt, I spilled sauce on mine last night, I don't wanna wear it again.” It wasn’t a lie- you really did spill on it.
“Oh I put it in the wash after you fell asleep. I didn't want it to stain.”
You rub your face, lingering to cover your eyes. “Fine. We can go to the mall.”
He gets up and stretches, his shirt lifting up enough to see his lower stomach. You can’t help but stare. “Perfect,” he says mid-stretch, “A friendly hangout at the mall,” he’s almost taunting you. Maybe this was a horrible decision.
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You sit angled towards the car window the entire drive over. Steve rambles over the stereo, talking mostly about basketball (and other things you really didn’t pay attention to), before he gently swats your hand, “Are you alive?”
You clear your throat, “Yeah, sorry, just thinking.”
“Right. Right.” His fingers begin to tap on the steering wheel as he bites back what to say next.
“What,” you respond after a second.
He shakes his head. “Nothin.”
You agree as if it makes any sense.
You pull up and walk in.
“So where to first?” He barely finishes his sentence before you’re walking already, leaving him to follow behind. “Can you slow down?”
You don’t answer, walking until you reach the sports store.
“Hello?” Steve says out of confusion as he follows behind you into the store, “Why are we here?”
“Max,” you turn to him, saying it as if he’s stupid enough to even ask in the first place.
It takes him a second as he turns his head to think.
“Wait, are you getting her a new board?”
“What does it look like I'm doing?”
He leans against one of the shelves, just watching you. He lets you look in silence.
“I was hoping she’d ask for one; her one now is so beat up,” he says more to himself than to you.
“You really need to stop hanging out with my sister so much.”
“I’ve told you I just give them rides and stuff. It’s because of Dustin, really.”
“And I’ve told you that I don’t really believe that. Not fully, at least.”
His posture straightens, and he doesn’t answer. He notices you meticulously checking the price tags on all of them. “Any keepers?” he moves to look next to you, your shoulders brushing. You pull away. “Can’t decide. This is the one Max showed me but I can’t pick what color wheels.”
“I think she deserves a better one than that no? That thing is like her child. Look at this one,” He points to another one. There’s no doubt that one is way better quality, but with that came the higher price tag. Your breath hitches and you cross your arms, “yeah, that one is nice.” You say dryly.
There’s a pause.
“Let me pay for it.”
Your whole body jolts back from him before you can think, “Oh fuck off.”
He furrows his eyebrows with his mouth agape.
“You think I can’t buy my own sister something? I’m not a fucking charity case.”
He sighs, running a hand nervously through his hair as he panics, “You know that’s not what I meant. Fuck I didn’t mean it like that.”
You don’t reply.
“I’m not trying to do charity.”
“We don’t need favors.”
“Can you not take this so fucking personally? I’m just trying to be nice to my friends okay? Friends. Plural.
When you don’t reply he sighs again, trying to find the right words.
“Can you let me split it with you then? It can be a joint gift that only you take credit for. That way I could get her something without having to get something for all of them,” he nervously laughs.
“So you’d only get a gift for my sister. See. Creepy.”
“Can you just say yes?”
You pause again, an uneasy feeling beginning to make you nauseous. You hate this, but he had a point. She did deserve better. You just wish better didn’t mean having to elicit the help of Steve fucking Harrington. “Okay we can split it,” your ego stings the minute the words come out of your mouth.
“Thank you,” he says cheekily. You roll your eyes and hit him on the shoulder.
As you’re walking out of the store when you spot something out of the corner of your eye. Cheerleaders. You couldn't remember their names, but you vividly remembered being introduced to them before. Several times probably.
“You have to be kidding me.” You yank Steve to a table and sit, putting your shopping bags up as a barrier to cover your faces. He looks up in that direction before you slap his hand.
“This is over Tiffany, Bella, and Sammy?” He asks.
“Well yeah.”
“Is it that horrible to be seen with me?”
“You know what’s gonna happen if they see us together. Out. Not at school. Not at a party. Willingly hanging out.”
“Well we are willingly hanging out.”
“Yeah and if the town fucking gossips see us what the fuck do you think they’re gonna say? Aw, so nice to see bonding happening between Steve Harrington and this random girl.” You ramble and he laughs.
“You are not a random girl.”
You tilt your head at him, blinking slowly.
“What? People know who you are. They talk about you. You’re not as mysterious as your ego likes you to think.” His words are intended to be playful, but all they do is make your heart race. They talk about you.
You try and shake it off, waiting for the girls to head into another store before getting up.
The next hour or so passes like that. He stops at a jewelry store for his mom, you grab smoothies from the food court, and now you’re picking through random trinkets for your friends while Steve wanders somewhere on the other side of a store.
You move to look at necklaces when you hear Steve’s voice at the front of the store. You crook your neck to see who he’s talking to and you’re met with the long red hair of Tiffany Wright. She looks perfect, as always. Hair perfectly curled, makeup done, and jeans that are doing her a load of favors. You feel a lump in your throat. Why is he talking to her? Why is this bothering you?
You ignore and keep looking, unconsciously trying to get closer and hear their conversation.
“…No, you should totally come out with us this weekend,” she says, laughing lightly. “It’s been boring without you.”
You pick a necklace up, turning it between your fingers like you’re actually interested in it. People get invited places all the time. It’s normal. He has lots of friends. You knew that already.
“I know, I know,” he replies back, “The guys have been bothering me too. I just need to make some time you know?”
You see her weight shift closer to him out of the corner of your eye. “Think you could make some time for me soon?” God, this is stupid. Worst part? He plays along. He moves closer.
“Yeah, I’m sure when basketball’s over I won’t be as busy.” As he finishes his sentence, she reaches up, fixing something in his hair. “Sorry, your hair’s doing something weird.”
Your jaw tightens, and you quickly go to check out your items. You walk past their conversation to leave, walking behind Tiffany and avoiding eye contact with Steve. You lean over the second-floor balcony a few stores down and try and rationalize your reaction. You just didn’t want Tiffany to see you guys. That’s all that was. It doesn’t take long for Steve to follow you out, “Hey sorry I didn’t know you were done.”
“Yeah. I am.” You say dryly.
“Do you need to go anywhere else?”
“No. You?”
“Nope, I think I'm good too.” Steve rolls his shoulders back, his demeanor changing to match yours, “Let me go to the bathroom and then we can leave?”
“Sounds fine.”
“Okay,” he clears his throat before walking away.
“So this is where I finally find you,” you hear from beside you as you watch a group of toddlers play.
Your stomach drops before you even turn around. Of course.
You turn anyway. “Hey, Becca.”
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part 13
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