Steve Harrington vs Roof-Climbing Romeo (pt.4) | Steve Harrington <3
pairings: dad!steve harrington x wife!reader henderson
wc: 6k
warnings: big family chaos, protective dad steve, dad steve has feelings, teen romance, light angst, sibling teasing, soft coming out scene, domestic fluff, found family. henderhop dating, lumax are married, jonancy has son, byler dating, robin and vickie are going strong.
summary: summer 2009 is supposed to be quiet until a boy climbs onto Steve Harrington’s roof, one daughter comes out, another has a boyfriend in a band, and nd someone brings a guitar to dinner thinks it's a good idea.
part 3
Summer, 2009.
The house was unusually quiet.
No movies humming from the living room. No music leaking under doors. No arguments about whose turn it was to wash dishes—just the slow whir of the ceiling fan and the occasional chirp of crickets outside your window.
You sat propped against the headboard, a book open in your hands. Beside you, Steve was already asleep, one arm thrown over his eyes, breathing slow and heavy, completely surrendered to the rare peaceful night. For once, every child was out or asleep.
Dusty and Mickey had crashed hours ago after a day of biking.
Willow was at a sleepover at Aunt Robin’s.
Lucy was away at camp.
Maxie was spending the weekend with your mother and brother.
Only Jane remained in the house—and even she had gone to bed early.
You turned a page.
Then—THUMP.
You froze. The sound came from outside, not inside the house, from the roof. You lowered the book slowly. “…What the—”
Another faint shuffle of movement followed. You nudged Steve’s shoulder. “Steve. Steve, wake up.”
He groaned, barely conscious. “M’ sleeping…”
“I think someone’s on the roof.” Steve’s eyes snapped open.
The shift was immediate—exhaustion gone, replaced with pure protective instinct. Within seconds he was out of bed, already gripping the baseball bat he kept beside the dresser.
“Stay behind me,” he whispered.
You followed him into the dim hallway. Moonlight poured through the tall window at the end, washing the floor in pale blue.
A shadow moved across the lawn outside. Steve stepped closer and squinted — just in time to see a teenage boy dropping from the side of the house and sprinting across your yard.
“HEY!” Steve barked, throwing the window open. “You come back here again and I will swing this bat!” The boy didn’t even turn around. He ran faster, vanishing into the dark.
Silence returned. You slowly exhaled. “…I think he came from Jane’s room.”
Steve didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, and he was already walking.
You knocked once and Jane opened the door almost immediately. Her hair was messy. Her eyes wide. She already knew.
“Look… I’m sorry,” she said softly.
Steve inhaled slowly. “Young lady,” he said, calm but firm, “living room. Now.”
“…Yes, Dad.”
At eleven at night, the three of you sat in the living room. Only the lamp near the couch was on. The rest of the house slept around you.
Jane sat beside you, hands twisting together. “Dad, please don’t get mad.”
Steve rubbed his face, exhausted more than angry. “I’m not mad,” he said quietly. “I’m… trying very hard not to panic.”
Jane swallowed. “He’s my boyfriend.”
The word hung heavy in the room. “I didn’t tell you because you get dramatic every time boys are mentioned,” she rushed out. “I knew you wouldn’t let me see him.”
Her eyes glistened. You squeezed her hand gently.
Steve stared at the floor for a moment before speaking. “Jane… you are not in trouble because you have a boyfriend.”
She blinked.
“You’re in trouble because a boy climbed onto my roof at midnight to see you,” he continued softly. “You deserve someone who walks through the front door.”
His voice cracked slightly. “And I deserve to know where my kid is.”
Tears slipped down Jane’s cheeks. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”
Your heart squeezed. You wiped her tears with your thumb. “Honey,” you murmured, “your dad isn’t trying to stop you from growing up. He’s trying to make sure you grow up safe.”
Steve finally looked at her.
Fear—not anger sat in his eyes. “I can’t protect you from everything,” he said quietly. “But I need the chance to try.”
Jane leaned forward and hugged him tightly. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
Steve wrapped his arms around her immediately. “I love you, kid. Even when you give me heart attacks.”
She laughed weakly against his shoulder. “Love you too… even when you’re dramatic.” He sighed, kissing the top of her head.
“Tell Romeo he can come to dinner tomorrow,” Steve muttered. “Through the front door like a normal human.”
You smiled. “I’d like to meet him too.”
Jane nodded, relieved. “Okay.”
Steve stood, ruffling her hair gently. “Now go to sleep before I install window bars.” She giggled and headed upstairs.
You and Steve remained in the quiet living room. He exhaled heavily, sitting beside you. “They’re getting older,” he murmured.
You kissed his cheek softly. “You’re doing fine.”
He leaned into you. “…I’m gonna need coffee tomorrow.”
You smiled. “You’re going to need therapy tomorrow.”
Steve groaned. “Same thing.”
You took his hand and stood. “Come on, dad. Big day tomorrow.”
As you walked back to your room, he glanced once toward the stairs — toward the life that kept moving faster than he was ready for.
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
The next morning felt deceptively normal.
You kissed each of the kids goodbye before heading to work, reminding Jane—very pointedly to invite her boyfriend over for dinner. Steve pretended not to hear that part.
Today was his day off.
After making breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, Steve grabbed his keys. “Alright,” he muttered to himself, “let’s go get the other twin.”
He pulled up in front of Robin Buckley’s house and honked once.
The door swung open almost immediately. Robin stood there in pajamas and messy hair, holding a mug of coffee like it was life support.
“Morning, Rob,” Steve called.
“Morning, Harrington. You look stressed.”
“I am stressed.”
Willow appeared behind Robin, rolling her eyes affectionately. She hugged Robin quickly and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“You’ll rock it, Willow!” Robin shouted as she jogged toward the car.
Steve raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything yet. Willow slid into the passenger seat.
“What was that?” Steve asked as he pulled away from the curb.
Willow buckled her seatbelt carefully. “I’ll tell you on the way home.”
The drive was quiet at first. Just the hum of the engine and summer air drifting through the cracked window. Steve kept his eyes on the road.
“Dad?” Willow said softly.
“Yeah?”
“You know I trust you, right?”
Steve immediately tensed. “Okay. That sentence never leads to anything calm. Don’t tell me you have a boyfriend.”
Willow whipped her head toward him. “Wait—what? Hell no.”
Steve let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Good. Because I can only emotionally handle one boyfriend situation per day.”
Willow blinked. “Oh. So you finally know about Jane’s?”
“Uh-huh,” Steve muttered. “Roof-climbing Romeo.” Willow snorted.
He glanced at her. “So. What were you about to tell me?”
Willow stared out the window for a long second. “I don’t like boys.”
Steve nodded once. “I know.”
She turned slowly. “I like girls.”
“I know.”
Silence.
“What?” she said, frowning. The car stopped at a red light. Steve finally turned to face her fully.
“Willow,” he said gently, “I’ve known for a while. I was just waiting for you to be ready to say it.”
Her expression shifted—shock first, then something softer.
“You…knew?”
Steve shrugged lightly. “I drive you to every soccer game. I’ve seen the way you look at the red-haired girl on your team. And you suddenly wanted to ‘hang out’ with Auntie Robin a lot more.”
Willow’s mouth fell open. “You noticed that?”
“I’m your dad,” he said simply. “It’s my job to notice.”
The light turned green, and the car behind them honked loudly. Steve leaned halfway out the window. “We’re having a father-daughter moment here!”
Willow burst out laughing as he drove again. After a second, her voice grew quiet.
“Are you… okay with it?”
Steve glanced at her quickly, almost offended.
“Willow Harrington,” he said, softer now, “there is nothing you could tell me that would make me love you less.”
Her eyes watered a little despite herself. “I was scared,” she admitted. “Not because I thought you’d hate me. I just… didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Steve reached over at the next stop sign and squeezed her hand.
“You could never disappoint me by being honest about who you are,” he said. “You disappoint me when you don’t clean your cleats. That’s different.” She laughed through her tears.
He leaned over briefly and kissed the top of her head. “I am so proud of you,” he said quietly.
She swallowed hard. “Can you… not tell Mom yet?”
Steve smiled. “Oh, she already knows.”
Willow’s jaw dropped. “What?!”
“She told me first,” he admitted. “Said it was ‘maternal instinct.’ And she told me not to act obvious. Which I have been very good at, by the way.”
“You’ve been terrible at it,” Willow said.
“Rude.”
She looked out the window again, but this time she was smiling.
“And when I picked you up last week,” Steve added casually, “the credits of Fast Times were rolling.”
Willow froze. “…Dad.”
“So. You like boob—”
“DAD. Don’t say it.”
“Boobies,” he finished anyway.
“Stop.”
“You like boobies, I like boobies—”
“GROSS!”
They both dissolved into laughter. After the teasing faded, Willow looked at him again.
“Thanks for waiting for me,” she said. Steve squeezed the steering wheel gently.
“Always,” he replied, and the rest of the drive home felt lighter.
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
The Henderson house was in full chaos mode by 9:42 a.m.
Uncle Dustin was already standing by the door, car keys in one hand, half-toasted Eggo in the other.
“MAXIE! The bus gets in ten minutes!” he shouted toward the staircase. “I am not explaining to your father why we missed Lucy because you needed… whatever it is you’re doing up there!”
“I need symmetry!” Maxie yelled back. “Gram, is it crooked? Be honest!”
From upstairs: “It’s not crooked, sweetheart,” Mrs. Henderson called gently. “It’s perfect.”
Dustin groaned. “Perfection is the enemy of punctuality!”
Two minutes later, Maxie finally appeared at the top of the stairs like she was descending at the Met Gala. Floral dress. Pink cardigan. Patent leather doll shoes. Blue ribbon perfectly tied into her golden curls.
Dustin blinked. “Why do you look like you’re about to accept an award for Best Supporting Princess?”
Mrs. Henderson smiled proudly. “She looks adorable.”
“She looks expensive,” Dustin muttered. “Let’s go, Your Majesty.”
Maxie walked past him, nose slightly in the air. “Wow. You didn’t even attempt to look human today.”
Dustin looked down at his wrinkled Camp Know Where volunteer shirt. “It’s called effortless.”
“It’s called tragic.”
“Car. Now.”
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the bus station parking lot. The bus doors hissed open. Lucy stepped down.
She was taller than Dustin remembered. Leaner. Sleeves layered under her Camp Know Where shirt. Jeans. Dirty Converse. Ponytail. Sun-kissed skin. Glasses. Slightly tired but glowing in that “I survived nature” way.
Dustin stepped out dramatically. “MY SCIENTIST RETURNS!”
Lucy grinned.
They immediately launched into their sacred handshake — slap, snap, elbow bump, lightsaber sound effects, and an exaggerated fake duel that ended with Dustin pretending to fall.
Maxie crossed her arms. “Oh my god. The two of you are so embarrassing.”
Lucy rolled her eyes but smiled. “You missed me.”
Maxie shrugged. “I missed correcting you.”
Dustin loaded Lucy’s duffel bags into the trunk. “How was camp? Did you invent anything? Befriend a squirrel? Lead a revolution?”
“I built a radio out of spare wires,” Lucy said casually.
Maxie blinked. “Of course you did.”
They got in the car.
Silence.
Then—“Sis,” Maxie said sweetly, which was never a good sign, “when will you let me style you?”
Lucy stared forward. “No.”
“You’re wearing sleeves. Under sleeves. Under a camp shirt. It’s July.”
“It’s practical.”
“It’s tragic. Jeans and dirty Converse? Classic nerd behavior.”
Dustin quietly turned the radio down. Lucy didn’t look at her sister. “One more word about my outfit and I will release Mr. Dart into your bedroom.”
Maxie gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“I fed him before I left. He’s energized.”
“Don’t weaponize your tarantula!”
Dustin whispered, “I am Switzerland.”
Maxie crossed her arms again. “No wonder you only have Nathan Byers.”
Lucy’s jaw tightened just slightly—barely noticeable but she ignored it.
Dustin glanced in the rearview mirror. Battlefield. Two Girl Harringtons. No survivors.
They turned onto their street and immediately saw something… wrong. Dusty and Mikey’s bikes were tipped over on the pavement. Three older boys were standing around them.and in Tommy’s hand was a foam airplane.
“Hey!” Dusty shouted. “Give it back!”
Mikey said calmly. “Finders keepers.”
“Is it now?” Tommy said, pushing up his glasses. “Do you have documentation of discovery?” his friends laugh.
“You guys are bullies,” Dusty said.
“They can’t be bullies,” Mikey corrected calmly. “They’re nerds.”
Tommy squinted. “Don’t pigeonhole us. We can be both.”
Dustin slowed the car. “…Do I intervene?” he muttered. Before he could decide, Lucy was already unbuckling her seatbelt.
“Uncle Dustin,” she said quietly. “I got this.”
She stepped out of the car.
Slow.
Calm.
She pulled the scrunchie from her hair. Let it fall around her shoulders.
Maxie’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh this is serious.”
Lucy walked toward the boys, sunlight hitting her just right like the universe was on her payroll.
Tommy froze. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “It’s Lucy Harrington.”
The boy with braces practically vibrated. “Dude.She’s back from the camp.”
Lucy stopped in front of them. “Problem here, bros?”
Dusty immediately pointed. “They stole our airplane!”
Lucy tilted her head. “Is that right, Tommy?”
The braces kid gasped. “Oh my god, she knows your name.”
Tommy’s confidence crumbled like a cookie. Lucy extended her hand. “Airplane, Please.”
No attitude. No raised voice. Just quiet authority and Tommy handed it over instantly.
Lucy took it, turned, and handed it to Dusty. “You good?”
Dusty nodded, awe-struck. “You’re like… Batman.”
Lucy gave them a small smile, softer now, and walked back toward the car.
Behind her— “I love you!” Tommy blurted.
Lucy didn’t even turn around. Maxie was standing outside the car, stunned. “What just happened?”
Lucy tied her hair back up. “You have your fans,” she said casually. “I have mine.”
Maxie narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”
Lucy smirked. “Someday your fans will work for my fans.”
Maxie gasped. “You did not just—”
Lucy slid into the car. Dustin stared at her. “You scare me. In a proud way.”
From outside, Dusty yelled, “CAN YOU WALK US HOME LIKE THAT AGAIN?”
Lucy leaned her head back against the seat. “Missed you too.”
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
You’re halfway through your lunch break when your phone buzzes.
A photo from Steve.
It’s the dining table at home — plates everywhere, sunlight through the kitchen window. Jane is mid-laugh, leaning on Willow’s shoulder. Lucy is explaining something with her hands to Dustin like she’s presenting a TED Talk. Maxie sits properly, back straight, napkin on lap like she was born into royalty. Dusty and Mikey are blurred in the background fighting over a ketchup bottle.
And Steve at front camera, too close to his face, grinning like he personally invented family.
You smile.
You: I have early out today. Can’t wait for dinner.
Three dots appear immediately.
Steve: Only you get excited seeing the same people you live with.
You stare at the picture again.
You: Wait — since I’m home early, invite Lucy’s boyfriend too. Also Dustin and Ellie (special nickname you made for Eleven). Robin and Vicky. Actually just invite everyone. It’s summer anyway.
Typing bubble. Stops. Typing again.
Steve: …fine but Henderson is helping me cook
You: Good luck with that
Steve puts his phone down and wipes his mouth with a napkin like he’s about to announce a national emergency. “Okay, new information,” he says.
Nobody looks up and he claps once.
Everyone looks up. “Barbecue tonight.”
A pause. Dusty fist pumps. “Let’s go.”
“You,” Steve points at Dustin, “are inviting El,lie and you’re helping me prepare.”
“Cool cool,” Dustin nods, already eating again.
Steve turns to Lucy. “I invited the Byers. Nancy, Jonathan… and Nathan.”
Lucy freezes mid-bite.
“…No.”
Everyone looks at her. She slowly lowers her fork. “I mean—no like—not no…just… Nathan and I are currently in a non-speaking era.”
Dusty and Mikey lean back in sync. “Uh-oh.”
Jane smirks. “Awkward.”
Willow cracks her knuckles. “Do you want me to break something?”
Maxie gasps dramatically. “Wait, wait, I need outfit options before drama.”
Steve blinks. “I already told them they’re coming.”
Lucy drops her head onto the table. “I hate this family.”
“You love this family,” Jane pats her.
Lucy doesn’t lift her head. “I love mom.”
“I’m still here,” Steve mutters.
Dustin checks his phone. “El said she’ll come early. Around three to help.”
Steve immediately nods, relieved. “Good, more hands. Less chances I poison you guys.”
“You always say that,” Willow says.
“And yet,” Jane adds, “we continue risking it.”
Steve points a fork at them. “You eat my food every day.”
“Stockholm syndrome,” Lucy mumbles into the table.
Maxie raises her hand. “Question. Is this casual barbecue or emotional barbecue?”
Steve narrows his eyes. “What does that mean?”
“Like… are people breaking up? confessing? crying? I need to know what shoes.”
Everyone starts talking at once.
“Not everything is about shoes—” “It is sometimes about shoes—” “Dad burned the last barbecue—” “That was ONE time—” “You set a hotdog on fire—” “It was windy—”
Steve leans back, watching them, smiling without noticing.
The table is loud. It’s always loud when everyone’s home for summer.
Dusty and Mikey are arguing about whether bikes need a new paint fluid. Maxie is talking about color palettes like the barbecue is a runway event. Jane is pretending not to text under the table. Dustin is explaining grill techniques to Willow and Lucy as if he personally trained the founding fathers in outdoor cooking.
And Steve is just… smiling. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching his kids. Jane laughing. Lucy rolling her eyes. The twins bickering. Maxie correcting someone’s posture..
This is his favorite sound, then Jane says it.
Casual, between bites of watermelon. “Oh, and Dad? He’s coming at seven.”
Steve hums absently. “Mhm.”
He reaches for his drink. Then—he pauses, the glass stops halfway to his mouth.
“Who’s coming at seven?”
Jane looks up, confused for half a second. “My boyfriend.”
The word doesn’t hit like a word.
It lands like a weight. The room doesn’t actually go quiet — the twins are still arguing — but to Steve it feels like someone turned the volume down on the world. He forgot that the point of the dinner is meeting Jane’s boyfriend formally, or maybe he’s just denying it.
Boyfriend, Romeo-roof climbing. Jane’s boyfriend. His first daughter's boyfriend.
He looks at her properly now. She’s not little. She’s taller than she was last year, more sure of herself. Still smiling—but it’s different now. Private. Growing up.
“You said study partner,” he hears himself say lies, hoping this could change a thing.
Jane shrugs lightly. “He studies. And he’s my partner.”
Lucy makes a small choking sound that might be a laugh. Maxie’s eyes go wide in delighted horror. Dustin slowly lowers his fork like he’s watching a live documentary.
Steve doesn’t move for a second.
Six.
He pictures a boy at his front door. A hand reaching for Jane’s waist. A car is pulling up, Jane leaving.
The chair scrapes softly as he stands.
Not angry.
Not loud.
Just… standing. “Six,” he repeats quietly.
Jane’s expression softens. “He’s really nice, Dad. He’s also in a band.” That almost makes it worse.
Nice means real.
Band means serious.
Steve nods once, tight. He wipes his hands on a napkin even though they’re not dirty. “Okay,” he says cal, too calm.
He looks around the table. “Dustin, we’re cleaning the grill.”
Dustin blinks. “It’s already clean.”
“It’s not clean enough.”
He looks at Lucy. “I need a name.”
Lucy grins slowly. “Oh, this is happening.”
“Maxie,” he continues, “no… whatever you’re planning.”
“I haven’t planned anything,” she says, already planning.
“Willow,” he says carefully, “no threats.”
Willow raises her hands. “No promises.”
He looks at the twins. “No vandalisms.” They both nod too quickly.
Finally, he looks back at Jane.
For a moment, the protective tension slips.
He sees scraped knees. Dance recitals. The way she used to fall asleep on his chest during thunderstorms.
Six.
He nods again, softer this time. “Six.”
Then he walks toward the backyard. The screen door shuts behind him. At the table, everyone exhales at once. Lucy leans back. “He’s not sleeping tonight.”
Maxie grins. “He’s Googling.”
Dustin checks his phone. “I’m documenting this.”
Jane watches the door for a second longer than she means to. Then she smiles to herself.
Six.
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
The backyard slowly filled with voices as the sun dipped lower, turning everything honey–gold.
First came Robin and her girlfriend Vickie, arms linked, carrying a bottle of wine and a bag that definitely clinked suspiciously loud for “just juice.”
“Housewarming but you already live here,” Robin announced as she walked in.
“You say that every time,” Steve muttered from the grill.
Then Mike and Will arrived with a carefully wrapped tray.
“They’re s’mores brownies,” Will explained proudly.
Steve blinked. “You put campfire into dessert?”
“Emotionally, yes,” Will nodded.
Right behind them, Max and Lucas hauled in a cooler.
“More meat,” Lucas said simply.
Steve nearly cried. “Finally someone understands me.”
Last were Nancy and Jonathan with a fruit platter arranged so perfectly it looked like a magazine photoshoot.
The Harrington backyard smelled like summer—smoke curling from steaks and patties, hotdogs sizzling, charcoal popping softly. Someone had strung warm fairy lights across the fence. The long table was covered in a soft satin cloth, candles ready for later, flowers Maxie insisted on arranging symmetrically.
Steve hovered over the grill like it was life support.
“Back up, you’re stressing the burgers,” Dustin said. Dustin stood beside him flipping patties while Willow supervised like a coach.
“You’re turning too early,” Willow pointed.
“They need emotional space!” Dustin protested.
At the table, Ellie helped Maxie line up plates. Maxie suddenly froze and stared at Mike’s outfit. She tilted her head. “All those years hiding in the closet and still no fashion sense?”
Mike choked. “I’m throwing Steve’s spoiled daughter into the pool.”
Will gently grabbed his arm. “She’s thirteen. You’ll lose that fight.”
“I’ll still try.”
Near the pool, Mrs. Henderson—your mom laughed while scolding to get dry before they catch cold. Dusty and Mikey attempted cannonballs that were more splash than technique.
Across the yard, Lucy and Nathan stood on opposite sides of the drink table in a silent staring contest neither would break.
Jonathan whispered to Nancy, “Is this flirting or a duel?”
Nancy nodded. “Both.”
Meanwhile, inside, Steve paced the living room like a general before battle. You sat on the couch watching him wear a path into the floor.
“Steve, stop. You’re making me dizzy.” He ignored you.
Jane groaned. “Mom, he’s making me nauseous. I’m going outside.” She escaped immediately.
Steve continued pacing.
“What if he’s weird?” “What if he has a motorcycle?” “What if he breathes wrong?”
“You dated me,” you reminded.
“That’s different. I was charming.”
Ding-dong.
The sound slices through the house like a warning siren. Steve freezes mid-step.
Outside, laughter from the backyard drifts in through the open windows. The smell of charcoal and steak clings to the air. Somewhere, Dusty and Mikey are arguing about who touched the tongs.
Ding-dong.
Steve turns slowly toward the door. He stares at ii like it personally betrayed him. Like it knew this moment would come and chose violence anyway.
You’re still seated on the couch. “Steve.”
He doesn’t blink.
“Steve.”
He inhales. Exhales. Rolls his shoulders back like he’s about to enter a boxing ring. Then he marches to the door and opens it.
And time stops.
Standing on the porch is a tall teenage boy. Broad shoulders. Confident stance. Soft, practiced smile. Luscious hair that looks like it responds to wind on cue. One hand in his pocket. Two bouquets in the other.
He smells faintly like expensive cologne and teenage audacity.
Steve just… stares.
It’s like looking into a time machine. Seventeen-year-old Steve Harrington.
Almost the same hair but this one is curly. Same charming grin. Same “I know exactly how this plays” confidence. Same energy that says I can talk my way into your house and out of your rules.
The boy smiles brighter. “Good evening, Mr. Harrington, I’m—”
The door slams hard.
Outside, silence. Inside, Steve stands there, hand still on the knob.
He looks pale, a little haunted.
You walk up behind him slowly. “Steve… who was that?”
“Nobody,” he says immediately.
You blink. “Nobody rang the doorbell?”
“Nobody important.”
You reach past him and open the door again. The boy is still there. Still smiling. Slightly confused but recovering impressively well.
“Hi,” he says politely.
You smile back. “Hello.”
His grin widens a fraction. “I didn’t know Jane had an older sister.” Steve’s eye twitches so hard it’s almost audible.
You laugh softly. “Oh, you’re trouble already.”
“Only selectively,” the boy says smoothly. Steve makes a noise in his throat that sounds like a dying engine. The boy extends one bouquet toward you. “For you, Mrs. Harrington.”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” you say, genuinely touched. Steve squints at the flowers like they might explode.
“And for Jane,” the boy adds, lifting the second bouquet slightly.
“Come in,” you say warmly.
He steps inside.
Confident.
Comfortable.
Like he’s walked into a thousand living rooms before and survived all of them.
“I’m Zach Munson,” he says. “Jane’s boyfriend.”
Steve exhales through his nose. Munson.
Zach continues, almost proudly, “My uncle is Eddie Munson.”
Steve closes his eyes briefly. “Of course he is,” he mutters.
Because the universe has a sense of humor. Zach turns to him with polite respect. “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir.”
He extends his hand. Steve looks at it, looks at Zach, looks back at the hand. Then he takes it. Firm. Very firm. Too firm.
The kind of handshake that says: I built this house and I can unbuild you. Zach’s smile tightens but does not break.
Strong kid. Steve increases pressure. Zach increases politeness. They stand there for three full seconds in silent, passive-aggressive warfare. From the hallway—
“Zach!” Jane appears, eyes lighting up. She runs to him and throws her arms around his shoulders.
He lets go of Steve’s hand immediately. Smart.
“Hey, babe,” Zach says softly, smiling down at her. Steve hears the word babe and ages five years.
Zach hands Jane the second bouquet. “These are for you.”
She beams. “They’re beautiful.” Steve watches this unfold like it’s a slow-moving disaster. Zach clears his throat slightly and looks back at you both.
“Uh… Mr. and Mrs. Harrington… I also wanted to say I’m sorry about last night.”
Steve stiffens. “Don’t ever do that again” he threats slowly.
Zach scratches the back of his neck and Jane winces.
You look at Stev, he inhales very slowly and hiiis jaw tightens. You can practically hear the echo inside his skull: I used to be him.
The hair. The smile. The confidence. The audacity to apologize while still standing that straight.
Steve forces a smile. It looks painful.
From outside, Dustin’s voice drifts in through the open screen door. “IS HE HERE? I WANNA SEE IF HE LOOKS LIKE YOUNG STEVE.” Zach blinks. Steve closes his eyes. Somewhere in the universe, karma laughs.
The long table is full. Plates half-served, drinks sweating, food getting cold. Because at the center of it all, Steve Harrington is leaning forward toward Zach Munson like a man conducting a job interview for the position of worthy of breathing near my daughter.
“…and what exactly,” Steve says carefully, “are your long-term plans?”
Jane sinks into her chair. “Dad, he’s seventeen.”
Zach sits straight anyway. “Graduate first.” Steve nods once but not satisfied.
Everyone else pretends to eat—no one is eating. Lost in their own world while trying to eavesdrop.
Maxie is still studying Mike’s outfit like a disappointed stylist. She tilts her head. “…You ironed that?”
Mike looks down defensively. “Yes.” Will smiles into his drink.
Maxie gestures vaguely at him. “You dress like a substitute math teacher.”
“I look normal!”
“You look safe,” she corrects. Will snorts.
Mike points at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I’ve been trying to evolve you for years,” Will says calmly.
Maxie nods approvingly. “He has potential. You resist growth.”
Mike groans. “I hate this family.”
From across the table Steve, still staring at Zach: “I heard that.”
The twins lean toward Lucas like investigators.
“So,” Mikey asks seriously, “who apologizes first after fights?”
Max answers immediately. “Him.”
Lucas blinks. “Excuse me—”
Dusty raises a finger. “Follow-up question. Hypothetically, if you lose an argument but are emotionally convinced you’re right—”
“You apologize,” Max says.
Lucas sighs. “You apologize.”
Mikey nods thoughtfully. “Taking notes.”
Dusty whispers, “Marriage sounds terrifying.”
Max grins. “It is.”
Willow eats chips while Robin watches Steve interrogate Zach.
“He’s using the calm voice,” Robin murmurs.
“The dangerous one?” Vickie asks.
“The one he used when I came home at 2am in 1987.”
Willow laughs. “He didn’t yell when I told him.”
Robin smiles knowingly. “Yeah, because he already knew.”
Willow groans. “You told him, didn’t you?”
Robin gasps. “I would never—” Vickie raises a brow.
Robin shrugs. “Okay, maybe hints. But mostly he and your mom figured it out.”
Willow smiles softly. “He pretended to be normal about it.”
Robin watches Steve across the table. “He was trying not to cry about his kid growing up,” she says gently. Willow looks at her dad still grilling Zach and shakes her head fondly.
“Yeah… that tracks.”
Lucy and Nathan sit across from each other. neither blinking, plates untouched.
Nancy leans toward Jonathan. “Are they still fighting?”
“I think they’re communicating,” Jonathan whispers.
Lucy narrows her eyes. “You didn’t text back.”
Nathan squints back. “I did. You reacted with a bug emoji.”
“That was emotional expression.”
“That was a beetle.”
Lucy crosses her arms. “You should’ve known the difference.”
Jonathan hides a smile. Nancy sighs softly. “First relationships are fascinating.”
Nathan finally pushes the bread basket toward Lucy like a peace offering. She accepts. staring contest over, lover's quarrel solved
Your mom watches Steve intensely interrogate Zach.
“He practiced,” she says.
You nods immediately. “Mirror. Definitely mirror.”
Dustin sip his drink. “He had cue cards this afternoon.”
You wheezes laughing. Mrs. Henderson pats your hand. “He loves them a lot.”
“I know,” you smile.
Across the table Steve says, “If you hurt her, I will know.”
Dustin whispers, “Phase Two.”
You elbow him. “Stop naming the phases.”
El, who has been quietly observing all of this like it’s a science experiment, tilts her head at Dustin.
“What is Phase Two?” she asks. Dustin straightens. “Nothing.”
You grin slowly. “Oh, El,” you say sweetly, “Phase Two is when he tries to act tough in front of girlfriends but still cries during Pixar movies.”
Dustin freezes. “That was one time.”
El looks at him. “You cried during UP.”
“It was emotional!” Dustin defends.
You lean back, satisfied. “He also practiced asking you out in the bathroom mirror.”
Mrs. Henderson gasps softly. “He did?”
Dustin points at you. “Traitor.”
El’s lips twitch into a small smile. “He stuttered three times.”
“No, I’m not!” Dustin argues.
“You’re not?t,” she says calmly. “You were sweating.”
You raise your glass toward her. “Thank you for your testimony.”
From across the table Steve adds firmly, “Boundaries are important.”
Dustin groans. “Why am I being attacked?”
You smile sweetly at him. “Payback for teasing my husband.”
El looks between you and Steve, then back at Dustin. “You should let him have his interrogation,” she says thoughtfully. “It is tradition.”
Dustin sighs dramatically. “I hate this family.”
Mrs. Henderson beams. “We love this family.”
He grumbles into his drink. You just lean closer to Ellie and whisper, “Wait until we tell them about the time he practiced holding your hand.”
“Okay, stop—” Dustin reaches across the table, too late.His girlfriend smiles wider.
And across the yard, Steve continues his interrogation, completely unaware that Phase Two has officially turned on Dustin.
Steve studies him a moment longer. The backyard quiets again without meaning to.
Zach swallows but doesn’t look away. “I really care about her, sir.”
Jane peeks up at Steve. He exhales, not defeated. Just… accepting time moves forward.
“…Eat,” Steve mutters finally. Conversation instantly returns. Chairs scrape. Laughter resumes. Someone finally grabs the potatoes.
Dustin leans toward you again. “He lives.”
You smile. “For now.”
Everyone is stuffed full, chairs pushed back, plates messy, night warm and soft with leftover barbecue smoke still hanging in the air.
Jane, glowing in that very suspicious way daughters glow when fathers should worry, clears her throat.
“So… Zach’s band is actually playing at the summer fair next week.”
Steve narrows his eyes immediately.
“A band,” he repeats.
Zach smiles politely. “Yes sir.”
Maxie gasps. “WAIT — play something!” Before anyone can object, she runs inside and returns holding her glitter-covered guitar.
“My baby,” she whispers dramatically as she hands it to Zach. “Respect her.”
Steve watches like she just handed over a loaded weapon. Everyone leans in. Even the cicadas seem quieter.
Zach adjusts the strap. “This one’s called Honeyed Heat.”
Dustin squeezes Eleven’s hand. “Beautiful title, Zach.”
Zach strums. We were a matchbox on the porch, lit by August and cheap wine…~
Steve casually moves behind you and hugs you from the back. Protective positioning.
Your laugh was a trespass, tender and divine~
Lucas and Max slowly look at each other. Fingers learned the maps of scar and soft, of freckle and of fold…~
Mike stops chewing, Will freezes mid-sway, Maxie happily sways anyway.
You drew small constellations as my breath went bright and bold…~
Nancy’s eyebrows rise. Jonathan’s soul leaves his body.
Then —Kiss me like confession, like a prayer with no shame, no shame—~
“Oh god,” you whisper. Steve’s arms tighten around you.
Robin and Vickie are vibing. Willow is vibing harder. Steve is no longer vibing.
Bend me to the altar of your mouth and call me by my name—~
Dustin immediately covers Mikey’s ears. El calmly covers Dusty’s.
Mrs. Henderson stares into the distance like she has seen war.
We’ll burn like stained glass in the back of a broken church—~
Steve grabs your hand for emotional support.
Make sinners out of saints for a night where gravity works.~
Silence.
A long silence.
Steve leans down and whispers: “The front door will never close completely again.”
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
The next day, the song has spread, like a virus. Like a curse.
Robin vacuums the living room. “We were a matchbox on the porch~”
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
Nancy flips pancakes. “Lit by August and cheap wine~” Jonathan stops mid-coffee sip. “…why do I know this song?”
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
Maxie brushes her hair dramatically. “Your laugh was a trespass, tender and divine~” She sighs. “He writes from the soul.”
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
Mike brushes his teeth while Will paints.
Together: “Fingers learned the maps of scar and soft—”
Mike spits toothpaste. “WAIT what does that even mean.”
Will keeps painting. “Art.”
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
Lucas washes dishes while Max dries. “You drew small constellations as my breath went bright and bold~” Max snorts laughing.
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
You wipe the counter. “Kiss me like confession~”
Outside, Steve scrubs the grill aggressively while Willow hands him tools. “Like a prayer with no shame, no shame—”
He pauses. “…absolutely shame.”
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
Dustin reads on the couch. “Bend me to the altar of your mouth—”
Mrs. Henderson dusts behind him: “—and call me by my name, my name~”
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
Dusty and Mikey paint their bikes in the garage. “We’ll burn like stained glass in the back of a broken church—” They harmonize badly.
✿ . ˚ . ˚ ✿.
Lucy feeds her insects. “Make sinners out of saints for a night where gravity works.”
She nods thoughtfully. “…good imagery.”
Backyard quiet, Steve stares into nothing, coffee in hand, sigh deep enough to shake the summer air. “We are banning musicians,” he mutters, and you kiss his cheek, whispering, “Too late.” From upstairs, Jane’s voice floats down, singing happily, and Steve closes his eyes, utterly, gloriously defeated.
a/n: this chapter is heavily inspired by Modern Family, which I absolutely adore. i’ve always imagined that if these characters made it into adulthood, they’d grow into something loud, warm, chaotic, and deeply loving—just like that show. thank you for reading this little summer episode of the Harrington household. i hope it feels like coming home ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)
taglist: @yagurlannastasia @4ria790
