Summary: You finally realize your future, and it’s always going to be with Steve.
WC: 5.2k
Warnings & What to Expect: established relationship w/ build up, very brief mentions of abuse and death, talks about kids (Steve wants them obviously but reader is conflicted - being a Hargrove has to take a toll on that topic imo), Steve’s a patient sweetheart, little bit of angst and lots of fluff!
Masterlist If Interested!
Peach’s Note: hi lovies! this is product of a combo of things. i had this one in a draft and then got a couple of requests to incorporate harry styles music which I’ll always say yes to. so this is loosely based on ‘keep driving’ and then got a request for hargrove reader realizing steve’s her future (hell yes!). but anyways, tysm to everyone who has shown love on my works - it means the world. Requests are open! no promises on a quick turn around though as I narrate quite a bit, and my job keeps me busy - but feel free to send anything and I can certainly try my best 🩷🫡
Divider template credits to @saradika-graphics
You knew for a fact that you were in love with Steve Harrington when he accidentally knocked you flat on your ass at the local roller rink.
And you knew, without a doubt - years later - that you could see a future with him when he tipped his head back in a fit of laughter; lush pink lips curled up in joy, eyes squeezed shut - creating tiny creases by the edge of the delicate skin there.
It didn’t hit you like a freight train, more like a quiet realization that Steve would have a permanent spot in your life - like a puzzle piece slotting seamlessly into place.
With your lives on the brink of extinction nearly every day, you never gave much thought to your future with Steve. But the dust had finally settled, allowing you room to breathe for once - life returning to a normalcy that felt well deserved after everything you’ve gone through.
It’s why you’re currently pressed against your step-sister, celebrating her graduation from Hawkins High at your favorite place in town, Mel’s Diner - Lucas and Steve in a conversation about Steve’s job as the middle school’s baseball coach.
Lucas quipped something snarky, which caused Steve to laugh unexpectedly hard, throwing his head back against the cushioned booth - and damn, watching his face light up with an unadulterated radiance across from you, you realize that Steve’s always going to be it for you.
You’re examining every feature on him, gazing at him lovingly with this new information blooming in your mind when Max elbows you.
“Rethinking those six nuggets?” she asks you tauntingly, raising her eyebrows.
“Max,” you seethed sharply, glancing at Steve who thankfully didn’t seem to hear that comment.
When Steve told you his plan for the future all those years ago, you timidly shared with him that you weren’t sure if kids were in your plan for life because admittedly, you never thought much of having children.
Growing up with an abusive father skewed your outlook on having them. Then your mother left you, and Billy turned into a raging asshole - allowing you to see the effects of marrying the wrong person.
You promised yourself you’d never put yourself in a situation where you’d be trapped - stuck in an unhappy marriage and tied down with children who were left to face the consequences that shouldn’t be theirs to bear.
The look of disappointment that washed over him haunted you, worried that he’d leave you, but Steve cleared his throat and assured you that he understood your fear - and that if all he ever got in this life was you, then that would be enough.
But watching him now, you could see the whole thing; marriage, a home, kids. You could see it so clearly that it had you reflecting on the moments between the two of you that had been building to get to this place of understanding.
Steve’s presence in your life wasn’t really solidified until the night you watched your brother die at the Starcourt Mall - hole in his chest, bleeding profusely out. He stuttered a broken apology to you and Max, before his gaze stilled, and you knew he was gone.
Your hand carded through his curly hair, begging him to stay, and the texture between your hands reminded you of your mothers hair, similar to his own when she didn’t straighten it. Long gone were the days of you and Billy laughing on the beach together with her, and he had made it abundantly clear that it wouldn't ever be the same, and now with him gone - it really wouldn’t be.
Steve was there to pick up the pieces for you; because your father had left you with Susan, who could barely take care of herself without him, let alone Max - which resulted in the weight of taking care of the girl on your shoulders.
You didn’t mind it - you loved her like she was your own flesh and blood, but watching her become a hollow version of who she once was caused an ache so intense in you that it felt like your heart was being carved out sometimes.
Steve was the only one who noticed it - that the burden you were carrying of losing your brother, father, step-mother, and step-sister, each in a different way - had taken a toll on you. He saw it hidden behind your eyes each time you tried to convey to the party that everything was alright.
He couldn’t help the pull in his gut to check in on you, which is how he found himself walking into your place of work one day - the Hideaway.
You were a waitress at the shitty dive bar and restaurant; it sucked being hit on by creeps twice your age, but the tips were good and you needed the money if you ever wanted to help Susan get out of the pit of bills she was in with Neil gone.
Steve had to admit to himself that part of the reason why he wanted to check in on you had to do with the intense crush that he was harboring for you.
He’d been careful not to interact with you when Billy was alive because every time he saw you, he remembered the absolute ass beating he’d taken from your brother. Now, there was nothing holding him back from you anymore - even though it meant that it came at the cost of losing someone you loved.
Your pulse picked up tenfold as you watched Steve walk into the Hideaway. Your own hopeless feelings that you have for him had never been buried, just simply pushed to the side with everything that had happened.
Steve waltzed up to the bar where you were cashing out someone’s order, leaned against it and said, “Any good food recommendations, beautiful?”
You were a bit taken aback, not expecting Steve to show up on your shift, or call you the sweet term of endearment that caused your chest to flutter about.
“Not if you want a severe stomach ache,” you responded, laughing lightly.
“How about Mel’s Diner then?” Steve tilted his head to the side, trying to signal that he was inviting you to go with him.
“Mel’s is great. Since it just opened, it’s definitely up to par,” you shrugged your shoulders, not catching onto what Steve was trying to insinuate.
“Would be nice to go there with someone,” Steve tried again, fingers tapping briefly against the bar.
“Yeah, I’m sure Robin would love it and - oh,” you pause when Steve smiles playfully at you, finally realizing what he’s trying to get across, “I mean, I could go with you, if you want.”
“I want that,” Steve shares warmly, biting his lip just slightly. The sight of it makes your brain all fuzzy, and you somehow stammer out that your shift ends in ten.
After spending that night with Steve, sipping on coffee, eating pancakes drenched in maple syrup with a side of hash browns and eggs - talking late into the evening, you grew attached to him. The both of you were lonely, and you fell into a routine of spending time together to fill the void.
It was unspoken, that there was something more between the two of you - you both knew it, but never said it out loud, too afraid to break the fragile start of something real.
But then that all changed the night Steve convinced you to join him at the roller skating rink.
The music was pulsing loudly throughout the rink with something upbeat, vibrating the room with an energy that bled into every corner - thumping in time with the sounds of the machines of the small arcade, the snack bar, and playscape that was crawling with children.
The lights were colorful, flecks of it scattering across the floor and the skaters zooming around. It was dancing across Steve’s face too, bathing him in a soft hue that highlighted his sharp jaw and nose, doe eyes looking a little more hazel than brown.
Steve was definitely the prettiest guy you’ve ever seen. You remember thinking so when you met him for the first time. He had these sunglasses perched on his nose - which was ridiculous since he was inside - but even then you could tell he clearly took pride in taking care of himself well. And when he slid the sunglasses off to introduce himself to you, his full beauty had you transfixed, staring at him shamelessly as you took in his appearance.
God, was he gorgeous.
It was hard to appreciate how good Steve looked though when you were busy gripping tightly to the edge of the wall by the entrance to the floor, watching people fly by with delight on their faces.
“I don’t think I can go out there,” you squeak, casting a glance towards Steve - who's already moving, gliding backwards like some sort of expert before circling back to you, amusement clear on his face as he watches you cling to the wall.
“Why? Are you scared of having fun?” He jokes, slowing down in front of you.
“I have two left feet, remember?” You look at him flatly, reminding him that you’re not exactly the most coordinated person in the world.
“And I’ve got two hands, perfect to catch you with if you fall,” Steve grins before throwing a wink at you.
Your heart kicks up at his flirty words - he’s been extra charming with you this evening, and the tension between the two of you is growing thicker with each moment that passes.
“You’ll catch me?” You raise an eyebrow at him, disbelief etched into your tone.
“You wound me,” he laughs, clutching dramatically at his heart, before continuing, “but yes, probably.”
“Probably?” You repeat, smiling at him teasingly.
Steve beams mischievously before extending his hands towards you, “Come on, I got you.”
You decide to trust him, huffing out a breath before taking a step towards him. You’re instantly wobbling, like Bambi on legs for the first time. You panic, hands shooting out to grab at Steve, clutching onto the sleeves of his jacket.
“This was a bad idea,” you yelp as your skates start to slide in opposite directions, and a chuckle escapes Steve’s lips before he can stop himself.
“Stop laughing at me,” you whine, grasping onto his arms now for dear life as you try to right yourself.
“I’m not laughing,” he replies cheekily, and at your glare he continues, “Maybe I’m laughing a little.”
You’re struggling to ground yourself, and Steve’s arms slither around you, firmly holding onto your waist, hiking you up to stand straight. It causes you to nearly brush against his chest, your face drawing nearer to his. The shift gives you a clear view of the pretty birth marks that linger across the exposed skin of his neck.
“Look at you, not falling,” he murmurs quietly.
You let out a noise of agreement, too distracted at his sudden closeness to properly respond. You could smell the delicious scent of his cologne combined with the sugary sweetness of the strawberry ice cream that he’d treated the two of you to before coming to the rink. It was intoxicating, and you were struck with the sudden realization that you wanted to drag him to you and kiss the hell out of him.
Steve moves slightly, just enough to give you space to actually try to move forward. He guides you, as you hesitantly start to skate on shaky legs. For a minute, you think you might actually have it, when someone zips past the two of you, accidentally brushing against your shoulder.
The movement causes one of your feet to roll out from under your crafted stance and just as you’re about to go down, Steve’s arms are quick to stop you. He’s grasping on tight to your elbows, pulling you back up. You feel yourself teeter backwards at the jostled movement, which makes you wrap your arms around his neck, not thinking twice about it.
“Told you I’d catch you, clumsy little thing,” he grins confidently at you, hands brushing against your back.
You breathe out an embarrassed laugh, not at the new nickname, because that actually makes you swallow hard, molten lava spreading low in your stomach. It was the fact that you could barely stand on your own when literal five year olds are going faster than you.
You try to put on a brave face, “I think I’ve got it now.”
“You do, do you?” Steve jests, barely loosening his grip on you.
“Mhmm,” you mumble, forcing yourself to drop your hands from him.
“Whatever you say, beautiful,” he replies smoothly, letting you go.
God, when he calls you that it makes you feel like you're in a trance; the roar of your blood singing at the praise is rushing in your ears. He’s sufficiently thrown you off, and you wonder if that was his goal all along, just to have you unsteady on your feet - a puddle of goo at his tender words - having no choice but to hold onto to him.
You’ve made it all about a couple more feet on your own before you come to a complete stand still in the middle of the rink, overwhelmed at trying to focus on not falling.
“Thought you had it?” Steve asks, smiling widely at your frozen position.
“Steve,” you whimper desperately, deciding you don’t care anymore about how pathetic you look.
Steve slips his hand into your own, “Just let me help you.”
You shake your head, “You should’ve just taken Robin, at least you would’ve been having a good time then.”
At that, Steve pauses, facing you again, “I’m having a good time with you.”
“Steve, you can’t even skate properly, I’m horrible at this,” you roll your eyes in frustration.
“You’re just learning,” he tries to reassure you.
“I’m ruining your night,” you press, and in your irritation at yourself, you fail to realize that Steve’s expertly brought you back to the edge of the rink until he brings your hand to rest at the railing.
“You’re not ruining anything,” Steve promises, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair back behind your ear.
“Steve-,” you start to argue with him.
“No, listen to me. I don’t want to be anywhere else right now. I want to be here with you,” his tone is serious, no more hints of the lightheartedness he’d demonstrated earlier.
Your lips part at his admission, and you feel your cheeks set ablaze when you catch his eyes flash down to your mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his own.
“Can I try something?” Steve asks, thumb reaching up to brush affectionately at the skin of your jaw. You know immediately that he wants to kiss you because you can feel your own desire for him pooling inside of you.
You nod rapidly, eager to feel his lips against your own.
“You really are beautiful,” Steve whispers, gently angling your chin up - the distance between you two dwindling effortlessly.
Steve’s mouth hovers over yours, and you just feel the brush of his lips when out of nowhere, a kid smacks hard into his back. Steve’s eyes blow wide, and the momentum causes his body to shove into yours. This time he can’t catch you, because his own legs are betraying him, taking you out with him.
You fall hard on your butt, wind knocked out of you briefly. Steve’s not far behind, landing on his knees by your side. His upper body keeps moving, pushing you backwards - forcing you to lean on your elbows - and he finally stops himself with both of his hands on either side of your head, hovering over you.
The two of you stare at each other for a moment, shell shocked at the reality of what just happened.
“Get a room!” The kid who bulldozed into Steve yells as he skates by.
Steve drops his head into the crook of your neck and groans, “Oh my god, this is embarrassing.”
You smirk at his reaction, “And here I thought I’d be the one knocking you over.”
“Guess that was karma for being a little too cocky about my skating skills,” Steve mumbles out, lips grazing against your collarbone.
The sensation of his lips there tickles, causing you to laugh, and soon enough the two of you are in a fit of giggles at the absurdity of the situation.
When your fit of laughter dies down, Steve slowly lifts himself up before extending his hands to you.
“Let’s go get dinner at the diner, yeah?” Steve asks you, and you're thankful that he’s giving you an out.
He steers you to a deserted corner by the skate check out counter, and you plop down on one of the benches - ready to take the damn things off your aching feet.
“Here, let me,” Steve stops you, kneeling down in front of you.
His hands are gentle as he grabs one leg at a time, caressing the skin of your calf, then ankle, taking his time to untie the laces, before slipping the skates off.
You watch him unabashedly - having an oh shit moment - because the endearing act of service he’s just done for you makes you think you might be in love with him.
Your mouth is moving before you can contemplate the confession slipping from your lips, “I love you.”
“Yeah, love you too,” he answers casually, flippantly, like the way he’d say the words to Robin or Dustin.
“No, Steve,” you stop him from moving, placing your hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at you.
He quirks an eyebrow at your sudden intensity, breath picking up when he realizes how close you are to him.
“I’m in love with you,” you disclose, sliding your arms to loop around the curve of his neck again.
The skate in Steve’s hand clatters to the ground, and he blinks at you owlishly. You watch his throat working, and in his speechless state, you slowly become worried that you’ve just messed everything up.
“Sorry,” you mutter self consciously.
“No, don’t ever be sorry about that. I’m,” he breaks off, staring at you in wonder before continuing, “I’m just processing that mind blowing fact.”
You smile bashfully at him, gently tugging him closer to you.
“You love me?” he asks in disbelief.
“In love, but yeah,” you clarify.
“How the hell did I get that lucky?” he goes to stand, but forgets that he’s still got his own skates on.
The rug underneath restricts his movements, and he loses his center of balance, gravity pulling him backwards and he’s taking you down with him again. You land in a jumbled heap with him against the carpet.
“Maybe I’m not the clumsy one,” you snicker, hands coming up to cradle his face.
“My ego’s really taking a hit from you here, beautiful,” he laughs lowly, fondly looking up at you.
“I don’t think so,” you tell him.
“What do you mean? I’ve now fallen more times than I care to admit and-,” you cut him off, kissing him softly.
Steve immediately lets out a noise of pleasure, a pretty sigh escaping his lips, and you know that you’re going to be trying to get that sound out of him again for a long time.
“Damn, Sinclair, that was funny,” Steve’s shoulders are still shaking, and you’re still staring at him like a lovesick fool.
Lucas grins, then mentions something about a D&D session they need to get to at the Wheeler’s place. There’s movement, everyone shifting to leave, but you’re too wrapped up in admiring Steve to notice.
Max nudges you again, “You still with us?”
At that, Steve’s attention turns to you, and when your eyes connect, he gives you the cutest lopsided smile you’ve ever seen.
It strikes you again, the possibilities of your future with him - laughing with your own kids at a restaurant, watching them grow until they’re the ones graduating, Lucas and Max coming over for family dinners if they stay together - which you have no qualms that they will.
After bidding them goodnight, Steve’s blue Chevy truck cruises along the roads bathed in a soft glow from the sun setting. The engine’s rattling a bit, but Steve’s become used to the sound, not a care in the world about it.
He’s got these soft yellow sunglasses pushed back through his hair and one hand splayed out on your bare thigh, hiking your sundress up a bit. A cigarette hangs neatly between his lips, the puffs of smoke littering the air occasionally. You knew he only had them when he was anxious about something - which explains why he’s been uncharacteristically quiet since dropping Lucas and Max off.
The closer he gets to your place, the more the gnawing feeling that he’s upset with you about something creeps over you - though you’re not sure what the problem is because he left the diner in a good mood.
When he takes a turn on your street and starts to slow down, you blurt out, “Should we just keep driving?”
You’ve asked him this before, a cue that you want to spend more time with him. Steve would never turn down the chance of being with you, so he’d always reply, “Should we?”
But this time, he hums low in this throat - not quite a yes or a no - and the silence becomes deafening.
“Steve?” You’re nervously seeking his approval now.
“Sure, baby,” he throws a small smile your way, and you’re about to crack at his nonchalance, knowing there’s something off.
He drives past your place, and a hush falls over the two of you once more. You’re strung tight at this point, ready to beg him to let you know what’s wrong. The only thing giving you any respite is the fact that his hand hasn’t moved from your leg, stroking lazily over your skin. But you notice the little divot forming between his brows, the purse of his lips, the tension behind his eyes.
“Steve?” you ask, inching closer to him as best you can with the arm rest separating you from him.
“Hmm?” he muses, barely giving you a second glance.
You lean towards him, moving your hand to trace at the slight stubble on his jaw that he’s been letting grow in lately. He inclines his head, giving in to your touch.
“Are you mad at me?” you inquire, wrapping your free hand around his bicep.
“Of course not, baby,” he replies abruptly, but he won’t look you in the eye.
“You’re awfully stoic over there for someone who’s not mad at me,” you murmur, pressing a kiss against his arm, trying to get him to loosen up.
“Just thinking,” he admits, and you let your lips trail the muscle of his arm up to his shoulder, nuzzling your nose into the hollow just below his ear.
“About?” you breathe against his skin, longing for him to cave.
He lets out a stuttered laugh, “We have to pull over for that conversation.”
You swallow hard, worry twisting in your heart but aching to know, “Pull over then.”
Steve drives a bit more, just reaching Sattler’s Quarry. He flips the blinker on, the tires crunching over the gravel that leads into the dirt side of the road by the overhang of the cliffs. The truck rolls to a stop and he sighs heavily before hopping out the front seat.
Concern pricks at you, irrationally thinking he might leave you stranded here when he comes around to the passenger door, opening it up for you. He extends his hand out to you, and you place yours in his warm palm.
He grabs the extra blanket he keeps in the backseat before bringing you to the bed of the truck, flipping the tailgate down.
“Oh, this must be serious,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood a bit, knowing some of the best conversations have stemmed from stargazing in the back of the truck with him.
“Very,” Steve finally gives you a look that helps ease the panicky feeling bubbling up inside of you. He presses a swift kiss to your lips, spreading the blanket out and hoists you up.
He settles himself against the rear panel, pulling you to him so you can kick your legs to rest over his lap. The open air smells of dust and stone, distant echoes of the wind ricochet off the rocks around you.
Steve’s quiet again, but this time his arm is draped across your back, keeping you tucked into his side as he stares out at the drop that leads to the still water.
“Are you going to tell me what’s stirring in that pretty head of yours?” you whisper, letting your fingers thread through his hair, pushing the strands back that are threatening to fall in his eyes.
He swallows harshly, “Just something Max said earlier.”
It clicks then, the comment she made about rethinking kids. While you thought Steve didn’t hear it, and you knew it was meant as a joke - he clearly consumed the words seriously, not finding them funny.
It’s your turn to remain silent, giving him the space to gather his thoughts.
“It’s just,” he sighs, struggling to get the words out.
“You can tell me anything,” you encourage, hand moving to the back of his neck, twirling through the wisps there.
“It’s just, it’s been awhile, you know. Since we talked about them. Kids, I mean. And I was wondering-,” he trails off once more, and you can tell he’s nervous from the way he picks at the skin around his fingernails.
You place a hand over his own to stop him from hurting himself, finishing his sentence, “You were wondering if I’ve reconsidered?”
He nods before stumbling out, “It’s totally okay if you haven’t. All I need is you, beautiful. Even if you did change your mind, I know they aren’t exactly guaranteed.”
You take a deep breath, carefully considering your next words.
“Do you really mean that?” you prompt, restlessly waiting for his reaction to your doubtfulness.
“Why wouldn’t I mean that?” he responds, eyebrows bunching together as he frowns.
“Because I’m not sure it’s realistic. That you would be okay if I couldn’t give you something that you want,” your voice is hoarse, unsure of the direction this is heading.
“I want you,” he replies with a flare of agitation at the fact that you don’t believe him.
“But, you’ve wanted kids longer than you’ve had me,” your words catch him off guard, hanging densely in the air.
He shakes his head, closing his eyes, before finally admitting defeat, “Fine. It scares me, okay? It scares me that you may never want that life with me.”
Your stomach drops, eyes flicking away from him, stunned at the raw honesty dripping from his tone.
He sees the look of apprehension on your face, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Why are you apologizing?" You don’t like that he’s decided that he’s in the wrong for wanting something.
“I can’t lose you over this. I’d rather never have them if it meant losing you,” he chokes out, tears brimming at his waterline.
The shine in his eyes reminds you of the first time you saw him crying back in high school - you'd nearly face planted when you tripped over him as you walked out of Tina’s house.
You’d been invited to her Halloween party by someone in your senior lit class, but after watching half of Hawkins High fall for Billy, you decided it wasn’t worth your time trying to make friends with those who were easily fooled by your deceitful brother.
When you were leaving, Steve was sitting on the bottom stairs of the porch. In the dark and in your haste, your legs had knocked into him.
Your hands had flown wildly, one clamping down hard on his shoulder. His own hand had shot out instinctively, firmly grasping onto the curve of your knee. Once you were steady, Steve respectfully removed his hand from you and glanced up.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized quietly, and you saw that his eyes were glossy.
He looked angelic, even with tears on his face and your heart squeezed in concern for him - instantly wanting to make him feel better.
“Honestly, it’s my fault. I was born with two left feet I think,” you tried to joke, and it worked for a second, Steve’s lips pulling into a brief smile.
Seeing the same look in his eyes now, you realize you’d do anything for him - and you refuse to let him shrink his own desires down as if they don’t mean anything to him.
“Steve, you’re not going to lose me,” you reach up to wipe at a tear that’s spilled over, “I never said that I didn’t want them.”
“But, you said," he drifts off, confusion flooding his expression.
“That I’m terrified?” you sigh raggedly, “I am. That doesn’t mean I don’t want them. And I think, I think you’re the right person to show me it doesn’t have to be scary.”
His hands come up to cup your jaw, leaning his forehead against yours, “I refuse to force you into anything. I don’t want you changing your mind just because of me.”
You nudge your nose against his, silently requesting that he kisses you. His lips press vulnerably against yours, tentatively testing the waters that you’re still here with him despite the difficulty of the topic. He pulls back, affectionately swiping his thumb against your lips.
Flashbacks from the diner wash over you, coaxing you to settle in his lap with your knees on either side of his thighs - deciding you need to be closer to him to convince him that you’re not giving in to his stance, but instead shifting your mindset because Steve makes you feel safe enough to do so.
You press your hands against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart trilling in his ribcage. His own hands move to your waist, wrapping around the base of your back.
And there, pressed against the man you love, you admit to him what you’ve always known, “You’re going to be the best dad, Steve Harrington.”
He bites his lip hard, getting emotional, “You think so?”
“Steve, you put your life on the line for a bunch of teenagers who aren’t even related to you. I can only imagine how much more love you would show to your own kids,” you tell him resolutely.
He tugs you closer, bringing you in to rest against him, hand tangling adoringly through your hair.
“When Neil was still around, I never let myself consider kids without thinking about everything that could go wrong,” you mumble into the dip of his shoulder.
“And now with him gone?” Steve questions meekly.
“It’s given me time to realize what I want. I do want them, but it’s only because I want them with you,” you utter a bit shyly.
His breath hitches, “God, I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Your hold on him tightens, because you know he says that when he’s absolutely dazed at the fact that he gets to call you his.
As the sun inches down the horizon, wrapped up in his arms, you come to the beautiful conclusion that Steve Harrington was always meant to be your future.
still together, still going strong (despite the closet)
‼️ this is just my opinion; everyone interprets music however they want. you don’t have to agree
today i reblogged a post about the waiting game being about being in the closet and i wanna talk more about it!
im not trying to affirm this, but for a while now, specifically since the walls-fine line era, i think harry wants to come out of the closet, but louis doesn’t (technically, i think he has much more mixed feelings about it than harry). that doesn’t mean at all that louis isn’t proud (he is, in fact, he shows it all the time) or that he doesn’t want us to know they’re still together (he shows that all the time too lol), but i think he “doesn’t” want to publicly come out and harry does.
there’s absolutely nothing wrong with either stance, i think both are totally understandable and none of us can say for sure what we would do or how we would feel in that situation. i think louis has more than valid reasons for believing it’s a bad idea, and his situation is more complex than harry’s. let’s be honest, he has a babygate, a history of long-term “girlfriends’ and not just pure stunts and the general public isn’t as convinced that he's LGBTQ as they are with harry (yes, it’s true that there are a lot of people in denial about harry ik, but come on, we all know a lot of them believe he’s at least bi).
it began with the contrast between golden and lights up with walls and defenceless for me (i think those four songs are about themselves, their fame and their relationship).
“he’s golden” “im hoping someday im open. i know that you’re scared because im still hoping” “i know you’re scared because im so open” “im hoping someday you’ll open” and everything lights up (and the context in which it was released) it really contrasts with:
“and im too tired to be tough, just wanna be loved by you” i don’t care about being open with everyone anymore, i don’t want to be strong and put up with what that involves, i just want to love you and be loved by you. nothing else.
time passes, and we get to the harry’s house-fitf era. we met keep driving, satellite, face the music and ooms. (this is when i think louis starts to have more mixed feelings, when he really starts to wonder “what if..”)
“we share the last line then we drink the wall till you wanna talk” “spinning out waiting for ya to pull me in”
“a small concern with how the engine sounds” “i would ask, should we just keep driving?” we’re moving forward, yes, but im concerned about how we’re going. i hear the problem. should we just keep going as if nothing is wrong, or do we stop and look at the problem? how long are we going to pretend we don’t hear it?
then, on the one hand, we have face the music, which, like defenceless, emphasises “i want to be with you, but i don’t want to face this situation”.
parallels between golden and face the music
but out of my system, alive’s older sister, recognises that weight in him. i decide not to do anything, but it weighs on me. i know i have to resolve it one way or another. the situation is complex. i don’t want to do anything, i don’t even want to think about it. but im not blind, i see it affects me and my relationship.
we continue moving forward in time and arrive at hdigh-kissco era.
we are now at a point where louis recognises that the situation is more about him feigning insanity than the problem itself. it’s something inside his mind, fear, uncertainty. i’s not a question of “how do i face it?”, but rather “do i really want to face it?” that is why i think it’s a mixed feeling: at times i would like to, should i? if i don’t want to face it, why go through it? and i really think that’s totally valid.
i don’t want to hear anyone say that it’s wrong for louis not to want to come out or that he’s “bad for not making that effort for harry”.
no LGBTQ person should have to come out to anyone, and it’s a reality that consumes a lot of you, brings a lot of changes. and changes require time and energy (*cough habit cough*). sometimes you’re so tired of everything that’s happening to you (im speaking for myself here) that you say, “do i have to go through this right now? i know it’s a problem, but can’t it wait?” fighting it is exhausting.
harry insists, let the light in. lights up. it’s better to find out if it’s going to be as bad as you think. it’s uncertain, but we’ll be able to see the positive side. we like to dance, don’t we? let’s dance like it’s a dance floor even if everything goes wrong.
(and don’t get me started on face the music vs dance no more).
this seems like a quote. its something louis says in his songs. harry always continues with “we belong together” after this. can we say that he’s quoting him?
all those things you said to me when you had “lost your taste” and now you apologise. you played tough (“lonely in paris” = separated from love) but you need love. my love. you know you call me “baby” and I already tell you i forgive you, but... this didn’t happen before, we used to fight more. you’re settling down, handling it more.
and while we’re at it, i think that the “phone” in both of their discographies is the allegory they use to refer to arguments about issues that make them feel distant (that’s why the telephone, because it’s talking from a distance, not that they are literally separated and calling each other).
like this. morning calls = morning fights (i ain’t even woken up yet not nearly vertical🎶)
now, finally, back to the waiting game.
i think he’s talking about closeting. over the last few years, harry has been doing stunts that are too obvious, he doesn’t mention them or interact with them like he did when he was in 1D (they’re literally more pap walks than anything else, he hardly even mentions them in interviews). and it’s always during the periods when he writes albums and releases them. and although holivia was a shit show etc etc we can’t deny that if you’re not actively in the fandom, the stunts don’t really have much impact other than in promotion and narrative for the general public. i think harry does it because he’s tired of it, he’s tired of being the “ladies’ man” and he has every right to be exhausted (american girls? hellooooo)
louis is in a different situation. he does stunts for promotional purposes, yes, but his stunts are still much more of a beards than harry’s ever were. he always had beards until he broke up with eleanor for the second time. that’s when his *proper* stunts began (yeah the party boy era, yeah, but if you ask me, that era and the babygate worked more as a beard than as a stunt if we look at it from a distance). basically, he puts more effort into pretending to be heterosexual, at least more than harry. and again, this is not about “who is right or wrong”, it’s an observation.
in this “meanwhile”, in this seemingly endless wait, you play the “waiting game”. you keep pretending, you keep doing everything we do to wait. but it all adds up to nothing. emotionally dry years go by. you try to redo your “design” but it all adds up to nothing.
we move forward in the album and we come across her, yes, coming up roses 🌹✨
harry recognizes that he is putting pressure on something that he knows doesn’t need it. i was judging the whole journey, im sorry. i love you, i don’t need you to do this for me. you don’t have to decide between being with me and coming out or not being with me. i don’t want to see you cry about it anymore.
i always say they aren’t in a queer relationship like we would be/are, they are in a queer relationship in the public eye, under scrutiny. and i honestly believe that many people don’t give fame the weight it has in their songs. in a context where they are not A+ celebrities, we could perhaps interpret this as them having a thousand relationship problems and coming and going all the time. but knowing it? i think it’s clear that they’re still together and always have been. every album since midnight memories has songs about being in a long-term relationship. “one proper relationship”
fame brings a thousand things that none of us will ever be able to fully understand. i don’t believe that all the supposedly acclaimed “break-up songs” are about break-ups.
“somebody’s got your trainers on the ones that you wore when you walked out the door” i have your fucking trainers. i wear your clothes all the time. “you walked out the door” you disconnected from the situation, you ignore me, “you’re giving me the silent treatment, don’t know what it's achieving”, but at the end of the day, i put myself in your shoes because we share them we’re both in the same boat.
“i saw your friend that you know from work he said you feel just fine i see you gave him my old t-shirt more of what was once mine i see it’s written, it’s all over his face” its me speaking in the third person about myself because i make a distinction between myself and the voices in my mind. “oh can you hear the voice? the one inside your head” im that friend you met at work. you gave me back my t-shirt, which reminds me of what we used to share: first album post-1D, the “we have learn how to go though this publicly separated” time. (space to clarify that i think they use clothes as a material symbol representing shared history and the passage of time). i know you can tell what im thinking even though im giving you the silent treatment because i feel like i don’t recognise you lately. i wake up and see your face and you’re becoming a stranger. “my phone misses your calls btw” at least fight with me so we can talk. we can’t keep ignoring the problem. comfortable silence is so overrated. eventually, we have to discuss this.
it’s a circle, or at least that’s how it seems for now. at Manchester ONO, harry played ftdt, which is the beginning of how they ended up on coming up roses, the only song with harry being the only writer in his entire discography.
