𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝘂𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗮’𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘆. he’d held his reservations under the guise of his blooming guilt towards leaving nance at the house, so it didn’t take much longer for him to retreat back to the front doorsteps of his classmate's house party. his hand twists around the doorknob and he pushes the door open. his eyes drop as he moves toward the kitchen, movements furtive in his attempt to be as unnoticeable as possible — a behavior he rarely practices. brown locks are waved from his forehead as he realizes he has no idea where nancy could be. someone claps his back and steve lifts his head with unenthused lethargy. tommy fucking hagan. probably the last person he wants to see right now, smug grin and all.
his old friend wastes no time in reporting what he realizes steve came back for after his ‘dramatic exit’ — that his girlfriend (or whatever the fuck the conversation in the bathroom meant on the status of their relationship) had left shortly after him with none other than jonathan byers. ❛ fuck you tommy, not funny. ❜ steve says with a blank expression, too exhausted to humor him. but the information is confirmed by surrounding classmates, slow nods and bright eyes that said enough about the way it seemed to draw plenty of whispers at his own return to the house. concern promptly shifts into something much, much harder to swallow away. the disillusionment leads steve right to the counter to swipe the closest bottle he can find, and he feels his heart pound in his ears as he beelines outside. the chill of the october air doesn’t help much with the growing pit in his stomach, and steve bites back tears for the second time tonight with a long swig of the vodka he’d swiped. what the fuck, nance? steve can’t figure out how to rationalize this new information — he notices quickly that he doesn’t want to right now. not when all he wants to do is bury the new information beneath some form of recluse.
he paces a few times, arms over his head as the grip on the neck of the bottle increases. steve then pulls the jacket off his shoulders and drops to a seat on the stairs, steadying himself down as he takes another gulp. a good amount of time passes while he sits and tries not to think. the image of jonathan byers taking nancy home flashes over his eyes multiple times, different scenarios that increase the anger. that damned byers boy. taking the first chance to swoop in with their very public show of relationship turmoil. 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗺𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝘀𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗰𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗷𝗼𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻. surely he wouldn’t take advantage of her… right? fuck.
he's reminded of their fight, the way nancy seemed let everything she'd been holding back out. how long had she felt this way? did she even love him like he did her? was she right, and was all this just bullshit? questions plague the mind as he sways a bit, ducking his head between his legs and allowing all performance to cease. he knows people are talking about it inside – surely. nancy wheeler, the girl steve had fallen in love with much faster than he could've thought. jonathan byers, skeptics shifting into competition until he became the perfect knight in shining armor. and now ... steve blinks harshly and sets the bottle down, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to calm down. it's here that he notices the quick effects of his blind rage; he ignores the way the vodka is hitting his system and goes for another drink. he can't think about this anymore. he can't sit in this, but he sure as hell doesn't trust his anger to show up to the wheeler house. she'd made her decision anyway, he considers – even though that's not entirely fair.
he shouldn't have left. steve can see this even in the blur of emotions and blooming intoxication. but it was all too much, the surprise of nancy's supposed misery being identified. he was so damn blind, to not see it before. steve presses down on the bridge of his nose with his forefingers, shutting his eyes to suppress the way his face is growing hot and his throat feels like it's closing up on him. he curses loudly and gets to his feet again, not entirely sure where he's headed as he makes his way back up the back porch and towards the house again.
and as if it couldn't get worse, when steve lifts his eyes he closely evades running straight into billy fucking hargrove. 〚 he's never considered himself lucky, but today has to be the worst dumb luck he's ever had 〛 steve stumbles to the side a bit, noticing the way the alcohol has already taken some effect. he bites his tongue and narrows his eyes as they meet billy's blues, feeling his pulse rise again at the sight of the other boy.
❛ if you've come to gloat, or whatever – save your breath, hargrove. i'm not in the mood. ❜ the words come out sloppy, as if his tongue is catching on his teeth as he speaks. steve leans back onto the back panel of the house, eyes bearing hard against the kid who's supposedly his newest enemy. he tilts his head back with another drink, gritting his teeth as it goes down significantly worse than the past few times. steve sucks his teeth loudly and shakes his head now with the burn, far past the constant care of his own appearance now to even acknowledge it more. just his damn luck, now isn't it? ☈ @puppetoffthehook
