𖤐.ᐟ HALFWAY GONE
conflicted!steveharrington x crushing!femalereader
genre: fluff
word count: 3.2k words
summary: steve feels nancy slipping away, her heart already leaning toward jonathan. in the quiet of a parking lot, he confesses his confusion and longing, reaching for you instead.
warnings: emotional cheating???
a/n: I STILL HAVEN'T WATCHED S5 YET BUT LEMME COOK WITH THIS FIC!!!!!!!!!
Just a week ago, things were simple. Steve had Nancy Wheeler. Pretty, smart, the kind of girl everyone expected him to like.
But then there was you.
He didn't know much about you besides the fact that you sat behind him in history and would sometimes let him copy your notes after a long weekend. He didn't even remember the very first time he noticed you. He just remembered the moment he realized you were suddenly…everywhere. Already looking at him before he would look at you.
And Steve tried to ignore it. He tried to keep his head on Nancy.
Nancy, the safe choice. The obvious choice. The girl he had pined over for months, and the girl he should be happy with.
But every time Nancy drifted towards Jonathan, every time she pulled away from Steve even a little, he found himself turning towards you instead. And you were always right there, offering kindness without asking for anything, laughing at his idiotic jokes, softening his edges until he forgot he had them…
But while Steve was sitting there, completely zoned out of this class, all he could think about was Nancy's argument over Barb going missing, Jonathan's stupid photos...
Seeing them sat together on her bed last night after she declined plans with him. Wearing his jacket. His arm around her.
The bell rings, ripping him out of his thoughts, and he watches you start packing your things. "Are you busy tonight?" Steve blurts the words out before he could even stop himself.
You freeze, your hand halfway to your bag, the zipper caught between your fingers. The words hang in the air, sharp and unexpected, and for a second you wonder if you had imagined them. But Steve is looking right at you, his expression caught somewhere between nervous and determined, like he’s already regretting saying it but can’t take it back.
Your heart stutters. For weeks, you’ve watched him with Nancy, watched him smile at her in ways that made you feel invisible. And yet, every time she drifted toward Jonathan, every time she pulled away, his eyes found yours. You had noticed but, told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That you were just a classmate. That you were just…there.
But now, he’s asking you. Not Nancy. You.
You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady, though your pulse is anything but. “No,” You say softly, meeting his gaze. “I’m not busy.”
Steve's shoulders relax just a fraction at your answer, like he'd been holding his breath this whole time. He quickly looks away, suddenly very interested in adjusting the strap of his backpack, anything to avoid seeing how you're reacting.
"Cool," he says, trying way too hard to sound casual. His voice cracks slightly on the word and he mentally curses himself for it.
He risks another glance at you while pretending to organize papers that don't need organizing. The classroom is emptying around them but Steve doesn’t move from his seat, like if he stands up now this moment might end.
A beat passes where neither of you speaks before Steve blurts out again, "Do...do you wanna maybe get food or something?"
You let the silence stretch just long enough for him to squirm, then tilt your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Food sounds good,” you say, steady but soft, like you’re giving him permission to breathe again.
The tension in Steve's body uncoils all at once, his entire face lighting up with relief, like he'd been braced for rejection and now can't believe it didn't come.
"Yeah?" he asks, voice too eager before he reins it back in. He clears his throat and attempts to play it cooler, "I mean...yeah. Great."
He finally stands up, too fast, nearly knocking over his chair, and grabs both your bags without thinking (a habit from carrying Nancy's stuff).
“Guess you’re full-service now,” you tease lightly, not snatching the bag back, letting him carry it if he wants to.
Steve blinks, momentarily stunned out of his nervous state, then grins sheepishly, his relief growing at your easy banter.
"Yeah, well," he shrugs, readjusting both bags on his shoulders as he starts walking towards the door, "I'm a man of many talents."
You can’t help the laugh that slips out, shaking your head at his attempt to play it off. He’s trying so hard to sound smooth, but the sheepish grin on his face betrays him.
“Talents, huh?” you tease, falling into step beside him as the two of you head toward the door. “Carrying bags, tripping over chairs…what else you got?”
The hallway hums with voices and lockers slamming shut, but it feels like the world has narrowed to just the two of you
Steve pretends to think about it for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before a smirk spreads across his face. "Well, let's see...I'm a pretty decent basketball player," he starts, his steps falling into time with yours. "Great hair, obviously," He flashes a cocky grin, running a hand through his styled-to-perfection locks as if to emphasize the point.
"And..." He lowers his voice and leans in close so that only you can hear, the hallway noise fading into background static. "I'm really good at making pretty girls laugh."
For a second, you almost laugh—because it’s such a Steve Harrington thing to say—but then the reminder hits you like a weight.
Nancy.
Your smile falters just a little, enough for him to notice if he’s paying attention. “Pretty girls, huh?” You murmur, tilting your head toward him. “Shouldn’t you be saving those lines for Nancy?”
Steve’s eyes flicker, caught off-guard by the sudden change in tone. He sees the subtle shift in your voice, the slight hesitation. The way you subtly pull back. The way you bring up Nancy.
His cocky facade falters too, and for a moment he looks slightly guilty. He knows exactly what you're referring to. He lets out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah. Right. Nancy."
You feel the name settle between you like a stone, heavier than his laugh could disguise. The sharp edge of it cuts through the easy banter, reminding you of everything that still ties him to her.
That easy banter is gone now, replaced by an uncomfortable silence as you both walk down the packed hallway, surrounded by people oblivious to the tension between you.
Steve glances at you briefly, his gaze flicking over you like he's trying to gauge your reaction. But your face is neutral, giving him no clues. He's not sure if you're mad or disappointed or...something else.
His shoulders hunch a bit, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his usual confident stride turning into something more like...guilt-ridden shuffle.
By the time the two of you push through the doors and the cool air hits, the noise of the hallway fades, replaced by the quiet hum of the parking lot.
Steve seems to relax at the sudden absence of noise, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. He walks over to a shiny red BMW parked at the edge of the lot, glancing at you to see if you follow.
He puts your bags in the backseat before turning back to you with a forced casualness, his hands jammed in his pockets again. "So, uh, any preferences for food?"
There's a hint of hesitation there, the easy flow of banter absent now, replaced with an unspoken awareness of what you brought up. Of Nancy.
You shift your weight, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Anything sounds fine,” you say, steady but quiet, then add, “but Steve…you’re still with Nancy.”
The words come out softer than an accusation, but they carry the truth he’s trying so hard to ignore. You see the way his jaw tightens, the flicker of guilt in his eyes. He wants this to be simple, wants it to be easy, but it isn’t. Not when everyone knows Nancy Wheeler is still his girlfriend, even if she’s always with Jonathan now, even if she’s pulling further away.
You glance at the bags he tossed in the backseat, then back at him. “So what is this, really?” you ask, your voice low, not cruel but not letting him off the hook either. “A hangout because she’s busy…or something else?”
Steve lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He knows exactly what you're getting at, what you're implying. And he can't argue with it.
"It's not...I don't know," he grumbles, kicking a pebble in the parking lot, avoiding your gaze. "It's just..."
He looks back at you now, his eyes filled with conflicting emotions - guilt, frustration, confusion, something that almost looks like desperation. "Nancy and I..."
He trails off again, unable to find the words.
You swallow, forcing yourself to hold his gaze even though it hurts. “Steve,” you say quietly, steady but not unkind. “If you don’t know where you stand with her…then you shouldn’t be standing here with me.”
The words taste bitter, but they’re the truth. You can’t be the distraction, the in-between, the person he turns to when Nancy isn’t there. And yet, even as you say it, you feel the pull—the way his eyes linger on you, the way his silence begs you not to walk away.
And you should've said this back in the classroom, but you were so caught off guard, you didn't.
Your words hit him like a punch in the gut, the harsh truth of them landing right where it hurts. He knows you're right—he knows.
He takes a step towards you, the space between you growing even smaller, his voice a pleading whisper.
"I know, okay? I know, but…I can't stop thinking about you. You're the one I look for in a crowd, the one I want to talk to when something good happens. Every time Nancy pulls away, every time I see her with Jonathan, it-"
“Steve…don’t you see?” you whisper, the weight of it pressing heavy between you. “She’s already halfway gone. Every time she’s with Jonathan, every time she chooses him over you - it’s not just friendship anymore. She’s giving pieces of herself to him that should still be yours.”
Steve flinches like you've slapped him, the words cutting deeper than he wants to admit. His throat works around nothing for a second, because yeah, of course he sees it. He's seen it.
He remembers Nancy laughing at one of Jonathan's stupid jokes last week, how her fingers lingered when she handed him his jacket back after wearing it all night. The way she used to save every smile for him and now...not so much.
His chest aches with something raw and painful that he doesn’t even have a name for yet, betrayal? Fear? The sinking realization that maybe Nancy stopped loving him weeks ago without bothering to tell him directly?
"I know," Steve finally admits in a hollow voice, staring down at the pavement between your feet like if looks hard enough there'll be an answer written there. "I just…didn't wanna believe it."
You shift slightly, the pavement cool beneath your shoes, and force yourself to hold his gaze even when he won’t look up. “Steve,” you say quietly, steady but not unkind. “You already know. You’ve known for a while. Pretending otherwise doesn’t change what’s happening.”
Steve runs a hand through his hair again, frustrated and overwhelmed by the harsh truth of your words. A part of him wants to snap back, to tell you to stop saying all this, to stop being so damn right all the time and just…let him be in denial for a little longer.
But another part, a quiet little part that's been growing louder these past few weeks, knows you're right.
He finally looks up, his gaze meeting yours again, weary and weary and desperate. "What the hell do I do?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
You take a step closer, not unkind, but firm. “Figure out what you want. Figure out who you want. And then…be honest. With her. With me. With yourself.”
The silence that follows is heavy, his eyes searching yours for something
Steve's shoulders slump under the weight of your words, the harsh reality settling in. He opens his mouth to speak but the words seem lodged in his throat. You're right...he knows you're right. But the thought of confronting Nancy, of facing the truth that's been staring him right in the face…
He swallows hard, his gaze never leaving yours. There's a mix of resignation and something else, something he can't quite place.
"And what if I already know who I want?" he murmurs.
You shift your weight, arms tightening across your chest as you try to steady yourself. “Then you need to be honest about it,” you say softly, though your voice doesn’t waver. “With her. With me. With yourself. If you already know who you want, Steve, then stop pretending Nancy’s still the answer.”
Steve takes a deep breath, the simple truth of your words hitting him hard. He looks at you, really looks at you, the way you stand there, shoulders back, every inch of you strong and steady.
He wants to protest, to find some reason to argue or dismiss it all, but he can't. He's tried so hard to hold onto Nancy lately, to keep things the way they used to be, but he knows it's hopeless.
He lets out a bitter laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. "When did you get so damn smart?"
You feel the corner of your mouth twitch, not quite a smile, more like a reaction to the bitterness in his laugh. His words hang in the air, heavy but edged with something almost tender, like he’s trying to deflect the weight of the moment with humor.
You shift your stance, arms still crossed, and tilt your head at him. “Smart? No,” you say quietly, steady but firm. “Just not willing to lie the way you’ve been lying to yourself.”
Steve takes another step towards you, closing the space between you further. He stares down at you, his gaze roaming your face. He's torn between wanting to argue and wanting to agree. Between wanting to hold onto the familiar comfort of Nancy, even if it's hollow now, and wanting to grab on to the solidity he sees in you.
"You've always seen right through me," he mutters, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his voice. "It's irritating."
Your voice softens as you speak, “You don’t get to pretend with me, Steve. Not about Nancy. Not about what you want. Not about any of it.”
Steve lets out a tired sigh, the fight slowly fading out of him. Your words cut through his defenses, straight to the core. He knows you're right.
His gaze flicks to your mouth, then back to your eyes, and the conflict in his expression is almost palpable.
"I don't know what the hell I'm doing," he admits, voice raw with frustration and something that sounds like longing. "I feel like I'm losing my damn mind lately."
You don’t move, don’t break the silence, just let him stand there with it. Because in this moment, it’s not about fixing anything or giving him answers, it’s about the way he’s looking at you, like he’s searching for something solid to hold onto while everything else slips away.
Steve's gaze flicks over your face, taking in the details he'd never noticed before. The way your eyelashes flutter when you blink. The faint freckle near the corner of your mouth. Even the way your shoulders square, strong and unwavering despite the weight of his words.
Without even realizing it, his hand reaches out, his thumb lightly brushing the freckle near your mouth. It hovers there for a second, just barely touching your skin, a silent question.
Your breath catches, the world narrowing to that single point of contact. The parking lot, the car, the noise of students spilling out behind you, it all fades until it’s just him, standing too close, looking at you like you’re the answer he’s been circling around but never brave enough to name.
You don’t pull back, not yet. Instead, you let the silence stretch, your eyes locked on his, making him feel the weight of the choice he’s reaching for. Because if he wants this, if he wants you - then he has to be the one to say it.
Steve's breath hitches when you don’t pull away. His thumb stills against your skin, as if he’s waiting for you to stop him waiting for any sign that this isn't okay.
But there isn’t one.
And the realization hits him like a freight train, you’re letting me do this.
His heart pounds so loud he swears it echoes in the quiet space between you two. He swallows hard, his chest tight with nerves and hope all tangled up together.
"You…" Steve starts, then stops himself. His hand trembles slightly where it hovers near your face, like touching someone who actually matters is scarier than anything else in his life right now.
“I…?” You prompt him.
"You're…not stopping me," Steve whispers, the words tumbling out before he can even really process them.
His brain is suddenly blank, all of his usual suave confidence gone in the face of the truth. Here you are, letting him stand closer than friends should, letting him touch you like he's got any right to, and you're just…letting him.
He's waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's certain you're going to push him away and walk off and call him an idiot.
But you don't.
Your breath hitches at the way his words tumble out, raw and uncertain, and you let the silence hang for a beat before answering.
“Maybe I’m not stopping you because…part of me doesn’t want to,” you admit quietly, your voice steady but softer than before. You tilt your head just slightly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “But that doesn’t mean this is simple, Steve.”
The reality check slams into him. He knows damn well it isn’t simple. Not with Nancy still technically his girlfriend, not when she’s probably off with Jonathan right now wearing his jacket again.
“Dinner,” he says finally, the word almost too casual, but his voice betrays him. There’s a heaviness there, a quiet shift that makes it clear this isn’t just about food anymore.
He nods toward the passenger side of his car, his BMW, shiny and stupidly expensive, something that usually makes people look at him with awe. But right now? He couldn’t care less about impressing anyone.
"Get in?" It comes out more like a question than an invitation. Like he's giving you one last chance to say no, to walk away before this goes any further down a road there's no coming back from.
Steve pauses, his hand hovering over the passenger door handle. He hesitates for a brief, almost panicked moment, his mind racing with doubts and excuses and a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea.
But then his eyes land on you, on the way you're looking at him. On the way you're so goddamn steady while everything else is crumbling around him.
So he swallows his doubts, opens the door for you, and mutters, "Ladies first."
