taking a hit | steve harrington
pairing: steve harrington x reader summary: steve harrington thinks that dustin's older sister (and billy hargrove's on and off girlfriend) deserves better than what she has. themes & warnings: steve harrington head over heels, henderson!reader, billy hargrove being a dickmunch, fighting/violence, swearing, angst if u squint, resolution!! we love steve he's such a good man UGH love him
he wasn't sure what it was that made you so hard to stop thinking about. well, in that way.
he knew it was dustin's mouth that constantly kept you in the loop in steve's mind. you were his older sister, his idol and best friend, and there was mention of you in every conversation that he had with dustin nowadays. before now, though, steve had never thought of you romantically. for as long as he'd known you and as long as he'd known dustin, you were strictly off limits and he never looked at you as anything more than that.
you were drop dead gorgeous, of course. curls like dustin's, expressive e/c eyes, plush lips, and a commanding attitude just like your brother's. he knew a lot of pretty girls, though, so he was certain that your looks weren't what made you so attractive to steve. after all, nancy wheeler was pretty, but he only thought about her when she was right in front of him.
you had something else.
something he saw in the way that you loved and cared for your brother, always making sure he had someone that would listen to him and spend time with him. playing video games with dustin (and steve himself on occasion), taking him for car rides and stopping to get ice cream, going frog hunting with him at 11 o'clock at night because he wanted to study them for some nerd shit he was doing.
your love for dustin had no bounds. your compassion for other people had no bounds. all around, you were just an incredible woman.
"steve." dustin interrupted again, rolling his eyes. "could you stop staring at my sister and pull out of the driveway? we're gonna be late to--"
"i know, i know." steve shook his head, tearing his eyes away from where you were standing on the porch, waving dustin off. he put the car in reverse and pulled out onto the street, leaving you behind.
"you've been doing that a lot lately," dustin commented, buckling his seatbelt.
"doing what?"
"staring. at my sister. it's weird, man."
"its not weird," steve defended, a little too quickly and eagerly for dustin's liking. "i was just making sure she got inside safe."
"right. because the big bad squirrels are gonna get her between the car and the front door." dustin snorted. "you know she can handle herself. she dated a guy for six months who tried to teach her how to throw a punch."
steve's grip on the steering wheel tightened. he knew exactly who dustin was talking about. billy. the mention of that name was like a splash of cold water, killing his fantasies and instantly souring his mood. he'd seen the way billy talked to you, the possessive grip on your arm in the school hallway, the way your smile would dim sometimes when he rolled his eyes at something you said.
"yeah, well, maybe she shouldn't have to."
dustin was quiet for a moment, studying his friend's profile. "you like her."
"it's not that simple, henderson."
"it is! you stare, you sigh, you ask weird, probing questions about her weekend plans. it's textbook. even mike noticed, and he's emotionally stunted."
steve sighed, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "she's with billy."
"on and off," dustin corrected. "mostly off lately, from what i hear of it. and he's a dickmunch."
a laugh burst out of steve, unexpected and sharp. "a what?"
"a dickmunch. you know, a muncher of--"
"i get it, i get it." steve shook his head, smile fading. "he is. and she deserves..." he trailed off, because the list was endless. you deserved someone who looked at you like you'd hung the moon, not like you were a prize he'd won. you deserved someone who made you laugh until you snorted, not flinch when he raised his voice. you deserved someone who saw the brilliant, stubborn, kind hearted person you were, not just a pretty face on his arm.
you deserved better.
in steve's opinion, you deserved him. he would treasure you.
"alright, asshole. stop daydreaming about my sister and drive."
the bluntness of dustin's command, paired with the sheer, terrifying truth that had just crystallized in his own mind, snapped steve back to reality. a faint blush crawled up his neck.
"right. driving." he cleared his throat, focusing intently on the road ahead.
but the thought was out there now, fully formed and undeniable, playing on a loop in his head to the rhythm of the turning tires. and when steve got a thought in his head, it wouldn't budge until something was done about it.
she deserves better. she deserves me.
sighing, he reached and turned the radio up.
for as long as you could remember, dustin had been your best friend. it was as easy as breathing.
he was your younger brother, yes, but you were sure that the little shit was some form of soulmate for you. he understood you completely and in return, you understood him in ways that nobody else would. his nerdy habits, the way he didn't quite feel right going into high school, oddly out of place everywhere he went. you accepted him no matter what.
when he was 5 and you were 8, he started having nightmares. he'd come padding into your room, his little face pale in the moonlight, clutching his favorite blanket. without a word, you'd lift your covers and he'd scramble in, his small, cold feet pressing against your legs.
"tell me about the stars," he'd whisper, his voice trembling. even at that age, he had an interest in all of the things he couldn't yet understand.
you'd tell him. you'd teach him about constellations, making up names and stories for them. you'd talk about how they were giant balls of gas, millions of miles away, but how their light still reached all the way to hawkins, indiana, just to make the night a little less dark. you'd talk until his grip on your t-shirt loosened in sleep and his panicked breathing evened out.
you were his first call for everything. the triumphs, like the first time he successfully built a radio from scratch. the heartbreaks, like when the kids at the park wouldn't let him play because he talked about "nerd stuff." you were his defender, his cheerleader, his safe place.
tonight, dustin had a school dance. you also had a party the same night, something for older kids, one thing that dustin couldn't join you for. but you still wanted to see him off.
you stood in the doorway of his room, watching him fumble with his tie. his brow was furrowed in concentration, a perfect mirror of the expression he wore when tackling something complex. the most difficult things were easy for him, and the most simple stumped him. it was a dustin thing. steve sat at his desk, smoothing the thighs of his jeans out. mike and lucas were sprawled out on dustin's bed, crumpling his sheets and their suits. will checked his reflection in the mirror.
sensing dustin's stress, you and steve moved at the same time to help. but of course, you were quicker.
you were at his side in an instant, your fingers brushing his away. "let me."
you worked quickly, efficiently, looping and tightening the fabric into a respectable knot. the whole room had gone quiet, watching you. you could feel steve's gaze, a warm, steady pressure.
"thanks," dustin mumbled, his shoulders slumping in relief.
"anytime, dusty," you said softly, smoothing the tie against his dress shirt. you gave his shoulders a squeeze. "you look handsome."
the honk of a car horn from outside broke the moment. mrs. henderson was ready to go.
"alright, let's move it, lover boys!" steve clapped his hands together, rising from the desk chair. "your chariot, -- by chariot, i mean your mom's station wagon -- awaits."
the kids scrambled off the bed, grumbling and straightening their suits. as they filed out, you nudged dustin.
"be confident. smile. make the first move. everything will work itself out." you smiled softly at the nervous fifteen year old. dustin took a deep breath, puffing his chest out a little.
"right. confident. i can do confident."
he marched out with a new determination.
"love you! have fun!" you shouted down the hall.
a muffled "love you too!" floated back, followed by the sound of the front door slamming shut.
silence descended upon the house, thick and sudden. the absence of the kids' chaotic energy was always a little jarring. you stood there for a moment in dustin's doorway. you really wished him good luck, but part of you was anxious about how it would go.
"he'll be okay." steve said warmly from behind you.
you turned, not realizing he'd lingered. he was leaning against the door frame, jacket slung over his shoulder and shirt stained with hair gel from his help styling dustin. he looked at ease, but his eyes were intently focused on you.
"how do you know?' you asked, the worry for your brother making your voice softer than usual.
"because he's a henderson," he shrugged, pushing off the frame to come closer. "and henderson's are stubborn, and smart, and way more charming than they have any right to be." a small, knowing smile played on his lips. "sound familiar?"
your breath hitched, but you disguised it. he was standing close enough now that you could smell his cologne, something clean and sharp, cutting through the familiar scent of dustin's model glue and comic books.
"looks like you're laying the charm on thick tonight, too, harrington." you teased, ignoring the way his easy smile gnawed at your chest.
he grinned again, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"so. you're headed to that party tonight? at tommy's?"
you nodded, shrugging.
"why not? dustin's out of the house tonight and mom's chaperoning. i might as well find something to do too," you hummed. "plus.. billy. he doesn't like going anywhere without a plus one."
the moment billy's name left your lips, you saw it. a subtle shift in steve's posture. the grin didn't vanish completely, but it tightened at the edges. the warmth in his eyes cooled into something sharper, more assessing.
"right. billy," he said, the name bitter on his tongue. he looked away, his gaze sweeping over dustin's cluttered room as if searching for something. "he's a real.. social butterfly, that one."
you heard the unspoken critique layered beneath the casual words. you'd heard it from others (mom, your friends) but coming from steve, it felt different. it didn't feel like a judgement of your choices. it felt like genuine concern.
"he can be," you conceded, your own defensiveness rising out of habit. "when he wants to be."
steve's eyes snapped back to yours, the deep intensity pinning you in place. "and what about what you want?"
the question, so direct and unexpected, stole the air from your lungs. you opened your mouth to reply with another deflection, another 'it's fine', but the words died in your throat. because standing there in the quiet of your brother's room, with steve harrington looking at you like he could see every crack in your armor, "fine" felt like the biggest lie you'd ever told.
you thought of billy's possessive grip on your waist in crowded rooms. the way he'd scoff if you suggested a movie he didn't like. the slow, steady erosion of your own voice to keep the peace.
steve took a half-step closer, his voice dropping, sincere and rough around the edges. "you know, you don't need a plus-one to be somebody, henderson. you're already somebody. all on your own."
his words landed like a physical touch, a gentle hand steadying you. he wasn't telling you what to do. he was reminding you that you had a choice. that you were whole, with or without billy hargrove on your arm.
the front door slammed again downstairs, followed by the distant sound of mrs. henderson calling, "steve? the kids are getting restless!" he was still expected to give a couple of the kids a ride. your mom only had so much room in the station wagon.
he held your gaze for a moment longer, a silent question hanging in the space between you. then he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if he'd said all he needed to say.
"have a good night," he said softly, and then he turned and walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the stairs.
sighing, trying to erase the feeling in your chest that had just invaded your entire being, you left dustin's room and went into your own. you opened your closet, pulling your outfit for the party out and got ready.
you were going to be with your boyfriend in an hour and a half. so why couldn't you stop thinking about steve harrington?
the party was loud. obnoxiously so.
the bass from the speakers thrummed through the floor, vibrating up through the soles of your shoes and into your bones. you nursed a drink, one that billy had made (far too strong for your taste). his arm was tight around your waist and he pulled you wherever he went. you talked to all kinds of people, smiling in their faces like he wanted you to do, but not saying much. you wanted to get drunk. you wouldn't. billy would get hammered and need a ride home.
every time you tried to shift away, his grip tightened, pulling you back against his side. a silent command. stay put.
you nodded at something carol said, but you didn't hear a word. your mind was still miles away, trapped in the quiet of dustin's bedroom and scent of steve's cologne.
"you're already somebody. all on your own."
steve's voice, cutting clear through the noise in your mind, echoed in your head. you could still see the way he'd looked at you -- not with possession, not with lust, but with quiet reverence and respect. like you were a person. not a prize. and to be honest, it had rocked you through your core. truly shaken you up into a confused mess.
billy leaned down, his breath hot and smelling of beer against your ear. "smile, baby. you look like you're at a funeral."
you glanced up to meet his eyes, forcing a smile.
"sorry."
within an hour, billy was drunk. not too drunk, but not sober enough to be intelligent.
he was leaning on you, his words hot into your hair as he tried to whisper something that was probably meant to be seductive but just came out sloppy. the weight of him, the smell of cheap beer and cologne, was suffocating. this was it. this was the whole night, and every night with him, stretching out in front of you -- a life of being an anchor for a sinking ship.
your eyes scanned the hazy, crowded room, landing on the front door. freedom was twenty feet away.
"billy," you said, your voice firm as you tried to peel his hands from your waist. "i think you've had enough. let's get you some water."
"don' need water," he mumbled, his grip on you tightening. "need my girl. let's find a bathroom."
your jaw dropped.
"billy, no, we--"
"yes. let's go, sugar tits."
you glared at him, but part of you knew better than to do this. he was going to get what he wanted anyways. he always did. by being mean.
"i don't want to sleep with you."
his blue eyes went from drunk and hazy to sharp immediately.
the shift was instantaneous and terrifying. his grip on your waist went from heavy to bruising, like you were a dog trying to run away from the house again.
"what did you just say to me?" his voice was low, a dangerous whisper that cut through the party's noise.
you swallowed, your heart hammering against your ribs. every instinct screamed to back down, to placate him, to give him the smile and apology that would smooth things over. it was the same song and dance every time you fell back into him.
but then, your mind echoed again.
you're already somebody. all on your own.
the words weren't a gentle memory this time. they were a battle cry.
"i said," you repeated, your voice gaining strength, laced with a defiance that made billy's eyes narrow, "i don't want to sleep with you. not now. not ever again. you're an asshole."
the silence that fell between you was louder than the music. billy's face twisted, ugly with rage and wounded pride.
"you don't get to say that to me," he snarled, pulling you closer, his face inches from yours. "you better fuckin' behave before i--"
you shoved against his chest with all your might. "let go of me, billy!"
the scene had drawn attention. people were staring. all the sudden, you saw steve's face, meeting your eyes from across the room. you hadn't even known he was at the party, not thinking these things were his scene anymore.
he took in the situation in a single, sweeping glance -- your panicked expression, billy's aggressive stance, the bruising grip on your arm.
he was moving before you could even process it. he didn't shout. he didn't make a scene. he moved through the crowd like a shark through water, silent and deadly fast. in the space of a single heartbeat, he was there.
steve's hand clamped down on billy's wrist, the one that was digging into your arm. his grip wasn't just firm; it was brutal.
"hey!" billy yelped, his head whipping around, his drunken rage redirected.
"let go of her. now."
billy gritted his teeth, turning closer to steve. you knew nothing about this was going to work out well. billy never backed down, and steve had just caused him to boil over.
"steve, its okay." you cut in, wanting to make peace.
"it's not okay," steve said, his voice cutting through your plea without even taking his eyes off billy. his tone wasn't harsh with you, but it was final. this was not up for negotiation. "none of this is okay. it's not gonna fucking happen."
billy let out a low, ugly laugh. "you hear her? better listen to her. she knows her place. maybe you should learn yours." that was the final word. billy swung, a wild throw. steve, expecting it, dodged easily. but he didn't retaliate. billy was shocked, embarrassed, enraged.
"outside." he hissed, forging a burning hot path to the front door, pushing whoever was in the way to the side.
your eyes were wide and panicked as you glanced at steve. you grabbed his arm, reaching for anything you could grab to keep him from doing this. this wasn't what you wanted.
"steve. please. i'm begging you not to do this. billy is--"
once again you were cut off.
"--not going to touch you ever again."
steve's voice was quiet, but the certainty made the hair on your arms stand up. he finally looked at you, and the raw determination in his eyes stole the air from your lungs. this wasn't about pride or a stupid high school rivalry. this was about you. protecting your honor, protecting you.
he gently pried your hand from his arm, giving your fingers a reassuring squeeze before letting go. then, he walked towards the front door.
biting your lip, anxiousness making you jittery, you followed him as fast as you could, swinging the door open and running out into the yard. the porch light cast a sickly yellow scene in the front yard. billy was pacing, a caged animal, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.
"changed your mind? gonna hide behind my woman's skirt?" billy taunted.
steve didn't answer the taunt. he simply swung.
the punch wasn't wild or telegraphed. it was short, brutal, and connected with billy's jaw with a sickening crack. it was the answer to every sneer, every insult, every time billy'd laid an unkind hand on you.
billy staggered back, more out of shock than pain at first. he touched his jaw, his eyes wide with disbelief, before they narrowed into slits of pure venom.
"you're fucking dead, harrington."
then it was chaos.
they came together in a storm of fists and grunts. it was ugly, raw, devoid of any technique. steve got a few good shots in -- billy's nose poured blood, his eyebrow was split -- but billy was bigger, meaner, and drunk on beer and rage. he took the hits and gave them back worse. steve was gasping for air and coated in blood. billy wiped his face on his jacket, blood from his eyebrow seeping down into his vision.
finally, when it seemed steve couldn't continue and billy had lost track of how many times he'd hit the man, you screamed.
"GET OFF HIM, BILLY!"
tears ran down your face as you sniffled, your throat hurting from how loud you'd projected your voice. you were terrified, disgusted, and pissed.
"please, billy! just stop it. i'm begging you."
the raw plea in your voice did what your anger could not. it cut through the drunken haze and the rage. billy froze, his fist hovering in the air. he looked from steve, bloody and beaten on the ground, to you, your face a mess of tears and despair. for a single second, you saw something flicker in his blue eyes. not regret. comprehension. he saw your sorrow, he saw what he'd become to you. you'd gone from two teenagers in love to a man tormenting a woman who deserved more than him.
his arm dropped to his side. he took a stumbling step back, his chest heaving.
without another word, he spat blood onto the ground next to steve's body, a snide reminder to steve of who'd won. then, he spared you one last glance before disappearing from the area.
with hot tears continuing to pour down, you sprinted to steve. the wounded man used the moment to push himself up onto his elbows, coughing, spitting a glob of blood onto the grass. he didn't try to get up. he just looked at you, his one good eye full of a pained, unwavering devotion.
you fell to your knees beside him, reaching for his face, making your touch as gentle as you could.
"steve," you sniffled, your thumb wiping blood and dirt from his cheek. "i told you i didn't want this. i asked you not to and now you're--"
he caught your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm. he turned his head just enough to press a kiss to your palm, leaving a faint, bloody smudge on your skin.
"don't," he rasped, his voice a raw scrape. "'s okay. i promise."
a sob caught in your throat. "but you're--"
"i'm fine," he insisted, his voice intense. "he could have hit me a hundred more times. it would've been worth it." he tried to shift, to sit up more, but a sharp hiss of pain escaped his lips. you reached around his back, holding him steady.
"worth it?" you whispered, incredulous. "you're bleeding from.. everywhere. you can't even sit up. because of me." you sniffled.
"not because of you," he gritted out, the eye that wasn't swollen locking onto yours with a ferocity that made you flinch. "for you. there's a.. a world of difference. trust me."
he groaned, using your shoulder for leverage to finally, painfully sit up all the way. his breath came in ragged pants, but he didn't look away. "just bruises and cuts. they'll go away in a while."
he reached up, his hand trembling slightly, and cupped your cheek. his thumb stroked away a tear, his touch infinitely gentle despite the blood caked on his knuckles. you leaned into him, the last of your resistance crumbling. he was right. the fight had been horrible, but it had been a line in the sand. a bloody declaration that billy couldn't continue to run your life anymore.
"okay," you whispered, your voice finally steady. you slipped your arm all the way around him. "okay. let's get you cleaned up."
he leaned on you heavily as you helped him get to his feet and to his car. every step was a shared effort, a silent promise. as you opened the passenger door, he paused, looking at you with a mixture of exhaustion and utter devotion.
"hey," he said softly. "for the record.. you were the strongest one here."
as you drove away from the chaos, the boy who had fought for you slept fitfully in the seat beside you.
the rest of that night was long. you cleaned steve's wounds, apologizing softly when he hissed, and foraged his kitchen for something to ice his bruises. when you felt you'd successfully doctored him up, you helped him up the stairs to his bed.
his room smelled of cedar and aftershave. exactly like you'd imagined it.
helping him into bed, you tucked the blankets over him and said goodnight, racing down the stairs in disbelief that any of this had even happened.
you drove home, crawled into your own bed, and cried a little. then, you fell asleep thinking about steve harrington. not billy hargrove.
the morning came too quickly. before you were ready, you heard your brother come into your room, plopping into bed beside you. the mattress dipped, startling you from a sleep filled with fractured images of blood and unwavering brown eyes. you blinked, the morning light stinging, to find dustin staring at you, his face far too close and etched with dramatic concern.
"you're alive," he stated, as if he'd expected otherwise.
"barely," you groaned, pulling the covers over your head. the events of last night came rushing back -- the screaming, the blood, steve's broken body leaning on yours. your heart gave a painful lurch.
"i heard," dustin said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. you peeked out from under the duvet. he was fiddling with a loose thread on your comforter. "about the fight. at tommy's. the whole school's talking about it."
you sat up slowly, your body aching with a phantom sympathy for steve's injuries. "what are they saying?"
"that king steve got his ass kicked defending you from your asshole boyfriend," dustin said, a hint of awe in his voice. then his brow furrowed. "is it true? did he really tell billy to fuck off and then just... take the beating?"
the memory of steve's voice, raw and certain, echoed in your mind. he could have hit me a hundred more times. it would've been worth it.
"yeah," you whispered, your throat tight. "it's true. and watch your language."
dustin was silent for a long moment, ignoring your scolding. "he likes you. like, really likes you." he said it with the grave seriousness of a scientist stating a proven fact.
a fresh wave of tears pricked your eyes, but this time, they weren't from fear or guilt. they were from a overwhelming, terrifying sense of hope. "i know."
"good," dustin declared, nodding once. "because billy's a dickmunch and i wish i could fight him. and steve... he's got the good hair." he patted your leg through the blanket. "now, get up. we're going to family video."
you started to sniffle again, more tears falling.
dustin sighed, opening his arms.
the simple, open gesture was your undoing. a sob broke free from your chest, and you launched yourself into your brother's arms, burying your face in his shoulder. he held you tightly, his small frame surprisingly sturdy, and let you cry it all out -- the fear, the relief, the dizzying hope.
"it's okay," he mumbled, patting your back awkwardly. "he's gonna be okay. steve's tough. he fought a demogor-- i mean, he's really tough."
you pulled back, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. "i know he is."
"and if billy ever shows his face again," dustin continued, his expression turning fierce, "we'll set mews on him."
a wet laugh escaped you. "mews is a cat, dustin."
"a very strategic cat," he insisted, his seriousness making you laugh harder, the sound mingling with your fading tears. he grinned, seeing he'd achieved his goal. "now, seriously. get dressed. we have a mission."
twenty minutes later, you were pulling up outside the familiar strip mall, the family video logo a beacon of normalcy. your stomach was a knot of nerves. what would you even say to him?
dustin, of course, had no such reservations. he marched right in, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully.
"harrington!" he bellowed, making both you and steve's coworker, who was behind the counter, jump.
steve emerged from the back room, and your breath caught. he looked... rough. one eye was a spectacular palette of purple and black, swollen nearly shut. a butterfly bandage held together a cut on his eyebrow, and his lip was split. but he was clean, and he was standing, and when his good eye found you, it lit up with a warmth that made your knees feel weak.
"hey, henderson," steve said, his voice a little hoarse. his gaze flickered to you. "hey."
dustin, completely oblivious to the charged silence, slapped a VHS tape on the counter. "we brought you a get-well-soon gift. the thing. it's about a shapeshifting alien that assimilates other life forms. i figured you could relate to feeling like your face is trying to kill you. and they don't have this tape here, so its new for you. and you look like shit because you got beat up for my sister. so i thought a gift was in order."
a laugh burst out of you, sharp and surprised, cutting through the last of your nerves. steve’s good eye widened in mock offense, but a real smile tugged at his split lip.
“you’re a little shit, you know that?” steve said, but there was no heat in it. he picked up the tape. “but… thanks, man. i think.”
“you’re welcome,” dustin said, beaming with pride. he then turned to you, his expression turning business-like. “okay, my work here is done. i’m going to go see if they have the new issue of dragon magazine. try not to do anything gross while I’m gone.” he scurried off toward the magazine rack.
the silence he left behind was different now -- softer, charged with a new understanding. you looked back at steve, at the brutal map of devotion painted across his face.
"he's not wrong," you said softly, your gaze tracing the purple bruise around his eye. "you do look like shit."
steve shrugged, his hand still resting on the vhs tape. "worth it."
that phrase again.
"you keep saying that." you said softly, taking a step closer to the counter.
he held your gaze, unwavering. "because its true." he came out from around the counter, walking up to you slowly. he limped a little, making you wince. the scent of his aftershave, familiar and comforting, mixed with the faint, clean smell of antiseptic from his cuts, fell over you. "seeing you walk in here, looking for me. definitely worth it."
from the back, steve's coworker cleared his throat loudly. "just so you two know, public displays of affection are against store policy. it disturbs the other customers." he gestured to the completely empty store.
steve didn't respond. he just kept looking at you, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face. "wanna talk in the break room really quick?"
your heart gave a single, hard thump against your ribs. steve's gaze was an open question, full of hope and vulnerability.
"yeah," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. "okay."
steve’s smile widened, and he turned, gesturing for you to follow him with a slight tilt of his head. He led you past his coworker, who was now very pointedly studying the label on a can of film cleaner, and through a door marked ‘STAFF ONLY’.
the break room was a tiny, windowless space that smelled like stale coffee and old microwave popcorn. a rickety table and two chairs were shoved against one wall. It was the least romantic place on earth, but with steve closing the door softly behind you, it felt like a sanctuary.
he turned to face you, leaning back against the door, his hands shoved in his pockets. the bravado he’d shown out front seemed to have evaporated, leaving behind a raw, nervous energy.
"look, about last night..." he started, then stopped, shaking his head. "no. not about the fight. about... before the fight." he took a deep breath, his good eye searching your face. "when i said you deserved better. i wasn't just talking about billy."
your breath hitched. "what were you talking about, steve?"
"me," he said, the word simple and stark. "i was talking about me. or... the guy i used to be. the king steve asshole who would've probably been friends with a guy like billy." he gestured vaguely to his own battered face. "i'm not that guy anymore. i haven't been for a long time. but you... you make me want to be even better. you make me want to be the guy who deserves to be the better man for you."
"you are," you whispered, closing the small distance between you. you reached up, your fingers gently tracing the line of the butterfly bandage on his brow. "you're that guy, steve. i've never been prouder to say it."
he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as if a great weight had been lifted. he brought his hands up to cradle your face, his touch impossibly gentle.
"can i..?" he whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips.
in answer, you rose up on your toes and closed the final, breathless inch between you.
the kiss was nothing like you'd imagined. it wasn't wild or desperate. it was soft. a little hesitant. a silent conversation of apology and promise, of past pain and future hope. you could taste the faint, metallic tang of blood from his split lip, a stark reminder of everything he'd endured, and it made the tenderness of the kiss all the more profound.
when you finally pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing a little raggedly.
"you're sure i'm what you want?" steve asked softly, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. you nodded, laughing breathlessly.
"no one's ever asked me that before, but yes. i've never been more sure. you are exactly what i want."
the words seemed to unlock something in him. the last vestige of tension drained from his shoulders, and the smile that spread across his face was so bright, so unguarded, it made your heart ache. it was a smile untouched by the bruises, a glimpse of the man he was underneath all the bravado and the pain.
"good," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. he leaned in and pressed another, firmer kiss to your lips, this one full of a quiet, certain joy. "because you're stuck with me now, henderson."
From the other side of the door, Dustin's voice echoed, loud and impatient. "GET OUT OF THERE! TIME'S UP, HARRINGTON, AND THERE BETTER BE NO HICKEYS!"
steve threw his head back and laughed, a real, full-bodied sound that made him wince and clutch his ribs, but he didn't stop. he was still chuckling as he pressed one last, quick kiss to your forehead.
"come on," he said, his voice warm with amusement. he kept a firm arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side as he opened the break room door. "duty calls."
you emerged back into the store to find dustin standing with his arms crossed, tapping his foot dramatically. steve's coworker, jon, was leaning on the counter, smirking.
"good." dustin announced to the empty store. "no hickeys. i'm both relieved and feeling respected."
steve rolled his good eye, but the smile never left his face. "what do you want next, henderson? a written report on the horror of premarital touching?"
"yes, actually. in triplicate." dustin pointed a finger at him. "but for now, you can start by explaining the thematic parallels between the thing and your current physical state."
as steve launched into a mock-serious, pain-filled analysis for your brother, you leaned against the counter next to jon.
he nudged you with his elbow, his voice a low whisper. "so. you and king steve. officially a thing?"
you watched steve, who was now letting dustin "examine" his black eye with a scientific intensity, patiently answering his ridiculous questions. your heart felt so full you thought it might burst.
"yeah," you said, a slow, sure smile spreading across your face. "we're a thing."
it wasn't a perfect, storybook ending. there were still bruises to heal and conversations to be had. but right there, in the fluorescent glow of family video, surrounded by your two favorite guys, it was better than perfect. it was real. and it was yours.
