celery and rosé

But something changed. Something inside you must have gained awareness at some point because you couldn’t not notice the way he stared at you when he thought you weren’t looking and how he was always the first to rush to your aid whenever you needed it.

Sure, maybe it was a result of overthinking. But you didn’t want to think it was.

Neither did he.

He knew, from the moment your gloved hand found his last February that it couldn’t be just by chance. It couldn’t be just a friendship. And he knew it wasn’t fair for you. He wasn’t good like you were.

But he would try to be.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎We were sitting down in a restaurant waiting for the check

Your first unofficial “date” was in April. It was raining cats and dogs outside, but Steve insisted that he didn’t want to pass up on your reservation at Enzo’s. He picked you up at 7 on the dot.

You ran from your door to his car laughing all the while, your slip dress drenched and your heels swinging in your hand. You got his seat wet.

But he didn’t care. He looked at you with so much love in his eyes and he couldn’t care less about his seats — you were so radiant and carefree and you didn’t give a damn that your dress was ruined from the rain. And you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Why hadn’t he realized it before?

Upon entry, the two of you were greeted with odd looks. Steve’s drenched jacket hung limply by his side thanks to serving as a makeshift umbrella as you ran from the street to the restaurant. It dripped on the floor and it dripped on your feet (not to mention your new shoes,) so you swatted Steve’s hand with the jacket away and he laughed. He laughed so loudly, so boisterously, that the live orchestra paused momentarily out of sheer confusion and other customers eyed the two of you warily.

It wasn’t even that funny in itself but, to Steve, it was — the world was a hundred times brighter when he was with you.

Your meal was decent. You sat in your booth, laughing and joking as you always did. You rated yours 3 stars and Steve rated his 4. You also rated his 4 stars because you ate more of it than of your own. He didn’t mind. And he was comfortable with you — you were his best friend and he was never more content than he was in that moment.

He watched you flag down the waiter and, in the sweetest voice he’d ever heard, asked for the check. When’d you get to be all sweet like that?

With your hair tucked behind your ear and the fairy lights strung on the wall reflecting in your warm eyes, Steve wondered to himself how you were real. How it was fair for you to be able to sit there and look so beautiful without even knowing. How his attention was ever on any other girl when you were there — right in front of him this whole time.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎We had made love earlier that day with no strings attached

He drove you home. The lights in your house were all off. Your parents weren’t there.

You asked him if he wanted to come in. He said yes, he’d love to.

And before you know it, you’re both naked in your bed with him on top of you, underneath you, inside you. He was all over you, invading your senses and capturing your heart with the hands you knew like they were your own. Were you dreaming?

Your fingers interlaced and he leaned down and kissed you sweetly, softly — but filled with years of yearning and heartache and, suddenly, he was yours and you were his. He kissed you until his lungs burned from lack of oxygen but he kissed you again because he could die happy as long as you were in his arms.

He pulled away to look at you, his hand cradling your cheek. He didn’t know how to verbalize how he felt.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎But I could tell that something had changed how you looked at me then

You lay with your duvet pulled up to your chest, basking in the blissful afterglow. He lay next to you, having dozed off moments ago. You couldn’t help but stare. You lucked out with him.

You tried so hard for the better portion of your time at high school to get him to notice you in the way that you wanted. You woke up at 6 in the morning to style your hair and to put a thick coat of mascara on your eyelashes and try on every outfit combination you could think of — and it was all for him.

So, when you hopped in his car and he said that he thought that your perfume smelled good or that your eyeshadow looked nice or that he liked the outfit you wore in particular, the feelings you harbored for him only blossomed further.

Because he saw you — he noticed you in a way that you didn’t know if anyone else did. Nobody else cared whether you wore pink or purple eyeshadow or if you wore a skirt or blue jeans. But Steve cared. He always cared. That’s what you loved about him.

When he woke up in the morning with your dormant body curled up against his, he could hardly contain the fondness that erupted in his heart. He stared at you. He felt like a creep, but he’d never seen you so peaceful and if he could pause time and live in this moment forever, he would.

You stirred and kissed him good morning and he could’ve sworn he almost passed out because he was just so enamored by you. He watched you get out of bed and you laughed when you realized you were still naked and he rushed to close your curtains — he knew your neighbors were nosy.

Together you made pancakes with blueberries because, as he knew, blueberries were your favorite fruit. He didn’t really like blueberries, though. Something about the spiky part on top and the slimy texture inside gave him the heebie-jeebies.

But he ate them because he knew you liked them.

How often is it that you get invited to the worst day of your life?

Cordially invited come to that, on pretty ivory stationary with flowing script and a polite ask that you promptly RSVP for the upcoming wedding of:

Lorraine Stevens and Javier Peña

July 8th, 1989, at 1 pm

Never before had a paper cut felt quite so deep. 

“You okay, hermanita?” Gabe had asked you in a quiet voice when he found you staring at the invitation an hour before the wedding, tacked up in its place of honor on the refrigerator, your eyes flipping between it and the adjacent calendar, checking and rechecking that the date was the same. 

You jumped at the sound of his voice, ran your hands down your front to smooth nonexistent wrinkles out of the pale pink monstrosity your mother had bought for you to wear. For God’s sake, it had a flower belt and puffed sleeves, and you were positive you had worn the same exact dress to your fifth birthday party.

“Yeah,” you tried to fix a smile to your face before turning to look at the youngest of your three older brothers. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He cocked an eyebrow at you in an expression that was utterly and completely Gabe before smiling and saying, “You look nice all dressed up.”

You rolled your eyes, every bit of your 14-year-old annoyance peeking through the veneer. “Come on, I look like a cupcake.”

“Who doesn’t love cupcakes?” he responded easily, before putting his arm around you and joining you in your analysis of the invitation. “Big day is here, huh?”

“Yeah…Don’t you think it seems really fast? It’s only been like a month since they got engaged.” You tried to keep your voice casual even as your fingers knit together in front of you. “Did you know he even had a girlfriend?”

Gabe shook his head. “No, but Javi hasn’t been around as much.”

It was true that the DEA had been keeping Javier busy, just like it was true that seeing less of him had done nothing to dim the soul-consuming crush you had on him, the very one making you feel like your heart was going to permanently shatter if you really had to watch him get married.

Not that you ever really thought it would be you. You knew that. You did. It was just that…

“Gabe, do you think…He’ll be happy, right? With her?”

Before he’d had a chance to respond, Aarón had strolled in, wearing a black suit that was almost identical to Gabe’s. Your mamá always did like her boys to match, despite the fact that they couldn’t be more different.

“Still a weird couple if you ask me,” Aarón interjected.

“Did anyone ask you though?” Gabe countered, but Aarón ignored him, fiddling with his cufflinks until you sighed and took over. 

“What do you mean by that?” you asked him, eyes on your task and still feigning only mild interest while you hung on every word. 

Fortunately, Aarón took you right up on the opportunity to take the floor. “Well, you know, Lorraine is…Lorraine.” 

You did know. Lorraine had been in the class below Aarón’s, had been the queen of her class just like your eldest brother had been the king of his. And while you had been too young to really witness her reign, Laredo was small enough that your paths had still frequently crossed, usually at one of her parents’ businesses in town.

She was always poised, pretty… blonde… perfect. So it wasn’t hard to see why Javier would be in a hurry to marry her. He deserved to have someone like that while you…well, you were none of those things. And you were still just a kid. 

Aarón gave you a small smile of gratitude after seeing his cufflinks were fastened before moving onto fixing his tie and saying, “And Javi is…come on.”

You gritted your teeth and glared at him before snapping, “He’s what?”

Aarón held up his hands in surrender. “Oh come on, Javi’s a nerd. Always has been. Just never would’ve pegged him ending up with Miss Laredo.”

“He’s not a nerd,” you bristled in his defense. “He’s smart. And he’s kind and he’s—”

The back door opened and closed, cutting you off as Eli walked down the hall and into the kitchen, clearly just back from the barn and covered in hay. “Sorry…” he said when he found three pairs of eyes on him, “just wanted to make sure that calf was still doing alright.”

“Which one?” Aarón asked, frowning, and Eli let slip a rare hint of exasperation when he answered, “The one that’s sick? The one I was up with all night?”

When Aarón still didn’t appear to know exactly which one Eli was talking about, Eli mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like “typical” before rushing off to get ready.

“Anyway…” Aarón went on, returning his attention from Eli’s retreating back, “I’m just surprised that she’d go for a guy like Javi.”

“Why? Because she should go for a guy like you?” Gabe challenged. 

Aarón smirked. “Not really my type. Lorraine has always had relationship written all over her. Plus, she made it pretty clear to more than one of the guys on my team that she was not looking to become a rancher’s wife. No, no, not Lorraine. She had a plan. Was bound for Dallas at the first opportunity.”

You considered this new bit of information. “But…Javier is a rancher.”

“Well he spends most of his time with the DEA now, right?” Gabe said, a small frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Like that’s better?” Aarón sneered. “These days Javi is either living at the office or out of the country on assignment. Chucho was telling mom that he could even get stationed somewhere for longer at some point. Hard to pack a picket fence in a suitcase.”

“Somewhere besides Laredo?” Your stomach sank. “Like somewhere dangerous?”

Gabe grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. “Hey, it’s like you said. Javi’s smart.”

Aarón shrugged, starting to grin. “Clearly…at least, smart enough to not wait for the shotgun to come out.”

You looked at him, confused, before turning to Gabe whose jaw had clenched tight just before he said, “You know, Aarón, for someone so self-obsessed, you sure know a lot about other people’s business.

Aarón rolled his eyes, still smiling and sweeping his loose curly hair back from his brow. “You know I’m right.”

“Wait,” you tried to get Aarón’s attention back, “what does that mea—”

“Is everyone ready?” your mamá’s voice rang out a moment before her heels hit the kitchen tile, and she looked from Aarón to Gabe. “Where’s Eli?”

“He just came in. He’ll be quick,” Aarón told her, and she sighed audibly before switching her attention to you. 

“Mija,” she said as she took in your appearance with a crease in her brow, “didn’t you have time to do your hair?”

You stood up straighter, looking sideways at your lightly curled hair as it fell over either shoulder. “I did do it.”

Your mom pressed her lips together, stepping forward to brush the offending hair back away from your face. “You don’t want to wear it up? It looks so pretty up.”

Her other hand unconsciously went to her own meticulously curled and pinned hairdo. Did yours look bad? You had thought it looked nice, the only part of your ensemble that actually felt like you. 

“Um, I mean, I can—”

“Mamá,” Gabe interrupted, “you put the present in the car, right? I can’t find it anywhere.”

She immediately spun to look at him, eyes widening. “No, Gabriel, I asked you to do that.”

His brow creased in confusion. “Hmmmm, weird…You’re sure you don’t have it?”

After a half hour and several near nervous breakdowns from your mother at the thought of showing up without a present, the box was located safe and sound in the trunk of the car right where Gabe suddenly remembered he had put it. Luckily by that time, Eli had also been dressed, so the six of you were at last able to pile into the Suburban and head to the church, your father’s favorite talk radio host blaring along as you went. 

You felt sick the whole way there, your mind spinning with the recurrent thought that this wasn’t right, that this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. And what had Aarón meant about a shotgun? Was Javier in trouble?

“I can’t believe we’re getting there so late. I hope we can still get a good seat,” your mother murmured to your father from the front passenger side while he patted her hand on the center console. “Do you think they’ll need help with anything?”

The answer was a definite “yes.”

“Eva,” Mrs. Diaz looked wild-eyed as she pulled your mother aside nearly the second you all had stepped inside the doors. “Eva, have you spoken to Javier? Or Chucho?”

Your mother frowned, gesturing for the rest of you to keep going, but no one moved. Not a chance. “No, not this morning. Why? What’s wrong?”

“He’s not here,” Mrs. Diaz kept her voice low as she scanned your brothers like one of them might turn out to be the man in question. And you could swear your heart stopped.

Similarly, your mother barely managed to hide the panic in her voice as she asked, “Who’s not?”

“The groom.” 

*****

Javier had stood in front of the mirror over his dresser as he’d slowly gotten ready. Pants, shirt, tie, suspenders, suit jacket, each piece settling heavier on his frame than the last, each piece feeling like it was wrapping tighter around him until by the time he was done he felt like he was suffocating. 

His fingers dug at the same knot in his tie that he’d just straightened as he tried to breathe, to think, but all he could hear was the conversation from last night. The one he’d had with Lorraine in the parking lot after the rehearsal, the last of the cars having been waved off with calls of “See you in the morning.”

“Hey, sorry, could we talk?” she had asked quietly, and Javier had paused opening the driver’s side door of his truck to turn back.

He had been so tired, a long day of answering questions, keeping his smile in place, and pushing down the rising anxiety in his gut making him feel drained, along with the knowledge that it would be even worse tomorrow. And wasn’t that a nice thought to have the night before his wedding? “Sure, everything alright?”

“I’ve been trying to get a minute to tell you today but it’s been so busy…” She had looked down at the gravel in the parking lot, playing with it with the tip of her polished heel, her blonde hair falling forward to hide her face. “I…um…I got my period yesterday.”

“Oh.” It had taken him a minute, far longer than it should have. Something she made apparent for him by looking up at him with raised eyebrows when he hadn’t yet managed to say anything else. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So…”

“Yeah.”

He had stood there waiting for it to sink in, unsure of how he felt. Relieved? Disappointed? Both? Was it okay to be both? 

It had taken the sight of Lorraine wrapping her arms tight around herself for him to snap out of it, cursing himself silently as he stepped forward and wrapped his own arms around her, too.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lorraine.” He gave her a gentle squeeze, his hand rubbing up and down her back. “Are you–How are you?”

She had rested her cheek lightly against his chest, still feeling a bit stiff in his arms. She always did, like she never trusted enough to fully lean on him. He had hoped with time…

“I’m sorry, too,” she muttered. “None of this has been how I pictured it, I guess…I guess I feel a bit relieved, you know?”

He’d nodded, his cheek brushing against her hair, the smell of hairspray overtaking her floral shampoo. “Yeah.”

“Maybe it’ll be better,” she’d went on, letting out a shaky exhale. “Because now we’ll just be able to focus on being married at first.”

He had tensed, threads of apprehension beginning to weave in with everything else. He wanted time to think about all of it all, but instead…Fuck, it was the night before the wedding, and they couldn’t. They couldn’t just pretend like this didn’t change things.

His silence had been enough to make her pull away from him, stare at him with anxious eyes. “Javi, I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t not get married now. Everything is done. It’s tomorrow. It’s too late. I can’t just–we can’t just…”

“Lorraine,” he had started, putting a hand out to gently rest on her upper arm. “You and I…we were doing this for a reason. And now…I know the timing is shit, but we need to think about this.”

It was supposed to have just been the one night, an alcohol-laced quickie in his truck after the two of them had gotten friendly chatting at the local bar a little over two months ago. Javier had come in looking to drown a bad day at work just like she’d come in looking to chase off the taste of a bad date. They’d sat next to one another in the dim light and the cigarette smoke, two strangers in a small town, who already knew everything about each other and who were debating learning a little bit more.

“Don’t you ever just want to get out of this town?” she’d asked him, her glass of white wine disappearing as quickly as the smile she’d had pasted on when she first came in.

His answer had been easy. “Every day of my life.”

“And here I thought we’d have nothing in common…”

Their relationship had never been meant to go beyond that. They’d known they were not a match for one another, known that they had nothing to offer the other apart from a bit of distraction. There’d been nothing to dance around, no question of if he should call her the next day or if she should invite him over for Sunday supper after church. The two of them hadn’t even exchanged numbers…so he’d been surprised when she had called him a few weeks later asking if he could come meet for another drink. Even more surprised when he’d ordered whiskey, and she’d ordered water.

Everything that came after had been…a rush. A montage in his mind of half-had conversations and too-rushed promises that had all led to them standing right there in that parking lot, staring down a future that no longer had a foundation.

“It’s too late, Javier. We have to go through with it now–What would people say?” 

He didn’t know. Frankly it was the least of his concerns given that he hadn’t even known what to say himself, how to soothe her as she fidgeted, her fingers playing with the cross she wore around her neck and her voice unsteady. 

“I can’t go home and tell my parents that it’s off. I can’t. I’d have to explain. I’d have to tell them everything. They can’t know.”

While she had spun out her racing thoughts, Javier had stared at the church, willing to look anywhere for answers, but it’d looked even more ominous in the dark than it had when they’d pulled up a few hours ago. 

Ever since his mamá passed…the only thing for him past those tall wooden doors was a grownup game of pretend. He should have expected this would be no different. 

“Lorraine, we need to at least delay it,” he had pleaded with her, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to relieve the pounding in his head. “Until we can really talk this out.”

“It'll be fine.” She had tossed her hair over her shoulders, sniffing back tears and carefully avoiding looking at him. “We’ll just…we’ll have to make it work.”

“Make it work? That’s what you want?” He knew it wasn’t what he wanted. He wasn’t so foolish as to believe he would ever find something like what his parents had but even so…he didn’t think he could live the lie, not well enough to be able to make her happy.

Lorraine had huffed, started fumbling in her purse for a cigarette and handed him one without asking. 

And wasn’t that the thing? That the fact that he would want one was one of the only things she knew about him? That after a couple months they still knew next to nothing about each other apart from the things that everyone else already did? That they were about to be kneeling at the altar when they should have still been sitting at the bar?

“No,” she responded, inhaling and blowing out a cloud of smoke as soon as she’d managed to get the thing lit. “It’s not what I want but it’s what will have to happen. I can’t call off our wedding, Javi. I just can’t.” She took another deep drag of her cigarette. “None of this is how it was supposed to go.”

“Lorraine.” He took a step towards her, put his hands on her shoulders to try to stop her shaking. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but us going through with this when neither of us…that can’t be the answer.”

They’d argued about it for over an hour, but she’d never budged, never seriously allowed consideration of delaying it let alone calling it off. 

“What would we even say, Javi? We’d have to explain. Everyone would find out. You don’t get it. My family would never…They would never forgive me, Javi.”

There was a soft knock on Javier’s door that stopped his pacing, his dad’s low voice calling his name. Javier crossed and opened the door, swung it wide before stepping back to his dresser. His fingers fumbled as he grabbed for his cufflinks, the small metal discs spinning out on the wood top.

Chucho lingered in the doorway, dressed and ready with his boutonniere already beginning to wilt in the heat on his left lapel. “Javi, you about ready? John’s out front.”

“Yeah, I just–” Javier ran his hand down his face. John was one of his friends from his time with the sheriff’s department, a meticulous, dedicated cop who of course would be right on time. “Sure, yeah.”

“Mijo,” his father did step into the room then, “you want to tell me what’s running through your mind?” 

Javier sat down on his bed, bent down for his dress shoes and started pulling them on, saying nothing.

“Javi…” His father’s warm baritone washed over him, and Javier’s chest felt like it was going to crack. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? 

“What do you want me to say, papá?” Javier forced out, his voice tight as he jerked the laces of his shoes even tighter.

“Well, it’s your wedding day.” His father said as if Javier needed a reminder. “I’d settle for you not looking like you’re headed for the noose.”

Javier’s teeth ground together so hard it hurt, and he stood, searching in vain for something else to occupy his hands, his time. But this was it. All he had left to do was go.

“Javi, I’m not trying to intrude in your life. I’ve kept my mouth shut about this over the past few weeks, because you’re a grown man and…son, just tell me is she…”

Javier looked at the floor, unable to face his dad. “No… She was, but…No.”

Chucho exhaled and came closer, his hand resting on Javier’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, mijo.”

“It’s fine.” Javier started moving again, slipping off his suit jacket so he didn’t sweat clean through it. “We should–We should go.”

He started to move for the door but his dad stepped into his path. “Javi, just stop for a second.”

“We need to go, Pop,” Javier repeated, starting to step around. He needed to go. He needed to just do this.

“Javi, stop.”

He did. Immediately. Even if he hadn’t heard his dad use that tone with him in at least ten years it was no less effective. Javier sighed, resigned to whatever lecture was coming. 

“Son, I know I don’t have to tell you life is hard but don’t make it harder by going through it with the wrong person.” His dad looked at him, stared right at him like he could hear every thought running through his head. “Do you love her?”

Javier knew the answer and so did his dad. “She’s a nice girl.”

Chucho shook his head. “I didn’t ask if she was nice. I asked if you loved her.”

The silence hung, so thick that it had its own presence in the room. “We need to go.”

“I know you think you’re making the right choice.” His dad put both his hands on Javier’s upper arms, a tight squeeze of reassurance before continuing, “You think you’re doing the right thing, but–”

“Not everyone gets what you had, okay?” Javier said softly. “It’ll be fine. I’ve thought about it. Spent all night thinking about it and…it’ll be fine. I made a promise and I need to see it through.”

His dad shook his head, his eyes sad. “I wish your mamá was here. She was always better at talking to you about this stuff.”

“What stuff? Me fucking up?” The words had come out sharper than he’d intended, but his dad hadn’t so much as flinched.

“No, you being such a damn bullhead that…” Chucho looks away for a moment before coming back to his son with an expression that had turned pleading, “Javi, if you go through with this, you won’t just screw up your life. You’ll screw up hers, too.” 

*****

The whispers were growing louder. An hour past the ceremony start time ticking by but feeling more like three.

Where is he?

You sat in your God awful dress in the church pew, the scratchy fabric and the nerves making you want to crawl out of your skin as Gabe sat on one side and Eli on the other. Your dad and Aarón were gone, sent to the Peña house to see if they were there while your mom tried to help manage things.

“Gabe, what do you think?” you asked him in a low hushed tone, not wanting the people behind or in front of you to overhear. Not that you were asking anything that they weren’t likely asking themselves.

Your brother shook his head slightly, keen eyes taking in all the activity. “I’m not sure. I can’t believe…it’s not like Javi to just not show. To his wedding?”

Eli leaned in enough to give your shoulder a small bump. “I’m sure there’s an explanation. If someone got hurt this morning, Chucho or Javi would’ve called. Maybe they just had car trouble.”

“Yeah…” you agreed, not believing it for a second. “Maybe, um…”

“Wait.” Gabe sat forward a little more. “Do you hear that?”

Shouting, muffled but clearly angry, yet indistinguishable beyond that reached your ears, and the listening silence inside the church rippled through the aisles and pews.

You shut your eyes and waited, and for a change, you actually prayed. 

Please let him be okay. Please. Just let him be okay.

You didn’t stop until the quiet returned and nearly another hour had passed, not until Lorraine’s mother came walking briskly up the center aisle.

*****

“You get the fuck out of here.”

“Mr. Stevens, please, could I just talk to her?” Javier stood just outside the church door, his entrance barred by Lorraine’s father. Javier understood. He would have done the same if it’d been him. If this was him…if he was in his position…he’d already be on the ground. “This is my fault. I just want to try to explain—”

Lorraine’s father exploded. “You think I’m going to give you a chance to do even more damage, you piece of shit? Absolutely not.”

“George,” Chucho tried, standing at Javier’s side, as his voice made an attempt at calm. “Don’t you think it’d be better if they got a chance to speak?”

The answer to that was a cold stare that Javier felt certain would have paired well with a rifle if only he’d had one handy. “He’s talked plenty. He talked her into this whole thing and now he’s just proving me right. I knew you weren’t good enough for my daughter. You don’t deserve her.”

“I know that,” Javier agreed. “I’m sorry. I thought I wanted to get married but I realize now….”

His excuse was flimsy at best and he knew it. Every one he’d come up with on the ride over had been as pathetic as the last, until he’d run out of time and a case of cold feet had seemed like the simplest way to put all the blame squarely on his own shoulders. Right where it belonged.

Lorraine’s father spit at Javier’s feet before issuing his last words as a warning. “So help me God, you better get the fuck out of town.”

He turned to go, the solid wood doors closing behind him with a resounding thud, and reflexively Javier started to go in after him. He needed to apologize to Lorraine at the very least. Shouldn’t he be the one to have to tell people the wedding was off? To face the crowd? 

Before he could take another step, Chucho grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “It’s time to go, Javi.”

*****

This hadn’t been what you wanted. 

Of all the ways you had pictured the wedding to go, the scenarios you’d hosted in your mind, the pages you’d devoted in your diary…this had never been one of them.

Lorraine’s mamá had been the one to tell the assembly that there would be no wedding, that she appreciated the support for her family but that everyone would need to head home. Now. 

Everyone knew better than to argue, but not well enough to save their open analysis for the car ride home, and it took longer than it should have for the whispering crowd to move into the bright light and heat of the parking lot. 

You, Gabe and Eli said nothing, a shocked hush blanketing the three of you until you made it out the doors and saw your father and Aarón just returning.

“What happened? Is it over?” Aarón asked, weaving in and out as he walked against the current. 

Gabe shrugged and waited until all of you stood close enough to allow you to keep your voices low before answering, “Oh, it’s over. The wedding is apparently off. Was Javi at the house?”

Your father shook his head. “No, they weren’t at the house. We figured we’d missed them and they’d be here.”

“Everyone to the car,” your mom’s voice called everyone to order as soon as she appeared, slipping out of the church doors and walking right past. You trailed after her and the rest of your family feeling…you were relieved but you also felt…Isn’t this what you had wanted? For him not to get married?

Not like this. 

Maybe it was just that you knew something was wrong. Something had to be wrong.

Just let him be okay. Please just let him be okay.

No one spoke until you were nearly all the way home, your mom telling your father that she would take the car and drive over to the Peñas’ to check on Javi and Chucho. As soon as she said it, your mind scrambled for an excuse to go, too, but came up empty.

What could you possibly do to help? God, you’d probably show up on his doorstep, and he’d just wonder what the hell you were doing there.

Your father nodded to show he heard her, his mouth set in a hard line in the rearview mirror. The same expression Aarón and Eli carried, while Gabe…he looked as lost in thought as you were. 

The car rolled to a stop a few minutes later, left running as all of you got out and headed inside. You were the only one to linger.

“Mamá, is Javier okay?” you asked before she had time to climb back into the driver’s side. 

She turned to look at you with a small frown, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I’m—I’m not sure.”

You nodded, a quick jerk of your head as you fought back tears, but she saw them anyway.

“Oh, mija, such a tender heart.” She gave you a quick hug. “Keep an eye on everyone for me will you. I’ll be back in a while.”

You only made it as far as the porch after she pulled away, stopping to sit on the top step with your head in your hands. Gabe joined you shortly after, his solid weight making the old wood creak as he sat next to you.

“I’m sure he had a good reason,” he said softly. “He wouldn’t just not show up.”

You leaned into him, letting your head rest on his shoulder as you stared out at the wide world. “Hey, Gabe, do you…do you ever want things you shouldn’t?”

His head tipped to the side to rest on top of yours. “All the time.”

*****

Javier’s hand shook as he poured himself another glass of whiskey nearly to the brim. Would have been if he hadn’t spilled there at the end. He grimaced at the wasted booze on the concrete, thinking of how he probably could have used it. 

The sliding glass door out to the patio opened behind him, and he didn’t turn to look until he heard the click, click, click of heels on hard ground and for one painfully brief moment he actually thought…

He stood when he saw his mother’s best friend Eva Rivera by the door, and he was swaying badly enough that he had to grip the back of his patio chair to stay upright. 

“Ma’am, I—” Fuck, was she spinning or just the room? 

“Javier Peña, sit down before you fall down,” she told him, hands on her hips as she came to stand in front of him. “You’re too big for me to pick up anymore.”

He blushed as he sat, not quite so drunk that he couldn’t still feel properly scolded. Fortunately, he could fix that. 

“Hey, I need that,” he grumbled when his glass was unceremoniously ripped from his hand before he could get it to his mouth. 

She shook her head at him before replacing his whiskey glass with water. “That you need. The whiskey…” She pilfered the bottle next, fimly putting the stopper back before tucking it out of sight behind the patio chair across from him and taking a seat herself. “You’ve had plenty.”

He slumped back in his seat. “Agree to disagree.”

She studied him from where she sat, the same all-seeing eye that his mother used to use on him, and he shifted under her analysis.

She sighed. “Javi, you want to tell me why I’m not watching you cut a cake right now?”

He shrugged, gave her what he felt was a convincing smile. “Just didn’t feel like getting married.”

She scoffed. “You have always been a terrible liar. Not to mention, had I not witnessed it myself, I never would have believed that Javier Peña would have left his bride at the altar like a coward.”

He winced, letting the censure run over him without argument. He deserved nothing less. In fact, he deserved a lot more. 

“Javi…” Her voice turned soft, comforting, and somehow that was worse. “What happened?”

“I told you,” he said, setting the water to the side of his chair. “Just didn’t feel like getting married so I said fuck it.”

She leaned forward, that look on him again that stared right into his soul. “I know that’s not true because I know your mamá raised a better man than that.”

His jaw clenched, biting back a tightness in his chest and his throat. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure she’d disown me after—ow.” 

The pain and the shock of having his right ear cuffed at nearly thirty years old was enough to sober him up just a bit. Too much. He eyed the whiskey where it was hidden behind her chair.

“Don’t you say that,” Eva told him, the emotion coloring her voice. “You know that’s not true. Your mamá would never turn her back on you, even if you’ve messed up.”

He rubbed his abused ear before settling his elbows on his knees and slumping forward. “Yeah, I know.”

She let him sit in it for a bit before asking again, “Javi, what happened today? Why didn’t you marry Lorraine?” 

He buried his head in his hands. “She’s better off.”

She seemed to consider that for a minute before finally asking, “Is she…Is she pregnant?”

Javier shook his head. “No.” She let out a sigh of relief before Javi tacked on. “Not anymore.”

“Oh, Javi…What–”

He waved a hand in her direction. “It’s alright. I probably wouldn’t have been good at it anyway. What with the job and…it’s better. Yeah, it’s better. It wouldn’t have been safe there. And now I can go and do what I need to do.” He stared out ahead of him and nodded at nothing. “Won’t have to break all my promises.”

“You can go?” She sounded confused. “Go where?”

Javier was dimly aware of the door opening again, his father’s unmistakable heavy steps, as he answered, “They’re going to station me in Colombia for a while, just keep me down there to work on the Escobar case.”

“Funny way of saying you volunteered,” came his dad’s voice from behind him.

Javier shrugged, picking up the water again and eyeing it suspiciously. “Seemed like the best option.”

“When was this?” Eva asked, standing again, and looking between him and Chucho.

“He called them as soon as he got home,” his dad explained, his voice gruff, “right before he started trying to drown himself in whiskey.”

Disappointment. Disapproval. Good. When people told him what an asshole his son was, he’d have a harder time arguing. Not that the old man wouldn’t still try. Obstinado.

“Javi, I don’t think you should make any hasty decisions right now,” Eva tried. “Give it some time. People will cool down. It’ll–”

Javier shook his head. “No, I need to go. And I will. Friday I’ll go down there and–”

“Friday?” She sounded genuinely distressed, and he knew…he knew it was probably guilt over some promise she’d made to his mom. Some vow to look after him. “Javi…for how long?”

But he’d made promises, too.

“Not sure…” He shrugged again. “Couple years maybe? How bad could it be?”

*****

How had it been months already?

It wasn’t as if you’d even seen him all that much before, and when you did he always seemed to be tucked into a corner, book in hand and face focused. Hiding even before he vanished from view.

Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay.

That’s what you’d asked for, what you’d prayed for…had you just not done it right?

You hadn’t wanted him to get married. You hadn’t wanted to watch the person that occupied so many of your dreams promise themselves to the type of person you could only dream of being but you also hadn’t wanted this.

Hadn’t wanted him gone less than a week after what you thought was the worst day of your life. It hadn’t been. 

The worst day had been the day he left, the day he’d stopped by on his way out of town to give your family a quick goodbye. A hug for your mamá. Handshakes for your father and each of your brothers and for you…

A quick pat on the arm and a “See ya, kid” as he’d turned to go.

By the time you’d answered the only thing left to hear it was the dust from the tires of his truck. “See ya.”

You lie on your bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, tears still tracking down your cheeks. One after another after another. You were mourning as if you’d lost something. Something that was never yours. Would never be. Why was he the one dream you couldn’t seem to let go of?

Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay.

Your right hand fell away from your chest to rest at your side, the tips of a newspaper brushing along your fingertips. You reached for it, raising it in front of you and scanning the same headline that had caught your attention at the breakfast table. 

107 Inmolados en el Aire

How was this okay? He was gone. He was in a warzone. People were dying, and he was right in the thick of it. He lived right in the thick of it.

Your mom had taken to lighting candles for Javier at mass, holding your hand as she closed her eyes and prayed. That was her vigil.

You swiped the tears away, clearing your vision so you could read, so you could search the words like you were searching through debris.

Steve froze in his tracks, gaze whipping over to her incredulously. “What?” 

“You heard me, dingus.” 

“You’re insane.” 

“Steve, you were literally just telling me yesterday about your date with Brenda tonight, and you just agreed to play soccer mom carting around a bunch of your kid friends, all because Y/N batted her eyes and said pretty please?” 

“We’re friends, Robin. That’s what friends do.” He replied with a shrug, but even that seemed forced. “Besides, I can just call Brenda and reschedule, no big deal. She’ll understand.” 

“I’m your friend too, and you wouldn’t even give me a ride home from school after band practice last week!” 

“That was different!” 

“Yeah, you’re not completely head over heels for me!” 

“Y’know what?” Steve huffed, grabbing the movie cart and pushing it away from Robin. “I have work to do. I don’t need this.” 

“Right, because you’re so hard at work reshelving tapes!” Robin called after him, to which he flipped her off behind his back.

Once Steve finished reshelving all the rewound tapes, he glanced back over at the counter to see if Robin was still behind it, and when he saw that she was helping an old lady in the far corner of the store, he hurried over to the phone, digging the scrap of paper that Brenda had given him out of his pocket and dialing her number. He drummed his fingers on the counter as it rang, trying to come up with a way to bail on their date at the last minute without seeming like a jackass. 

“Hello?” Brenda’s sickly sweet voice poured through the receiver, and Steve cringed. 

“Hey, Brenda, it’s Steve. Harrington.” He said weakly, twirling a pen between his fingers. 

“Steve, hi!” She sounded happy to hear from him. “I’m looking forward to our date tonight!” 

“Yeah! Um, about that…I hate to do this so last minute, but I just came down with the nastiest case of food poisoning, and I think we’re probably gonna have to take a raincheck on our date.” 

“Oh no, you poor baby!” Brenda cooed. “Of course we can reschedule, no problem! Whenever you’re feeling better, just give me a call.” 

“Thank you so much, Brenda, you’re a real saint!”

“Maybe I’ll swing by your place and bring you some soup?” 

“No!” Steve blurted, then let out a forced chuckle. “No, I mean, I think food poisoning is contagious, and I’d be so bummed if you came by and I gave it to you.” 

Brenda giggled, and he could just picture her twirling her permed blond hair around her finger like she always did around him. “You’re so thoughtful, Steve.” 

“That, I am.” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I, um, I’ve gotta go…y’know—I’ll just call you sometime, yeah?” 

“Feel better soon!” 

Steve mumbled out a ‘thank you’ before hanging up, ignoring the guilt pooling in his stomach and instead focusing on how happy you’d looked when he said he could give you and the boys a ride. 

“Does your ass ever get tired of all the shit that comes out of your mouth?” Robin asked innocently, pulling him out of his thoughts. Steve just flipped her off again on his way to the back room, where he collapsed into one of the flimsy plastic chairs with a heavy sigh. 

Robin was right, he was head over heels for you (but she didn’t need to know that). After Nancy, Steve didn’t think he’d ever be able to connect with anyone ever again. But then you came along with your bright smile and witty comebacks and how much you cared about your friends, and he fell hard and he fell fast. You’d ruined him for anyone else, in the best possible way. 

He’d been going on all these dates with different people, trying to find one person who he thought he could be happy with for once, but with every date he went on, his heart wasn’t in it. 

You had Steve Harrington wrapped around your finger, and you didn’t even know it. 

He’d do anything for you, so canceling a date that he didn’t even really want to go on was the least of his worries. Steve just hoped it didn’t end up backfiring on him in the future, because that would definitely not be a good look for him. 

-------

“You’re baking. You hate baking, why are you baking?” Your older sister, Callie, furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as soon as she walked into the kitchen, eyeing the mess of baking supplies on the counter with you in the middle of it all. 

You blew a stray piece of hair out of your face, hands too covered in sticky dough to touch anything else. “Cookies for Steve.” 

“Cookies for Steve,” She repeated, nodding slowly. “Why?” 

“Since someone,” You aimed a pointed look at her, “is taking the car tonight, he’s driving the boys and I to Lucas’ game.” 

“Is he now?” She hummed, smirking. 

See, what you didn't know was that Callie was friends with Brenda, the very same Brenda who was supposed to be going on a date with Steve tonight. Also the very same Brenda that had just called her sadly about Steve having food poisoning and canceling said date. Now hearing that he’d bailed on her to help you out, everything she’d been picking up on between you and Steve finally made sense. 

The way Steve always hung onto your every word, gazing stupidly at you when you weren’t looking. Every single time he’d gotten you something just because he thought you’d like it. How he’d show up at your house and watch god awful movies with you, and she could hear both your snorting laughters all throughout the night. 

And now this: Steve making up a bogus excuse to get out of a date all because you’d asked him for a favor. 

There was no mistaking it—Steve Harrington was in love with you. 

And you definitely felt the same way about him, because here you were, baking cookies for him like you were Betty Crocker despite your outspoken hatred for it. 

“So what’s the deal between you and Steve anyways?” Callie asked nonchalantly, reaching across the counter to snag a handful of chocolate chips and popping them in her mouth. 

“What deal?” You pulled open the oven to put the cookies inside to bake, setting a timer for ten minutes before turning back to her with furrowed brows to see that she was looking pointedly at you. “There is no deal with me and Steve, Cal, we’re friends. Friends help each other out.”  

“Right,” She dragged out the word amusedly, like she didn’t believe a word you were saying. “So you don’t like him? Like, like him like him?” 

“Me, like Steve?” You forced out a laugh, shaking your head. She nodded. “No, I don’t like him. Why are you asking?” 

“Oh, no reason.” 

“Weirdo.” 

“Says the one covered in flour,” Callie shot back, wrinkling her nose at you. “Don’t you have to go get ready or something?” 

One glance at the clock above the sink had you swearing like a sailor, because you now had less than an hour to clean up your mess, shower, get dressed, and let the cookies cool before Steve picked you up. 

“Can you help me clean up?” You yelped, scrambling out of your dusty apron and chucking it at Callie frantically, who dodged it with an indignant noise. 

“No, it’s your mess, you clean it!” 

You were already hurrying down the hall to your bedroom, but you managed to catch yourself on the doorway as you yelled back at her. “I’ll take your laundry duty for the next three weeks!” 

“Five!” 

“Deal!”

-------

Steve watched you leap down the steps outside your front door, smiling as you waved wildly at him on your way to his car. 

“Hi, Steve!” You chirped, sliding into the passenger seat smoothly. He nodded in acknowledgement, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel casually. “Thanks again for giving us a ride, I hope I didn’t crash any plans you might’ve had.” 

“Nah, no plans. And you don’t need to keep thanking me, I’m happy to help out,” He chuckled, pushing down the nagging feeling in his gut and pulling away from the curb smoothly. “Whatcha got there?”

You cracked open the plastic container on your lap with a sheepish smile. “Cookies. Made them as a thank you, but—” 

“Oh no, I’ll take that thank you,” He said quickly, opening his mouth without taking his eyes off the road. “Gimme one!” 

Popping a cookie into his mouth with a chuckle, you wiped your fingers on the collar of his jacket, listening to him groan about how this was his favorite one and how you’d ruined it. All you did was roll your eyes playfully, cranking up the radio to drown him out, but Steve switched gears right away, singing along horribly to every song that played—especially if he didn’t know the words. 

You couldn’t help but admire him from your side of the car, your eyes taking in every slope, curve, and contour of his face. From the sharp angle of his jaw to the curve of his pink lips; the scattering of freckles across his cheeks to the lines on his face that morphed into the cutest dimples whenever he smiled—in your eyes, everything about Steve Harrington was perfect. 

Sure, he could be a little dumb sometimes, but that was another one of the things you loved about him. 

And you did admit, the whole falling-for-your-best-friend thing wasn’t your smartest move, especially since that best friend was Steve freaking Harrington, who went on dates with different girls practically every other night and had a reputation for being quite the ladies’ man. You liked to think that he’d mellowed out since his King Steve days, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have Hawkins girls lined up out the door to get their share of him. 

You didn’t really have any right to feel the jealousy that you did every time Steve talked about how he went roller skating with Stacy from junior year trig, or went out for milkshakes with Carla from the girls’ volleyball team, but you couldn’t help it. Steve was out of your league, and there was nothing you could (or would) do about it. 

“Hey, you okay?” Steve’s voice drew you out of your thoughts, and you saw that he was looking over at you in slight concern. When he saw you refocus, he smiled softly. “There she is. I was starting to wonder if I’d have to steal another cookie myself.” 

“I, um, I’m good. I was just…thinking.” You mumbled, embarrassed at the thought of being caught thinking about Steve by Steve. 

“Thinking, huh? Care to share?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You teased, eyes glinting with amusement. 

“I would, actually. Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that mind of yours.” 

“Maybe another time, Harrington.” You giggled, offering out another cookie as a consolation prize that Steve plucked right out of your fingertips. The car slowed to a stop outside of Dustin’s house, where the curly haired boy was already waiting outside impatiently, brows furrowed in confusion at the sight of Steve’s car but hopping in nonetheless. “Hey, Dustin! Sorry we’re late.” 

“It’s fine, the game doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes,” He assured you, then turned right to Steve. “But what are you doing here? I thought you were going—” 

“We should really get going if we wanna pick up the rest of the gang and get to the game on time!” Steve interrupted forcibly, shooting Dustin a very pointed look in the rearview mirror. 

“But—” 

“All buckled in, Henderson?” Dustin nodded slowly. “Alright, time to go!” 

Without further ado, Steve pulled away from the curb, cranking the radio back up and leaving Dustin (and now you) confused.

The atmosphere of the car ride to pick up Mike and Will, then to the high school, was awkward to say the least. The boys were in the back whispering about something you couldn’t make out and glancing at you and Steve in the front seat, while Steve was significantly less chatty with you than he was before Dustin got into the car. As soon as the car was parked, the younger boys filed out of the backseat, barely nodding at Steve’s promise to meet back here after the game was over in case anyone got separated before hurrying off towards the gym. 

“I’m gonna say it because nobody else will, but what is wrong with those kids?” You asked incredulously, wrinkling your nose at how weird they were acting. 

Steve just chuckled nervously, falling into step with you as you made your way slowly to the gym as well. “I ask myself that everyday.” 

You noticed how Steve didn’t answer your question, but decided not to push in fear of making things more awkward than they already were now. The two of you made your way into the school in silence, passing off your tickets and finding an empty space midway up the wooden bleachers, an aisle away from the band. You caught Robin’s eye and waved at her excitedly, nudging Steve with your elbow for him to say hi too. He waved, purposely ignoring her smug gaze by focusing out on the cheerleading squad. 

“Has Robin made her move on Vickie yet?” Your voice was soft in Steve’s ear, but still made his breath catch in his chest at the fact that you were basically leaning against him to be heard in the loud gym. 

“She, uh—no, she hasn’t. Not that I know of.” He stuttered, gulping nervously. 

“I think they’d be good together.” 

“I keep telling her that, but she keeps pushing back,” Steve shrugged. “You should talk some sense into her.” 

You smiled at him, patting his shoulder. “I think I will. Maybe I’ll swing by Family Video tomorrow.” 

Right as Steve was about to respond, a shrill whistle from the referee signaled the start of the game, not leaving much room to discuss Plan Robin-gets-the-girl. 

You couldn’t help but touch Steve every time something big happened during the game, whether it was latching your arm around his during a particularly risky play, elbowing him playfully when he made a sarcastic remark about the players, or much to Steve’s dismay, smacking his shoulder roughly every time Lucas touched the ball, as if Steve wasn’t watching the exact same game you were. 

The final play of the game was by far the best, when Lucas hit a buzzer beating three to bring it all home, and you nearly knocked Steve over hugging him in excitement. He wrapped his arms around your waist, reciprocating your hug and taking it one step further by lifting you up off your feet for a few seconds. Your nose nudged against his hammering pulse point at that, which you just chalked up to the adrenaline of the game and not what it actually was—you throwing yourself into Steve’s arms without a care in the world. It made Steve’s heart hammer in his chest, so much so that he was still thinking about it as the crowd was filing out of the gym, the cool air doing wonders to sooth his flushed cheeks. 

You nudged his shoulder gently, shaking him out of his head. “So, what do you think? Think we got a shot at winning the championships this year?” 

“I’d say yeah, so long as Coach takes Sinclair off the bench and puts him in action.” 

“I bet you could put in a good word for him, King Steve,” You teased, letting out a shriek of laughter and dodging Steve’s hands when he lunged towards you in retaliation. 

“Get the hell back here, you little—” 

“Steve!” 

Steve stopped in his tracks at the sickeningly familiar, once sweet, now turned very, very angry, voice that rang out from behind him, sending his heart that was just swelling with happiness plummeting into his stomach. Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned around slowly to see none other than Brenda standing behind him, arms crossed over her chest and eyes glaring right at him whilst she snapped the pink bubble gum forcefully between her teeth. 

“Hey—hey, Brenda!” He cleared his throat awkwardly in a sad attempt to keep his voice steady. 

Shit, she looked mad. 

“That food poisoning really cleared up fast, didn’t it?” She deadpanned, and if her gaze were lasers, they’d be boring a hole right through his head right now. 

“Yeah, uh—about that, I’m really sorry,” Steve mumbled, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s not you, it’s me.” 

“Seriously? That’s the line you’re gonna use?” Brenda scoffed, rolling her eyes. “If you didn’t want to go out with me, you should’ve just said so instead of making up some bullshit excuse!” 

“I didn’t mean to, I just—it came out! I’m sorry, okay?” He blurted, realizing a split second after that he’d definitely just made things a whole lot worse. She looked about ready to rip his face off as she stalked towards him angrily. 

“It just came out???” She shrieked, eyes blazing with fury. “You’re an asshole and a coward, Steve, you know that?” 

“A coward?” He arched an eyebrow. Asshole, yeah, he could admit that much. But coward? That one threw him for a loop.

“You heard me.” 

“How am I—y’know what, I don’t even think I wanna know,” He shook his head, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Brenda. Truly, I really am. It was wrong of me to lie, and I apologize.” 

“Fuck you, Steve.” She snarled. Steve saw her hand go up, but he didn’t even register that she’d slapped him until a burning pain took over the entire left side of his face. Even then, he could only stand there in stunned silence as he watched her storm away from him.

Meanwhile, you were watching the whole thing from a few feet away, going through a myriad of emotions at their interaction and ending wide eyed in shock at the sight of Brenda slapping Steve clean across the face. 

“What the hell just happened?” You nearly collided with him as you rushed forward, your fingers instantly angling his chin towards you to assess the damage. An angry red hand imprint was already beginning to blossom across his cheek. 

He squinted with a scrunched nose, feeling his face grow hot in embarrassment. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.” 

“Steve, she just bitch slapped you across the face, that’s not nothing,” You pressed, dropping your hands to prop on your hips with a frown aimed up at him. “What was she talking about?”  

Steve blew out a heaving breath, backing up a few paces. Everything was blowing up in his face right now. “I lied earlier. I did have plans tonight. I was, uh, I was supposed to be coming to the game with Brenda…on a date.” 

“Steve, really?” You gasped, bringing your hands up to cover your mouth. “Oh, this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have—” 

“No! No, Y/N, this isn’t your fault. It’s mine, I should’ve said something.” He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “This is on me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had plans? I would’ve figured something else out.” 

Steve had two options. He could either use the same line about wanting to be a good friend that he used to justify his choice to Robin earlier, or he could man up and come clean, actually tell you why he dropped plans for you. Finally confess that he was in love with you. 

But the way you were looking at him, all confused and guilty and so beautifully conflicted at the same time, he couldn’t lie to you anymore. 

“I need to tell you something,” He blurted, getting the ball rolling so he wouldn’t chicken out. You tilted your head at him curiously, your expression inviting him to get what he needed to off his chest. Steve inhaled a sharp breath first, steeling his nerves. “The reason why I lied about my date, it’s—it’s the same reason why I keep going on so many dates.” 

“I’m not following…” 

“I go out on all these dates with all these different girls to distract me from the fact that there’s one girl who owns my heart. One girl that has me so wrapped around her finger that I’d do anything for her, no matter how big or small.”

“Steve,” You said softly, your breath hitching in your chest at the way he was stepping closer to you with every word with the most serious and the most nervous look you’d ever seen grace his face. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m in love with you, Y/N, so goddamn much that it hurts. I’ve been in love with you for…god, I don’t even know how long now,” Steve was nearly nose to nose with you now, taking your hand and placing it on his chest, right above his jackhammering heart. He didn’t care how many people were watching right now; he was on a roll and there was no way he was going to stop himself. Steve didn’t think he could even if he tried. “This heart is yours, Y/N L/N. It always has been, and it always will be.” 

You didn’t even realize there were tears rolling down your cheeks until the rough pads of Steve’s thumbs swiped under your eyes gently. “You’re crying. You’re—shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Then he was backing away quickly, hands trembling in uncertainty at your reaction to his confession, because shit, out of all the times he’d imagined this whole thing going down, not once did he expect you to start crying. 

It was damn near impossible for you to find the words to convey the knot of feelings pooling in your gut, so you did the next best thing that you could think of to make Steve understand that you loved him too. You surged forward before he could back off completely, body crashing against his and arms winding around his neck, and you kissed him. Hard. Lovingly, but yeah, still hard. 

Steve froze again for what seemed like the hundredth time today, his brain short-circuiting at what was happening at this very moment. You. Him. You were kissing him. In the middle of the parking lot. For pretty much all of Hawkins to see. 

Holy shit. 

You were kissing him.  

Kissing you was better than Steve had ever imagined—and he’d imagined it a lot. You tasted heavenly sweet, like the strawberry chapstick you always wore and the chocolate from the cookies you’d eaten earlier, and it made him weak in the knees. His hands were traveling up and down your back, resting at your waist, pulling you closer, moving like he didn't know what to do with them but didn't want to let you get away. Yours, on the other hand, stayed firmly planted in his hair, which—despite all the products that you'd always seen strewn across his bathroom counter at home—was surprisingly soft to the touch. 

It wasn’t until you heard a series of wolf whistles from passing students that you remembered you were in the middle of the parking lot, kissing Steve right out there in the open for everyone to see. And it was that thought that had you pulling away from his addicting lips, pressing your forehead against his as you tried to catch your breath after the kiss had pulled it out of both your chests. 

The world felt like it was spinning when you pulled away from him, like you’d just gotten drunk off his kiss, and you missed it already. 

“Whoa,” He panted, chest heaving. “What was—you…what was that?” 

You gnawed on your lower lip in contemplation, pondering how to word this in the best way. “In the car earlier, you said you wanted to know what I was thinking about.” 

“I remember.” 

“I was thinking about you.” 

“Me?” His voice was soft, honey brown eyes lighting up at your words. 

“Yeah, you. And how I’m in love with you too.” 

“You are?” 

“I love you, Steve Harrington.” 

Steve couldn’t help the dopey grin that stretched across his face at your words. “That—wow, that feels really good. Just hearing you say it.” He chuckled breathlessly, thumbing at your waist. “Can I kiss you again? Please?” 

“You can kiss me whenever you want.” 

“God, that’s even better.” 

He leaned in to kiss you again and you gladly reciprocated, subconsciously bringing your hand up to cup his face as he dipped you down slowly. As soon as your palm came in soft contact with his cheek, however, Steve hissed. “Ow, shit—” 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” You yelped, pulling away from him in a panic. “I forgot!” 

“No, it was worth it,” He groaned, wincing slightly as your fingers ghosted across the handprint across his cheek once more. “So worth it.” 

“We should probably get some ice on that.” You chuckled, lacing your fingers through his and tugging him towards the car, where Dustin and the rest of the boys were all waiting with crossed arms and smug ass smiles. 

“About high time you guys figured it out!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air exasperatedly. “God, I thought I was gonna have to confess for you, Steve.” 

“Shut it, Henderson,” Steve rolled his eyes, but was still smiling nonetheless whilst snaking his arm around your waist. “Get your asses in the car, I’m taking everyone home now.” 

“Why, so you can spend more time sucking face with your girlfriend?” teased Lucas, mimicking kissing the air childishly. 

“I’ll make you walk, Sinclair!” Lucas pushed past Will into the backseat without another word. “That’s what I thought.”

The rest of the boys were quick to follow, none of them wanting to make the trek all the way home in the dark. You just shook your head amusedly, climbing into the passenger seat. Steve immediately took your hand as soon as he slid into the driver’s seat, resting it on the gearshift with his on top, but not before pressing a kiss to your knuckles. And when you beamed at him lovingly, he couldn’t help it. He leaned over the center console, capturing your lips in a soft kiss without giving two shits about the noises of disgust and retching coming from the boys in the backseat at his lovesick actions. 

He’d left you on the narrow bench, rocking on the surface of Lovers Lake in darkness as Robin counted the seconds he’d been submerged, sounding like a ticking time bomb as you stared into the water, willing him to surface. 

When he eventually did, you didn’t anticipate him to be ripped from your grip so quickly, so easily. You’d heard him call out your name, voice shocked, just as he swallowed water and disappeared. 

The only person that seemed so shocked you’d immediately followed him, was Steve himself. Your jacket and any logic you’d had, had been left on the floor of the boat, your only thought being the safety of your best friend. 

“Shut up,” there still wasn't any bite to his words, his eyes flashing with worry and anger, and you could feel it roll off of him in waves, his hands shaking on you. 

Robin and Nancy exchanged a look, unsure if they should be helping or not, but god they were just as scared, eyes frantic, knowing all too well what else could come out from the vines and red mist of the upside down. So they stayed at the edges of you both, shoulder to shoulder and watching the tree line for monsters and nightmares. 

Steve sucked in his bottom lip, trying to stay calm despite the situation you were all in. He felt helpless, frantic at the sight of your blood and the way your eyes were turning a little unfocused. 

Dust and grey matter floated around you all, Eddie and the girls bathed in a dull, crimson light as they stared at you both, everyone with their own injuries. Cuts littered everyone’s skin, their clothes ripped, eyes wide, chests heaving. 

“You never listen to me, you never goddamn listen to me, I told you to stay in the boat!” Steve was rambling now, voice climbing a little higher in volume as the landscape around you roared and hissed with life. 

He stared at you, wide eyed. “Why d’you gotta be so fuckin’ stubborn, huh, sweetheart?”

“It’s been four years Harrington, that shit is on you if you think if I’m gonna start listening now.” 

Your eyes were closed, hiding from the pain or your best friend’s accusatory glare, you weren’t sure, but when you heard a small snort of laughter, you knew it was Robin. You opened one eye, peeking out from your lashes and you watched the girl shake her head when you winked at her. 

Steve was decidedly less amused. He was muttering to himself, completely ignoring your smart ass cracks but he winced and frowned every time you let a whimper of pain slip out. He felt sick, stomach rolling at the sight of your injuries, hating that you were hurt, mortified that it was because of him. 

You could feel his hands on you, pressure and something stung, something seared at your skin and you tried not to think about it, tried not to think about how it was almost Steve. You felt a little sick, the image of the boy in the ground with that thing wrapped around his neck, like something out of a horror movie, your own personal nightmare. 

It didn’t matter that you were hurt. You were fine. And Steve was safe. You’d slammed the bat with a broken oar, the wood rotting and damp in your hands and it left splinters and dirt in your palms. But you’d swung it almost mindlessly, panic in your chest that burned worse than the cuts and bites, because Steve had been choking. 

He whispered your name and it sounded like a prayer, like a cry for help and you immediately sobered when you pulled your gaze away from Robin and looked back at the boy. 

The smile slipped from your face and you realised you’d been slipping down further against skull rock, eyes lazy and unseeing as you let sleep pull at you. It all felt like a bad dream, a nightmare that nipped and sliced at your skin, razor sharp teeth gnawing at your bones until they burned. 

Steve was on the ground next to you, kneeling in the rocks and dirt as he crowded into you, hands pressing material onto your upper arm that you quickly realised Nancy had ripped from her shirt. 

His movements were clumsy and he was trying so hard to be gentle, to not hurt you anymore than you already were but his chest was heaving, his brown eyes were glassy. 

Nancy hovered, placing a hand on his shoulder before whispering, “Hey, why don’t you let me help her?“

But he was shaking his head furiously, eyes set on you, on the blood that was running down your arm, soaking into your shirt and turning the cotton a dark red. He was stubborn and determined, completely unaware of the tears that were making his vision blurry because his attention was solely set on you - the fact that he could feel you warm and moving under his palms was the only thing keeping him together. 

“Steve-” you began gently, voice breaking and wavering at the sight of him. 

Dirt and blood streaked the sides of his face and neck, an angry, red welt there that you knew you would stay for a while; a horrific reminder of what you had to watch. He blinked at your voice, hands pausing, chest wrecked and finally, a tear tracked its way down his cheek, cutting through the grime and landing on his lip. 

“I told you to stay on the boat,” he said again, but this time his voice was shot, cracking, splitting, shaking and he shuddered a little when he stole a gasp of air, his forearm swiping angrily across his lips, smearing tears and blood. 

You tried to move, groaning when you shifted closer to him, just an inch - it was all you could manage - but you caught his chin in your hand, eyes wide, fingers splayed across his cheek and jaw as you rubbed circles into his skin with your thumb. 

“I’m fine,” you whispered, trying with everything in you to soothe the boy, to bring back the same sarky attitude he had with you before. “I’m okay, I’m here and I know you hate me, I was just trying to-”

“I don’t hate you,” he scoffed and Steve was shaking his head, loosening your grasp on him and rocked back on his knees, staring at you with such guilt that it ruined you. 

 “I almost lost you,” Steve’s voice had risen again, his words biting and left hanging in the air and behind the anger, the frustration you could hear what was written in his eyes, what was making his chest heave. 

Fear. 

Behind you both, Nancy, Robin and Eddie shuffled, moving a few feet away to offer you what little privacy they could afford despite the overwhelming threat of god knows what. 

The Upside Down was still breathing with you all, it had its own heartbeat, a pulse underneath your feet that served as a constant reminder that you were being watched, tracked. 

Like something was waiting. 

But suddenly, there wasn’t anything more terrifying than watching Steve break apart in front of you, face damp with dirt, blood and tears, a pretty mess that you wanted to curl into, to ask ‘please take me home, it hurts.’

You sniffed instead, swallowed a gulp of air that tasted stale and like metal and you nodded, understanding. It took you a second but you moved to your knees, pulling yourself up gingerly with your hands gripping your best friend's sides. He was swearing, alarmed and annoyed that you were exerting yourself more than you should but you could feel the way his chest heaved underneath your touch, the way the air between you both crackled and roared with panic. 

Anxiety was rolling off of the boy in waves and you wanted to do what you couldn’t do before, you wanted to grab his hand and pull him back up. Out of the water, out of the dark and into the boat. 

Safe. 

Your hands found his face again, thumbs smoothing away the tears that streaked his cheeks and lip as you swayed into him, chests bumping and he caught you, hands wide across your ribs, his palms gingerly avoiding your wounds. 

“Steve,” you whispered, trying to sound stern, trying to cut through his panic but your voice was cracking too, his emotions seeping into your own chest, squeezing at your heart, “Steve, babe, hey.”

He blinked, focusing on you, eyes roaming desperately over your features and he let out a gasp of breath that sounded like a sigh of relief and as he leant into you, forehead brushing your own, he was mumbling, voice soft and a little broken. 

“I almost lost you,” he repeated, “you should’ve stayed on the boat, I thought I fucking lost you.”

“Shh, I know, it’s okay, I know,” you soothed him, eyes frantic as you scanned his face, watching how his strong features crumpled, like he was losing the strength that was holding him together. 

“I’m here, I’m okay,” you reminded him and you moved slowly and carefully into him, hands dragging from his cheeks and into the hair at the nape of his neck as you wound your arms around him. 

It took a second or two, maybe less, before Steve let himself return the touch, strong arms wrapping around your waist and you closed your eyes at the feel of it, not at all surprised to feel your own tears slipping down your cheeks, salt on your lips. 

The pain you felt from your bites and cuts disappeared at his embrace, just for a minute. It was enough to warm you, the cold damp from the lake still sticking to your clothes and skin, but the feel of Steve safe and solid against you made you feel like everything was okay. 

Somewhere in the distance, a creature roared and the boy’s hold on you tightened. 

“You think I’m that easy to get rid of, huh?” You tried to lighten your voice, soften your tone, and you pressed the words into the soft skin of the boy's neck, your lips moving against the curve of it in an almost kiss. “Someone’s gotta stick around and watch your dumb ass, you’d never get anything done without me.”

You felt Steve let out a huff of breath, hot air falling onto your cheek as he pressed himself into you and it sounded like a laugh, like relief and sunshine and safety. 

If you closed your eyes and played make believe, you could imagine you were in Steve’s bedroom, drunk after a stupid party and holding your best friend as you fell asleep, wishing and pretending it was something more. 

“I’m okay,” you told him again, voice a little firmer and he nodded against you, his breathing stuttering as you soothed a hand over his wild hair, trailing your palm across the back of his neck. “We’re okay, I’m not leaving. Not leaving you, promise.”

The feel of his lips pressed to your temple, white hot and burning your skin, told you that he believed you. 

—————

Going back to Steve’s house was the easiest option, for all of you. The home lay empty, free of worried parents, panicked questions, calls to the police that wouldn’t make any difference. 

You sat in the back of the car, pressed between Robin and Steve, ‘cause after the kids dropped you a lifeline from Eddie's trailer, you’d watched in surprise as Steve threw his car keys to the other boy, his hand tightly intertwined with your own and no one questioned it. 

He wasn’t letting go of you and nobody was going to make him. 

Dustin, Max and Lucas were in the trunk, quiet and wide eyes searching their older friends for some signs of reassurance. Nancy was up front with Eddie, talking softly about how everyone needed a hot shower and a good sleep, answering the questions that Dustin was asking, the younger boy’s voice worried and choked. 

You leaned into Steve, your cheek on his shoulder, his head resting on yours and every now and then, he’d run his thumb over the top of your hand, reassuring you and himself, that you were both still there. 

Eddie slowed and stopped at each house, dropping off the younger of the bunch and you all watched until they disappeared into the safety of their homes, one by one, waving before the doors closed. 

You weren’t sure who decided the five of you were staying at Steve’s, it could’ve been Nancy, maybe even Robin. But Steve hummed his agreement and Robin directed the other boy to the house, impressive as it was empty. The windows were dark, the driveway clear and when you all stepped out onto the front porch, you could smell the chlorine from the backyard pool, a false sense of summer and happy memories. 

It was easy to let Steve guide you to one of the bathrooms, Nancy and Eddie peeling off on the ground floor to find a shower and food, the kitchen lit up as the smaller girl busied herself at the oven, pressing buttons until it hummed to life and she searched the freezer drawers for pizzas and chicken nuggets, potato waffles and frozen fries, a late night dinner than Dustin would have envied. 

You could smell pepperoni and the coffee machine that Steve’s mom bought but never used groaned and clicked to life, but Steve still had his hand in yours, the other on the small of your back as he led you to the en-suite off of his bedroom, as if keeping you as close as possible to the things he held dear would keep you the safest. 

It was a little hazy as he pushed open the shower door, murmuring softly about water temperatures and left to right as he tapped the dials. You could only really nod, your grip on him still tight and you briefly wondered if you were able to let him go, if he was gonna be able to walk away from you. 

But then he was turning on the water for you, spray hitting against the tray and it immediately engulfed you both in warm steam, sticking to your skin and easing some of the tension you held in your bones. 

“I’ll be right back okay?” Steve told you, voice low and gentle as if he was worried he’d scare you. “I’m just gonna get you some clean clothes.” 

You nodded again and despite what he’d just told you, you were surprised when his hand slid from your own. You felt uneasy, alone, surrounded by the mist of the hot water but Steve kept the door open and you watched him as he busied himself at his drawers, pulling out shorts and shirts, discarding them on the floor until he found one he deemed comfortable enough for you. 

Slipping back into the small bathroom, he placed the clothes on the sink top and ducked his head a little to look at you, gazes meeting. You felt far away and somewhere in the back of your head, you wondered if this is what shock felt like. The humour and sarcasm that fuelled your experience in the Upside Down had long left, sinking away with the adrenaline that kept most of the pain at bay. 

But now your arm was aching and your mind was slower, foggier; and moving felt like running through water. Catching Steve’s gaze was the only thing that seemed to ground you then, one hand catching your chin and he lifted your face to look at him, eyes searching. 

“You okay?” He whispered it, as if he was terrified to hear the answer. 

You were ready to nod again, for a third time but he caught you, fingers smoothing your hair back from your eyes and he looked at you almost pleadingly when he asked, “please, sweetheart, lemme hear you? I need to know if you’re alright, yeah?”

Your throat felt dry but you licked your lips and swallowed, hand reaching up to where he held you, fingers wrapping around his wrist as if he was the only thing that was giving you the strength to still stand. You were so tired. 

“I’m okay,” you mumbled, voice cracking a little. “Exhausted.”

Steve nodded, a humourless smile on his lips and he pressed his forehead to yours, leaning down into you as you both sought out that little slice of home within a house that didn’t feel like it belonged to either of you. 

“What ‘bout you?” Your words were pushed into his top lip, barely grazing but he felt you, warm and soft in front of him. 

“Used to it,” he grimaced, chuckling when you rolled your eyes. He turned serious when he cupped the back of your neck, somehow bringing you impossibly closer. “Just please, please don’t do that again. Not for me.”

If you’d had the energy, you would’ve argued with him all night. You would’ve shoved at the boy, angry tears in your eyes, frustration biting at your skin before pulling him back into you and telling him how loved he was, how much you needed him. How you’d jump out of any boat, how you’d follow him to the ends of the earth if he needed your help. 

But the shower was still running and the room was filled with heat and steam, making your clothes stick to your skin, the dirt and blood still caking both your bodies slick and itchy. 

You didn’t know how to tell your best friend you loved him. How you were so in love with him that it hurt, it ached. It was a push and pull on your heart that you’d felt since you were fourteen, young and too dumb to understand that the boy next door was everything you ever needed. 

So instead, you moved away from him, leaning tiredly against the wall and letting the corners of your lips lift into a smile that held just the right amounts of fight and attitude. 

Your eyes were shining and you wondered if the boy looked hard enough, that he’d find all the love that you knew was held in your gaze. 

“We’ve been making bad decisions together since 1972, Harrington. I’m not gonna stop now,” you grinned and he huffed, an almost laugh you were sure. “If you’re gonna make it a habit of throwing yourself into lakes, you better sure as hell expect me to follow.”

And that was that. 

He nodded, pointing to the towels and backing towards the door. Your heart leapt, realising he was leaving you. 

“Towels are there, just shout if you need me, yeah?” Steve caught your gaze, watching the tension in your body that had returned, the lock of your shoulders, the square of your jaw. “I’m gonna be right outside sweetheart, I’m not leaving, promise.”

If his words seemed familiar, neither of you mentioned it and the door clicked softly as it shut, leaving you alone. 

Shedding your damp, dirty clothes made you feel a little better, the material pooling at your bare feet as you stepped out of them and into the shower. The hot spray stung at your cuts, bore down on your bones and made you ache in a new way, like you were being broken down and put back together again. 

You leaned your forehead against the cool tiles, watching as the dirt and blood from your skin swirled down the drain and when you finally turned the shower off, you could hear soft voices from Steve’s room, dulled by the closed door but drawers were opening and shutting, a sure sign that the rest of your friends were freshly washed and stealing clean clothes from the boy too. 

When you opened the door, Steve’s shirt was hanging to your knees, hiding the soft cotton shorts he’d given you and the boy was sitting on the edge of his bed, face still streaked with grime and blood, the cut on his brow and lip still angry. 

“You should’ve cleaned yourself up,” you told him, frowning as you stepped into the pool of soft light that came from his bedside lamp. It lit the room up in a warm glow, a welcome change from red skies and shadows. “You must be freezing.”

“I told you I wasn’t leaving,” he shrugged, eyes searching your upper arm for your injuries, for any signs of pain or discomfort. He nodded to your shoulder, “How’s the arm?”

You shrugged back, pushing one foot into the plush carpet as you tried to avoid his heavy gaze. It made you feel too warm, like you didn’t know what to do with yourself and before you could brush him off, before you could lie and say you were fine, Steve reached out to grasp your hand, pulling you towards him. 

He steadied you in the bracket of his spread legs, his knees on either side of your thighs and he still sat tall before you, his hands making quick work of softly pulling his sleeve up until it uncovered your upper bicep. 

He tutted, eyes soft and his thumbs made gentle work of turning your arm this way and that as he inspected the wound. It was smaller now that it was clean, the filth and dried blood that had coated it making it seem worse and angrier than it was. 

It still stung, a nip and prick on your skin when the cool air hit it but Steve pressed a quick kiss to the unmarred space below, a hot push of his lips that lit your body up, skin burning, eyes wide. 

“There,” he mumbled, voice thick and if you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn the highs of his cheeks were turning pink. “All better.”  

And shit, maybe it was. 

You ate with the others as Steve showered, the distant sound of the running water the only thing that soothed you enough and allowed you to swallow down a slice or two of pizza, a chicken nugget that you smothered in ketchup. When Steve finally joined you all, hair clean and damp, on end from where he’d run a towel through it, he frowned at your near empty plate and slid another slice on it when you weren’t looking.  

The five of you ate in silence, crowded around the breakfast bar, barely having the strength to pull out the stools as you all picked at the food Nancy made. You were all shoulder to shoulder, dressed in Steve’s clothes, sweatpants that hung off slim hips, shirts with too short sleeves and sweaters that hung off collar bones. Everyone smelled like apple shampoo, clean like body wash and laundry detergent, but the cuts were still on everyone’s skin, red and fresh, unable to be hidden. 

And when the plates were empty, Steve batted you away from gathering them all up, planning to take them to the sink. You’d wondered if you could scrub away the blood that was still embedded under your fingernails, and fuck, you wondered who’s it was. 

But Steve caught your hand, still gentle as he led you down the hall. Robin followed you both, passing Eddie as he threw himself onto a sofa, blanket in hand and shoving cushions under his head. Nancy disappeared, searching for the phone so she could call Jonathan, her eyes heavy with sleep. 

It was easy to let Steve cajole you into the guest room and you stood tired and heavy on your own feet as the boy busied himself with pulling back the heavy duvet, launching the ridiculous amount of throw pillows to the floor. 

Robin jumped in first, a noise of content purring at the back of her throat as she slipped between the sheets, head pushed into the plush pillow and her eyes fluttering closed. 

You turned to Steve, panic settling into your chest once more at the thought of him leaving, of him walking back down the hall and up the stairs to his own room, a walk that practically took him to the other side of the house. 

You wanted to ask him if you could stay with him, if he could take you by the hand again and lead you to his bed but you didn’t feel brave anymore, and he wasn’t asking you that question either. 

You stared at him, eyes searching and beneath the strands of hair that fell across his eyes, you could see that he looked as troubled about it as you felt. 

But he nodded to Robin, already half asleep and breathing softly. “You look after each other, yeah?” He tapped at your hand with his own, squeezing it briefly, a flash of warmth and comfort before he stepped back into the open door frame. “Come get me if you need anything, okay?”

You wanted to tell him to wait, to stop, to come back. You wanted to tell Steve that you needed him. But you were sure that if you parted your lips to speak, you’d only release the tears that were making your throat tight, your eyes sting. 

You felt too small, too fragile and you were desperate to say something, anything. Steve was looking at you as if he was hoping for the same, like he could burst with all the unsaid things that buzzed and fizzed in the air between you. 

But he wasn’t feeling all that brave either. Not right now. 

So you smiled, watery and nodded, moving backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed and Robin grumbled, reminding you both of her presence. 

“Night Harrington,” you whispered, throat tight, eyes glassy. 

You watched his neck bob and move as he swallowed, eyes holding just as much emotion as your own. He nodded too, willingly himself to back away from the door. 

“Night, sweetheart.”

———————

You tossed and turned for what seemed an age, Robin plastered up against your side and providing you with warmth and the soft sounds of snuffled breathing, her head pressed between her pillow and your shoulder. You wondered how she could sleep after the events that took place merely hours before, how the scrape across her cheek wasn’t stinging against the cotton. 

There wasn’t a clock in the room to tell you the time but the sky outside was still dark, then night unmoving and still despite all the things you knew that roamed under the earth, in the depths of lakes and between shadows. 

You were buzzing, an electric current that flowed through your body, keeping you awake and on edge. You wondered if it was residual adrenaline, maybe the looming threat of nightmares that promised to take you when you eventually closed your eyes. 

Maybe it was just Steve, only a few rooms away. 

The thought spurred you into action and with as much care as you could, you pulled away from Robin, smiling slightly when she mumbled her protests, still very much asleep. You pulled the duvet back over her as you slipped from the bed, toes pushed into the soft carpet and it softened your steps and as you headed for the door, leaving the room.

You could hear Eddie snoring from the couch, head tipped back and hair dripping messily over the arm, his lips parted, brow creased. You wondered how he’d coped with everything that had happened, how he’d managed to sleep so deeply so soon. He didn’t stir when you walked past, feet finding the stairs even in the dark, so very used to the house's layout after years of sneaking in and sneaking out. 

You stood outside Steve’s room for what seemed like too long, the minutes stretching in, the night barely moving around you. You had raised your hand to knock several times, chickening out everytime, just before your knuckles met the wood. You felt like your heart was in your throat, too hot and too much. 

You lifted your arm for the sixth time, chest hammering, stomach fluttering and before you could press your knuckles to the door, it opened, leaving you knocking on air before your gaze met Steve’s. 

You stilled, lips parted. 

The boy was shirtless, sleep mussed despite his eyes being bright and wide. He looked like he’d slept as much as you, hair misbehaving from where he’d dragged it across his pillows, seeking a comfortable spot that he could never find. His sweatpants hung low on his hips and there were some dinosaur themed plasters stuck haphazardly across his ribs, hiding cuts you never got a chance to care for. 

No one spoke. 

But you lowered your arm, wondering what you should say, wondering what he was still doing awake. Steve was looking at you like you were a dream, surprised and dazed, and he parted his lips to speak, stopping short when he realised he didn’t know what to say either.  

Briefly, you considered asking him if he was okay, but you knew the answer, could read it in the way he looked at you, the way he held himself. You thought about telling him you didn’t mean to wake him, that you were sorry and were going back to bed, but there was something in his gaze that had you rooted to the spot, chest warm, breath coming in harsh pants. 

The idea of telling him, your best friend, that you were in love with him, flickered through your mind and the mere thought of it made your tummy roll and dip. You shuffled from foot to foot, wondering if there was another way, if Steve could make it easy for you and read your mind instead. 

He whispered your name, a soft noise that sounded like a prayer, a question, a promise all at once. It had your eyes flying to his, gazes locked and something passed between you both, a silent answer, an understanding, a ‘oh, thank god.’

You moved at the same time, you think. A push and pull of two bodies, meeting in the middle, as natural as the tide. He found your hand between you both, grasping in the dark and he tugged you to him as you surged forward, a clash in his door frame, a heavy sigh, a blissed out swear. 

Your lips found his easily, his own searching for yours as one of his hands tucked itself across your jaw, fingers splayed messy across your cheekbone, his thumb pulling impatiently at your bottom lip, asking for you to give him more. 

You obliged immediately, the kiss deep and slow and languid. It filled your body with heat, it made your toes curl, it made you push yourself further into the boy until your grip on each other left crescent shaped moons on the other's skin, nails raking through hair, fingers pulling at clothes. 

You sighed into him, relief and wonder and Steve swallowed your sounds, groaning at your noises, at the way you were pulling him down to you, desperate for more, for everything, for all of it. 

For him. 

You barely registered moving, his hands cupping each side of your jaw as you stumbled together, chests meeting, feet clumsy as you moved into his room, Steve’s hand only leaving you to push the door shut before pressing you against it. 

You weren’t sure if it was the underlying threat of danger, of losing each other all night or simply the decade of growing up together, tension building, bodies blooming, curious stares that turned into lingering gazes over new milestones and hot Indiana summers. 

You weren’t sure why it felt the way it did, Steve’s lips on yours, his tongue licking into your mouth, his hands heavy and wandering, pulling up the hem of the shirt that he gave you palms seeking out smooth, bare skin. You had never had a chance to thread your fingers through his hair so roughly, tugging with confidence, as if you already knew he liked it. 

He did. 

You weren’t sure why it felt so familiar, so natural, like it was some cosmic event that was just waiting to happen, a comet waiting to fall, a star waiting to burst. 

His kiss felt like magic, like kismet, like home. 

Steve Harrington was mint chocolate chip ice cream, the smell of sunscreen and old arcades, cherry slurpees and Coca Cola, sleepovers on bedroom floors, bike rides without training wheels, first trips to the beach, old cassettes passed between classes, notes in your locker, smiley faces inked into the palm of your hand during lunch. 

He was a first crush, last love, favourite kiss, first good morning, last goodnight, twirling your fingers around the phone cord, late night chats, and sneaking through your window.  

He was picking you up. Breath heavy and chest heaving as you wrapped your legs around him, both oblivious to the aches and pains the press of your bodies brought you both. It all felt too good, too fucking good to let go of. You pressed closer, his hands under your ass, fingers digging into your flesh and your back was against the door, pushing your moans and sighs into each other's lips. 

It was too easy to fall into him, a lifetime of trust there as he smoothed a hand over your bare thigh, snuck his fingers under the hem of your shirt and swore at the discovery of more bare skin underneath, tracing the dips and curves of your body. 

The kiss slowed and stuttered, stopping as Steve pulled back just a fraction, just enough for his nose to graze against yours and he found your gaze, both of your eyes hooded and heavy, watching each other through your lashes. You were panting, chests pressed together and heaving, puffs of hot air brushing across the others lips. 

You thumbed at his cheek, an affection press of your fingers against his face and he turned, pushing a kiss into your palm that you wished you could peel away and keep forever. 

His eyes were still on you, searching for an answer, a question, maybe even regret. He didn’t find any of the latter and when he whispered your name, voice wrecked, you nodded, giving him everything he wanted to ask. 

You moved when Steve did, carrying you easily from your perch against the door and across his dark room, the only light coming from the split in the curtains, the open window letting in the summer air, still heavy in the night and the glow from the moon. 

He kicked a shoe out of the way, lips finding yours again as his knees hit the bed, bringing you both down until he pressed you into the mattress, sheets tangled and smelling of him. Steve moved over you, knee between your legs, hitched up into the apex of your thighs and you gasped at the friction, the solid weight of it pressed against you. 

His arms caged you in, his hands braced on either side of your head as he kept too much of his weight off of you, scared to go too fast too soon. But you let out a soft sound, a whine, a plea; and you reached for him, hand at the back of his neck as you dragged him back down to you, kiss messy and desperate. 

You felt like you were going to float away, like you’d open your eyes and you’d still be sitting in the barren landscape of another world, Steve in a chokehold and monsters clawing you apart. 

But Steve sighed, soft and pleading, your fingers diving into the hair at the nape of his neck and as you silently told him, more, harder, more, please. 

He took the hint, hands roaming, kisses turning heated, with more pressure and bite and the tears of build up burst for you both, an outpouring of crushes and tension, jealousy and what ifs, experiencing lust and falling in love. 

His hands found your sides, fingertips walking up the steps of your ribs before smoothing across your bare skin, nothing under his shirt. He grazed a thumb over your nipple, both of you groaning at the feel of it, a new shock of pleasure for you to share together. 

The boy pulled back, forehead against yours and eyes squeezed shut as if he was in pain, as if it was all too much. He spoke against your mouth, words rushing across the part in your lips and each syllable felt like another kiss. 

“Sweetheart, you gotta tell me if you wanna stop,” he was whispering, voice low and rushed, “I don’t wanna fuck this up, don’t wanna go too fast…”

You shook your head, back arching to press yourself along the length of him, hard against your bare thigh, Steve’s shorts rucked up to the highest point of your leg. 

“No, no,” you were panting, voice a high and a little desperate and you would’ve been embarrassed if he wasn’t looking at you like you were the entire fucking world. “Steve, please, please don’t stop.”

His lips came back down on yours at that, greedy and pushy, urging you to open for him and you did, easily, keening into him, legs spreading so he could fall into the cradle of your thighs. His hand still stroked over your skin, underneath the shirt, thumb circling over your breast, running down your side, lifting at the hem of your shorts. 

You felt dizzy. 

“Take it off,” you mumbled, your request mixed in with kisses, lips, teeth and tongue, but the boy got the hint, swearing as he pressed his mouth into your neck and leaned back enough to pull your top off of you. 

His lips parted at the sight, another sigh leaving him, eyes hooded and dark as he took you in. You gave him no time for recovery, wiggling prettily against his sheets and his body as you shuffled out of the shorts, dragging the material down your leg and kicking them away. 

Steve rocked back onto his knees, jaw slack, hair mussed from your hands and lips rosy from yours. He whispered your name, took his hand and dragged it from your knee to your thigh, gripping at the curves there, staring at how you put yourself on show for him. 

“Can I touch you?“ he asked, voice reverent, breaking halfway through his question, like he could barely keep himself together. 

You nodded, teeth biting into your bottom lip, body tensed in anticipation. 

“Words, sweetheart,” Steve reminded you, “c’mon.”

You gasped at the sensation of his fingers curling into your inner thigh, lifting your leg over his so he could prop you up and spread you out, eyes hungry and disbelieving. 

He felt like he was going insane. 

“Jesus, yes, Steve,” you groaned, a little impatient, your hands pulling at his, pushing them across the small curve of your tummy, down to where you were desperate. 

He fell apart when his fingers swept through you, cursing at how wet you were, telling you how soft you felt. He thumbed at your clit, quickly leaning down and pressing his lips back to yours when you keened loudly, your appreciation ringing out across the house. 

Steve kissed away the noise, soothed you down from your frantic reaction and he dipped a finger into you, groaning against you as he slipped one inside, a second joining quickly. 

You were overwhelmed, hands grabbing at his hair as he pressed open mouthed kisses to your jawline, smoothing his lips over your neck, sucking a bruise there, biting at the skin before running his tongue over the marks he made. 

You were pushing at the waistband of his sweatpants, grinding down against his hand, his fingers moving a little faster as they brought you to the edge, far too quickly. 

“Easy, easy,” he soothed, voice hushed, eyes lit up at how you responded to him, “I got you babe, c’mon.”

But you shook your head, hands desperate as they dove beneath the cotton of his trousers, finding him hard and heavy for you, Steve swearing profusely as you pumped him once, twice, in your hand. 

“Not yet,” you told him, voice shaking, eyes glassy, “want you.”

You heard his breath stutter, his fingers slipping from you, only to glide over your clit again, pressure building at each stroke. You whimpered, grip tightening around him and thumb swiping at his head. 

He looked like he was unravelling. 

“You gotta stop, I’m not gonna last long,” Steve murmured, voice gone, rough and hoarse. He licked his lips, looking down at you as he ran his hands up your body, gripping you at the waist and pulling you into him. “Not with you, not when you look like that.”

But you were desperate, needing to feel him, over you, on you, in you. Maybe it was the way you were looking at him, bottom lip jutted, eyes glassy, skin still marked up from your cuts and his teeth. Maybe it was when you pulled him down into you, lips at his ear telling him, “I’m already close too.”

He gave into you. You made it easy. 

His sweatpants hit his bedroom floor, a soft thud against the drawers of his dresser, neither of you looking to see where they landed. His lips were on you again, body flush, skin warm and Steve was mouthing at your jaw, your neck as you tilted your head back, giving him everything he wanted. 

You brought your knees up to his sides, caging him and he crowded into you, one forearm on the pillow by your head, holding himself over you as the other smoothed over your cheek, into your hair and you communicated through soft gazes and parted lips, a tilt of your head, a hand on his chest, as he pushed into you.

It took everything you had not to moan too loud, biting down on the muscles of Steve’s shoulder instead, the boy sighing, muscles taught, staying still. He gave you both a minute, his hand dropping to your waist, the curve of your ass before lighting up your skin, trailing fire down your thigh and hooking his fingers underneath your knee. He hitched your leg to his side, thigh pulled high as he opened you for him, the slick slid of both of you making it easier to move. 

Steve set a slow pace, agonising as it was amazing, both of you blissed out and lips parted, the summer air painting a sheen over your skin, stray hairs stuck to flushed cheeks, eyes heavy and hooded.  He moved over you like he’d done it before, head bent, lips brushing almost lazy against your own, as if kissing you was already second nature, as if he should’ve been doing this all along. 

You bit back a sound, a tight huff that made Steve snap his hips, making both of you stutter and swear. You could tell the boy was growing impatient, tightly wound and ready to snap but he was holding back, holding on, waiting for you. 

Pushing yourself up, you grabbed at him, hands slick on his skin as you gripped his shoulders and he got the hint, lips curling into a smile that made your heart thump and he grabbed at your ass, rocking back onto his knees until you were seated on top of him.

He took the chance to push your hair back from your face, kiss you slow and deep, hands squeezing at your ass, sliding over the small of your back as he held you to him and you couldn’t help it anymore, couldn’t wait, couldn’t stop. Not when he felt so deep, so good.

You rolled your hips, gasping when the movement caught him off guard, made him bite down on your bottom lip. He hissed, eyes wide as he looked down between your bodies, watching your hips move over him, rocking, grinding and taking him in over and over again.

“Jesus christ,” he whispered and he sounded fervent, voice swallowed by the whimpers and moans that fell from your mouth. “Fuck, you’re too pretty, too much,” he puncuated each word with a press of his lips, pushing kisses to your cheeks, you jaw, your neck and shoulders. “You close?” Steve asked, mouth agape as you started to move quicker, hips stuttering with impatience and greed and you almost sobbed when he clutched at your tighter, one arm around your waist as he helped you move, leaning you back as he thrust into you, his other hand dropping between you, thumb rubbing tight circles over you. 

You hummed, nodding frantically, hands grasping at his broad shoulders, his neck, crying out as you tightened around him and Steve swore, head tilted back and eyes clenched shut at the sensation. He gathered you to him, arms wrapped around you and he let you both fall back into the mess of sheets and pillows, hand out to catch you both as he moved another once, twice, three times, into you, hips stuttering, all rhythm lost. 

He fell when you did, eyes shut, stars blinking behind lids, the world warm and hazy. You clutched at each other, hand petting and soothing over damp skin and smoothing back hair, mouths panting out hot air into the crook of the other’s neck. You pressed kisses to his jaw, stubble rasping over your cheeks in a way that you decided you loved, skin flushed and sticky.

It took a second or two, before Steve realised you were both shaking, limbs liquid, voices gone. Carefully, as not to hurt you, he pulled back, slipping out from between your legs and you exhaled at the loss, hands reaching out to him in the dark and he found your fingers, twisting them between your own as he fell onto the bed beside you, chest still heaving. 

You wondered when it would feel awkward, if at all. If the inevitable moment of regret would hit, a common feeling after having sex with your best friend, you were sure. But it never came, the moment stayed warm, familiar, safe. Steve turned to you, slipping the sheets over both of you, pressing a kiss to your palm and pulling you into the heat of his chest. 

You fit just under his chin, the perfect height to place your lips on his collar bone, dropping kisses along the line of it, legs tangled.

“I feel like this is normally the part when one of us says we’ll need to talk about this, y’know?” Steve murmured, his lips pressed to the crown of your head. His thumb soothed over your ribs, dancing across your skin in a way that made you feel heavy, melting into him. “But I get the feeling that you might feel the same way I do.”

The boy’s voice cracked a little at that, and he cleared his throat, ducking his head into you as if he was scared to see your reaction, as if you were ever going to tell him he’d got the wrong idea. 

You hummed, a soft noise of agreement and you pulled back a little in his arms, just enough where you could nudge at his nose with your own, silently asking him to meet your gaze. You found his eyes, brown and warm like honey, but looking so conflicted, so unsure.

You brushed your nose against his again, once, twice, soft, slow. 

“Would it help if I said it first?” You asked quietly. 

Steve didn’t reply but you felt him hold his breath, his chest still and tight against yours, both of you still bare, warmed by the other, slick from sex. You continued despite his silence, knowing the boy well enough by now that despite the bravado and confidence he had throughout high school, he was fucking terrifed of what could possibly be rejection.

You saw him swallow hard, adam’s apple bobbing and if you didn’t know the boy any better you might have laughed. ‘Cause you were naked and in his arms, your bare chest pressed against his, his leg wedged between your naked thighs and you’d jumped off a boat for him earlier, swam to another dimension to save his life.

But it was Steve, the boy whose family left him alone, the boy who looked after everyone before himself. So you shifted from his arms, catching the way his eyes widened in panic, as if you were going to get dressed and hightail it out of his bedroom window. 

You soothed him, hand stroking over his cheek and you smiled when he realised your intentions, crawling over his body and settling yourself onto his lap again. Your thighs spread themselves over his, leaning down and into him as he propped himself against the messy pile of pillows at his headboard. 

His palms smoothed over your thighs, a solid and warm weight that gave you more comfort than he knew, making you feel a little braver as you crowded into him, hands pushing back his wild hair, nose bumping against his.

You cradled his face, hands on the strong line of his jaw, tilting his head for him as you brought your lips back to his, a soft press of your lips that turned into a demanding kiss,  a little force and heat behind it as you wished and prayed for him to feel the way you did for him. You left him breathless, a mess underneath you, hands gripping your legs, lips parted, eyes wide.

You smiled.

“Hey, Harrington?” You whispered, lips brushing over his in an almost kiss that he tried to chase. He hummed at you, answering without words. “I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified, to be honest.”

It felt a lot like saying I love you, and Steve must’ve understood cause he gaped at you, brown eyes shining in the dark and he brought his arms around you, pulling you down and into him in a hug that engulfed you.

He spoke into your hair, eyes closed and the dark of the night making him feel brave. “Fuck, yeah, same.” He cleared his throat, voice thick, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you started, voice quiet and small and the boy was quick to bring your face to his, eyes serious when he interrupted.

“You won’t,” he choked out, “shit, sweetheart, you could never.”

“Yeah?” You sniffed, eyes glassy and god, you were overwhelmed. By the night, by Steve, by his lips, his bed, his body against yours. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

———————

No one said anything the next morning. 

Not Robin when she woke up in the guest room alone, your pillow cold. Not Nancy when she passed you both leaving Steve’s room as she left the bathroom, his shirt swallowing your frame, your shorts on his bedroom floor. 

She had smiled at you both, knowing, looking at your sleep mussed hair, soft smiles and marked up neck, Steve’s hand on the small of your back as he led you downstairs. Eddie followed your joined hands from where he was still sprawled across the couch, chest bare, rings glinting in the morning light. He grinned, laughing quietly when he caught Robin’s eye behind you both, shrugging when she shushed him. 

It felt like a new day, a fresh start, a second chance. 

The idea of defeating whatever this monster was, working out what it was that he wanted with you all, keeping the kids safe, helping your friends. It all felt a little less impossible than the day before. Your arm still stung, a dull ache that reminded you of the fights that had already been lost, but Steve was pressed against your back as you cracked some eggs into a pan, a breakfast for all of you, his arms around your waist and his chin resting on top of your head.

It was an almost rhetorical question. Steve knew you would, you always did. There was one of his old basketball shirts balled up under the pillow he knew you liked best, waiting for you since you wore it last weekend, vodka drunk and clutching Robin as Steve steered you home to his. 

And besides, you were there with him, on the sidewalk in front of his empty house, breath stuck in your chest ‘cause, oh my god, you told your best friend you were jealous of a girl he was with. 

You didn’t know what to say. You knew the boy was simply checking, wondering if the fresh air had changed your mind, had woken you up and made you regret what you’d said when your head had been filled with smoke and bass, tequila on your tongue and a little green monster on your back. 

It’s probably why he looked nervous, eyes low, lips a little twisted at the side as if he was preparing for rejection. 

But you nodded, leaning lazy against the frame of his porch as he fumbled with the front lock. The night had become warmer, or maybe it was just you, but tension fizzed in the soft breeze and heat gathered on your skin, like the entire town was warning you of a storm brewing. 

It felt like something big was about to happen. Something astronomic, something dangerous. 

You walked into the dark house when the lock finally clicked, Steve holding the door open for you as he always did, taking his time to put the deadbolt back on, a habit over the years. 

Your legs took you to the kitchen, normal routine after a party. You’d normally raid the Harrington’s fridge, scalding yourself on the oven door as you fished out almost burnt pizzas and sharing slices with Steve. 

But you stood at the countertop, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and waited for Steve to follow. You heard his shoes hit the floor, one by one before the shuffle of his jacket sliding off his shoulders. When he finally emerged into the room, he flicked the light that hung over the dining table, soft and low, and far away enough from you that it didn’t hurt your eyes. 

The entire room was cast in a glow, Mrs Harrington’s love for anything crystal making the lightshade throw reflections across the kitchen, the tiles, Steve’s face. 

You swallowed, hard. 

His hand found yours, pulling at it from where it was twisted in your shirt sleeve until he could twine his fingers with yours. The boy used it to guide you into him a little, your back still pressed against the counter top and although you’d been wrapped around him not even an hour ago at the party, this felt different. 

Intimate, altering. 

His other hand caught your chin, lips parting at the sudden touch of him and you obeyed easily when he tilted it up, silently asking you to look at him. Everything about Steve oozed confidence, it always had, and despite the way he put his hands on you, gentle but a little domineering, there was a softness in his eyes that told you he was holding onto some doubt. It flickered there, buried in the warm brown, honey and golden, and it made you soften against him. 

His fingers spanned the length of your jaw, reaching to the highest point of your cheekbone and his thumb bumped at the corner of your lips, a touch that sent a shock through you, and briefly, you wondered if that storm you thought you felt outside had arrived. 

Steve’s voice was hoarse when he spoke, rough with nerves and the leftover silence you had both walked home in but he murmured to you, eyes trained on your own. 

“Did you mean what you said?”

An exhale, an inhale, yours or his you didn’t know. You were close, so much closer now. You didn’t know when your other hand had reached up to clutch at him, his shirt fisted in your hand as if he was the only thing grounding you, as if you had to make sure this was real. 

It didn’t feel like a game, like flirting gone too far. You’d toed the line with Steve many times, usually when one or both of you were tipsy, a little high and seeking affection. Sometimes it was a battle, quick words and smart ass comebacks on sharp tongues that eventually turned to teasing, raised brows, tongues pressed against teeth and eyes that gave away too much. 

‘Cause this was Steve Harrington. Best friend of ten years, professional piggyback giver, part time babysitter and the only person in this godforsaken town that could call you ‘sweetheart’ and not receive a kick to the shins. 

You didn’t wanna ruin that. You couldn’t handle that being taken away. 

He saw your doubt too, the nerves. He saw right through you, always had. The boy could read you like a book and it was as infuriating as it was helpful. He gave you the nudge that you needed, his knees bending a little so he could bring his face level with your own, noses so close to brushing together. His gaze was liquid gold, buried treasure under sand, full of promise. 

“Cause if you did, just say it. Say you want me,” Steve let out a huff of breath, as if even saying the words out loud affected him more than they should, like he wasn’t supposed to admit to it. “And I’m yours.”

His admission hit you in the chest like a good old fashion sucker punch, flooding you with heat and something else you didn’t quite understand yet. You weren’t sure what he meant, not fully, but with the way your best friend was looking at you, you didn’t think this was the time for a talk about labels and what ifs. 

You thought about the girl, the one with the pink lips and permed hair, perky and pretty and all over Steve. You thought about the way it made your chest hurt, like it cracked you down the middle and made your heart ache. You wondered if you could make it feel better, if you could fix it. 

You didn’t answer, not really, not properly. You just used what was left of your liquid courage to push yourself up onto your toes, hand still curled into the neck of Steve’s shirt as you pulled him to you. 

You kissed him with more authority than you thought you owned, more than you should’ve considering your lack of experience with boys but the answering moan from Steve filled you with confidence, lips moving over his, chasing the taste of red vines and cheap beer. 

And as his hand pushed at the material of your shirt, tucking it up and out of his way so his palm could slide against your bare waist, you wondered how any decision that felt so good could possibly be bad. 

The push and pull of it made your body fizz, a buzz in your chest that felt better than any high and a sigh escaped you, soft and a little desperate. You felt the boy's thumb at the corner of your mouth again, bossy as it tugged on your bottom lip, asking you to open. 

Honestly, it was everything you expected from him. . 

Hands rough, touch soft, lips impatient and greedy, like you were the last spoonful of ice cream. He chased your kiss, groaning when you parted your lips for him, pushing up and into him a little more. You took what he gave you, handed it right back, hot and heavy. Despite this being your first kiss with Steve, you were used to this dynamic, his touch, the way you felt safe beside him. Your heart still hammered, but there was a comfort in the rhythmic beat of it, your own personal soundtrack to the way he kissed the breath from you. 

You weren’t sure who moved first, you just know it was a little clumsy, bodies swaying, legs tangled, dancing across the tiles and lit by low lamps and the moon. Steve was still bending down for you, lips still joined, hands roaming but he gave up when you both bumped into a bar stool, the harsh squeak the only other sound next to your harsh pants. 

He gathered you to him then, closer than before, hands around your waist so he could pull you up against him, walking you backwards on the tips of your toes as you leant into him, arms looped around his neck. 

You made a stop against the doorframe, your back against it as he crowded you, kiss deepening and hands getting bolder. Steve snuck the flat of his palm higher up your shirt, warm and smooth along the side of your ribs until his fingers grazed at the band of your bra, lace under his touch. 

He groaned when you gasped, lips stuttering over yours as he pulled away just enough to mumble against your mouth, “god, you make the prettiest sounds.”

And then you were tumbling through the hallway again, tripping over the shoes you had both abandoned and Steve paused at the stairs before deciding the climb to his bedroom didn’t allow him to keep kissing you and fuck, well, that just wouldn’t do. 

So you both headed for the lounge, a room that was showcased by a large archway, and it held a huge fireplace and squishy sofas, everything surrounded by marble and wood panelling. You had never been in that room, had only ever seen it used at Christmas time, but when Steve led you to the forest green sofa, you happily let him pull you down onto it, and suddenly it was your favourite place in the whole damn house. 

“Steve,” you whispered his name into the kiss, voice husky and you felt the boy shift underneath you at the sound. “Fuck, please I-”

“Tell me,” his voice was throaty, like sex and excitement, and he pulled you further into his lap, legs splayed on either of his and his chest heaved at the sight of your dress pushed up your thighs. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give you it sweetheart, I swear.”

His words were too much for you and you moaned, noses bumping as you surged back into him, a little messy, the kiss hot and deep. Your hands found his hair, fingers scraping into it from the nape of his neck and you gripped the ends, tugging a little. 

The response you got was overwhelming, a roll of his hips under yours, the thud of his head as it fell back and hit the wall behind him. The dirty groan that broke your kiss, chest vibrating beneath you. You pulled back, staring, lips parted. His eyes were wild as he gazed up at you from under thick lashes, jaw slack and lips rosy from your lip balm. 

His hands had found your hips, dipping into the curve there before running over your thighs, toying with the hem of your pretty, green dress. 

“Did you like that?” You whispered and you wished you could say you were teasing, taunting him but god, you were so genuine, so in awe of having that sort of effect on the boy. 

Steve nodded, swallowing hard and he sucked in a breath, eyes still dark on you. 

“Do it again.“

You shivered but ran your hands deeper into his hair, pulling a little more than you did before and you were rewarded with another low groan, the sweetest sound falling from his lips. 

You couldn’t help the way your hips rocked, forehead touching Steve’s, barely kissing but lips brushing over his and you were both losing it a little, panting hot air into each other’s mouths. 

He whispered your name and you swore you’d never heard it sound so good. Steve made it sound like sin. 

“Please babe, shit, what do you want, huh?” His mouth was back on yours, kisses longer, more drawn out the messier they got, as if he couldn’t bear not to taste you. “Tell me what you want.”

You knew he’d do anything for you, give you anything what you wanted, what you asked for. Steve Harrington had spent a decade proving that he would, from late night car rides, your favourite cherry slurpees and walks home from dates that never worked out. If he told you he wanted to give you the world, you would’ve believed him. If you asked him to stop, mid kiss, dress messy and rucked up your thighs, he would. 

But he didn’t expect you to say what you did. A request that left him breathless, his jeans tighter than he thought possible, mouth dry. 

“I wanna touch you,” you told him, voice quiet and shy ‘cause there was a flush of warmth there, embarrassment lingering where excitement should’ve been. 

“Holy shit,” his reply was a rush of breath, a strangled moan and he looked up at you as if you’d answered all his prayers, like you were a dream come true. 

“You do?” Steve asked. You nodded and his hands tightened their grasp on your thighs. “Oh fuck.”

You leaned in sweet, kisses turning a little shy and you pressed them to his lips, the corners of his mouth, his jaw, until you reached his ear. You paused, worrying your lip between your teeth before you gathered the courage to speak. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, voice small and you were already mentally scolding yourself because you were hardly a blushing virgin and of course you knew what to do. Logistically, anyway.

Steve pulled back to look at you, brow furrowed in confusion - because hell, he knew enough about your sexual exploits, whispered between groans and laughter over the counter of Family Video, his and Robin’s eyes equally wide. He just didn’t happen to know how much of a failure they truly were, and at the sight of you worrying your lip, he shifted his expression to neutral. 

He cleared his throat and the awkwardness that had settled between you, one hand running soothing up and down your leg as the other one tapped at your chin, silently asking you to look at him. You did, gazes meeting but you couldn’t help but twist your lips, wondering if you could take back the words, if you could distract him with a kiss instead.

“What d’you mean?” the boy asked, and his voice was soft and genuine, his eyes searching.

You shrugged, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt, twisting the material in your hands so you didn’t feel so still, so open and watched as he kept his gaze on you.

“I dunno,” you mumbled, confidence slipping. You flicked your eyes to his, not at all shocked to see him still watching you. You swallowed, urged on by the hand that was running circles over the top of your knee. “Most guys I’ve hooked up with only really wanna get to the main event, y’know? They’ve never really had much patience for anything else.”

You said it matter of factly, hands soothing over the creases you’d made in Steve’s top, wondering if you had managed to completely kill the mood. Your lips were already missing his, your hands aching to wander, to pull off his shirt and map out every mole and freckle you knew he had.

“So yeah,” you said with a little finality, wondering if you’d already had your last kiss with your best friend, “I don't know what to do, not really.”

There was a beat of silence and it was filled with the crackle of a promise, the warmth of something undiscovered and exciting. Steve was still looking at you but there was a lift to his brows and he smiled, shoulders shrugging as if what he was about to say was the most casual thing in the world.

By the time you’d run your fingers through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp, Steve was dozing again, cheek squished to your sternum and his legs tangled with yours and the sheets. You felt the soft puffs of his breath over your bare skin, his arms wrapped right around your waist, he shifted in his sleep, pulling you closer. 

It pained you to do it, but you dropped a kiss to his forehead, pushing your nose playfully into his wild hair, murmuring softly that he was going to be late. 

He groaned again, brows furrowed and lips pouting as he pushed them into your skin, butterfly kisses across the curves of your breasts, the dip in between. 

“No,” he mumbled and you smiled at the roughness of his voice, deep and scratchy with sleep. “Wanna stay w’you.”

You hummed at the thought, Saturday mornings with Steve were seldom but they were your favourite. The house to yourself, his parents naturally absent, in another state, another country, another business trip. 

But it meant you could spend the day being lazy with him, tangled in sheets, whispering his name as he woke you up with his head between your thighs, dark brown eyes shining as they looked up at you. You relished in his bed head, his hair soft and misbehaving all day ‘cause he couldn’t be bothered styling it if you had no plans to leave the house. 

You loved eleven o’clock showers, the morning turning bright, a hot Indiana summer outside but you shared the warm spray with Steve, the smell of his body wash filling the small en-suite. He took his time with you like that, morning stretching into lunch, bubbles and hands slipping over your skin, kisses lazy and languid, the tiles cold against your back. 

You ate in the yard, half dressed and legs in the pool, body stretched out over the hot patio floor, sun drenched and eating cheese sandwiches and bowls of strawberries. 

You loved the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t stop, like he never planned to. The static buzz of the radio would flood from the open kitchen window, pints of fresh lemonade on the garden table, hearts and smiley faces painted on both your backs with coconut sunscreen. 

You’d swap anything for one of those days. 

Steve seemed to have the same idea, his tall frame still stretched out across the bed, moving over you instead of into the shower. He pressed a knee between your thighs, a promise of something he didn’t have time to give you but he held himself over you, smile soft, eyes sleepy. 

“Shower with me,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your jaw, trailing to the shell of your ear and he grinned at the eruption of goosebumps across your skin. “Please.”

You groaned, both at the idea and the reality of knowing it would make Steve late. Again. You gazed up at him, wondering how you were ever able to say no to him. He was grinning at you, hair a mess, bare chested and still warm from where he’d been pressed against you all night. 

“Keith will straight up murder you if you’re not there on time,” you told him, sentence half gone as he leaned down to crowd into you, lips pushed to the corner of your own as if he could kiss away the logic. 

“You’d avenge me though, right?” He asked, lips sucking a bruise underneath your jaw, successfully doing everything he could to distract you and himself from his impending shift. 

You snorted, a smile on your lips and head tilted back to allow Steve more access, his teeth grazing over your neck in a way that made you wiggle against him. His hand found your hip, fingers flirting with the edge of your underwear, soft cotton and lace edges that made him feel a little weak. 

“Oh, of course babe,” you nodded, pressing kisses and sarcasm to his cheek, “Keith wouldn’t stand a fucking chance.”

He grinned at the thought of you going up against his boss, lanky as you were small, but god, you were fierce. Steve pulled back a little, nudge at your cheek with his nose so you met his gaze, lips melting together, lazy and slow.  

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth,” you whined, still chasing his kiss despite your protests. 

“Don’t care,” the boy countered, hands sliding up your sides, thumbs grazing the soft skin on the dip of your hip, his knee moving higher into the space between your legs, rocking into you. 

You sighed, dreamlike, blissed, the sun that slipped through the window bathing you both in warm and light. You could see the strip of blue sky through it, the top of Steve’s bed head as he moved down your body, taking the sheets with him as he kissed a path between your breasts, tongue catching the dip of your hip bone. 

“Steve,” you tried to chastise, but it came out softer, like a whine and it made him grin against you and the press of his teeth against the band of your underwear made you cant your hips into him. 

He pressed the bridge of his nose into your navel, hands on either side of your hips, drawing you into him and he tutted at the way your wriggled in his grasp. 

“Pretty,” he hummed, fingers finding the lace against your thighs, plucking at it delicately. “Y’know, if you came and showered with me, we could save water-”

His words were cut short as you shook your head, grinning, bringing one of your knees up and between your bodies. Steve pouted, but your pressed your shin against his chest and pushed him away, just a little, just enough. 

You raised your brows, tried to look stern when you said: “you’re going to be late, Harrington.”

Steve sighed, head tilted back to show off the strong column of his neck, faux exasperation painting his pretty features. You eyed the bruise you’d suckled on his skin, at the base of his throat where it was still pretty and lilac, proof of how good he made you feel the night before. 

He grabbed your leg in response, hands wide and strong as he gripped your ankle, pressing one more kiss to the inside of your knee before relenting, tumbling off of the bed and huffing. 

His gaze was dark and heavy when he looked back down at you, jaw a little slack and hair over his eyes, bed rumpled and half dressed. 

“Now that’s just not fair,” he told you, lips twisted as he held in a groan. 

You laughed, cheeks flushed at the effect he still had on you after all this time, looking at you like you were gold dust. You twisted in his sheets, hair mussed as you sunk further into the pillow, bare skin still on show, thighs rubbing together under the heat of his stare. 

“What’s not fair?” You asked, doe eyed and acting innocent but Steve knew you better than that, knew the husk in your voice meant you knew exactly what you were doing to him. 

You preened, sliding one leg up over the bed, knee bent and sheets shifting, flashing the cherry red of your underwear, cut high on your hips. You grinned when he moaned theatrically, a hand slapped to his chest as he bent at the knees, clutching at his heart. 

He beamed when you laughed, sunshine and softness. 

“Goddamn, what’s a boy to do?” He asked, voice dropped low as he stood at the foot of the mattress, hands wandering back up your calves, skimming over sun kissed skin, eyes on the red lace that was still peeking out from the mess of sheets and pillows. 

But you repeated your earlier actions, one leg extended long as your foot found the middle of chest, pressing firm as you pushed him away and towards the bathroom door. Steve pouted, pretended to bite at your toes but he turned, grabbing the towel that hung from the hook on the door. 

He threw you a look over his shoulder, still huffing at having to leave you for the entire day. 

“Succubus,” he muttered. 

When he finally reappeared, hair a little damp but dressed for work, wrestling into his Family Video vest, he stopped dead in the doorway, staring as you sat on the edge of the bed, shoving your feet into your shoes. 

“Is that my shirt?” He asked, voice a rumble. 

You looked up, plucking at the material that fell to the middle of your thighs. It was almost a dress, the tight material of your cycle shorts barely peeking out from underneath the hem. 

“Mmm,” you confirmed, watching in interest as Steve wandered back into the bedroom, eyes glazed, lips parted. “Mine is still wet from when someone threw me into the pool last night.” 

You stood, swiping at the strands of hair that had fallen into your face before walking over to your boyfriend, hands flat against his chest as you leaned into him. 

“Is that okay?” You whispered the last part, knowing fine well the only issue Steve had with you wearing his clothes was the fact that he wasn’t able to immediately strip you out of them. 

He let out a laugh, a little humourless, a little pained and he took his chance to wind his arms around your waist, spinning you both until he was able to back you against his dresser. He dropped a kiss to your cheek, chasing the corner of your lip. 

“You tryin’ to make me act up?” He murmured and at your silence, he hummed, a little breathless. “Succubus,” he repeated his statement from earlier, pushing kiss after kiss into your neck until you squealed and wriggled away from him. 

“You’re going to be late, Steve!” But you couldn’t help but laugh, stumbling around the room as you tried and failed to escape the boy’s wandering hands.

He caught you again, pulling you into a hug that you happily accepted, your own arms winding around his neck as you both swayed together, still sleepy and soft with happiness. 

“Don’t wanna leave you,” he told you again, bending to push his face into the crook of your neck, wondering how you always smelled so good, like summer and all his favourite things. 

“I know, babe,” you soothed, sympathising. ‘Cause you truly didn’t want to let him go either, but the clock by the bed was flashing angry, red letters telling you both it was almost nine. “I told Max I’d drive her to the skatepark but how ‘bout we pick you up some lunch on the way home, huh?”

Steve hummed at this, a happy sound from the back of his throat that led to his lips pressed against yours, a deep, warm kiss of appreciation. 

“You gonna give me my shirt back then, too?”

“You think Keith would appreciate it? A little flash of skin?” You mused, already grinning as Steve grumbled his protests, swearing as you laughed. “Maybe that’s how we can make up for your terrible timekeeping skills!” 

Your faux enthusiasm made the boy smile but he tried to hide it with a scowl, lips twisted and eyes dark at the idea of anyone else but him seeing you like that. 

“Absolutely fucking not, sweetheart,” he growled and he tapped at your ass, a little possessive, a little playful. 

You hummed happily, laughter still bubbling in your chest but you kissed the pout from Steve’s lips to make up for your teasing, hand grasping his chin to bring him down to meet you, the boy obliging without protest. 

He nipped at your bottom lip, making you squeal, another kiss pressed quick to your cheek and then your forehead before he grabbed your hand, leading you out of the door. 

“C’mon now, you’re gonna make me late.”

He grinned at your gasp, slipping out the way of your playful smacks of indignation and he got handsy with you as you both stumbled your way out of his house, sun beaming through each window you passed, Mrs Harrington’s crystal vases spilling rainbows over the floors and walls. 

Steve called out to you as you parted one last time, your hand already on the door of your car, keys jingling. He whistled, a flirtatious noise that always had you blushing and when you looked over the roof of the vehicle, you caught his eye. 

“You really did that, Steve?” Robin asks, looking at him disapprovingly “Not cool, man, not cool at all” she shakes her head but a smile finds its way to her face “But you see? You both have big mouths. So how about you shake hands and we call it a day so we can go and get absolutely blasted at Nancy’s party?” Robin looks hopefully between the two of you with a smile that makes you appreciate her positivity.

She really cared for the both of you, you were her best friends. And all this bickering (you couldn’t call it a real fight, it was just a stupid argument)  surely made her uncomfortable . You suddenly feel really bad for the position you put Robin in. This was all so silly.  You turn around in your seat and take her hand, giving her a heartfelt smile. Looking back at Steve, you decide to put an end to this.

“I guess you’re right. Steve, I – “ just as you were about to apologise to your boyfriend for yelling at him and for sharing his super secret, extremely private hair routine, he interrupts you, raising a hand to get his point across.

“That is so not the same thing! What happened on the playground was an accident. Unlike what you just did, Y/n. That was personal!” He looks over at you, and you can actually see hurt in his brown puppy-dog eyes. Was he truly this affected by what you said?

“Steve” you reach for him, placing your hand over his on the gear stick but he avoids your touch, stopping the car. You had finally arrived at Nancy’s.  He gets out of the car and you and Robin follow. He’s a few steps ahead of you so you run a bit to catch up to him. You look up at him and he's staring ahead, unusually serious, as you walk up to the front door. The vibe between you is off and you hate it. You hate when you get in these stupid arguments over virtually nothing. It’s just such a shame. All you want is for him to hold your hand, brush your hair from your face and kiss your lips that were thirsty to be touched by his. But he doesn’t do any of this. Instead, when you get inside the house he leaves you and Robin in the living room, mumbling something about going to get a drink and finding you after.

The house was crowded with people, your nerves spiking up as you scan the room looking for your friends. You spot Nancy and Jonathan in the backyard, both with a drink in their hand and laughing at a boy who was seductively dancing in front of some cheerleaders to Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing”. The cheerleaders where not impressed.

You walk over to them and Nancy greets you both very cheerily, albeit a bit annoyed at your late arrival “Y/n! Robin! What took you guys so long?” her big eyes were scolding you. Jonathan just gives you a shy wave and takes a sip from his red solo cup.

“Long story” says Robin with an awkward smile. “I’m sure he’ll come around. You know how sensitive Steve is” she gives you a sympathetic look and comforts you, hooking her arm around yours. You give her a gentle squeeze, thankful for the support she is providing.

“What? What happened? Where’s Steve?” Nancy looks at you concerned “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. We just had a stupid fight, that’s all” you reassure “Actually, I’m gonna go look for him, if you guys don’t mind. I can’t stand it when he’s mad at me, it gives me horrible anxiety” You put a hand over your belly, the agitation building a knot in the pit of your stomach.

“Of course not! Go ahead, I totally get it” Nancy says, looking over at Jonathan and interlacing their fingers. He watches her with a loving look in his eyes and brings their hands up to his mouth, kissing the back of Nancy's hand.

“We’ll be waiting for you in the pool” Robin adds with a grin as she starts taking her clothes off and demands for Nancy and Jonathan to do the same.

You laugh at Robin, glad to see her so comfortable in your friend group, seeing that she hasn't been hanging out with you for very long. But in the time she has, she managed to win everybody's hearts over with her authentic and fun nature. Now, it was hard to imagine what your life would be like without her presence in it.

Slowly making your way through the crowd, your eyes dart around the place hoping to spot that familiar face you knew so well. That sweet and handsome face. How could you be so stupid as to make that face sad? You supress a groan of frustration that threatens to leave your mouth as you think about your fight. Even though it didn’t seem like a big deal to you, it was a big deal to him. And you didn’t want to invalidate his feelings. That just isn’t something you do. You want to hold him and tell him how sorry you are for breaking his trust and hurting him.

Your anxiety starts to worsen as you search almost all of the downstairs area and Steve is nowhere to be found. All the sweaty and hot bodies swarming around you, the loud music pumping in your ears and the heavy smell of alcohol in the air didn’t help to ease your nerves one bit, it just made everything worse. “God, I fucking hate parties” you think to yourself. You usually come just because Steve likes them, and wherever Steve goes, you go. You loved the way people magnate towards him, the way he’s always the centre of attention and the way he thrives in it. But what you love most is that even in a room full of interesting and beautiful people, he’s always looking at you, always touching you in some small or big way, just to show you that his attention remains on you, that you are the most important thing to him. Your heart aches as you think of this and your breathing starts to get heavy when you still can’t see him anywhere.

When you get to kitchen you can finally breathe again. There he was, leaning on his hands against the kitchen counter, his back turned to you. You silently make your way through the empty kitchen to where he is standing. Putting your hands against his back, you slowly rub it and lean your head against him. He jumps a bit, scared by the unexpected feeling, but immediately relaxes against your touch when he realises it’s you.

“Hey” you say shyly, now drawing little patterns with the tip of your index finger against his shirt.

“Hey, big mouth” he jokes. You’re not sure if he’s still mad or not, but the joke relaxes you a little.

" 'm sorry” you mumble into his back, snaking your arms around his middle and hugging him from behind “I really didn’t think about what I was saying, I just said it. I didn’t mean to hurt you or embarrass you in front of Robin. It was stupid. I’m really sorry. I love you” you hug him tighter, standing on the tip of your toes to leave kisses along his neck. You were craving his warmth against you to help calm your anxiety.

He turns around, your palms now resting on his chest as his hands find their place comfortably around your waist.

"I love you too, baby. It's alright." He looked into your eyes, worried as he saw the anxiety written on your face.

“Hey, are you alright?” he cups your face, thumb gingerly stroking your cheek.

“I-I just could find you so I got scared and you know how I hate it when we fight, it just completely wrecks me” You ramble and grip his shirt tightly, pulling him to you, needing to feel him closer.

With his hands still cupping your face, he kisses your left cheek, then your right one, then your nose, finally just kissing every inch of your face, making you giggle “Let’s not fight anymore, then. I'm sorry too” he breathes against your mouth, his lips just brushing against yours.  

As needy as ever, you pull him by his shirt, locking your lips into a deep kiss. He grabs your hips, kneading the skin through the fabric of your shorts. Your hands travel up to his head, running your fingers through his hair. Oh, that hair. You gently pull at his roots and he bites your bottom lip in response, getting a moan to escape your lips. You pull away from him and he groans. He leans his forehead against yours and looks at your red and kiss swollen lips, dragging his thumb against your bottom lip. “God, you’re so beautiful” Steve whispers, just for you to hear.

You smile up at him "Thank you, pretty boy".

As much as you're enjoying being alone with him, you remember your friends, cooling off in the swimming pool “The others are waiting for us in the pool. You feel like taking a little night swim with me?” Your hands rub his toned biceps, make their way up to his neck, and then back down to his arms again.

“Umm, yeah” he laughs, instantly pulling you after him, darting through the house and making people jump out of his way to let you pass. All the agglomeration and the noise of the party seemd to fade away. The only thing that mattered right now was Steve's hand, firmly gripping yours, leading you after him, and his pretty face, turning around now and then to smile at you.

Out in the backyard, Nancy and Jonathan were in the pool, childishly playing with one another while Robin was laying on a rainbow coloured :), inflatable water mattress with a drink in her hand, humming to the chorus of “Bette Davis Eyes” which was blasting through the speaker.

You start stripping down, removing your shoes and then your shirt, fixing your swimsuit top, only to find Steve watching you intensely. “Oh my god, you perv!” you laugh and throw one of your Converse at him.

“Woah!” he shouts and ducks out of the way just as your shoe flies by his head “What’s the big deal? I’ve seen you naked before, y’know” he unbuttons his shirt and smirks at you. You can’t help but stare at his bear chest and toned abdomen. He’s just too damn hot, and he knows it. Unfortunately for you, he caught you checking him out “Now who’s the perv?” he teases as he takes off his pants.

Once you’re both just in your bathing suits, you grab his hand, leading him to the lit up pool.  Robin waves you over to her “C’mon you guys! This is sooo nice” she says and takes a big sip from her drink, smiling to herself.

“How’s the wat-“ you manage to get out before Steve pushes you into the swimming pool. The water is cold on impact and you swim back up, emerging to the top and wiping your face with your hands. “Steve! You are so dead” All that time spent in the bathroom getting ready for the party seems to have been in vain.

You look up at Steve who is grinning down at you and see him take a few steps back before yelling “Cannonball” and jumping in the pool just right next to you. Water splashes everywhere and the waves created by his jump make Robin almost fall off her water mattress.

He comes up from under the water and runs a hand through his hair, which manages to look perfect even when soaking wet.

"Jesus, Steve. What are you, 6 years old?" Jonathan laughs.

"We're all children at heart" Steve preaches.

“Watch out, you asshole!” Robin yells at him “It took me 15 minutes to make this Sex on the Beach!” she points to her tall glass with a swirly straw and a sugar rim topped off with a lemon slice and takes an aggressive sip from it, shooting daggers at your boyfriend.

You take advantage of the opportunity, and push Steve’s head under the water when he wasn’t looking. You pull him back up and he spits out some water, pretending to be pissed “Your ass is grass, L/n”

You squeal as he takes you by your waist and effortlessly pulls you out of the water and then throws you back in. He keeps doing it until you can’t breathe anymore from all the laughing.

“Alright, alright. You win” You say through giggles, putting your hands up in defeat. “You win” you say again, this time more silently, lowering your hands and placing them on his neck.

You were both breathing heavy as he leans down, teasing your lips with his “Give up so easily, baby?” he kisses you and smiles against your lips.

“Mm-hmm” you murmur between kisses “You’re just too good, Harrington. I don’t stand a chance”.

Wrapping your legs around him, you deepen the kiss, your hands running through his hair again. His intoxicating scent making you woozy. Steve grabs your ass and gives it a squeeze under the water. He pulls you closer to him, your crotch rubbing against his. Thankfully, your moans were stifled by the heated kiss. Right now, you start to wish you weren’t in a pool, surrounded by people, but alone in his bedroom, so he could to you what he knew you wanted him so badly to do.

You hear someone clearing their throat behind you and you stop the make out session, turning around to see Robin awkwardly paddling to you with one hand, Sex on the Beach still firmly positioned in her other hand.

“Heeey, sorry to interrupt. Just a quick question” She leans down to whisper, so that only you 3 could hear “So is it just, like, one puff of the Farrah Fawcett spray…or do you, like, drench your hair in it?" She leans her head to the side, gesturing around her head with her free hand.   

Steve is completely gob-smacked as he looks at Robin, who is sucking on her swirly straw, patiently awaiting her answer. He sighs, runs a hand over his face and whispers back “ I’m only going to say this once, so listen close. Fabergé Organics. Use the shampoo and conditioner, and when your hair is damp – it’s not wet, okay? – when it’s damp…you do four puffs of the Farrah Fawcett spray”.

“Wow that’s great man, thanks a lot! You can go back to your - what you were - you - okay bye” Robin paddles away in triumph, leaving you laughing at their exchange.

steve groans in despair.

it was barely a busy day in family video. it usually wasn’t during mondays.

he throws the stress ball against the wall and lets it bounce back into his grasp. robin was out back, it was her turn to rewind tapes and place them back on their respective shelves while he was stuck at the counter.

when he doesn't manage to catch it, he doesn’t bother getting up to grab it. instead, he calls out, “hey, robin?” 

without waiting for her response, he eventually decides to meddle in his coworker’s love life. “do you know what i just found out about vickie today?”

there was a pause. a beat, just before robin responds, “yeah? — actually, no, i don’t think i want to know.”

“she,” he stops for a bit of a dramatic effect. “returned fast times paused at 53 minutes and 5 seconds and—“

“so? m-maybe she realized that she didn’t like fast times exactly at 53 minutes and 5 seconds so—“

“and do you know who pauses fast times at 53 minutes and 5 seconds?” he asks, waiting for a reply. but when it doesn’t come, he swivels in his chair and answers himself. “people who like boobies, robin!” 

“ew! gross. don’t say—“

“boobies!”

“—boobies.”

“and it’s not a big deal, okay?” steve reassures, sending her a knowing grin. “i like boobies. you like boobies.”

“vickie likes boobies. definitely.” he exclaims, swiveling around in his chair again as the overhead bell notifies him of a customer. “it’s… boobies…”

and that was when he caught sight of you; headphones on as you twirl the wire, heading straight towards the romance section. there was a glow that seemed to follow you, and if you were going to ask him, it wasn’t because of the shitty lighting of family video, it was because he thinks you’re an angel.

steve’s breath got caught in his throat and he believes that his heart was just robbed out of his chest. he slowly puts his hand on his chest, just right where his heart is supposed to be, and surely enough, it is still there, gradually beating rapidly as he continues to stare at you. 

“…teve… steve… steve!” he snaps out of his trance when something hits his head. his gaze falls on the ball bouncing on the floor. he looks up to see robin looking at him with a question mark above her head.

“are you even listening?”

steve didn’t even bother responding to her as he started making his way towards you. he could still faintly hear music playing from your headphones around your neck as he stopped by beside you. 

“uhm, busy night?” he questions, awkwardly posing by the shelves. he leans all of his weight against it, bicep rippling, but it’s a beat before he realizes how much he’s performing for you — he’s downright smitten and downright cringing.

from the counter, robin frowns as she looks at you and then at her best friend. “damn it, steve,” she mutters, walking back to the break room as she mumbles something about how it should have been her instead of him.

“uh, yeah, you could say that,” you respond, letting your eyes linger a little longer in the romance section as you head straight towards the new releases. “i mean, if you count eating a tub of ice cream whilst escaping the cruel reality of real life type-of-busy, then yes.”

“well, if it’s any help, i would recommend-” he plucks a random movie from the shelf and looks at the cover. “ah, the breakfast club. this is a must-watch. it’s filled with romance, friendship, and a little bit of a high school adventure.”

you look at his name tag then back at him with a grin, and he swears he could melt into a puddle right then and there. “and you’re sure i’ll like it, steve?” 

“oh, no, sweetheart, you won’t like it. you’ll love it.” he doesn’t know where the pet name came from but the way it easily rolled out of his tongue convinces him that it feels just right.

you ignore the heat rising up to your cheeks as you snatch the vhs off his hands. “and if i don’t end up loving it?”

“well, then i guess i’d have to make it up to you,” steve shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “but if you do end up loving it, then… then the new diner downtown sounds good for a first date, right?”

you purse your lips trying to hide the smile that threatens to spread as you make your way towards the counter. “you better start praying to the stars, steve, because i’d be really disappointed if i wind up hating it.” 

he grins at your words, making his way around to ring up your selected films. as soon as it was bagged up and ready to go, neither of you felt like saying goodbye yet but alas, you had a movie to critique.

steve walks you to the exit and opens the door for you, like the gentleman he is.

“i’ll see you around, steve.”

“see you later… alligator.” it was then that steve realized that he never caught your name. he spews out silent curses as he closes the door, but nevertheless, he runs straight to the break room and steals the marker in robin’s hand.

“hey!”

YOU SUCK - IIIIIIIIIIII

YOU RULE - I 

“no way!” robin exclaims at the tally. “i will never believe that you just made that happen.”

“oh, you better start believin’, rob, cause i’m back in the game, baby!”

steve runs straight into the family video’s entrance, dramatically opening both doors with a bit of force. his hair flops up and down slightly as he pants, “anything yet?”

robin pops her head out of one of the shelves she’s been organizing. “nope.”

steve lets out a heavy sigh. with every day that you don’t return, his heart that he once thought was stolen was slowly countered in small damaged boxes. no bubble wrap, no fragile warning, nothing that would ensure that it was handled with care. “it’s nearly been a week, robin.”

“well, if it’s any consolation, i think you’re a great guy, steve. it’s her loss anyway, who in the right mind would miss out on the opportunity to go out with king steve? especially with that babe-slaying hair.”

“very funny.” steve mocks a sarcastic laugh, rolling his eyes. he goes over to robin with a drag in his steps. “it’s just that- i really thought she would be the one, you know? there was something about her that just… pulled me in. she’s not like any other girl i’ve ever seen, robin.”

“she’s- she’s a goddess. an angel. it’s like she was made to make up for the world’s imperfections, like every flaw in humanity does not matter because she graces every ground she walks on,” he continues. “it’s hard to believe that we’re even breathing the same air as her. it’s-“

before he can go on with his poetic spiel, keith leans against his office doorway and says, “i knew it was your dulcet tones i heard, harrington.”

steve and robin simultaneously roll their eyes, getting back to organizing.

“a girl dropped by the other day looking for you, by the way.”

steve freezes. “girl? what girl, keith?”

“dunno, was a pretty one though,” he winks, munching on his cheezy chips. “if she didn’t nearly bite m’head off, i woulda kept her for myself. anyway, there’s some shit she left for you, it’s in here with the tapes i told you to rewind decades ago-“

before he could even finish, steve runs towards his office, effectively knocking over the human-sized cardboard cutout of phoebe cates.

and just as keith said, the breakfast club vhs, alongside the other films you picked, was neatly stacked in the corner of his office. there was a folded beige card taped on top of it.

—— ✦ 

I.O.U. a date.

redeemable for… a romantic milkshake for two at kelly’s diner on the 21st of may. 7 pm sharp.

to: steve (with the killer hair)

from: y/n (sweetheart)

p.s. don’t be late, romeo :-)

—— ✦ 

steve blinks. and then again. and once more for extra measures, just to make sure he wasn’t making it up. he reads your name, and then aloud as if testing the way it rolls on his tongue. he’s never seen a name that suited a person like it did with you. 

steve feels robin’s presence beside him before he sees her. “you see this, too, right?”

she hums.

“… and do you know what this means?”

robin groans.

YOU SUCK - IIIIIIIIIIII

YOU RULE - II

it takes steve a while to realize that today is the 21st of may. he blames keith for his lack of preparation. what is he supposed to wear? something simple? casual? smart casual? he knows kelly’s milkshake shack was straightforward, but nothing too bad for him to worry about.

he was worried about how to impress you. what type of flowers do you like? do you even like flowers? what type of chocolates do you love? do you love the milky ones? dark chocolate? the one with almonds? what if you’re allergic to chocolates? but even then, steve thinks flowers and chocolates aren't enough for you.

you deserve the world, the stars, and the moon. you deserve it and more. but what a pity it is that this gesture of adoration and worship is what the world would deem unreachable. unrealistic. superfluous.

nothing is superfluous for you, he thinks. despite that, steve decides to stick with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. nothing could go wrong with that now, could it? he questions himself as he starts his trek to the flower shop a few blocks down.

the first thing that he notices is the soft music playing on the record player. the second thing he noticed is how every flower is blooming and twinkling, not a fading one in sight. the last thing he noticed was the lack of a clerk at the counter.

“uhm, hello?” he calls out hesitantly.

muffled but still coherent, he receives a response from the back room. “one second!”

there was something about her voice that sounded familiar, and yet he couldn’t pinpoint who it could be. he shrugs it off. whilst waiting, he takes a look around the shop, criticizing which would be the perfect pick.

“what flowers do you have in mind?” the voice calls out once more. he could hear some shuffling on the other side.

“i was actually hoping you could help me out.” steve replies somewhat bashfully. “maybe something that’s simple but breathtaking? like nothing too extravagant but something… ethereal.”

he wasn’t sure if they caught what he just said, but before he knew it, the curtain separating the rooms was drawn. 

“busy night?”

steve stops shuffling through the vinyls and spins on his heels. “oh, yeah, scored a date with the prettiest girl in-“ 

you grin at the astounded boy in front of you, eyes wide and jaw slack. you delicately push the bouquet of pretty pink chrysanthemums and yellow dwarf sunflower in his hands, grinning up at him like a tease. “you were saying something about scoring a date with the prettiest girl in hawkins?” 

“i- wha?”

“chrysanthemums symbolize devoted love, loyalty, happiness, and these lil sunflowers symbolize adoration.” you state. “i love the sentiment, by the way.”

“you work here?” he finally speaks, watching as you step back to organize the lone stems by the counter.

“i mean if it isn’t obvious,” you shoot him a pointed look. 

“y-yeah, right, right.”

“my aunt used to own this shop, but she said she couldn’t take it anymore after some supernatural shit kept happening in this town apparently.” you huff. “i think she just needs to take her meds on time.”

“yeah, probably.” steve chuckles nervously before clearing his throat. “so, uhm, i don’t really remember seeing you around until a few days ago, is this your first time in hawkins?”

“save the getting-to-know questions for the date, harrington.” you smile up at him. “anyway, how about you pick me up two hours from now, i’ll forget that you ever bought me flowers from my own flower shop, and then we can continue this over some sweet milkshakes?”

“yeah,” he nods, his reply was barely even a whisper. there was a look of adoration in his eyes, a dopey lovelorn smile on his lips. “sounds like a plan.”

before steve gets in his car, he pauses by the door, looking back at you with one last glance before he gets stuck with the question, is this what love at first sight feels like? 

steve never wants to lose that feeling.

and surely enough, steve is back two hours later with the bouquet in hand, hair styled to perfection, and the feeling of love at third sight stuns him. 

steve looks at you like it’s the very first time he’s seen you, and he feels like his heart drops. every 

he stares at you and there is an indescribable sensation in his chest that he couldn’t express. it gives him an urge to try every pick-up line in the book; make himself look like an idiot by asking whether you fell from heaven. because steve genuinely believes it. is that so silly of him to think?

there’s a warm fuzzy feeling deep within that void. it’s the type of feeling that makes him want to tell his friends all about you, his mom even, to the world if possible. 

there was a pep in your step as you make your way toward steve, noting how handsome he looks in his shirt and corduroy jacket, jeans seemingly well-ironed. his hair is gelled – you’d have to ask him what hair products he uses later – and it makes you want to run your fingers through it.

“looking as gorgeous as ever, sweetheart.” steve compliments you with his ever charming smile. he gives you the bouquet that he’s been hiding behind his back. “these are for you.”

you take it from him and take a whiff of the sweet smell. “wow. these are beautiful, steve. i wonder who picked them for you.”

“oh, you know, just the cute little owner who works in the flower shop.” he grins. “oh, wow, would you look at that. we’re actually standing in front of it right now- oh, and good god, here’s the cute little owner i was just talking about.”

“dork.” 

“what flavor do you want?”

“strawberry-chocolate has always been my go-to.”

“really?”

“what’s with the judgemental look? it’s heavenly!”

“but that’s so… so basic. i’ve pegged you to take more on the crazy flavors.”

you playfully roll your eyes at him as he guides you to a booth, hand respectfully placed on the small of your back. you look at him with a teasing grin. “i bet you love vanilla, though.”

steve scoffed, sitting in front of you. “i do not.”

he does, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“you totally do,” you snicker before busying yourself with the menu.

“what can i get y’all today?” 

“we’ll get a large strawberry-chocolate milkshake,” steve quips, looking at you for a moment before, like clockwork, adding, “with two straws, please.”

ignoring the rapid beating of your heart, you shake your head at him, “you do this with all the girls you go out with?”

“nah, only the ones who like basic ass milkshake flavors,” he grins, leaning back against the couch. “been reserving all my suave moves just for you.”

you scoff playfully, putting a hand on your chest. you can feel your heart beating as you take in his appearance under the neon lights of the shack. “should i be honored?”

“yeah,” steve nods fervently. “i’m actually glad you went out with me, meaning we don’t have to worry about your bad taste in men, too. i would have been really concerned.” 

you laugh at him, and steve beams. you throw a balled-up tissue paper at his face, effectively snapping him out of his little inner dialogue about how your laugh was one of the best things he’s ever heard. “you literally love vanilla milkshakes and you’re trying to call out my apparent bad taste?”

“not vanilla,” he shoots you a glare, the curl of his lips failing to keep up with his act. he throws the tissue back at you. “seriously.”

you raise your hands in defense, trying to prevent the laugh threatening to leave your lips. before either of you could say anything else, the milkshake was served.

steve scooches closer towards the table as he places the milkshake in between you. he thanks the waitress and dips the two straws into the drink. 

“just a fair warning though,” steve warns, moving closer to take a sip. “you might get enchanted by my pretty brown eyes with this close proximity, i was told you can get lost in them.”

you continue sipping with a smile, eyes momentarily flicking down at his lips before looking back up into his eyes. his eyes are pretty, you will let yourself willingly get lost in them if you can.

steve does the same, and as his eyes settle back into yours, the two of you let out tiny hushed laughter after the sudden eye contact.

“tell me if you need a map,” he sips, letting out a soft groan at the taste of the milkshake. he’s beginning to understand why you love it so much. “i think you’re starting to get lost.”

“did the heart eyes give it away?” you grin.

the conversation easily flowed like a river after that. secrets, and smiles, and laughter were shared between you two and it lasted for hours, more than what the two of you have signed up for. but neither of you was complaining. 

steve learned a lot more about you than he ever did with anyone else. he learned that fleetwood mac, starship, and queen were the artists that claimed your top three. the breakfast club instantly became your favorite after his recommendation. and that you really, really want to learn how to rollerblade.

you, on the other hand, learned steve’s music taste was all over the place, but he secretly loves billy joel after seeing his parents dance to his music when he was younger, a vulnerable memory that he loves to preserve. he tells you all about dustin and the gang, and how the former was like the little brother he never had. he told you about how he was a bit hesitant about getting himself out there again after nancy, his ex, because she was the first person he’s ever loved and apparently it was all bullshit.

you both knew each other better than anyone else, not even your friends nor his knows about the things you told each other. and before you know it, you find yourselves in lover’s lake after getting kicked out for staying after closing — neither of you realized that the two of you were the only people left, save for the staff who kicked you out.

you look up at the starry sky with a content sigh, basking in the chilly air, the soft music from steve’s car, and well, steve.

“i don’t think i’ve had as much fun as i did today,” you say.

steve tilts his head to look at you, a small smile pulling at his lips before he teases, “good to know.”

“stop,” you push his face away. “i’m serious.”

he laughs, settling with a soft smile as he answers, “me, too, sweetheart.”

you look at him, and purse your lips. “i’ll be staying awhile, y’know?”

“what?” his eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. you want to give it a kiss.

“you asked me, earlier today, why you’ve never seen me before,” you recall. “i’m planning on staying for a while, just until i have everything figured out.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you nod. “i wasn’t going to, originally, until i found a reason to stay.”

steve smiles, he’s been smiling more than he ever did his entire life, and it’s not one of those flirty smirks or small smiles, they were the genuine and contagious ones. he’s convinced that his jaw will ache from all the muscle movement but he doesn’t mind, not when you told him prior that you loved his smile.

“yeah?” is all he can ask. 

you hum in approval.

“what, our ever so beautiful hawkins, indiana doesn’t offer you enough?” he teases.

“well, your ever so beautiful hawkins, indiana so happens to offer the best milkshake,” you shrug nonchalantly. “i guess that’s enough reason.”

he gasps dramatically, putting up an exaggerated act by clutching his chest with a pained groan. “you offend me, woman.”

you laugh. “fine, you, too, pretty boy.”

“me, too, by the way.” steve murmurs after a while, ignoring the thumping of his chest. you feel some shifting from his side, so you look down to see him closer and his palm facing upwards, as if offering it to you. “maybe… maybe we can figure it out together?”

you look up at him, taking another moment to appreciate his beauty, before interlacing your fingers with his. “i’d like that very much.”

“thank you for tonight, steve,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt as he puts his car in park. he gets out of the door and around the vehicle to open yours. “seriously.”

“no need to thank me, sweetheart,” steve smiles, tucking a stray hair away from your face. “i had fun with you tonight.”

you stop yourself from feeling the warmth of your cheeks, instead, you move a bit closer to him. “although, there’s one thing missing...”

steve frowned, his hands hovering just above your waist, hesitant to touch you. “what is it? — agh, i knew i should have gotten you the — robin said it would be too much and i —“

“steve,”

“hmm?”

“it’s not whatever you think it is.”

“oh… what is it then?”

you loop your fingers around his belt loops, tugging him closer to you. steve gasped softly, hands finally settling on your waist. “a kiss.” 

“oh,”

you hum, moving your arms up from his torso and looping them around his neck. he could feel goosebumps rising in the wake of your warm touch. 

your noses brush against each other, lips teasing as they barely leave a featherlight touch. 

steve, getting impatient, pulls you impossibly closer, smashing his lips against yours. it was a mix of soft and desperate as if he’s been thinking of what it would have been like to kiss you. it was. if not, then it was even better than what he dreamed of.

you smile against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair. your mind is clouded; you’re drunk on his sweet strawberry-chocolate flavored kisses, the scent of his musky perfume, and the smell of his hairspray.

you slowly pull back only to have steve chase your lips again for a quick peck. “you’re a great kisser,” he murmurs.

“i know,” you tease, pulling him back down for another kiss as you can’t help yourself, only pulling away on the account of actually needing air to breathe. 

“good night, steve,” you pull away slowly, his hands slipping away from yours as you walk up to your front doorstep.

“i miss you already!“ he calls out.

“go home, pretty boy.”

“good night, sweetheart!” he grins.

“drive home safe, farrah fawcett.”

“hey! i told you that in confidence.” steve exclaims, unbothered by your screaming neighbor yelling profanities at him. it was late.

you look back at him with one last smile before disappearing behind the door, you lean against it, grinning from ear to ear as you squeal in the safety of your own home. you walk around the shop-apartment with your giddy smile never faltering even once.

unbeknownst to you, after making sure you got in safely, steve is punching the air, whooping, and jumping on his feet as he did his own little celebration. he looks back once more before getting into his car, playing a billy joel song.

it frustrates him beyond belief how a woman could easily make him weak in the knees, how you, with one look into your eyes, accompanied by a glint of a smile, could make him feel as if he could crumble into lovesick wreckage, how your featherlight touch could effortlessly yield him into submission — but he supposes that he does not mind because you’re not just any woman nor is this just any feeling. he made a promise to himself that he would never fall in love again, never will he accept the risk of getting his heart broken once more, but for you — when he’s with you — he would risk getting his heart broken time and time again if it meant being in your presence. he’s never felt so seen, so loved, so adored, until he met you.

he’s willing to patch up a broken heart if it means loving you.

it’s dizzying, it’s so overwhelmingly beautiful — the feeling of being in love. the feeling of being in love with you. and in two years' time, the whisper of those three little words, those of which are common amongst those who love and are loved, and yet it holds a special meaning that no one but the two of you can understand. 

it’s a promise. an oath. a secret that you will continue keeping that no matter what, it will always be you and him against the world, that even if everything else fails, your love for each other is what will keep you going.

because you did not end up staying a while, you stayed with him, and you’ll stay with him until forever falls apart.

————

You hadn’t meant to interrupt Steve’s conversation with the girl. An unfamiliar face with big curls and bright pink lips, pretty in an MTV type of way. You hadn’t expected the flare of jealousy to ignite in the pit of your stomach, something sparking new and angry when she placed a hand on his arm, laughing.

Your chest had twisted, your legs carrying you over to your best friend before you could understand what was happening. You tasted like cherry vodka, the leftover buzz of the joint you had shared with Eddie making your body feel lighter than normal.

Stubborn and filled with something a little wild, you had pushed your way through the crowd, elbows in ribs as people danced around you, oblivious to the stormy expression on your face.

You were vibrating, eyes set on Steve, your best fucking friend.

The alcohol made you bold, the weed made you touchy and you slipped between them, gaze barely registering Steve’s surprised expression as you pushed yourself up onto your toes, just tall enough to wrap your arms around his neck and press your face into the crook of it.

You were a little too drunk, body still buzzing, head a little fuzzy but you knew it didn’t take him long to reciprocate, arms winding around your waist and pulling you to him, chests flush, legs tangled. You felt Steve’s smile, pressed against your temple and he forgot all about the girl as his hand found your chin, fingers tucked underneath so he could tilt your face up to look at him.

His smile was light but his eyes were warm with concern as he looked down at you, gaze roaming over your features as if he was searching for the problem.

“Well hey there, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that you felt through his chest to your own. “You doin’ okay?”

Neither of you noticed the other girl huff and roll her eyes, walking away and disappearing back into the swaying crowd.

You nodded at him, smile soft and lazy and there was something inside you that was purring now that his attention was on you. His fingers were still under your chin and he thumbed at your bottom lip, affectionate and a little too flirty, the beer he’d chugged all night making him braver.

“You’re lookin’ a little spacey,'' he hummed, eyebrows raised in amusement when you giggled. “Who’d you get the weed from?”

“Eddie,” you mumbled, pressing your chin to his chest, looking up at him with big, bright eyes, his hand falling back to your waist. You watched him scan the crowd, finding the boy in question in the kitchen doorway, unlit joint stuck behind his ear, curls astray and hand raised to his forehead in a salute.

You couldn’t see, but Eddie raised his brows at Steve, wiggling them suggestively as he looked at the two of you. He winked, making Steve roll his eyes and hold onto you a little tighter.

“Alright,” Steve mused, comforted by the fact that Eddie was a trustworthy source. He’d watched the boy give you hits before, careful eyes on you at all times, knowing when to tell you you’d had enough, even when you were tequila drunk and argumentative.

“You wanna go home?” He asked, voice softer now, hand hot on your side, lazy in the way that it shucked up the edge of your shirt, thumb sliding over dip in your waist.

The way he said the word made you melt a little, ‘home’ as if it were a place for both of you. In a way it was, Steve’s six bedroom house sitting almost empty for most of the months, his parents out of town, travelling from meeting to meeting, choosing hotel rooms and six figure deals over their son.

But Steve chose you instead, putting fresh sheets in the biggest guest room, an extra toothbrush in its en-suite, ready for you to fall into drunk after parties, after too many lukewarm beers in Robin’s basement.

It only took a few months before you both realised that it was easier to put each other to bed if you slept together, two best friends who were just drunk enough, just high and lazy enough to fall into Steve’s room. You liked the way his sheets smelled like him, mint and something woodsy.

He loved the way you curled into him, sleep mussed and tongue stained blue from raspberry vodka, eager to lay yourself on his chest, to push your head under his chin and sleep.

You always woke up the next morning, legs bare, one of Steve’s shirts rucked up around your thighs, with the boy’s arm heavy across your face, his hand close to somewhere it shouldn’t be. There was always just enough alcohol in both of your systems for it to feel nice, natural, lazy and warm.

You revelled in the way he moved slow against you as he woke up, your body stretched out long beside his and he’d take the time to smooth your hair back from your eyes, both of you sleep messy and sore, pillow creases on your cheeks that wouldn’t disappear until noon.

So yeah, maybe it was home.

But as good as that sounded, you shook your head at Steve, not ready to leave your friends, the music, the thump of the bass that made your body buzz with something a little magic. Not yet.

Steve nodded, a little confusion in his eyes as he tried to work out your reason for interrupting but he brought a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, happy to have you against him.

“So, d’you just come over to use me as a pillow, huh?” His voice was teasing and light by your ear, but there was an accusation underneath it all that made you stiffen a little, body taught and suddenly you were pulling away, eyes anywhere but him.

He called your name, brow furrowed at your sudden mood change and he gazed at you, brown eyes roaming over your features as if he was looking for something that told him what he needed to know.

But then he stilled, eyes widening, jaw a little slack, like he’d found what he was looking for.

————

“What?” You finally managed to get out, and it ripped from your lip in a half laugh, half gasp.

“You heard me,” Steve said and it was low and warm, like there was a smile hidden there. “I asked if you were jealous.”

You wondered if the booze had made him bold, had given him this sudden confidence to ask his best friend such a thing. Maybe it was the dark, the low lights and shadows making him brave.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d known all along, you thought.

“Of her?” You asked, voice stuttering, words stalling, chest burning. You jabbed a thumb over your shoulder, in the general direction of the crowd. “Your little friend with the pink and the hair?”

You gestured vaguely to your own head, as if Steve didn’t catch onto what you were trying to convey. He laughed, a soft huffing sound that got mixed in with the music but you watched it fall from his lips and suddenly, you couldn’t take your eyes off of them.

You hated how sober you suddenly felt. The haziness from the alcohol and Eddie’s shared joint leaving your body and brain with every second Steve was staring at you. It was replaced with something electric, a live wire straight to your chest and it popped and crackled with something new and exciting. A sweetness swelled in your chest and it burst.

The boy nodded, smile smothered and he cleared his throat. “Yeah, uhuh, that one.”

The song changed then, the heavy bass melting into the walls and floorboards as something a little softer replaced it, throaty lyrics and a guitar that made your skin tingle. Maybe it was just the way Steve was looking at you.

“What if I am, Harrington?”

Steve blinked, jaw slack, lips pretty and parted in surprise. You felt like your face was painted with the same expression, hardly able to keep up with your own bravery and you wondered if there was something stronger in the joint Eddie gave you, if there was something else making you act up.

But Steve was reaching back out to you, hand extended, palm up and fingers reaching. He waited, patient and still as you looked at him, as if you were weighing up the options, as if you were wondering what would happen if you took his hand.

You looked up at him, gaze greedy, trying to find what you were looking for. You found it in his brown eyes, behind the charm and the spark, a glimmer of sincerity, of lovesick nervousness.

You reached out, slipping your hand into his.

The grocery store. The coffee shop. He’d somehow seen you at almost every red light he hit this week, and Frankie didn’t believe in fate but even he knew this town wasn’t that small. 

And stepping into that bar that Thursday night he almost tripped over his own feet.

Because of course you would be there. 

Alone, looking like someone had pissed in your cereal and spit in your beer but his heart couldn’t stop racing. His eyes turned your scowl into something divine and he was a goner. 

So he sat next to you and for the first time in a long time tried to flirt. Tried to be smooth and suave like Santi somehow always was. 

And though it didn’t make you blush, it made you laugh. Deep from your stomach in a way you hadn’t in a long time. Frankie was good at that, making your forget how hard things felt. 

You brushed off the failed attempt with an arched brow and Frankie was more than happy to let it be water under the bridge as long as he could keep sitting next to you. Could keep hearing your laugh straight from your lips.

That night passed faster than either of you had wanted, but he could sense your walls. Could sense he was skim along the edges of something impenetrable, icy and harsh. 

You let him in just a little when you admitted after the third beer that you wouldn’t touch a man with a ten foot pool and were swearing off dating unless Jason Momoa wanted a go. Because obviously who would say no to him?

Frankie chuckled at that, and chuckled to himself at the fact that the walk to your cars took vastly longer than necessary. He could see how your eyes caught on his lips. How your feet dragged on the asphalt as if wishing to get stuck in place. 

And as you both leaned against the side of your car, both whispering goodbyes and goodnights, Frankie knew he was going to see you again.

~~~

Thursdays became your days. 

You and Frankie and beers and belly laughs. 

You started memorizing the rhythm of his voice, the rumble of his laugh. How he always had to have at least one point of contact with you whenever you were close. 

It drove you insane the way he was slowly sinking himself into your life, throwing curve balls made of warm cotton t-shirts and soft brown eyes. His scent followed you home and into your dreams, and it was the most blissful torture you’d ever experienced. 

What was he doing to you? 

Frankie on the other hand was playing the long game. 

He could see how you had started to soften, had seen it that first night at the bar, and every Thursday since. It was slow going but he was determined to drag out the parts of you that you deemed too scarred to reveal. 

He ached to understand. 

To know you like no one else did. To bring your softness, your beauty, the pure essence of you out into the sunlight where he knew you would flourish. 

He wanted to bask in the sunshine with you till the world turned to dust. 

And you were none the wiser. 

Had no idea that slowly but surely all these Thursdays were test runs. That every Thursday Frankie was working up the courage to ask you on a date when he knew you were ready. When he knew you really wanted it. That some Thursday, god only knew when, he would be able to see past the walls of ice and got to see all of you.

~~~

It was like any other summer Thursday. Simple, boring, the mid-July heat only just starting to fade with the setting sun. The bar was humid, thick air still blanketing every surface. 

The beers Frankie and you nursed, dripping with condensation, made it all the more apparent the heat swirling through the bar just shy of cloying. 

You both barely deigned to talk, the heat sucking all the energy out of your limbs. Frankies eyes tracked your finger running along a crack in the bar top as if on autopilot. 

“I think my ass is stuck to this chair. I think I’ve melted and fused to this chair. You think that’s possible?” 

Frankie chuckles, lips curling up as his eyes fall down to his beer. You can’t help how your own lips curl with the sound. 

It had been getting harder and harder to pretend that Frankie wasn’t invading your thoughts more and more as the summer progressed. 

He was the rock you had been looking everywhere for. It felt like you had been wandering around, floating through the ether til you ran into Frankie, and now breathing felt easier. Your mind didn’t feel like a tumbleweed. You had someone who listened to the late night rambles and laughed and giggled and questioned and discussed. 

No one had ever been able to keep up with the twists and turns of your consciences, but Frankie somehow made it look easy. As if he had a roadmap of your mind. 

Your eyes catch for what feels like the thousandth time tonight and neither of you even make an effort to look away. 

You both just stare, eyes crinkling at the edges, dimples deepening in cheeks. It all feels a little magical and a little ridiculous. 

“What are you looking at?” Frankie’s hat sits low on his brow, the sweat curling the hairs at the nap of his neck, and his voice sounds like syrupy honey in the thickness of the air. 

“Just you. I don’t think I can really do much else. My brains starting to melt along with my ass and this chair.”

He snorts, a rough chuckle rolling out of his throat but he doesn’t look away. He cups his chin with his hand and scratches at his stubble, dragging your eyes down his to his jaw, his lips, his nose, his eyes.

His eyes snap back up to yours. As if he didn’t want you to see him taking you in. 

It heats your cheeks and something deeper but you brush it off. Things with Frankie had never been like that.

Frankie was sweet, and kind, and friendly, and nothing more, and you didn’t need to go fucking up a good thing by making assumptions. 

Assumptions would leave you vulnerable. Assumptions could leave you hurt. It was better to not go making assumptions. 

“We should probably get out of here, you know, before I melt off the chair and onto the floor.”

Frankie can barely huff a laugh and even you feel a little disjointed. 

As if something big, something looming and swirling had been disrupted before its culmination. 

The door rattles slightly as you both push outside and the greeting air feels soft, soothing, cooling you both just a bit from the heat inside. The lights in the parking lot glow warm and orange, melting into the receding sunlight along the horizon. 

It’s all lazy and sweet and it makes your feet drag a bit in the gravel. Puffs of dust following your sneakers. Hoping to have just few more seconds in this blissful little moment. 

Frankie’s fingers brush yours, just barely a whisper, but it’s all you can do to stop yourself from gasping. 

It’s like everything is frozen in place, even the molecules of oxygen floating around you. 

“You know I’ve been thinking-”

“Oh groundbreaking stuff, what’s the word nerd?”

His shoulder jostles yours, but when you turn to him, feigning hurt, his eyes glitter in a way you’ve never seen before. 

Like he needs you to be present. Right here. Right now. With him.

“S-sorry I didn’t mean to fumble the moment, what’s up, you ok?”

The glitter turns into a glow, and your heart skitters. 

Because it’s now just the two of you. At your car. Almost a rinse and repeat of the first night you and Frankie met. And it all feels so big. All encompassing in a way you’ve been refusing to truly feel whenever Frankie was within reach. 

“As I was saying, I’ve been thinking. What if we do something different next Thursday?”

His smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes dim. A vulnerability leaches into his demeanor and he hasn’t even moved a muscle, but it’s like you can feel the muscles stiffen in his shoulders. How his jaw tightens and his fingers twitch. 

Your fingers flex with the urge to touch him. To cup his cheek and ease whatever fear is coming to the surface. To help carry whatever burden he seems to always be dragging behind him no matter how hard he tries to hide it. 

All you want is to weather that storm with him. To calm the swirling clouds that darken his eyes. 

But touch is too scary and you don’t trust yourself to touch. There is too much churning in the air unseen but so felt. 

You scramble for words to fill the space that already seems to be overflowing with the indescribable, but it’s hard when he’s looking at you with something almost akin to awe.  

“Something different sounds kinda fun. What kinda different were you thinking?”

“I was thinking we could go out to dinner. A date maybe?”

His shoulders have crept up his neck, his hand now fidgeting with the hair at the back of his neck, as if he now can’t stop moving after such a moment of pause.

He’s flustered and your heart roars in your ears.

This is different. 

This is new.

Frankie and you don’t do nervous yet both of you look like two high schoolers in the parking lot after school. 

A first kiss on the line and neither of you know how to put each other out of this misery. This ache that has been clawing at both of you for weeks yet has been forced to sit dormant. 

You can’t help but break first. 

Your hand cups his jaw, fingers scratching against stubble, the rasp against your palm almost mind bending. You can barely comprehend your movements until you hear his breath catch right as your lips touch and then everything descends into echoing quiet. 

Just his and your breath mingling in the soft July air, lips tasting of beer, mint chapstick, and the sweetness of summer. 

It’s like a daydream from somewhere deep in your soul that you’ve always wished to be real now coming to some fated realization. 

His hand slides into the back of your hair, as his other grips at your waist and it’s like time crystallizes again. His lips mold to yours and a torrent of emotions and want rip through you. 

It’s almost as if nothing could possibly matter more than this singular moment. The two of you in this parking lot, under the shimmering night sky, heart to heart. 

His hips bump yours as he walks you back against your car and your synapses start firing a mile a minute. 

All you can feel is him. His hands. His fingertips in your hair. His chest, hips, thighs all pressing against you, caging you against the car.

Your back arches without thought, on pure feeling alone, an inherent need to be closer to him now that you’ve touched. Now that you know what his lips feel like against yours. 

The movement pulls a soft gasp from somewhere deep, and Frankies lips slant over yours, tongue dipping deeper into your mouth. Curving against your own making your toes curl in your sneakers with how much you need him, wanthim everywhere.  

His responding groan at tasting you leaves your skin smoldering. It’s almost pained but the the way his fingers dig deeper into your skin lets you know he’s right here with you. Falling apart and getting stitched back together with every breath shared between your lips. 

“I have wanted to do that for ages.” 

His lips brush the corner of your mouth, along your jaw, breath ghosting across your skin. Both of you are practically heaving, chest to chest, already somehow woven together, parting seeming almost impossible. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? If I had known we could have been doing this sooner I would have been all over your ass.”

Your words are barely gasps, whispers puffed out into the night air, too distracted by the way his lips settle behind your ear. How his teeth trail down your neck. 

It’s all so much and not enough and blissfully perfect and your mind has officially melted onto the pavement. 

He hums into your pulse and a shiver slides down your spin like condensation.

The hand around your waist tightens, lips now skimming along your collarbone, until he’s pulling away, caramel hooded eyes locking with yours. 

“I was scared. I thought, god I don’t even know what I thought, but I guess I thought I would give you space to you know deal with the shitty guys in your past. Have some time to yourself.”

“And then, even when I knew I had given you that space, I was afraid that you wouldn’t want me. That I would ruin us if I threw my feelings out there.”

He can barely look at you, hat almost hiding his eyes from you. 

It would be almost funny if he didn’t look so scared. That even as he holds you like this, chest to chest, even with your hands clutching at him practically for dear life, he was still afraid you would turn away from him.

“Frankie I really like you.”

You breath it out like a promise. His eyes jump to yours, his lips parting just a fraction.

“Honestly I was kidding myself that first night we met. Thinking I could avoid the inevitable, but I kinda knew night one. You were gonna be a problem for my heart and my head.”

You stumble over a giggle as he surges forward and the smile you feel against your lips almost splits your heart in two. 

Your own smile breaks across your face as Frankie cups your cheeks in his palms, dusting kisses over your lips, cheeks, eyes, nose. It’s romantic and needy and sweet and it’s all you can do to keep yourself upright with how your knees wobble with the affection.  

“I hate that I waited this long. Was stupid to think I could ever stay away from you. Let me take you home. Please let me take you home.” 

He’s panting into your mouth, the neediness in this tone not helping the heat swirling and settling in your belly. He’s all you can think about, all you can feel, the thought of breaking apart now almost torturous that there can only be one answer to his plea.

“Yes, Frankie. Take me home.”