hedgehog

joe keery

latest! potion (series)

★ y/n is That Girl in the indie music scene. joe up and coming in his music career. they’ve floated around the same crowd for a while now but have yet to cross paths. what happens when joe meets his (secret) celebrity crush? will their feelings be enough to break down walls, or will old habits destruct what they build?

opposites attract

★set in chicago in 2017, you work the merch table for a post animal concert where you meet joe and he pulls you out of your shell

kids on set (actress!reader)

★the younger kids on the set of stranger things take a special liking to you and ask you to film a tiktok dance with them

denial is a river (actress!reader)

★ your feelings for your best friend arise after starring alongside him in a romcom

reacting to joe’s blonde hair

★ self explanatory :3

musician!reader smau

★ small collection of instagram posts, maybe develop into a series. stay tuned…

not so secret affairs (actress!reader)

★ in which your costars discover the truth of your and joe’s relationship

steve harrington

latest! i forgive you (byers!reader)

★ steve finally apologizes after carrying the guilt of never defending you against tommy h. and carol in high school

Lifesaver (Byers!reader)

★ jonathan is your smothering, overbearing, annoying older brother who loathes your choice in boyfriends. however, he’s proven wrong that night after the crawl in hawkins lab

Future With You

★ a glimpse into what you and steve are up to eighteen months after the final battle. spoilers for the finale and the epilogue!!!

Not So Perfect Timing

★ you find out you’re pregnant in the middle of Hawkins’ demise

Song Dedication

★ steve plays a song for you on the sqwuak

A Complete Account of How Steve Harrington Weaseled His Way Into Your Life (Henderson!reader)

★ a compilation of every encounter you have with Steve Harrington and your evolving relationship

The Only One I See (Henderson!reader)

★ at a sleepover with Max and El, you spy on Steve, only to be heartbroken by what you see

Uncle Dustin (Henderson!reader)

★ telling Dustin that you're pregnant

Welcome, Baby Harrington (Henderson!reader)

★ you and steve have your first baby (pt 2 to "Uncle Dustin" but can be read as a standalone

Benchwarmers (Henderson!reader)

★ when billy shows up at the byers' house, it's up to you and steve to defend the kids

Wedding Day

★ you reminisce about meeting steve as you prepare to walk down the aisle

Spy Master (Henderson!reader)

★ you and steve are keeping your relationship a secret, that is, until the kids spy on you using el's power

Prepping for Battle (Henderson!reader)

★ during the moments before your battle with vecna, dustin discovers the truth of your and steve's relationship

Movie Night (Henderson!reader)

★ you, dustin, and steve have a movie night

Late Night Snack Run

★ anything can happen during a sleepless night, like going on a snack run with your best friend. or him confessing his feelings for you

Unexpected Lovers (Henderson!reader)

★ you hated steve harrington with everything you had. all that begins to change when life constantly keeps you bound to one another

Happy Birthday (dad!Steve)

★ steve and your daughter surprise you with breakfast in bed and a homemade card on your birthday

Surprise!

★ steve throws you a surprise birthday party

World's Greatest Dad

★ after coming home from a long day of work to find steve taking care of your daughter, you tell him how amazing a father he is

New Girl in Town (alt!reader)

★ after taking a royal plunge in the social food chain, steve begins to realize his type is much less cookie-cutter than it once was

Brother's Best Friend (Henderson!reader)

★ when you get kidnapped and drugged by the russians under starcourt, you and steve may accidentally let it slip to your brother that you're dating

Glimmer of Hope

i rarely proofread my work so there will be grammatical errors here and there.

disclaimer: i do not give permission to copy, steal, or translate my work! also, please read here

꒰ steve harrington ⸝⸝ ꒱ ࿐ ࿔ ¡!

something nice for us 🐇

꒰ joe keery ⸝⸝ ꒱ ࿐ ࿔ ¡!

The evening air in New York carried a faint chill as Joe Keery's sprawling modern house came alive with the chatter of his friends. It was one of those rare nights off for the Stranger Things cast—Charlie Heaton and Natalia Dyer had driven over from their nearby place, and Maya Hawke had shown up with a mischievous grin and a bottle of wine in hand. Joe, lounging on the oversized sectional in his living room, scrolled through his phone absentmindedly. The massive flat-screen TV loomed like an untapped portal, but he had no plans beyond cracking open a beer and zoning out.

"Come on, guys," Maya said, flopping down beside Natalia and kicking off her sneakers. Her eyes sparkled with that infectious enthusiasm she always brought to group hangs. "Bridgerton's second season just dropped. It's supposed to be even steamier than the first. We have to binge it."

Charlie chuckled from the armchair, pulling Natalia onto his lap. "Historical romance? Sounds like a hard pass for me. I've got that new sci-fi thriller queued up."

Natalia elbowed him lightly. "Oh, lighten up. Maya's right—it's fun escapism. All the drama, the balls, the forbidden love. What's not to like?"

Joe glanced up from his phone, eyebrow raised. "Yeah, count me out." He stretched his legs out, already mentally checked out.

Maya wasn't deterred. She grabbed the remote and navigated to the streaming app with practiced ease. "Trust me, you'll thank me. The lead this season is fresh—some newcomer named Y/N as the love interest of the season. I saw the trailers; it's got intrigue, passion, the works." She hit play before anyone could protest further, dimming the lights and passing around bowls of popcorn.

The opening credits rolled, the lush strings of the score filling the room. The group settled in, half-hearted at first. Charlie and Natalia whispered jokes about the elaborate gowns, but as the episodes unfolded, the ton's scandals pulled them in. Joe, however, kept his gaze drifting to his beer bottle, feigning disinterest. That is, until she appeared.

On screen, Y/N glided into frame as Kate —or whatever the character's name was this season—her hair cascading in perfect waves, her eyes sharp and commanding yet softened by a vulnerability that hit Joe like a gut punch. She moved with a grace that made the period costumes look effortless, her skin glowing under the candlelit sets. Joe's casual slouch straightened imperceptibly. He leaned forward, squinting at the TV.

"Who's that?" he asked, his voice cutting through Maya's excited commentary. It came out more abrupt than he intended, but he couldn't help it.

Maya paused the episode, turning to him with a smirk. "Y/N. Newcomer, but she's killing it as the lead. Why? Finally hooked?"

Joe shrugged, playing it cool as he took a swig of beer. "Just curious. She stands out." Inside, his mind raced. Holy shit, he thought, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. It wasn't just the actress's features—those full lips, the curve of her neck, the way her eyes seemed to pierce right through the screen. It was the fire in her portrayal, the subtle strength that made every glance, every turn, feel electric. He imagined her in real life, laughing in a crowded room, or quieter, in a moment of intimacy. His pulse quickened at the thought, but he clamped down on it hard. No way was he admitting that to the group. They'd never let him live it down.

"Play it," he said gruffly, settling back as if nothing had happened. Maya obliged, and the binge resumed.

Hours blurred into a marathon. The wine flowed, the popcorn dwindled, and the room grew quieter as the plot thickened—arranged marriages, hidden desires, stolen kisses in moonlit gardens. Charlie and Natalia were fully invested, debating character motivations between episodes. Maya beamed, vindicated in her choice. But Joe? He was lost in it. Every scene with Y/N pulled him deeper. He watched her spar verbally with the male lead, Jonathan Bailey's character, their chemistry crackling like a live wire. When the tension built to a heated dance, hands brushing, bodies inching closer, Joe's jaw tightened.

Damn it, he thought as the episode escalated. On screen, Bailey's character drew Y/N close, his fingers tracing the small of her back in a moment that was pure Regency flirtation. The camera lingered on her flushed cheeks, the way her breath hitched. Joe shifted in his seat, an unfamiliar knot twisting in his chest. Jealousy? Over fictional touches? It was ridiculous, but there it was—raw and unbidden. He pictured himself in that scene, not some polished Anthony Bridgerton, feeling the warmth of her skin, the press of her body against his. Get a grip, Keery, he chided himself, but his eyes never left the screen.

By the time the final episode credits rolled, the clock ticked past 2 a.m. The group was bleary-eyed but buzzing. "That was epic," Natalia yawned, stretching. "Y/N's got star power."

"Told you," Maya said, high-fiving Charlie.

Joe nodded along, forcing a grin. "Yeah, not bad. Might even watch season three." As they gathered their things and said goodbyes, he lingered by the TV, replaying snippets in his mind. Y/N. He pulled out his phone, telling himself it was just curiosity, and searched her name. Photos flooded the screen—red carpets, interviews, that same captivating smile. The most beautiful, his brain echoed again.

Alone in the quiet house, Joe poured a nightcap and sank back into the couch. The binge watch had cracked something open in him, a quiet envy for the man who got to share those scenes with her. But more than that, it sparked a hunger—for the story, for the fantasy, and maybe, just maybe, for a chance to see if reality could match the screen.

____________

Months slipped by in the relentless churn of Hollywood—auditions, table reads, and the endless cycle of press for Stranger Things' upcoming season. Joe Keery had replayed that binge-watch night in his head more times than he'd admit, Y/N's face flickering into his thoughts during quiet moments on set or late-night drives. But reality had a way of grounding fantasies; she was a rising star in a different orbit, and the odds of their worlds colliding seemed slimmer than a plot twist in a bad script. He pushed it aside, focusing on scripts and studio sessions, convincing himself it was just a fleeting crush sparked by too much wine and escapism.

The invitation to the Netflix party arrived via email, a glossy affair promising 'an evening of celebration with your Netflix family.' Joe skimmed it, noting the date and the vague 'special project milestone.' Sounded like the usual schmooze-fest—networking, free booze, and awkward small talk with execs. He wasn't thrilled, but Netflix was the golden goose for Stranger Things, so he rounded up the usual suspects: Natalia Dyer, Charlie Heaton, Maya Hawke, and a couple others from the cast like Finn Wolfhard and Gaten Matarazzo, who tagged along for the open bar.

They rolled up to the venue in a cluster of Ubers—a sleek rooftop lounge overlooking the LA skyline, strung with fairy lights and pulsing with low-key electronica. The theme screamed elegance with a modern twist: waiters in tailored black circulating trays of champagne flutes and artisanal bites. Joe adjusted his button-down as they stepped inside, the group immediately drawing a few nods from familiar faces in the industry.

'Not bad,' Charlie said, clapping Joe on the shoulder as they claimed a high-top table near the edge of the crowd. 'Beats another night with takeout.'

Natalia sipped her drink, scanning the room. 'Yeah, but what's the big reveal? Feels like they're hyping something.'

Maya, ever the social butterfly, grinned and linked arms with Joe. 'Who cares? Free drinks. Let's mingle.'

The first couple of hours blurred into easy chatter. They swapped stories from the set—Finn recounting a botched stunt that left him with a fake bruise for days, Gaten debating the merits of pineapple on pizza with Charlie. Joe laughed along, nursing a whiskey neat, content to let the conversation flow without him steering it. The party swelled with more arrivals: producers, writers, a smattering of influencers snapping selfies. No big announcements yet, just the hum of networking and the clink of glasses.

Then, as Joe turned to grab a refill from a passing tray, his gaze snagged on the far corner of the room. There she was—Y/N, illuminated by the soft glow of a nearby chandelier. She stood in quiet conversation with Jonathan Bailey, her posture relaxed but reserved, like someone still finding her footing in the spotlight. Her wavy hair tumbled over one shoulder, catching the light in subtle waves, framing her skin that seemed almost luminous against the deep sheen of her long dress. The fabric hugged her figure just enough to hint at the curves beneath, flowing to the floor in a cascade of midnight silk. Her eyes, warm and expressive, crinkled at the edges as she smiled faintly at something Bailey said, her voice carrying a soft lilt that didn't quite reach the buzz of the party.

Joe froze, the glass halfway to his lips. Time stretched; the room's noise faded to a distant murmur. She was even more striking in motion—gesturing lightly with her hands, tilting her head in that thoughtful way that mirrored her on-screen intensity. His heart thudded against his ribs, a rush of heat climbing his neck. It's her, he thought, the realization hitting like a spotlight. Mesmerized didn't cover it; he couldn't tear his eyes away, tracing the line of her jaw, the subtle flush on her cheeks from the warmth of the crowd.

'Dude,' Maya whispered, sidling up beside him and following his stare. Her eyes lit with recognition, a sly smile spreading. 'That's Y/N. From Bridgerton. And you're staring like she's the last slice of pizza.'

Joe blinked, snapping back to the present, and set his glass down a bit too hard. 'What? No, I'm not—'

'Oh, please.' Maya nudged him, her voice teasing but encouraging. 'You've been mooning over her since that binge night. Go say hi. She's right there, chatting with Jonathan. What's the worst that happens? She thinks you're a fanboy?'

Natalia overheard, leaning in with a grin. 'Maya's right. You two would hit it off—both got that brooding vibe.'

Charlie chuckled from across the table. 'Yeah, mate. Don't chicken out now.'

Joe's stomach twisted, nerves coiling like a spring. His mouth went dry at the thought of approaching her—words tangling in his brain, palms suddenly sweaty. What would he even say? 'Hey, I think you're stunning and I've been low-key obsessed since episode one'? It sounded pathetic. She was surrounded by polished pros like Bailey, who flashed that easy charm and made it look effortless. Joe rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a casual shrug. 'Nah, she's busy. Besides, I'm here for the Stranger Things crew, not to crash someone else's party.'

Maya rolled her eyes but didn't push harder, though her glance said she'd circle back. 'Your loss, Keery. But if you change your mind...'

He nodded vaguely, turning back to the group, but his attention kept drifting. Across the room, Y/N laughed softly at Bailey's quip, her dress shimmering as she shifted weight. Joe exhaled slowly, willing himself to play it cool. For now, he'd hang back, content—or not—to watch from afar, the pull of her presence lingering like an unfinished scene.

The party's energy shifted as the night deepened, the initial buzz giving way to looser conversations and laughter echoing off the lounge's high ceilings. Joe stuck close to the Stranger Things crew, trading barbs with Charlie about the latest script changes while Natalia and Maya darted off to chat with some mutual acquaintances. He stole glances toward the corner where Y/N had been, but she'd moved on, blending into the crowd with that effortless poise.

Y/N, meanwhile, felt the subtle pull of fatigue after hours of polite nods and surface-level exchanges. The celebration was for her show's second season, yet the spotlight felt heavier than usual—especially with Jonathan's easy charisma drawing most of the attention. She excused herself from a cluster of producers and made her way to the bar, the long black dress whispering against her legs with each step. Her wavy hair swayed gently, and she smoothed a hand over the sheen of the fabric, skin catching the ambient lights. A gin and tonic sounded perfect—something crisp to cut through the warmth.

As the bartender slid her drink across the polished wood, a voice piped up beside her, bright and familiar. 'Y/N, right? I have to say, you absolutely killed it in season two. That chemistry with Jonathan? Electric. I'm obsessed.'

Y/N turned, her eyes lighting up as she recognized the face. Maya Hawke, all sharp features and infectious energy, stood there with a champagne flute in hand. 'Maya! Oh my god, thank you. That means a lot coming from you—I've been a huge Stranger Things fan since day one.'

Maya's grin widened, and she leaned in, the two of them falling into an easy rhythm right away. They bonded over the chaos of filming schedules—Y/N's tales of Regency-era corsets clashing hilariously with Maya's stories of '80s hair and fake blood. Y/N opened up about her roots overseas, the long haul from her home town to LA, and how Bridgerton's world had swept her into this whirlwind. Maya laughed at her impressions of stuffy period accents, and before long, it felt like they'd been swapping secrets for years, not minutes.

'You know,' Maya said, eyes sparkling with mischief, 'we're over here with the rest of the Stranger Things gang. Come meet them? They're the best—total misfits, but in the greatest way.'

Y/N's pulse quickened at the invite, a flicker of nerves bubbling up. She knew their faces from endless marathons back home, but stepping into their circle? That was next-level. Still, Maya's warmth made it impossible to say no. 'I'd love that. Lead the way.'

They wove through the crowd, Y/N clutching her drink a little tighter, her steps measured to hide the slight tremor in her knees. As they approached the high-top table, the group's chatter paused, heads turning with curiosity. Natalia's smile was welcoming, Charlie raised his glass in a casual toast, and Finn and Gaten exchanged excited whispers. But then Y/N's gaze locked onto Joe—sitting at the edge, his posture relaxed but his eyes intense, like he was already tuned into her frequency.

Her heart stuttered, a jolt racing through her chest. It was instant, inexplicable—like the universe had scripted this moment just for them. His features, that quiet intensity she'd admired on screen, hit her square in the gut. She could almost feel the pull, a magnetic thread drawing her closer, whispering stolen glances and late-night confessions. But she played it cool, forcing a steady breath as Maya jumped in.

'Guys, this is Y/N—the queen of Bridgerton season two. Y/N, meet everyone: Natalia, Charlie, Joe, Finn, Gaten... you probably know the drill.'

Y/N smiled, extending a hand to each in turn, her voice warm despite the butterflies. 'Hi, everyone. Huge fans—Stranger Things got me through so many rainy nights in bed. Your show's basically my comfort watch.'

The ice broke instantly. Natalia pulled her into a quick hug, gushing about the Regency drama's twists. 'We just binged your season—total addiction. That ball scene? Iconic.' Charlie jumped in with questions about working with the period costumes, while Finn and Gaten grilled her on the wildest behind-the-scenes mishaps, their laughter pulling her right into the fold. It flowed like they'd all shared a thousand meals together —Y/N teasing Gaten about his pizza theories, swapping filming war stories with Charlie that had the table in stitches.

Joe hung back at first, his smile genuine but his eyes lingering on her a beat too long each time she spoke. Y/N felt it, that undercurrent simmering beneath the easy banter—a loving tension that made her skin tingle whenever their gazes brushed. She laughed at his dry quip about Netflix's endless content machine, but inside, her mind raced with what-ifs: the way his hand might feel on hers, the spark if he leaned in closer. Still, she kept it light, channeling her nerves into the group's rhythm. 

The laughter around the high-top table grew richer as the group's conversation wove through shared industry gripes and lighthearted jabs at their on-screen personas. Y/N fit seamlessly, her voice adding a fresh lilt to her stories about wrangling horses for a period drama audition gone wrong. Natalia leaned in, eyes wide with delight, while Charlie nodded along, chuckling at her mimicry of a director's meltdown. Finn and Gaten peppered her with questions about Bridgerton's lavish sets, and even the quieter moments felt charged with her easy warmth.

Under the table, away from her notice, the others exchanged subtle glances. Maya caught Natalia's eye first, mouthing 'She's perfect' with a thumbs-up. Charlie smirked, whispering to Finn, 'We need her in the group chat—stat.' Gaten nodded vigorously, already pulling out his phone to draft a welcome message in his head. They buzzed with quiet excitement, plotting how to pull her into their post-wrap hangouts and spontaneous road trips, her vibe slotting into their dynamic like a missing puzzle piece.

Joe, though, stayed on the periphery of it all. He couldn't tear his focus from her—the way her eyes sparkled when she animated a tale, her pale skin glowing under the party's soft lights, black wavy hair framing her face as she gestured with graceful hands. Her kindness shone in every response, drawing people in without effort, and her conversation flowed with a poise that left him breathless. He managed smiles and nods, but his mind raced, captivated, words sticking in his throat as he watched her light up the space.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the hum. 'There you are—Y/N, I've been looking everywhere. Slipped away on me?'

Y/N turned, her smile broadening at the sight of Jonathan Bailey, his tailored suit impeccable, dark hair tousled just so. 'Jonathan! Sorry, got caught up here. Guys, this is Jonathan—my on-screen duke and all-around lifesaver on set.' She gestured around the table, introducing each face with quick warmth.

The group lit up instantly. 'Huge fan, man,' Charlie said, clapping him on the shoulder. 'That carriage scene? Gold.' Natalia beamed, 'You two have insane chemistry—seriously, the whole season's highlight.' Finn and Gaten echoed the praise, and even Joe forced a grin, murmuring, 'Great work, mate.' Jonathan took it in stride, his charm disarming as he traded compliments on Stranger Things' latest thrills, the table swelling with mutual admiration.

After a few minutes of banter, Jonathan checked his watch, sighing lightly. 'I'm heading out—early call tomorrow. Y/N, want to share a ride back to the hotel? Safer than navigating this crowd alone.'

Joe's gut twisted at the offer, a hot surge of anger flaring up unbidden. The thought of her leaving with him, sliding into some sleek car together, gnawed at him—images of their easy closeness on screen flashing through his mind. He didn't know the full story, the rumors about Jonathan's preferences, and in that moment, it stung like a personal slight. But he clamped it down, jaw tightening just enough to stay hidden, his expression neutral as he sipped his drink and stared at the table's edge.

Before Y/N could respond, Maya jumped in, her tone casual but insistent. 'Actually, Y/N—why don't you come back to Charlie's place with us? We've got the night winding down, but a few more drinks and stories wouldn't hurt. The hotel can wait.'

Y/N's eyes flicked between them, a spark of relief mixing with her earlier nerves. The pull toward this group, toward Joe especially, felt too strong to ignore. 'That sounds amazing, actually. Jonathan, I'll catch a ride with them—see you bright and early tomorrow for the press tour chaos?'

Jonathan nodded, unfazed, pressing a quick, platonic kiss to her cheek. 'Wouldn't miss it. Have fun, everyone—don't let her out of your sights; she's the best.' With a wave, he melted back into the crowd, leaving the table buzzing anew.

Y/N's heart raced as she settled back in, the loving tension with Joe humming stronger now, his gaze meeting hers across the table with unspoken promise. The night stretched ahead, full of possibilities, as the group gathered their things, ready to extend the magic beyond the party's glow.

____________

The party's energy lingered as the group lingered by the valet stand, the LA night air crisp against their skin. Gaten stretched, yawning dramatically. 'Man, that was a blast, but I'm beat. Finn, you crashing at mine tonight? We can raid the fridge and call it.'

Finn grinned, nodding. 'Yeah, let's bounce.' With quick hugs and waves to Y/N and the rest, they slipped into a waiting car, taillights fading into the city glow.

That left Natalia, Maya, Charlie, Joe, and Y/N piling into Charlie's sleek SUV, the leather seats cool and inviting. Charlie took the wheel, Natalia shotgun, while Maya claimed the middle row with Y/N, Joe sliding in last beside her. The doors clicked shut, and the engine hummed to life, pulling them away from the rooftop lights.

Conversation flowed easy in the dim cabin—Natalia recounting a funny mishap from Stranger Things' hair and makeup trailer, Maya chiming in with her own set tales from the latest season. Charlie tossed in quips about LA traffic, keeping the vibe light. Y/N laughed along, her voice warm, sharing a quick bit about dodging paparazzi post-premiere. But Joe? His world narrowed to the heat radiating from her thigh against his. In the tight space, their legs pressed firm, her black dress riding up just enough to brush skin on denim. Every shift of the car amplified it—the subtle give of her muscle, the accidental graze that sent sparks up his spine. He nodded at the chatter, forcing words when prompted, but his pulse thrummed with the contact, mind replaying the party's stolen glances, her smile aimed his way.

They turned onto quieter streets, the city fading to suburban hush. Charlie's house came into view—a modern haven tucked behind manicured hedges, all clean lines and soft lighting. He pulled into the driveway, gravel crunching under tires. 

Inside, the place wrapped them in peace: wide windows overlooking the garden, neutral tones warmed by scattered books and photos from their travels. No clutter, just effortless comfort. 'Garden it is,' Natalia said, grabbing blankets from a hall closet. 'Fire pit's calling—beats staring at walls.'

They spilled out back, the garden a lush escape under string lights—blooming jasmine climbing trellises, a stone path winding to the fire pit ringed by cushioned benches. Charlie knelt by the pit, stacking logs with practiced ease, while Maya and Natalia arranged pillows and pulled drinks from an outdoor cooler: chilled beers, a bottle of red. Joe struck the match, flames crackling to life, casting flickering gold across their faces. Y/N settled on a bench, tucking her legs under her, the fire's warmth chasing the night's chill.

Stories picked up where the car left off, the group circling closer as embers glowed. Charlie teased Natalia about her latest audition flop, earning playful swats. Maya launched into a wild tale of sneaking onto a closed set, her gestures animated. But Joe leaned in toward Y/N, voice low amid the laughter. 'So, what's the real story behind landing Bridgerton? You own that role like you've been doing it forever.'

She met his eyes, the firelight dancing in them, a shy smile curving her lips. 'Honestly? Never saw it coming. Acting snuck up on me during uni; a friend dragged me to an open call, and... here I am.' She paused, sipping her wine, the flames reflecting off her pale skin. 'Bridgerton's been magic, though. The costumes, the dances—felt like stepping into a fever dream. Loved every second, even the corset struggles.'

The group hung on her words, nods and murmurs weaving in. Joe pressed on, thigh finding hers again on the shared bench, the deliberate nudge hidden in the casual lean. 'What'd you miss most before acting?’

'Quiet, mostly,' she admitted, her leg holding steady against his, a subtle thrill buzzing between them. 'But the crew made it easy. Jonathan's a riot—kept us sane through reshoots.'

Charlie chuckled, poking the fire. 'Sounds like our set. Non-stop improv disasters.'

As tales bounced around—Natalia sharing her first big break nerves, Maya confessing a crush on a co-star that fizzled hilariously—Natalia caught Y/N's gaze across the flames. 'You're seriously cool, you know that? The way you just vibe with everything—it's refreshing. We need more of that.'

Maya nodded, grinning. 'Totally. You're like the missing link. Group hangs just got way better.' The words landed warm, pulling Y/N deeper into the fold, laughter rippling as they traded more anecdotes, the night deepening with easy bonds and unspoken sparks.

The fire popped softly, embers swirling upward into the velvet night as laughter ebbed and flowed around the pit. Stories had layered on thick—Charlie mimicking a director's meltdown on set, Natalia countering with her own prop mishap that nearly singed her eyebrows, Maya weaving in a ghost hunt gone wrong from a past Halloween wrap party. Y/N soaked it all in, her body relaxed against the cushions, legs still brushing Joe's in that electric, unspoken way. He stole glances at her profile, the way flames licked shadows across her cheekbones, her waves catching the glow like silk threads.

As the bottle of red made its final rounds, Charlie leaned back, arms draped over the bench. 'Alright, spill—what's next for you? Season two promo's gotta be a whirlwind. You jetting off soon for press tour?'

Y/N swirled the last of her wine, nodding with a tired but genuine smile. 'Yeah, it's non-stop. Heading international first—London, Paris, a few spots in Asia—then bouncing around the US circuit. Interviews, panels, the whole red-eye shuffle. Won't touch down back here for a solid month, at least.'

A beat of quiet settled, the group's nods thoughtful. Maya's eyes lit up, snapping her fingers. 'A month? That's perfect timing. We've got this tradition—one week camping trip, well more like get away we always get a bach to stay in,  right before we dive into the new Stranger Things season. Clears the head, bonds the chaos. Just us: me, Natalia, Joe, Charlie. You in? It'd be cool to have you along.'

Natalia's grin spread wide, elbowing Charlie. 'Hell yes. Imagine the s'mores and bad horror movie debates around a real campfire.'

Joe's heart kicked up, the idea of a week in the woods with her twisting something eager in his gut. He met her gaze across the fire, voice steady despite the rush. 'Absolutely. Would make it unforgettable.'

Y/N's laugh bubbled out, soft and surprised, as she pulled her phone from her clutch, thumbing open her calendar app under the screen's blue light. 'You guys are too sweet. Let me just... oh.' Her brows lifted, scrolling through dates. 'That lines up exactly when my two best friends from back home are flying in to visit. Ben— was my flatmate back home for years, has a wicked sense of humor. And Hayley, my old colleague. They're crashing at mine for the week. Mind if they tag along? Promise they're really sweet.'

The group erupted in easy agreement, Maya waving it off. 'If they're anything like you? Bring 'em. Sounds like the party's just getting started.'

'Yeah,' Natalia added, sipping her beer. 'More the merrier. We've always got extra room.'

Joe nodded, the warmth in his chest spreading at the thought—more time, more chances to peel back her layers. 'No question. They'd fit right in.'

Y/N's face softened, a radiant smile breaking through as she tapped out a quick text, thumbs flying. 'Done. Sending them the pitch now—fingers crossed they bite.' She hit send, pocketing the phone, and leaned back, the fire's heat mirroring the spark in her eyes as she looked around the circle.

The conversation drifted onward, lighter now with plans solidifying, but Joe's focus lingered on the subtle press of her knee against his, the promise of tangled nights ahead humming just beneath the surface.

The fire had dwindled to a soft glow, casting long shadows across the garden as the clock ticked past 3 a.m. Laughter had softened into yawns, the group's energy fading like the embers. Y/N glanced at her phone, the screen's harsh light cutting through the haze, and her eyes widened. 'Oh no—guys, it's way later than I thought. I've got a 7 a.m. interview call before we fly out to Paris for the promo kickoff. I need to crash.' She stood, brushing off her dress, regret flickering in her smile. 'This was incredible. Goodnight, everyone—seriously, thank you.'

Natalia waved from her spot, bundled in a blanket. 'Safe travels!'

Maya blew a kiss. 'Text us from Paris. And don't forget the camping deets.'

Charlie nodded, poking at the coals. 'Yeah, message us. We'll sort the accommodation soon.’

Joe rose too, heart thudding as he caught her eye. 'I'll walk you out. Make sure the cab doesn't ghost you.'

Y/N nodded, a quiet warmth in her gaze, and they slipped away from the fire's circle, the cool night air wrapping around them like a secret. The path from Charlie's garden to the street was lined with quiet hedges, the crunch of gravel under their shoes the only sound at first. Then words tumbled out—easy, unforced. She mentioned a funny mishap from her first audition tape, how she'd tripped over a cable mid-scene, and he countered with a story from Stranger Things' early days, the time he'd flubbed a line so badly it cracked up the whole crew. Their steps synced without trying, shoulders brushing now and then, the space between them charged but comfortable, like slipping into a favorite song. He asked about her favorite hidden spot back home, she probed about his go-to escape from New York chaos, and the conversation flowed, pulling them closer without a single push. Neither voiced the pull, the way it felt right, but it hummed there, electric and unspoken.

The cab's headlights sliced through the dark as it pulled up to the curb, engine humming low. Y/N turned toward it, hand already on the door, but Joe stepped forward, voice dropping soft. 'Hey—before you go... can I get your number? I'd love to keep talking. If you're up for it.'

Her cheeks flushed under the streetlight, a shy curve to her lips as she pulled out her phone. 'Yeah. I'd like that.' She recited the digits, fingers tapping as he saved them, their eyes locking in that suspended moment, the air thick with possibility.

She pivoted to slide into the cab, but his hand caught hers—gentle, warm—tugging her back just enough. He leaned in, lips brushing her cheek, grazing the corner of her mouth in a near-kiss that ignited sparks down her spine, heat blooming where his breath met her skin. She felt it ripple through her, a jolt that made her pulse race, and he pulled away slow, eyes dark with the same fire.

'Goodnight, Y/N,' he murmured, thumb lingering on her knuckles before letting go. 'I'll text you tomorrow. Keep the conversation alive.'

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ monster hunting

dustin’s new pet kills your cat and suddenly you’re stuck in the woods of hawkins, throwing raw meat and babysitting a monster. somehow, steve harrington is there too. fixing this mess was never the plan, and neither was him.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ second chances

after dustin drags you to scoops ahoy to translate supposed russian messages, you end up making a new friend, helping more than necessary, and talking to steve harrington after eight months without seeing him.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ why would she give a damn about me?

you always thought steve harrington never noticed you. steve thought the exact same thing about you. after being drugged by the russians, now on the bathroom floor, a lot of badly timed confessions prove you were both wrong.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ what is it with the hendersons?

with eddie munson in hiding and hawkins spiraling, dustin starts acting strangely protective and very jealous about you and steve. because sometimes the real conflict isn’t the monsters, it’s a jealous little brother.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ take your word

while everyone else acts confident, fear creeps in, and when everything finally cracks, steve is the one who follows you, steadying you and reminding you that you don’t have to carry everything alone.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ coming soon!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ OTHERS!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ robin’s faith in love

robin never put much faith in love. but at steve’s house, she notices the small, unspoken ways steve and you choose each other.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ coming soon!

Halloween - now.

“Sour candy or chocolate?” Steve asks deep in thought, he’s standing in the brightly lit Halloween aisle of the local Piggly Wiggly with two different ‘Family Size’ bags of each in his equally big hands. 

His eyebrows are pinched in the center of his forehead, marrying just below the swoop of hair that always fails to stay tucked behind his ear as he scans the shelves for a third, possibly better option with his full bottom lip tugged between perfect teeth. 

This was peak Steve Harrington concentration. 

“Sour candy, obviously.” You scoff, grabbing the neon Warheads bag out of his grasp, dumping it into the small cart that’s already full enough to make you regret not getting the large one Steve had suggested at the door. 

It’s fine, you were supposed to be practicing self control tonight anyway, plus you would never tell him that he was right about something. Not unless you wanted to hear about it for the next week.

Self control is a new concept when it comes to Steve, but you are good at trying to practice it, refusing to meet his eyes as you brush past him, and again when you ignore the glimmer of electricity that’s sparked between the two of you since your friendship’s conception. It’s a lot harder to pretend now though, because touching him feels like sticking a wet hand to a power grid these days, all because of a childish dare to prove Eddie Munson wrong. A plan that backfired in your face pretty quickly after drunkenly locking lips with your best friend at the metal head’s bonfire last week, because neither one of you can back down from a challenge. 

Or admit the truth. 

Your friendship with Steve has always been a series of ‘what if’s’. An unspoken tension that everyone in the room could feel when the two of you were in it, but honestly Steve had chemistry with everyone. He was just one of those guys, and your bond only intensified it, at least that’s what you’ve told yourself over the years. Kissing him though? That was always the kind of ‘what if’ you’d only ever dared to think about in the dead of night - alone, in your room, before shoving it back deep down into the dark crevices of your mind. It always happened after a movie night that got a little too cozy under a shared blanket, wandering hands a little too daring in the dark, cinnamon and clove clinging to all the fabrics of your clothes.  

Only now, it was a reality. One that hasn’t stopped playing on a loop since. 

“I think we should get both.” Steve finally decides like it’s been something that’s kept him up at night, coming up behind you so close that his chest brushes against your back as he reaches around to dump the chocolate in the cart. His cologne tempts your senses like the devil trying to make a deal for your soul, and you wonder if holding your breath would be too dramatic.

”We’re going to have so much left over if we get both.” You argue with a smile twisting up the corners of your lips, but you make no effort to correct the situation. The uneven wheels squeak as you keep pushing the cart down the linoleum floors.

”Or we can be the best stop on the block, let these kids clean house.” He suggests as if he were a coach coming up with a play, pounding his fist into his open palm for the words ‘clean house’ before pushing the dark green sleeves of his Hawkins Community College sweater up his arms. A galaxy of freckles reveal themselves to you, clustering and spreading along his permanently sunkissed skin. They stand out even more under the fluorescents. 

“I know you like winning, but I feel like I have to remind you that this isn’t a competition Harrington.” Grinning, you finally meet his amused eyes.

”Just getting into the Halloween spirit, that’s all honey.” Steve winks, pushing the wild strand back, just for it to fall across his face not even a second later. He ignores your protest when he bumps you to the side with his hip to take over pushing the cart. “Now the real question is what are we watching tonight?”

“I was thinking something along the lines of Army of Darkness, or Nightmare on Elm Street. Neither are very scary, I know how you get.” You couldn’t help but throw the little dig in retaliation for taking the cart from you, a giggle slipping past your lips at the side eye you get in return.

”I just don’t like being scared? Is that such a crime? You can go watch whatever you want with Eddie like the little weirdos you are.” He does a good job at keeping a straight face as the two of you get in line behind a family of five, but you catch a peek of his smirk when he leans over to put the divider on the black belt. 

“Do I need to remind you that you invited yourself tonight? I should make you watch The Exorcist.” 

It’s the genuine disbelief that paints his features that gets a full bellied laugh out of you, a big smile pushing up your glossed lips, and you can’t help notice how his gaze falls to them for a split second. 

Self control.

”Sorry I want to spend my best friend’s favorite holiday with her, sue me.” Steve scoffs dramatically, setting the bags of candy on the moving belt first, the family ahead of you wrapping up.

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms stubbornly, cheeks burning hot at the smirk he gives you.

”Listen, I don’t actually care about what we watch, what I care about is that you’re going to let those pumpkins we carved finally see the light of day.”  He pushes the now emptied cart ahead, leaning back against the wooden panel of the register, leaving just a few inches between you. An amused eyebrow arches at your annoyed groan in response.

”Steve, they are hideous.”

”Speak for yourself, I put my blood, sweat and tears into mine, he deserves his moment. He’s going outside.” He decides it with the kind of finality in his tone that you know means it’s going to be the first thing he does as soon as you get back. 

”No one is going to come to the apartment, it will look like serial killers live there.” 

“Or a couple of undiscovered artists. Who are also going to be the number one candy dealers on the block.”  He argues, completely unphased by your protesting.

“Steve!” You whine, despite the smirk that creeps up your lips, and it makes Steve’s face split in two. 

“Fine, but we’re watching whatever I want then.” You challenge, doing your best to ignore the flutter in your stomach when his foot brushes against yours and he keeps it there.

”Like within reason.” He succumbs with genuine concern, rubbing his palms nervously against his tight fitting light wash jeans at the thought of what you’re sure is the last movie Eddie made him sit through.

”I’m not a monster Harrington.” You wink, quietly thankful for the fact that the line starts to move, because like magnets you’d unconsciously migrated deeper between his spread legs. 

Seizing the moment, you put some space between you just in time for Delores, or as her name tag reads to greet you both, popping the bubble you’d unknowingly trapped yourself in with him and bringing you back to reality.

Self Control.

Halloween - Three Years Ago.

“I really can’t believe you’re choosing to go to Eddie’s Halloween party over Tina’s.” Steve yells over Eddie Money’s ‘Take Me Home Tonight’ from his bathroom.

”And I can’t believe you’re going on a date with Brenda, again.” You retort, recalling the last time he tried to date her six months ago, and how he had to disconnect his landline after he ended things.

Granted he was breaking up with her because the new foreign exchange student at the time was showing interest, and he’d rather have a semester of fun with her than spend the winter playing boyfriend with Brenda. So you definitely understood where she was coming from, in fact you constantly reminded Steve you were on her side every time he’d try and complain about the mess he made. Messes he always seemed to make.

You ignored the unreasonable pit of jealousy that formed in your gut then, just like you are now, cause in no universe are you going to allow yourself to have a crush on  your best friend. There was no way you were going to fall victim to the Harrington charm just like everyone else, you liked hanging out with him too much for that. It would be a cold day in hell if you ended up as one of Steve’s messes, because in an alternate reality where you gave in to the ‘what if’ and it didn’t work out, there’s no way you’d be able to go back to watching him do exactly what he’s doing right now. 

You wouldn’t be able to have movie nights where maybe you both sit a little too close, laughing until your sides hurt and snacking on whatever is in front of you. No more late drives to lovers lake, just so you can get a better view of the moon when it's full, and staying out till sunrise, stopping at Denny’s to share a grand slam on your way home. No more talks about the future and how much the uncertainty of it all scares you both. No more having someone you can be completely yourself around. Someone who won’t judge you for your faults, someone who shows up when no one else will. Neither one of you could lose that.

”Look, it’s been a few months. She seems over it, besides it’s not like it’s anything serious.” He tries to reason, finally stepping out of his bathroom to give you the first look at his costume. ”What do you think?”

You never thought Indiana Jones was hot, even when he made you watch all three movies in preparation for this, but Steve as Indiana Jones was another story entirely. 

His dark brown pants are tucked into black boots, fitting his waist perfectly with a chocolate colored belt wrapped around his hips only extenuating it more. The cream colored button up leaves little to the imagination since he only has the bottom two done, half hazardly tucked into the front of his pants. You notice the silver chain that you’d gotten him for Christmas last year hanging from his neck, the dog tag at the end of it getting lost in the thick thatch of hair on his chest and it leaves your body warm. He opts out of the fedora because according to him it would hide his “best asset” so that wild strand swoops across his forehead like it's on purpose.

Steve Harrington looked like a movie star. 

Brenda didn’t know what was coming for her, and you have to swallow that sour taste in your mouth for the second time tonight. 

“I’d say Stephen Spielberg needs to seriously consider recasting you as the lead instead of Harrison Ford.” You feed into his delusion, because that’s what best friends are for.

”Right? Right?” He spins around one more time, flashing that million dollar smile of his that devastates anyone he directs it at. You have to remind yourself of everything that you could lose again.

It’s Steve’s turn to take in your costume. Golden brown eyes sparkling with amusement and the kind of adoration that was hard to ignore. You’re a Venus fly trap from the Little Shop of Horrors, wrapped up in a dark green form fitting tube top dress that stops at the middle of your thighs with jagged cut ends you made yourself with a dull pair of kitchen scissors. The silk gloves that go up to your elbows are the same shade of emerald, along with the little paper mache fly trap heads that Robin helped you make sticking out of the top of your pinned up hair. Glitter covers every exposed inch of your chest, and shimmers in the corners of your eyes. You had felt confident enough to even reconsider going to Tina’s instead when you applied your red lipstick before leaving for Steve’s. His reaction only makes it soar. 

”What do you think?” You smile, taking your turn to spin. 

”Who are you trying to impress at this party again?” Steve quirks an eyebrow, a darkened gaze lingering over all the details of you, taking his time where a best friend shouldn’t and it makes you squirm.

”Jonathan’s friend that’s visiting from California. You know him, Argyle." 

He scoffs, waving a dismissive hand before moving past you to grab his cologne from the top of his dresser.

”Him? Why? He’s only here for like two more days anyway.” He challenges with his back turned, and you know it’s on purpose.

”Okay? And?” You snap, his hypocrisy quickly snuffing out the jealousy that seemed to get comfortable in your gut and turning it into anger. You prefer it. So you lean into it. “You’re the only one who get’s to fuck around with no strings attached?”

”He’s a stoner pizza delivery man, I don’t really know what you’d see in that. Don’t lower your standards just to hook up with someone because you look cute tonight.” 

Because you look cute tonight. 

It’s your turn to scoff.

“You’re being a complete ass, Harrington. Like working at a video store is any better. He’s nice, and makes me laugh. We already hung out the other night. Then guess what? He walked me home and kissed me at my front door. I don’t think I need to impress anybody.” Your nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms, hands balling into fists at your side. How dare he.

What makes you even more mad is that it feels like it’s Steve who’s jealous. Steve who’s getting ready to go on a date with someone else. Steve who didn’t ask you when you were always right here.

”Oh, so that’s why we didn’t hang out the other night, got it.” He raises his eyebrows, lips turning into a frown before nodding his head. 

“We hang out almost every other night Steve, I don’t say anything to you when you go out on dates, and you go out on a ton of them. I think you’ve dated almost every girl in my Liberal Arts Class. I’m not appreciating this double standard, or you questioning my judgment.” Your words carry the kind of venom that stings, and you can see it all over his face. The worst part was how you immediately feel bad, frustrated tears threatening to spill over the shimmer that covers your cheeks. 

Steve’s quiet for a moment, looking down at his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. He meets your eyes after a few seconds, soft and apologetic, traces of unmistakable regret in the dark pools of his irises.

”You’re right, I’m sorry.” He sighs, straightening up, shifting his belt buckle around. “I don’t know why I’m being so-, I just think, I just -“

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts and decide if he really wants to say what’s trying to escape from the tip of his tongue.

”I just don’t think anyone’s good enough for you.”

You let his words sink it. They make the anger that fueled you cool down to a low simmer so that jealous pit can come back to reclaim its rightful throne.

”Well I could say the same thing for you too.” You mutter, refusing to meet his gaze, you weren’t ready to yet.

The silence that fills the space between you is full of those what if’s and half truths. It stays there just long enough for you to finally look at him with the mask you’re used to wearing. 

”Apology accepted. The game plan then is for you to try and not to end up getting tied to Brenda’s bed, and I’ll try to make sure Eddie doesn’t burn his trailer to the ground.”

Steve stares at you for a while, like he knows the conversation needs to move on but he doesn’t want it too. Logic wins out no matter how forced it seems, because he follows your lead.

“He’ll need you, buddy needs to cool it with the lighter fluid. And for what it’s worth your costume looks amazing. You guys did great.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

He spots the whip at the end of his bed, playfully flicking the head of one of the fly traps with his fingers as he walks past, and you have to stop yourself from inhaling the cedar and honey that invades your senses from his cologne. It’s not the one with cinnamon that you love, the one he only wears in the fall, the one that he wears for you. 

“Come on, I’ll drop you off on my way.”

Halloween - Now.

“So what’s the game plan chief?” Steve grins, leaning over your kitchen island, long fingers digging through the freshly filled candy bowl for a pack of Swedish fish.

”There’s no game plan, we hang out, kids walk up, they ring the door bell, then we give them candy and they walk away.” You swat his hand from the treats, but let him keep the gummy candy he searched so hard for. “No good supplier eats his stash Harrington, and I can’t believe I just had to explain the concept of trick or treating to you.”

You don’t tell him about the pile you already set aside to share later.

“What? I’m rusty! And, you gotta test the quality of the product honey, I’m a professional, I know what I’m doing.” He argues with his mouth full.

”Eww keep your mouth closed please and you can’t be rusty and a professional at the same time.”

He sticks his tongue out in response with a whole mini bag of half devoured Swedish fish on it.

”I hate you.”

”No you don’t.” He smirks, chewing the rest before pushing himself up right with a big gulp, letting you admire the cozy attire he changed into after you got back from the store. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone make grey sweatpants and a black crew neck sweater look so good. A sweater he made sure to tell you he wore just for you today, the only black top he owns. 

“I’m still mad you didn’t get me any Halloween socks.” Steve points to the fuzzy black ones with jack o lanterns on your feet.

You’d opted for a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater, Steve’s oversized sweater actually, he’d left at your place almost a year ago and never bothered to reclaim it. The dark burnt orange color of it reminded you of fall, and for a while it smelt like him too. You’d never admit that last part to anyone, or that you were excited at the prospect of getting that smell back after tonight.

”You could have easily grabbed a pair at the store earlier, it’s not my fault you don’t know how to be festive.” 

The roll of your eyes is hard, but the smile that twists at the corner of your lips is soft for him as you grab the bowls of candy, silently indicating for him to follow you to the living room.

”I’d like to think I’m pretty festive.” He scoffs, tube sock covered feet padding loudly against the old wood floors of your apartment. “This is the first year I’m not dressing up, actually.”

”Because you don’t have a girl you can do a couples costume with this year.” You retort, setting the candy down on the coffee table before lazily flinging yourself onto the blanket and pillow covered couch. 

“One, I could have very easily gotten a date for Tina’s party tonight, let's not pretend that you and I don’t both know that. And two, that’s not true either, the year before last I didn’t have a date, I went with Robin as Mario and Luigi. You were the one that had a date that year, it was that douche bag Ryan from your English Lit class.” He snorts at the memory and the boy you’d almost forgotten about, but clearly your best friend hadn’t. 

Dropping into the spot he always takes next to you, Steve lets himself melt into the familiar cushions. His knee bumps yours when he spreads his legs wide with an appreciative groan before leaning his head back against the headrest closing his eyes. 

“Ryan was not a douche bag.” He was.

Steve opens one eye, a lopsided grin pulling up on your favorite cheek dotted with two moles. 

“Yes, he was and you know it. He wrote you one poem and you were smitten, one shitty poem. I could’ve written you a better one.”

”Then why didn’t you.” 

Steve’s eyes shine, but he doesn’t answer you, instead the two of you just sit there in silence smiling at each other in a silent dare that's always there. His knee presses into yours harder, and the butterflies that’d you’d done a good job at keeping dormant flutter back to life. Then you see his gaze flick down to your lips again.

Self control.

”L-lets start the movie.” You stutter, unable to tell if you yelled the words or if it really was just that quiet. 

Leaning over, you grab the remote off the coffee table with a kind of quickness that would make you think there was a gun pointed to your head. Steve’s continued silence doesn’t help anything either, he just drapes both arms across the back of the couch, wiggling himself deeper into his spot. The movement has your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you press play, starting the VHS. You had finally settled on Nightmare on Elm street on the car ride back.

It’s second nature to lean over Steve to turn off the lamp, although after last week it feels taboo but it’s too late to stop by the time the realization dawns on you. The light disappears with a loud click leaving just the small one over the stove in the kitchen as your only source besides the TV and the porch light that bleeds through your blinds from outside.

Electricity sparks and fizzes in the air around you the moment the room succumbs to darkness, and your chest accidentally brushes with his as you plop back into your seat. Steve sucks in a sharp intake of breath from the unexpected contact, but still he doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up like he always does, long fingers wrapping around your knees to drape your legs over the top of his thighs. 

Tucked under his arm like this, it’s easy to inhale him, bask in him and the warm cinnamon that mixes into his usual amber in the fall. He’s wearing your favorite. You nuzzle your cheek into his chest becoming greedy, the cozy scent calming your nerves, you get lost in it, and if he notices he doesn’t show it. He squeezes you closer, the top of his chin finding a new home on the crown of your head, while the pad of his thumb rubs circles on the sore muscle of your calf with pointed pressure.

Secretly, you always knew this moment, the one right here, was the cheat code every time you had ‘movie nights’ just the two of you. The excuse to let yourselves have this one thing. A silent agreement to never ruin the friendship by giving in just enough to keep the temptation at bay. An equal craving for the kind of affection that only feels good with someone you love, but as the years go by, the bolder both your touches get under the cloak of a dark room and a blanket, you wonder if it’s more than that. If there’s a world where he thinks about risking it all too.

Halloween - Two Years Ago.

You weren’t supposed to end up at Tina’s Halloween Party, but Ryan wanted to make an appearance after the two of you left Reefer Rick’s. He’d offered to be the DD, but three group shots of pickle bombs into it, you and everyone could tell he wasn’t having a good time. So since your apartment was walking distance from Tina’s, it made sense to end the night there or at least that’s how he explained it when he told you he wanted to leave. 

The usual anxiety that tightens in your chest returns at the thought of seeing your best friend, somersaults in your stomach you refuse to call butterflies. In fact, you’ve done a good job at convincing yourself this is totally normal, because you can’t remember a time where it didn’t feel like this to see him.

Robin would be there too thankfully, because the two of them had entered Tina’s annual costume contest as Mario and Luigi. Costumes you watched them both make all week, sprawled out across Robin’s bedroom floor, pricking fingers till they bled trying to sew. The worst part about it though, was how cute Steve made the oversized mustache look. Some people really do have it all.

Ryan keeps you close to his side when the two of you enter the packed house dressed as Frankenstein and his bride. Monster Mash blares from the speakers so loud you wonder how much time you have left before Hopper comes knocking on the door to shut it down. You scan the crowd for the familiar red and green in a sea of witches, mermaids, and Top Gun characters, finding the two of them in the corner closest to the kitchen. Closest to the booze.

You can’t fight the way your face lights up when Steve’s gaze meets yours through the crowd, his own smile growing so big that half his mustache falls off. Suddenly coming to Tina’s was the best idea Ryan’s ever had. You tug at his arm, leading him towards the two Mario brothers that wave eagerly at you.

”Oh, great. Steve’s here.” Ryan mutters, sounding less than thrilled but you choose to ignore it, and the very obvious tension between the two men that’s existed since they met.

”Finally you come to the superior party!” Robin exclaims hugging you tight, before giving Ryan an awkward side one.

”She’s aliiiiive!” Steve who is clearly feeling very good yells over the music, before scooping you up in his arms. 

He gives you the kind of hug that’s usually reserved for the long goodbye after a self indulgent movie night. The kind that has his big palms splayed across your back, pulling you flush against him, the thin material of your ripped white dress and his ramshackled overalls leaves little to the imagination. His lips find their way to the shell of your ear, tequila and lime warm on his breath, pebbling goosebumps along the back of your neck. He’s wearing your favorite cologne.

”You look beautiful, honey.”

He lets you go with that, and you catch the smug way he looks at Ryan over the top of your head. The smile on Robin’s face is awkward as you meet her gaze with a silent plea for help, you don’t know what exactly you want her to do, but your body is on fire and someone needs to put it out. You stare a little longer as if to communicate this delima to her telepathically even though you would never admit it to her with your words, only giving up on your dead end mission when you feel Ryan tug you back to his side by your hip.

”She does, doesn’t she.” Ryan agrees, fingers threatening to dig bruises in your side unknowingly. Steve always did this to him, but tonight the alcohol intensified it.

“Seriously, literally always so stunning.” Robin agrees on your beauty nervously, giving you an apologetic look that she couldn’t think of anything better.

”Let’s get some shots!” You try with mock excitement in a desperate attempt to remind Ryan why you came here and that it’s not to punch Steve’s teeth in with a squeeze of his hand. It’s a fruitless effort to try and ignore the growing heat that warms under your cheeks and churns deep in your gut where your body always seems to betray you.

”Great idea!” Robin exclaims doing her best to copy your tone, it seems to be enough to shake the boys out of their silent dick swinging contest.

”Tequila or rum?” You ask your date, laying a hand on his chest doing your best to ignore the heat of Steve’s stare on the back of your head.

“Tequila.” He answers, placing his palm on the top of your hand, bending down, his eyes flick towards your best friend before kissing you. Marking his territory.

You’d think it was hot if your body had any kind of reaction to him, but it’s still practically humming for the one behind you and you hate yourself for it.

”I’ll be right back.” You wink, giving Ryan’s fingers a squeeze before slipping through the crowd towards the kitchen without looking back. 

It’s quieter in the yellow light of Tina’s kitchen, the music a low thump instead of overpowering all your senses at once. A shaky breath slips past your black painted lips, while uneasy hands half hazardly read the labels on the cheap bottles of liquor. The bold letters that spell Tequila finally catch your eye on the most generic looking bottle. You grimace at the thought of the hang over that seals your fate tomorrow, but then you remember the way the lime smelt on Steve’s breath.

“You look beautiful honey.”

Fuck it. You take one straight from the bottle for good measure. No salt, no lime, just regret. 

“Your boyfriend’s a little insecure isn’t he?”

As if thinking about him makes him appear, Steve walks through the kitchen pointing a thumb over his shoulder towards the direction Ryan’s in.

“He’s not my boyfriend yet, and he won’t be because you keep egging him on,  Harrington.” You sigh exasperated, ignoring the way he chuckles not taking you seriously at all before turning around to face him, your palms finding purchase on the kitchen counter behind you. 

“Maybe, just a little.” He pinches his thumb and index finger together with a devious smirk that looks even more absurd in his costume. At least his oversized mustache must’ve been left with Robin. “I just don’t like him is all.” 

“You don’t like anyone I’m interested in, Steve.”

You want to ask him why. The alcohol almost starts to make you brave enough to do it too. Why does he do this every time it’s your turn to date around? Why does he always have a list of issues on how they simply aren’t good enough? Why is it always a competition? Sometimes you wonder if it’d just be easier to hear him say it out loud instead of doing whatever this is. 

“Well, that may be true, but you also have terrible taste.” He closes the space between you, mimicking your stance on the kitchen island across from where you face him. The tips of your shoes are close enough to touch. 

“Who would you like me to date then?”  Your question is supposed to sound snarky and mean, not quiet with weight wrapped around it like it does

The look in his glossy eyes steals the air from your lungs, like he’s daring you to say it. 

You both know you won’t and he changes the subject.

“I can’t believe I caught you doing a tequila shot without salt and lime. Especially that tequila.” He tsks, pushing himself off the counter and invades what little is left of the  space between you. You can smell the cinnamon again.

“Well I needed a quick stress reliever, no thanks to you.” You should be embarrassed by how breathy it comes out, but when he holds your gaze like this, like he wants to eat you alive, it’s hard to care. 

It's just the liquor you tell yourself, Steve’s been drinking all night. 

He mutters a ‘hmm’ under his breath, long fingers wrapping just tight enough around your wrist that you could pull away if you wanted too. You don’t though, instead you bite your bottom lip, too selfishly invested in what he might do next.

Steve reaches behind you, grabbing the salt shaker that dwarfs in his grasp, lifting your hand up to your mouth. 

“Lick.” He smirks devilishly, and you realize you’re getting the full force of his charm. 

“Steve.” You whisper, just barely audible over your heart thrumming out of your chest. You can feel it in your ears.

Thump, thump, thump, thump

“We’re gonna do a shot together, the right way.” He reasons like this is a completely normal interaction between two friends while the gold shimmering in his eyes darkens. 

You don’t say anything, searching his face for any sign of this being some kind of prank just to see how you’d react. But the way he licks his lips tells you pretty quickly that it’s not. 

So you do it. Holding his eyes the whole time, and you swear they turn onyx. 

It’s his turn to stay silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he taps the shaker over the corner of your hand before doing the same to his own, and now it’s your turn to stare as his pink tongue licks a perfect straight line. All the stories you’ve heard about him flood to the forefront of your mind, the endless pillow talk about Steve Harrington that fills the college halls. 

You hate that the motion has your thighs pressing together, especially with Ryan just outside waiting for your return, but you can’t bring yourself to care enough to leave. Your eyes trace the veins in his neck, silently counting the freckles that explode across his skin as he pours up two shots. 

“Here honey.” He whispers, like he’s scared for this bubble to pop too. 

The two of you cheers, glass clinking loudly in the silence, eyes staying trained on each other like you need to memorize every detail of this moment. Like this was never going to happen again. 

The tequila doesn’t taste as bad followed up with the salt and the lime. Steve does it like a pro, like a boy who’s been to every party this small town has to offer. He doesn’t even take that ‘this is disgusting’ suck of breath through his teeth, he just smiles at you setting the shot glass down. 

“Hey, is everything okay? Do you need help? Oh.”

It’s only fitting that it’s Ryan who pops your carefully crafted bubble, and you know it will be another fight about Steve on the walk home. Another night to get buried with all the others just like this, and a night that has you and Steve avoid being alone together for a week.

Halloween - Now.

It’s hard to concentrate on Freddy terrorizing a young Johnny Depp when the tips of Steve’s fingers move from your calf to the top of your thigh, a motion he’s repeated for half the movie. A move that gets bolder, higher, pushing the boundaries with every swipe. He has to feel the way it makes you squirm, in fact, you think it’s spurring him on. Especially when he gets dangerously close to the soft outline of your underwear, a quiet gasp escaping past your lips.

Luckily, you're saved by the sound of your doorbell, the first trick or treaters of the night making you both jump.

“Finally!” Steve exclaims like he wasn’t just actively tempting you to cross the line for the second time this week, like he didn’t already know what your tongue tasted like. 

The bonfire comes back in flashes, teeth scraping, nipping, the whistles that got drowned out when his hand came up to your cheek opening you up more when it was just supposed to be a peck.

”Hello? Are we just going to keep them waiting?” He snaps you back to reality, standing over you with his hands out for you to take. “I don’t really want to beat you at your own game.”

”Again Steve, this is not a sport, you can’t win at something when there’s no prize.” You groan, refusing to meet eyes but slide your hands into his. 

“Sure you can.” He winks, letting you go the moment you get on your feet, extending his arm for you to lead the way. 

His playful demeanor has you feeling like maybe you just imagined the last thirty minutes. Was he not affected the way you were? Has it always just been you? Did the kiss not make him question everything?

”Whatever you say Harrington.” Sighing, you try for the hundredth time this week to push the thoughts of your bottom lip between his teeth down where they can’t see the light of day.

So distracted by the man behind you, the lack of candy in your hands has you stopping dead in your tracks without thinking, the domino effect slams his hard chest right into your back.

”Foul ball.” Steve huffs, steadying you both with hands on your hips. The warmth of them bleeding through the thick fabric of your sweater. “I thought you said this wasn’t a game.”

What you hated most about Steve Harrington was that he always knew how to make you laugh even when you didn’t want to.

”Well if this were a game, we’d be losing.”

Genuine panic paints his features like a truly serious offense has occurred. 

“We forgot the candy.”

He groans, running a hand through his hair that you wish was your own. 

”Wow, total rookie mistake, we gotta get it together or we’re gonna get benched.” Clapping loudly he turns on his heel to grab both bowls, “I do not wanna get on the coach's bad side.”

”You don’t have to bring both.” You try your hardest to fight the smile that wants to twist up the corners of your lips. “And who’s the coach?”

”We’re not going to be under prepared this time sweetheart, and I need to see who picked the better candy, if they’re even still there!” Steve tutts with a shake of his head gliding past you. “And you’re the coach, duh.”

”Why do you always like to participate in competitions you know you’re going to lose?” Crossing your arms, you light up at his narrowed gaze, his long fingers wrapped around the door handle, “I mean, we might as well take a poll of the ugly pumpkins you made us put out too while we’re at it.

“Sounds like a great idea.” He grins smugly, “I love how much you lean into intimidation tactics when you know you won’t win by the way.” He doesn’t give you any time to respond, swinging the door open with the kind of excitement that would rival a kid on Christmas morning.

Then you watch it drain from his face almost instantly, quickly replaced by pure annoyance. 

“What’s going on? What are you doing here?” Steve, stacks one of the candy bowls on top of the other, leaning on your door with a hand on his hip.

”What does it look like we’re doing?” You hear Mike Wheeler’s voice before you see him, but when you meet Steve at the door, you realize it’s all four of his ‘children’ and you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles past your lips because they’re all dressed as The Cone Heads. 

“It looks like legal adults going to strangers' houses asking for candy, instead of being at a party, meeting girls. Will you’re excluded in that last part, obviously.” Your best friend runs another irritated hand through his hair.

“I’m not sure they’ll be able to chase tail dressed as Beldar Conehead, Steve.” You can’t stop giggling. “Just give them some candy.”

”Yeah, listen to your girlfriend, Harrington.” Dustin antagonizes, shaking his empty pillow case in front of him. “Give us the sour candies and we’ll get out of your hair.”

”One, she’s not my girlfriend, dip shit, and two, what's wrong with Snickers?” 

“Sour candy’s just better.” Lucas shrugs, “Now hand over the Warheads.”

She’s not my girlfriend.

It feels like an expected punch in the gut. The final nail in the coffin your last shred of hope lays in. You should have known better, but the kiss made everything fuzzy, the self control you prided yourself on waning in a way that you weren’t sure you could ever get back. 

“You guys can have as much as you want.” You say ignoring Steve, snatching the bowls from his hand. 

“Seriously? They can buy their own!” He groans, leaning his back on the door crossing his arms over his chest.

“She’s not your girlfriend, huh? You seemed pretty whipped to me,” Mike laughs knowing just how much this is getting under Steve’s skin.

You know it’s supposed to be somewhat of a compliment but it just adds salt to a wound that won’t stay closed.

”Shut up, that’s enough,” Steve smacks the back of Mike’s head hard enough to get an ‘Ouch! Asshole!’, the cone on top wobbling. “Get out of here and go to a god damn party.”

The boys take half the bowl of Warheads, walking away arguing about who can put the most in their mouth without spitting them out. They only took a few pieces of Steve’s chocolate, leaving you the clear winner this round, something you’d be more excited about rubbing in his face if you weren’t trying to actively avoid it. The taste of disappointment is bitter on your tongue, but you do your best to swallow it down. A hard lesson learned, but one your heart can’t bear to repeat again. All you know is that you can’t go back to being best friends with wandering hands in the dark.    

Self control. 

The Bon Fire - Last Week

Eddie Munson’s filter always disappeared when he was drunk, it was part of the fun of drinking with him. Except for when his unfiltered thoughts were about you.

”Oh give me a fucking break!” Eddie yells at you from across the flames that lick the night sky violently. The excessive amount of lighter fluid he’s sprayed into them should be illegal. A half smoked cigarette dangles from the side of his mouth, dangerously close to falling out as he finishes.

“The only reason you and Steve are still single is because the two of you refuse to acknowledge the fact that you’re clearly in love with each other!”

”Fuck. Off. Munson.” Steve glowers from the lawn chair next to you, taking a swig from his 5th beer of the night.

”What? ‘Fuck off’ because I got your ass?” Eddie adjusts in his seat, saving his cigarette, fully prepared for this debate like he’s been waiting for it all his life.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You argue weakly, following Steve’s lead and taking another “sip” of your empty beer.

The metal head guffaws.

“Please, I’ve been watching the two of you for the past four years. Steve scares off any guy you try to date and you let him, which makes me believe you feel the same way, and Steve only dates girls he knows he’ll never have a connection with!” Eddie claps his hands every few words to really drive his point home, and it leaves your argument a jumbled mess on the tip of your tongue.

The vicious cycle of you and Steve Harrington. 

”One, she dates horrible guys -“ Steve starts but immediately gets cut off by Eddie’s sarcastic “Sure!” And your “Hey!”

“Are you going to let me finish?” Your best friend narrows his eyes, polishing off his beer with an apologetic glance flashed briefly in your direction.

”You can if you want, but it’s not going to change my mind or anyone else’s at this party.” Eddie eggs him on more, taking a deep inhale of his cigarette and blowing the smoke out of his nose like a bull. Taunting you both.

You look around the fire for help foolishly thinking your friends were going to be on your side only to realize literally everyone is avoiding your gaze, even Robin.

”Robin!” The gasp that escapes you shouldn’t sound so surprised. She spends the most time with both of you.

“What?! I’m not Eddie! Yell at him!” She exclaims defensively, but her eyes are still everywhere but yours.

”Then look at me.” You cross your arms, arching a brow with a tilt of your chin.

She mumbles something about killing Eddie under her breath, messing with the empty beer bottles next to her like she’s looking for something. She was procrastinating.

”Oh my god! Seriously?” 

Eddie chuckles victoriously and you swear you hear Nancy giggle from the spot next to Robin. Sinking into the hard plastic of your chair, you dare to sneak a glance at Steve who’s face is entirely unreadable. This was worse than your worst nightmare, this was reality. 

”Look,” Eddie starts again, leaning forward in his chair like some sort of evil mastermind from a bad action movie, “If it’s all in our heads like you keep saying it is. That she really does have terrible taste in men and that you’ve really just exhausted all your options in Hawkins. Kiss then.”

Robin gasps dramatically.

”Are you really doing this right now, Munson?” Steve glowers through gritted teeth before shooting Robin a look so harsh she covers her face.

”Why not? What’s it going to hurt? I’m sure you’ve both thought about it before.” He shrugs, a cheshire smile poking dimples into both his cheeks. “Unless you’re too scared to do it, which would then make me continue to believe everything I just said was true.”

God, Eddie Munson knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how to press Steve’s buttons. He knew exactly how dug in both your heels were, holding up that invisible line that’s saved you for the past four years. And you couldn’t figure out if you wanted to kill him, and dump his body into the lake or be eternally grateful for someone finally ripping this old bandaid off. You just didn’t know if there was going to be a scar underneath.

”And why’s that?” You chime in finally finding your voice, snarky and rude. You’ve decided to lean into the anger, and ignore the heat of Steve’s stare warming the side of your face.

“Guys, this is getting a little weird.” Robin tries to intervene, the rasp in her voice uneasy, holding both her arms out like both boys might jump through the fire at each other soon.

”I dare you both to prove me wrong, and then I’ll let it go.” He sits back in his chair, a cigarette put out by his combat boots, and folds his hands in front of him. ”Just a peck.”

”Eddie, come on-“ Robin starts but Steve cuts her off.

”No, no, no it’s fine Rob.” 

That’s when he does it, he turns to face you because Steve Harrington never backs down from a dare. Even if it means throwing a boulder at your glass house. Eddie was playing chess while Steve played checkers, and you start to believe all the drunken stories he told you about the campaigns he wrote for his DND club in high school. Your best friend will unfortunately always be an easy target.

“It’s fine, if this freak wants a little show to get off to later, we’re perfectly capable of a peck. My Mom gives out pecks like they’re candy! N-not like to me alone specifically,” He clears his throat awkwardly, “Like the rest of my family too.”

You grimace at the idea of Steve kissing you like his Mom and Eddie’s eyes sparkle.

”Okay,” Steve waves his hands, eyes closing tight in frustration, “This is coming out wrong! All I’m trying to say is, no big deal Munson, if it’ll get you to shut up, we’d love to prove you wrong, right?”

Wait, was Steve really agreeing to this? Were you really going to have your first kiss with him in front of all of your friends? A kiss you’ve shamefully thought about more than you should. Did he actually want to kiss you? Is he really doing this to shut Eddie up?

”Yeah, not a big deal. You’ll see, and then I’ll be expecting free weed for at least a month.” You try to over compensate with a brave face, but Eddie sees right through it.

”Sure.” He grins, utterly pleased with himself.

”Well what do I get?” Steve glares at his friend expectantly.

”You don’t get anything Harrington, shut up.” 

“Wow, doesn’t seem fair, but whatever.” He mumbles, before finally focusing on you, and you aren’t sure you’re ready.

It feels kismet the moment your eyes meet, the sounds of the party fading around you, leaving only the crackling fire and your heart beating so loud it rings in your ears, and thumps through the tips of all ten of your fingers. The bubble you’ve carefully made together, the one that’s kept you safe for this long comes out like a shield. The last defense.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.  

Steve licks his lips, eyes silently communicating with you to make sure this is really okay, that you guys were actually going to do this and all you can muster is a nod. He scoots his chair close enough for the sides of your hands to touch, amber and cinnamon wrapping around you like a spell.

”Just me and you okay?” He whispers loud enough for your ears only.

”Yeah,” you agree, hooking your pinky with his, “me and you.”

Steve smiles that smile he doesn’t give anyone else, and suddenly you don’t care about the answer to any of those questions swirling around loud in your brain. You want this. You want him. Even if it’s just for right now.

His nose brushes against yours, miller lite and mint hot on his breath. It makes your lashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks, your skin warming as if you were standing in front of the sun. It’s so gentle when his bottom lip connects with the top of yours, it almost tickles. He exhales a deep breath through his nose, mouth hovering for what feels like an eternity.

Thump, thump, tump, thump. 

When the soft silk of his lips finally meets yours, you swear the earth shakes, and after a few seconds when he pulls away with that dazed look on his face you wonder if he felt it too. He blinks a few times, slow and bewildered, something shifting behind his brown eyes that you can’t figure out. Steve doesn’t give you much time to try before his lips are on yours again, that big hand of his finding your cheek, tilting your willing chin up just enough to open you up. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip asking for more and you give it to him without question tasting him for the first time.

Steve Harrington was kissing you, really kissing you. 

“I hope those aren’t the kinda pecks your Mom’s handing out like candy, Harrington!” Eddie gloats loud enough to break through the haze, causing both of you to remember where you are.

Steve’s in no rush to pull away though, in fact, he takes his time, perfect teeth nipping gently at your bottom lip for good measure. He lingers like stopping this is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. The tip of his nose runs along the length of yours, and for a second you think he might keep kissing you. His eyes are already fixated on yours when you meet his stare with fluttering lashes. He holds your gaze like he’s desperately trying to read your mind, the pad of his thumb swiping against your bottom lip not once but twice before finally letting you go. 

”You happy now, Munson?” Steve huffs flopping back into his chair with rose colored cheeks. He leans down to grab his beer, running a hand through his untamable hair before taking a swig like that didn’t just change everything.

Oh no.

“Literally couldn’t be happier, Harrington. I think I’m going to start charging double for my eighths now, actually.” Eddie grins winking at you, only for his face to soften meeting your unreadable expression. 

Frozen in your seat, your fingers press against your lips. You could still feel his teeth.

“What do you mean?” Steve interjects, refusing to look in your direction.

Oh no.

“What do you mean?” The metal head challenges, with a confused raise of his eyebrow. “There’s witnesses Harrington.” 

He waves his ringed finger in a circular motion reminding you both of the still very much ongoing party around you. It’s hard to feel the familiar ache of disappointment when your bones won’t stop buzzing. They don’t get it, they don’t realize they bore witness to the kind of moment that moved tectonic plates for you. The kind of moment that you know is going to change everything no matter how hard you try.

”We did your dare, she gets free weed.” Steve continues like it’s obvious.

“Yeah, no. You two were practically eating each other alive. I actually think people started to feel awkward, that’s how insane it was.” Eddie’s disbelief furrows his brows together, head cocking to the side. “So, clearly, I was right.”

At least he’s got the balls to say it. 

“When I win, I like to win big, okay?” Steve smirks with his kiss bitten lips, making the next thing he says sting even more. “You’d never let it go if it was just a peck.”

Oh no.

Your eyes meet Robin’s, and the expression on her face makes you wish you hadn’t. 

”Right?” It takes you a minute to realize Steve is talking to you, in fact it’s not until you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder from the hand that was just cupping your cheek. 

He’s asking you to agree that it meant nothing, that you both got Eddie, that you two are only everything you’ve ever said you were. Everyone stares at you, and for the second time tonight you wish this was a nightmare. You wonder if you should just pinch yourself to see.

”I’ll take my first free eighth tonight.” You finally manage, giving Eddie a weak smile.

Oh no.

Halloween - Now

Steve feels miles away on the other side of the couch, a conscious choice you made after his teenage children left, after he made it abundantly clear where he still stood with you. It’s a choice you’re going to dig your heels into no matter how much your body physically aches to be close to him, or how his knee hasn’t stopped bouncing almost three movies and a whole lot of trick or treaters later. 

The clear pink digital clock on your mantle reads 12:18 AM in bright red numbers, A Nightmare on Elm Street: Dream Warriors lights up your TV and despite the distance, Steve still hasn’t left. You know he wants to ask why you’re so far away, why you’re not wrapped up in his arms like it doesn’t matter, like last week never happened but then he would have to talk about it. Acknowledge it.

You fucking hated, ‘It’, and maybe Eddie Munson too.

Shadows dance across Steve’s face, eyes intent on the TV with knitted brows that meet in the middle of his forehead. Those hands that had wandered your body under blankets woven with secrets and what if’s for the past four years sit propped behind his head as he leans back into the cushions. His legs are spread wide, in a position that looks uncomfortable, letting you know he’s lost in whatever argument he’s been having with himself since the second movie after you had grabbed your own blanket. 

You were going to break the vicious cycle of you and Steve Harrington, right here, right now. While you still had a shred of willpower left. 

“I-I think I saw a full moon out there earlier.” His voice breaks through everything like it always does, hoarse from its lack of use, he clears his throat turning his head to look at you biting his nail.

The warm red lighting from Freddy’s boiler room illuminates his features in a way that dares those butterflies to wake back up from the eternal rest you banished them to. His sharp jaw, those high cheek bones kissed with freckles and moles. The dark pools of his irises beg you for something, surrounded by sparkling brown and gold. You couldn’t look away even if you tried. Movie star. 

”Yeah?” You manage, voice coming out quieter than intended, it softens his features almost instantly, like he missed the sound of it.

”Do you maybe wanna go for a drive?” 

You make him wait for an answer to a question you could never say no to even if you tried, doing your best to hang onto your fleeting self control for just a little bit longer before giving in with a,

“Let's go.”

Steve was right, there was a full moon tonight. It sits half hidden in the clouds but it still manages to shine bright enough to coat the sleeping town of Hawkins in an incandescent opal. He cranks the heat all the way up so you can rest your head on propped up hands along the open passenger window. Strings of orange and violet bulbs wrap around trees, twinkling off fences and front doors, lighting the dark spots that the moon can’t kiss. Flames still flicker and dance inside jack o lantern mouths that sit on front doorsteps, and you can’t help but inhale the bitter crisp fall air that hits your face. It even smells like Halloween outside. You can faintly hear the sound of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ spill from his speakers, and it curves up the corners of your lips. Closing your eyes, you let yourself bask in this moment, including the unmistakable feeling of Steve’s gaze.

The thing about Steve’s car is that it feels like you’re completely surrounded by him when you’re in it, wrapped up in him, consumed by him. The warm leather underneath you always smells rich, especially in the summer after it bakes in the sun. It’s soft to the touch, freshly lotioned by him at least once a week to prevent cracks, while the amber of his cologne permanently clings to the threads in his carpets, and soft chenille lining of his doors. Some days, you’ll catch hints of that Farrah Faucet spray he used in high school, but that was usually after a date. Loose change jingles in his cup holder, along with the stick of gum you almost always inevitably steal from it, and despite the internal battle you’ve been having with yourself, tonight was still no exception. Steve’s car felt like home.

Neither one of you talk as he drives the familiar path towards your favorite spot by the lake. His headlights illuminate the fog that wraps up the base of the trees, crawling up slowly to the dying leaves in a way that makes everything look like magic as you pass town lines. Including the boy next to you. It takes you a few minutes to work up the courage to steal a glance in his direction, but when you do he’s already looking at you too. His soft laugh after you both get caught makes your cheeks ignite, the corners of your lips twitching. 

”Eyes on the road, Harrington.” You manage, fighting the losing battle with your growing smile. You don’t look at him again, not until the BMW slowly rolls to a stop. 

Still, you waste no time jumping out of the car parked on the secret cliff you’d both discovered lost on a drive a few summers ago. Wind hits you in a heavy gust, free from anything that can slow it down up here, pebbling goosebumps along your skin. The cold ground cracks underneath your slippers you didn’t bother to change out of, while cinnamon and crimson leaves flutter in the trees. Crickets chirp in the distance, creating a melody with the wind howling through the dense forest that feels fitting for the holiday. Your heart swells from the feeling of nostalgia, filling you with the kind of joy something that a party could never do. 

“Spooky.” Steve whispers in your ear, coming up from behind you. The warmth of his spare jacket he keeps in the back seat drapes around your shoulders. It smells different than the one he wears regularly, but it's still him, so you selfishly pull it closer.

“Mmhmm.” You agree, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of his breath against the soft skin at the back of your neck before his arms wrap around your waist like they belong there.

Steve pulls you close, mumbling something about being cold too and how you need to share. The tip of his nose traces the shell of your ear before burying his face into the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, openly, like an addict that’s been denied his favorite drug and he’s finally got his hands on it. So just as quickly as they were banished, the butterflies come migrating back and you don’t have the energy to stop them, or to practice that new concept of self control because this feels too good right now. Maybe you’re an addict too.

Thin clouds spread out in wisps along the dark night sky, messily painted there by an invisible brush, the stars twinkle around them, shimmering bright even underneath it all. Your gaze traces the invisible lines of the Big Dipper, and it reminds you of the time you’d spent nearly twenty minutes trying to get Steve to see the formation sprawled out on a blanket at this very spot. You would’ve spent the whole evening if you had to. 

“Are you having a good Halloween?” He whispers, voice vibrating deep inside your bones while his cold fingertips trace along the waist band of your leggings under your sweater. You don’t remember when they got there.

You roll the answer around in your head with a thoughtful hum, admiring the orange glow of the town below. An owl calls out into the darkness and Steve’s lips curl into a grin pressing into your neck at the noise.

”Yeah, this is pretty perfect.” You start, thankful he can’t see your own smile that pushes up your cold cheeks, “Especially after getting the confirmation that I do have better taste in candy than you. I love when I’m right.”

He snorts loudly, and it vibrates against your skin making you giggle, his grip on you tightening playfully before pulling you deeper into his chest.

”I threw the game, I felt bad, you know, I didn’t want to outshine you on your favorite holiday. I purposely picked the candy no one would like.” His voice comes out right next to your ear, the baritone of it going straight to your legs threatening to turn them into jell-o.

“Mmmhmm.” You manage, voice cracking with nerves as the palm of his hand finds the plushness of your stomach and keeps it there. You wonder if he can feel the butterflies too. “Whatever you have to say to yourself to sleep better at night, Harrington.”

Steve laughs into your shoulder, the blunt end of his nails scratching lightly over the soft skin of your navel. Neither one of you try to fill the quiet after that, letting the million things that need to be said hang over you in the eerily beautiful silence of the canyon. They cling onto every swipe of his fingers, and the sighs that come from the back of your throat. The two of you stay wrapped up in each other like this for what feels like an hour, swaying back and forth, too scared to pop your favorite bubble. It’s not until a shiver runs up your spine, the frost in the air numbing the tip of your nose.

”We don’t have to leave, but we should at least sit in the car with the heater on for a while.” Steve breaks the silence with a slight chatter in his teeth, the pad of his thumb swiping against the smooth skin of your hip before untangling himself from your clothes. This was starting to feel like a sunrise kind of night.

”Yeah, that’s probably smart.” You clear your throat with a small smile, already missing the feeling of being surrounded by him, for once you don’t push it down.

You follow him to the car, letting your gaze greedily trace the outline of his shoulders in his crew neck sweater. His hair whips around wildly in the wind, the little product that was left in his hair standing no chance. He walks past the passenger door to open the back one instead of your usual spot in the front. The change makes you pause, you’d never really hung out in the backseat together, always using the center console as a barrier to stop you from doing the unthinkable. Everything always seems more romantic in the dead of night. 

“I had an idea earlier when I saw it was going to be a full moon tonight, I- uh, brought us a blanket.” He explains before the question even has a chance to leave your mouth, pink dusting his cheeks that you aren’t entirely sure is just from the cold.

It almost goes over your head, but the bashful way he won’t meet your gaze catches your attention. This wasn’t just some coincidence he saw the full moon from your front door, he had already known, probably with the help of the very kids that showed up dressed as Coneheads. 

Steve Harrington planned something for you. 

”I uh, stole this blank tape from Henderson too and recorded the re-run of Radio Mystery Theater, Eddie had told me about. Thought it might be something you’d like.”  

Your heart swells, threatening to burst in your chest with the unmistakable feeling of wanting to kiss him again.

“I can’t believe you did this Steve, I’ve always wanted to listen to an episode.” You practically beam, taking a few steps closer, looking up at him from under your lashes. “You remembered.”  

The crimson that deepens in the apple of his cheeks this time is definitely not from the cold.

”We’ve had a lot of shitty solo Halloweens, and since this was our first one together, I just wanted, I- I guess I just wanted to make this one special. Maybe we can start a new tradition or something?” he shrugs, muttering the last part with a scratch at the back of his neck pretending to be nonchalant but you can always see right through him.

”Yeah, I’d like that.” Your admission is quiet, but the smile he bites back threatens to be megawatt before reaching out his hand, ushering you into the car and out of the two am chill

”I’m gonna go grab the blanket.”

He closes the door gently after making sure you’re comfortable, and you watch him with hungry eyes from the back window pull out a down comforter from the trunk. It’s the one from his bed, the fabric a deep plush deep burgundy with a black trimming around the edges, it looks so warm in his grasp as another chill rattles through your bones. He comes around to his side, opening the door to hand it to you with a grin that only grows wider when you snatch it eagerly before popping to the driver's seat to turn his car on. The heat starts to blow through the vents instantly, sending another shiver up your spine and a chatter of your teeth. Your gaze falls on the sliver of skin that reveals itself to you where his sweater rides up his back as he leans over the center console to grab the cassette tape from his glove compartment. Of course there’s another cluster of moles and freckles there that make you want to explore where the rest hide.

He pops it in with ease, pressing play and waits until he hears the opening crackle through the speakers, a quiet ‘yes’ slipping past his lips. A gust of cold air follows him when he opens the passenger door again as he slides into the leather seats next to you, knees knocking into yours before shutting it. He wastes no time finding you under the covers, torturing you with his cold hands by slipping them back underneath your sweater.

”Steve!” You jump, scolding him with a giggle without pushing him away, and he takes this opportunity to pull you back into the position you were in on your couch at home before you tried to find some semblance of boundaries.

He keeps his hands under your sweater, even when they’re warmed back up, the pad of his thumb rubbing soft circles along your rib cage. His cheek rests on your forehead, full lips tickling your skin when he talks. You can feel his heart beat against your palm, and how it speeds up every time your fingers curl into the cotton of his sweater whenever you laugh, instinctively pulling him closer. He doesn’t fight it, instead his grip tightens on the soft dough of your thighs draped over his knees, making sure every inch of you stays pressed firmly against him.

This doesn’t feel like best friends. This feels like something more, but it’s always felt like something more.

In fact you think you’ve known you were in love with Steve Harrington long before you ever admitted it yourself. Burying it so far deep, the fleeting idea just didn’t exist to you anymore, but tonight in the soft glow of the moon sitting in the back seat of his car, you were sure of it and its existence. 

It feels like he can read your mind when his fingers curl under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. The stars twinkle in the gold of his auburn eyes like he plucked them from the sky and hung them there. So close, you can see those freckles you’d discovered the last time he looked at you just like this. That one badly behaved swoop of hair tickles the top of your forehead, and your fingers twitch to push it back for him. Movie star.

The tape stops with a loud click, leaving nothing but the low whistle of wind outside, and it mixes with your heavy breaths, electric currents stinging at your fingertips. His heart thumps wildly against your hand, like he was working himself up for something big. The notion sets a fire ablaze on every inch of your skin in anticipation.

”I want, I want to talk about something.” He says just barely above a whisper with a gaze so intense, it makes you want to look away. You don’t.

“What about?” Your voice comes out somehow even quieter, eyes falling to his lips on their own accord. He catches it, kicking his heart rate up even more. 

Was he going to do the unthinkable? You try to push the thought down, but it fights back this time. Refusing the denial exile you’ve shoved it in for the past four years. 

“Last week, at um, at Munson’s.” His eyebrows pinch together, visibly swallowing his nerves, as the tip of his nose dares to brush against yours. “God, I-I can’t stop thinking about it.”

The last part comes out like he’s being tortured by it. At least it’s not just you.

“If we’re being honest though,” He continues, his palm running up your thigh to squeeze at your hip, keeping you close, “I don’t think I ever stop thinking about you.”

His words crack your chest open, shining light on all the dark places that you’ve kept him in, just like the sunshine Steve Harrington is made of. 

”Really?” You manage to say, after fighting with the words that keep getting tangled up on the edge of your tongue, desperately trying to give him more than a one word answer but failing miserably. Years of daydreaming about this moment in silent shame freezing you up. 

He nods, pressing his forehead against yours, yearning eyes searching inside the dark pools of your pupils down the slope of his nose. 

“You just, you brushed it off so easily, I thought -“ You start, replaying the way he’d rolled back into his seat, sipping his beer so casually like nothing happened. The confidence in his voice bragging about how Eddie got it wrong, that he wasn’t in love with you.

”What’d you think?” He encourages gently, the hand on your hip coming up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing along the bone. 

”I just thought I was the only one.” You confess, that same defeated feeling from that night creeping back in despite the way his gaze softens all of your edges. 

“That night at Eddie’s, I freaked out. Robin told me it was pretty obvious that I have feelings for you and it got me in my head that I was secretly making you uncomfortable because if she noticed it, surely you did too. So I completely overcompensated after I lost control at the bonfire, there was just no way I could stop kissing you, and then I panicked again earlier at your house-“

“Steve.” You say his name like it's something romantic, successfully ending his rambling with another brush of your nose against his. .

”Yeah?” He breathes, the tension leaving his shoulders like hearing your voice was enough. 

You meet his heavy stare from underneath your lashes, the foggy glass of the windows creating a halo around his head from the soft glow of the moonlight. 

“I dare you to kiss me again.” There’s confidence in your voice you don’t recognize, and the corner of his mouth quirks at it. 

“What if I just wanted to kiss you because I wanted to?” Steve whispers, closing more of the little space that’s left between you.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

“Then, I’d say…” You brush your top lip against his bottom one, a low simmer starting to boil in the pit of your gut, spreading warmth between your thighs at his sharp intake of breath, “what are you waiting for, Harrington.”

His lips are curved into a smirk when he presses them to yours, his thumb finding the corner of your mouth to open you up just enough for him that your lips move like they were made for this, for him. He handles you differently in the back seat of his car than at the bonfire, he’s gentle, taking his time without prying eyes, savoring you. Your fingers curl into his sweater, pulling him closer because of it, like he can never be close enough, nose pressed into his cheek. He hums in response, and you can feel his smile return before his hand moves to the back of your neck, the pad of his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the soft skin behind your ear. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip begging you to finally let him in, and when you oblige, you both moan at the taste of each other.

It feels like Steve is everywhere, surrounding you with all of the little details of him embedded in every inch of his car. He’s in the leather underneath you that squeaks with your movements, in the amber and cinnamon that warm the air around you, comforting your nerves that threaten to fizz and burst like a live wire. His tongue explores every inch of your mouth like he’s hungry for it, like nothing else could satisfy him, massaging against your own in a way that earns a moan from the back of your throat. One you have no control over, but you’re starting to realize that maybe you never really had control when it came to Steve.

He breaks away just enough to whisper the word ‘perfect’ with a swipe of his nose against your own before pulling you onto his lap. You gasp at the feel of him as your knees press into the seat on either side of his hips. The effect you never really knew you had on him pressing into your heat with only the fabric of each other's pajama pants as a barrier, a feeling that only ever existed in your day dreams. But this was real, and he was closer to you than you’d ever allowed each other to be, dark wild eyes staring up at you like you were the one who painted the moon and the clouds in the sky. That swoop across his forehead has an extra curl to it from the sweat that beads at the top of his head, auburn hair turning into a wild untamable mess. His big hands grip the tops of your thighs, bringing you out of your thoughts and back to him.

”You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” He confesses with an exhausted laugh, as if carrying the burden of ‘what if’ had been weighing him down. “I’m going to be insufferable now, I hope you know.”

His teeth shimmer in the white glow as his kiss bitten lips pull up into the kind of smile that’s contagious, even getting a giggle from you that cuts through the tension like a knife making Steve pull you closer. The tips of his fingers return to their favorite place under your sweater where they trace like a whisper against the warm skin of your lower back, and it makes your eyelids grow heavy. You slump more of your weight into him burying your head into his neck, your own hands traveling up his sweater, finger nails scratching against the rough trail of hair there before your palms rest on the thick thatch on his chest. Your lips press a kiss the two moles that had been begging you to do it for four years just below his ear, and he hums squeezing you closer despite running out of room to physically be able to.

”I want to do this with you all the time,” Steve whispers, lips brushing against your ear, “not just tonight, not just this.”

Hearing Steve say it out loud, confess the one thing you always had to pretend didn’t exist blooms something deep in your chest that you didn’t know could grow there. Shining light on all the darkness and doubts that had made themselves a far too comfortable home. Why keep denying something you both clearly want so bad?

”D-do you feel the same? Please tell me you feel the same.” You can hear the doubt creep into his voice from your misperceived silence when he whispers the plea hot against your lips, begging you to turn your head and meet them.

You almost want to laugh at the idea that Steve Harrington had reservations that you might not feel the same way about him. Wasn’t it obvious?

”Listen, Harrington.” You sigh, meeting his gaze from under your lashes, his heart kicking back up against your palm, his fingers going still. “If you think you’re going to be insufferable, you clearly have no idea who I really am.”

It takes Steve a minute to absorb your words, but when he does, the deep bellied laugh it earns you vibrates against the windows of the car and wraps around your heart. He pulls one hand from under your sweater, fingers curling under your chin again to get to what both of you want more of. A lopsided grin pushes up the vampire bites on his cheek, full lips hovering just over yours and it feels like the first time all over again. Part of you thinks it might always feel this way with him. 

“Don’t underestimate my capacity to yearn, baby.” His lips brush against yours with every word, a shiver running up your spine.

Baby.

“What if I dare you to show me?” You whisper, teeth nipping at his bottom lip enjoying the feeling of the blunt end of his nails digging into your back.

“Careful, you know I can’t say no to that.” He huffs with a grin, warm breath against your skin, silently offering up his own dare for you to close the rest of the distance and give in.

”I’m counting on it.”

A word you never thought you’d use for the face and hair of Hawkins High’s sports programs circa 1981 to 1985.  A jock who used to push kids in lockers, break their camera’s, the kind to stand girls up who would just turn around and beg him to do it again. The popular guy who always seemed to get what he wanted, someone you thought would have his future laid out for him on a road paved of gold. So when you had your first day at The Squawk almost three months ago, and found him not only working the sound board for WSQK’s very own ‘Rockin Robin’ aka your favorite trumpet player to skip band practice with, but that they were also best friends. Like inseparable best friends, finishing each other's sentences kind of best friends, you weren’t sure how many chapters you missed after leaving for college four years ago. 

Steve Harrington was an anomaly, and he was wearing that damn brown bomber jacket again.

It was your favorite of what seemed to be his early winter collection that had started to appear in the form of thick sweaters and fitted jackets once the sun began disappearing after four pm. Another thing you hated almost as much as not being able to put your chipped polished finger on him anymore, was that now, the word favorite is in your vocabulary when it comes to the guy who never even looked your way despite sharing the same homeroom all four years of high school. 

This particular jacket though? It was your kryptonite. The soft suede wraps around his broad shoulders like butter, tapering just enough at the bottom to give the illusion of a loose fit, like it’s tailored special just for him. Its rich earthy brown color brings out the gold flecks in his hazel eyes that you swear changed colors with the season, or maybe it was because Nancy Wheeler finally stopped coming around. 

You’d overheard a conversation between him and Robin a few weeks ago after noticing an extra broody-ness about his presence that she had finally left Hawkins to attend Emerson in Massachusetts. It was all you were able to catch without being caught eavesdropping on your way to map out the next few weeks DJ schedules in Jimmy’s abandoned office. An office you were only supposed to be an assistant too, but now somehow managed to end up being the one to do the job it was made for. It was becoming a full time one too, keeping the station running since its operating hours are no longer the allotted time slots given by the military. Which still seemed like a fresh nightmare for most of the people that decided to stay when the fences finally disappeared.

“Morning!” You greet them, stretching your neck enough to peek out of the open office door, making your presence known since your ever changing schedule keeps you at the station at random times.

Today you’d gotten here at 3am to fill the late night dead air with your own curated mix, something you do whenever Steve or Keith couldn’t. It was easy money, you didn’t even have to talk, just make sure to queue the ads you’ve been having to fight tooth and nail to get in order to keep the lights on. 

“Good Morning!” Robin waves stretching her neck to meet your gaze with her signature toothy grin that lights up the whole room. Her blonde hair is extra frizzy from the snow starting to fall outside, the cold kissing her cheeks with roses. 

All you get is Steve’s back as he continues his path to the studio, giving you a quick flick of his wrist in acknowledgment. It was 50/50 depending on the day, or even his shift if he’d stay mute or give you a short ‘Morning’. Either way, it didn’t matter because he still cared enough to pretend that he likes his coffee black in front of you. A secret that you’ve always kept close after catching him put cream and an absurd amount of sugar in his whenever he thought you weren’t looking– on multiple occasions.

”I put your coffees in there already, three creams and two sugars for Robin, and don’t worry Steve, I left yours black just how you like it.”

Your lips twist at the slight tense of his shoulders.

”Thanks boss!” Robin sings, skipping to catch up with her best friend’s long strides.

”I’m not your boss!” You call back, brows furrowing ñ at the nickname she’s been determined to make stick. They weren’t paying you a radio manager’s wage. 

“Could’ve fooled me!” Her raspy voice carries across the room, before both her and Steve’s go muffled behind the soundproof door.

5 minutes till showtime.

You can see them through the glass that encases them from the cracked window in your office. Steve looks like he’s rambling about something to her, big hands gesturing wildly before they push back his thick mane of chestnut hair, the blonde tips it used to have, long forgotten. It is his personal tell that he’s stressed, besides a thumb flick to the nose which follows shortly after. Robin’s face softens, not meeting his chaotic energy as he takes off his jacket, revealing the cream mock turtle neck sweater underneath it. You can’t hear what she’s saying, but whatever it is makes his shoulders slump, nodding in response with another card of his hair. Relaxing.

It’s unexpected when his eyes shoot across the room, meeting your gaze for the first time in a few days. Averting your stare as quickly as you can, your cheeks feel like they're being raked over coals, they burn hot as you try and refocus on the spread sheet laying on the desk. Quietly vowing to leave the station before they break for lunch as your escape plan. This way you can lock yourself in your dark apartment and sleep off the exhausting seven hours before suffering the kind of embarrassment that radiates from your fingertips and all ten of your toes.

—-

Thursday Early Morning

5:13am. The bright green numbers on your dash feel like an assault as the tires of your Oldsmobile crunch against the snow and gravel leading up the path to The Squawk. From inside, the constant vigil of the studio lights fades into a soft glow, filtering through the glass front entrance doors to cut through the last bit of night and bounce off the shimmering snowflakes that somehow continue to fall.  It’s been four days of this now, the sky alternating between flurries and heavy snowfall. It’s starting to feel like it might never stop, like the universe seems determined to deliver a white Christmas during the one year you and the rest of this town can’t seem to find the spirit. 

Your jaw stretches with a yawn as you try to will the caffeine to hit your bloodstream faster. You pull up beside what should be Keith’s Thunderbird and rub the remainder of sleep from your eyes blinking at Steve’s BMW parked next to the WSQK van.  A newfound anxiety flutters beneath your ribcage, at the memory of how his eyes caught you– like you were intruding on something personal, a secret only meant for his best friend’s ears. Everything with Steve Harrington has felt like a secret lately. An unsolvable puzzle with a missing piece always just out of reach. There’s a determination to find it. With slightly shaking hands, you arm yourself with a travel mug of homemade coffee and a deep breath to collect your courage before heading inside.

He probably won’t even say hi anyway, if you’re lucky he’ll just wave from the studio, maybe, and then you’ll both ignore each other until he leaves without saying goodbye.

Frank Sinatra’s ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin’ spills from the speakers in the studio, the door propped open allowing the soft trumpets and piano to fill the normally quiet space. He plays a lot of Sinatra on his overnights, a taste you’ve assumed he acquired from Robin, but part of you can’t be too sure anymore. 

Christmas lights that weren’t there the night before are draped around the DJ booth, with even more hanging half hazardly above the soundboard. They twinkle in red, green, and gold, warming the room in a comforting glow. It’s not until you round the corner that you see Steve on a step stool stringing more around the common area, a small pile of multi-colored shimmering garland on the table beside him with tiny Santas and snowmen hanging off the tinsel.

Steve Harrington is decorating for Christmas. 

“You’re not Keith.” You say, finding your voice, trying to break the usual awkwardness between the two of you with some kind of joke. Butterflies waking up in the pit of your gut when you hear it. 

A laugh.

It’s so quiet that if you didn’t see the slight shake of his shoulders, you’d probably miss it. An unfamiliar desperate need to make him do it again tugs at your heart.

”Defintely not Keith.” He huffs, but you can hear the slight smile in his voice. You’d almost forgotten what he really sounds like.

His Nike covered feet step down from the stool, leaving the string of lights to dangle half way on their journey across the room. Turning around, he runs one of his big hands through his messier than usual hair, those familiar hazel eyes catching yours for the second time in one week. A record breaking streak.

He’s wearing dark washed jeans, they fit him snug like all of them do. A navy WSQK sweater stretches over his chest, the letters faded and peeling because Jimmy cheaped out on the printing company.You’re willing to bet Steve’s got three more washes till they're all completely gone. The sleeves are pushed up revealing his permanently sunkissed skin despite the warm weather hiding on the other side of the earth, and they’re dotted with more freckles than you can count. 

“He asked me to cover his shift last minute, something about a pet ferret?” His face twists in the kind of judgment that has an uncontrollable giggle slip past your lips.

The gold in his eyes seems to sparkle at the sound, the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting a smile that he doesn’t let win. 

“That explains the smell of his jacket sometimes.” Scrunching up your nose at the memory of the last time you saw Keith, Steve can’t seem to fight his grin off this time, pearly whites gleaming behind plush pink lips.

It threatens to steal the breath from your lungs, teeth digging into your bottom lip with cheeks that start to feel like the surface of the missing sun, warming your skin with something that has you looking away. Suddenly, you have a new understanding for all those girls in high school. 

“I hope you don’t mind, me uh - decorating and stuff.” He scratches the back of his neck, like talking this long to someone that’s not his best friend is hard for him, or maybe it’s just because it’s you. “Robin was complaining about how she’s not feeling very festive this year, and it’s her and vi- it’s her first Christmas dating someone so I was thinking maybe this might help.”

It almost makes you mad at how sweet of a gesture it is, and how it feels like you’ll never quite figure him out. Every time you think you’re close, he sheds another layer. Throwing off your scent.

”Not at all, honestly, I haven’t been feeling very ‘jolly’ myself.” You laugh weakly, finally meeting his softened gaze, making his shoulders relax as if there were a world where you’d actually be mad. “This job has been…a lot.”

You don’t go into anymore detail about how none of this was what you signed up for, or how your home doesn’t feel very much like one anymore, like your childhood was some figment of your imagination the military erased. You’re not sure he’d even want to hear any of it anyway. No need to test the boundaries of this new progression between you and the former king of Hawkins, anyway. 

“Well, if it means anything coming from me, I think you’re doing a great job, all things considered.” He answers with a casual shrug, like he didn’t just shatter all the assumptions you thought he had of you in one sentence.

”It- It does mean something, thanks, Steve.” It feels weird saying his name out loud, despite how many times it’s crossed your mind over the past few months. 

Pink powders the apples of his cheeks, and now it’s his turn to look away.

”Decorate all you want. I’ve got this, like, 4 foot tall Christmas tree I had in my dorm in college that I can dig out and bring into the station tomorrow.” You add, returning to the safety of the original conversation, and you can tell he’s thankful for it.

”Cool.” He grins, shoving his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels a little bit.

”Cool.” 

The two of you stand there, not really sure where to go from here until the music cuts off and Steve remembers the job he’s actually supposed to be doing.

”Oh shit!” He gasps, eyes looking like a deer caught in headlights. “I gotta flip the record, I’m sorry, I swear I don’t let it go silent like this normally.”

You want to tell him that you know, because his overnights are some of your favorites to listen to. But you decide it's another secret best kept to yourself instead.

”It’s fine, I’m sure the four people listening will forgive you.” Rolling your eyes playfully, you catch the small grin you get in return as he jogs to the studio room. “I’m gonna go do my job too.”

Grabbing the stack of ad proposals next to his garland, you wave them in your hand, before making your way to Jimmy’s office, the kind of smile that makes your cheeks hurt tugging up the corners of your lips when you’re sure he can’t see it.

—-

Saturday

“Secret Santa!” Robin exclaims from the doorway of Jimmy’s office, bright blue eyes staring at you with the kind of excitement that threatens to be contagious. “We need to do a Secret Santa!”

”There’s like six of us who work here.” Steve speaks up from behind her, a half eaten sandwich dwarfed in his big hand, leaning against the studio room looking far too cool in a maroon sweater and dark washed jeans.

”Okay and? That’s an even number. You couldn’t ask for a more perfect scenario actually.” She gives him a tight lipped sarcastic smirk, before bringing her attention back to you,rolling up the sleeves on her white turtle neck she’s layered with a black The Smith’s shirt on top of. “Here me out -“

”We can do it.” You say simply, closing the radio tower instruction manual that was starting to give you a headache. 

“Wait, really?” She gasps with a smile so big it shows all her teeth, practically vibrating when you nod your head yes. “Oh my god this is so exciting, I’ll get everything together, you don’t have to lift a finger. Let's say a ten dollar budget, nothing too crazy.” 

“Ten dollars?! I don’t like anyone around here enough to spend ten dollars on.” Steve scoffs, shoving the rest of his sandwich in his mouth before crossing his arms.

”Are you kidding me? You don’t like me enough to spend ten dollars on? Her?” Robin points at you, and the urge to hide is the most tempting idea you’ve ever had, especially when Steve’s eyes meet yours from across the room with something you can’t decipher. ”Dustin, Mike? Literally you just hate Keith.”

”Dustin and Mike hardly count. They are here like two hours a week but fine! You win.” He surrenders, throwing his arms up before running an annoyed hand through his hair. His plan to help her feel more festive worked a little too well. 

“I always do!” She sings, throwing a wink at you before sauntering back to the chair and mic that feel like they are made for her to deliver Hawkin’s favorite segment of the day, nudging Steve playfully on her way. ”Hurry up dingus, we’re back on in three minutes.”

”You had to walk around me, I’m already here.” He huffs, kicking off the corner and back into the studio room closing the sound proof door behind them.

You can’t seem to fight the smile that twists at the corners of your mouth as you grab your weekly planner from under the pile of work orders that you’ve been deluding yourself into thinking you can find the fixes in the manual. 

The faint sounds of Billie Holiday’s ‘I Thought About You’ catches in your ears, something shifting in the air as the heat from an unfamiliar stare warms against your skin, sending goosebumps pebbling, begging for your attention. You haven’t risked even a glance through the window of your office since the day that Steve caught you, but something was daring you to do it again.

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting when you look up but it isn’t his eyes already locked on you, holding your gaze after they meet letting you know it’s not a mistake. Butterflies stretch their wings wide as you work up the courage not to look away first. The grip on your pen tightening, teeth digging into your bottom lip watching the slight shimmer of gold around the darkness of his pupils. He studies your face like he’s looking for the answer to something hidden inside of the contours of it, and you think this must be the way you look when he catches you staring.

It’s Robin that unknowingly interrupts whatever was going on, tearing his attention away with a bob of his Adam’s apple and a shake of his head. Saying something that looks a lot like the word ‘sorry’ before switching out the sound effect 8-track for the one she clearly wanted. In the hour it takes for you to wrap up and reach the end of your day, neither of you dare to look up again, and it’s you who leaves with a quick flick of your wrist, not saying a word this time. 

What was that? 

—-

Two weeks before Christmas 

You stare at the name on the small piece of paper you’d grabbed from Robin’s Santa hat on your way out the door. The white wisps of your breath filling the freezing space of your car, too stunned to even be bothered to turn it on. You read it a few more times just to be sure that too many overnights weren’t making you delirious, but there it was, clear as day in Robin’s signature bubble writing. 

Steve

His name plays on a loop as you finally kick on the engine to your car, it finds its way in every thought, sneaking past your efforts to shut it out. ‘Steve’ lingers in the cold breaths you take on your way to the front door of the small apartment you’d rented while your parents house gets rebuilt. It warms against your skin like the hot water from the shower that rinses off yet another long day at the station, following you to bed and curling around you under your covers, meeting you again in your dreams.

—-

 Tuesday

You climb up the short ladder that leads you to the hatch door, pushing up, you give it a good shove, the rusted hinges squeaking as it flings open. The clearest night sky you’ve seen in what feels like weeks shimmers brightly above you. Suddenly it didn’t matter that it was twenty degrees, not when it looked like this. Tightening your scarf and zipping up your coat as far as it will go, you finish your climb up onto the roof.

The cold greets you with a sharp sting, sending a shiver straight to your bones.Too focused on closing the door to keep the heat trapped inside the station you don't notice you aren’t the only one admiring the view. It shuts with a loud thud at the same time someone clears their throat behind you. Jumping at the sound, you turn around with a startled scream just begging to escape and echo through the darkness until your wide eyes meet Steve’s panicked ones.

”Hey! It’s just me! It’s cool, you’re cool, we’re cool.” His hushed words come out with urgency to stop it from happening, a nervous hand running through his already wind swept hair after it seems to work.

Cool seems to be Steve’s favorite word when it comes to you. You weren’t entirely sure how you felt about that. 

”Jesus Christ, Harrington.” You gasp with a hand on your chest, your quick huffs of breath embarrassingly visible in the cold air. 

”Sorry! How was I supposed to know anyone else would come up here?” He exclaims, a slight agitation to his voice that doesn’t last long before asking “Are you okay?”

Your gaze lands on his Nike’s first, wandering up the light wash denim that covers his legs, accentuating parts of him that you’ve been trying not to think about. Tonight he wears a dark brown leather jacket that tapers at the waist just like your favorite one does. While his lack of scarf seems like a choice, it has the moles that cluster around his neck in their own constellations battling for your attention with the ones above him. 

“Yeah, I’m good. No scarf?! Aren’t you col -“ You lose your train of thought when your eyes catch the glowing ember at the end of a half smoked cigarette tucked between two long fingers. “Wait, are you up here smoking?”

His eyebrows furrow together like he’s confused, until realization dawns on him smoothing the wrinkles on his forehead.

”Yeah,” He shrugs, flicking the ash before taking another drag. “I used to in high school, well, mostly at parties when I was drunk trying to look cool. But I don’t know, I picked it back up recently, I don’t smoke all the time, mostly over nights when I’m stressed or bored.” 

“What are you now?” The question comes out before you can even filter and mark it as inappropriate, the look on his face burning your cheeks only adding to your immediate regret.

But then he does the last thing you expect, he answers it — honestly.

“Stressed.” Wind whips his hair around some more before he shrugs in a squeak of leather adding, “and a little bored.”

There’s storm clouds in his stare as he looks at you with an intensity you can feel tingling at your fingertips. Underneath it lives a nervousness that tries to hide in the dark pools of his eyes from letting you perceive him, gauging your reaction by taking another drag.

”I come up here when I’m stressed too.” You say with ease despite the wild thumping of your heart in your ears, taking a few steps closer, your boots crunch against the frozen brick.

“To my spot?” His words come out around white clouds of smoke, a small smile twisting up the corners of his lips.

”Excuse me? Your spot? I’ve never even seen you up here.” Scoffing, you dig your hands deep in your pockets, shuffling closer with chattering teeth you desperately try to hide.

As if on instinct, Steve positions his body to block you from the wind, cinnamon and amber from his cologne tickling at your nose. He was closer than you’ve ever been to him, close enough to have your palms sweat, for your softened gaze to trace the purple bags under his eyes. The pale pink of a healed scar you don’t remember from high school shows its imperfect end from the edge of his beige sweater’s collar, only to hide from you again when he lifts his cigarette towards you in an offering. 

“I’m pretty sneaky. Stealthy, if you will.”  He winks, cold bitten cheeks pushing up at the snort you give him in response.

Your fingers brush with his accepting the nicotine with a spark you blame on the emanating voltage from the tower. 

“What about you?” He asks quietly, his eyes wandering over the details of your face like he was really looking at you for the first time. Maybe he was. 

Despite yourself, you can’t help but wonder if he likes what he’s found.

”Stressed, maybe a dash of depression, maybe.” If you admit to it out loud, that might make it true, but it’s his honesty that pulls out your own.

He nods his head in response, mimicking your previous stance, shoving his cold hands in his pockets. He kicks at the small patch of ice, brows furrowing as he thinks about what he wants to say. The pad of your thumb brushes against the butt of his cigarette still a little wet from his lips, there’s an intimacy there when yours wraps around it, cheeks hollowing as you take a drag. Inhaling him. 

“Honestly, this time of year. It’s never been my favorite.” His gaze is piercing when they meet your eyes again.“The only time I really liked it was when I had a girlfriend and that was like once.”

”Nancy Wheeler.” You hum, biting at your bottom lip wondering if it was a mistake to say her name out loud.

”Yeah,” he sighs, watching you take another drag, eyes lingering just a little on your mouth when you hand it back to him. “But honestly, I’m starting to realize a big part of that was because I didn’t have to spend it alone.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask confused because he’s Steve Harrington, the boy who’s always had it all. “What about your parents?”

”They’re never home — hell, they were gone when the quarantine happened.” There’s a bitterness in his dry laugh, taking one last hit before tossing the cigarette to the ground, snuffing it out with the toe of his sneaker. “They couldn’t get back in, but I think they preferred it that way, part of me thinks I did too.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You don’t know what else to say, but it also doesn’t feel like he's looking for much more than that either, giving you just a peek into the closed blinds of his soul. 

The bare trees rustle and snap in the silence between you. It’s not an uncomfortable one, but one that lets you sit with the weight inside of it. Steve Harrington, the king of Hawkins, the boy who everyone adored school but always returned to a shell of a home. You can feel the wall rebuild itself around him after revealing more of his hand despite the way both you subconsciously shuffle closer to chase each other's body heat. Steve looks up at the sky, but your eyes stay trained on him. Maybe you were seeing him for the first time too. 

The moon shines bright above, casting shadows on his sharp features, revealing the slight dusting of a five o’clock shadow that covers his jaw you didn’t notice before. Steve Harrington had grown up into a man. You aren’t sure how you missed it until tonight, under a blanket of stars no one’s seen in weeks. What else haven’t you seen?

His gaze finds yours again, the wind making his hair go wild. He holds it like he did in the studio room the other day, and you swear he moves even closer, the toe of his shoe tapping against yours. You can smell the leather of his coat, the tobacco clinging to the fabrics of his sweater mixing with the spice of his cologne in a way that shouldn’t smell as good as it does. A playful smirk teases at the corners of his mouth.

”You’re always looking at me like you’re trying to figure me out.” There’s something delicate about the way he stares at you, tugging at the bundle of nerves twisting in the pit of your stomach. Loosening the knots.                                                                                                                                                                                    

“Is there something wrong with that?” You hum quietly.

”N-no.” He smiles with something timid behind it, weary even. “Just no one’s ever reall-“ He’s cut off by the crackle of the walkie talkie you didn’t know he had clipped to his back pocket 

“Radio silence again dingus!” Robin’s voice comes through the small speaker, “Trying to make moves here and you aren’t helping.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Steve roll his eyes any harder, a loud irritated breath escaping through his nose like a bull. He mouths sorry before bringing the walkie talkies to his lips, pressing harsh on the red button.

”I’m doing you a favor tonight if you remember, watch the tone.” He turns it off after, leaving her no room to respond, determined to get the last word.

”Another day of catching you not doing your job.” You tease with a wink, getting your own eye roll but this one comes with a smile.

”I keep getting distracted by my boss.” He wiggles his eyebrows, starting to back away towards the hatch door. 

Was Steve Harrington flirting with you?

 ”Ugh! Not you too.” You groan, crossing your arms watching him open the rusted metal with ease.

”If the shoe fits.” He shrugs, “Don’t stay out here too long, can’t have you getting sick, the station would probably burn down or something like that.”

”You and Robin ran it just fine.” You argue, with a grin that refuses to go away.

“Yeah, sure.” Steve snorts, climbing down the first few steps of the ladder stopping when all you can see is his shoulders up, “but seriously, it’s cold. I mean it.”

”Okay, Dad.” 

He visibly grimaces at the nickname.

”Yeah, pretty awful isn’t it?” You arch a brow, laughing at his glare for falling into your trap. “I’ll come back in a few minutes, promise.”

He lingers for a few seconds more looking torn, like he wasn’t ready to leave yet, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish he could stay too. But he does the selfless thing you’ve noticed he always does, closing the hatch behind him with one last look catching your small wave goodbye.

—-

Friday

Robin is a ball of energy at seven in the morning, completely consumed by whatever she’s ranting to Steve about when they burst in through the front door together. You watch with an amused smirk from your spot on the lime green couch in the common area, a cup of fresh coffee you brewed for the three of you warm in your hand. She’s so distracted that she doesn’t notice you, but Steve does, almost as if he was searching for you first. The blue hidden in the gold and moss of his eyes are like sunbursts when they find your gaze. His smile is small, but it’s just for you and it’s enough for the butterflies you’ve managed to snuff out all morning with distractions to wake back up. Hiding your smile in your mug, you watch as he nods his head giving Robin a ‘yeah,’ like he’s listening, but something tells you he had stopped a while ago.

Once they get inside the soundproof room Steve peels off the same leather jacket he wore on the roof. Robin follows suit tossing her long navy blue tench coat to the side, lips still moving a mile a minute. He runs two big hands through his hair, the little bit of flurries that had stuck to the ends melting on his fingertips before pushing up the sleeves of his WSQK sweater. And just as you suspected the K at the end of it had already peeled off since last week.

Robin’s lime green polished hands fly all over the place making the people on her ‘Beam me up, this place sucks’ sweater look like they’re actually running. Crossing his arms as he leans against the door frame, Steve seems distracted, but you can tell he’s still actively trying to focus. He’s shaved since the last time you saw him, and the bags that had kissed lavender under his eyes on the rooftop were gone. Maybe that meant he’d finally gotten some sleep. 

His best friend grabs her coffee mid sentence, holding out a finger to give her a minute as she drinks what has to be at least half the cup. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip watching Steve grab his own. Suddenly you wish you’d have gone into Jimmy’s office for this moment as a new fear that maybe something that seemed like a cute idea in the middle of night actually makes you look like a weird stalker. The intrusive thought eats away at your confidence as he takes the first gulp and looks confused peering down in his cup before taking another just to be sure. 

Steve’s eyes lock on yours through the glass, something inside them shifting just like the air between you on the rooftop. A secret revealed that paints his cheeks red, a small gesture that you don’t know has never made him feel more seen as he takes another sip of his coffee made the way he actually likes it today.

—-

“Hey boss, I’m running out for lunch, but Dustin’s got the news report covered while I’m gone.” Robin pokes her head in Jimmy’s office where you’d been for the past hour lost in balancing the books.

”Not your booosssss,” You sing with an annoyed smirk, giving your eyes a break to look up at her. “Isn’t he in school?”

”Winter break!” She grins, shoving her arms into her coat like she’s in a rush, “I’ll be back in like thirty, maybe forty minutes tops!”

She’s gone in a blur of blue and blond before you have a chance to respond, and as if on cue Dustin comes strolling in not even two minutes after her departure. He waves at you with a wide grin, green braces gleaming against the low light. The ends of his long tan trench coat are stained wet, dripping on the checkered floor. Duck boots squeaking against the linoleum. He must’ve rode his bike here like a lunatic.

”Hiya boss!” He greets, turning around to face you walking backwards to the studio room completely oblivious to the angry Steve yelling behind the soundproof glass watching him drip water and salt everywhere.

”Henderson!” You groan, burying your face in your hands before resting it on your desk.

”It’s a compliment!” He argues, getting you to look back up only to see that Steve is now standing behind him with his hands firmly planted on his hips.

”Are you kidding me asshole? Look at the floors.” He huffs, with the kind of outrage a parent would have with their kid. 

“It’s just water, it’ll dry.” Dustin rolls his eyes, pushing past Steve to start setting up but not before adding. “Or you can make yourself useful and mop it up.”

”How about I kick your teeth in, instead?”

“Not the first time you’ve threatened that.” The teenager raises his eyebrows at him, looking unimpressed, letting you know they’re always empty. Of course Harrington is all bark and no bite.

Another endearing quality, unfortunately.

“Yeah, and one day it just might happen if you don’t watch your sass dickhead.” 

It takes every ounce of will power not to snort at the sight in front of you, smiling like the Cheshire Cat at all the ways you’re going to schedule them together this summer. 

If it ever comes. 

“I’ll let you know if I need, I don’t know — like, a car crash sound, or maybe a police siren, but otherwise quiet on set. I have a job to do.” Dustin closes the door to the studio before Steve even has a chance to get the last word in, something you’ve come to find as the clear indicator of who the winner is in these little spats between all of them.

Steve still flips him off through the glass, grumbling to himself about getting the mop so someone doesn’t slip and break their necks. Dustin gives you a thumbs up from behind the sound board switching the ON AIR sign ‘Red’. He taps the sheets of paper you assume is the ‘news’ loudly on the desk to add his own effects as he kicks it off with the weather. Which is snow… always more damn snow. 

You groan, rubbing your temples at the thought of having to clean off your car every day for another week and all the shoveling, so much damn shoveling.

”God, I miss summer.” You mumble, exhaling a defeated breath through your nose grabbing the calculator to finish where you’d left off.

You don’t get very far though, the familiar sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway breaking your concentration. Heat warms your cheeks instantly, teeth digging into your bottom lip daring to look up and meet the hazel eyes you swear have changed colors again. Something new — brighter, something that feels more like Steve.

”H-hey.” He waves awkwardly, giving you a closed lip smile riddled with the kind of nerves that tighten in your chest too. 

”H-hi.” It comes out quieter than you intend, your voice cracking making you try to clear the nerves out of your throat too. 

Steve digs his hands into his pockets, leaning on the door frame with a shyness you’d never expect from him. It’s got a stubbornness about it like he’s worked himself up to do this and is vowing to see it through.

“How’s your uh, how’s your day going?” A hand that can’t help itself comes out of his pocket running through his hair. 

“It’s going,” you sigh, a little defeated tossing your calculator to the side. Suddenly the weight of the last few months makes itself known in the muscles of your shoulders, while your bed starts to sound a little too welcoming for it to only be half way through your shift. “What about y-you? How’s your day going?”

“Not too bad, I passed out on the couch and slept for like 12 hours yesterday. So I’d say feeling pretty good all things considered.” Another card of his hair.

Your eyes catch Dustin watching you both with an amused curiosity. 

“On the couch?! Rest in peace to your back.” You smile trying to crack a joke that somehow works, earning you the twitch of his lips that you were looking for.

”It’s been through worse.” He laughs softly, looking down at his feet before meeting your gaze from under his thick lashes with a shy teasing grin. “Did you switch up the coffee this morning or something? It was better than usual.”

The giggle that bubbles out of you makes Steve’s full pink lips stretch wide over his teeth that look even more brilliant in the daytime. It cracks at the awkwardness that's tried to settle between you.

”I guess you’re not as stealthy as you think you are huh?” You wink, giddy feet bouncing under the desk.

”Apparently not.” He narrows his eyes playfully, “it needed maybe one more packet of sugar though, but hey, who’s counting.”

”Steve, I put in three already.” You scoff with a smile so wide it hurts, heart skipping a beat when his grows like it can’t contain itself either. “Why did you even pretend to like your coffee black in the first place? Such a weird thing to lie about.”

“I don’t know!” He whines, embarrassment flushing his cheeks as he runs his hands down his face, “It’s like I did it once, because you know, you’re pret — “ 

Steve clears his throat catching the words that almost slipped from his mouth, but you catch them, heart thumping wildly at the idea of how that sentence almost ended. 

”I hadn’t seen you since high school, so I wanted to come off more like an adult? I don’t know, it was dumb and honestly, I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that you caught me lying or that you let me keep up with it for so long.” He groans, huffing out a laugh scratching the back of his neck.

”Don’t worry, it was pretty amusing, dare I say my favorite part of the morning. You always looked so nervous, like you were about to be caught robbing a bank or something.” You try to hide your laugh behind the back of your hand, when you earn another one of his glares.

”Ha, ha, ha.” He rolls his eyes, but the twitch at the corner of his lips gives him away.

”Steve!” Dustin’s voice interrupts you, making his shoulders tense, jaw clicking with instant annoyance.

”What Henderson? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a conversation?” He snaps turning around to face the high schooler, broad shoulders blocking him from your view.

”I’m sorry to interrupt your flirting to ask you to do your job.” Dustin responds with a taunting smile that you don’t need to see to know is there.

“You’re really pushing me today, you little shit. I’ll be there in a minute, just give me a second.” This time Steve runs both hands though his hair before turning around to face you again, the thumb flick you were expecting hitting his nose.

”What is this, the third time now in the past few weeks?” You can’t help yourself, or the teasing smirk that spreads across your face, lashes fluttering a little too much, but the greens in his eyes sparkle because of it.

”Like I said the last time, I keep getting distracted by my boss.” He laughs at your scowl about the nickname, walking backwards towards a very impatient Dustin, like he doesn’t want to stop looking at you until he absolutely has to. 

This time you didn’t have to wonder, Steve Harrington was flirting with you.

————-

Five days before Christmas

Monday

When Dustin said to expect snow this week you didn’t realize that he meant a blizzard. Of course it’s a fucking blizzard.

Your tires spin in the foot of snow that’s already fallen since it started this morning. The smoke from your exhaust comes out in huge plumes, over working your engine until you finally give up and take your foot off the gas. You curse the day you decided to go with the cheaper car that lacked the four wheel drive needed to leave the station tonight. And god, you really wanted to crawl into your bed.

“You’re gonna flood your engine!” 

It’s muffled, but the sound of Steve’s voice is unmistakeable, the timbre of it etching into the corners of your mind lately. Cutting off your engine, you look through the fogged up passenger window to see him and Robin standing at the front entrance of the station, the low yellow light almost turning them into shadows. Robin waves excitedly with mitten covered hands like she didn’t just see you less than ten minutes ago, an oversized crocheted beanie threatening to swallow her eyes. Steve on the other hand, he looks almost as stressed as you feel with only that damn leather coat protecting him from the winter storm quite literally raging around him, Nike’s still on his feet.

Leaning over your console, you start to crank open the window, the glass sticking from the frost, groaning like it might shatter before it gives way to snow fluttering into your car. Maybe this wasn’t your best idea.

”I’m stuck!” You yell over the howling wind jutting your bottom lip out for dramatic effect despite stating the obvious. 

”Steve can drive you home!” Robin volunteers without hesitating to ask him if that's okay, but he doesn’t even flinch at the idea.

”Oh — oh no that’s okay, I live on the other side of town, maybe you guys can just help dig me out?” You suggest instead, heart rate kicking up at the thought of being inside Steve’s car.

You’ve heard a lot of stories about that BMW, most against your will.

”You’re just going to get stuck again trying to get out of here, I’ve got four wheel drive. It’s fine, I can drive you.” He waves you off, taking his first steps towards you and into the storm. He walks past his BMW parked on the other side of the WSQK van that blocked some of the snowdrifts, protecting his car from suffering the same fate. 

”How will I get to work in the morning if I don’t try and get my car out of here now?” You counter, with the kind of nerves that only seem to get worse every time he’s around. 

His steps crunch softly in the snow stopping at your half opened window bending down with a hand on the roof to meet your eyes. Robin follows close behind, tilting her head to the side to listen, a smirk twisting up the corners of her lips.

“I’ll pick you up, you’ll need help digging out your car anyway.” He shrugs like he wasn’t offering to completely inconvenience himself for the next 24 hours for solely your benefit. 

“Steve - I can’t, I- “

”Seriously it’s fine! Steve loooves doing stuff like this, it’s like a hobbie, a kink if you will.” Robin interjects, a little too pushy for you not to narrow your eyes at her. “He’s got like a white knight complex or something.”

“Okay, Robin.” Steve snaps, glaring at her from over his shoulder. ”Also, how is enjoying being helpful to my friends a kink? What the hell is wrong with you?” scoffing incrediously, he turns his back almost completely to you.

“I’m just saying!” She shrugs winking at you like you’re in on the joke, but all you can focus on is Steve insinuating that you’re his friend and why that word has a sting to it. 

Running an irritated hand through his hair, he mouths something to her you can’t hear before turning to meet your gaze again with a softness inside his eyes that doesn’t match the tone he just had. It’s the same way he looked at you under the stars that night. 

“We’ve got two options here, and they are either accept my help now, or after you make me throw out my back attempting to dig out your car in a blizzard that will inevitably still get stuck half way down the hill.” The teasing grin on his pink lips disarms you with the kind of charm only he knows how to have, the kind you remember from high school. “I’ll do whichever one you want, honey, so you tell me.” 

Honey.

The word wraps around you gooey and sweet, covering your insides in sugar, warming your bones, leaving you no choice.

”Fine!” It comes out in a playful huff, the edges of your mouth threatening to curl as you pull your keys out of the ignition. You meet his eyes from under your lashes, giving him one last chance to change his mind. “If you’re really okay with this.”

He nods, those perfect teeth of his tugging his full bottom lip between them, cheeks dusting a pretty shade of pink that’s not just from the cold.

”Oh, trust me, he is!” Robin interrupts, and you watch in real time the way the gold sparkling inside his eyes turn black before they roll in the back of his head.

“Keep running that mouth Buckley, and you’re going to get real familiar with the walk home.” He groans with another hand through his hair, the constant snow fall making the ends wet.

”Empty threats.” She scoffs, completely unphased just like Dustin. “Now let's go before we all get stuck too. No offense to you guys but I don’t want to have a sleep over at The Squawk with Keith.” 

She says his name like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth, and Steve’s face twists in disgust like he can taste it too.

“Couldn’t agree more’.” You add, amused by another display of the two of them sharing the same brain.

Leaning over to crank your window back up, you meet Steve’s gaze from up close, something swirling inside it that you can’t figure out making your heart thump a few beats quicker. He holds you there till you’re sealed inside, leaving the storm muffled just like his voice.

“I‘ll go warm up the car.” 

———-

You never thought you’d be sitting shotgun in Steve’s BMW, or that it would relax every bone in your aching body, loosening the stress knots that have made a permanent home in your shoulder blades. It’s the way the cinnamon and amber fill the small space with the musk of his cologne, and how they mix with the deep tanned leather of the seat underneath you. The heat that blows from the vents only seems to intensify it along with the man next to you. It feels like you’re surrounded by him, encased by him. 

He drives slowly down the winding road that leads into town, the tires crunch as it compacts the thick snow underneath them. It falls from the sky like it’s angry, wind sweeping the wet flakes against his headlights. His wipers squeak working overtime to keep visibility. The full moon hidden behind the deep purple clouds fights to shine its way through the storm, casting a deep lavender glow along the banks. Illuminating the snow that hangs heavy on the edges of the trees that line the bare woods surrounding you. Frank Sinatra’s ‘You Go To My Head’ plays softly from his speakers with a light crackle from years of playing his music way too loud joy riding with Tommy and Carol. 

Steve readjusts slightly in his seat to shift gears, and you catch a whiff of tobacco still clinging to the fabric of his sweater underneath his coat. Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you have to fight the urge to lean forward and inhale.  

“Okay, so — secret Santa. We were thinking of having it at the Wheeler’s, since their basement is practically like our second apartment anyway, on top of the fact that it’s way easier to get to than The Squawk.” Robin breaks the silence, leaning forward resting her elbows on the backs of either of your headrests. 

You don’t miss the way Steve’s grip on the steering wheel tightens enough to show the white’s of his knuckles at the name, or the anxious pit that forms in your gut at the idea of being the new face in a group of friends that are tied together by something you can’t even begin to comprehend. 

“Hey! Sit down, are you kidding me?” He scolds, glaring at her from the rearview mirror.

”Sorry, Dad.” She huffs, raising her hands in defense, flopping herself back into her seat. Your lips twitch at the familiar nickname.

”And put your seat belt on too. Jesus, I’m driving in a freaking blizzard Robin.” He only takes his hand off the steering wheel just long enough to run it through his hair.  Robin sticks her tongue out at his reflection, but you still hear the click of her seatbelt before she continues.

“Anyway, I’m thinking around 8 o'clock Christmas Eve. You can make Keith work the overnight shift since you’re the boss and all.” She grins wide when you toss her your own glare from over your shoulder.

”What if Keith wants it off?” You counter with teasing revenge.

It’s Steve that snorts next to you, bringing your attention to the curve of his lips, doing good to keep his eyes on the road.

”Keith was banned from secret Santa, per our agreement, so therefore he has to work and you have to go.” He argues siding with his best friend daring to meet your gaze before adding a little quieter. “Besides, I want you to go.”

Your stomach flips at his admission, cheeks warming enough they could fog the window next to you if you were just a few inches closer. Biting down on your bottom lip, you try to fight off the shy smile that wants to take over your face. Nervous hands pulling at the sleeves of your coat.

”I guess I’ll see what I can do.” You try to play along with a roll of your eyes and a bad attempt at an even voice, but you can tell Robin sees right through it. The heat of her stare threatens to burn a hole in the back of your head daring you to meet it.

”Perfect, then it’s decided.” She finally says, something mischievous dancing around in her tone. “Hey dingus, drop me off at our place first, I forgot I gotta wake up early to help my Mom with something.” 

It sounds casual, the way she lays the trap, but you know exactly what she’s doing and you’re almost positive Steve does too. Especially by the way he stares her down through the rear view mirror before clearing his throat.

“Sounds good.” He nods with a small smile that almost seems nervous, glancing at you from the corner of his eye to gauge a reaction you don’t give despite the wild thumping of your heart in your chest.

Robin Buckley was a menace.

Of course it doesn’t take much longer for Steve to pull into the small parking lot of what you assume is their apartment complex. It’s one of the two in Hawkins, and yours of course is on the exact opposite side of town. Guilt consumes you with the realization of how far out of his way he’s going to not only drive you home, but to also pick you up first thing in the morning as the never ending storm clouds continue to dump what seems like another foot of snow on top of you.

Robin jumps out of the car before it even fully comes to a stop.

”Drive safe, and I’ll see you on Christmas Eve!” She smiles, sticking her head in one last time, throwing Steve a wink that makes him scoff and wave her off.

”Bye. Close the damn door before the snow ruins the leather.” He scolds, trying to dismiss her very obvious ulterior motives, mouthing ‘go’ until she finally obliges. 

The wind outside isn’t loud enough to drown out her cackle after she shuts the door, and despite his annoyance he still doesn’t drive away till he sees her disappear safely into their apartment. Adding yet another quality to the long list of things Steve does that you unexpectedly find extremely endearing. 

“I’m sorry — I don’t know why she’s being so, so - she’s being weird.” He stammers nervously, slowly pulling out and back into the snow storm that’s only seemed to get worse.

”I think that’s just Robin’s general demeanor.” You say casually, like your palms weren’t sweating. 

“That is also true.” He laughs quietly, shifting gears when his tires slide, turning a corner.

“Are you seriously sure this is okay Steve? We're still not that far from the station. It’s getting bad, I can just stay there.”  

As if to prove your point, the wind kicks up, smacking loudly on the side of his car.

”You’re not sleeping at the station.” He responds seriously, shifting again before slowly hitting the gas getting back on the main road. “I would not have offered it if I didn’t want to.”

”Technically Robin offered.”

”We’re basically the same person, so.” He shrugs, a toothy grin spreading across his face that only seems to be more handsome draped in shadows and moonlight. 

Frank Sinatra’s ‘If I Had You’ fills the quiet space between you, the strings and his deep melodic voice turning the snow outside into something magical instead of treacherous. 

“You really like Sinatra don’t you?” The question makes him do a double take, a reveal that warms both your cheeks and sends butterflies soaring deep in your gut giving your cards away about listening to his overnights.

‘I could show the world how to smile. I could be glad all the while. I could change the grey skies blue, if I had you.’ 

”Checking up on me I see.” He grins, shifting again only this time the side of his hand grazes your thigh, the slightest touch sending your body buzzing.

”I mean, I’ve got to keep tabs. I’ve caught you slipping, what? Four times now?” You tease, doing your best to hide your grin. 

”Three. And all of them were your fault.” He corrects, sly eyes finding yours over the console making you giggle.

”Sounds like a deflection to me, Steve.” You sigh, relaxing even more in your seat meeting him from under your lashes. “I just never pegged you for a Frank Sinatra kind of guy.”

He huffs out a laugh, running a big hand through his hair that almost looks like a messy kind of bed head after the amount of times he’s done it throughout the day. 

“I wasn’t until Robin started judging my love for Eddie Money like it was the worst thing she’s ever heard in her life. Which is crazy cause —”

”He makes hits!” You agree, with the kind of excitement that makes a smile stretch so big across his face that it splits in two. 

”Thank you! Yes, he makes hits. But, she disagrees and decided to dedicate the first two months we worked at the station ‘expanding’ my music taste. I tried hiding the fact that I liked Frank outta spite, but apparently you aren’t the only one who listens to my overnights.” He glances over holding your stare for just long enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“You really aren’t stealthy, Steve.” You giggle before adding, “I bet she knows you’re smoking again too.”

”You’re probably right.” He groans at the possibility.

”I hear that a lot.” 

Steve snorts, flipping his blinker on to turn down the road that leads to your side of town, shifting again his knuckles brush against you for the second time sending goosebumps pebbling across your skin. 

“I was so surprised the first time I heard you play ‘My Way’, but honestly Harrington, it kinda suits you. I like it.” Your cheeks warm at your own compliment, something about saying it in his moonlit car has it feeling bigger than intended.

He stays quiet for a moment, letting the song fill the space between you charged with the new feelings that sit on the edge of both of your tongues.

’And I could leave the old days behind. Leave all my pals, I’d never mind. And I could start my life anew, if I had you.’

”Yeah?” He asks quietly, with a kind of soft vulnerability wrapped around the word that’s unmistakable.

“Mmhmm.” You whisper matching his tone turning shy, heart thumping wildly in your chest. “It’s hard not too.”

You aren’t talking about Sinatra anymore, and you think you both know it.

His gaze feels heavy as it crawls over the details of your face in the silence that follows, trying to figure out what’s going on inside your head. You hope whatever he’s looking for is hidden, just like the feelings that are starting to bloom despite how much you’ve tried not to water them. 

“What was it like?” 

The question you’ve been too scared to ask since you’ve been home slips out without warning, nervous fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater that poke out from your coat. 

“Lockdown?” He clears his throat, straightening his posture holding the steering wheel with a harsh grip.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.” You try to take it back watching the way all the muscles in his body seem to tense at the memory. 

”No, no, it’s fine.” He responds with a small smile reading you like a book from the corner of his eye. “I don’t mind, just, uh, I wasn't expecting it.”

”Sorry, I have a bad habit of just blurting out whatever pops into my mind.” You laugh nervously, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Oh, I know, I remember your conversational skills on the roof.” He teases, the whites of his teeth shining against the dashboard lights.

“Now look at us because of my lack of conversational skills.” Smirking, you dare to look over at him again, your eyes tracing the moles that dot his profile. 

Steve was always handsome, but was he always this handsome?

“Fast friends.” He chuckles softly, meeting your gaze briefly before focusing back on the road. 

There’s that word again. You guess it’s better than ‘cool.’

The snow falls so heavily outside you aren’t entirely sure how he’s even able to see through it anymore.

”Lockdown was like being trapped in a never ending loop of the worst day of your life.” He says with a low voice, his handsome features going dark at the memory.

Shifting gears again, his Beamer slowly trudges up the kind of hill that you know would have been your car's demise if you had even made it out of the station's parking lot. He leaves his hand to rest on the stick shift this time, the tips of his fingers press softly into your thigh, he doesn’t move them. 

“But at least I had a real excuse for once as to why my life turned out the way it did.” There’s a layer of self hatred sewn into what he’s saying, it’s hard to miss in the way it diminishes the light in his eyes. 

”What do you mean by that?” You whisper, too nervous to talk at full volume, but you lean your thigh further into his touch, keeping him connected to you. The rev of his struggling engine bleeds through the conversation, and you wonder if his car will even make it back.

”I mean look at me.” He laughs, like it’s obvious. 

“I am looking at you Steve.” 

You almost tell him that it’s all you seem to be doing lately.

”My Dad’s a lawyer with his own firm, and I’m a sound guy at a radio station who peaked in high school that can’t seem to get it together enough to leave.” He scoffs like you must need a reminder, running that nervous hand through his hair again, knee starting to bounce. 

“That’s not what I see.” It comes out soft just like your gaze, fingers flexing in your lap fighting the urge to wrap around his.

”Yeah?” His voice cracks a little, but he keeps his focus on the disappearing road. “What do you see?”

’I could be a king, dear, uncrowned. Humble or poor, rich or renowned. There’s nothing I couldn’t do, if I had you.’

“Someone that loves his friends so deeply that he constantly puts his needs last. You’re selfless almost to a fault Steve, and sometimes I have to fight the urge to yell at you to take care of yourself when I see how bad the bags under your eyes get some days.” 

He chuckles dryly, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he blinks back tears that threaten to spill like he’s never heard these things about himself before. A storm raging inside of him just like the one outside.

”I see a guy who’s so kind, he’d sacrifice his own happiness for anyone that he loves. And I think that’s exactly why you’re still here. I wouldn’t call that being a failure. Not by a long shot.” 

That’s when you do it, you wrap your fingers around his and squeeze, he does it back with zero hesitation, like he was waiting for you. Keeping you there.

”I think about it all the time you know?” He whispers, the pad of his thumb brushing against your knuckles, butterflies multiplying deep in your gut.

”What?”

”Leaving.”

Frank Sinatra’s deep baritone fills the quiet that falls between you when he turns on your road, letting the weight of his confession hold the space there. A deep longing inside of it to see what lies past where the twenty feet tall fences were. 

“Why haven’t you?” The question feels loaded when it leaves your mouth, and the way his thumb stutters tells you it is.

”I just need to know they’re safe — that they get out of here first. Especially Dustin, that little shit gets under my skin but I love him like he's my kid.” He answers the question with the most selfless kind of reason you should’ve expected. Something else lingering inside of it that he doesn’t want to unpack just yet. “After everything, I just can’t, I can’t. Not yet. Part of me feels like maybe I’ll always live here.”

He pulls into your complex like he’s done it a thousand times before, wheels spinning in the snow before his car propels forward into the first spot, only letting go of your fingers to put the car in park.

”That doesn’t mean you can’t explore what’s past Hawkins, Steve.” You whisper, turning in your seat to face him, already missing the warmth of his hand. “You’re not stuck, even if you stay, you can always see what else is out there, one place at a time, one trip at a time. Bit by bit. The world is big, and it’s not going anywhere.”

His eyes shine, glassy and shimmering under the street lamp above his car. They tell you everything he can’t bring his mouth to speak, your hands flexing in your lap fighting the urge to grab onto him again. Shadows make the moles and freckles that dot his skin look like the last flick of a paint brush, the final touches to a painting and you realize — yes, Steve has always been this handsome, you just didn’t see it before. 

You see it now though.

“Thanks for taking me home.” You smile a little shy, the heaviness of the conversation hanging in the air. 

“Any time, honey.” His full lips twist into something sweet, the new nickname making your body come alive. “Want me to walk you to your door?”

He glances around your well lit parking lot like something could be lurking in the shadows, it feels silly to you, but the expression that furrows deep in the V of his brows tells you that it’s anything but to him.

“I’m already scared you’re not gonna get out of here as it is. I’m just right there.” You point to the door of your apartment, the one conveniently closest to where he’s parked and his shoulders visibly relax. You knew he was going to watch you till you got inside anyway.

”I’ll pick you up around 8?” He asks, his eyes glancing down at your hands that fidget like he missed your touch too.

The bold red numbers on his dash read: 9:38PM. Suddenly tomorrow feels like a million years away. 

“That sounds good.” It comes out in a whisper, your mind frantically searching for anything to say to keep him here even if just for a few minutes more. But it’s all static.

”I’ll see you tomorrow morning then.” He smiles, leaning back into the headrest.

”I’ll make you coffee for your troubles — with four sugars, don’t worry.” You tease, trying to ignore the nervous crack in your voice, but your joke lands earning you a snort in response and it only pushes your cheeks up higher.

“Better make it five.” Steve winks, white teeth gleaming against the dashboard lights at the eye roll he gets.

”Whatever Harrington, it's your body, your diabetes." You shrug, not expecting the genuine full belly laugh you get, quickly doing your best to try and memorize the bass and timbre of it in case you don’t hear it again.

You take one last look at him, committing this moment to memory. His eyes do the same as they trace over every curve and dip of your face, it makes you squirm a little in your seat. Your fingers grab the door handle at the same time he clears his throat leaning back into the leather. He flicks his thumb across his nose, before that big hand of his wraps around the stick shift, signaling that it’s really time to go.

”Please drive safely.” You beg, stepping out of the car and into the snow, remembering all those times he peeled out of the station’s dirt road.

”I will, I will. Don’t worry.” He waves you off with a smirk, “I’ll be thinking about that coffee the whole way home.”

He’s not talking about the coffee. 

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, the wet snow flakes that stick to your cheeks melting from the heat emanating off of them. Shutting the door, you wave at him one last time before trudging up to your apartment, feeling the warmth of his stare on you the whole way. He waits until your keys are in your door before you hear the squeal of his gear shifting, his tires spinning loudly just like yours did at the station. It makes you turn around, and you watch him try to back out again just to get himself even more stuck in the snow that just continues to pile around him. He tugs at his hair trying one more time, finally giving up when smoke starts to come up from the burning rubber of his tires. His eyes meet yours through his windshield, apologetic and nervous, the wind kicking up a notch to add salt to the wound.

”You’re gonna flood your engine!” You tease with a grin, getting the shine of his teeth you were looking for. Bright like the sunshine you missed so much, they break through the storm clouds that threaten to hide his face. 

Steve Harrington was snowed in at your apartment.

—- 

You never thought your place was that small for a studio until Steve was standing in the middle of it, broad shoulders and long legs taking up so much space. His eyes are curious as they absorb his new surroundings, mouth slightly agape unzipping his leather jacket looking around like he’s being let in on a big secret. Nerves twist tight in your gut at the general clutter scattered around your room that doubles as a common area, especially the pair of underwear hanging half hazardly from your laundry basket.

”Sorry for the - the um, mess. I wasn’t expecting anyone, obviously.” You stutter, peeling off your coat in a rush. 

Hanging up your puffer by the front door, you scurry past him to try and clean up what you can, starting with the black lace but the deepening red in his cheeks tells you that it's too late.

”You're fine, seriously. You’re cute — I mean.” He clears his throat like it's closing up, scratching the back of his neck, “It's a cute, cute apartment.”  

You can’t stop the twist of your lips no matter how hard you try, giggling a soft thank you as you speed clean around him. He stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself either, both of you lost in uncharted territory. 

“Here, I’ll take your coat.” You huff throwing away the last of the wrappers you’ve collected, taking a deep breath at the realization that you’re being a bad host. “You can sit on the couch, and get comfortable.” 

Steve looks like a deer in headlights when you walk over to him with an open hand.                     

”Is it okay if I use your bathroom real quick?” There’s a shyness in the way that he asks, slipping his wet leather coat into your grasp, that nervous hand pushing his hair back.

There’s a brief moment of panic as you try and remember the way you left it, but since you weren’t running late today, you’re nintey nine percent sure it’s safe.

”Yeah of course, it’s on the right around the corner, not the left, that's just a closet.” 

He nods, patting himself down like maybe he’s forgetting something before turning around and disappearing into the bathroom with a soft click of the door. A shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding slips out from between your lips as you hang up his coat. The musk of his cologne hits your nose along with the relaxing hint of amber inside of it, and this time, you give in, inhaling a little more.

You take one last look around your apartment for anything else you might’ve missed before grabbing an extra blanket from the closet you warned him about. Your heart thumps a little quicker hearing the muffled sound of the water running in the sink as the reality of Steve Harrington having to sleep on your couch just a few feet from your bed settles in.

You grab the extra pillow you usually cuddle with from its hiding place under your comforter, laying everything out for him on one side of the loveseat.  Staring down at the short piece of furniture, there's a part of you that wonders if he’s even going to fit on it, at least comfortably. Another wave of guilt hits you like a tsunami as you start to think maybe you should be the one to sleep on the couch instead.

The sound of the bathroom door opening stops you from being able to fret about it too much as he emerges from around the corner. His hazel eyes find yours instantly, the gold in them looking warm like honey. A toothy grin cracks his handsome face in two calming the anxiety that had begun tightening uncomfortably in your chest. The sleeves of his brown sweater are pushed up, and the windswept mess on the top of his head had obviously been tamed in his absence. A mental image of him fixing his hair in your small bathroom mirror has the corners of your mouth curling up. It feels like something to check off a bucket list. 

“I like the pink rugs you have in there.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb taking two long strides to the middle of the room, his gaze wandering the posters on your wall like he's trying to piece you together.

“Thanks, I bought them when I first moved back to brighten it up a little.” You sigh with a shrug, looking down before adding “this one too.”

You point to the fuzzy burnt orange throw carpet under both your sock covered feet, a proud smile pulling up your cheeks meeting his eyes from under your lashes.

”I’ve got the last little bit of my favorite summer candle. I usually light it when it snows like this. If you wanna get really crazy, we can even pretend it’s June.” The wiggle of your eyebrows earns you the kind of laugh from him that threatens to become your favorite sound. 

“What does summer smell like to you?” He questions with a soft stare, teeth tugging at his full bottom lip. The warm light from your floor lamp casting shadows across his sharp features. 

”It smells like the beach on the sunniest day of the year — salt water, sunshine, with the smallest amount of sweetness and dare I say a dash of clean linen.” You sigh at the thought of it, side stepping him to light it from where it sits on your kitchen island. 

“Take me away to cocamo or whatever the song says.” Steve huffs, finally flopping down on your couch. A low groan rumbles from his chest as his body molds into the cushions. This time he runs both hands through his hair.

“I’m just gonna change into something more comfortable really quick.” It comes out in a rush, your nerves from before jumbling the words on the tip of your tongue.

”Take your time,” He waves you off with a yawn, “do you care if I use your phone to call Robin while you’re doing that? I don’t want her thinking I’m in a ditch somewhere.”

“Go for it.” You smile, grabbing your softest pajama pants and an oversized shirt doing your best not to over think it, or the fact that you have nothing for him to sleep in.

Disappearing around the corner, you have to ward off the mental image of what Steve sprawled out across your couch in his boxers would look like.

—-

His voice sounds faint on the other side of the door and even though he's speaking in a hushed tone you can still tell he’s annoyed by whatever his best friend is saying on the other end. Judging by the way she was acting in the car, you can only imagine in the privacy of a call.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, probably the same way he did, messing with your appearance. Your mind wanders, replaying the night and how pushy Robin was all of the sudden, and it makes you wonder if she knows something you don’t. Maybe you weren’t the only one figuring out what that flutter in your stomach actually means.

Clearing your throat loudly, you give him a subtle warning of your return, fingers wrapping around the doorknob for ten extra seconds longer before finally coming out.

”You are not basically Dave Hull, you don’t host a match making show, please shut up— I gotta go, seriously? Can it— bye!”

He hangs up, running an irritated hand down his face mumbling something to himself before turning around. His eyes go wide, crimson staining his cheeks clearly oblivious to all the warnings you tried to give him.   

“Sounds like she was super worried.” You tease trying your best to hide your smile and ignore the way his gaze wanders your softer edges, the hardened shell at work hung up with your coat. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He snorts with an annoyed groan, “she was just being —“

”Robin.” You finish with a giggle, dragging your feet lazily to your bed, as a guilty conscience has you sizing up the couch again.

”I forget that you understand.” He laughs dryly flopping back down where he was sitting before you changed, thighs spreading wide as he head lulls against the cushions.

”Steve, I really don’t think that couch is going to be big enough for you.” Crossing your arms, you try to think of any kind of comfortable position he could possibly sleep in without his legs hanging over the arm rest. Or worse, propped up in mid air. 

“I think you should take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

”No, nope, absolutely not.” He sits up, squaring his broad shoulders in stubborn finality. 

“Seriously, I re-“

“I mean it, I'm fine, I could sleep standing up if I’m tired enough.” Steve grabs the blanket you laid out for him, leaning back and stretching out with one leg on the arm rest and the other on the floor.   

“See? Comfy.” 

He drapes the quilted comforter over himself to really drive his point home. It doesn’t look comfortable at all, but it’s obvious he’s not going to back down. 

You narrow your eyes at him, staring just long enough to get a laugh before he shoos you away to a bed that’s been calling your name since the station. This time you don’t have it in you to argue, taking one last look at him letting him win after he whispers a final ‘I’m fine, go to bed.”

———

The wind howls loudly outside, noisy gusts blowing against your windows sending in a chill that bleeds through the cracks of the poorly sealed glass. Another harsh blast against your apartment building has the flimsy foundations shake, and despite the thickness of your comforter goosebumps pebble across your skin, teeth threatening to chatter. Glancing over at your alarm clock, bright red numbers flash a harsh 12:34AM at you.

It was the sound of Steve’s light snoring that lulled you to sleep about an hour ago, but now it’s his constant shuffling and re adjusting on the couch that pulls you out of it. A long huff escapes through his nose after turning for what feels like the hundredth time, and you don’t have to see him to know he’s running a hand through his hair.

The wind kicks up again, blowing out the dim flame of your dying candle on the kitchen island, the soft yellow glow disappearing turning the room a deep blue. A shiver runs up your spine at the same time the springs of the couch squeak as he tries to readjust again.

”Steve, just get in the bed.” 

The shuffling stops, both of you holding your breath.

”It doesn’t have to be weird, you’re clearly uncomfortable.” You sit up rubbing the sleep from your eyes finding him in the kind of position that was sure to give him back problems for the next week. 

The internal battle he’s having with himself is evident on his face, and it lasts long enough for the uncomfortable weight of regret to start settling in your chest. Nerves digging your canines into the skin on the side of your thumb. 

“Fuck it.” He huffs under his breath sitting up, grabbing the pillow you gave him that had been rolled up to help support his neck in the pretzel of a position he had put himself in. 

Your shoulders relax for a split second until the realization of what this means quickens the beating of your heart. Chewing your bottom lip, you lift the comforter in a silent invitation doing your best to keep up with the ruse that this wasn’t a big deal, even if it feels like the exact opposite.

Steve stops at the side of your full size bed, running those long fingers through the already messy main on the top of his head. Purple shadows kiss the bags under his weary eyes as he takes in the small space next to you before they meet your gaze.

”Are you sure? I- I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He asks with a sleepy rasp in his voice that makes your chest swell.

”I’ve actually never been more sure of anything in my life, if you can believe it.” You give him a lazy reassuring grin, “besides, I’m cold and I’m willing to bet you’re like a human furnace.”

He lets out a soft laugh at the reveal of your ulterior motive, the stress in his shoulders softening as he runs a hand over his face before nodding tossing his pillow down next to yours.

”As long as it’s mutually beneficial.” Steve smiles a little shy climbing under the covers, his weight making the mattress dip in the middle daring you to come closer. 

The bed squeaks underneath him as he adjusts, your metal bed frame smacking against the wall. He settles on his side facing you with a hand tucked under his pillow. You mimic the way he lays, nerves coming out in the form of fidgeting feet, your toes brushing against his under the covers. He’s so close that you can see the smattering of freckles at the corners of his eyes, and every mole that dots along his neck. Amber and tobacco hit your nose, warming you just like the heat that radiates off his body, eyes glowing a golden evergreen in the deep blue light of your apartment.

God he was close, so close.

His gaze traces the lines of your face and you swear they linger on your lips. Even if just for a fleeting moment, catching your breath in the back of your throat.

“Bet you regret offering to take me home now huh?” You tease in a whisper, the tip of your toe catching on his shin. 

“Nah,” he scoffs with a soft grin,“I do however regret not wearing my boots, I wasn't even thinking, rookie mistake.” 

Your giggle makes his full pink lips stretch wide over perfect white teeth. Butterflies flutter in a kaleidoscope of color when he catches your feet with his own.

“I’ll help you,” you hum, as your hand not tucked away finds a new home in the space between you. “Don’t worry.”

There’s a moment of silence while his fingers follow yours, resting close enough for the tips of them to brush. His thick eyebrows marry in the middle of his forehead, thinking hard about whatever he’s wanting to say next.

“Sorry if that was a little much in the car earlier, I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you.” He looks up at you from under his lashes, insecurities swirling in the depths of his irises.

“Don’t be,” your voice comes out quiet, swallowing your apprehension as your index finger hooks with his, “I like seeing that side of you.”

His finger flexes at your response, squeezing.

“Yeah?” He questions with the kind of disbelief that cracks open your heart.

“Mmhmm.” You murmur, holding his gaze, toes digging into the top of his foot, silently saying I like you.

You don’t know when it happened, but staring at him in the incandescent light of your room. You’re sure of it now. 

Steve scoots closer, the heat of his breath fanning against your lips. Drawn to him like a magnet, you do the same, the tip of your nose brushing with his. Cinnamon from the Big Red he always chews invades your senses like the left over cologne clinging to his clothes. Another gust of wind smacks against your windows, sending a chill up your spine. Steve’s lips quirk on one side.

“Want to test out your furnace theory?” He breathes, a nervous crack in his voice, as he takes the leap of no return, first. 

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, all you can muster is a shy nod, your legs wrapping tighter around his. Something greedy warms every inch of your skin like it’s a need to have him as close as possible, and here he is offering it to you like it’s all he wants too. 

His big hand finds your hip before sliding to the small of your back, his palm flattening along your spine tugging you to him. It doesn’t take much to close whatever space that was left between you, legs tangling together with bodies pressed so close that you can feel every ridge and dip of him. You look up from under your lashes just to find him already staring down at you, and even with the heavy weight of his mind evident under his eyes, he’s somehow more handsome than he was an hour ago. 

Your palms flatten along his chest, the unbuttoned collar of his sweater revealing the top of a thick patch of hair that hides underneath the cotton. It makes your thighs press into his, your cheeks burning but if he notices he doesn’t show it. The pad of his thumb presses softly running along the dip of your spine, soothing your stiff muscles while his eyes trace over the contours of your face. There’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel like he can see everything that you’re trying to hide, and when his gaze lingers on your lips you’re sure he can. 

The hand he kept tucked under his pillow outstretches with his arm, sliding under your head to pull the rest of you in. Tucking you under his chin, you bury your face into the side of his neck, thankful for the hiding place. His skin feels just as sunkissed as it looks, and it takes everything inside of you not to nuzzle deeper into him searching for more. 

“Is this okay?” He whispers against the crown of your head, soft fingers running up and down the length of your back. 

“Mmhmm.” You mumble against his throat instead of ‘can I live here?’ curling your fists into his sweater to pull yourself closer.

For the first time all winter, you’re thankful for the snow. 

“Are you okay?” Your question comes out in a murmur, lips ghosting against his skin as you attempt to look up at him failing miserably nosing the sensitive spot behind his ear. 

”Am I — am I okay?” He snorts incredulously, pulling you close enough to feel impossible, turning his head just enough for your cheeks to brush, the heat of his breath pebbling goosebumps along the side of your neck. “Never been better, honey.”

Honey. You want to change your name to honey. Get lost in the gold of it hidden in his eyes.

All you would have to do is lift your chin up slightly, and your lips could be pressed to his. The thought of them being so close quickens your heart beat, breath hitching as the tip of his nose nudges against the side of your cheek. Testing the boundaries like the realization dawned on him too. The sound of your heavy breathing mixes with the howling of the wind outside, filling the quiet space of your apartment, neither one of you daring to speak. His chest rises and falls under your palm, his own heart matching yours, skipping a beat at the tilt of your chin. 

His fingers slide down your spine, fiddling with the hem of your shirt until he feels the slight nod of your head giving him permission. Electricity sparks goosebumps along the soft skin of your lower back the moment the tips of them touch you, a low hum escaping the back of your throat. You swear you feel his lips curve up against your cheek at the sound. Your bodies move together, seeking friction you’re not ready to give into yet, heavy breathes hot against each other's necks. 

Your hands trail down his chest, a greedy need to touch more of him taking over all logical thought. They reach the bottom of his sweater at the same time your nose presses harder into his cheek when the blunt end of his nails drag softly down the dip of your spine. Your fingers slip under the hem, the pads of them meeting the rough hair of his happy trail. His body tenses, the movements of his hand coming to halt. You immediately feel the loss when he pulls it out, long fingers grabbing a hold of your wrist. 

“Hey.” He whispers against your ear, his voice laced with something soft and scared.

You work up the courage to push past the bitter taste of rejection sneaking up on you to pull your head back just enough to meet the heavy gaze of his eyes, eclipsed dark with want, fear sparkling in the depths of them. The tips of your noses brush, and your fingers itch to smooth the lines in the middle of his forehead from the furrow of his brows despite the way your heart drops to the pit of your gut. 

Maybe you read this all wrong. 

“There’s — There’s stuff you don’t know about me.” He starts, the hand on your wrist letting you go so he can thread his fingers with yours, easing some of the anxiety that had started to build. “Things happened to me — happened to a lot of us during that time.” 

You press your forehead to his, the pad of your thumb rubbing softly over his knuckles, silently encouraging him to continue. His face twists like he’s in pain, shame shadowing his handsome features, breaking your heart before he even has a chance to finish. 

”These things, they left their mark on me. It’s — it’s a lot to explain, not really pillow talk.” huffing out a nervous laugh, he swallows avoiding your gaze, he moves his focus to your tangled hands instead before continuing, “my stomach and umm parts of my chest — I’ve got a lot of scars is what I’m trying to tell you pretty fucking badly. A lot of them, and I haven’t really shown them to anyone before. Well anyone —“

”New?” You finish, squeezing your legs around his calf a little tighter remembering the one you saw wrapped around his neck. 

Tears that you don’t let fall sting the corners of your eyes. Seeing him vulnerable like this, leaving himself bare to trust you to help pick the pieces back up has a sharp pain tightening in your chest. A vengeful rage boiling under the surface at the idea of whatever it was that caused him so much pain. The urge to apologize to him eats at you but you keep it to yourself knowing that’s the last thing he would want. Steve Harrington hated pity.  

”Yeah,” He breathes a slight sigh of relief, his eyes finally meeting yours with a worry he can’t seem to shake swimming deep in the pools of them.

”Steve.” His name comes out gentle, a softness about it that has his nose nudging against yours. “You only have to share with me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You run the tip of your nose along the length of his, breathing him in. 

“I don’t need to see them yet, or ever if that’s what you want, I just — I just really want to touch you.”

Your eyes close, hiding from his gaze that searches for you. 

“I want that too, honey. God more than anything.” He whispers against the corner of your mouth, the silk of his lips waking up every nerve ending in your body.

He lets go of your hand, fingers lazily crawling up your hip before returning to their home on the small of your back. A shiver runs up your spine at how good it feels to be touched by him again, only a few minutes passing but they felt like a lifetime. 

You meet Steve’s stare, an intensity burning in his eyes that wasn’t there before. The kind that gives you the courage to slip your hand back up the bottom of his sweater. Tentative nails raking through his rough happy trail. The feeling of your touch sends a shudder through his body, like it’s been denied this kind of intimacy for a long time. A low groan catching in the back of his throat pressing his forehead harder against yours.

Your touch grows bolder, more curious as your fingers dare to crawl further up. The pads of them are met with uneven skin, evidence of large almost teeth-like shaped gashes lining the sides of his ribs. Despite pinching his eyes closed, he leans further into your touch. Your teeth dig into the fat of your bottom lip, holding in the cry that wants to slip out.

What happened to you?

The blunt ends of your nails find the softer patch of hair on his chest, your hips meeting his on their own accord. Steve tilts his head up, his mouth hovering just above yours as his hands spread wide across the small of your back. He pulls you to him like there’s somehow more space between you even though there isn’t. Your top lip brushes just slightly against his full bottom one, while your fingers dance slowly down the other side of his ribcage. The bumps of identical scars kissing the pads of them again. 

His nose presses into your cheek, a shaky breath tickling against your skin. The blunt end of his nails digging crescent moons into the soft skin of your back when you go over a deeper indentation.

“So handsome.” You whisper, lips ticking just under the shell of his ear as you glide your fingers over the same spot again.

He breathes out a shy laugh, nuzzling deeper into you leaving a whisper of a kiss at the hinge of your jaw. His mouth is so close to where you want it most, a fluttering tickling deep in your gut at the feel of them dragging along your skin. 

“So beautiful.” His voice comes out low against the sensitive spot in the crook of your neck. Its baritone has your body curving soaking in the warmth of him through your palms because touching Steve feels like bathing in sunshine. 

The need for more is insatiable, and he lets you take as much as you want. Your hands wander the broad expanses of his chest, tracing the dips and curves of the pinched skin of his scars until your eyelids grow too heavy to keep open. The soft caresses of his fingers against the sore muscles of your back lulling you to the deepest sleep you’ve had in what feels like months but not before you hear a quiet whispered ‘sweet dreams, honey.’

——-

Part Two ✨