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Her eyes flicked to him, catching the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the casual roll of his sleeves exposing forearms dusted with light hair. For a split second, she imagined her fingers threading through that messy mop on his head, yanking it back to shut him up. But no. He was a poser, coasting on charm while she bled effort. And the professors ate it up, fawning over his 'natural intellect' like he was some prodigy.

Class dragged on, the tension coiling in y/n's chest with every nod Ellis gave Steve's direction. When the bell finally rang, she snapped her binder shut, stuffing it into her bag with more force than necessary. Steve was already on his feet, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, chatting with his buddies from the back row about some party this weekend.

She pushed past them toward the door, but of course, he fell into step beside her in the hallway, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.

"Hey, Miss Perfect," he drawled, his voice low and teasing as he matched her stride. "Saw you glaring daggers back there. What's the matter? My take on Camus cramp your style?"

Y/n didn't break pace, her chin lifted defiantly. "Your 'take' was a bunch of hot air, Harrington. You wouldn't know absurdism if it slapped you in the face."

He laughed, a rich sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. His eyes dipped briefly, tracing the line of her skirt hugging her thighs, lingering on the way her legs moved with each step. She felt the heat of his gaze like a touch, and it made her pulse quicken despite herself.

"Ouch. Harsh words from the girl with the binder thicker than my ex's ego." He leaned in a fraction closer, the faint scent of his cologne—something woodsy and warm—invading her space. "Admit it, you're just pissed because I aced that last paper without cracking a single book. While you're over there slaving away for second place."

Y/n stopped abruptly in the emptying corridor, whirling to face him. Her cheeks burned, but she held his stare, those hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's not about the grades, you arrogant prick. It's because you're an ass who bullshits his way through everything and gets rewarded for it. The profs think you're some deep thinker, but we both know you're just winging it."

Steve's grin widened, unfazed, as he stepped closer, crowding her personal space just enough to make her breath hitch. Up close, she could see the faint stubble shadowing his jaw, the way his lips quirked like he was holding back a laugh. Her mind betrayed her again, flashing to how those lips might feel pressed against hers, rough and demanding.

"Winging it? Nah, that's just talent, sweetheart. Maybe if you loosened up a bit—skipped a reading or two—you'd see it's not all about the grind." His voice dropped, laced with that cheeky edge. "Or hell, maybe you need someone to show you how to really unwind."

She crossed her arms, trying to ignore the way her body responded to his proximity, a traitorous warmth pooling low in her belly. "As if I'd take advice from you. Go bother your fan club."

He tilted his head, eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her knees weaken. "Come on, y/n. We both know there's more to this than hating my guts. The way you stare at me in class? Like you wanna strangle me... or something else entirely." His gaze flicked down again, bold and unapologetic, to the curve of her hips. "Bet those legs of yours could wrap around a guy real nice if you stopped pretending to be so uptight."

Heat flooded her face, a mix of fury and something dangerously close to desire. "You're disgusting," she snapped, but her voice wavered just a touch.

Steve chuckled, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Disgusting? Or just honest? Tell you what—next time you wanna argue, maybe you should just shut me up yourself. Put that mouth of yours to better use than snark."

Y/n's heart hammered, cheeks flaming as his words hung in the air, laced with blatant suggestion. The image hit her unbidden: her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him down, silencing him with a kiss that turned into something fiercer. But no. Not him. Never him.

"Screw you, Harrington," she hissed, shoving past him with her bag clutched tight. She stormed down the hall, face burning, the echo of his low laugh following her like a promise—or a threat.

-------------------------

The bass from the speakers thumped through the crowded house, vibrating the sticky floorboards under y/n’s heels. Red solo cups littered every surface, and the air hung thick with the scent of cheap beer, sweat, and perfume. She had come to this party against her better judgment—needing a break from the endless cycle of notes and readings—but now, sandwiched between clusters of laughing strangers, she regretted it. 

That was when she spotted him across the room: Steve Harrington, king of the campus, holding court with his usual entourage of jocks and admirers. His eyes locked onto hers for a beat too long before he looked away, that smirk already forming.

Y/n turned back to the guy she’d been chatting with—Jake, or maybe John, some quiet type from her psych elective. He was sweet, pushing his glasses up his nose as he rambled about quantum theory in literature, and for once, it felt easy. No bullshit, no ego. She giggled at his earnest explanation, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly as he gestured wildly with his hands.

Then Steve’s shadow fell over them both. He sauntered up, all easy confidence in his fitted jeans and unbuttoned shirt, the top two buttons revealing a glimpse of toned chest. "Hey, man," he said to the nerdy guy, clapping a hand on his shoulder with a friendly squeeze that somehow felt territorial. "Just a heads-up—y/nhere? She’s not really your type."

Y/n’s laughter died in her throat. She gasped, whipping her head toward Steve. "What the hell are you talking about, Harrington?"

He shrugged, that grin widening as he eyed the guy, who shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, buddy. She’s into guys who don’t look at her all nice and polite. She wants something a little wilder. The kind that pushes buttons, you know?" His gaze slid to her, heavy with implication, like he was daring her to deny it.

Heat rushed to her face, a mix of embarrassment and irritation. The nerdy guy mumbled something about needing a drink and bolted, leaving y/n alone with Steve’s smug presence. "You’re such an asshole," she hissed, shoving his chest with both hands. He barely budged, but she spun on her heel and stormed away, weaving through the throng of bodies toward the back door. Behind her, his laugh followed—deep and mocking, cutting through the music.

The cool night air hit her as she stepped into the backyard, the distant hum of crickets mixing with the muffled party noise. String lights dangled from the fence, casting a soft glow over the patchy grass and scattered lawn chairs. Y/nleaned against the wooden railing, sucking in deep breaths to steady her pounding heart. Footsteps crunched behind her—Steve, of course.

"Hey, wait up," he called, hands shoved in his pockets as he closed the distance. He stopped a few feet away, tilting his head. "You ever think maybe you get so riled up around me because you’re way too stressed and tense all the time? Like, bottled up tighter than a cork."

She crossed her arms, glaring at him over her shoulder. "You have no idea what those words even mean, Steve. Stressed? Tense? Try studying for actual grades instead of charming your way through life."

His grin returned, slow and knowing, as he took a step closer. The moonlight highlighted the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair fell just so over his forehead. "Oh, I know exactly what they mean. And blunt as hell? You need to get laid. Badly."

Y/n’s eyes widened, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. "How dare you! You’re barbaric."

He smiled wider, closing the gap until the heat from his body brushed against hers. His voice dropped, rough around the edges. "Bodily needs aren’t barbaric, y/n. It’s just primal. Basic human stuff—sweat, skin, release." He leaned in quick, too quick, his face inches from hers like he might kiss her right there. She jumped back, heart slamming against her ribs, her back hitting the railing.

Steve’s grin spread wide, triumphant. "See? So tense and jumpy. Proves my point."

She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her skin tingled from the almost-contact, the forbidden thrill of it. "Whatever. I’m not just a genius in the classroom, you know," he added, winking with that infuriating cockiness, his eyes raking over her like he could already picture peeling off her clothes.

Y/n scoffed, pushing off the railing. "I’m leaving. This party’s lame anyway."

"Fine," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. But as she brushed past him, he murmured, "When you finally realize what you need, you can call me anytime. I’ll be waiting to help you unwind."

She shook her head, not trusting herself to reply, and hurried back through the house to the street. The walk home blurred in a haze of frustration, his words looping in her mind like a taunt.

Later that night, alone in her dim bedroom, the sheets tangled around her legs, y/n couldn’t shake him. Her hand slipped under the waistband of her panties, fingers circling her clit with urgent pressure. Steve’s face flashed behind her closed eyes—his smirk, the way he’d leaned in, the promise in his voice. She imagined his hands instead, rough and sure, pinning her down as he ground against her. Her other hand dipped lower, two fingers sliding into her wet pussy, thrusting in rhythm with the twist of her thumb on her swollen nub.

"Fuck," she whispered, hips bucking up as heat built, coiling tight. She pictured him above her, cock hard and pressing at her entrance, teasing before slamming in deep. His mouth on her neck, biting, his fingers digging into her thighs as he fucked her senseless. Faster, her fingers pumped, clit throbbing under the slick glide, but the edge hovered just out of reach. The tension wound higher, frustratingly insistent, her body clenching around nothing substantial.

Y/n cried out, a sharp whine of "Steve!" escaping before she could stop it. Orgasm taunted her, building but never cresting, leaving her panting and soaked. Tears pricked her eyes as she slumped back, fingers still buried inside her pulsing heat. "Damn it," she muttered, frustration crashing over her like a wave. He might be right—too tense, too wound up. And all because of him.

---------------------

The two weeks following that frustrating night blurred into a relentless storm of clashes. In the lecture hall, y/n’s eyes would meet Steve's across the rows, sparking arguments over interpretations of texts or the professor's biased praise for Steve's half-assed insights. Hallways became battlegrounds for sharp banter—him calling her out for burying her nose in books, her firing back about his reliance on charm over substance. Each exchange left y/n flushed, pulse racing, the air between them crackling with unspoken heat. She hated how his teasing grins lingered in her thoughts, how her body betrayed her with a flush of warmth at his proximity. But she pushed it down, focusing on finals, until the exams wrapped and freedom hit the campus like a wave.

Steve's house pulsed with life that Friday night, the sprawling lawn transformed into a makeshift party zone. Bonfires crackled in pits, casting flickering shadows over clusters of students laughing, dancing to thumping bass from outdoor speakers, and passing bottles of beer. The air smelled of smoke, grilled burgers, and summer sweat—exams finally behind everyone. Y/n had shown up on a whim, drawn by the promise of letting loose, but now she sat alone on a weathered picnic blanket at the edge of the grass, knees drawn up, nursing a lukewarm drink. The noise felt overwhelming, her mind replaying the endless cycle of tension with him.

Footsteps crunched through the grass, and she didn't need to look to know who it was. Steve dropped down beside her, uninvited, his thigh brushing hers as he stretched out his legs. He wore faded jeans and a black tee that hugged his broad shoulders, hair tousled from the breeze.

She sighed, staring at the firelight dancing on the ground. "I don't wanna talk to you, Harrington."

He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through her. "Then why'd you come to my party? Lawn's big enough to avoid me if you tried."

Y/n shot him a sidelong glare, the orange glow highlighting the sharp angles of his face. "Thought you'd be too busy entertaining your other guests. You know, the ones who actually worship at your feet."

Steve's easy smile faded into a sigh, his gaze dropping to his hands as he picked at a blade of grass. He leaned back on his elbows, voice quieter than usual. "Nah. Truth is, I don't notice anyone else really when it comes to you."

The words hung there, simple and disarming, cutting through her defenses. Her heart stuttered, but she masked it with a scoff. "Oh, please. Save the lines for someone who buys them."

His eyes snapped to hers, that familiar spark igniting. "What? It's true. You think I chase every girl here? Nah, it's always been you driving me crazy—your fire, the way you push back."

"Because you're insufferable," she snapped, heat rising in her chest. "Always acting like you own the room, like effort's beneath you. Newsflash: charm doesn't make you irresistible."

Steve sat up straighter, frustration etching his features. "And you're always wound so tight, judging everyone. Maybe if you let go for once—"

"Let go? Like you? Partying through life while the rest of us grind?" The argument escalated fast, voices rising over the distant laughter, old resentments spilling out—her accusations of his laziness, his jabs at her uptight control. It felt inevitable, the tension boiling over until y/n surged to her feet, fists clenched.

"Forget it. I'm done." She stormed toward the house, weaving through the crowd on the porch, the screen door slamming behind her as she bolted up the stairs. The party noise muffled as she reached the top, turning into the first room she found—his, judging by the messy bed and posters on the walls.

Footsteps pounded after her. Steve burst in, breathless. "Y/n, what the hell are you doing in here?"

"Shut up," she whirled on him, chest heaving, the room spinning with pent-up fury and something darker, hotter.

He stepped closer, mouth opening with that cocky tilt. "You know, if you'd just admit you want me to—"

Y/n rolled her eyes, fed up with the games. Grabbing his face in both hands, she yanked him forward and crashed her lips against his—hard, demanding, pouring every frustrated spark into the kiss. Steve froze for a split second, eyes wide in shock, before his hands clamped onto her hips, pulling her flush against him. His body was solid, heat radiating through his shirt as he leaned in, forcing her back to arch against the door. The kiss deepened, tongues tangling in a messy, urgent slide, his grip bruising as he ground his hips forward, the hard line of his cock pressing into her stomach.

Her fingers dove into his hair, tugging sharply on the strands, and he groaned into her mouth—a low, guttural sound that vibrated against her lips. She hooked her foot around his ankle, kicking the door shut with a decisive thud, sealing them both in the dim room lit only by moonlight filtering through the blinds.

Steve's control snapped. He walked her backward, hands roaming up her sides, until the backs of her knees hit the bed. He pushed her down onto the mattress, following without breaking the kiss, his weight pinning her as her legs parted instinctively. They broke apart gasping, a thin string of spit connecting their swollen lips, his breath hot on her face.

"Shut up and get inside me, Harrington," y/n demanded.

-----------------

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Y/n smiled, ruffling his curly hair as he led her toward the infield. There, barking final instructions to the team, stood Steve Harrington. She had heard the whispers about him around town—the high school heartthrob turned coach, still turning heads with his easy charm and athletic build. All the women in Hawkins adored him, or so the gossip went.

Steve turned as Dustin approached, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His skin gleamed under the sun, tanned and glossy from hours on the field, stretched taut over defined muscles. A faint, distinct cologne lingered around him, something woody and masculine that cut through the scent of fresh-cut grass and dirt.

'Dustin, great hustle today,' Steve said, clapping the boy on the shoulder before his eyes lifted to Y/n. Their gazes locked, and an immediate spark ignited—charged, electric, like static before a storm.

Dustin beamed. 'Coach, this is my sister, Y/n. She's back from the city and said she'd start picking me up.'

Steve extended his hand, his lips curving into a warm smile. As Y/n reached out, she watched him lick his lips subtly, the gesture sending a subtle thrill through her. His grip was firm, calloused from handling bats and balls, holding hers just a beat longer than necessary.

'Hi,' she said, her voice steady despite the sudden heat rising in her cheeks. She smiled back, taking in the way his hair fell slightly tousled, the confidence in his stance.

'Pleasure to meet you, Y/n,' Steve replied, his tone smooth and inviting. 'Dustin here's been killing it on the mound. Kid's got real potential.'

She glanced at her brother, who puffed up with pride. 'He won't stop talking about how great the coach is. Says you're the reason he's improving so fast.'

Steve chuckled, releasing her hand but not breaking eye contact. 'Well, that's high praise. We'll keep pushing him.' His eyes lingered on hers, the air between them thickening with unspoken interest.

From that first encounter, Y/n found herself returning to every practice. The routine settled in quickly—arriving early to watch from the bleachers, her eyes drawn not just to Dustin's swings but to Steve's commanding presence on the field. He moved with purpose, adjusting stances, tossing pitches, his voice carrying encouragement laced with authority.

One humid Tuesday evening, as the team ran drills, Y/n leaned against the fence, arms crossed. Steve caught her gaze during a water break, sauntering over with a baseball in hand.

'Enjoying the show?' he asked, tossing the ball lightly between his palms. Sweat glistened on his collarbone, visible where his polo shirt clung to his chest.

She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eye. 'It's not bad. Dustin's looking sharp out there.'

'He's got good genes,' Steve said, his voice dropping a notch. He stepped closer, the fence the only barrier between them. That cologne wafted toward her again, mingling with his natural scent. 'And you? Settling back into Hawkins okay?'

Y/n shrugged, her fingers brushing the chain-link. 'It's an adjustment. City's fast-paced. Here, everything moves... slower.' Her eyes flicked to his mouth, remembering that lip-lick from their first meeting.

Steve's smile widened, sensing the undercurrent. 'Slower can be nice. Gives you time to appreciate things.' His gaze traced her face, then lower, appreciative but restrained. The tension hummed, a pull that made her pulse quicken.

By Thursday, the flirting had woven into their post-practice chats. Dustin dashed to the car, leaving them a moment alone as the field cleared.

'You know, I could use an extra set of eyes at the next game,' Steve said, leaning against the dugout wall. His arms crossed, biceps flexing subtly under his sleeves.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, stepping nearer. 'Scouting talent? Or just company?'

He laughed softly, the sound warm. 'A bit of both. Dustin would love it if you came.' But his eyes said more, locking onto hers with that charged intensity. She felt the heat of his proximity, the way his glossy skin caught the fading light.

'I'll think about it,' she teased, her voice light but her body aware of every inch between them.

The weekend practice brought rain, turning the field to mud. The team scrimmaged under a light drizzle, and Y/n huddled under an umbrella near the sidelines. Steve called a break, jogging over to check on her.

'Not your typical city weather, huh?' he said, water dripping from his hair. He shook it out like a dog, droplets scattering, and she laughed.

'Beats traffic,' she replied, holding out the umbrella so it covered them both. Their shoulders brushed, the contact sending a spark up her arm. Up close, his cologne mixed with rain, intoxicating.

He lingered under the shelter, his breath visible in the cool air. 'You're a good sport for sticking around. Most sisters wouldn't.'

Y/n met his eyes, the steaminess building in the shared space. 'Most coaches aren't worth watching.'

Steve's lips parted, that familiar lick of them before he grinned. 'Careful, Y/n. Flattery like that could get you invited to more than just practices.'

She felt the tension coil tighter, a promise of something more simmering just beneath the surface. But for now, it stayed there—flirty glances, lingering touches, words laced with heat—as the practices continued, drawing them closer with each passing day.

Y/n's laughter faded into a soft, hesitant smile as she pulled back slightly from the shared umbrella, the rain pattering around them. 'I'd love to be friends, Steve,' she said, her voice gentle but firm. 'Dustin really likes you, and I don't want to complicate things for him. Nothing can happen between us.'

Steve nodded, his expression neutral, but the flicker in his eyes betrayed his doubt—like he was humoring her even as his own resolve wavered. 'Sure, friends it is,' he replied, though the words hung heavy, unconvincing even to him. He stepped away as the drizzle picked up, giving her a final nod before turning back to the team.

Later that night, the dim lights of the local bar in Hawkins cast a warm glow over worn wooden tables and the murmur of conversations. Y/n sat at the counter, nursing a half-empty glass, her mind replaying the day's charged moments. The door swung open, and Steve walked in, shaking off the evening chill. He headed straight for the bar, ordering a whiskey neat, his broad shoulders relaxed in a casual button-down.

His eyes scanned the room and landed on her. A grin spread across his face as he approached. 'Hey, buddy.'

She cringed visibly, twisting on her stool. 'Okay, don't say that.'

Steve laughed, the sound rich and easy, pulling up the stool next to hers. 'Fair enough. Can I get you something?'

Y/n bit her lip, glancing at him sidelong, the proximity stirring that familiar pull. 'A beer,' she said finally, her tone light but her gaze lingering on the line of his jaw.

As the bartender slid the drinks over, a woman in her thirties—clearly a mom from the PTA circuit—sidled up to Steve, her eyes bright with admiration. 'Great practice today, Coach,' she said, winking as her gaze trailed down his chest.

Steve shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 'Thanks,' he muttered, polite but distant.

The woman lingered for a beat before drifting away, and Y/n couldn't help but giggle, covering her mouth with her hand. 'You must get that a lot.'

He turned to her, his expression sheepish but his eyes locking onto hers with intensity. 'Yeah, but not from the person I want looking at me.' His voice dropped, the words carrying a weight that made her breath catch.

She shook her head, though her cheeks warmed. 'We're just friends, remember?'

Steve raised his glass in mock toast. 'Absolutely. Great friends.'

They fell into an easy rhythm, debating the merits of opposite-sex friendships over sips of their drinks. 'It can totally be platonic,' Y/n insisted, gesturing with her bottle. 'People do it all the time—no drama, no mess.'

He nodded, leaning in closer. 'Right. We're proof. Just two pals chatting about baseball and life.'

'Agreed,' she said, but as the words left her lips, their eyes met and held. The bar noise faded, the space between them crackling with unspoken heat. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back up, and she felt the pull, undeniable now.

Forty-five minutes later, the door to Steve's apartment clicked shut behind them, the pretense shattered like fragile glass. They hadn't made it far from the bar—just a short drive, hands brushing on the gearshift, tension coiling tighter with every red light. Now, on his couch, Y/n straddled his lap, her skirt hiked up around her thighs as she ground down against him.

Steve's hands gripped her hips, guiding her rhythm as she sank onto his cock, inch by inch, her pussy stretching around his thick length. She gasped at the fullness, her walls clenching tight as she bottomed out, his hips bucking up to meet her. 'Fuck,' he groaned, his voice rough, fingers digging into her skin.

Y/n cupped his face, thumbs tracing his jaw as she leaned in, her tongue slipping past his lips in a deep, hungry kiss. She licked into his mouth, tasting the whiskey and want, their tongues tangling wetly while she rode him harder. Her breasts pressed against his chest, nipples hard through her thin top, and she rolled her hips, chasing the friction that built low in her belly.

He thrust up sharply, his cock hitting deep, making her moan into the kiss. She broke it only to nip at his lower lip, then dove back in, licking and sucking as her pace quickened. Sweat slicked their skin, the couch creaking under them, and Steve's hands slid up her back, pulling her closer while she fucked him with abandon, lost in the heat of finally giving in.

Steve's grip tightened on Y/n's hips, his muscles flexing as he surged up, flipping their positions in one fluid motion. She landed on her back against the cushions, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, her skirt bunched high. He didn't waste a second, thrusting back into her slick heat with a deep, forceful drive that buried his cock to the hilt. Her pussy clenched around him, wet and welcoming, as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward relentlessly.

'Fuck being friends,' he growled directly into her mouth, his breath hot and ragged, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss. Each powerful push sent his chain—dangling from his neck—swinging forward, the cool metal slapping against her cheek in time with his thrusts. The sharp sting only heightened the sensation, her body jolting with every impact.

Y/n moaned loudly, the sound vibrating against his tongue as her eyes rolled back in her head. Pleasure ripped through her, white-hot and overwhelming, with each brutal hit of his cock against her deepest spots. She arched her back sharply, pressing her chest upward, offering her tits to him like an invitation she couldn't voice.

Steve's eyes darkened at the sight, one hand yanking her top up roughly, exposing her breasts to the cool air. They bounced with every thrust, nipples peaked and begging. He dove down, teeth grazing one hardened peak before biting down, the edge of pain making her gasp. His free hand fondled the other, fingers pinching and rolling the nipple between them, kneading the soft flesh with possessive hunger. Her walls fluttered in response, tightening like a vice around his thick shaft, pulling him deeper as her climax built.

The pressure coiled unbearably tight inside her, and she shattered first, her pussy spasming wildly around him. Steve followed seconds later, groaning as he pumped into her, spilling hot cum deep inside with erratic thrusts. He swallowed her final cry, sealing his mouth over hers in a fierce kiss, his hand threading into her hair to tilt her head back. He angled his face, tongue plunging deeper, devouring her moans as their bodies trembled through the aftershocks.

They broke apart slowly, chests heaving, a thin string of saliva connecting their swollen lips before it snapped. Y/n panted, her gaze locking onto his in wide-eyed disbelief—like she couldn't fathom how they'd crossed that line, how the heat of him still throbbed inside her. The room smelled of sex and sweat, the evidence of their surrender smeared between her thighs.

Steve smirked, that cocky glint returning to his eyes, and he dove back down without a word, claiming her mouth again in a slow, languid kiss. His tongue traced hers teasingly, savoring the taste. Y/n's arms flew up, wrapping around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she pulled him closer, deepening the connection. She melted into it, bodies tangling once more on the couch, the night stretching out in a haze of touches and whispers.

She didn't leave until the next morning, slipping out of his bed with tousled hair and a secret smile curving her lips, the ache between her legs a delicious reminder of the boundaries they'd obliterated.

------------

The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of Y/n's living room, casting warm patterns on the worn carpet. She was lounging on the couch, flipping through a magazine, when the doorbell rang. Dustin, sprawled on the floor with his baseball glove nearby, jumped up first. 'I'll get it!' he called, bounding to the door with his usual enthusiasm.

Y/n followed at a leisurely pace, curious but not expecting much. When the door swung open, there stood Steve, looking effortlessly put-together in a fitted polo that hugged his broad shoulders and jeans that sat low on his hips. In his hand, a bouquet of wildflowers—daisies and sunflowers mixed with a few vibrant pops of color—caught the light. His hair was tousled just right, and that signature cologne wafted in on the breeze, making her stomach flip.

'Steve!' Dustin beamed, stepping aside to let him in. 'What are you doing at our place? Come for a pre-practice catch?'

Steve chuckled, his eyes flicking past the kid to lock onto Y/n's. She stood there, arms crossed, a smile tugging at her lips despite the surprise. He stepped inside, holding out the flowers like an offering. 'Actually, Dustin, I came to ask your sister on a date. What do you say? Is that cool with you?'

Dustin's eyes widened, then he broke into a massive grin, pumping his fist in the air. 'Yes! Totally cool! Go for it, Steve!'

Y/n couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and genuine as she took the flowers, their petals soft against her fingers. The scent of fresh blooms mingled with Steve's cologne, overwhelming in the best way. 'We're doing this all out of order, you know,' she said, shaking her head, though her cheeks warmed under his gaze.

Steve shrugged, that easy confidence radiating from him. 'Who says there's a rulebook? I figured after last night, we skip straight to the good parts.' He reached out, ruffling Dustin's hair affectionately, the kid ducking but laughing all the same.

Then, without missing a beat, Steve closed the distance to Y/n, his hand cupping her cheek gently. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips—quick but lingering just enough to send a spark through her. 'I'll see you both at practice later,' he murmured against her mouth before pulling back, his thumb brushing her jaw.

As he turned to leave, he paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk that promised mischief. 'Oh, and Y/n? You might want to grab some concealer for your neck. Don't want the whole team asking questions.'

Her hand flew to her throat instinctively, eyes widening. 'What—' She bolted to the hallway mirror, tilting her head to inspect the skin just below her ear. There they were: two dark, unmistakable hickeys, blooming like badges from the night before—one a deep purple, the other fading to red around the edges. Heat flooded her face, but it was mixed with a thrill she couldn't deny.

From the door, Steve's laugh echoed, deep and teasing, as he stepped out onto the porch. 'Catch you later!'

Y/n slammed the door shut a bit harder than necessary, biting her lower lip as she stared at her reflection. Her fingers traced the marks lightly, remembering the heat of his mouth on her skin, the way he'd sucked and nipped until she was gasping. God, she was so gone for him—hooked, tangled, utterly lost in the pull of his charm and that unrelenting desire he stirred in her.

--------------------

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Hawkins rebuilt. Slowly, painfully—but it rebuilt. The Upside Down scars faded into history, into headlines, into something people talked about like it was finished.

Mike’s friends moved on too.

Lucas went to college on a track scholarship. Max, alive and stubborn as ever, learned how to laugh again. Dustin fell in love twice and talked about both girls endlessly. Robin found her place. Steve found peace.

It’s nice to see.

Mike is happy for them.

But his heart stays where it broke.

There’s a part of him—quiet, persistent, impossible to kill—that still believes Eleven didn’t die. That she escaped. That she slipped through somewhere unseen, like she always did. Like the world thinks she gave everything, but Mike knows better.

She was never meant to disappear.

So when the grief becomes too heavy, when Hawkins starts to feel like a cage built of memories, Mike makes a decision.

He’s going to leave.

Not to run—but to search.

On paper, it’s simple. He tells people he’s traveling for inspiration, that he wants to write, that he needs to see the world to find his voice. And that part is true. Writing is the only place he can still talk to her without it hurting quite so badly.

But deep down, in the place he doesn’t say out loud, Mike is hoping for something else.

He’s hoping that somewhere—somehow—he’ll find her.

The goodbye dinner is held in Steve’s backyard, the same place so many endings and beginnings have happened before. There’s laughter, food, too much nostalgia packed into one evening.

They tease him. Encourage him. Tell him he’s brave.

Mike smiles. He hugs them all. He promises to write. Promises to come back.

And then, as the night winds down, Will catches his arm.

“Hey,” Will says softly. “Walk with me?”

They drift away from the noise, toward the edge of the yard where the lights don’t quite reach. It feels familiar—two boys standing side by side in the dark, on the edge of something important.

“I’m really proud of you,” Will says after a moment.

Mike exhales. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

There’s something in the way he says it. Something careful. Knowing.

Mike looks at him then, really looks. Will’s eyes are steady, kind—and sharp in a way that makes Mike’s chest tighten.

For a split second, Mike wonders if Will knows. If he’s always known.

That this trip isn’t just about writing. That it’s about faith. About love that refuses to die quietly.

They share a look—long and unspoken—and Mike feels it settle in his bones.

Will does know.

Mike nods, unable to trust his voice.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Me too.”

He pulls Will into a hug, tight and grateful. Will hugs him back just as hard.

“Don’t stop believing,” Will murmurs.

Mike swallows. “I won’t.”

Later, as Mike packs and the night deepens, he lies awake thinking of dreams—the kind where the world bends, where impossible things still happen.

In the deepest of them, he’s traveling. Crossing oceans. Walking unfamiliar streets. And somewhere—somewhere that feels like fate—he turns a corner and sees her.

Eleven.

Alive.

Waiting.

Mike closes his eyes, holding onto that hope like a lifeline.

Tomorrow, he’ll leave Hawkins behind.

But he’s not leaving her.

He never has.

-----------------

Two months into South America, life feels… lighter.

That surprises Mike the most.

Hawkins had pressed in on him like a constant weight—every street a memory, every quiet moment too loud with what was missing. Here, the air is different. Thinner in the mountains, heavy and warm in the jungles, salted by the ocean along the coasts. The world feels bigger than his grief, and for the first time in years, that doesn’t scare him.

He meets people everywhere he goes. Other travelers, locals who tell stories over coffee and shared meals, strangers who become temporary constants. He listens more than he talks, scribbling in his notebook late at night—new characters, new worlds, sentences that come easier now, like they’ve been waiting for him to breathe again.

He reads books he’s never heard of, their pages dog-eared and worn from secondhand shops. He watches waterfalls thunder down cliffs that feel ancient and unmovable, stands at the edge of canyons glowing gold at sunset, and thinks—yeah. This is real. I’m really here.

He writes letters home whenever he can.

To his parents, assuring them he’s safe. To Dustin, who sends back rambling updates full of exclamation points. To Lucas and Max, to Will, to everyone who still feels like home even from thousands of miles away.

He tells them about the places. The food. The way the sky looks different in each country. He leaves out the deeper parts—not because they wouldn’t understand, but because some things are still his alone.

Every night, though, the ritual stays the same.

Before bed, after the lights are low and the world outside his window has gone quiet, Mike reaches for his wallet. The leather is worn now, softened by time and travel. He slides the photo out carefully, like it’s something sacred.

It’s old. Creased from being folded and unfolded so many times.

Eleven is sitting on his lap at Scoops Ahoy, both of them younger, sunburned, sticky from melting ice cream. She’s laughing—full, unguarded, eyes bright—and he’s grinning just as wide, like the world makes sense because she’s in it.

Mike studies the picture, letting the moment wash over him.

He doesn’t feel sad.

Instead, something warm settles in his chest—hopeful, steady. Gratitude. Determination.

I knew you, he thinks. I loved you. And that mattered.

No matter where she is. No matter how long it takes.

He folds the picture neatly, tucks it back into his wallet, and sets it on the bedside table. Then he turns off the light.

The guest house room falls into darkness, his bags already packed for the next destination waiting quietly by the door. Somewhere beyond the window, the world stretches on—vast and full of possibility.

Mike closes his eyes, breathing easy.

Tomorrow, he’ll keep going.

-----------------

Four months in, East Asia feels different.

The noise of South America—the color, the music, the constant motion—had wrapped around Mike like a shield. Here, everything is quieter. Intentional. Still. The kind of stillness that doesn’t distract you from your thoughts, but invites them in.

He visits temples tucked into mountainsides, their roofs curved like they’re bowing to the sky. He removes his shoes, walks slowly across cool stone floors, watches incense smoke curl upward in lazy spirals. The air smells like wood and ash and rain. Bells ring softly in the distance, each sound deliberate, measured.

It’s beautiful.

And it hurts.

The grief sits heavier here, pressing against his ribs in the silence. Without crowds or noise to soften it, the longing sharpens—clean, precise, almost reverent. He thinks maybe places like this are meant for reflection, and reflection has always led him back to her.

He hikes mountain paths early in the morning, mist clinging to the trees, the world hushed like it’s holding a secret. Sometimes he stops just to breathe, hand resting on his chest, trying to steady the ache.

I miss you, he thinks—not desperately, not angrily. Just honestly.

It surprises him how strong the feeling is. Not sadness exactly. Something deeper. Pulling.

He remembers graduation day.

Standing in his cap and gown, surrounded by cheers and camera flashes, he’d felt it suddenly—warm and familiar, like a hand resting between his shoulders. For a second, he’d turned, fully expecting to see her there.

She wasn’t.

But the feeling stayed.

His birthday, too. Blowing out candles, the room full of laughter, that same quiet certainty settling in his bones. She’s here. Her birthday was the worst—and the clearest. He’d woken up with her name on his lips, heart racing, like she’d brushed past him in a dream that felt too real to dismiss.

Mike knows himself.

And he knows one thing with absolute certainty: he has never been wrong when he’s felt her.

That’s what pushes him to write to Will that night.

He sits at a small desk in a guesthouse overlooking a garden, paper laid carefully in front of him. Outside, wind moves through bamboo, a soft, rhythmic whisper.

Will, I don’t know how to explain this without sounding insane, but I think you’ll understand anyway.

He pauses, pen hovering, then continues.

Being here… it’s quiet. And in the quiet, I feel her more. Not like memories. Like presence. The same way I did at graduation. On my birthday. On hers.

His chest tightens, but he keeps writing.

You and El were always connected—through the Upside Down, through Vecna, through everything that tried to take you both. I guess I’m wondering… do you ever feel her too? Like she’s not gone. Like she’s just somewhere else.

He thinks of Will’s sensitivity, the way he’s always known when something was wrong before anyone else did.

If you do, you don’t have to explain it. I just needed to ask someone who might understand.

He finishes the letter slowly.

I’m heading to Europe next. I’ll be there for a while. If you want to write back, here’s where I’ll be staying.

He adds the address carefully, double-checking it, then signs his name.

When he folds the letter, his hands are steady.

Later, lying on his futon, Mike stares up at the dark ceiling. The mountain air drifts in through the window, cool and clean. Somewhere far away, a bell rings once—low and resonant.

“I know you’re out there,” he whispers into the quiet. Not pleading. Certain.

The grief is still there, heavy and aching—but beneath it, unwavering, is that same glimmer of hope that has carried him across continents.

Soon, he’ll leave for Europe.

And wherever she is, he believes—truly believes—he’s getting closer.

--------------

Later that evening Mike showers, changes, and slips into bed, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. He presses a hand flat against his chest, grounding himself.

“Okay,” he whispers into the dim. “Okay.”

Sleep takes him faster than it has in weeks.

And this time, he dreams.

He’s standing in a wide, open field, grass moving gently around his ankles. The sky is pale and endless, light spilling everywhere. There’s no fear here. No urgency. Just calm.

Then he hears his name.

“Mike.”

He turns.

She’s there.

Eleven stands a few feet away, exactly as he remembers—eyes steady, expression soft but searching. Real in a way dreams usually aren’t. Solid. Present.

“El,” he breathes, and his voice doesn’t break.

She smiles, small and familiar. “You found the place.”

“I didn’t know if you were real,” he admits, stepping closer. “I didn’t know if I was imagining you.”

“You never were,” she says simply.

The space between them closes without either of them rushing. When she reaches for his hand, it’s warm. Real. He feels it all the way up his arm, straight into his heart.

“I tried to come home,” she says quietly. “But I needed time. To be… me.”

“I know,” Mike says, tears burning his eyes even here. “I waited. I would’ve waited forever.”

She squeezes his hand. “I felt you. Everywhere. You never stopped.”

Neither did you, he thinks—but doesn’t say.

They stand there together, fingers intertwined, the world calm around them. Safe. Like the dream they used to talk about.

A place with light that never disappears.

When Mike wakes, the room is still dark.

And he feels worse than he did before. 

-------------

Six months in, Italy feels too big and somehow too small at the same time.

Mike wanders through sun-washed streets, past crumbling stone buildings and open piazzas filled with laughter and clinking glasses. It’s beautiful—objectively so. The kind of place people fall in love with life again.

But today, it doesn’t touch him.

The doubts creep in quietly, slipping between moments of awe.

Could I really search the entire world for her? What if she’s in some tiny town I’ll never hear about? What if she doesn’t want to be found?

The last thought stops him cold.

What if she’s really… gone?

He shakes his head sharply, like he can physically dislodge it.

“No,” he mutters under his breath.

Out of all the what-ifs, that one is the most absurd. He knows that with a certainty deeper than logic. Deeper than fear. He’s never been wrong about her—not once.

My El is out there.

Still, the emptiness lingers. A hollow ache that has nothing to do with travel or scenery. He misses home in a way that feels almost physical. Misses Dustin’s rambling, Lucas’s steady presence, Max’s sharp honesty. Misses Will—being understood without having to explain himself. Misses his parents. His room. Being known.

For the first time since he left, he considers going back to Hawkins. Just for a while. To breathe. To remember who he is when he’s not searching.

The thought follows him all the way back to his temporary apartment.

The building is quiet when he climbs the stairs, his footsteps echoing softly. He unlocks the door, drops his bag by the wall—and freezes.

There’s an envelope on the small table by the door.

His name is written on the front in handwriting he knows as well as his own.

“Will,” Mike whispers.

His heart slams against his ribs as he grabs it, barely bothering to shut the door before rushing to the bed. He sits, then immediately lies back, hands shaking as he tears the envelope open.

The letter is warm. Familiar. Home.

Mike, I miss you. A lot. We all do. Hawkins isn’t the same without you, and I don’t think it’s supposed to be.

Mike swallows hard, eyes blurring already.

Will writes about the others—about movie nights, about Dustin’s latest obsession, about how everyone still talks about Mike like he’s just around the corner. Like he belongs.

Then the letter slows. Deepens.

I know people wouldn’t like it if I said this. I know our friends and our families probably wouldn’t want me encouraging you to keep searching forever.

Mike’s breath catches.

But I don’t feel like she’s gone.

His vision blurs completely now.

She’s my sister. And I can feel it in my bones, the same way I always felt when something was wrong—or right. She’s still around. Somewhere.

Mike presses the paper closer, like it might disappear if he doesn’t.

And if she wants to be found by anyone, it’ll be you. It’s always been you.

A tear slips free, landing on the page.

Don’t give up, Mike. You both deserve your happy ending.

Mike lets out a shaky breath that feels like it’s been trapped in his chest for months. The weight he’s been carrying—alone, heavy, isolating—finally cracks.

He’s not the only one.

His best friend believes it too. Knows it.

And that is enough.

Mike folds the letter carefully, pressing it to his chest, holding it there like an anchor. Like proof.

That night, for the first time in months, sleep comes easily.

Clutching Will’s words close, heart lighter than it’s been in a long time, Mike closes his eyes with quiet certainty.

He’ll keep searching.

Because he’s not wrong.

And because somewhere in the world, Eleven is still out there— and one day, she’ll find her way back to him.

Mike writes back the very next morning.

He sits at the small kitchen table of the apartment, sunlight spilling through the window, coffee gone cold beside him as he searches for the right words—then realizes he doesn’t need many.

Will, You have no idea how much your letter means to me. I didn’t realize how alone I felt in believing she’s still out there until I read your words. Now I don’t feel alone at all.

He pauses, pen hovering, heart steady.

I’ve always felt understood by you. I still do. And that letter gave me the fuel I needed to keep going.

He signs his name simply—Mike—folds the paper, and seals it before doubt can creep back in. Mailing it feels like setting something in motion. Like choosing hope out loud.

By the afternoon, his bags are packed again.

-----------------

It’s June now. Summer.

And for as long as he can remember, Mike has wanted to see Iceland—to stand somewhere the sun never fully disappears, where even midnight refuses to be dark. The idea had once fascinated him as a kid; now it feels symbolic in a way he doesn’t question too hard.

Some places don’t let the light die.

The flight is long and quiet. He watches the clouds shift beneath him, reads a few pages of a book without really absorbing them, and thinks—absently, fondly—of Eleven marveling at all of this. He can hear her voice in his head, soft and awed.

When he lands, the air is crisp and clean, the sky stretched wide and pale. He picks up his rental car, drives past lava fields and open roads that feel endless, until he reaches a small guest house tucked far outside the city.

He drops his things inside, barely glancing around, restless in a way he can’t explain.

So he drives again—this time toward a grocery store marked on his map. The road curves through low hills and distant mountains, their silhouettes softened by light that never quite fades.

At one point, the view opens up so suddenly it steals his breath.

Mike pulls over without thinking.

He gets out of the car, the wind brushing past him, and lifts his camera to take a few pictures. The mountains stand quiet and vast, ancient and watchful. The sky glows—gold bleeding into blue, like the day forgot how to end.

And then—

It hits him.

Not a memory. Not a thought.

A feeling.

Warm. Familiar. Immediate.

Mike’s breath catches sharply as his hand drops to his side.

His heart pounds.

He hasn’t felt this in almost a year.

“She’s—” he whispers, voice breaking off.

He turns slowly, scanning the empty road, the fields, the mountains. There’s no one there. Nothing out of place. Just wind and light and silence.

But it’s unmistakable.

The same pull he felt at graduation. On his birthday. On hers. Stronger now. Closer.

“She’s here,” he says quietly—not as a question, but a realization.

His chest tightens, eyes stinging—not with sadness, but with awe.

He can feel her.

Somewhere near. Somewhere real.

Mike stands there under a sky that refuses to go dark, heart racing, knowing with absolute certainty—

He’s not searching anymore.

He’s arrived.

--------------

Mike thinks about the dream a lot these days. Not the one he had recently about El, but the dream he shared with El years prior.

The one they talked about when everything was still broken but hopeful—late at night, lying side by side, whispering like the world might overhear. A quiet place. Three waterfalls. A small town full of warm, trusting people. Somewhere safe. Somewhere gentle.

At the time, it felt impossible. Like a child’s wish.

Now, standing on this island, it feels… close. Almost prophetic.

It’s August. Nearly three months since he arrived in Iceland. Almost a full year since he left Hawkins.

And he’s explored nearly all of it.

He’s driven winding roads that hug cliffs and cut through endless green. He’s stood beneath waterfalls so powerful they soaked him to the skin, laughing breathlessly because the world felt unreal. He’s walked through villages where people smile easily, where doors feel open, where time seems slower and kinder.

Everything here feels like a dream someone forgot to wake him from.

Tonight, he’s on another long drive, chasing the quiet. The sun hangs low in the sky even though it’s midnight, casting everything in soft gold and silver. The light never leaves—it just changes its mind about where to sit.

Mike hums softly to himself, eyes on the road.

Then the car sputters.

Once. Twice.

“No, no—” Mike mutters, heart dropping as the engine coughs and dies.

He coasts to a stop near a black sand beach, the shoreline stretching endlessly beside him. He stares at the dashboard, then lets his head fall back against the seat with a long sigh.

Out of fuel.

Of course.

He gets out of the car, the wind sharp but not cold, the sea rolling calmly nearby. Midnight daylight washes over everything, eerie and beautiful. He checks his phone—barely any signal. The map tells him the nearest gas station is about half a mile away.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m so close,” he whispers—not to the gas station, but to her. He can feel it again, faint but undeniable. Like a thread pulled taut.

Giving up isn’t an option.

He locks the car and starts walking.

The road isn’t safe to walk on this late, so he takes a pedestrian path that runs parallel, gravel crunching beneath his shoes. The sky darkens just slightly—and then, without warning, rain pours down in heavy sheets.

Mike groans aloud, tipping his head back. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Within seconds, he’s soaked. Hair plastered to his forehead, jacket useless. He laughs once, breathless and tired, because what else can you do?

Then he hears voices.

“Hey! Excuse me!”

He turns, squinting through the rain. A couple stands a few yards away, holding an umbrella between them, concern written clearly across their faces.

“Do you need shelter?” the woman calls out. “You’ll freeze like that.”

Mike hesitates only a second before nodding. “Yeah—yeah, that’d be great. Thank you.”

They usher him into a nearby house, warm and softly lit. The rain fades to a dull roar outside as the door closes behind them.

“Here,” the man says kindly, handing Mike a towel. “Dry off. You can sit.”

“Tea?” the woman adds immediately, already moving toward the kitchen.

“Uh—yeah,” Mike says, still a little stunned. “Thank you. Really.”

They don’t ask questions right away. They just… help. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Once he’s wrapped in the towel and holding a steaming mug, the woman smiles at him. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Mike smiles back, small but genuine. “No. I’m a tourist. I’m… a writer. I travel.”

They exchange a knowing look, amused and warm.

“Iceland has lots to offer,” the man says gently. “Especially to people who are looking.”

Mike’s chest tightens—not painfully, but sharply, like recognition.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think you’re right.”

Outside, the rain keeps falling. The sun keeps shining.

And somewhere—closer than ever—Mike knows she’s still there.

-----------------

Mike stays the night.

He thanks the couple over and over—probably too much—but they just smile, like kindness is something you’re allowed to give freely here. He sleeps on a small couch by the window, rain tapping softly against the glass, the light outside never fully fading. For once, his dreams are calm. Quiet. Almost anticipatory.

By morning, the storm is gone.

Clear skies stretch endlessly overhead, washed clean, the air sharp and fresh. Mike thanks them again, shoulders his bag, and continues the walk toward the gas station. The road winds gently now, past clusters of houses tucked into the land like they belong there. Cliffs rise and fall in the distance. Valleys open up suddenly, green and vast, like the earth is breathing.

He walks slowly, taking it all in.

Then—

He stops.

His feet plant themselves before his brain catches up.

His heart starts to pound.

Mike turns his head, slowly, deliberately, as if he’s afraid the world might vanish if he moves too fast. He steps closer to the edge of the path, eyes scanning the land beyond the houses.

And there they are.

Three waterfalls.

Not one. Not two.

Three.

They cascade down the cliffs at different heights, white and powerful against the dark rock, mist rising into the air. The morning sun catches the lingering moisture from the rain, and right there—arching softly across the sky—a rainbow forms.

Mike’s breath leaves him in a shaky exhale.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he whispers, a laugh breaking through his disbelief.

They talked about this. Years ago. A dream spoken quietly, almost jokingly, like it was too fragile to say out loud. And here it is—real, undeniable, standing right in front of him.

If this isn’t a sign, he doesn’t know what is.

His hands tremble as he pulls out his Polaroid, snapping a picture before he can second-guess himself. The image slides out, colors slowly blooming to life. Proof. Not just for him—but for Will.

He continues on, dazed and buzzing, gets gas, then notices a small local restaurant just off the road. Hunger hits him suddenly, like his body finally remembers it exists.

Inside, it’s warm and cozy, the smell of coffee and butter filling the air. He scans the menu—and freezes again.

Eggo waffle special.

Mike laughs out loud this time, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Okay.”

He orders it without hesitation.

While he waits, he unfolds his map on the table. The town’s name is small, easy to miss. Nestled near the southeast coastline, surrounded by glaciers, tucked so naturally into the land it almost feels hidden on purpose.

He doesn’t remember seeing it before.

That doesn’t feel like an accident.

When his food arrives, he barely notices the taste—though it’s good—because his mind is already elsewhere. As soon as he’s done, he pulls out his notebook and starts writing.

Will, I’m in Iceland. I didn’t tell you I was coming because I didn’t know if it meant anything yet.

He pauses, then continues, handwriting a little shaky.

I think it does. I’ve never felt this close before. Not like hope—like certainty.

He slips the Polaroid out carefully once it’s fully developed.

We used to talk about a place with three waterfalls. I found it.

He tucks the picture into the letter.

I don’t know what happens next. But I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Mike folds the letter, heart steady, full in a way it hasn’t been in a long time.

Outside, the waterfalls keep roaring. The rainbow fades slowly, like it’s done its job.

And somewhere in this quiet, hidden town, Mike knows—with bone-deep certainty—

He’s finally close.

--------------

Mike relocates without really deciding to.

It just… happens.

The town welcomes him quietly, the way it seems to welcome everything—without questions, without rush. He stays at a tiny, family-owned bed and breakfast perched slightly above the road, its windows facing the cliffs and the distant waterfalls. The owners greet him by name after the second day. By the fifth, they stop asking how long he’ll be staying.

As if they already know.

Every morning, he eats breakfast at the same little restaurant. The staff recognizes him now, smiles easily, brings coffee without asking. He sits by the window, notebook open, words finally coming the way they used to. Stories pour out of him—soft ones, hopeful ones. He writes letters too, to home, to Will, to people he misses. Sometimes he just writes to her, even if he never plans to send them.

In the afternoons, he walks.

He lets himself feel.

The town is small but full—tiny shops with handmade goods, cafes that smell like cinnamon and warmth, quiet bars where locals nod at him like he belongs. The air always feels clean here. Honest. Like nothing is hiding.

And underneath it all, that feeling hums.

Low. Steady. Patient.

One afternoon, he ducks into a café he hasn’t visited yet. It’s cozy and bright, sunlight pouring through wide windows. Near the back, something catches his eye.

A synthetic tree.

Its branches are decorated with dozens—maybe hundreds—of small paper slips tied on with string. Wishes. Dreams. Confessions. The leaves rustle softly whenever someone passes by.

Mike steps closer.

A small sign reads: Leave a wish. Take a moment.

He hesitates, then pulls out his pen.

He doesn’t overthink it.

He scribbles a few words, folds the paper carefully, and ties it to a low branch. His fingers linger for a second before he lets go.

Then curiosity pulls him closer.

He reads a few.

I want a dog. Money. To fall in love.

He smiles softly at those.

Then—

His breath stops.

One slip of paper hangs slightly apart from the others, the handwriting small and uneven. Careful.

I’m free but I want to go home.

Mike stares at it.

The café noise fades. His heart begins to pound, slow and heavy, like it knows something his mind is afraid to name. He reaches out before he realizes he’s moving, fingertips brushing the edge of the paper.

The feeling floods back—stronger than ever.

Warm. Familiar. Aching.

Her.

He doesn’t know how he knows. There’s no logic, no proof, nothing he could explain to anyone else.

But he knows.

His throat tightens as he studies the handwriting, memorizing every curve, every pause in the ink. It feels like recognition, like remembering something he’s always known.

“I found you,” he whispers—not triumphantly, not loudly.

Reverently.

The tree rustles gently beside him, papers swaying like they’re breathing.

Mike closes his eyes for just a second, hand still resting against the wish, heart steady despite the tremor running through him.

He doesn’t need certainty yet.

The feeling is enough.

And for the first time since he left Hawkins, Mike isn’t searching blindly anymore.

He’s listening.

He also starts living his life again.

That’s the strange part—it feels like living again, not just waiting.

He walks the town every day, learning its rhythms. The way the bakery opens early and smells like sugar and warmth. The way the same few locals sit at the bar each evening, laughing quietly over drinks. The way the light shifts across the cliffs, changing the waterfalls’ color hour by hour.

It never feels right to ask about her.

He never pulls out her picture, never asks if anyone has seen a girl who looks like this. Deep down, he knows that wouldn’t work. Whatever path brought her here wasn’t meant to be interrupted or forced.

She’ll come to him when she’s ready.

They’ll find each other when he is ready too.

That’s the part he doesn’t understand yet.

He has hope—real, solid hope—but hope doesn’t stop the loneliness from creeping in at night. From missing voices that know him without explanation. From wanting, just once, to hear someone say his name the way it sounds like home.

One evening, as the sun drags itself lazily along the horizon, Mike stares at his phone for a long time.

Then he exhales and dials.

The international call fee flashes briefly on the screen. He ignores it.

It rings.

Once. Twice.

“Hello?”

“Nance,” Mike says quietly. “Hi.”

There’s a pause—and then—

“Mike??” Her voice sharpens instantly. “Oh my god—where are you? Are you okay?”

He smiles despite himself. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I’m in Iceland right now.”

“Iceland?” she repeats, stunned. “Wow. How’s the trip? Are you—are you liking it?”

“It’s great,” he says honestly. “I’ve met so many nice people. Seen some incredible places. It’s… good.”

She goes quiet for a moment.

Then, gently, carefully: “Have you… found peace yet?”

Mike closes his eyes.

He knows what she’s really asking. If the weight has lifted. If he’s learning how to carry the loss of Eleven. If this trip is helping him survive her disappearance.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “But honestly… I feel a bit lonely lately. Being so far from home.” His voice cracks just slightly. “It’s just nice to hear your voice. I miss you. I miss the whole gang.”

Nancy doesn’t rush to fill the silence.

“Mike,” she says finally, warm and steady, “we love you. All of us. And we’ll be right here waiting for you whenever you’re ready to come home.”

His chest tightens.

“But take your time,” she continues. “Finish what you need to do for yourself. We understand. It’s okay.”

A tear slips free, sliding down his cheek before he can stop it.

“Thanks, Nance,” he murmurs. “I… I needed that.”

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you too.”

The call ends, the line clicking softly into silence.

Mike lowers the phone and takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, steadying him. The world feels a little less heavy now. A little more possible.

As he heads back toward the bed and breakfast, he passes a sign advertising local experiences.

Cold Plunge — Nordic Tradition.

He stops, considers it.

“Tomorrow,” he decides quietly.

Maybe it’s time to let the cold shock his system. To trust the process. To meet whatever comes next with an open heart.

The sun lingers low in the sky, refusing to disappear.

And somewhere in this small town, Mike feels it again—soft, patient, waiting.

So is she.

-------------

Mike wakes before the sun can even pretend to rise—though here, it never really does.

The air is crisp, clean in a way that feels intentional. He pulls on layers, buys a simple swimsuit from a small local shop that smells like wool and soap, and tells himself this is just curiosity. Just experience.

Time to see what all the hype is about.

The drive out is quiet. Empty roads. Mountains reflected in still water. When he parks, there’s no one else around—no voices, no cars, no movement. Just him, the lake, and the sky stretched pale and endless above.

He exhales slowly, toes curling in his shoes.

“Okay,” he mutters. “Okay.”

He strips down to the swimsuit, the cold biting immediately, and walks to the edge of the clear water. It looks deceptively calm. Inviting, even.

Mike pinches his nose shut and cannonballs in.

The shock is immediate—violent, almost. Cold slams into him, stealing his breath, searing his skin. His whole body reacts at once, muscles tightening, heart kicking hard against his ribs.

“Holy—!” he sputters when he surfaces, then laughs, breathless and wild.

It’s freezing.

And somehow… incredible.

The cold cuts through everything—grief, doubt, heaviness—like it’s stripping him down to something raw and essential. He feels awake in a way he hasn’t in years. Almost like being reborn.

He dunks his head under again.

The world goes blurry. Sound disappears. Everything softens into light and shadow.

He opens his eyes underwater, blinking, but there’s nothing to see—just distortion and movement. He surfaces again, pushing his hair back, laughing to himself, chest heaving.

“I did it,” he says out loud, grinning like an idiot.

He swims a little farther, limbs aching from the cold, then dips under once more. This time he closes his eyes.

And he thinks of her.

Of Eleven in the bath. In the tank. Floating, suspended, alone.

Did it ever feel like this to you? he wonders. Cold… but quiet? Like everything else fades away?

Then—

Something shifts.

The cold tightens around his chest.

Too tight.

Mike’s breath catches.

Panic flares sharp and sudden, his lungs burning like they’re collapsing inward. He kicks hard, arms slicing through the water—but the surface feels impossibly far away. The lake stretches above him, warped and unreachable.

No—no—

His heart pounds wildly as he swims harder, frantic now, fear clawing up his throat.

Finally—finally—he breaks through the surface.

He gasps violently for air, coughing, choking as he scrambles toward the shallow end. His hands find rocks, slick and cold, and he hauls himself out, collapsing onto them, chest heaving as he sucks in breath after breath.

“Okay—okay—” he pants, wrapping himself tightly in the towel he left nearby. His whole body trembles—not just from the cold.

He sits there for a long moment, head bowed, letting his breathing steady.

Then he looks up.

Across the lake, beyond the water, where the mountains rise quiet and unmoving—

He freezes.

For just a second—just a heartbeat—he swears he sees her.

Standing there.

Eleven.

Wearing the same outfit he last saw her in. Hair dark against the light, posture still and familiar, like she’s watching him the way she always used to. Calm. Present.

“El…” he whispers, standing too fast.

His vision blurs. He rubs cold water over his face, blinking hard, heart racing.

When he looks again—

She’s gone.

Just mountains. Just stone and sky and water.

But the feeling doesn’t fade.

It sits heavy and warm in his chest—the unmistakable pull he’s come to trust more than his own eyes.

“She was here,” he murmurs, not scared. Not confused.

Certain.

Mike stands, towel clutched around him, slowly turning in a full circle. He scans the shore. The paths. The rocks.

Nothing.

No one.

Still, the air feels charged. Alive.

And as the cold finally leaves his skin, one truth settles deep in his bones:

This isn’t imagination.

She’s close.

And whatever comes next— he knows he’s ready.

---------------

Later that evening, Mike sits alone at a small restaurant near the water.

A candle flickers on the table, its flame bending every time the door opens. He barely notices. His fork moves automatically, food disappearing without taste. His thoughts keep drifting back to the lake—to the cold, to the panic, to the way his heart nearly stopped when he thought he saw her.

I saw something. Didn’t I?

He stares out the window instead of his plate, watching the sky soften into that endless twilight Iceland seems to live in. Part of him tries to reason it away—exhaustion, shock, his mind filling in what it wants most.

But the other part of him—the part that’s never been wrong about her—won’t let it go.

The feeling had been there. Strong. Immediate.

Real.

When he finishes eating, he leaves quietly, nodding at the staff who now recognize him. The town is calm as he walks back to the bed and breakfast, the air cool against his skin, his body pleasantly tired.

His room feels especially quiet tonight.

---------------

The food market is already awake when Mike gets there.

Stalls glow under strings of warm lights, steam rising from coffee carts as the sun slowly lifts itself over the horizon. The sky is pale gold, the kind of morning that feels gentle instead of loud. Locals move easily through the narrow paths, greeting one another, laughing softly, hands wrapped around cups to warm themselves.

Mike wanders without much purpose.

He picks up fresh bread still warm from the oven. A small jar of berry jam. Pastries dusted with sugar that melt at the edges. It all feels domestic in a way that surprises him—like he’s pretending at a life that almost feels real.

He’s reaching for a loaf when it happens.

The smell hits him first.

Vanilla.

Clean. Soft. Familiar.

His breath catches so hard it hurts.

No. No way.

His head lifts slowly, heart already pounding as his eyes scan the crowd. People pass in front of him—strangers, coats, scarves, motion—but then he sees her.

Just a glimpse.

Dark hair. Slight frame. The way she tilts her head, like she’s listening to something no one else can hear.

Mike drops the bread.

“El,” he whispers, already moving.

He pushes through the crowd, murmuring apologies he doesn’t register, pulse roaring in his ears. He loses sight of her once—panic spikes—but then he sees the figure again, slipping past a stall, moving faster now.

“Wait—” he says, louder, more desperate.

She turns down a narrow side street.

An alley.

Mike doesn’t hesitate.

He breaks into a jog, heart slamming against his ribs, the world narrowing to the sound of his breath and the echo of his footsteps. The alley is quiet, empty, light spilling in from one end.

He slows.

The figure stops.

Mike swallows hard, his voice barely working. “El?”

She turns around.

And it’s her.

Not a memory. Not a dream. Not a feeling.

Her face is exactly the same—eyes wide, shocked, alive. Real.

The world tilts.

“Oh my—” Mike breathes, knees buckling as everything rushes at once—relief, disbelief, love, fear, hope crashing together too fast for his body to keep up with.

The last thing he sees is her reaching for him, her mouth forming his name—

Then everything goes dark.

-------------------

Mike wakes slowly.

Not the sharp, jolting kind of waking—this is gentle, disorienting. Warm. He blinks up at a wooden ceiling washed in soft morning light, the air smelling faintly of tea and something floral.

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

Then he notices the walls.

Pictures.

Framed, carefully placed.

His heart starts to race as he turns his head.

There’s one of him and the gang at the middle school science fair—Dustin grinning like an idiot, Lucas standing proud, Max smirking, Will half-hidden behind Mike’s shoulder. Another photo nearby shows them in their Ghostbusters costumes, proton packs crooked and homemade, all of them frozen in a moment when the world was still simple.

His breath catches.

Further down the wall: Will between Joyce and Jonathan, all three smiling softly. Another frame—him, Nancy, and Holly, Holly sitting on his lap, missing one front tooth.

His chest tightens painfully.

“What…?” he whispers.

A cold thought creeps in.

Maybe it was a dream. Maybe I never left Hawkins. Maybe I broke.

A psych ward, his mind supplies cruelly. Somewhere safe. Somewhere padded with memories.

He swallows hard, panic rising—

Then the door creaks open.

Mike’s head snaps toward the sound.

She steps inside.

Eleven.

She’s holding a small teapot and two cups balanced carefully on a tray. She freezes when she sees his eyes open, her breath catching audibly.

“Oh,” she gasps. “You’re— you’re awake.”

Mike can’t speak.

He just stares.

His vision blurs, not because he’s crying yet, but because his brain refuses to believe what it’s seeing. She’s older—softer around the edges, hair longer—but unmistakably her. The way she stands. The way her eyes search his face like she’s afraid he’ll disappear.

His voice comes out broken. Barely a whisper.

“Is this real?” He swallows. “Am I dreaming?”

Her lip trembles.

She sets the tray down quickly, hands shaking, and steps closer, shaking her head.

“No,” she says softly. “I’m as real as you are.”

Slowly—carefully, like she’s giving him time to pull away—she reaches out and touches his hand.

The second her fingers brush his skin, something inside Mike shatters.

He gasps, a sharp, desperate sound, and yanks her toward him, arms wrapping around her like he’s afraid the world will take her back if he loosens his grip. He buries his face in her shoulder, shaking as tears spill freely.

“El—” he chokes.

She lets out a wet laugh that turns into a sob, clutching him just as tightly, fingers digging into his shirt like she’s anchoring herself.

“I found you,” he cries into her hair. “I found you.”

“You never stopped,” she whispers. “I felt you. Always.”

He pulls back just enough to kiss her hair—again and again—pressing his lips to her temple, her crown, like he needs to make sure she’s really there. His hands slide up to cup her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks gently, reverently.

He looks at her.

Really looks.

Her eyes are bright with tears. Alive. Hers.

“It’s you,” he breathes, almost laughing through the tears. “It’s really you.”

She nods, smiling through her own tears. “It’s me.”

Mike presses his forehead to hers, eyes closing as a sob of relief tears out of him.

After a year of searching. After continents and doubt and loneliness. After never giving up—

He found her.

And this time, she’s not going anywhere.

They stay like that for a long time.

No rush. No words at first. Just warmth and quiet and the soft clink of porcelain as El pours the tea. She leans into him naturally, like her body remembers exactly where it belongs. Mike’s arm settles around her shoulders, protective, instinctive, his thumb brushing slow, absent-minded circles against her sleeve as if letting go is no longer an option.

Outside, light spills in gently—never quite night, never quite morning.

Mike lifts his cup, takes a sip, then sets it down carefully on the table. His chest rises with a slow breath.

“I have to ask,” he says quietly, voice low so he doesn’t break the moment. “Why’d you disappear like that?”

El stills slightly.

“Couldn’t you have told me?” he continues softly. “At least told me your plan. You could’ve saved me… all this misery. All that pain.”

She exhales, long and heavy, eyes dropping to her hands.

“I needed every single person to believe I was gone,” she says. “If anyone knew—if you knew—you would’ve tried to find me. Or contact me. And then they would’ve found you.”

Her fingers tighten around her cup.

“The military had to believe I was dead,” she continues. “So did everyone else. In a couple more years… when things cool off… maybe I could go home.” Her voice wavers, just slightly. “But until then, I have to keep you all safe.”

She tilts her head, resting it gently against his shoulder.

“Especially you, Mike,” she adds. “I’ll never regret my choice.”

Mike swallows hard.

He nods slowly, pressing his temple to her hair.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I always knew you had a reason.”

His arm tightens around her, pulling her just a bit closer. “I felt you. Every day. Even when it hurt.”

El smiles softly, eyes shining.

“I know,” she whispers. “That’s how I knew you’d find me.”

Silence settles again—but it’s different now. Full. Complete.

They both turn toward each other at the same time, like gravity pulling them together. Mike lifts a hand to her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that never quite falls. El’s fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

They lean in.

The kiss is slow. Careful. Familiar and new all at once.

It tastes like tea and relief and a year’s worth of longing finally answered.

When they rest their foreheads together afterward, neither of them pulls away.

Not this time.

--------------------

Two years pass quietly.

Not in the loud, world-ending way Hawkins always knew—but softly, gently, like the steady flow of water over stone.

They live in the small village with the three waterfalls, tucked between cliffs and open sky. Everyone knows them here. The American writer with the thoughtful eyes and the girl with the calm presence who works near the water. No one asks too many questions. People are kind. Trusting. Warm—just like they dreamed.

Every morning begins the same.

Mike wakes first most days, slipping out of bed while El is still half-asleep, hair fanned across the pillow. He makes coffee and toast, sometimes waffles if he’s feeling ambitious. She comes out in one of his sweaters, rubbing sleep from her eyes, smiling when she sees him like it’s still a surprise he’s real.

They eat together at the small wooden table by the window.

She tells him about the boats, the weather, which fish came in overnight. He tells her about a paragraph that finally worked, or a character that won’t leave him alone. He always walks her to the door, kisses her goodbye, and watches until she’s out of sight—every single time.

Every night, she comes home.

They cook dinner together, elbows bumping, music playing softly. Sometimes they talk. Sometimes they don’t need to. Afterward, they curl up on the couch with a movie they’ve both seen a hundred times. El always falls asleep first, head on his chest, and Mike never moves, even when his arm goes numb.

On weekends, they drive.

Long, winding roads past glaciers and mountains that look unreal, like they belong in one of his stories. They stop wherever they feel like—no plan, no urgency. Just them and the open world.

In winter, when the cold sinks deep into their bones, they go to the hot springs. Steam rises around them as they sink into the warmth, El’s fingers lacing with Mike’s under the water. The cold can’t touch them there.

They are safe.

Happy.

Home.

One afternoon, they stop by the café in town—the one with the synthetic tree in the corner. Paper wishes flutter softly from its branches. They sit beneath it, sharing waffles and hot chocolate, laughing quietly over nothing at all.

El tilts her head, reading some of the wishes.

“I want a dog.” “Good luck.” “Please let me be brave.”

She smiles.

“Did you ever write one?” she asks.

Mike hesitates. Then he stands, stepping closer to the tree. He gently lifts one of the older pieces of paper, edges worn, handwriting unmistakably his.

El leans in.

The wish reads:

to live happily ever after with her

El’s breath catches.

She looks up at him, eyes shining, and Mike smiles—soft, sure, full of everything he once thought he’d lost.

“I guess,” he says quietly, “it worked.”

She laughs through happy tears and pulls him into a kiss right there beneath the tree, wishes rustling above them like approval.

Outside, the waterfalls continue to flow.

And for the first time in their lives—

nothing is chasing them anymore.

Maybe now it's time for El's wish to come true as well.

I’m free but I want to go home.

------------

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You hesitated. “Yeah. I guess.”

He cleared his throat. You heard the faint engine of his BMW in the background, the hum steady, like he was parked somewhere.

“I was thinking,” he started, “the cabin trip is next week and… I don’t want things to be weird.”

You closed your eyes. Too late.

He continued anyway, voice gentle but deliberate. “I want us to be able to hang out like normal. No bad blood, no awkwardness. I figured we should talk before we’re trapped on a mountain together.”

You forced a small laugh. “Makes sense.”

“Can we meet up?” he asked. “Maybe… the coffee place on Maple? Tomorrow?”

Your heart squeezed. He sounded sincere. He sounded… older. Softer in some ways, harder in others.

“Sure,” you said. “Tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Y/N.” He exhaled like he’d been holding the breath for years. “Really. I think we both deserve a good trip.”

You hung up first. Only then did you let your shoulders slump.

Because you didn’t want to “clear the air.” You wanted answers. You wanted the truth he never gave you.

And you weren’t ready for how seeing him again would feel.

—

The next afternoon, the bell above the café door chimed as Steve walked in.

You had to remind yourself to breathe.

He looked nothing like the 15-year-old boy who used to walk you home after class with his backpack slung over one shoulder, kissing you against your front porch like he couldn’t stop himself.

He was—God—he was a man now.

Wider shoulders. Arms that strained underneath the sleeves of his henley. Jaw sharper. His hair still perfect, still fluffy, still unfairly charming. And his eyes…

His eyes were older. Wiser. Like he’d lived a hundred lives since the last time you looked into them.

And maybe he had. He dealt with things you still didn’t understand.

He saw you and smiled, that same crooked Harrington smile that always destroyed you. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

He sat across from you, leaning forward on his elbows like he wanted to be close but wasn’t sure if he had the right anymore.

“So…” He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he never outgrew. “I know it’s been a long time. I didn’t want the trip to be uncomfortable.”

“It won’t be,” you said quickly, though your chest ached like a bruise. “We’re… friends.”

He looked at you for a long moment. Soft. Searching. Careful.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Friends.”

It should’ve felt reassuring. Instead it felt like a punch.

He sat back, releasing a breath. “I just… wanted to clear the air. No tension. We both deserve to have fun, you know?”

You nodded, smiling even though your heart felt like cracked glass. “Yeah. Absolutely. Clean slate.”

He smiled back, relieved.

You wished you could tell him he didn’t need to worry— that you’d pretend everything was okay that you’d pretend your heart didn’t pound when you looked at him that you’d pretend the breakup didn’t still sit unsolved in your chest like a secret you weren’t allowed to know.

But you didn’t. You just nodded.

Because he wanted to be friends. And you still didn’t know why he ever stopped being yours.

----------

The cabin looked like it had been plucked straight off a postcard—wooden logs stacked with perfect symmetry, warm golden windows, smoke curling out of the chimney. Snow dusted the roof like powdered sugar, the world outside muffled and quiet in that way winter always made everything feel softer.

Everyone arrived within minutes of each other. Nancy and Jonathan unloaded the trunk, bickering lightly about the map. Robin immediately slipped and nearly face-planted into a snowbank. And Steve—

Steve stepped out of his car, pulling off his gloves, breath clouding in the cold.

Y/N felt her heartbeat falter.

He looked… unfair.

More grown. Broader shoulders, arms filling out his coat, hair slightly longer than before, falling in perfectly tousled waves. He walked toward them, boots crunching against the snow, eyes warm and familiar and somehow so different—older. Like he’d lived a lifetime in the last couple years. Like his heart carried stories she had no way of knowing.

They all piled inside, carrying bags and laughing about the cold. Jonathan and Nancy took the room near the end of the hall. Y/N and Robin claimed one with two twin beds and fuzzy blankets. Steve’s room was across the hall—close enough to hear the floorboards creak with each step, close enough for her stomach to twist every time he walked by.

Later, after settling in, they bundled back up and drove into town to grab takeout from a small diner that smelled like melted butter and cinnamon. Back at the cabin, they gathered around the fireplace, plates on their laps, boots drying near the hearth. Soft flames crackled as snow fell against the window.

Conversation drifted naturally—classes, family, plans, gossip from school.

“Okay,” Robin said, nudging Y/N with her elbow, “tell them. Tell them about the schools.”

Y/N looked down shyly, fiddling with the edge of her napkin. “I—I got into some Ivy Leagues.”

Everyone exploded.

“WHAT?” Robin nearly screamed. “Oh my god, Y/N!” Nancy beamed, nearly spilling her soup. Jonathan clapped, Dustin would’ve fainted if he were here, and even Robin did this little happy dance on the couch.

“Holy shit,” Robin added, “that’s—like—that’s incredible!”

Y/N’s cheeks warmed. “They’re… really expensive though. So I’m waiting to hear about scholarships. I don’t want to get too excited until I know if it’s realistic.”

Nancy nodded in solidarity. “Same. I got into Emerson and—God, the tuition alone made me want to pass out.”

But she smiled softly. “Still. You got in. That’s amazing.”

“Seriously,” Jonathan chimed in. “That’s huge.”

Y/N’s heart felt light under all the praise… then heavy when she felt a warm hand wrap around her arm.

Steve.

He leaned forward slightly, his grip gentle but firm, his thumb brushing once—absently, unconsciously.

He smiled at her, eyes soft, proud in a way he probably didn’t even realize. “I knew you could do it,” he said.

Her breath caught.

The way he looked at her—like she was the same girl he used to kiss behind the bleachers, the girl he’d held during thunderstorms, the girl he once swore he’d never hurt—it made the cabin feel suddenly too warm.

She swallowed, finally meeting his gaze. “Thanks.”

For a moment, it felt like the past lived in that small space between them. But she forced herself to let it go. They weren’t those people anymore.

She cleared her throat and pushed the attention away from herself. “What about you, Steve? Did you apply anywhere? Any schools you’re thinking about?”

He stiffened—not obviously, but enough that she noticed.

“I, uh… no,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t apply.”

Everyone quieted a touch.

“I might just… stay in Hawkins,” Steve continued with a practiced shrug. “Work at my dad’s company like I always planned.”

“Oh,” Y/N said softly. “That’s… good. If that’s what you want.”

He gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Steve Harrington, who used to talk about leaving Hawkins and seeing the world. Steve Harrington, who used to say he'd take her to New York someday.

But she didn’t push. She didn’t get to. Not anymore.

She just nodded, polite and gentle and careful.

Steve looked at her for a second too long, like he wanted to say something else—maybe explain, maybe confess, maybe apologize—but then Robin made a loud joke about bear attacks and the moment disappeared.

The fire crackled. Snow continued falling outside. And Y/N wondered how she was supposed to survive a whole week in the same cabin as the boy she had never stopped loving.

Robin sprawled across the bed, one arm over her eyes. “There was so much tension tonight I’m surprised the fireplace didn’t explode.”

Y/N tugged on her sleep shirt, rolling her eyes. “There wasn’t tension.”

“There so was.” Robin sat up, pointing at her. “He kept looking at you.”

“He looked at everyone.”

“No. No, he didn’t,” Robin said. “He did the polite group eye contact thing, and then he’d do this sneaky little glance at you. Like—” She mimicked Steve’s nervous hair ruffle and the way he’d subtly angle his body toward you.

Y/N scoffed, though heat crept up her neck. “We’re friends now. We talked. It’s all good.”

“Uh-huh.” Robin flopped back again. “He gets weird about college talk, by the way. He hates feeling behind. His parents messed him up about it for years—‘Who needs college when your job is already secured,’ blah blah blah. He just shuts down.”

Y/N paused mid- brushing her hair. “I remember.”

Robin peered over. “You two were good together, you know.”

“Were,” Y/N repeated softly. “Keyword.”

And she crawled into bed before Robin could say anything else, heart squeezing in that same old familiar ache.

---------------

The cabin smelled like pine and cold air and something warm that felt like possibility.

Y/N was up before everyone, snow still settling outside the windows. She tied her hair back, humming to herself as she whisked pancake batter and squeezed oranges for juice. The quiet was peaceful — a rare moment without the buzzing, chaotic thoughts of Steve Harrington.

By the time she set the table, footsteps thudded down the stairs.

“Holy crap, Y/N,” Dustin (who’d arrived with the morning carpool) said, eyes widening at the spread. “Marry me.”

“You say that every time someone makes you food,” Lucas muttered.

Nancy hugged her from behind. “You’re an angel.”

Jonathan nodded gratefully. Robin stumbled in and immediately grabbed a pancake with her hand.

Then Steve walked in.

Sleep-ruffled hair. Sweats. The soft kind of morning voice that hit her embarrassingly hard.

“You… made all this?” he asked, blinking at the table.

Y/N shrugged. “Felt like it.”

He smiled — a small, warm, familiar thing she wasn’t ready for. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Her breath hitched. He used to call her that all the time.

Everyone ate like they hadn’t seen food in a week. Y/N sat back, watching them banter and laugh and argue over syrup, her heart so full it hurt.

These were her people. Her home before she ever found one in a college acceptance letter.

The moment she carried a plate toward the sink, a hand gently nudged her hip.

“Nope,” Steve said, sidestepping her. “Cooks don’t clean.”

“I don’t mind—”

“Doesn’t matter.” He slid into place at the sink, rolling up his sleeves. “Go sit or something.”

Y/N blinked at him, then climbed onto the counter—an old habit from when they dated, when she used to sit there while he made milkshakes at Family Video.

He started rinsing plates, water warm and steam clouding the window.

“So…” she tried, swinging her legs. “How’ve you been?”

He smiled faintly, eyes on the dishes. “Pretty good, actually. Grades still kinda suck.”

“Steve—”

“I know,” he laughed softly. “But I’m doing great on the teams. Coach said I might get scouted for a local program.”

“That’s amazing.”

He shrugged, but his cheeks pinked. “My parents are… the same. Dad’s still pushing the company thing.”

Y/N nodded. She’d known his insecurities long before he admitted them to anyone else.

“I haven’t, uh… done anything too wild lately,” he added with a wry grin.

She raised a brow. “That’s not what I heard.”

He froze. “…What did you hear?”

“Robin told me you’ve had some… adventures.”

He groaned. “She exaggerates. A lot. I’m actually pretty boring.”

She laughed. “Steve Harrington? Boring?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, a playful spark in his eyes — the one she remembered, the one that used to undo her completely.

“That’s what you always said.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, “well. Things change.”

He paused washing, leaning his hip against the counter to face her fully.

“Not everything.”

There it was again. Something warm. Something tender. Something she wasn’t supposed to feel anymore.

His gaze held her a second too long before he turned back to the sink.

And Y/N realized something she wasn’t ready for:

She still wasn’t over him. Not even close.

--------------

The snow had stopped falling sometime after sunset, leaving the world quiet and unreal—white draped over every branch, every rooftop of the cabin, glittering under the porch light. The others were inside playing cards, laughing loud enough to spill through the walls.

But you and Steve had drifted out onto the porch, both pretending you just needed fresh air.

You stood with your arms wrapped around yourself, exhaling small clouds into the cold. Steve stood beside you with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet like he was trying to gather the courage to speak.

He wasn’t usually quiet. Not around you.

Not unless something was eating him alive.

“Y/N,” he finally said, voice low. “There’s… something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

You turned to him, heart already tightening. “Okay.”

He didn’t look at you—not yet. He stared at the snow instead, breathing hard, like every word weighed him down.

“You asked me once,” he said, “why I broke up with you.”

Your throat closed up. You remembered. You remembered begging him to just tell you, just give you something to understand—but he’d shut down, closed off, walked away without a real reason.

He swallowed, jaw tense.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “You never did. I just… I wasn’t good for you. I knew you were going places—big places. And I was in this really… dark, messed-up point in my life.”

You blinked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to see it,” he said immediately, voice breaking at the edges. “I didn’t want you to see how bad it got. I didn’t want you to worry about me when you were already… more than I ever deserved.”

Your chest ached. “Steve…”

He finally looked at you.

And God — his eyes. All that warmth you remembered. All that hurt you never got to see.

“I was angry all the time,” he continued. “At my parents. At school. At myself. I felt like a screwup with a future someone else planned for me. And I thought if I stayed with you, you’d… you’d get stuck to me. You’d slow down for me. And I couldn’t let that happen.”

His breath shook as he said it.

You stepped closer without thinking.

“Steve, you should’ve told me.” Your voice wavered. “I didn’t need perfect. I didn’t need you put together. If you were struggling, I would’ve been there for you. I would’ve helped you. I would’ve done anything for you.”

He looked gutted. Like those words hit him right in the heart.

“I know that,” he whispered. “That was the problem. You were willing to give everything. And I… I wasn’t someone worth giving that to back then.”

You shook your head, eyes stinging. “Don't say that.”

"It's true," he murmured. “I was scared. And I was stupid. And I hurt you because I thought it would keep you from getting dragged into the mess I was.”

You stepped even closer, your boots crunching in the snow, looking up at him.

“Steve… you didn’t have to protect me from you. I didn’t need that.”

He let out a shaky breath, like he’d been holding it for years.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I just didn’t know how to love you the right way back then.”

Silence fell between you—but it didn’t feel empty. It felt like truth. Like old wounds finally being cleaned out. Like something shifting, melting, thawing.

Steve looked at you with this soft, aching expression.

“I'm sorry, Y/N,” he said. “For hurting you. For disappearing. For… everything.”

Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I never stopped wanting to understand.”

He closed his eyes for a second, exhaling like he’d been waiting years to hear that.

Then, slowly, he reached out.

Not touching you. Not assuming anything. Just letting his hand hang there, close enough that you could take it if you wanted.

The cold air swirled around the two of you, but for the first time in a long time, neither of you felt it.

The air between them feels different after that conversation. Lighter. Like something that had been pressing on both their chests for years had finally loosened its grip.

Steve walks back into the cabin beside you, shoulders no longer tense, jaw unclenched. You don’t talk about what was said — you don’t need to. The silence isn’t awkward anymore. It’s comfortable. Familiar. Almost dangerous in how easy it feels.

Later that morning, everyone piles into jackets and boots, scarves half-tied and laughter already echoing through the cabin. The mountains stretch endlessly ahead of you, white and blinding under the winter sun.

Skiing was Jonathan’s idea. Steve pretends he’s annoyed about it.

“I haven’t skied since I was, like, twelve,” he mutters, tightening his gloves.

Robin grins. “Relax, Harrington. Worst case scenario, you fall dramatically and we laugh.”

“That’s not comforting.”

You smile quietly, watching him. He looks good out here — cheeks flushed from the cold, hair a little wild under his beanie, taller somehow against the snow. Stronger. Older.

On the slopes, chaos ensues.

Dustin eats snow within the first five minutes. Lucas insists he’s “actually really good at this” before immediately wiping out. Robin screams the entire way down, laughing so hard she can barely stand.

Steve sticks close to you without realizing it — always just a little behind, ready to grab your arm when you wobble, steadying you without making a big deal of it.

“You good?” he asks, voice warm through the cold air.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. “You?”

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

But the truth sits heavy in his chest.

Because watching you laugh like this — carefree, confident, surrounded by friends who adore you — makes something ache inside him. He remembers tenth grade too clearly. Your smile then. The way you believed in him when he didn’t know how to believe in himself.

He wonders how the hell he ever let you go.

They take a break near the lodge, clustered around steaming cups of hot chocolate. You’re mid-story, animated and glowing, when Steve catches himself staring again.

He looks away too late.

Nancy notices. Of course she does.

Steve has thought about you every day since the breakup. In quiet moments. In loud ones. When things went wrong and when they went right. He told himself it was nostalgia. Regret. Guilt.

But standing here now, snow crunching under his boots, watching you throw your head back in laughter —

He knows the truth.

He never stopped loving you.

And this time, if he gets the chance… He’s not letting fear take you away from him again.

---------------

That night, Christmas Eve settled quietly over the cabin.

Snow tapped softly against the windows. The fireplace crackled, filling the room with warmth and golden light. Someone handed out mugs of cocoa. Everyone gathered on the floor and couches, wrapped in blankets, close enough that knees and shoulders brushed.

“Okay,” Robin said, clapping her hands. “Tradition time. One thing you’re grateful for this year. No dodging.”

There were groans, but no one protested.

Jonathan went first, awkward but sincere. Nancy followed, thoughtful. Dustin made a joke and then surprised everyone by getting serious. One by one, the room filled with gratitude, laughter, softness.

Then all eyes turned to you.

You swallowed, suddenly shy. “I guess…” you glanced around the room, at faces you loved, at people who felt like home. “I’m thankful for my friends. All of you. For… sticking around. For being here. For letting me grow and mess up and still showing up anyway.”

There were murmurs of agreement, a few soft awws. Someone threw a pillow at you.

Steve’s chest ached.

When it was his turn, he shifted where he sat, elbows resting on his knees. He stared into the fire for a moment too long before speaking.

“I’m grateful for new beginnings,” he said quietly. “And… old friendships. The ones that don’t disappear, even when things get complicated.”

Silence followed. Not uncomfortable—just loaded.

Several heads slowly turned. Toward you. Then back to Steve.

Robin rolled her eyes so hard she nearly fell over. Nancy pressed her lips together to hide a smile. Dustin mouthed oh my god to Lucas.

You didn’t look at Steve. Steve didn’t look at you.

Everyone else could see it clearly.

Two people circling something fragile and unfinished, pretending they weren’t standing right in the middle of it.

The fire crackled louder, snow falling steadily outside.

And Steve thought—not for the first time that week—that maybe new beginnings didn’t always mean starting over.

Sometimes, they meant finding your way back.

The snow was still untouched that morning, a soft white blanket stretching endlessly between the trees. The cabin behind them glowed faintly with Christmas lights, muffled laughter drifting through the walls as the others slowly woke up.

Steve shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as he stepped onto the porch. “Wanna take a walk?” he asked, casual—too casual.

You hesitated only a second before nodding. “Yeah. Sure.”

The cold bit at your cheeks as you walked side by side, boots crunching quietly. For a while, you talked about nothing important—how ridiculous Jonathan looked on skis yesterday, how Robin somehow managed to fall without even moving, how the pancakes had disappeared in record time.

It felt… easy. Familiar. Like slipping into an old sweater that still fit.

Steve exhaled slowly, breath fogging the air. Then he stopped walking.

You turned. “What’s up?”

He stared out at the trees for a second too long, jaw tight, like he was bracing himself for something. “I—” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this anymore. Pretend I’m fine. Pretend I don’t feel it.”

Your heart skipped painfully. “Steve…”

“I’m still in love with you,” he said quietly.

The world seemed to still. Snow fell softly around you, but all you could hear was your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I know you don’t owe me anything,” he rushed on, finally looking at you, eyes earnest and raw. “You don’t have to say anything back. I just—I’ve been holding this in since the day we broke up. I never stopped loving you. Not once.”

Your chest ached.

“I wasn’t a good boyfriend back then,” he continued. “I was scared, and messed up, and dealing with things I didn’t know how to handle. I thought I was protecting you by letting you go. You were going places. You still are. And I felt like… like I’d only drag you down.”

Your voice trembled. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

He swallowed. “I know. And I hate myself for it. But I’ve worked on myself. I’m not that kid anymore. I’m trying to be better. Stronger. Someone who can actually take care of you—stand beside you, not behind you.”

He paused, searching your face. “I just love you. So damn much.”

You felt tears sting your eyes. “Steve… I would’ve been there for you. I didn’t care how dark things got. I loved you then. I love you now. I always have.”

His breath hitched.

“I don’t know what this looks like yet,” you admitted softly. “It’ll take time. But my heart’s never stopped wanting you.”

For a second, he just stared at you—like he was afraid this was a dream that might disappear if he moved too fast. Then he stepped closer, slow and careful, giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

His lips brushed yours, gentle and tentative, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile. You kissed him back instantly, fingers curling into his jacket as you pulled him closer. The kiss deepened just slightly—warm, familiar, aching with everything left unsaid.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were smiling, foreheads touching, breaths uneven.

“Merry Christmas,” Steve whispered.

You laughed softly, heart full. “Merry Christmas, Harrington.”

Behind you, the cabin door creaked open.

Robin’s voice carried through the snow. “I SWEAR TO GOD if you two weren’t kissing out there I was about to lose a bet—”

Steve groaned. You just laughed, squeezing his hand.

This time, neither of you let go.

------------

She pulled back just enough to kiss him — too fast, too emotional, trembling with fear and relief. He kissed back, slow and tired but present, like he needed the taste of her to prove he was alive.

When her feet hit the ground again, she hugged him so tight he let out a quiet groan — not from pain but from the overwhelming relief of being held by the person he loved most.

“Let’s get you home,” she whispered, cupping his cheek. “Please, Steve.”

He nodded, leaning into her touch. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

-----------------

Steve all but collapsed onto the bathroom stool while Y/N ran warm water into the tub. The steam filled the room, fogging the mirror and softening the metallic scent of dried blood.

He watched her with heavy eyes — eyes that tracked her every move like she was the only thing anchoring him to the real world.

“You don’t have to do all this,” he murmured.

“Yes, I do,” she answered softly.

She helped him peel off the ruined layers — jacket, shirt, undershirt — every scrape and bruise making her chest twist. When he hissed quietly from a cut along his shoulder, she kissed just above it in apology.

“Baby…” he whispered, voice shaking slightly.

“I’ve got you,” she said.

When he finally lowered himself into the tub, muscles relaxing instantly, he let out a breath that sounded like something inside him unclenched.

Y/N knelt beside the tub, sleeves pushed up, hair tied back. Every so often, as she gently sponged warm water over his shoulders, he’d lean into her like he couldn’t keep himself upright without touching her.

She didn’t care that water dripped down her arms and soaked into her shirt.

He reached for her hand, soft and reverent, lifting it to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

“You came back,” she whispered, eyes stinging.

“I told you I would,” he murmured, kissing her fingers again. “Always.”

She washed the blood from his hair carefully, his eyes drifting closed as she massaged his scalp. He kept leaning forward, forehead brushing her cheek, the softest sigh leaving him.

“You’re so good to me,” he breathed.

“You deserve it,” she whispered back.

When he was finally clean, she wrapped him in a thick towel, guiding him gently to her bed like he was made of glass.

In bed together

Steve climbed under the blankets with a tired groan, scooting close the second she joined him. His arms wrapped around her waist automatically, pulling her against his chest like he needed her warmth to survive.

He kissed her cheek once.

Then again.

Then lingered there, breathing her in.

“Y/N?” he whispered, voice barely above a breath.

She brushed her fingers through his damp hair. “Yeah, love?”

He pulled back slightly to see her face, eyes soft and earnest in the dim light.

“You know everything I do is for you,” he said. “All of it. Going back down there… fighting those things… it’s so we can live a life free from fear and danger.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb tracing her cheek. “Until we get that… I won’t stop going back there.”

Her heart soared — painfully, beautifully — because somehow she ended up with the bravest, sweetest, most selfless boyfriend alive.

“Steve…” she whispered.

He kissed her cheek again, then her temple, then hovered over her lips with a tired, soft smile.

“How did I get so damn lucky?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer — just leaned in and kissed her, gentle but deep, their lips fitting together perfectly. When they broke apart, she kissed his forehead, then his nose, then his lips once more.

Steve sighed, long and content, curling into her chest.

Within minutes they were tangled together, limbs intertwined, his arm tight around her waist and his face tucked into the warm curve of her neck.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, they both fell asleep peacefully — safe, warm, wrapped up in each other, finding quiet bliss in the comfort of the arms they loved most.

------------

She leaned in until their noses brushed. “Start what?”

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, grabbing her waist and pulling her flush against him. Her laugh spilled into his mouth as he kissed her — quick at first, then slow and deepening when she wrapped her arms around his neck.

From the booth, Robin’s cheerful voice sailed out:

“And now here’s a little something for anyone hopelessly in love—Steve, don’t roll your eyes, I saw that—”

Y/N snorted against his lips, and Steve had to bury his face in her shoulder to keep from laughing out loud.

“She’s gonna kill us if she looks over,” Y/N whispered, fingers sliding into his hair.

Steve lifted his head, smirk spreading lazily across his face. “Then we don’t let her look.”

“That’s definitely how that works,” she giggled.

He kissed her again, slower this time, hands warm against her waist as he guided her backward until she was leaning against the wall. She gasped softly as he pressed closer, lips brushing hers between kisses.

“Missed you today,” he murmured against her mouth.

“You saw me four hours ago.”

“Exactly.” His grin went crooked. “Four. Very. Long. Hours.”

She tugged him down for another kiss — deeper, warmer — but they both froze for a split second as Robin’s voice suddenly got louder, like she’d leaned toward the glass.

“Steve, stop distracting my technical assistant! This is a professional environment!”

Steve pulled away just enough to whisper, “We’re doomed.”

Y/N tried so hard not to laugh that her eyes watered. She clapped a hand over her mouth. “She knows.”

“Oh, she definitely knows,” he said, kissing the corner of her smile. “She’s known since we walked in holding hands.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes softening.

“You’re really bad for my concentration, you know that?”

“Good,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his in a teasing pass. “Means I’m doing my job.”

Steve let out a very quiet groan, grabbing her waist again. “Baby, please—”

A loud thump came from the other side of the glass, and Robin’s voice burst through the speakers:

“STEEEEVE. I CAN SEE YOU TWO.”

Y/N choked on a laugh. Steve pressed his forehead to hers, shoulders shaking as he whispered, “We need to run.”

“We need to hide.”

“We need to pretend we were totally talking about… weather patterns,” he deadpanned.

She kissed him one last time — soft, lingering, sweet.

Then they broke apart just in time to hear Robin shout:

“IF YOU’RE GONNA SUCK FACE, AT LEAST WAIT UNTIL THE AD BREAK!”

Steve groaned into his hands.

Y/N giggled into his shoulder.

And honestly?

He kissed her again anyway.

————————————

Steve didn’t push. Didn’t overload her with questions. He just let the silence settle between them for a moment, grounding instead of suffocating.

Then he gently touched her elbow, coaxing her to turn toward him. She did—and the second she saw his eyes, steady and brown and shining with worry, her breath hitched.

“I keep thinking it’s not over,” she said, voice small. “Like any second something’s gonna crawl out of there again. Or someone else will get hurt. And I…” She swallowed hard. “I feel like my insides won’t stop shaking.”

Steve’s expression softened, slow and full, and he lifted his hands to her face with such careful tenderness it almost made her cry harder. His thumb swept under her eye, catching one tear as if he refused to let it fall.

“Hey,” he murmured, leaning his forehead to hers. “I’ve got you. Okay? I’m right here.”

Her eyes fluttered shut. The moment their skin touched, her body sagged like she’d been holding herself upright solely out of tension.

“We’re gonna be fine,” he whispered. “You and me. All of us.”

“What if we’re not?” she breathed. “What if Hawkins is just… broken now? What if it never stops?”

Steve exhaled, slow and steady, and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her fully against him. She went willingly, fists curling into the fabric of his jacket.

“I’m scared too,” he admitted into her hair. “God, you have no idea. But you know what I keep thinking about? You.”

That made her freeze—just a little—and he pulled back enough to look at her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips lingering at her cheek.

“You make me brave,” he said, quiet but honest. “Every single time. So whatever comes next? We face it together. I’m not letting anything happen to you. Not while I’m breathing.”

Her chest tightened, a different kind of ache this time—one that felt like safety blooming under her ribs.

She pressed her forehead to his collarbone, inhaling smoke and shampoo and Steve. His arms wrapped around her even tighter, one hand rubbing slow circles on her back like he was telling her body to relax even if her brain couldn’t yet.

“You’re okay,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

After a long moment, she nodded against him. Not because the world was suddenly fine—but because Steve was right there, holding her like she was the one solid thing he never wanted to let slip.

And with his heartbeat pressed against her ear—steady, real, alive—she finally felt herself breathe again.

"Thank you for always taking care of me." She says softly looking at him with a bit of hope.

He smiles, leaning down and softly placing his lips on hers like a sealed promise. 

-----------------

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the blanket. She looked at the front of the house like it might be another trap.

“It’s okay,” Eleven said, reaching for her hand again. “Steve’s house is safe.”

The girl studied Eleven’s face for a long moment — then turned toward Steve. His hair was a little messy from the drive, his expression open and earnest.

He didn’t push. Didn’t move closer. He just waited.

Finally, she gave the smallest nod.

Robin leaned in toward him as Y/N followed Eleven up the walkway. “You sure about this, Harrington?” she whispered.

Steve’s lips quirked faintly. “Yeah,” he said. “She’s been through enough. Someone’s gotta make it feel like she’s not still in a cage.”

But when Y/N brushed past him on her way inside, her hair grazing his arm for a second, his breath caught.

He told himself it was nothing — just nerves, pity maybe — but his chest felt strange, tight.

And Y/N, even though she never looked back, found herself wondering if all boys her age were like him — so steady, so gentle, and so impossibly kind.

Because no one had ever looked at her like that before.

-----------------

Steve hadn’t realized how quiet his house could be until everyone was asleep. No music, no clinking of glasses, no hum of conversation — just the ticking of the clock downstairs and the steady hum of the refrigerator.

Robin was snoring softly from his room, sprawled diagonally across his bed with one of his pillows over her face. He’d tried to sleep in his parents’ room, but even that felt weird. Everything in there smelled faintly of his mom’s perfume and his dad’s aftershave — cold, expensive, and empty.

He’d been staring at the ceiling for almost an hour when he heard it.

Footsteps. Light and hesitant.

Steve frowned, sitting up slowly. The sound came again — pacing, back and forth, back and forth, soft enough that it could’ve been the wind if he didn’t know better. He threw on a T-shirt and padded out into the hallway.

Y/N was there.

Her bare feet were silent on the hardwood, her hair messy from sleep. She was walking small circles in front of the guest room door, head down, fingers twitching at her sides.

“Hey,” Steve said gently, voice still rough from sleep. “Everything okay?”

Y/N froze like she’d been caught doing something wrong. Then she nodded — quick, nervous.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Bed too soft or something?”

She shook her head.

“Too hot?”

Another shake.

Steve hesitated. “You want, uh… water? Maybe?”

She paused, then nodded.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Come on.”

He led the way downstairs, glancing over his shoulder every few steps to make sure she was still there. The kitchen light buzzed softly when he flipped it on. Y/N squinted at the brightness, but said nothing as he pulled two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with cold water.

She took the first one without hesitation, drinking it in a few quick gulps. Then another. And another. Steve blinked, half-impressed.

“Thirsty, huh?” he said, smiling a little.

She didn’t answer, just reached for the pitcher again. He leaned against the counter, watching her in the dim light — the way her hands trembled slightly, the way she avoided his eyes.

After a moment, he spoke again, softer. “You got a name?”

She paused mid-sip. Her eyes flicked up to him, uncertain. Then she lifted the glass again and drank. No answer.

Steve huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “Right. Okay. No pressure.”

He turned to put the pitcher back when he heard it — small, quiet, like a fragile thread of sound:

“My name is Y/N.”

His head snapped up. She was looking down, fingers curling around the rim of the glass, but her voice — though soft — carried.

“Oh.” He blinked, then smiled. “Well… it’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

She nodded once, bringing the glass back to her lips.

Steve didn’t push for more. He just filled a big jug with water, handed it to her, and motioned upstairs. “For later. In case you get thirsty again.”

Back in the guest room, she crawled under the blanket immediately, wrapping herself up until she was nothing but a small cocoon in the center of the bed. Steve leaned on the doorframe, watching her pull the covers up to her chin.

“Comfy?” he asked.

She peeked out from under the blanket, then nodded again.

He smiled, quiet and genuine. “Good.”

He reached for the light switch, flicked it off — and immediately, Y/N gasped, sitting up sharply, eyes wide with panic.

“Whoa—hey, sorry!” he said quickly, flipping it back on. “You want the light on?”

She nodded again, fast, like the darkness itself was something that could still reach for her.

“Okay,” Steve said softly. He turned the brightness down a little but kept the lamp glowing. The light painted her face in soft gold, enough to chase away the shadows. “Better?”

She nodded.

He smiled again — that easy, lopsided kind that made people trust him without realizing it. He left the door cracked open, just enough for her to see the hall light spilling in.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said quietly.

She didn’t respond, but when he turned to leave, he caught the faintest shift in her expression — a flicker of relief, maybe gratitude, maybe something she didn’t have words for yet.

Steve lingered a second longer, then closed the door partway and padded down the hall.

And for the first time since they found her, Y/N lay down without fear.

She watched the strip of light from the hallway stretch across the floor, and for the first time in years, she let her eyes close.

------------------

The morning sunlight poured through the kitchen windows, golden and soft, catching the faint dust in the air. The house smelled like pancakes and burnt butter — Robin had insisted she could cook, but Steve was the one flipping them, sleeves rolled up, spatula in hand, concentrating way too hard.

“Don’t burn that one,” Robin warned, taking a sip of orange juice.

“I’m not—” Steve started, only for the edge of the pancake to blacken. He cursed under his breath, scraping it onto the growing stack. “Okay, that one’s yours.”

“Rude.” Robin grinned, shoving his shoulder.

Y/N sat at the table, watching them quietly. The sound of their bickering was warm, familiar — like a language she’d forgotten how to understand. There was something magnetic about the way they moved around each other: Robin teasing, Steve rolling his eyes, both of them laughing without thinking. It was the kind of friendship that felt like home.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen something like that.

When Steve finally set a plate in front of her, stacked with pancakes and syrup glistening down the sides, she blinked at it like it was a piece of art.

“There you go,” Steve said softly. “Eat as much as you want, yeah?”

She nodded, gripping the fork carefully, almost unsure how to start — then once she did, she didn’t stop. Robin watched, trying not to look too obvious, but Y/N ate like someone who’d gone far too long without real food.

Steve smiled faintly, leaning against the counter with his own plate. “Guess I didn’t screw up too bad, huh?”

Y/N just hummed, still chewing.

They were halfway through breakfast when Steve realized they were out of milk. “I’ll run to the store real quick,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.”

Robin saluted him dramatically. “No promises.”

When the door shut behind him, the kitchen fell into a comfortable silence. Y/N took another bite of pancake, eyes flicking toward Robin, then down again.

After a moment, she asked, quietly, “You and Steve…?”

Robin blinked, mid-bite. “What—? Oh!” She nearly choked on her food, waving a hand quickly. “No, no, no. God, no. We’re just friends. Very, very good friends, but — yeah. No.”

Y/N’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. Robin’s eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” she gasped softly, leaning closer. “You just talked.”

Y/N’s lips twitched into the smallest smile.

Robin grinned wide, excitement bubbling up instantly. “Okay, okay, wait— what’s your name again? You said it last night, right? Y/N?”

Y/N nodded.

“And how old are you?”

“Seventeen,” Y/N said between bites, syrup smudged on her lip.

Robin’s heart squeezed a little. She wanted to ask more, but she didn’t want to push. So instead, she just sat there and watched the girl eat like she was tasting sunlight for the first time.

By the time Steve came back, juggling a carton of milk and a newspaper, Y/N had polished off three pancakes and was eyeing the last one on Robin’s plate.

“Hey,” he said, dropping the milk on the counter. “You two didn’t, like, burn the toaster or summon demons or anything, right?”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Not yet.”

They all sat again, and after a quiet moment, Steve asked softly, “So… Y/N. If you don’t mind me asking — what happened? How’d you end up there?”

The air seemed to still. Y/N’s fork paused midair.

Then, slowly, she exhaled.

“I had a family,” she began, voice quiet but steady. “A good one. My mom taught music. My dad worked in town. We weren’t rich, but we were happy.”

She swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the table.

“Then one day… one of Papa’s people came. I was in middle school. I… made something float.” Her fingers twitched unconsciously, and a napkin lifted slightly from the table before she caught herself, letting it fall. “He saw. And that was it. They came at night. Told my parents it was for safety. For me. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Robin’s fork had gone still. Steve hadn’t moved.

“They kept me in a facility for older kids. Tests, training, the same things they did to Eleven, I think. But… lately, they started disappearing. Shutting everything down. The people running it left one day — they didn’t even tell us why. Just… gone.”

She looked up then, her eyes glassy but bright. “I thought I was going to die there. Until you found me.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The sunlight hit her hair, catching the faint gold in it, and Steve felt that familiar ache in his chest — the kind that came from realizing how much someone had survived just to sit at your table.

Robin reached out, setting her hand over Y/N’s. “Well… you’re not there anymore.”

Steve nodded, smiling softly, though his throat felt tight. “Yeah. You’re here now. And we’re really glad we found you.”

Y/N smiled — small, shy, but real. Then she stabbed the last pancake on her plate, eyes flicking up to meet theirs just once before she went back to eating.

Robin grinned at Steve over her head, and for a second, they both just sat there — watching the girl who, for the first time in years, looked like she finally believed she was safe.

--------------

By afternoon, the house was buzzing again. Robin had put on music — something soft and a little out of tune — and the sunlight drifted lazily through the windows. Y/N was curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, looking more at peace than anyone had seen her since the night before.

Then came the knock on the door.

Steve opened it to find Eleven, Mike, and Dustin standing on the porch, faces bright with curiosity.

“She’s here?” Mike asked before even saying hello.

“Yeah,” Steve said, stepping aside. “But go easy, okay? She’s still figuring things out.”

The trio filed in quickly, Dustin carrying a backpack full of snacks like it was his ticket to any serious meeting. Eleven spotted Y/N immediately, her expression softening.

“Hi,” she said, walking over.

Y/N hesitated, then smiled. “Hi.”

They sat together on the rug, cross-legged, facing each other. The air in the room shifted — quiet, electric.

“Can you show me?” Eleven asked.

Y/N looked at Steve for a moment, as if asking permission. He nodded gently.

She lifted her hand, and the remote control on the coffee table rose into the air, floating effortlessly. Eleven blinked, impressed, then focused — the lamp beside the couch lifted to join it.

For a moment, both objects hovered side by side, caught between them like twin stars.

Everyone watched in awed silence.

Then Y/N flicked her wrist. The remote spun once, landing perfectly back on the table. Eleven laughed — an honest, joyful laugh that made Robin’s heart squeeze.

“You’re stronger than me,” Eleven said quietly, wonder in her voice.

Y/N smiled a little. “Maybe I just had more time to practice.”

Eleven grinned and reached for her hand. “Maybe you can teach me.”

Y/N’s smile softened as their fingers met. For the first time, she didn’t look scared. She looked understood.

Steve stood a little back, arms crossed loosely, watching the two girls with something between pride and protectiveness. It felt good — seeing her like that, seeing both of them like that. Like all the pain hadn’t been for nothing.

After a few minutes, Y/N got up, brushing her hands on her jeans. “I’m gonna grab a glass of water,” she said.

“I’ll get it,” Steve said instantly, already standing.

She blinked in surprise, then smiled. “Thanks.”

He nodded, heading to the kitchen.

Dustin trailed after him, smirking like he was watching a soap opera.

Steve poured the water, pretending not to notice. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Dustin said, leaning on the counter. “Except for the part where you basically just confessed your undying love for her.”

Steve froze mid-pour. “What? No, I didn’t—what are you even talking about?”

“‘I’ll get it.’” Dustin mimicked dramatically, clutching his chest. “‘I’ll get it for you, Y/N.’ Bro, do you even hear yourself? You’re like one sad acoustic guitar away from writing her a love song.”

Steve glared at him. “I was being nice. She just escaped a government lab, Dustin. Excuse me for trying to be hospitable.”

Dustin raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You fall for girls way too easily, man.”

“Nothing is going on,” Steve said firmly, handing him the milk carton he’d left on the counter. “Nothing.”

“Sure thing, Romeo.”

Steve ignored him, carrying the glass back into the living room. Y/N looked up as he approached, her expression gentle. She accepted the glass, their fingers brushing briefly — just enough to make something flicker in both of them.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting down beside her. “Anytime.”

Dustin plopped into a chair, grinning like he knew everything. Robin rolled her eyes.

The room fell into a soft, easy rhythm again — Mike and Dustin chatting about the Demogorgon comic they’d just found, Robin teasing Steve under her breath, Eleven still smiling beside Y/N.

Y/N took a sip of her water, then glanced sideways. Steve’s arm rested casually along the back of the couch, his body warm beside hers. She could feel the heat of him, steady and alive — a feeling she hadn’t known she missed until now.

She didn’t move away.

And Steve… didn’t either.

---------------------

The mall was busy and loud — a swirl of laughter, pop music, and air-conditioning that smelled faintly like buttered popcorn. Y/N clutched the paper shopping bag to her chest as they moved between stores, her wide eyes scanning every window display like the world itself was new again.

Nancy led the way, already plucking dresses off racks and holding them up against Y/N’s frame. “You’d look adorable in this one,” she said, pressing a soft yellow sundress into her arms.

Y/N ducked her head shyly but smiled, disappearing into the dressing room.

Steve sank into the little waiting chair outside the stalls, drumming his fingers against his thigh. He tried to look anywhere but the mirror where he could see flashes of Y/N’s bare shoulders as she changed. Dude, stop, he told himself. She’s been through hell. She doesn’t need you staring like an idiot.

Nancy came out holding a pair of jeans. “She’s sweet, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Steve mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she is.”

When Y/N stepped out, her hair falling softly over the yellow fabric, Steve forgot how to breathe for a second. The mall lighting made her look almost unreal, sunlight trapped in human form.

Nancy grinned at him knowingly. “You okay there, Harrington?”

He coughed. “Yeah. Fine. Totally fine.”

By the time they’d hit the bookstore, Y/N had gathered a small pile of novels and trinkets — a little ceramic owl, a silver bookmark. She ran her fingers reverently over the book covers like she’d missed the feeling of paper. Steve just watched her quietly, thinking that for someone who’d been locked away from the world, she carried herself with such quiet curiosity.

When Nancy left for her date with Jonathan, it was suddenly just the two of them.

Steve cleared his throat. “Wanna grab some ice cream?”

Her eyes lit up, and that was all the answer he needed.

At Scoops Ahoy, Steve ordered a banana split, setting it between them on the small round table. He remembered the way she’d drowned her pancakes in syrup that morning, and he smiled. “You seemed like a sweets kind of person.”

Y/N took the first bite, her eyes fluttering shut, a tiny sound leaving her throat — soft, surprised, and way too distracting. Steve’s spoon froze midair. He had to look away, pretending to study the neon menu.

“This is really good,” she murmured, her lips shining with a bit of whipped cream.

Steve reached across without thinking, brushing it away with a napkin. His hand lingered a moment too long, fingers brushing her cheek. When he realized what he’d done, he pulled back like he’d touched fire. “Sorry. Just—uh—you had something there.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you.”

They ate in silence for a while after that, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but felt… fragile.

Then, softly, she asked, “Why are you so nice to me?”

Steve blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t even know me,” she said. “You let me stay in your home. You… you protect me. I don’t understand.”

He set his spoon down, meeting her gaze. “Because you deserve to feel safe. Everyone does.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to say more, but instead, her spoon slipped and clattered against the bowl. Steve bent to pick it up. “I’ll grab you another—”

But before he could move, the spoon lifted gently off the table, floating toward her.

Steve’s breath caught. He reached over, covering her hand, lowering it back down. “Hey,” he whispered, glancing around. “Not in public, okay? It’s not safe.”

Y/N froze, eyes wide — then nodded slowly. Steve didn’t move his hand from hers right away.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You don’t have to hide who you are. Just… not here, alright?”

Her shoulders relaxed at his tone, and she gave the smallest smile — a shy, fragile thing that made something tighten in his chest.

“Okay,” she whispered.

They finished the sundae side by side, the hum of the mall around them fading into something quieter. Steve couldn’t tell if it was the sugar, or her presence, or the way her eyes lingered on him now and then — but something about that moment felt new. Like the start of something neither of them knew how to name yet.

---------------

Nancy curled up on her bed, still smiling as she dialed Robin’s number. “Hey,” she said, twirling the phone cord around her finger. “Date went great, but I have to tell you something before I forget.”

Robin’s voice crackled on the other end. “Uh oh. What?”

“Nancy,” she said, grinning. “Steve definitely likes Y/N. You should’ve seen him today. The way he looked at her in that yellow dress? It was like a scene out of one of those cheesy romance movies he pretends he doesn’t watch.”

Robin snorted. “No way. Steve? Our Steve?”

“Oh, absolutely. He doesn’t even know it yet, but that boy’s in deep.”

Both of them dissolved into giggles, their laughter spilling through the phone line, warm and fond.

“Guess we’ll just have to wait,” Robin said, sighing dramatically. “He’ll figure it out all by himself soon enough.”

The front door creaked open at nearly the same time.

Steve stumbled in, arms full of shopping bags, Y/N trailing behind him with the rest. She looked tired but content, her steps light as she set the bags down by the couch.

“Okay,” Steve exhaled, stretching his back. “We officially bought half the mall.”

Y/N laughed softly under her breath, a sound that made his stomach twist in the best way.

He glanced at the pile, then suddenly groaned. “Ah, crap. We forgot to get you pajamas.”

She tilted her head, blinking up at him.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. “You can wear some of mine for now.”

He disappeared into his room and came back holding a pair of grey sweatpants and a faded old gym shirt from freshman year — one with his last name printed across the back. It looked huge in her hands.

“They’ll probably be too big,” he said, rubbing his neck awkwardly, “but—uh—they’re clean. And soft.”

Y/N smiled, clutching them like they were made of silk. “Thank you.”

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” he said, pointing. “You can try the new soaps Nancy got you.”

The moment she closed the door, Steve sank into the couch and cracked open a soda, the carbonation hissing quietly. He leaned his head back against the cushion, staring at the ceiling.

It was wild how fast everything had changed. One week ago, his biggest problem was passing summer school. Now there was a girl with powers sleeping under his roof — a girl with kind eyes, a quiet laugh, and a story that made his chest ache just thinking about it.

He took another sip of soda. What the hell are you doing, Harrington?

The bathroom door opened with a faint click.

Y/N stepped out, steam curling from the doorway. Her damp hair clung to her cheeks, and Steve’s shirt hung loosely on her, sleeves falling past her elbows. Her skin looked soft, freshly scrubbed, the faint smell of honey and citrus drifting through the air.

She padded over and sat beside him on the couch, tucking her legs up under her.

“You can change the channel,” he said, nodding to the TV. “I was just catching up on basketball.”

She tilted her head — then, without touching the remote, the channel flicked once. Twice.

Steve blinked, half a laugh escaping him. “Right. Forgot you could do that.”

Y/N kept flipping until the screen landed on a documentary about ocean life. A narrator’s calm voice filled the room, describing coral reefs and migrating whales. Her eyes stayed glued to the screen, glowing blue in the TV light, like she was trying to memorize the world she’d missed.

Steve smiled faintly. Cute, he thought, before he could stop himself.

He got up and made popcorn, returning to find her leaning forward slightly, completely captivated by the jellyfish drifting across the screen. She took a handful from the bowl when he offered it, their fingers brushing for half a second longer than they needed to.

They didn’t talk much after that. The room was warm and quiet — the kind of quiet that felt safe.

Halfway through the documentary, Steve noticed she’d slumped to the side, head tilted against the couch cushion. Her hand still rested in the bowl, a few kernels clinging to her palm.

He smiled softly, lifting the bowl from her fingers and setting it on the coffee table. She barely stirred.

Pulling the couch blanket over her shoulders, he stood there for a moment, watching her breathe. The flickering light of the TV washed over her face, making her look peaceful — like she’d finally found somewhere she could rest.

Steve exhaled and raked a hand through his hair, forcing himself to step back.

He took a long shower, letting the water beat down on his shoulders. But even with his eyes closed, all he could see was her — in his shirt, in his house, asleep on his couch.

And for the first time in a long time, Steve Harrington wasn’t sure if he’d done the right thing.

Because the girl he’d promised to protect… was starting to feel like the one he couldn’t afford to fall for.

----------------

The next morning the world felt still — sunlight slipping through the curtains, the smell of coffee filling the Harrington kitchen. Steve leaned against the counter, sipping from a chipped mug, half awake and half thinking about the girl still asleep in his guest room.

He’d stayed up too late the night before, replaying the way she’d fallen asleep during the documentary — how peaceful she’d looked, how strange it felt to have someone else’s quiet presence in his house again.

The phone rang, breaking his thoughts. He grabbed it.

“Yo, Harrington! Summer party tonight,” one of his friends shouted over the crackle of static and music. “Big pool thing over at the Hendersons’ cousin’s place. You coming or what?”

Steve hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

When he hung up, he found Y/N standing in the doorway, still in his oversized shirt, hair a sleepy mess.

“Morning,” he said, voice soft. “You sleep okay?”

She nodded, rubbing her eyes.

He hesitated before speaking again. “So, uh… there’s a party tonight. Thought maybe you’d wanna come? Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan will be there too. It’s chill, nothing crazy. You don’t have to, but—”

“I’ll go,” she said quietly, surprising him.

He blinked. “Yeah?”

Her nod was shy, but real. “I want to.”

By early evening, the house buzzed with laughter and movement. Robin and Nancy had arrived with bags full of makeup, hairbrushes, and accessories, claiming the guest room like a small beauty salon.

Steve sat on the couch, pretending to read a magazine, but the sound of their giggles and chatter drifted down the hallway — soft, warm, alive.

It made something ease in his chest. His house, for so long too big and too quiet, suddenly felt like it had a heartbeat.

“Steve!” Robin shouted through the door. “No peeking, dingus!”

He chuckled, tossing the magazine aside. “Wasn’t planning to!”

“Sure you weren’t,” Robin teased.

The door finally opened after what felt like forever.

Nancy walked out first, adjusting her earrings; Robin followed, grinning and twirling dramatically. But when Y/N stepped into the hallway, everything around Steve seemed to slow down.

She wasn’t overdressed — just soft curls, a bit of gloss on her lips, a sundress in a color that made her eyes stand out. Simple. Beautiful. She shifted nervously under his gaze, smoothing her hands down the fabric.

Steve cleared his throat, trying not to stare but failing miserably. “Wow. Uh… you guys all look great.”

Robin elbowed him playfully. “You mean we or she?”

Steve shot her a look. “All of you,” he said quickly — though his eyes lingered on Y/N a moment too long, the corner of his mouth lifting in a quiet smile.

Her cheeks warmed, but she smiled back, small and hesitant.

“Ready?” Nancy asked, grabbing her bag.

Y/N nodded.

Steve grabbed his car keys and glanced back once more before heading out. The girls followed, laughter filling the air behind him.

He didn’t say it out loud, but as they walked toward the car — her soft footsteps next to his — he realized something he hadn’t wanted to admit until now:

He liked the sound of her laughter in his house. He liked the way her name sounded when he said it. And God help him — he was already in trouble.

-------------

The sun had barely dipped below the trees when they pulled up to the party. Music drifted through the thick summer air, mixed with the smell of sunscreen, barbecue smoke, and chlorine. Strings of fairy lights looped over the pool, and the water glowed electric blue beneath them.

Y/N hesitated just behind Steve’s shoulder as they stepped inside the gate. The hum of voices was louder than she expected; too many people, too much movement. Steve turned to her, voice low enough that only she could hear. “Hey. You’re good. Stick with us, yeah?”

She nodded, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Robin gave her an encouraging smile and tugged her toward the snack table.

Within minutes, people were greeting Steve, clapping him on the shoulder, shouting his name. He gave the usual half-smile, the one that said he’d been to a thousand parties like this before, but his eyes kept sliding back toward Y/N. She was standing beside Robin, head tilted curiously at a bowl of neon-colored punch, like she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

Two guys from his summer class wandered over, plastic cups in hand. “Yo, Harrington,” one of them said, eyeing the girls. “Who’s that with you? Haven’t seen her around before.”

Steve’s jaw flexed. “Family friend. Just moved here.” He said it lightly, but there was a quiet finality in his tone that made both of them back off a step.

“Pretty cute,” the other guy muttered, elbowing his friend. Steve’s eyes flicked toward him, calm but sharp. “Yeah,” he said evenly. “She’s taken care of.”

The guys laughed awkwardly and moved on.

Robin, who’d been close enough to hear, arched an eyebrow. “You do realize you just scared off half the pool?”

Steve shrugged, pretending not to care. “What? I’m just making sure she’s not overwhelmed. She doesn’t… know people yet.”

Robin smirked. “Sure, hero. Just looking out for her.”

Across the yard, Y/N had found Nancy and Jonathan by the pool steps. Someone handed her a soda; she thanked them politely, smile small but genuine. Every once in a while, her gaze drifted toward Steve—just long enough for Robin to notice.

Steve, for his part, didn’t flirt with anyone. A few girls tried—laughing at his old stories, touching his arm—but his attention kept wandering back to the edge of the pool where Y/N was sitting, dipping her toes into the water. Her expression was a mix of wonder and something softer, like she was finally tasting normal life again.

Robin nudged him. “You know, for someone who said this party would be fun, you’ve barely looked away from her all night.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “I’m just making sure she’s okay.”

“Uh-huh.” Robin rolled her eyes, smiling. “You’re hopeless.”

Steve didn’t answer. The music swelled, lights reflecting in Y/N’s hair, and he thought—just for a second—that maybe Robin was right.

The party had thinned out by the time the moon rose. Laughter drifted faintly from the backyard, fading into the steady hum of cicadas. Down by the lake, away from the lights and noise, the air was cooler, the water rippling silver in the dark.

Y/N sat on the wooden dock, shoes off, toes skimming the surface. The breeze played with the hem of her dress. She could still hear distant music, but out here it sounded soft, far away, like another world.

Steve found her there a few minutes later, hands shoved in his pockets. “Thought I’d find you out here,” he said gently.

She glanced back at him, a little smile tugging at her mouth. “It’s quieter.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, lowering himself to sit beside her. The boards creaked under his weight. “Parties aren’t really my thing anymore.”

Y/N tilted her head. “You seemed like you liked them before.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well. Used to.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. The moonlight painted both their faces pale gold. Y/N watched him from the corner of her eye—how his reflection shimmered in the lake, how he stared at the water like he was thinking too hard.

“What about you?” she asked suddenly. “What do you like to do? When you’re not saving people from monsters or… babysitting the world?”

Steve smiled at that. “I don’t know. Work. Movies. Fixing stuff around the house.”

“Must be nice,” she said softly. “Having a house.”

He shrugged, looking down at his hands. “It’s big. Kind of empty, actually. My parents are gone most of the year, so it’s just… me. And a lot of silence.”

Y/N studied him quietly. There was a sadness in the way he said it, the kind that didn’t always show in words.

Her eyes caught on a faint scar near his collarbone, half hidden by his shirt. “That hurt?” she asked, pointing.

He looked surprised, fingers brushing it unconsciously. “Oh. That one? Demogorgon. Long story.”

She reached out before she could stop herself, tracing it lightly with her fingertip. “You don’t look scared.”

Steve swallowed, every muscle still. “Guess I got used to being scared,” he said after a beat, voice low. Her touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver up his neck all the same.

She pulled her hand back, frowning slightly. “Sorry.”

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s okay.”

They sat in silence again, the sound of the water lapping at the dock. After a moment Y/N asked, “Won’t your girlfriend mind that I’m staying at your house?”

Steve turned his head toward her, one eyebrow raised. “Girlfriend?”

She nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “You seem… popular.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Nah. No girlfriend. Not for a while.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Oh.”

“Guess I’m just… waiting for something that feels real, you know?” he said, voice softer now. He looked back toward the water, avoiding her eyes.

Y/N nodded slowly, thinking about how strange it was to feel seen by someone for the first time. The stars rippled on the surface of the lake between them.

For a long while, neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to. The quiet said enough.

-------------