The River's Daughter

You feel it, you always feel it. You feel her all around you— at night when the fireplace burns a little too bright or when the snow falls a little too heavy outside, making it impossible to sleep without imagining what she felt, how she felt and why you hadn’t tried harder, why you hadn’t just grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her inside, instead of ‘respecting her boundaries’ or rather her temper tantrum— Jackie Taylor had a lot of those, none that had yet cost her her life. Well, not until her very last one. Oh, how her ‘boundaries’ had cost you, and more importantly what they had cost her.

But, you also feel something else, something other than grief and despair and her warped presence all around you— like a reminder of the piece of shit you really are. It’s darker, twisted in nature— that sick, depraved sensation that you’ve been feeling ever since you tried human flesh for the first time. Worse, the flesh of the person you loved. Or claimed to love. No lover would ever do what you did. Would take what you took. But hunger— deep, all consuming, bottomless hunger. Had spoken louder than your love that night.

And now you had to live with the consequences. Just like her bones would forever remain meatless and discarded inside the crashed plane— corrupt, torn, like they never existed, like you never existed, like you and her never meant anything. Because maybe, just maybe she was right, you were all just shells with nothing inside waiting for your inevitable end. Or maybe you should’ve tried harder to prove her wrong.

It doesn’t matter now. She’s dead. You’re not. And you’d live out the rest of your days in this cursed forest wishing otherwise.

But Jackie had other plans— or rather— your depraved hallucination of your deceased girlfriend— had other plans. Like clockwork you'd wake up every morning with her voice inside your head. Sometimes the voice was cheery and light— like the Jackie you used to know. But, the majority of the time, it was the opposite. It was soulless and angry and it made tears prickle at the corner of your eyes.

The sun had barely risen, but it was enough for some scattered sunbeams to perforate the tightly shut windows of the cabin. Everyone was asleep— well, everyone but Nat and Travis who were still in search of food, now that the “Jackie supply” was gone. It made you sick just to think about it. But not sicker than what you felt when you heard your name ringing throughout the cabin followed by a suspicious dripping sound.

“Stop…” You whisper to yourself, hoping, praying that she’d leave you alone.

But she doesn’t stop, she laughs. And the mumbles, whispers and prayers get louder and louder. Making it impossible to hear anything else. You look around and see your teammates fast asleep— snoring, dreaming. Of home? Of somewhere warmer than this place?

Your heavy breathing creates a cloud of condensation around the area of your mouth. It almost looks like cigarette smoke on a cold autumn night. You remember how you’d sneak cigarettes into Jackie’s house and smoke them out of her guest bedroom’s window. Hoping and praying that her parents wouldn’t catch the two of you. But that’s gone now, and so is she.

The voice gets louder again and you have no choice but to leave the cabin before you start arguing with it like a crazy person and wake everyone around you. You’re not dressed appropriately for the weather. You don’t care. Maybe you’ll freeze to death and Nat and Travis will finally return to the cabin with meat, once they spot your body outside, frozen in the cold— human meat. God knows you deserve it. At least you’d finally see her again.

Your boots stump through the layers of thick, white snow making a crunching noise with each clumsy step you take. The lack of sustenance makes it hard to walk in a straight line so you currently look like you’re attempting to walk home after far too many at one of Lottie’s parties.

“Damn, haven’t seen you stumbling that badly since Mari’s birthday party.” — The voice, Jackie’s voice. Unmistakable, clear as day.

Your eyes well up with tears as you scream out to the trees around you begging for it to stop, begging for some kind of unattainable salvation. “Please, stop.”

“You might not wanna do that— you look kinda crazy.”

You open your eyes and look around the tall, snow covered trees. “Jackie…”

“In the flesh. Well… not really because you ate it all. How did I taste?”

The corners of your mouth start to turn downward like a toddler about to throw a fit in a supermarket. “This isn’t funny. You need to stop!”

“Stop what? I’m dead. Unless, you want this version of me gone too…” The voice mumbles, so dejected, so real that it makes guilt scratch at your conscience.

“You’re not real!”

You feel a cold, uncomfortable, awful sensation pass through the skin of your stomach before you’re looking at a perfect replica of your dead girlfriend. Down to the letterman jacket she wore proudly until her very last day.

“Aren’t I?” Jackie says, if she weren’t so pale and you hadn’t eaten the meat off her bones you’d argue she never died.

“How— it’s not… what?” Tears run down your reddened cheeks and freeze before they can leave your skin completely.

“No, I'm not a ghost. I know that’s what you’re gonna ask.” She affirms.

“That was not—” You protest. Petulantly so.

“Then what is it? Want me to prove I’m really me?” She mocks.

Well, you do want her to do that. “I mean… that’d help.”

“When you kissed me for the first time I was still with Jeff.” Ghost-Jackie confesses.

You stop at that. “You what?”

“What?” She shrugs her shoulders. “I didn’t know whether or not you… liked me like that. I had to be sure… So, I only broke things off with him… like a week later.”

“Jackie what the hell!”

“Hey!” She calls out, putting a pale hand over her translucent chest. “No yelling at the dead!”

“Yes, yelling at the dead. I can’t believe I helped you cheat.” You scream, heat would be rising up your neck if you weren’t about to freeze to death.

“Cheating is a very harsh word! And, if it makes you feel better, you’re still standing and I’m not.”

“That does not—” But your tantrum is interrupted by a freezing cold sensation on your lips. One, that’s not caused by the snow or the wind. “What the hell—” You exclaim, before looking at the culprit right in front of you.

“Huh…” Jackie hums, more to herself than to you. “I didn’t think that would work…” She comments, fascinated.

The next touch you feel is under your jacket— in your chest. Jackie always loved your boobs, and right now she didn’t even need to take your jacket off to feel them. You wondered if she could see them too.

“How…” You begin once you feel her freezing hands playing around with your chest. You have to bite your cheek in order to not moan at the almost pleasant sensation. You decide to stretch your hand further to touch her face. But when you do, all you feel is a strange, cold sensation. Like passing your hand through a mist. You frown. “How come you can feel me and I can’t feel you?”

“Tricks of the trade I suppose. You can’t have everything, now can you?”

But before you’re able to mouth off you feel her death-cold fingers on your clit, rubbing the little bundle of nerves from underneath your trousers. “What are you…?”

“Shh…” She shushes. Continuing on with her soothing movements. “Just let it happen.”

And you do. You let her keep rubbing your clit. While her other hand plays with your breasts. You don't know how long you stay there. Clearly not long enough in order for it to be reasonable for you to be coming into your pants from just a little clit stimulation and breast-play— well, you’ve been in the woods for months on end, action-less, so maybe you could attribute it to that. You slump against a nearby tree in order to catch your breath. The wetness in your pants makes you uncomfortable beyond belief. But not as uncomfortable as when you think about the fact that a ghost just got you off.

You close your eyes before speaking, like seeing her face is too much for you to bear, even after what just happened. “Will I see you again?” You ask, voice small like one of a little kid.

Jackie waits for you to open your eyes before responding. “Of course.” She says, topping off her response with one of her kind smiles filled with pep.

And you did see her again. In a span of only a couple of hours you were able to, not only see her, but feel her as well! With only the small price of your life.

You felt bad once you heard Nat and Travis’ sobs over your snow covered body.

But, at least, they wouldn’t be hungry till spring. And you wouldn’t have to live with the guilt anymore.

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An Ashwinder’s wand to his neck and Sebastian could honestly and truly say that he was … alright.

Life wasn’t perfect, by any means. His uncle was murdered dead, an estranged twin sister in Paris who refuses to answer his letters, a mistrustful Ominis that breathes on his neck, and a tattered companionship that was barely hanging on by a thread.

But he was okay.

Thankfully, Solomon was still dead, Anne was still alive and finally cured, and still cranky Ominis is now open to reconciliation. Plus, if all else had fallen, he at least managed to save your cherished friendship thanks to your forgiving nature.

Thus, as thanks to the people who had not yet given up on him, he had sworn to live the rest of his academic life as a meek, unassuming, law-abiding student of Hogwarts.

And he did such a good job at it.

The professors are now impressed at his steadily increasing grades (so much so that the Ravenclaws are now finally seeing him as a threat again) and he even managed to make Imelda’s team as her beater to keep him occupied.

The latter, however, had a grating consequence – he had become popular.

It was thrilling, at first, he went on dates to make up for the years he had lost, kissed the pretty girls because it felt like he should (as one of the few bastards lucky enough to live every raging teenager’s dream), and accepted the slaps on the face politely when they inevitably broke up.

But now he’s just gotten tired and bored of it all.

Ominis says it’s a genius’ folly, to always find a fault in something and then drop it when it doesn’t quite meet his standard of perfect. Leander says he’s just a bastard.

He cups his face with his hand, wincing. Her fucking ring caught on his skin and he can’t be arsed to suffer through the bitterness of a Wiggenweld Potion for a mere scratch.

Garreth doesn’t bother to swallow his bread before saying, “Really, mate? I thought you liked this one?”

“Liked her rack, more likely,” Andrew quipped from his seat on the stone steps of the boathouse.

Sebastian threw his scarf on his face, satisfied at his squawk.

“No talking about my ex-girlfriends,” he warned. It was one of his few rules when it came to his male friends. He may be a bastard but as someone with a sister and a couple of good female friendships, he makes it a point to never become one of those losers who talk badly about women they have a history with. Just so he can have a moral high ground when he beats up anyone who might do it to his friends.

“All right, all right,” Andrew raised his hands in playful surrender, throwing Sebastian’s scarf back to him. “But as your friend, I think it’s about time you stop swapping out girls every time you get bored of them.”

“I don’t swap them out,” he rolls his eyes. “Breakups are normal.”

“Breakups are normal,” Garreth points out. “Six breakups in 2 years is an issue.”

“Maybe I’m just meant for the bachelor life,” he mumbles, ignoring the pointed accusation from Garreth. Fucking perceptive prick. “Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate in Hogwarts, asshole.”

Garreth grins, “Natty’s great, isn’t she?”

Sebastian and Andrew both throw their scarves at him, the three of them bursting out in laughter and boos.

“To the Three Broomsticks, then?” Andrew stood up, patting his pants.

As 7th years it was nearly impossible to take a breather with the looming threat of exams that will dictate the rest of your life and the inescapable trap of adulthood that awaits them in a couple of months. So, his friends had made it a point to at least go out once every week whenever they could, really take advantage of their last year as students where they had no other responsibility but to survive the week.

In a year’s time, seeing each other as often as they do will be nothing short of a miracle.

“Leander and Everett are already there, saved up a table since it’s a Friday, it’s gonna be packed full,” Andrew explains.

Sebastian looks around, eyes scanning the castle in the setting sun. “You go on ahead I’m waiting for –”

“Sebastian!”

A flash of movement appeared rushing down the stairs towards the boathouse, your face beaming as you waved to the three of them. When you were a foot away from him you jumped into his arms, shrieking energetically when he grabbed your waist and lifted you above his head.

“Sorry, I’m late,” you pant, smiling at your friends once you’re back on the ground. “Professor Hecate asked me to stay back for a minute, something about revisions on my research.”

“I can’t believe you got permission to research in The Restricted Section after the crazy nonsense you pulled in 5th year,” Garreth shook his head. Sebastian wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, beaming in pride. Nobody knows but the two of you that the very thing you were researching were the technicalities of how you broke Anne’s curse so it could be taught to the nurses in St. Mungos and hopefully spread to the rest of wizardkind.

“It’s exactly because I had the nerve to break the rules that I was given the honorable opportunity,” you dramatically curtsied. “And they said Gryffindors were the brave ones.”

That made Sebastian laugh. Garreth blinks, eyes squinting at him for a second but he doesn’t look offended, more … focused on Sebastian.

“Alright, no more of that House Rivalry. Quidditch Season is over,” Andrew quips.

“Wiped your asses there too, Larson,” he quipped, Andrew’s jaw drops, looking at Garreth for help and receiving none. He was still staring at Sebastian, eyes shifting between him and you.

Andrew groans. “Slytherins are assholes.”

Slytherins are, apparently, also light-weights.

Well, at least one of them is.

He adjusts his hold on your body as the other hand wraps his coat around your body properly. After your last ‘improved’ butterbeer you had slumped into his lap, rudely snoozing off on the crook of his neck and refusing to wake up even when it was time for your group to leave – not that he would’ve allowed that to happen, with your demanding research it was a miracle to get you to sleep let alone let loose.

The rest of the group had gone in first to scope the scenery and bribe the patrolling Head students with leftover chips while he and Garreth were stuck carrying you and an unconscious Amit that they had managed to catch last-minute in Hogsmeade. Poor bastard.

“I was thinking –”

“Please don’t,” he groans.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian stops his fussing, barely able to use his head to ensure he keeps walking, and continue to Act Normal, now using both of his hands to hold you tighter.

“You’re drunk,” he deflects. The puffs of your breath warm his entire body.

“Because! When I think about it …”

Please, for the love of the great Merlin stop thinking.

“You’ve been inseparable from the start! I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated. You say your past relationships got boring and got annoying but you’ve never been bored and annoyed with her and you’ve been friends for years!”

Bored with you? He’s had more near-fatal heart attacks because of you than breakups. Sebastian barely had the time to be bored. And sometimes you do get at each other’s throats but it was always fixed after a proper conversation. If his killing his uncle couldn’t turn you away then he doubts anything you do could ever turn him away.

“Plus, with all the respect and love to my beautiful darling Natty, she’s a fucking catch, mate!”

If Garreth wasn’t carrying a sinless half-dead Amit, Sebastian would’ve punched him in his mouth just to stop him from talking.

“I’m just saying,” Garreth walks ahead of him, clearly aware of the fuse he had just lit. Sebastian was tempted to kick the back of his knees just for the satisfaction of seeing him fall.  “Maybe you can join the club and find your soulmate in Hogwarts.”

Garreth winks.

“We’re still accepting members.”

He’s decided.

He needs to kill Garreth.

He has not been able to sleep properly for the past week and it’s all because of that ginger prick and his needless remarks.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian’s pencil cracks in his hand.

“Is he alright?” he hears an underclassman whisper on the other table. He glances at them and they flinch. Quickly, he softens his expression ("You really need to stop scowling at people, Sebastian."), unaware he had glared at them and sent a wary smile in apology. It would just be unfair to aim his ire at innocent people when he could just use it to rip out every strand of Weasley’s hair.

“He’s been staring at that page for an hour. Maybe we should call –”

He stands up, escaping.

Sebastian never realized just how much he spent his time with you until people were looking at him funny when he was walking or sitting alone in public places. At first, he thought there had been crumbs on his face or one of his asshole friends stuck a note on his back like a kid. Plus, he hadn’t been feeling his best since that night but he thought it had been the lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until he had met Imelda on the grounds that he found his answer:

“Where’s the rest of you?”

He blinked at his captain, “I’m sorry?”

She shook her head. “Man, it feels weird seeing you alone. Did you guys have a fight? You’re usually shadowing her like a puppy after class.”

Then everything clicks, the strange looks, the feeling of missing something (like a forgotten important homework after he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower) – it’s been a side effect of avoiding you.

Okay, it’s not that he’s avoiding you per se. He just needs space. He needs to think and he finds that can’t do that once he feels your eyes on him. With his luck, you’re going to see right through him and that would just be unideal if not a fucking catastrophe.

That’s why he’s taken it upon himself to stay off your way until he puts his thoughts in a row and finally screws his head on straight again. Or he could just kill Garreth, get sent straight to Azakaban, and avoid confronting these complicated thoughts altogether.

“I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated!”

He sits on a bench, hands on his head as he let out a prolonged groan, “The fucking bastard.”

Why did he have to point it out? Why did Garreth have to bring what he, upon reflection, was buried on the back of his head, just waiting for that one little flick of acknowledgment before it blew his brains out.

Because Sebastian is a lot of things but he’s not a fucking moron.

It’s not that the thought of being together is unpleasant. If he lets himself consider it his chest feels like it would escape his ribcage both in excitement and utter terror.

But Garreth was right: he’d actually never thought about it before – hadn’t really conceived the idea as something that was conceivable in this reality.

He has a feeling it was his way of preserving whatever pure relationship he had left. He’s not exactly rich with true companionship and he’s not idiotic enough to risk it all over a bloody crush. 

And not just any crush – his best friend, the person who saved his life and then helped him rebuild it when he was finished smashing it to pieces. The one who never turned her back even when his blood had given up. The girl who has a line of eligible bachelors following her on their knees for a single chance, ones who could offer her more than he ever could – ones who could offer her the world.

So, yeah – forgive him, but he’s never really allowed himself to entertain the idea of them dating. Sebastian has tested his luck enough.

Unless the roles switch and he gets to save the wizarding world this time then maybe … yeah, maybe -- maybe in another fucking life,

The thought makes him stand up, walking straight out of the campus to hopefully drown the sorrows of the depressing state of his love life with the best fire whiskey Hogshead could offer. How does he even move on from this? How does he make peace with the fact that he has sealed his fate of living the rest of his life alone? 

It’s impossible, he’s decided. Even if he graduates at the top of the classes he is taking and gets accepted into the Auror Programme that Sharp had recommended him for, their social standing is still heavens apart. He’s an orphan, with a husk of an extended family and no money to his name.

It wouldn’t matter to you, never really cared for pure bloodlines or lineages and he knows anyone who brings that up when they’re courting you will receive the most disgusted look on your face. 

But he cares – you are the most special person in his life. He wants the best for you. And the best is not something he can provide.

His depressing thoughts halt as his steps falter, a familiar scent tickling his nose. A familiar scent that leads straight into the Forbidden Forest. When he looks up to the sky, he realizes the sun has almost finished setting.

She can’t be that reckless, right?

He was barely surprised when he chanted the incantation that triggered the charm they had both put in their necklaces, the sparkling thread leads straight into the forest. And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does then he knows exactly where it’s gonna lead to.

There goes his late-night plan.

It isn’t exactly his first jaunt in the forbidden space but it still gives him the creeps especially so close to the night. Why you’re so fond of the place is something he’ll never understand.

But that’s just the way you were, just another part of your quirks that makes you so endearing.

How you throw your head back when you laugh, that you get so cranky when you’re studying that no one dares to approach you but him, even the way you messily eat your favorite chocolate pastry of the week yet never fail to share a piece with him.

With this new revelation, he bitterly accepts the reason for his philandering ways. That he simply is another bastard who is coping with not being able to attain the love of his life at the expense of those poor girls.

His self-condemnation however was cut short when he heard the waterfall, not being able to help the smile on his face when he turned the corner and found you just as he had expected: in the middle of the clear, dark, water, floating carelessly on your back.

Gods, you are a beauty. He’s always thought so, the entire male race in Hogwarts thought so too. If they somehow get to break through your walls and manage to get to know you, he might just have to beat them away with an actual stick.

“Sebastian,” you smile, his heart stops. “I knew you’d find me.”

You swim to him gracefully, barely disturbing the water with only your eyes above the water but there was no hiding the grin in your face. Like a pitiful sailor seduced by a siren, his feet dragged him to the edge, a short ledge above from where you were looking up at him.

“You left your scent on purpose,” he states, kneeling to get a closer look at you. What a beauty – mischievous, cunning, irresistible. He’s never loved anyone more. “Naughty, naughty, darling.”

She pulls herself up the ledge, their faces inches away from each other. He nails his eyes to yours so they wouldn’t be tempted to look down at your soaking figure cloaked only by a thin chemise “I had to get you somehow, knew you couldn’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“Funny,” he softly glares, chuckling when she preens, clearly satisfied that her plan worked perfectly. “With all the water in the Black Lake, you had to pick the Forbidden Forest to swim in.”

You dip yourself back down in the water, swimming away but still facing him. “Come, Sebastian. I’ve been bored all week since you’ve been avoiding me.”

Guilt runs through his spine at the sudden coldness in your offhanded comment. Clearly, his absence hasn’t escaped your notice as he had hoped.

Like a scolded pup, he follows your command to a T. Eyes never leaving your floating figure as he removed his coat, folding it neatly along with the rest of his clothes until he was left in his underclothes.

He winces at the touch of the freezing water. A heating charm would do wonders but the way your unsympathetic eyes never left his figure gave him a feeling that this was a punishment he was meant to endure.

He steels himself, diving into the water and only resurfacing when he is right in front of you. “You called?”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you splash the cold water at him, shrieking when he reaches out for your arms and barely managing to slip away.

He dives again, grinning at your confused flounder, until you realize your mistake, looking down just as he catches your waist, your surprised shriek, and his unrestrained laughter breaks through the quiet of the forest.

“You done running now, pet?” he locks his hands on your back, pushing you close until he is carrying both your weight in the water, chin resting on your chest as your hands run through his soaking hair.

Your darkened hair frames your face, like a sheer curtain it drops, teasing his cheeks, and hiding your conversation from the rest of the forest – in the dimness, your eyes have never been more radiant, even if it was clearly pissed at him.

Skinship wasn’t foreign between the two of you. When you’ve saved each other’s lives from certain death more times than you care to count, cuddling is the least of your worries.

But there is something about the forest's silence, the sparse moonlight that peaks through the dense trees, the sound of the droplets falling from your hair to the water, and the distant echoes of the animals that make everything ... intimate. 

“Are you?” you throw his question back at him mercilessly, your hands on the back of his neck, locking his face to look up at you – finally at you. The weeklong separation had been torture and now that the distance had cut his regular contact with his favorite witch, he finally realized how fast his heart was beating when he was around her.

He smiles.

He was satisfied, he swore he was.

Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. He shouldn’t strive for more, couldn’t allow himself that luxury – the luxury of love, the luxury of you.

But as he stares at your eyes, as he feels the ice in your skin, as he imagines a future where it wasn't him that gets to bite the plump of your lips – that dirty, greedy part of him crawls out of the hole he had shoved it in.

He feels it win.

“Are you done running now?” you whisper, a droplet falls from the tip of your nose to the space just below his eyes, his breath hitches, like your magnetic presence had sucked out all the air of the forest.

“I wasn’t running,” she raises a brow, and Sebastian presses his lips to your ears. “I was thinking.”

“And?”

Leander was right: he really is a bastard.

But he’s a bastard who will no longer wait for another life to love you. He's a bastard who will get what he wants.

You had been halfway through a comic while lying on your bed when your walkie-talkie made a static noise.

Huh. No one ever chirped you this late.

You quietly picked up. “Hello?”

There was a pause, and then a soft rushed. “Hey—hey it’s me. Don’t hang up.”

“Mike, it’s almost midnight,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

“I know, I know,” he exhaled. “I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.”

You sat up, concern running through you. “Important how?”

You heard another pause, and then Mike practically pacing. “I just really need to see you.”

“Mike—”

“Please,” he interrupted. “I know it’s stupid. I know Steve will kill me if he finds out and my mom might ground me ‘till I’m thirty but I—I missed you. Like, a lot.”

You laughed softly. “Mike, you literally saw me yesterday.”

“Okay yeah, but not like this,” he said. “Not where I can actually talk to you, or just have you here…in my bed…with me.”

You hesitated, stifling a laugh from his words. “Are you suggesting I sneak over?”

“Yes,” he said immediately. “I mean—only if you want to. I’m not forcing you, I just—god, I sound desperate.”

“You are desperate,” you giggled.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I am.”

You bit your lip. “But Steve—”

“—is out,” Mike responded. “I checked. Like, twice. He isn’t even home, right? It should be safe for you to come.”

You blinked. “How do you even know that?”

“…I may have asked Dustin,” he said. “Casually. I totally wasn’t stalking your brother.”

You laughed again. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So is that a yes?” he asked hopefully.

“That was a ‘you’re lucky I like you’,” you said. “Give me twenty minutes.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” You could hear him cheering through your walkie talkie.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t,” he happily promised. “Besides I’m the fastest window opener in Hawkins, you’ll be in right away.”

By the time you reached the Wheelers house, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest and your heart rate racing.

You climbed up the pipes and stones until you were in front of his window. You lightly tapped the glass and it opened immediately.

“I told you,” Mike whispered, grinning. “Fastest window opener in Hawkins.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered back as you climbed in.

He held onto your waist, steadying you so you wouldn’t fall. You could see his hands shake slightly as he let go once your feet hit the floor.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you softly said. “Are you though? You were a little shaky.”

“I wasn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay maybe a little,” he admitted. “I just didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“You begged.”

“I asked,” he clarified.

“You begged.”

He sighed. “Okay fine, I begged.”

“So,” you whispered. “Was this worth risking our lives?”

He stepped closer. “Yeah, definitely.”

You sat down on the edge of his bed. “So, what was so important you couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before he sat next to you. “Today has just been bad. Everyone was loud, and I kept thinking about stuff, and then thinking about you, and it just made it worse that I couldn’t talk to you.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “It’s okay, I’m here now.”

There was a moment of silence before he blurted out. “I hate keeping this a secret.”

You looked at him. “Yeah, me too.”

“It’s not that I’m embarrassed,” he rushed to explain. “I’m not. I just want to be able to hold you in front of everyone, and kiss you whenever I want without needing to worry if anyone’s watching. I want to tell our friends, and not freak out every time your brother looks at me.”

You smiled softly. “Steve always looks at you.”

“Exactly, it’s terrifying.”

You laughed, then leaned back on the bed. “Come here.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, Wheeler. You begged me to sneak through your window.”

He lay down beside you, careful at first, leaving space.

“Why are you so far?” you whispered.

He shifted closer.

“Closer.”

He finally relaxed, his shoulder brushing yours. “Thanks for coming,” he softly said.

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled, leaning in with Mike meeting you halfway.

Your lips touched, a slow deep press between the two of you. He responded instantly, his hands finding the curve of your back, and pulled you in close to him.

The kiss lingered as it became deeper and warmer. Mike’s mouth moved against yours with practiced ease, using all the techniques he knew you liked, like he’s learned how to get every small noise you make and pull them out one by one.

You sighed into his mouth, fingers tightening in his shirt. He groaned quietly at the sound.

“Fuck—” he murmured, slightly pulling back. “I missed this.”

You giggled, brushing your nose against his.

He kissed you again—longer this time. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you on top of him. His thumbs pressed into your sides, grounding and possessive in a way that makes your knees weak.

The kiss became indulged, unhurried. Your mouths were parting and reconnecting. There were little pauses that increased the anticipation for you two. You nipped gently at his lower lip, and the sound he makes goes straight through you.

Your hands roamed over his chest, his shoulders, his body. He’s warm beneath you, and every time you touched him—his breath hitched, grip tightened, and his body leaned into yours like he couldn’t get enough.

“God, do you know what you’re doing to me?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

You smiled. “Yeah, I do.”

You kissed along his jaw, down to his neck, just enough to make him tilt his head instinctively.

“Please don’t stop,” he softly begged.

You didn’t. You kissed him long and deep, the kind of kiss that made time blur. Your bodies fit together perfectly, years of knowing each other written in the touch.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. Mike’s lips were swollen and pink from all the contact. His hair was a mess and his pupils were blown.

“Wow, I miss your lips already,” he said.

You laughed, your head ducking into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

When it was time for you to leave, Mike walked you to the window and helped you out. He whispered, “Same time tomorrow?”

“Only if you beg,” you grinned.

Robin was the first one to break her trance. “You called him Steve,” she said, her finger pointing at you accusingly as she sat up straight in the armchair. Steve’s heart, which was already doing double time, picked up the pace. He loved her, but Robin was the last person he would’ve chosen to try and sort out this mess. 

Your head tilted to the side of it’s own accord. “That’s his name?” Max turned towards you, head already in her hand. 

“Riiight,” Robin said, eyes darting between the two of you. “Right! Okay, yes.” She nodded her head slowly, as if trying to convince herself. 

Steve could see Max’s smile threatening to break into a grin, and Dustin looked dangerously close to snarking off. He couldn’t let it go on like this, someone was dangerously close to blowing his poorly maintained cover.

Steve snatched the pile of VHS tapes off the coffee table and flipped through them. The Thing, The Exorcist and The Shining? He was never letting Robin escort the kids to Family Video without him again. Last movie night, you’d all watched Nightmare on Elm Street and you’d nightmares for a week. It wasn’t that he minded you waking him up, but hearing your voice shake over the phone made his chest tight in a way he would do almost anything to avoid. “Executive decision, we aren’t watching any of these.” He announced, tossing the tapes on top of the tv and kneeling down to dig through the entertainment cabinet. 

For once, he was thankful for the chorus of groans and teenage whining from the couch. Anything to break the tension. Steve chanced a glance you and was content to find you giggling with Max and El. Crisis somewhat averted. He grabbed Pretty in Pink off the stack of John Hughes tapes he’d stashed in the back of the cabinet and popped it in. If anyone asked, he’d claim they were his moms. He’d bought them two towns over after you came into Family Video with your heart set on it only to find the shelf empty. 

He flopped down on the couch beside you in this usual spot, mindful not to sit too close. If you were mad at him, he didn’t want to make it worse. You gave him a strange look, but El quickly distracted you by asking to have her hair braided as well. The trailers played softly in the background while the tv casted a cool glow across the room. Steve was thankful you were distracted, because he couldn’t stop watching you out of the corner of his eyes. 

You smiled at the top of El’s head, unfazed to be missing the beginning of your favorite movie. He wracked his brain, trying to figure out what had caused you to drop his nickname. He’d been on time picking you up from work, but even when he’s been occasionally late you hadn’t minded in the slightest. You’d seemed fine last night on the phone when you’d called to make sure that he’d gotten home okay. He was in the middle of replaying the short conversation you’d had when he opened the door when your hand found his and your head settled on his shoulder. El had rejoined the pile of teenagers and snacks on the rug and you were right back where you belonged.  

“You okay?” He asked quietly, leaning so close his lips almost brushed the top of your head. Your concentration on the tv didn’t break as you hummed a ‘hmm?’ back to him. Steve smiled despite himself. “You okay, honey?” 

His heart shuddered when he realized a nickname of his own had slipped out. A quick glance around you confirmed that you were just as focused on Andie making her prom dress as you had been thirty seconds ago. You nodded, adjusting so that you could nuzzle further into his bicep, your grip on his left arm growing tighter. “I’m fine, Steve.” Your voice was muffled, but Steve still felt his stomach drop.

Steve didn't realize he’d spent the whole movie worrying over whatever must’ve done to upset you until the credits roll and the kids are gathering up their blankets and pillows from the floor. He started to stand up to chauffeur everyone home, but you weren’t following suit. In fact, your lashes were brushing the tops of your cheeks and your breathing was deep and steady. You’d fallen asleep on him.

Mercifully, Robin was already corralling the kids out of the house, confirming that she would walk them to the Wheeler’s. “Talk to her, Stevie!” She calls from the front door before shutting it behind he. Steve winced, glancing down at you to confirm that you hadn’t woken up. If you hadn’t been dead to the world on his chest, he would’ve given her an earful. 

He felt like he was going to be sick from all the whiplash. You were so unbelievably normal today. You were sweet with the kids, laughing with Robin and unable to last through an entire movie without falling asleep. It all checked out. And still, he was ‘Steve’. His head fell back against the sofa, and he fought the urge to groan. Suddenly, he was tired. Surely it wouldn't hurt to rest his eyes for a second.

Steve woke up to the sight of you about to slip out the front door. “What’re you doing?” He asked, his voice heavy with sleep. 

You froze with the door half open, as if he’d caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. Your eyebrows scrunched together and your lips parted in an ‘o’. “Just, I didn’t realize I fell asleep,” you said, your hand still grasping the handle of the Harrington’s front door. “Felt wrong to wake you up,” you shrugged.

Steve scrambled over the back of the couch, nearly falling when his foot caught on one of the kids’ blankets. A strangled cry of “Wait!” Came out shakily as he managed to catch himself before falling face first into the carpet.

“Oh my god, Steve!” You laughed, doubling over at the waist. 

Usually, the sound would cause the butterflies in his stomach to kick up. But there it was again. ‘Steve’. He gently took your hand off of the door handle, shutting the door behind you. “We’ve gotta talk about this, honey.” His thumb was rubbing soft circles around your knuckles, and when he noticed what he was doing, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

You leaned back against the door, ducking down in order to catch his gaze. “Is everything okay?” Steve could feel his cheeks turning pink, and it was suddenly very difficult to meet your eyes. 

He took a deep breath, and leaned his free hand on the door behind you. “You’ve been calling me Steve all day.” 

“Oh, that.” Your eyes are wide, and if he’s not mistaken, you’re pouting. 

It’s one of the cutest things he’s ever seen and he can’t help it, he’s grinning. “Yeah, that.” Maybe you don’t hate him after all. He squeezed your hand once, and then threaded your fingers together. “You’re breakin’ my heart here.” 

“I just,” you started to explain and then paused, taking a deep breath and gathering your courage. “Didn’t wanna embarrass you.” 

Steve’s hand slid down the doorway to rest on the side of your neck. “Now where’d you get a crazy idea like that?” the tip of his nose was nearly brushing against yours. “Thought you were mad at me all day, honey.” 

You blinked up at him, suddenly feeling woozy. You had always been affectionate with each other, but something about this felt different. “When I was visiting you at work the other day?” Steve nodded, doing his best to be patient. “I, well…” you weren’t sure how to get the words out. “I heard the kids laughing at us, and I just. I don’t know. I guess I got shy.” 

Steve was holding himself back from rolling his eyes. Those little shits managed to get in the way of things even when they weren’t in the building. “I’m sure they weren’t laughing at you, honey.” 

Embarrassed tears begin to well at the corners of your eyes. “I’m pretty sure.” Steve’s hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that managed to escape. “They were giggling, and I thought it was just over a movie or something,” Steve nodded, his hand not leaving your face. “But then I heard Dusty say ‘she doesn’t even know’ and they all took turns saying… well. They were all saying ‘Stevie’ in high voices. And I don’t even sound like that!” You winced, hearing your voice pitch up at the end. 

“When have you ever cared what the kids think? Hell, when have I ever cared what they think?” He was laughing, but it didn’t feel unkind. You could tell he wasn’t laughing at you. 

“And you always tell them to shut up if they call you Stevie. I thought maybe you didn’t like it anymore.” 

You hesitated, the reality of the situation really hitting you for the first time. Steve had you trapped between him and the door, one hand intertwined with yours and the other making lazy strokes across your cheekbone. And he was hurt that you’d stopped using his nickname. One that you have specifically heard him telling the others that they weren’t allowed to use. Did he-? No. 

“I was so worried.” He said, voice barely a whisper. 

“About what?” Your asked gently, matching his volume. 

“Thought I’d screwed it all up. Your Dusty-Bun is always insisting I’m going to mess this up. Guess he got in my head.” Steve’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes fluttering shut. 

Oh. Maybe he did. “Mess what up, Stevie?” 

His grin was blinding, despite his eyes remaining shut. “Say it again.” You felt like your face was on fire, and your heart was doing summersaults in your chest. A swarm of butterflies was causing a ruckus in your stomach. Your eyes fell shut, and you tried to pull away. Steve’s hand slid from your cheek to find the back of your neck, the his other hand leaving yours so that his thumb could run along the end of your eyebrow. “Please,” he was practically begging, and not one part of him had managed to feel ashamed of it. 

Your hands found his forearms, needing something to cling to. “Stevie?” You couldn’t wrap your head around this. It was like you had all the pieces but they wouldn’t fall into place. Your eyes peak open, and the next thing you know, Steve is smoothing out the space between your brows with his thumb. 

“You don’t know how hard it’s been for me,” his inhale is shaky, and loud to your ears. “To not do that constantly.” His eyes were soft in a way that you realized had been more and more common lately. “Wanna kiss you so bad, honey.” Steve watched as your eyes went wide, but you didn't pull away. You’re processing, and he has been working on his patience for a good long while now. 

Moments feel like a lifetime before you nod your head, just once. Up and down and so sure. Steve mirrored you, his nose bumping gently against yours before he was leaning in. 

You would’ve expected fireworks, big explosions that made you go weak in the knees. You got something better. Steve’s arms wrapped around your middle, molding you to him, and it felt like coming home. He was gentle at first, giving you a moment to adjust. And then your arms found their way around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he couldn’t help it anymore. 

You didn’t know how long you were backed up against the door, but you were sure you would’ve happily stayed for a few more hours. And you would have, if it weren’t for the banging from the other side of the door. In seconds, Steve had swept you behind him and plucked the bat that sat in the umbrella stand near the door. 

“Steve, man! I don’t care if you’re asleep I left my walkie.” 

Steve sighed, his shoulders deflating as he propped the bat up against the wall. “We don’t have to answer it,” he whispered, hands at your waist again. 

You laughed, forehead resting against his shoulder. “Stevie, don’t make him suffer.” 

Steve grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “he’s never suffered a day in his life” and before planting a kiss on your temple and throwing the door open. “Henderson, you’re lucky she loves you.” 

Dustin rolled his eyes, shouldering past his friend. He had the decency to give you a sheepish look on his way to the living room. “Where’d you leave it, Dusty-Bun?” You asked, Dustin called something back, but you were distracted by Steve playing with the hem of your sweatshirt. 

“You waited months, a couple more minutes won’t kill you, hot-shot.” 

Steve groaned, his forehead meeting the space between your neck and your shoulder. “It’s sweet you think it’s only been months.”