I'm acting funny, I keep refilling my wine

“Alright, princess,” Steve called from the bathroom, his voice carrying that lazy, teasing drawl he reserved only for you. “Your turn. I left the good toothpaste out.”

You smiled to yourself as you padded across the plush carpet in bare feet, the oversized Hawkins High sweatshirt you’d stolen from him brushing against your thighs. The bathroom door was half-open, steam still lingering from his shower. Steve stood at the sink in nothing but a pair of dark gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair damp and tousled, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. He caught your reflection in the mirror and winked, foam at the corners of his lips.

“Looking good, Harrington,” you said, sliding up beside him.

He spat into the sink, rinsed, and turned to you with that trademark grin, the one that used to make half the girls in Hawkins swoon and still made your stomach flip. “Yeah? Wait till you see me in my nightly moisturizer. Real manly stuff.”

You laughed, reaching for your own toothbrush. Steve had started keeping one for you in the holder months ago, right next to his. Little things like that had a way of sneaking up on you, turning casual nights into something that felt permanent.

The two of you brushed side by side in comfortable silence, shoulders brushing occasionally. Steve kept sneaking glances at you in the mirror, his eyes soft in a way that only happened when the rest of the world wasn’t watching. When you finished, he bumped your hip with his.

“Face wash next. Don’t skip it, I know you try to cheat sometimes.”

“Excuse me?” You raised an eyebrow, but he was already squeezing a dollop of the gentle cleanser into your palm, then his own. You both lathered up, the cool foam smelling faintly of something clean and citrusy that Steve had started buying because he noticed you liked it. He scrubbed his face with dramatic circles, making silly faces in the mirror until you were both laughing, water splashing everywhere.

“See? This is why we do this together,” he said, rinsing off. “Keeps me honest. And you can’t deny I look ten times hotter with clear skin.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, but you were smiling as you patted your face dry with the fluffy towel he handed you.

Steve leaned against the counter, watching you with open affection. “Ridiculous and right. Admit it.”

“Fine. You’re ridiculous and right.”

He pumped a small amount of his expensive moisturizer onto his fingers and turned you gently by the shoulders so you faced him. “Close your eyes.”

You did, feeling the cool cream touch your cheeks as he smoothed it in with careful, surprisingly tender strokes. His thumbs brushed under your eyes, over your forehead, down the bridge of your nose. It was intimate in the quietest way, his breath warm against your skin, the faint scent of his body wash mixing with the lotion.

“There,” he said softly when he finished. “Perfect.”

You opened your eyes to find him watching you, that little half-smile playing on his lips. Before you could say anything, he dipped his head and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of your nose, then your forehead.

“Your turn to do me,” he announced, handing you the tube.

You obliged, enjoying the way his eyes fluttered shut as you applied it. His skin was warm under your fingertips, still slightly damp from the shower. You took your time, tracing the faint scar near his hairline from one of those Upside Down fights he never liked to talk about much anymore. He leaned into your touch like a cat seeking affection.

When you were done, Steve caught your wrist and brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Thanks, baby.”

The nickname never failed to send a little spark through you. You tugged him down for a proper kiss, slow and sweet, tasting the mint from the toothpaste. His hands settled on your waist, thumbs slipping under the hem of the sweatshirt to brush bare skin.

“Bedtime?” he murmured against your mouth.

“Mmm. Almost.”

You both moved back into the bedroom. Steve flicked off the overhead light, leaving only the lamp on his nightstand. The room smelled faintly of the vanilla candle you’d lit earlier and the laundry detergent on the fresh sheets. He pulled back the covers on “your” side, left side, closest to the door, because he was still a little protective like that and gestured grandly.

“Your throne awaits, your majesty.”

You rolled your eyes but climbed in anyway, sinking into the pillows with a contented sigh. Steve disappeared for a moment, returning with two glasses of water and the small bottle of melatonin gummies he’d started keeping for nights when his brain wouldn’t quiet down.

“Vitamins,” he said, popping one into his mouth and offering you one.

You took it, chewing the berry flavor while he set the glasses on the nightstand. Then he climbed in beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. Immediately, he scooted close, one arm sliding under your shoulders so you could tuck yourself against his chest. His skin was warm, heartbeat steady under your ear.

“Comfy?” he asked, voice already softer, sleepier.

“Very.”

His free hand found yours under the covers, fingers lacing together. For a while, you just lay there, listening to the distant hum of the fridge downstairs and the occasional creak of the old house settling. Steve’s thumb traced lazy circles on the back of your hand.

“Tell me about your day,” he said quietly. “The boring parts. I like those.”

You smiled into his chest. “You sure? Because it was mostly filing paperwork at the video store and arguing with Keith about shelf organization.”

“Keith’s an idiot. Tell me anyway.”

So you did, recounting the ridiculous customer who insisted the new horror flick was actually a documentary, the way Robin had dramatically quit for the third time this week only to come back with ice cream, the way the afternoon sun had slanted through the windows and made everything feel golden for a moment. Steve listened without interrupting, occasionally humming or squeezing your hand when you paused.

When you finished, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Sounds better than my day. Had to deal with Dustin begging me to drive him and the party to the arcade again. Kid’s got me wrapped around his finger.”

“You love it,” you teased.

“Yeah,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I do. But I love coming home to this more.”

Silence settled again, comfortable and heavy. Steve shifted slightly, pulling you closer so your leg draped over his. His hand slipped under your sweatshirt, palm flat against your lower back, warm and grounding.

“You know,” he said after a minute, voice low and thoughtful, “I used to hate nights like this. Big house, empty. Felt like I was just… waiting for something. Or someone. Then you started staying over and now it’s my favorite part of the day.”

Your heart did that familiar squeeze. You tilted your head up to look at him. In the dim lamplight, his eyes were dark and warm, lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks. “Steve…”

“I mean it.” He brushed a strand of hair from your face. “The routine stuff. Brushing teeth together, fighting over who gets the last clean towel, you stealing all the blankets. It’s… normal. After everything that happened, normal feels pretty damn good.”

You reached up and traced the line of his jaw, feeling the faint stubble there. “I like our normal too.”

He caught your hand and kissed your palm, then your wrist. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go back to your place full-time. Too far away. And my bed’s better anyway.”

You laughed softly. “Possessive much?”

“Only about you.”

Steve leaned down and kissed you again, deeper this time, unhurried. His lips moved against yours with the easy familiarity that came from months of nights just like this. One hand cupped the back of your neck, the other tracing slow patterns along your spine under the sweatshirt. You melted into him, fingers threading through his still damp hair.

When he pulled back, both of you a little breathless, he rested his forehead against yours. “We should probably sleep. You’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”

“Five more minutes,” you whispered.

He smiled against your skin. “You always say that.”

“And you always give in.”

“Guilty.”

The minutes stretched. Steve reached over and clicked off the lamp, plunging the room into comfortable darkness broken only by the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. He settled back down, pulling the covers higher around your shoulders. You nestled closer, cheek against his collarbone, one arm draped over his waist.

His voice came quiet in the dark. “Hey… you know I love you, right?”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I know. I love you too.”

“Good.” His hand resumed its gentle stroking along your back. “Just checking. In case the demodogs or Russians or whatever try to mess with us again. Gotta make sure you hear it every night.”

“You’re such a sap, Harrington.”

“Only for you.”

Sleep started to tug at the edges of your mind, warm and heavy. Steve’s breathing had slowed, deep and even, but his hand never stopped its soothing rhythm. You felt safe here, wrapped in his arms and the familiar scent of his skin and the laundry detergent and the faint trace of his cologne that lingered on the pillows.

Tomorrow there would be alarms, coffee, maybe burnt toast if Steve attempted breakfast again, laughter in the kitchen, and the quiet promise of another night just like this one. But for now, there was only the darkness, the steady beat of his heart, and the gentle weight of his arm around you.

“Night, baby,” he murmured, already half-asleep.

“Night, Steve.”

You closed your eyes, letting the routine wrap around you like the blankets, warm, steady, and entirely yours.

The minutes ticked by in peaceful quiet. Steve’s leg tangled with yours under the sheets, his foot hooking around your ankle in that unconscious way he did when he wanted to keep you close even in sleep. You listened to the soft sound of his breathing, counting the inhales and exhales until they blurred together with your own.

Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed faintly midnight. Another day done, another night beginning the same beautiful cycle. You smiled into the dark, fingers curling lightly against Steve’s side.

This was home.

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