I'm acting funny, I keep refilling my wine

“You know what I really wanna do in life?” Steve broke the silence, you turned your head to gaze at him curiously, he was never the one to start the deep conversations, but there was always a sense of vulnerability whenever you were alone.

“What?” He kept looking at the sky.

“I wanna pack everything into a small car and just hit the road.”

You couldn’t help but snort in response. “Those are your big aspirations?” You mocked.

“I’m serious.” He huffed, the grin on your face softening when you realized he was.

Steve folded his arms behind his head. “I wanna see stuff that doesn’t even fit inside Hawkins, the Grand Canyon—all of it.”

You smiled, genuinely this time. “The Grand Canyon?”

Steve finally glanced over, holding your gaze. “I know it’s stupid.”

You shook your head, “it isn’t stupid.”

He looked back at the stars. “I just…I want to see it for myself. To know things like that actually exist, that I’m not really trapped here.” He spoke quieter, and you instantly knew he meant freedom. A life beyond Hawkins, a future neither of you could fully process yet.

You nudged his shoulder with yours. “Well, when we graduate we’ll go.” You said, warming up to the idea.

“We?” Steve laughed.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t drive off a cliff.” You said. “We’ll make it like a bucket list sort of thing.”

You noticed he was smiling, a real smile that reached his eyes. He simply looked at you for a couple of seconds before extending his hand.

“Deal?” He asked.

You stared at it, then while laughing extended yours in return. “Deal.” You agreed, shaking his.

The moment lingered longer than it should have, neither of you making a move to pull away, just hand in hand. Steve finally cleared his throat and let go, “Grand Canyon.” He finalized.

You had no idea years later you’d actually stick true to the promise, that you’d be stuffing duffle bags into Steve’s tiny BMW, with nothing but a wallet full of cash, a paper map that didn’t fit into your hands, and a head on your shoulders.

You climbed into the passenger seat while Steve was midway through starting the engine. “Steve.”

“Hm?” He hummed absentmindedly.

“You do know that Arizona is like three days away from Indiana, right?” You asked him worriedly.

“Uh, yeah?” Steve looked up at you with furrowed brows. “I took geography.” He scoffed.

You narrowed your eyes, you could tell he in fact did not by the way his eyebrows shot upwards for half a second before he’d caught himself. “Oh my god.” You sighed. “You didn’t know.”

“Okay, maybe I didn’t know it was three days far.” He rushed out, attempting to reason with you.

“Thats exactly how people end up stranded in the desert with no way out.” You groaned, burying your face into your hands.

“We’re not gonna get stranded—you wanna know why?” Steve asked, waiting.

You looked up at him. “Because I have you.” He shrugged like it explained everything.

Then he reached over and poked at the map you were holding. “Just keep that thing ready and tell me where to go.” He grinned.

“You’re insane, you know that?” You said, but smiled anyway.

The car started pulling out of the driveway, and suddenly it felt real. The trip had officially begun, and you had to take a deep breath to fully prepare yourself. Not even a couple minutes later, Steve reached over for the radio, inserting a music disk and the familiar notes of your favorite song began to blast through the speakers.

Your eyes widened, and Steve cranked up the volume with a crooked smile that was impossible to miss.

“Roadtrip rules.” Steve stated.

“What roadtrip rules?” You lowered the map to look at him.

“We sing.” Steve answered, before beginning to belt out the lyrics terribly. You blinked at him, reconsidering turning back around, before bursting out into laughter.

“Your voice sucks, Harrington! You sound like a dying seagull.” Steve gasped at your accusations, taking one hand off the steering wheel to cover his chest dramatically.

“Oh, c’mon.” Steve turned to lift a brow at you. “You know you love it, babyyy.” He prolonged the last word matching the song, you pretended like your heart didn’t skip a beat at the name.

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. He always knew how to lighten the mood, even when you used to show up to his house with tears in your eyes and a broken heart, Steve would force you to dance with him across the floorboards—where he’d inevitably slip from his sock covered feet, causing you to forget all about the reason you were actually sad.

By the second chorus you had joined him in singing incredibly off-key, and the miles seemed to disappear beneath the tires. The fields stretched endlessly on either side of the highway, the morning light spilling through the windshield, representing the lightness you felt beside him.

You remembered something, reaching into your bag to pull out the disposable camera you’d brought specifically for this trip. The same one you’ve had since middle school, capturing the most important moments—first dance, where you and Steve decided to go together after unsuccessfully scoring a date, up until your graduation with your caps thrown in the air.

Steve noticed it when you pointed the device at him. “Oh no, already?” He groaned.

A wicked smile spread across your face as the camera started splashing. “Yup, road trip rules.” You repeated his past words to your advantage.

The sunlight caught the edges of his long hair as he winked at the camera, turning the brown strands almost golden.

Click.

His veiny hands gripping the steering wheel.

Click.

You zoomed in on the concentration shown on his face as he watched the road.

Click.

“I think there are more interesting things to take pictures of rather than me.” Steve said.

You shrugged, keeping your eyes on the first photo you had taken of him, the one where he looked almost angelic, you already knew it was your favorite.

“You look pretty.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, silence immediately took over the car, your stomach dropped.

Steve’s surprised eyes flicked toward you, long enough to make your breath catch. Then he turned his gaze back to the road, his tongue poking into the inside of his cheek as though he was trying, and failing, to contain his amusement.

“Pretty?” He repeated like it was a foreign word. You wanted to launch yourself out of the moving vehicle.

“I meant—”

“Oh, I heard you.” He cut you off, your face burned further. “I like that.” He said, quieter this time.

You sank lower into the seat, ignoring him. But when you glanced back over, you caught the slight upturn of his mouth, less teasing, softer in a way that hinted it was a secret to keep to himself. And for the first time since the trip started, something shifted. Not enough to name, but enough to make the road ahead feel longer than the one passed.

The steady hum of the engine was the first thing you heard. You shifted slightly against the leather seat, your head having been rested back against the window. For a moment, you felt disoriented. There was no more music playing through the speakers, then you realized where your legs were.

They were sprawled across Steve’s lap, you must’ve fallen asleep hours ago, judging by the change in afternoon light. Apparently, you’d decided to use him as a cushion, though the embarrassing part was he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he hadn’t even noticed you were awake, his eyes remained fixed on the road, one hand on the wheel, but the other was holding your ankle absentmindedly.

His thumb stroked back and forth in slow, thoughtless motions, as if he wasn’t aware of it anymore. You watched him for another second, then pushed yourself upright with the palms of your hands, catching his attention as he snapped his head toward you.

“Oh,” a smile tugged at his mouth. “Look who’s awake, sleeping beauty.”

You rubbed at your bleary eyes, holding back a yawn. “How long was I out for?” You asked.

“A couple hours.” Steve estimated.

“A couple—Steve!” You hit his shoulder. “Why didn’t you wake me?” You said with more anger than intended.

He looked genuinely confused by the question. “Why would I wake you?”

“So I could keep you company.” You retorted.

“You were tired, so I let you sleep.” Steve justified it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your chest tightened slightly. “You drove three hours by yourself?” You asked, feeling bad for leaving him on his lonesome.

Steve shrugged, “hey, I had the cows to look at.”

You scoffed, his answer not helping. “That's even worse.”

You became aware of your legs still thrown across his lap, slowly pulling them back into your own seat. It forced Steve to move his thumb away, though there was a patch of warmth that lingered where he’d been touching you, goosebumps rising on your skin from the imprint.

You reopened the map, trying very hard not to think about it while willing to make yourself useful again.

By the time the sun had begun dipping lower in the sky, the rush of excitement from that morning finally started giving way to hunger. The kind that couldn’t be satisfied from the packets of nuts and pretzels you had packed.

“I swear, if I don’t eat real food in the next hour, I’m gonna lose my mind.” You groaned, your personality turning sour from the lack of nutrients to keep you sane.

“No need to get hangry on me, look what I found.” Steve pointed out the windshield, a neon sign reading diner flickered in the distance.

You gasped at the sight, becoming overwhelmed with the urge to strangle him in a hug. “Oh my god, you’re the best.”

He smirked in response, “told you I am.”

The smell of coffee and fried food invaded your senses as you entered the roadside diner, sliding into a red booth as Steve lifted his arms above his head, the full day of driving wearing his body down.

A waitress approached the both of you, dropping menus onto the table. “You two passing through?” She asked.

“Yup,” Steve answered. “Arizona.”

She whistled, “long drive, you must be exhausted.”

“Tell me about it.” He sighed, observing the food options in front of him.

She smiled, tilting her head at you. “Well you two make such a cute couple.”

You nearly choked as Steve froze in response. “We’re not a couple.” You defended simultaneously.

The waitress blinked before slowly smiling. “Mhm.” She hummed, while you and Steve looked equally horrified. You groaned as she walked away, turning to Steve.

“Isn’t it clear we’re just friends?” You asked.

“Totally,” he scoffed.

Soon enough, the food arrived, shutting you two up as you practically inhaled your burgers and shared a basket of fries. Steve’s gaze dropped to your pocket before he suddenly leaped over to snatch the camera away from you.

“You took approximately a million pictures of me today, it’s only fair if I have a turn.” He said pleased with himself.

You kicked him under the table, leaning over to take it back, but he held it high enough out of your grasp. “Give it back.” You demanded.

“Nope.” He said immediately, a flash going off in response.

Your mouth fell open at his audacity. “Steve!” He only laughed loudly, pointing the camera at you again. You grabbed a French fry and threw it at him, it bounced off his shoulder as it egged him further, Steve taking more photos of you then you had of him.

The flash caught you mid laugh, reaching for him with your face scrunched up, eyes squeezed shut, trying to escape but naturally gravitating towards him.

Steve lowered the camera, the expression on his face looked unexpectedly soft. He glanced back at you, like he was trying to memorize the moment before it simply became a memory.

“What?” You asked, feeling uncomfortable with how quiet he’s gotten.

He blinked, completely wiping the expression from his face like it hadn’t even been there in the first place. “Nothing.” He shook his head, standing up from the booth before you could question him further.

“C’mon, we’ve been sitting for ten hours, time to stretch our legs.” You followed him out the diner.

The reality of the situation only settled in once you made it back to the car, there was nowhere to stay. You were currently in the middle of nowhere, the nearest motel was an hour behind you, and it was too dark to even see the road.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Looks like we’re sleeping in the car.”

You looked at his bmw, which was already cramped enough as it was. “I can’t even fully straighten my legs.” You complained.

“We’ll work something out.” Steve promised, but when he tried reclining his seat as far as it would go, his knees were still bent.

You stifled a laugh. “You don’t even fit.” You pointed out, his miserable reaction only making you laugh harder. He reached behind you into the backseat, grabbing the only blanket you’d packed and tossed it into your lap.

Your laughter faded. “What about you? It’s gonna get super cold.” You stated, looking at him with furrowed brows.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got my jacket.” He said, making no room for arguments. Eventually, the both of you settled as you pulled the blanket over yourself, outside, the world seemed impossibly still. There was no noise, or traffic, or even lights to fill the emptiness of the night sky. The only thing that remained were stars, they reminded you of the same night you two shared all those years ago. When you first promised to carry out his dream together, just like this.

“They’re pretty.” Steve said aloud, noticing your staring.

You nodded, though remained mesmerized by the sight. “Yeah.”

Steady conversation continued after that, talking because neither of you seemed ready to fall asleep yet. Even though you were cramped in a single vehicle with no knowledge about your surroundings, it all was worth it. Because you had Steve, and he had you.

Your eyes started to feel heavy as the stars blurred into a painting. “Hey, Steve?” You called out through a yawn.

“Hm?” He hummed back.

“I’m glad you asked me to come.” You confessed.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter than before. “I’m glad you said yes.”

The last thing you heard before sleep claimed you was the soft sound of Steve humming along to the song from earlier long after he’d assumed you were asleep.

The next morning was spent recovering from the worst night of sleep either of you have ever experienced. Your neck was sore and Steve’s back was strained.

“You look awful.” You looked up from your gas station coffee, Steve looked even worse than you felt. His untamed hair was sticking up in every direction, dark circles sat beneath his eyes, his clothes were wrinkled beyond repair.

Steve pointed at you. “You drooled on yourself.”

You gasped, mouth falling open. “I did not!”

Steve grinned, “where do you think that mark from your shirt came from?” He asked, though when you glanced downwards there was no mark.

“You little—”

His laughter followed you all the way back to the car. The windows were rolled down as the crisp morning air drifted through them, everything felt calmer compared to yesterday. Your map rested in your lap as Steve held onto the wheel with one hand, the other hanging lazily out the open window.

“When we were kids, what did you think we’d be doing now?” Steve asked out of boredom.

You didn’t even consider your answer before speaking. “Definitely not driving all the way to the Grand Canyon.” You snorted.

He smiled, “seems fair.” Then you really thought about it, how differently your life could’ve ended up if you weren’t where you were now, if you hadn’t met Steve.

“I don’t know.” You sighed, short but honest.

“Really?” He asked, brows flitting upwards.

“Yeah,” you looked out the window. Because the truth was, you didn’t know where you’d be without him.

“I thought I was the only one.” Steve glanced over. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He confessed.

“Well that’s comforting.” You said, the smile that followed settled into your chest. Knowing that Steve felt just as lost made everything seem less terrifying, where you’d been after this trip, if there’d even be a next time, felt daunting. But things always had a way of working out in the end.

Steve made a joke, and you laughed so hard your stomach hurt, though the sound vanished the moment you looked down at the map. Your stomach dropped when you looked back up.

“Steve.” You said, worry evident in your voice.

“What? What’s wrong?” He asked anxiously, looking between you and the road.

You pointed at the rear windshield with a look of horror on your face. “That was our exit!” You cried out, staring at the highway sign that was rapidly disappearing into the distance.

Steve followed your gaze, his own face paling as the realization settled over him. “Oh shit!”

“How long until the next one?” You asked loudly, fearing his answer.

He scratched his stubble, expression wincing. “A couple miles.” He said above a whisper, not looking at you.

You grabbed his shoulder, shaking him violently. “How many are a couple?” You repeated.

“Twenty-five.” He gulped, and the map fell onto the floor underneath you.

“Twenty-five!” You gasped, knocking your head into the headrest.

“In my defense—you were distracting me!” Steve yelled, and your jaw dropped.

“You should’ve been watching the road, this has nothing to do with me!” You pointed at him, but he was only shaking with laughter.

You couldn’t help but laugh too, because what else was there to be done? A few extra miles hardly mattered anymore when you still had plenty of hours left anyway.

Steve looked at you when he finally caught his breath, “sorry,” he muttered.

“You should be.” You rolled your eyes, but as he took the next exit to turn the car around, you hadn’t noticed you stopped paying attention to the destination hours ago, the journey had become the best part.

That night, you had gotten much luckier than yesterday. The motel appeared right when both of you were prepared to collapse, Steve pulling into the parking lot with a relieved sigh.

“No more sleeping in the car.” He said, gratefully.

“No more sleeping in the car.” You repeated.

You headed for the front desk and the receptionist looked up at you two with an annoyed expression on her face. “We’re booked for the night.” She Steve off before he even had the chance to open his mouth.

“We’ve been traveling for the past two days with nowhere to sleep.” Steve argued.

She glanced behind her at the wall full of keys before turning back to you. “We only have one room, take it or leave it.” She offered.

“We need two beds,” Steve said, but she only shook her head.

“There’s only one bed, that’s all I can do for you tonight.” She shrugged.

“What?” You said.

“We’ll take it.” Steve said at the same time, snatching the key out of her hand.

The room was much smaller than you thought, a room clearly not meant for two people to be sleeping in. There was one dresser, one lamp, and one very obvious bed that took most of it.

Steve immediately pointed at the tiny couch shoved against the wall. “I’ll sleep there.”

You looked at the couch, it wouldn’t even be able to hold half of him. “You’re driving tomorrow, you can’t sleep there.” You shook your head.

“I’ll survive.” He sighed, dropping the duffle bag beside the couch.

“You’re sleeping in the bed, it’s fine.” You said, not putting much thought into it, though your mind was racing.

His eyebrows shot up, “you sure?” Steve asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be, we’re just friends.” You said, sitting on top of the mattress.

Something flickered across Steve’s face, gone before you could identify it. He swallowed once, then looked at you. “Right. Friends.”

Not much time later, both of you ended up lying stiffly on opposite ends of the bed, it somehow still felt small. The lamp had been switched off, and darkness surrounded you, though neither of you were sleeping considering how tired you were.

You stared at the ceiling and Steve followed, every movement was louder than usual. “You awake?” His voice cut through the silence.

“No,” you answered, the corners of your mouth quirking upwards.

“Right.” He exhaled heavily, he could only keep quiet for much longer before speaking again. “This is weird.”

“Steve.” A laugh escaped you.

“What?” He turned his head towards you on the pillow.

“You’re making it worse.” You said through a laugh, shaking your head.

“Sorry, I just…every time I move I’m more aware that you’re here.” Steve explained.

“I know.” You replied, then the conversation started, like it always did. About random things, stories from high school, your favorite memories, until the tension had slowly begun to fade.

Before you knew it, your eyelids were growing heavy and Steve's voice sounded more and more distant. “Goodnight.”

“Night Steve.” You called out through the darkness, allowing sleep to take over.

When you woke up the next morning, you felt warmer, warmer than when you had fallen asleep. You blinked your eyes open, and immediately recognized the scent that surrounded you. It was impossible not to, that scent only belonged to Steve.

Somehow during the night, you’d both drifted to the middle, your head resting against his shoulder with one of his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. The blanket was tangled around both of you, and all you could do for a moment was stare.

Then the panic arrived, the problem was that it didn’t feel wrong at all. It felt entirely too comfortable, like cuddling Steve was the most natural thing you could do. You carefully tried shifting away, though you ended up waking Steve in the process.

His eyes opened and he squinted as he looked down at your form, then to his arm, then back to you again. You swallowed, waiting for a reaction.

“Morning.” You tried to say with a soft smile.

His voice cracked as he sat up so quickly he nearly tore something in his back. “S-Sorry.”

You looked away. “It’s okay.”

“No, I—”

“It’s really okay, Steve.” Then silence enveloped the room, the awkward kind that had you shifting away until you were about to fall off the edge of the bed.

Steve cleared his throat after a couple of moments. “So—we should probably get going.”

“Yep,” you responded without turning back to him.

“Yep.” He repeated, then a second later—Steve laughed, because of course he did. Despite the awkwardness, he was still your best friend. The same boy you grew up with, the same boy you were now crossing half the country with.

Once the two of you started gathering your things again, you couldn’t help but notice how much harder it became to convince yourself there was nothing there, because there was.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for it. Not the postcard or the pictures, or the stories Steve had spent years telling.

The Grand Canyon stretched endlessly before you, the layers of rock carving so deeply into the earth it took your breath away. The afternoon sunset painted everything in shades of gold and amber, shadows stretching across cliffs that seemed to go on forever.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Because you were finally here, taking it all in as the wind tugged at your clothes, the other visitors didn’t even matter, it felt like the two of you were completely alone.

You glanced over, but Steve hadn’t moved. His hands were resting against the railing, his brown eyes fixed on the canyons with a look you couldn’t decipher. The sunlight caught the side of his face, lighting up his features like they had during the first day of the trip.

You were struck by the realization that you’d spent nearly your whole life beside him. Every version of yourself and Steve had each other to rely on.

You looked back at the canyon, then quietly asked.

“Is it everything you’d thought it’d be?”

The question lingered between you, you expected him to answer almost immediately, but he went silent instead. Completely and utterly silent.

His gaze swept across the landscape once more—the cliffs, the horizon, everything he had been dreaming of seeing. But in that moment, it wasn’t enough, not fulfilling like he had thought it’d be. Not as simple as checking a box of his checklist.

“No.”

Your eyebrows lifted, looking at him in surprise. When he turned to look at you, Steve didn’t look disappointed, far from it. He looked happier than he’s ever been.

“It’s not.” His smile softened.

You scrunched your face at him, feeling completely lost by what he meant. “Steve—”

“I realized something.” He stepped a little closer, and your heart started beating a little faster. Maybe it was from the way he was looking at you, or how his tone had changed, or how you had no idea where this was going.

“When I was a kid, I thought this was what I wanted.” He laughed softly, eyes flickering towards the horizon.

“But standing here…” his eyes returned back to you, almost nervously.

“I don’t think it was ever about what I wanted to see.” The canyon couldn’t have felt smaller in that moment, the world narrowing to just you and Steve.

“It was about who I wanted to see it with.” You couldn’t move, or blink, or even breathe anymore. Steve was staring at you like you held the meaning to life.

“And there’s no one else I could see it with but you.” It hit you like a brick at what Steve managed to say without saying anything at all. You returned a full blown smile, at the boy who made three days trapped in a car not nearly enough time.

Emotion tightened painfully inside your chest because you knew your answer, shaking your head with teary eyes. “There’s no one else I could see it with but you Steve.” You repeated, his worry was replaced with hope.

You stepped closer, close enough to see every detail of his face. Without over thinking it, Steve slid his fingers between your own, like they’d always belonged there.

“It’s always been you.” He said with a wide smile, before reaching into his back pocket. You furrowed your brows at him, confused by his actions, until you spotted the same disposable camera you had been carrying along with you in his hands, the same one that had gone missing before yesterday.

Steve looked down at it before returning his gaze back to you, suddenly looking shy as he brushed his thumb along the plastic. “I started carrying it around myself.”

You tilted your head at him, blinking. “What?”

“I realized how much I didn’t want this to just become a memory.” The words settled gently between you, and you almost cried at his raw honesty.

“One more?” He asked, and you nodded without hesitation.

–

steve harrington hasn’t been the luckiest with love, that much is certain to anyone who has as much as glanced his way in the last four years, but, god, he’s in love with you.

he can’t quite place the exact moment he started feeling this way, all he knows is that one day he glanced over your way, met your eyes, and it felt like his entire stomach twisted inside out and his body turned to goo.

he doesn’t have a clue how it started, maybe it was the way you always seem to laugh at his jokes, or the way you huff with an eyeroll whenever murray said something a little too distasteful. it could’ve been the fact that you come into the squawk every morning with coffee for him and robin from the cafe you work at, always just the way he likes it, and you hand it off to him with a small smile every time.

it could’ve been how funny you are, or how smart, or kind, or pretty, but steve thinks it must’ve been a mix of all of those things, because he loves everything about you. it’s been almost six months of feeling this way.

and, yeah, he’s definitely in love with you.

robin groans loudly as steve watches you leave the squawk one friday morning after bringing them coffee, as per usual, giving him a glance over your shoulder and a little wave as you walked out the door.

steve raised his hand to wave back, a dumb smile making it’s way onto his face easily before you slip from view, and he sighs.

robin shakes her head disapprovingly, murmuring under her breath, and steve looks away from the glass front doors and over at her.

“what was that, buckley?” he questions, not aggressively, but as if he’s challenging her to repeat whatever snide remark she had muttered to herself.

“all i said was, ‘god, you are pathetic, harrington.” robin repeats and steve shoots her a glare from his place by the soundboard, surrounded by tapes of different comedic sound effects.

there’s a record spinning by robin’s side, playing a song steve never would’ve picked but robin had insisted was ‘better than anything he listens to’. robin spins around on her chair to face him properly, shooting him a look from across the room.

“i mean, how long has it been steve, really? six months?” she asks and he sighs, reaching for his coffee and raising the paper cup to his lips.

“eight.” he corrects quietly before taking a sip and robin’s eyebrows shoot up.

“eight months. so you’ve been in love with her for half of this quarantine we’ve been stuck in, and the most you’ve done is smile at her a little differently?” robin shakes her head and steve scrunches his nose.

“who made you the love expert, huh? what happened to me being the one giving you advice?” he asks and she snorts.

“uh, how about the fact that i’m the one with a girlfriend here, meanwhile you’ve been pining for the better half of a year and have gotten nowhere.” robin spins around to face her microphone and adjusts a dial in front of her. “anyway, i think she’s going to eddie’s party tonight.”

“who, vickie?” steve asks and robin rolls her eyes so hard it looks like they might fall out of her head. and when robin says your name as if it was obvious, steve’s tummy fills with warmth and a smile appears on his face.

he wishes you could feel how he feels when somebody says your name. it’s almost like he’s going to be sick, but in a good way.

“really?”

“yes, dingus. maybe tonight’s your chance to work up the courage and finally say something.” robin says. “you know, confess? or, at least, ask her out.”

steve bites the inside of his lip and thinks for a moment, then groans because of course robin’s right, but he has no idea what he’d even say. he can hardly talk to you past a basic greeting or some small talk.

but then again, a party hosted by eddie means alcohol, and pot. maybe something there can help steve find the right words. no, that’s stupid.

he sighs and drops down onto his chair. “robin, i can’t do this. what if i say something and she’s just totally weirded out? i can’t risk that, it’ll kill me. like, actually, kill me.”

robin stares at him mid motion as she places a new record on one of the players, then sighs again.

“robin!” he exclaims but she quickly shushes him, holding a finger to her lips as the previous song dies down and she pulls her microphone down towards her mouth.

“goooood morning hawkins! glad you could join us on this beautiful friday morning.” robin shoots steve a glance over her shoulder and a mischievous smile slips onto her lips. “this next one goes out to my partner in crime, soundboard stevie, who’s been feeling a little lovesick as of late. who’s the lucky girl to have won steve ‘the hair’ harrington’s heart? well, we’ll have to wait and see if he has the guts to say anything to her…”

“robin!” steve hisses across the room, not caring that they’re on air, and she just giggles in response.

“take it away, olivia…” robin says and the opening to ‘hopelessly devoted to you’ by olivia newton-john fills the small sound booth. steve shakes his head and robin just grins over at him. “what?”

“what if she was listening to that, robin?” steve huffs, crossing his arms over his chest a little dramatically, similar to the way tantruming toddler would. “then what?”

“then i could be doing you a favor!” she points out but steve runs his hands through his styled hair, tugging lightly as he exhales.

“i feel like i’m going insane.” he tells her and she shrugs.

“save it for tonight.”

–

the air at eddie’s place is thick, a mix of smoke and heat from the large number of bodies filling the small house, and steve is perched on the couch between eddie and jonathan as they smoke, his eyes scanning the party, searching every face for yours. his nails dig into the denim of his jeans, and his friends seem to notice.

“what’s wrong with you, harrington?” eddie asks, holding out his blunt like an offering but steve shakes his head.

he opens his mouth to answer, but robin cuts in as she walks over with two cups and you right by her side.

steve’s mouth goes dry as he looks up at you, his eyes lingering on the cut of your shirt for maybe a moment too long before they reach your face. you’re smiling down at him.

“hi, steve.” you greet brightly and steve finds himself rubbing his palms against his thighs, like he’s wiping away imaginary sweat. he practically jumps to his feet and gives his best attempt at a charming smile. his friends all share glances behind his back.

“uh, hey,” when your name leaves his mouth, steve hears a quiet ‘oh,’ come from jonathan behind him and he’s immediately reminded that the two of you aren’t the only people in the room and, in fact, you’re standing in the middle of a party quite literally surrounded by your friends. steve awkwardly gestures toward the spot he had just been sitting in. “uh, here.”

“oh.” you stare at him for a moment and steve’s eyes flick over to robin’s in a brief moment of panic before you smile. “thanks, steve.”

“uh, yeah, sure. no problem.” he thinks he’s playing it cool, but everyone can see the way he shifts nervously on his feet.

“well, i’m getting another drink.” nancy says, standing up from her place on jonathan’s other side and pulling her boyfriend up with her. “anyone else want anything?”

“i just got a drink.” robin raises her cup. “but i’m gonna go find vickie, anyway.”

“i’ll come.” eddie jumps to his feet, winking at steve as he does so, and steve shoots robin a glare. she holds her hands up in surrender, mouthing that she didn’t say anything.

“can you guys get me a drink?” steve asks before taking jonathan’s seat on the couch and sitting down beside you. someone nods and soon the others all disappear, leaving the two of you sitting there alone.

to steve, the moment feels so right, the two of you sitting side-by-side, close enough that your legs are touching, but he also feels so wrong. his heart won’t stop beating, his stomach flips with each brush of your hand and when you look his way he forgets his train of thought.

he feels insane, worse than he had this morning, because now you’re next to him. now he’s not imagining what you’ll say if you speak to him, because right now you’re telling him about your day at work and your voice is like music to his ears.

the two of you sit there and talk for what feels like hours but was likely just 15 minutes before steve stands up.

“i’ll be back in a second.” he tells you before hurrying off, heading towards the kitchen first. he weaves his way through the sea of people filling the room, searching the house until he finds robin. she’s holed up in a corner, giggling with vickie, but still looks up when steve stops before them.

“what’s up?” she asks and he takes a deep breath, close to hyperventilating as he stares at her. he looks over his shoulder and back to where you’re sitting on the couch, giggling at something eddie’s saying as he holds two cups in his hands, one of those likely steve’s drink.

he faces robin and takes a deep breath. “how do i tell her?”

–

he’s given himself until monday morning. he’s got until monday morning to come up with a plan, because he’s going to tell you he loves you then.

the idea robin gave him is as follows, pick a song that explains how he feels about you, dedicate it to you on the squawk on monday morning, then when you come by with coffees he can actually talk to you and ask you out.

go big or go home, right?

the only issue is that steve has no idea what song to pick. it has to be perfect, it has to encapsulate exactly how strongly he feels for you, how you make him feel.

he wants you so badly that it feels like he can’t breathe when he’s away from you. his body feels like it’s been lit ablaze whenever you touch him, and he’s melting the moment your eyes meet his. you’re everywhere, even in his dreams.

he’s in love with you, he knows it. but is there even a song that can describe the way he feels about you?

steve’s been thinking, trying to come up with song ideas, while he’s been tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep because he can’t stop thinking about you.

he spends his entire weekend writing lists of song ideas, scanning the shelves of vinyls at the wsqk radio station for ideas, but none of them are right. none of them are perfect.

robin tells him he’s gonna regret it if he doesn’t have a song soon, the longer he waits to confess the less chance he’ll have. but how is he supposed to do this when every song he listens to doesn’t even begin to describe his feelings?

by the time monday morning comes around steve wakes up in a sweat, and not just from the summer heat.

he had a dream about you and now his boxers feel too tight. he slides a hand down, brushing against the scars healed over on his tumny, before squeezing his clothed bulge for some kind of relief.

but then he realizes. he still doesn’t have a song.

he makes it to the squawk tired, a little horny, and pissed off. and when he pushes open the glass front doors open and is immediately met with robin’s wide smile.

“so…” she starts as he drops his backpack by his chair in the booth. “today’s the day, loverboy. you got a song?”

he just groans in response, dropping down in his chair before immediately standing back up and walking out of the booth, over to the shelves of records.

“i’m taking that as a ‘no’?” robin says.

“how the hell am i supposed to do this?” he asks and robin stares at him in confusion.

“what do you mean? just pick a love song and—”

“but it can’t just be any love song, robin, it has to be perfect!” he exclaims frustratedly, hands finding their way to his hair immediately. “i feel like i’m going insane here, because the song has to be perfect, it has to tell her exactly how i feel and how in love with her i am but that seems impossible because i want her more than any stupid song could ever say and i have no idea how to explain that!”

“oh.”

the sound of a voice behind him makes steve freeze, then slowly turn around. you’re standing inside the squawk building, holding two coffees in your hands, and staring at him with wide eyes, like you just witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“uh, hey.” steve slips a hand into his pocket in an attempt to seem casual. “i, uh, didn’t realize you were… you’re– you’re early.”

“yeah.” you say, and your eyes shift over to robin. “uh, robin asked me if i could come by a little earlier today…”

steve shoots her a glare over his shoulder and she just shrugs, walking towards you and asking which coffee is hers. then she takes it, thanks you, and leaves the room saying, “i’ll leave you two alone.”

the silence is awkward immediately. steve’s panicking internally, and you’re just watching him.

“so, uh, how much of that did you hear?” he asks and you chuckle.

“well, all of it.” you reply. “i was kinda pulling into the driveway when you got here. i think you might’ve been just a little distracted.”

“right.” steve nods and you do the same, a little awkwardly, before you step forward and hold out his drink. “yeah, thanks.”

he takes the coffee and stares down at it. he has to say something now. he has to.

“lucky girl.” you speak first and he looks back up at you.

“hm?” he looks puzzled.

“the girl you were talking about.” you clarify. “the one you said you were in love with. you know? ‘i want her more than any stupid song could say’? she sounds lucky. you’re a good guy, steve.”

you give him a small smile, different to the one you usually give him, this one’s sadder, and it takes steve a moment to process exactly why as you turn back towards the front doors.

“she’s you!” he blurts out and you spin around.

“what?” you stare at him, you blink once, and steve feels sick.

“you’re the… the ‘lucky girl’ you were talking about.” steve swallows before setting his coffee cup down and walking over to you. “i’m in love with you. i love everything about you, and i’ve just been scared to tell you for months because i don’t want to ruin anything between us. i was gonna do this thing, robin said to, you know, dedicate a song to you on the radio but…”

you haven’t said a word the entire time he’s been talking, but you also aren’t running and screaming, so that’s a good sign.

“not a single stupid song can even scratch the surface of how i feel about you.” he says, and then he waits. he watches you carefully, and you don’t give him a reaction. 

then a smile cracks through your features and relief floods steve’s body.

“well, that’s very lucky for me.” you chuckle breathily. “you know, considering the fact i’m in love with you, too.”

“really?” he asks and you nod rather enthusiastically.

“you kinda make it hard not to.” you confess and he just grins. “i mean, you’re funny, brave, kind, i mean, you’ve definitely grown up a lot since high school and, well, you’re hot.”

he laughs, dragging a hand through his messy brown hair before looking back down at you, your eyes meeting. “so are you.”

a soft chuckle escapes your lips and a moment later you’re both just standing there and staring at each other, now closer than before. steve reaches out to carefully grab your waist.

“can i kiss you?”

“yes.” you say as if it’s obvious and steve’s mouth connects with yours within seconds, probably setting some kind of record with that speed. your hands slide up his body immediately, one gripping his shoulder while the other slides around his neck.

steve pours his entire heart into it, melting into you, moulding into something that’s yours and only yours. he’s not thinking of anything else, just the warmth of your body against his hands and the feeling of your lips on his.

he lifts one hand from your waist to cup your cheek instead, pulling back slightly just to kiss you again, aiming a little higher so he can take your entire upper lip into his mouth.

it’s uncertain exactly how long the two of you just stand there kissing, but the sound of a hand slamming against glass is enough to break you up.

steve looks over to see robin in the soundbooth, tapping her wrist to mimic a watch while saying something neither of you could hear through the walls. looking down at his watch, steve realizes he’s got about five minutes until they’re supposed to be on air.

“shit, i gotta go.” he groans and lowers his wrist. your arms are still linked around his neck. “can i take you out on a date tonight?”

“mm, no.” you say and he frowns. “i think we should skip that step and you should ask me to be your girlfriend.”

the frown disappears just as quickly as it had appeared and steve chuckles. “will you be my girlfriend?”

“yes, of course.” you reply, clearly trying your hardest to hold back a smile and stay composed. steve doesn’t hide his own smile.

“great.” he leans forward and kisses you once more before stepping back, closer to the door to the soundbooth. “i’m gonna pick you up from work later, alright?”

“yeah, alright.” you smile and he nods, opening the door. “steve.”

he turns back quickly. “yeah?”

“your coffee.” you gesture to the cup he had set down a moment earlier and he hurried over to grab it.

“thanks, honey. i’ll see you later, yeah?” he calls out as you head for the door. “i love you!”

“i love you, too!”

steve closes the soundbooth door and takes his place in his chair before he looks over at robin, who’s staring at him with an ‘i told you so’ expression. he gives her a shrug and she rolls her eyes before they’re on air.

“good morning, hawkins! this is wsqk 94.5 fm, ‘the squawk’ and i am your dj, rockin’ robin, and ladies and gentlemen, love is in the air this morning because our very own soundboard stevie has made a move! that’s right, folks, steve’s got a girlfriend. so, to celebrate the very new relationship we’re starting this morning off with a little love song…”

steve queues up a sound effect, but even robin’s teasing and antics can’t wipe the smile from his face.

–

a/n: just a little oneshot before i start posting my new series ahh!!! hope u guys like this one i think it's cute. everyone should go listen to 'you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love' by olivia rodrigo right now!!!

steve harrington had spent so much of his life believing that wanting something badly enough would eventually make it real.

when he was younger, it had been easy to imagine the rest of his life as a neat little picture painted in soft colors and warm light.

a house with a porch and a little garden that never quite stayed tidy. a kitchen that always smelled like coffee in the morning and cookies in the afternoon. noisy children running through hallways with scraped knees and bright laughter. a wife who knew him so well she could tell what kind of day he’d had just by looking at him.

a life that felt full.

a life that felt loud in the best possible way.

a life that made the silence in his parents’ house seem like a distant, ugly dream instead of the thing he had grown up inside of.

his parents had always been there, technically. they had paid for the house, the clothes, the school, the kind of life that looked good from the outside if anyone ever bothered to glance their way. but steve had never really felt raised by them so much as maintained. like something expensive that had to be kept in decent condition.

he learned early how to be easy to love in theory and impossible to know in practice. he learned how to smile when people expected it, how to be charming when it suited him, how to become the version of himself that made other people comfortable before he even knew what made him comfortable at all.

so when nancy wheeler came into his life, it had felt like a door cracking open in a locked room.

he had been young, stupid, and desperately in love with the idea of being seen.

maybe that was what made it so dangerous.

maybe that was why he had let himself believe so completely in her, in them, in the future he started building in his head before he had any real proof that it could exist.

he loved her in the loud, awkward, aching way that only teenagers can.

with all the confidence of someone who had never actually been broken before and with all the hope of someone who thought love would fix the emptiness he'd carried around for years.

and for a little while, it had almost been enough.

he imagined her in every version of his future.

the woman beside him at the kitchen counter. the mother of his kids. the person who would finally make the house feel alive. he imagined growing old with her in a way that felt almost sacred, like love was something solid and permanent if you held it tightly enough.

but then the cracks came.

then the lies, the distance, the things unsaid and the things said too late, and suddenly the dream he had been holding in both hands split apart right in front of him.

nancy had broken his heart in a way he never really admitted to anyone, not even to himself, because naming the hurt would've made it real in a way he wasn’t sure he could survive.

so, he boxed it up instead.

shoved it in the back of his mind with all the other things he had never figured out how to say.

he finished high school. barely. he took a shitty job. he let his life narrow into a shape that was easier to manage than hope.

and when the years kept moving and nothing magical happened, steve started to wonder if the dream had died with nancy.

maybe that was what life had decided for him. maybe some people were built for grand love stories and some people were built to watch them from the outside. maybe he was the kind of man who got close to happiness only to be reminded that it was never really meant for him in the first place.

by twenty one, he had learned how to pretend he was fine with it.

he stopped sneaking drinks in sweaty basements and started buying them at bars where the lights were low and the music was loud enough to drown out thoughts if he let it. he bought clothes that fit properly, nice enough to make him look like a guy who had his life together even though he absolutely didn't. he moved out of his parents’ house and into a small apartment that was barely more than four walls and a handful of bad decisions, but it was his.

that mattered more than he liked to admit.

his own furniture, his own dishes, his own front door to close behind him at the end of the day. he should've felt proud of that, and sometimes he almost did.

mostly he felt lonely.

there were nights when he’d come home, keys in hand, shoulders sore from work, and stand in the doorway for a second too long just listening to the silence settle around him.

no television in the background. no soft laughter from another room. no smell of someone else’s shampoo in the bathroom.

just the hum of the fridge, the faint traffic outside and the weight of a life that was technically his and yet still somehow felt unfinished.

-

he still told himself things at bars, of course.

tonight’s the night.

i’m gonna meet someone tonight.

i’m gonna talk to someone tonight.

he said it with enough confidence that he even almost believed it, at least until the moment came and went and he was still alone with his drink, pretending not to notice the couples at the corners of the room. pretending not to notice the girl by the jukebox smiling at some guy who clearly knew exactly what to say. pretending not to notice that he'd become very good at standing in places where something could happen and then leaving before it did.

the worst part was that he wasn’t even sure he was doing anything wrong.

he was trying, he really was.

he was just trying in the way a man tries when he's already started to assume the universe isn't on his side.

that was what made the night you came into his life feel like a mistake at first.

not because you did anything wrong, because you didn’t.

you were just there.

standing in the doorway of a bar he had almost left ten minutes earlier, the cold of the outside air still clinging to your coat, your cheeks faintly pink from the wind.

you looked around like you were deciding whether the place was worth staying in, and for one impossible second steve had the absurd thought that he knew exactly how that felt.

you were carrying a bag over one shoulder and had a look of quiet determination that made you seem like the kind of person who didn’t waste time on things that weren’t worth the trouble.

he noticed that first.

then he noticed the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear when you scanned the room, the small crease between your brows when the music got too loud, the way your eyes softened when the bartender pointed you toward an open seat.

it was nothing.

it was everything.

it was the sort of ordinary moment that should have passed by without making any kind of impression and yet somehow lodged itself deep under steve’s ribs before he had even told himself to look away.

he did anyway.

or tried to.

you took the stool near the bar instead of one of the crowded tables, set your bag on the empty seat beside you, and ordered something with the kind of calm confidence steve had always secretly admired in people.

he couldn’t hear what you said over the music, but the bartender smiled like you were a regular, or maybe just the sort of person that was easy to like. you took off your coat. you glanced around again. and then, for the briefest second, your eyes landed on him.

steve froze.

not dramatically, not in a way anyone else would have noticed, just enough for his fingers to tighten around his glass and for some old, painfully familiar instinct to flare up inside him.

don’t get caught staring. don’t be obvious. don’t make it weird.

he’d spent enough of his life being the pretty guy at the center of attention to know exactly how dangerous it was to be seen looking like he wanted something.

but you didn’t look away immediately.

you held his gaze for a beat, maybe two, with a kind of unreadable calm that made his stomach twist in a way he absolutely didn't appreciate.

there was no smile. no flirtation. no embarrassment. just a moment of shared awareness, as if you had both quietly registered the other one and decided, for reasons not yet explained, that the moment meant something.

then you looked back down at your drink.

steve should've left it there.

he should've gone on with his night, maybe ordered another beer, maybe pretended the strange little jolt in his chest was nothing more than boredom.

instead, he found himself watching you again and again without meaning to.

not in a creepy way, he told himself. not like that. just… noticing.

noticing the way you spoke to the bartender with your head tilted slightly to the side, the way your expression changed when the song on the jukebox shifted into something older and sadder, the way you seemed both perfectly at ease and a little far away at the same time.

there was something about you that made him think of winter mornings, of warm light, of doors being opened to places he had never quite let himself hope existed.

which was ridiculous.

steve was not the kind of man who believed in signs. not anymore. not after everything.

but there was something almost insulting about how quickly his attention kept returning to you, as if his own mind had decided to betray him on the first night of a random week in a random bar with a random stranger who had absolutely no business looking that interesting.

you stayed in your seat for a while. long enough for steve to tell himself about six different times that he wasn’t going to say anything. long enough for the bartender to slide your drink across the counter and for you to thank them with a small smile. long enough for him to take one more sip and still not decide what to do with the weird, restless feeling building under his skin.

and then the universe, apparently, got bored of watching him suffer in silence.

because someone bumped into the table behind you, and your bag slipped off the seat with a quiet thud that made your head snap down at the exact same time steve moved to catch it before it hit the floor.

his hand got there first.

yours met his over the strap.

for a second, both of you just stared.

then you looked up at him with a kind of startled politeness that made his heart do something embarrassingly stupid.

close up, you were even prettier than he'd already decided, which felt unfair.

he saw the shape of your mouth when it parted slightly in surprise, the faint shimmer of your eyes under the low lights, the little breath you took like you had just been caught off guard by a very small, very human moment.

“sorry” you said, and your voice was softer than he expected.

“no, uh, it’s fine” steve said at the same time. “you good?”

you blinked once, then looked down at the bag in his hand before looking back at him. there was the smallest ghost of a smile at the corner of your mouth, like you found his question slightly ridiculous in a way that was not unkind.

“yeah,” you said. “i think so.”

he nodded like he hadn’t just lost every coherent thought in his brain.

“cool. great. good.”

you laughed then, quietly, and it was the kind of laugh that hit him somewhere deep and unexpected.

it made him smile before he could stop himself, and suddenly the whole thing felt less like fate and more like one accidental step in the wrong direction that somehow landed on the right path anyway.

“thanks” you said, taking the bag from him.

“yeah, no problem.”

you hesitated, one hand still resting lightly on the strap, and something in your expression shifted as if you were deciding whether or not to keep talking.

steve, who had spent years convincing himself he wasn’t the kind of man to hope too quickly, found himself hoping anyway.

“are you here alone?” you asked.

the question was simple. harmless, probably.

it still made his pulse jump.

“yeah,” he said, “i mean, not like- not because i’m weird or anything. just, you know. alone.”

your smile widened a little. “i didn’t say weird.”

“right. yeah. sorry.”

you turned slightly on the stool so you could face him more fully. it was such a small movement, but it changed the air between you. made it feel less like two people near each other by accident and more like something had quietly begun.

“i’m not judging,” you said. “i just noticed.”

“good to know.”

“are you always this charming, or am i just lucky tonight?”

there it was, the opening.

the small, shimmering crack in the wall he had spent years building round himself.

steve should've taken the easy route. should have flirted back the way he had with dozens of people before, should have made some smooth comment and followed it with that lazy smile he knew worked on most people.

instead, what came out was a little more honest than that.

“i’m usually better at it” he admitted.

you gave him a look that was equal parts amused and curious. “better at what?”

he shrugged, suddenly aware of how much he wanted this conversation to keep going. “talking to people.”

“that sounded suspiciously like a lie.” your laugh came again, and this time it was easier, warmer.

he leaned his elbow on the bar and glanced at your drink. “so what are you drinking?”

you told him.

he ordered you another one before you could object.

and when you opened your mouth to protest he raised a hand and said, “please let me have this. i almost died saving your bag.”

“you did not almost die.”

“emotionally, i did.”

that got another laugh out of you, and steve had the completely unreasonable urge to keep making you do that forever.

it scared him a little, how quickly his mind was leaping ahead, how easily some part of him had started imagining a future that hadn't yet earned the right to exist.

but maybe that was the thing about loneliness.

maybe it made even a brief kind smile feel like a promise.

you introduced yourself then, and when he repeated your name under his breath, he felt something shift in him that he didn't have words for.

maybe the first real crack in all that hopelessness he had worn like armour for years.

the bartender set your drink down between you and steve found himself watching your fingers wrap around the glass.

he tried not to stare. tried not to look too eager. tried not to let the night become more than it was. but you kept talking, and he kept answering, and somehow the hours began to peel away around you both like old paint.

you were funny in a dry, unexpected way that made him catch himself smiling when you were speaking.

you asked questions and actually waited for the answers. you didn’t seem impressed by his name, his looks, his usual empty bravado, and that in itself was almost enough to fascinate him completely.

there was no performance in the way you listened. no fake interest. just steady attention, as if he were a person first and a pretty face second, and steve was so unused to that he almost didn’t know what to do with it.

he found out where you worked. he found out you were new to town, which explained why he hadn’t seen you around before. he found out you hated tequila, preferred colder weather to hot, and had a habit of collecting old books from secondhand stores if the covers looked interesting enough.

he told you about the video store. he told you about robin, making you laugh when he described her as “the most annoying genius i’ve ever met.” he told you about family christmases that felt too large and too empty at the same time, about his apartment, about the long, stupid loneliness of adult life that no one warned you about when you were younger.

you listened to all of it without making him feel pathetic for saying it.

that alone should have been enough to make him fall for you a little.

it almost was.

by the time the bar started thinning out and the music changed to something slower, steve had stopped pretending this night was just another night.

he didn’t know what you were looking for. he didn’t know if you were waiting for someone, if you had come here on a whim, if you were the kind of person who flirted with strangers just because you liked the conversation. he didn’t know if there was any chance at all that what he was feeling was mutual.

but when you looked at him, really looked at him, something in your expression told him he was not imagining the way the air seemed to pull tight between you.

and that was terrifying.

because steve had built his life around surviving disappointment.

he knew how to laugh things off. knew how to make the joke first so nobody else could hurt him with it. knew how to leave before he got attached, how to keep things light, how to turn longing into something manageable.

but you were standing there with your hand around a half finished drink, looking at him like he might actually be worth staying for, and all his old defences started to feel flimsy in the face of something he hadn't let himself want in years.

a person.

a real one.

someone kind, someone warm, someone who might sit beside him on the couch in that tiny apartment and make the silence feel less enormous. someone who might laugh at his terrible jokes and know when he was pretending to be okay. someone who might touch his shoulder in passing and make him feel, for the first time in a very long while, like he wasn't built only for being left behind.

the thought hit him so hard it almost made him angry.

not at you, at himself.

at the stupid, aching hope that had survived in him even after he had spent years trying to kill it.

you were saying something then, something about the record store downtown, and he realized he had missed the first half because he had been too busy staring at the shape of your mouth when you spoke.

he cleared his throat, cursed himself silently, and said, “sorry, what was that?”

you tilted your head. “nothing important. just wondering if you were actually listening.”

“i was listening” he said, too quickly.

you looked at him for one long second, then smiled in a way that made him think you didn't entirely believe him but were willing to let it go for now.

“good,” you said. “because i asked if you’d ever been there.”

“the record store?”

“yeah.”

“uh,” steve said, suddenly scrambling for a memory. “probably. maybe. once?”

“that is the least convincing answer possible.”

“i’m aware.”

you laughed again, and he wondered, not for the first time that night, whether you knew what you were doing to him.

whether you could see the way he kept leaning a little closer when you spoke. whether you noticed how careful he was becoming with every word, as if something in him had started to believe that this mattered.

the thing was, it did.

he didn’t know it yet. not fully. not in the way that would eventually settle deep into his bones and refuse to leave. but something about you had already begun to move through him like the first warm air after a long winter.

and maybe, just maybe, that was how it happened.

maybe love arrived like this instead. in a crowded bar on an ordinary night. with a dropped bag and a crooked smile. with a stranger who didn’t feel like a stranger for long. with a man who had spent years convinced that nothing good was ever going to stay and a person who looked at him like staying might be the most natural thing in the world.

steve didn’t know your name was going to become the first thing he thought about in the morning.

didn’t know your laugh would start living in his head like a song he couldn’t turn off.

didn’t know that one day, when he was standing in his empty apartment again, he would remember the warmth of your hand over his and feel something in his chest answer back like it had been waiting all along.

all he knew was that the night was not over.

and for the first time in a very long time, that didn't feel like a threat.

-

it happened so gradually that neither of you really noticed it at first.

one phone call became two.

two became every other night.

every other night became every night.

and suddenly steve couldn't remember what his evenings had looked like before you.

he'd get home from work exhausted, smelling faintly like dust and videotapes and whatever cheap cologne he'd sprayed on that morning, toss his keys onto the counter, kick off his shoes, and before he'd even fully settled onto the couch the phone would ring.

or he'd call you first.

sometimes neither of you had anything particularly important to say.

those ended up being his favorite conversations.

you'd spend hours talking about absolutely nothing.

books you'd found. movies you'd watched. customers that had annoyed you. customers that had made you laugh. memories from childhood. stupid theories about life. things neither of you had ever told anyone else because they seemed too insignificant to matter.

except somehow they mattered now.

steve had never realized how much loneliness could sneak up on a person until it started disappearing.

for years he'd gotten used to silence. he'd gotten used to empty apartments and eating dinner alone and nobody asking how his day was. he'd convinced himself that was adulthood, that everyone eventually stopped expecting more.

but then there was you.

calling him because you'd found a book with a ridiculous title and needed someone to laugh about it with. calling him because you'd gotten lost on the way somewhere and somehow thought steve harrington was the best person to ask for directions. calling him because your shelf was crooked. calling him because you couldn't decide what to make for dinner. calling him because apparently he was now your designated emergency contact for every minor inconvenience in your life.

and god.

he loved it.

he absolutely loved it.

it became the highlight of his day.

there was something embarrassingly satisfying about hearing your voice say his name followed by some variation of, "i need your help."

sometimes he worried it made him sound pathetic.

robin certainly would've said it did.

but steve couldn't help it.

he liked being needed. liked knowing that when something happened, good or bad or completely insignificant, he was one of the people you thought to call.

one evening he'd spent nearly forty minutes helping you assemble a bookshelf over the phone.

forty minutes.

he hadn't even been there.

you'd read the instructions out loud while he attempted to make sense of them.

"okay," you'd said. "so i've got three wooden pieces left."

"how many are there supposed to be?"

"i don't know."

"what do you mean you don't know?"

"i threw the box away."

steve had nearly choked laughing. "you threw the instructions away?"

"they were confusing."

"the instructions are literally the most important part."

"well that's your opinion."

"that's everyone's opinion."

he could still remember sitting alone in his apartment, grinning like an idiot at nothing while listening to you argue with him.

it had hit him then that he hadn't felt lonely once during that entire conversation.

and maybe that shouldn't have felt so monumental. maybe normal people experienced that kind of comfort all the time.

but steve didn't, he never had.

which was probably why he found himself asking increasingly dangerous questions, questions he wasn't sure he wanted answers to.

does love come around or does one come around to it?

he thought about that a lot, late at night mostly.

when the apartment was dark. when your voice wasn't filling the silence. when he was lying awake staring at the ceiling.

because maybe people talked about love all wrong.

maybe it wasn't lightning, maybe it wasn't destiny, maybe it wasn't some magical thing that appeared out of nowhere and knocked you off your feet.

maybe it was this.

slowly finding yourself looking forward to someone's calls. memorising the sound of their laugh without meaning to. learning their coffee order. knowing exactly what kind of mood they were in from a simple hello.

maybe love wasn't something that arrived, maybe it was something you arrived at.

and god.

if that was true.

he thought he was getting dangerously close.

there were still bad nights, of course. steve wasn't suddenly fixed. you weren't some magical cure for years of disappointment and loneliness.

there were nights when he'd sit in the dark and all those old thoughts would creep back in.

nights when he'd remember every failed date, every conversation that went nowhere, every person who'd eventually left.

there were nights when he'd think maybe he was being stupid again. maybe he was building castles out of nothing. maybe he was setting himself up for another heartbreak before anything had even started.

because really, what was this?

you weren't dating, you hadn't talked about feelings, you hadn't kissed.

hell, you hadn't even properly gone out together.

you were friends, just friends. very good friends. friends who talked every single day. friends who occasionally flirted. friends who somehow knew more about each other than people who'd been together for years.

friends.

right.

and then the next day he'd get home from work, the phone would ring, you'd tell him about some weird book you'd found or ask him for help choosing paint colors or call because you'd burned dinner and wanted sympathy.

and suddenly everything would feel okay again.

you had this strange ability to make life seem manageable.

like maybe it wasn't always working against him. like maybe happiness wasn't some exclusive club he'd never been invited into.

sometimes steve would catch himself smiling in public because he'd remembered something you'd said three days ago. sometimes he'd laugh to himself while stocking shelves because he'd thought of a joke you'd appreciate. sometimes robin would stare at him from across the store and look genuinely concerned.

"you're smiling again."

steve looked up.

"what?"

"that weird smile."

"i don't have a weird smile"

robin narrowed her eyes.

"did she call?"

steve immediately looked away which answered the question.

robin groaned.

"oh my god."

"what?"

"you are so gone."

"i am not."

"steve."

"i'm not."

"you literally just smiled at a copy of ghostbusters."

"it's a good movie."

she'd laughed so hard she'd nearly fallen over.

the problem wasn't that steve liked you, he'd accepted that part, the problem was what came next.

asking you out.

every time he considered it, he immediately talked himself out of it.

what if he made things weird? what if you'd only ever seen him as a friend? what if he ruined everything? what if he finally got lucky enough to have you in his life and then managed to lose you all by himself?

that possibility terrified him more than rejection ever could.

because right now?

he had you, maybe not exactly the way he wanted, but he had you.

he was the first person you called when something happened. the person you trusted. the person you reached for.

and selfishly, desperately, he wasn't sure he could risk that.

not yet.

so for now he settled for smaller victories.

baby steps.

movement.

he started calling first sometimes which had taken an embarrassing amount of courage.

the first time he'd done it he'd spent nearly five minutes staring at your number.

just staring.

before finally dialing.

you'd answered on the second ring.

"hello?"

and immediately every thought had vanished from his head.

"uh."

smooth, very smooth.

"steve?"

"yeah."

a pause.

then a smile in your voice.

"did you call me?"

he'd felt ridiculous. "yeah."

"everything okay?"

"yeah."

"then why are you calling?"

steve had opened and closed his mouth.

because honestly?

he hadn't had a reason, he'd just wanted to hear your voice. which sounded far too pathetic to say out loud so he'd settled on the truth adjacent version.

"i saw something funny and thought you'd laugh."

your silence lasted half a second.

then came the softest, warmest laugh.

"okay."

and somehow that had been enough.

because you hadn't questioned it, hadn't made fun of him, hadn't treated it like it was strange, you'd just stayed on the phone with him for three hours.

three whole hours.

and afterward steve had sat alone on his couch staring at the wall with the stupidest smile imaginable.

because for the first time in years, maybe ever, something in his life felt like it was moving forward.

and maybe he still didn't know how to ask you out. maybe his heart still jumped every time you laughed. maybe he still spent half his time wondering whether he was imagining the occasional flirtation between you. maybe he was still scared.

but for once the fear wasn't winning, for once hope was.

and steve had spent so many years without hope that even the smallest amount felt revolutionary.

especially when it sounded so much like your voice on the other end of the phone.

-

the first time you met steve in person outside of the bar, it was supposed to be simple. that was the lie you both told yourselves.

nothing about the two of you ever stayed simple for long.

at first it was little things, the kind that looked harmless from the outside.

he started showing up where you were with the kind of frequency that was easy to excuse. with coffee, a ride, a book he thought you’d like, a spare key he claimed he was only giving you in case of emergencies.

and then one day you went grocery shopping together, because steve had complained loudly and dramatically enough about needing to do it that you offered to come along just to keep him from whining the entire time. he accepted too quickly, which should.ve been a warning.

it was, in retrospect, one of the strangest and most perfect afternoons of his life.

the store should have been boring.

fluorescent lights, crowded aisles, a list tucked into his pocket, the usual dull tasks of adulthood that most people tolerated and nobody romanticized.

but with you beside him, it became something else entirely. you walked too close when the aisle got narrow, bumped your shoulder into his when you thought he was being too serious about brands of cereal, and laughed at him when he stared at the produce like he was personally offended by every lemon in the bin.

“why are you holding the avocado like that?” you asked.

steve glanced down. “like what?”

“like it might bite you.”

“i don’t trust it.”

you laughed so hard you had to stop walking, and he stared at you for a second too long before turning away with a grin he couldn’t hide if he tried. he hated how easy it was for you to turn a stupid errand into a memory. hated it because he loved it too much.

by the time you reached the cereal aisle, he’d already forgotten half the list. by the time you were arguing over which pasta sauce looked less depressing, he’d stopped caring about the list altogether and started caring about the way you leaned your hip against the cart like you belonged there. like you belonged beside him. like it was the most natural thing in the world.

and maybe that was the problem.

because the more time he spent with you, the more his brain betrayed him.

he stopped doing this years ago. stopped imagining girls in his future. stopped picturing dinners and holidays and apartment keys left in a bowl by the door and someone’s laugh spilling out of the bathroom while they got ready for work.

after nancy, he made a quiet little burial ground out of all those thoughts and called it moving on. he convinced himself it was easier not to hope, easier not to attach pictures to people, easier not to let his head wander into places that only ever hurt him.

but with you, the pictures came anyway.

one second you were holding a box of mismatched screws and telling him the instructions made no sense, and the next his mind had already placed you like that permanently. but instead, in his kitchen, years later, barefoot and annoyed and laughing as he tried to assemble something unnecessarily complicated.

it was so vivid it almost made him dizzy.

the first time you came over to his apartment, you took one look around and made a face.

“wow,” you said, setting your bag down. “this place needs help.”

steve blinked. “hello to you too.”

you looked around slowly, taking in the couch, the shelves, the sad little lamp in the corner, the blank walls.

“no, seriously. this place needs help.”

he crossed his arms. “i didn’t invite you here to insult my home.”

“good,” you said. “because i’m not insulting it. i’m saving it.”

“from what?”

“from looking like a single man with unresolved issues lives here.”

he stared at you. “i am a single man with unresolved issues.”

“right.”

he laughed despite himself, already shaking his head, and before he knew it you were opening cabinet doors, asking where the spare nails were, and telling him he needed better curtains.

he should have been offended. instead, he watched you pace around his apartment like you had an opinion about every corner of it and found himself impossibly, stupidly charmed.

and then you started helping.

really helping.

not the fake sort of help people offered when they wanted to feel useful. actual help. sleeves pushed up, hair tucked back, concentration pinching your brow as you tried to figure out what could go where.

you grunted when a piece of furniture refused to cooperate. you muttered under your breath when a screw dropped under the couch. you asked him for a hand without hesitation, like it was the easiest thing in the world to include him in what you were doing.

that part got him every time.

he would have carried boxes for you across town, fixed anything in your apartment, driven across state lines if you’d asked him with that same open trust in your voice. it felt good. better than good, it felt like purpose.

and the terrible thing was that you seemed to know that.

not in a manipulative way, never that, just in the way you noticed things.

in the way you handed him one end of a shelf and smiled like you were quietly offering him something he didn’t know he’d been missing.

the day stretched long and easy between the two of you.

music played low in the background. a chair got moved three times before you both agreed it looked best by the window. he found an old photograph tucked behind a drawer and made fun of himself for it. you laughed. he made you lunch in the middle of the chaos, and you told him his cooking was surprisingly good, which made his chest feel strange in the best way.

by evening, his apartment looked less empty, warmer somehow. not because of the rearrange, though that helped. because of you moving through the rooms like you belonged there.

that was the part that haunted him afterward.

the fact that you made his place feel lived in.

like a home could be made out of ordinary things if the right person was standing beside him.

and then there were the little surprises.

he’d complain offhandedly about something, barely thinking it mattered, and you would show up later with the exact thing he’d mentioned.

a rug, because he’d laughed once and said the one in his living room had a stain on it that probably counted as a permanent resident. you arrived at his door with a rolled-up rug tucked awkwardly under your arm, nearly toppled by the sheer inconvenience of carrying it, and he had to physically catch the thing before it knocked into both of you.

“are you trying to injure yourself on my behalf?” he’d asked, laughing as he helped you lower it to the ground.

you huffed. “it was on sale.”

“you bought me a rug because it was on sale?”

“because you needed a rug.”

“i didn't need a rug that badly.”

“steve, your old one looked like it had survived a war.”

he stared at you, then down at the rug, then back at you. “you spent money on this?”

you lifted your chin, unapologetic. “yes.”

“you didn’t have to do that.”

“i wanted to.”

that was worse. that was always worse.

because steve could handle kindness from strangers. he could even handle affection from people who liked giving it freely. what he didn’t know how to handle was the kind that felt thoughtful. the kind that remembered offhand comments and turned them into actions. the kind that said i listen to you, i notice you, i want your life to be a little better just because i’m in it.

it made his throat tight.

it made his heart feel too big for his ribs.

it made him think, more than once, that he was going to ruin this if he wasn’t careful.

so he kept trying to be careful.

he kept meeting you halfway, kept letting things unfold one small piece at a time, kept pretending he wasn’t completely undone by the way your smile changed when he opened the door.

he kept telling himself he wasn’t ready to ask you out, that the timing had to be right, that he couldn’t risk messing up something this good, that friendship was still better than nothing.

that he should be grateful for what he had.

and then one day, after a hard shift that left him sore and irritated and closer to snapping at a customer than he liked to admit, he came home and found your name on his answering machine.

he stood in the doorway for a second, key still in hand, just listening.

“hey, steve. it’s me. i figured i’d call and see if you were alive. if you are, call me back. if you’re not, haunt someone else. okay, bye.”

his chest ached.

he called you back before he could talk himself out of it.

you answered on the first ring this time.

“hey.”

and there it was again, that impossible steadiness in your voice. not pity. not obligation. just you.

“hey,” he said, sinking onto the couch. “you called just to check if i was dead?”

“mostly.”

he laughed, long and tired and real. “that’s kind of sweet.”

“don’t tell anyone. i have a reputation to maintain.”

he smiled at the wall, at the ceiling, at the empty room around him that no longer felt quite so empty when you were on the other end of the line. “you busy?”

“not really.”

“good.”

“good?”

“yeah,” he said, then exhaled and let himself be honest. “i kind of wanted to hear your voice.”

there was a pause.

then your voice came back even gentler. “you can always call.”

it was such a simple thing to say which was probably why it wrecked him.

you had no idea what it did to him when you said things like that. how much hope could fit inside a single sentence. how easily you could make a hard day feel survivable. how every tiny kindness from you seemed to settle into his chest and stay there.

a few nights later, you showed up at his apartment in pajamas with a paper bag in one hand and a small smile on your face.

he opened the door, looked you up and down, and frowned. “are you okay?”

you shrugged one shoulder. “you sounded bad.”

he stared at you. “i sounded bad over the phone and you decided to come over in pajamas.”

“yes.”

“with food?”

“obviously.” you walked past him and into the apartment like it was the most normal thing in the world. “you were having a rough night, and i thought you could use company.”

steve shut the door slowly behind you, heart in his throat, and for a second he couldn’t move. couldn’t think. couldn’t do anything but watch you pull takeout containers from the bag and set them on his coffee table like you belonged there, too.

“you do this on purpose” he said quietly.

you glanced up. “do what?”

“show up and act like you know exactly what i need.”

your expression shifted, just slightly. softer now. “maybe i do.”

he looked at you, really looked at you, and something in him finally cracked clean through.

because this wasn’t luck.

this was you.

showing up. staying. making him feel chosen in ways he’d never been chosen before.

and after enough days and nights of that, enough accidental dates disguised as errands and drive thrus and shared meals, enough of you reaching for him without fear and enough of him falling a little harder every single time, steve finally thought fuck it.

if he waited any longer, he was going to explode.

so he asked you out in the front seat of his car with takeout balanced between you, the engine off, the night quiet around both of you.

he had rehearsed it three different ways and forgotten all of them the second he looked at your face.

you noticed him staring. “what?”

he swallowed.

“i need to ask you something.”

you went still.

he almost panicked.

“okay” you said slowly, but you were smiling a little now, like you already knew where this was going and were trying not to scare him.

steve dragged a hand over his mouth, then let it fall to his lap. “i know this is probably going to come out badly, but i, uh..” he laughed once under his breath, nervous and disbelieving that he was really doing this. “do you want to go on an actual date with me?”

your eyes widened.

for one horrifying second he thought he’d ruined everything.

then you smiled, really smiled. the kind that made the whole world narrow down to just your face in the dim car light.

“yes” you said.

steve blinked. “yes?”

“yes.”

he let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for years. then another. then he laughed, helpless and stunned, and had to lean back in his seat because he genuinely thought he might float out through the roof of the car if he didn’t stay put.

“oh my god.”

you laughed too, delighted now, and he covered his face with one hand like a man trying very hard not to lose his entire mind in front of you.

“that went better than i expected” he admitted.

“you expected me to say no?”

“i expected you to laugh in my face.”

you looked scandalised. “steve.”

“what?”

“i would never.”

he glanced at you through his fingers, smiling despite himself. “you definitely would if you thought i deserved it.”

you pointed at him. “okay, yes, maybe a little. but not about this.”

his heart felt absurdly full.

there were a thousand things he wanted to say after that. a thousand different ways he wanted to tell you how much this meant to him, how much you meant to him, how long he had spent wanting exactly this without daring to reach for it.

instead, because he was still steve and still at least a little terrified of sincerity, he said, “cool.”

you laughed again and nudged his shoulder with yours.

and that was that.

somehow, miraculously, that was that.

-

after that, everything got easier and harder at the same time.

easier because you were no longer pretending. harder because now he had a reason to be afraid of losing you. but mostly it was beautiful in the painfully ordinary way he had once thought only existed in daydreams.

date nights where you ordered two meals and shared because you were both annoyingly indecisive. afternoons spent browsing records, where you’d lean close enough to smell his cologne and he’d forget entire sentences. evenings where you sat on his couch in soft clothes and let the silence rest between you without it feeling empty. mornings where he woke up with your head against his shoulder and had to lie perfectly still because he didn't trust himself not to cry from happiness.

you asked for little.

just enough to let him love you in the ways that came naturally to him.

help carrying things. help with directions. help deciding what to eat. help fixing something small. help choosing between two nearly identical shirts. help with the kind of things that made him feel useful, needed, wanted.

and you asked him on purpose.

“you do that” he said, voice going strange and quiet.

you looked up from the counter. “do what?”

“ask me for things.”

your brow furrowed a little. “i mean, yeah. because i need help sometimes.”

he shook his head, smiling even though his chest hurt. “no, i know. i just.. i know you could do a lot of this stuff yourself.”

you went still, reading the look on his face with a kind of soft intelligence that always made him feel seen right through. “steve.”

he laughed once, shaky and disbelieving. “you do it because you know i like it.”

there was no point trying to hide it from you. not anymore.

you crossed the kitchen slowly and stopped in front of him. your expression had gone warm in that quiet, devastating way it always did when you were being tender. “yeah,” you said. “i do.”

his throat tightened.

“because you deserve to be needed too” you added softly.

that nearly finished him.

he stared at you for a long second, then reached out like he couldn’t help himself and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. you smiled up at him, and he thought, absurdly, that this was what a miracle must feel like.

the gentle, impossible fact of being loved by someone who understood you.

the first time you kissed him, he swears he forgot how to breathe.

it happened at the end of a date that was not technically a date anymore because by then the word didn’t even seem big enough for the way you were together.

the two of you had spent the evening sharing fries, making fun of a bad movie, and arguing over whether a joke in the restaurant had been funny or just deeply stupid.

when he walked you to your door, neither of you seemed in any hurry to say goodnight.

the air between you felt charged with something quiet and inevitable.

you smiled at him from the steps and said his name like you were already halfway to touching him.

“what?” he asked softly.

you looked at his mouth then you stepped closer, and suddenly all the fear, all the years, all the old loneliness that had once lived in him so deeply it felt permanent just fell away.

your hand touched his cheek.

he leaned into it without thinking.

and when you kissed him, it was so gentle it almost hurt. so certain it made every part of him go still.

he felt it down to the marrow of his bones, like the whole world had finally clicked into place and his body had been waiting his entire life for that exact moment.

when you pulled back, he was staring at you like you had performed actual magic.

you laughed softly. “hi.”

he let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and a sigh at the same time. “hi.”

“was that okay?”

he stared at you in horror. “okay?”

“i mean, i just-”

he kissed you again before you could keep apologising for something so perfect.

after that, he stopped pretending he was only dipping a toe into this.

he let himself fall.

freely and completely.

and the worst part, the most beautiful part, was how easy it was.

he realised you were his first real love, and somehow you made that fact feel less like a wound and more like a gift.

you knew him in ways he'd never been known before. not because you were trying to fix him, but because you were paying attention. because you loved the parts of him he'd once thought were too much and not enough all at once. because you looked at his softness and his awkwardness and his need to be useful and his habit of filling silence with jokes, and instead of making him ashamed, you made him feel cherished.

he stopped worrying, mostly, about whether you'd leave.

not because the fear vanished entirely. he was still human. still steve. still someone who had been taught by life to brace for loss.

but because you were there.

because you kept being there.

because one night turned into a week, and a week turned into a month, and before he knew it he was waking up beside you and listening to you talk about your dreams before the sun came up, and it didn’t feel temporary. it felt like home.

that was the thing he had always wanted most.

not a perfect life, not a flawless one, just a life that felt full.

with laughter in the kitchen. with your shoes by his door. with your voice in his ear. with your hand in his. with a future that no longer felt like a blank wall he had to stare at alone.

he still thought about marriage sometimes. still thought about kids. still thought about the little house with the porch and the bright, noisy rooms and the warmth that would come from somewhere deeper than furniture or decor or good luck.

but now those thoughts didn't hurt.

now they glowed.

because he knew. he knew, with the kind of certainty that settled quietly and stayed, that he hadn't been doomed to loneliness after all.

he'd just been waiting for you.

and now that you were his, the world felt different.

steve, who had spent years thinking he was unlovable, was loved instead.

and you loved him so naturally that it rewrote everything.

he wasn't lonely anymore.

not when you were beside him talking his ear off in bed. not when you reached for him in the dark. not when you smiled at him over dinner and asked him to pass the salt.

he once thought high hopes were something that happened to other people.

now he knew better.

now he knew they were something he could have, too.

something he could build. something you had built together, one small choice at a time.

and when he looked at you, really looked at you, he felt it with painful, beautiful clarity.

you were his girl. his whole world.

that was not a dream that hurt to hold, it was real.

-