I promised I'd keep you shitheads safe.

One bad day is bearable. It's bound to happen to everyone. A second is unfortunate but nothing to cry about. But by your fifth awful, horrible, dragging day, you're fed up. Your mom seems to yell at you for everything, you keep messing up at your job, your Walkman broke, and you're just not feeling like yourself. You can't sleep because your mind is going a mile a minute and everything seems wrong. The pit in your stomach won't fade and you feel so lonely but don't want to bother anyone since you can't seem to string two decent sentences together.

You snapped at Dustin yesterday when he came into the bookstore to say hi. Dustin. You called him to apologize and you were so desperate on the phone that he sounded absolutely bewildered and worried, asking if you were okay and if he needed to call Steve.

And okay, maybe that's part of the problem. Steve is out of town for the week and it just feels like another thing the universe has piled onto you. He's on vacation with his parents for once to see relatives in Ohio and he told you he wasn't sure he'd be able to call. But after the miserable week you've had a sour part of you is glad that he's gone because you know you're no fun like this. But a bigger part of you misses him and wonders if he'd be able to make you feel better.

Today is the day he's supposed to come home so you sprawl on your back in your yard wishing your Walkman wasn't broken and wait for him to call. He'll call, right? Maybe he'll be too tired. Or maybe he wants you to call him. The thought has you rubbing your eyes and willing yourself to get up and go inside. You don't normally feel this insecure when it comes to Steve -- he's lovely and attentive and even when you fight he makes sure you know that he cares about you.

"Excuse me, have you seen a pretty girl anywhere?" For a few slow seconds you think you dreamed him up, a figment of your imagination to make yourself feel better. But then you sit up and see him backlit by the late summer sun and sure enough, it's Steve. The pit in your stomach starts to loosen but your body still feels heavy and your nose tingles like tears aren't far away.

"Steve!" You say his name louder than you've said anything in days.

"Well, look at that," he smirks. "There she is!" He looks the kind of tired that you've learned to look for on him since he tries to hide it -- his beautiful eyes a little dull and sunken and his shoulders in a rigid line. A week with his parents must have been grueling. What a messy pair you make. You start to stand, your fingertips itching to touch him, but he waves you away.

"Nah, don't get up on my account." He spins his car keys on his index finger a few times as he looks down at you. It's like he's deciding something, checking you over for signs of wear and tear before he sits down on the blanket next to you. He's in your space so suddenly that your breach hitches as he presses your thighs together.

"Hi," you say, much softer than your initial greeting. He smiles and you take inventory of the familiar planes of his face: his eyebrows, long lashes framing warm but tired eyes, moles you've touched and tasted. He's so pretty it makes you ache. "I missed you."

"Don't let me go on family vacation ever again," he mutters. "Not worth it." He reaches up slowly to brush his fingers across your cheek, giving you time to pull away. Steve doesn't think much of himself -- something you've fought about before -- but he does know he's pretty good at reading you and he can tell that something is up. That you're both a little off. But you lean into his hand and he must take it as a good sign because he leans in to kiss you softer than you'd expect for a week apart.

It's the kind of kiss that has come with time. It's a hello kiss, not without heat, but more like sliding back into the familiar. Sliding back into comfort, back into the place you want to be most. It's I missed you and I love you and I'm glad to be back. He nibbles on your bottom lip before trailing kisses to the corner of your mouth, finishing with a sweet one on the apple of your cheek. His thumb swipes across the trail he's left, the pad of his finger callused and familiar.

"Anything happen while I was gone?" You swing your legs into his lap and his hands automatically come to ghost over your bare shins.

The thing about Steve that has always amazed you is that he's like the sun. You feel warmed under his gaze, lighter when he's next to you, more alive when he's touching you. His heavy palms calm you, pieces of your bad mood peeling off and floating away like they never existed at all. Sill, you groan, throwing your head back to look at the tree tops.

"Nothing good," you grumble. "Seems like a black cloud is following me around." Steve taps your knee and you look back at him. He's frowning, the crease between his eyebrows overwhelmingly endearing since it's on behalf of you.

"That's...shitty. Wanna talk about it?"

"Yeah," you sigh. "Eventually Not now, though. I'm feeling better for the first time in days." With Steve here it's like a filter has come off of your vision -- all the bad stuff seems to matter less.

Steve winks. "That's the Harrington charm at work," he teases. But the churning in your gut suddenly turns on again and you feel uneasy.

"I don't want you to think I can't be without you, Steve," you mutter. "Like I'm codependent or something. Or clingy."

"Woah, woah, woah! No, no I don't think that," he rushes to assure you. "I wanted to see you just as bad, I swear. Just a rough week for both of us, I guess." He tugs on the edge of your cutoffs and you scoot even closer to him so that you're almost in his lap. He pulls your hand into his over your blanket.

"A perfect shitstorm," you agree.

He smiles at you, eyes brighter already, and you notice that he hasn't shaved in a few days. You want to feel the drag of his stubble on your skin, so you run the knuckle of your pointer finger over his cheek and he shivers.

"Don't mind you needing me a little, though. Good for my ego." A laugh bursts out of you. "Okay, you laughing at my ego is less good for it." You keep tracing the lines of his face with your finger, running over his strong brows, his hairline, the bridge of his nose.

"Do you want to talk about your trip?" you ask. He closes his eyes and sighs into your touch, blowing air through his lips in a raspberry.

"Same old shit. Dad telling everyone about my disappointing job, mom talking about whatever town crap she does to impress everyone. There were some small kids there though, so I just watched them most of the time. Y'know, it made me glad that the shitheads here are old enough to know how to eat food like human beings." You want to ask him more questions, especially about what he did with the kids, but his eyes fly open and he shifts a little, one arm coming around your back so he doesn't dislodge you as he leans forward to dig something out of his jeans. The closeness makes your heart pick up and you're sure he can feel it.

"Remembered something," he says. He's grinning, pleased with whatever he's about to show you. And then he holds up a tape like a first-place medal. "Saw the new Peter Gabriel in a store and grabbed it for you."

A lot happens at once: you stare at it and feel a surge of love for Steve so strong that it makes your nose sting. He's so sweet to you, thinking about you when you were gone as you just stewed in your bad mood and moped around your house. And then you remember that your Walkman is broken and you can't stop the tears that start to leak from your eyes, hot and quick.

Steve, for his part, looks more alarmed than anything, dropping the tape immediately and pulling you all the way into his lap so he can frame your face with his hands. "Hey, hey, hey, woah, what's happening, baby?"

"My Walkman broke this week," you choke out. The tears are a mix of sadness, bring overwhelmed, and feeling embarrassed. He isn't totally sure why this is a reason to cry but he's not about to tell you that.

"Tears, though? Baby, c'mon," he says softly, thumbs warm on your cheeks. "Christ, you know how fragile I am. If you cry I'll end up crying and that won't be fun for anyone."

That makes your lips turn up at the edges even though the tears don't totally stop. "You're a pretty crier, Steve."

"That's funny," he says. "Real funny. You saw me during Top Gun and you know that's not true. We almost got kicked out because of me!" You laugh and it's a little wet but it's genuine. He really did cry a lot on that date. "I'll take a look at the Walkman, okay?" he says, a little desperately. One hand moves to the back of your neck and he tucks the other under your shirt to splay warm on your lower back. Maybe he really is going to cry. You try to reign in your distress a little. "Maybe Munson can fix it. Or...or I'll just get you a new one, no problem. Okay?"

You pull him in for a hug because all of this is just so Steve, the way he's desperate to fix a problem that he had nothing to do with in the first place just to make you happy. Being cared for like this never stops feeling new and shiny, a riot in your stomach and your heart that makes you want to cling to him forever. And the part that amazes you is that it's just how Steve moves through the world now-- he cares so much about everyone in his life and you don't know how you got lucky enough to be one of those people.

Your chin bumps against his temple and Steve ghosts his lips along your neck, his stubble tickling a little. "I'm so embarrassed to be crying about this," you mutter into his hair. He smells like sunshine and leather. You wonder if he came over here as soon as he got out of the car. "It's just a bad few days. And the tape is real sweet, Steve --"

Steve hushes you and rubs his hand up and down your back, lifting your shirt up and down a little with each swipe of his palm. "Honestly I've felt like crying all week," he says into your skin. "And that's just from listening to my dad talk." You press a kiss to his hairline and pull back to look down your nose at him. The tears stop and he notices, the tension that had gathered in his shoulders fading.

"Let's go inside and lay in my bed and get the week off of our chests, okay?" He nods and you scoot off of him and stand and Steve whines at your distance, a sweet and needy sound. You scoff at him but hold out your hands. He tucks the discarded tape back into his pocket and allows you to help him up, groaning exaggeratedly as he tugs himself to standing.

There's something so peaceful about this moment between you two despite the fact that you just cried in his arms. You want to stay in it a little longer so you take your time smoothing out his shirt needlessly, hands running along his shoulders and down his chest. He reaches behind you to pull down your hem where he rucked it up, pinching you just once on your hip and you yelp.

"Hey! Steve, c'mon."

He grins. "Hmm?" You narrow your eyes at him and mess with his hair a little. He scrunches his nose but patiently undergoes your meddling as if he wants to stay in this moment for a little longer, too. You trace a line down his nose and across his lips, and he pretends to snap at your fingertips.

"Okay, that's it," you say, hand over his heart. "C'mon, silly boy." He tucks his hands into your back pockets to hold you against him for just one second longer. He's like a magnet, a planet whose orbit you're snagged in. He's everything.

Steve's eyes are soft and earnest, open and shining as he looks at you. "I'm glad to be home," he whispers. He wasn't angling for a kiss but you can't help it when you lean in to give him a short one.

"Me too," you reply. "Thank you for the tape." You tap it in his back pocket.

"If I can't fix the Walkman I'll just sing the songs till we get you a new one." He starts to hum, bouncing his head along to the rhythm he's butchering.

"Oh god," you groan, weaseling out of his hold to head for the door. "I'm calling Eddie." Steve scoffs in outrage and is hot on your heels, chasing you up the stairs.

Things will be okay -- you knew that before, and you know that now. Steve just makes it easier to believe.

tags: @cheerupbarry @srrybutno @97soroka @sunlitide @gloryofroses19 @carpediem1219 @themarvelousbee @sunshinehollandd @katsukis1wife @imherefortea @spideyboipete @lonelywidow @louderfortheback @actual-mom-steve-harrington @steveharringtonscarkeys @pennyllanne @ducky-is-dead-inside

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