ೀsage

But you needed something to fixate on that was not Steve’s shirtless body being backlit by the sunset across the lake. He’s submerged up to his chest, wading and looking towards the same beautiful sky you were taking in. Every time you saw the expanse of his shoulders and his bare chest, you envision those horrible bruises that riddled his tanned skin. They have finally faded with time, but you can picture them so clearly.

August was always humid in Hawkins, but this past week, it’s been overwhelmingly muggy and potent.

You were going to miss moments like this. The simplicity and the sweat you resent now, but would yearn to feel going down your neck and spine later.

You take another puff, finally not choking immediately.

Steve finally moves from his swaying position to look back, eyeing you up on the rock formation you are sprawled across. You never swam in the lake, always taking up the real estate on the shore or tucking yourself up on a rock to observe Steve’s backstroke or look out for fish in the shallow end.​

“You never get better with those things,” He mutters, standing up and brushing his hand across his nice-toned stomach.

He slowly moves up to the shore, dropping onto the muddy grass with an oof. He had not said much to you the entire time you two had been here, which you didn’t mind. You were caught up in your own rattling thoughts.

It had been almost two months since the mall fire. That’s what the local news and townspeople have been labelling it.

You were grappling with the nightmares and living in a constant state of anxiety throughout every single day since. Being in public was overwhelming, which made your job search fruitless. Your parents were not pressuring you much. They knew that what you had gone through was crippling you from doing your normal tasks.

Your only partial solace is being with Steve. He made you feel safe in a way not even your mother made you feel. A shared experience and an unspoken understanding that no one in the world could even comprehend.

There was still this part of your soul that had been stripped away. You had been obsessive about trying to narrow down what made you so anxious, but you did not know if you should search for it or accept that this is how you would be forever.

You had been attached to Steve’s hip, sure, but he’s only a mere mortal. He cannot make you any better.

But he has yet to complain about you being near him all the time. If anything, it seems like he is enjoying your time together, distracting him from some of the weird medical stuff he’s been dealing with and that residual anxiety he tried to shield from your prying eyes.

Two weeks ago, you drove out to the audiologist a few hours away with him because of the constant ringing in his ears. He held your hand in the waiting room while his leg bounced. When his name was called, you gave him a reassuring smile as he dropped your hand to see if they could solve his problem.

But people are terrible at having answers for either of you.

As the days go on, you notice some slight positive changes, but they are slow to come back.

He’s not shaking his head as much, telling you the ringing actually goes away for small increments during the day. You chalk it up to the variety of medications he’s on.

His fingernails are growing back and aren’t bleeding as much due to his abuse of them. He gnawed them down to the cuticles and had bandaids on every other finger for a month.

Just last week, you were able to actually sleep for more than 4 hours. With the light on. Your doctor has not been notified about your sleeping habits. Or the fact that you cannot close your eyes at night without rehashing the Mindflayer’s wrath and the following days.

You numbed those intense, vivid memories with wine you stole from your father’s large wine cabinet in the basement. It was becoming the only thing you could rely on to pull your thoughts away from that entire incident. You knew it was bad. You knew that you could not get dependent on it. You had only done it three times when you were really desperate and exhausted. You couldn’t shut your eyes without envisioning Steve sacrificing himself for Dustin. Even though that had not happened, your mind became obsessed with laying out that scene. The alcohol numbed you enough that it became a small crutch. But you were becoming uneasy with the idea that you would never feel at peace without it.

You promised yourself two nights ago that you would stop. And you have.

You just wanted to be normal again.

“The more I smoke, the better I get.”

He grimaces at your response. He’s quick to hop up onto your rock throne and snatch the unlit end from your fingers. “Nope.”

“What do you mean nope?”

“Meaning I am not letting you get better at it. Find a new oral fixation.”

You roll your eyes when his dripping wet shorts leave tiny droplets on your bare thigh. He ashes out the cigarette, dropping down next to you.

He was not going to stop you from figuring out a way to redirect your traumatized brain.

“I think it’s time you change the subject.”

You wipe off some of the water with your pointer finger, focusing your eyes elsewhere.

“Fine…I think Robin has a lead on a job,” Steve states as he stretches his shoulders and leans back onto his palms beside you. His long legs hang over the side of the miniature cliff, and he kicks them like a toddler on a swing. He can never sit still.

“Oh, really?” You draw a heart with the residual water, right on your knee. “Where?”

“Before she left, she said that the new video store on Kersey was hiring. Apparently, she knows the manager.”

You hum before you speak, “That’s great, I’m sure she’ll get it. She knows a lot about movies.”

“Maybe we could all get a job there.”

You shoot him a glance. He’s still looking over the lake, now wrapping his arms around his knees. He tucks himself inward, and as he does, his wet thigh brushes over yours.

“I wouldn’t count on that, Steve.”

He smirks, his hazel eyes finally meeting yours. You would not dare look away from him, now.  He looked too pretty in the orange and pink hues that took over the entire sky. His hair is slicked back, but three tiny strands are curled onto his forehead. He hasn’t shaved for the last couple of days, so his face is a bit more stubbly.

You wonder if he notices the small things about you. You wonder if he can read your mind and see that you are hiding something from him.​

“But just imagine! You, me, Robin,” His brows raise in excitement, “Working in a video store with endless movies to watch.”

“Yeah, it’d be cool, but I am not putting my faith into something like that.”

His face slightly droops, obviously annoyed by your passiveness. You had not been that gung-ho about anything lately. You were overly cautious to really put all your eggs in one basket. And with Steve, he tried to be optimistic if it was something that came to you.

His shoulder pushes you, shifting your ass across the rough platform you were on, “Why are you being a stick in the mud?”

You manage a half-assed giggle, “I’m just being realistic.”

“Well, I’d like to daydream about a world where I get to work with my best friends.”​

You stare out over the bugs that are settling over the haze of the lake water.

Life seems simple here. The outdoors have always made you feel some sort of freedom you yearned for growing up. That’s why you loved driving around, too. Fresh air, open road, your best friend by your side. You did not have to worry about the pressure of doing anything. No one was waiting for you. No one needed your input or opinion.

You didn’t have the constant reminder that your childhood was basically behind you.

This summer was really hammering that home.

When September hits, you won’t be able to sit in this spot without a hoodie or jeans on. You liked the piercing sun on your bare legs and shoulders, not the frigid overcast that Indiana was permanently stuck in during the fall.

There was a time when you didn’t mind it. When you got together with friends during October to go trick-or-treating. The fall festival Hawkins always hosted in the town center. Thanksgiving at your Grandma’s, and your uncles would pile a bunch of leaves for you and your cousins.

It was the season you started getting close to Steve.

6th-grade chorus Christmas concert. You two were stuck next to each other on the risers, and he would intentionally sing the wrong note to make everyone laugh. You would nudge him to keep him on track, and somehow that spiraled into you two walking home side by side every day.

He was easy to talk to. He was enthusiastic about just about everything you said. He would get this twinkle in his eyes when you would talk about your new favorite song or all the boys you had crushes on.

That twinkle had faded quite a bit over time, but on rare occasions, you’d catch a hint of it when you teased him.

You click your tongue, thinking of a way to steer the conversation. Faux optimism. That’ll get him.

You nudge him with your shoulder, “If you get a job there, maybe you’ll meet some chicks.”

His face flickers, staring in the opposite direction. It’s almost like the comment made him uncomfortable. “I think that ship has sailed.”

You don’t know why he’s being weird now. So you double down, trying to joke more, so maybe he will give it back to you.

“What do you mean? You trying out guys for size?”

“Don’t be an ass,” He gives you a hint of a smile, scanning your face, “No, like, I don’t know. I just feel like… I want to focus on me. Figure out what I really want.”

You bite your lip, only encouraging him to continue. “That is important.”

“With Nancy, I felt like I knew exactly what I wanted. But the more I…” He pauses, really contemplating his next words. His fingers tap on his bare knee, “I guess getting older shines a light on different parts and people in your life.”

It’s endearing to hear him talk like this. Steve is a lot of things, but he’s rarely sentimental. So hearing that he is taking into account different people in his life, and their meaning to the bigger picture, made you happy.

“Aw, Steve Harrington gettin’ all old and wise on me?”

“Hopefully.”

The intense rise of bugs buzzing and making noise makes you believe you misheard him. Your brow twitches as you scan him all the way from his feet to his suddenly very serious expression.

“Hopefully?”

“Yeah, hopefully I get old and wise with you.”

Your eyes flicker down at his lips. Only the briefest glance before locking back onto his eyes.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He looks at your lips, “But it’s what I meant.”

It makes goosebumps rush across your skin.

You needed to create a barrier. Distance. Deflect. Something.

You slide off the slicker part of the rock, finding your footing in the mud below. You trek through, not saying anything because you are already sick of the way Steve has been making you feel lately.

Like there’s something unsaid. Something that lies in wait, waiting for you to pull back the curtain.

But you were sick of that. Having to be the one who pressed forward when things got too real. It made you feel stupid and anxious.

You could count on one hand the sly comments like this Steve had made towards you in the last week.

He’s all talk.

Because if there was more intention behind what he said, there would be a follow up. A kiss. A holding of your hand. A heated gaze. Something.​

But it always resulted in some casual joke or him averting his eyes away from you.

As you work your way up to the tall grass and dirt path, you hear Steve’s rapid footsteps behind you. His bare feet splatting on the mushy ground, his breath uneven.

“Hey!”

You instantly begin rambling, trying to disconnect from what just happened. “We should get home, it’s getting dark.”

“What just happened?”

You try to play stupid, but it sounds strained, “What?”

He does his normal stance. Both hands on his hip, one leg slightly jutted out. Eyes narrowed, his nose slightly scrunched.

“I think we should stop dancing around this.”

You cross your arms over your chest, not wanting to hear much more from him. That was until he moved from his spot, inching closer to you with those oogling eyes.

“For fucks sake, Steve.”

His face flickers, “What!?”

When his hand reaches out for your hand that’s placed on top of your forearm, you snatch it away. Maybe these physical queues were not enough after all. You still did not want it. You felt like this was wrong somehow. Like your best friend must have really gotten his brain rattled in his skull during his fight with the Russians a couple of months ago, and caved into a delusional world that centered around his genuine feelings for you.

“You don’t feel that way about me, okay? You can’t. You don’t.”

He looks offended, but his hand still tries to reach out again to yours. You let him take it this time, but you don’t wrap your fingers around his knuckles.

“You don’t get to tell me how I feel about you!” He barks, pulling you closer. You brace yourself against his chest, trying not to fall too much closer into him, “Jesus, do you hear yourself?”

“Yes. Loud and clear,” You whisper, dropping all physical contact with a quick swivel.

With your back turned to him now, you take three steps before his voice rings out again.

“Is it me? Am I-”

You shift back, head snapping towards him to stop him mid-sentence, “Steve, stop.”

“I’m not good enough?”

You shake your head, knowing he’s about to jump down the rabbit hole of self-deprecation.

“That’s not it at all.”

“Then tell me!”

His voice is shaking, and he looks uneasy, like he may throw up.

“I am not someone you need to love because I’ve just been around for a while,” You state before biting down on your lips, as if to seal them off from saying more. There was more to your rationale, but it felt like the wrong time to say it.

His face relaxes slightly, like he was about to change your mind. Like this was just a misunderstanding that he could fix with a confession. “Did you not hear me earlier?”

You did, but you wish you hadn’t. You are mad that this conversation was even sparked because you were not ready to have it.

“I am an idiot because I didn’t see you earlier, Bug! God, I was the biggest idiot ever! Because everything that I could possibly want has been here the entire time! Nancy was great, and yeah, I have had other crushes before, but I was always trying to be something else for them. I’m me when I’m with you. I want that. I want you.”

It was like your entire life flashed before your eyes as he poured his heart out. You see yourself falling in love with him, spending every holiday together. Then a wedding by a beautiful lake, just like the one you’re currently at. Then children. Two or three. A small baby in your arms while two toddlers run around the backyard of the beautiful home that Steve fixed up. Going to soccer games and hosting birthday parties. When they grow up, you and Steve fall into a lifeless routine where you make dinner when he gets home from his 9-5, and you watch TV together on the couch. Then repeat that every day. Until you’re old and the grandchildren come by to try to fill that void you are harboring.

Then you die, old and miserable and completely unfulfilled.

And the entire time you watch this flash go by, you recognize the lifeless eyes you display. That residual ache that is currently lingering in your bones stays around forever, and you’re never fully present in every small moment that truly matters. Sure, you can share those happy moments, but you’re truly unfeeling.

All because you had a part of you ripped out of you when you were a teenager. All the love Steve gave you wasn’t enough. Your children were never enough. You were never fucking enough. Your brain and heart were toxic and poisonous, and you remained stuck in one place the entirety of your life.

It makes you sick to your stomach. You cannot put Steve through that.

“You can be you around me. I love that,” You say gently, as a single tear drops from your eye, “More than you even know. But I’m… I’m not me, right now, okay? I’m… I’m not ready. I’m anxious, and my brain is fucking muddled with all these racing thoughts all the time. I am not me with you. Or anyone. Not right now. If you had said this at the beginning of summer, sure. I was different then. I was normal. But you don’t want me like this.”

He’s quick to respond, reaching back out and pulling you towards him. He’s pleading now. “I do.”

Your lip quivers as you speak, “You won’t. You don’t.”

“I’m with you every day, already. Why does a label change that?”

“I’m not going to be your girlfriend because I need to fix me first, and I cannot do that when you want something from me! I’m not going to be someone you deserve.”

He cradles your face, looking down at you with the utmost admiration. His eyes are slightly misty, but at this angle, you can only really focus on how much green is laced throughout his iris, mixing in with that golden brown.

He was so goddamn pretty you wished your heart was ready to fully take him on. But you know you’d be doing him a disservice. You needed to figure some shit out first. You didn’t know what, but there was something.

“Can I just…” His thumb sweeps over your chin, “Can I kiss you?”

You feel like you almost look through him when you respond, “It’s not going to change my mind.”

“I don’t care, I just need to.”

You don’t know why you nod, but you do. ​

In all honesty, you hope that it will change your mind. That the electricity of finally kissing Steve after years of pining after him would heal you and wake you up from whatever you’re dealing with.

He presses his lips into yours, but instead of melting into it, you go completely rigid. His right palm cradles your cheek as his fingers pass your hairline. His left hand travels down your shoulder, making you more aware of where it’s passing through and not the fact that he’s trying to get you to move your lips with his.

His hand finally stops right on your elbow as he withdraws from your mouth.

His eyes are still closed, and that’s when it hits you that you had your eyes open the entire time. ​

He doesn’t say anything, just stands millimeters from your face. The air grows tense the moment you unintentionally exhale loudly. Like a sigh of relief that the kiss is finally over. ​

That rubs him the wrong way. It would rub you the wrong way, too.

He is quick to start towards the car, snatching his t-shirt from a nearby branch he used as a hanger, “Let’s get you home.”

You blink rapidly, suddenly feeling the need to tell him what you’ve been meaning to tell him. Maybe this was the right time.

“I’m going to live with my aunt.”

He stops dead in his tracks, his t-shirt balled up in his hands like he wants to throw it like a basketball. “What?”

The plans had been confirmed the evening prior. Your mom reached out to her sister, and she agreed to have you stay with her in the city. Your struggles did not need to be Hawkin’s problem. You needed to be somewhere else.

Your eyes well up with tears. It’s the first time you cried since that night two months ago. “I leave next week. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

He races towards you, stopping about 2 feet from you. “Bug, what the hell?”

You hate the expression he has on his face. It’s already morphing into resentment. ​

“My mom thinks it’ll be good for me to get a change of scenery. My aunt knows a good therapist in South Bend that I can go see-”

He cuts you off, his nostrils flaring, “You’re leaving?! Four hours away?”

A single tear drops across your cheek, and you instantly wipe it away. You swallow, knowing that if you don’t do this, the resentment would go both ways. You did not want to hate Steve, but you knew you could push through him hating you.

He was never quick at coming around to things, but once it happened, he was usually grateful no one listened to his plan.

“I need to. I need this, Steve.”

His demeanor changes when he hears your shaky voice. He stucks in a sharp breath, letting his eyes travel towards the woods that line the lake.

“It seems you already made up your mind,” He whispers, the sounds of locus practically covering up his words, “And I don’t think I’d be wise to try to change it.”

dividers by @/cafekitsune