‧₊˚❀b༉‧₊˚.

You’re smart enough not to question why he’s suddenly so interested in gap’s summer collection. You can assume why, as his mood is gloomier than ever due to having a silly fight with max again.

It’s not something to get worried about though, he’s a pretty sappy romantic kid and you’re sure he’ll get her back in no time.

The door opening sounds through the basement, steps following down the stairs as Steve comes into view.

He throws the bag of popcorn to the two boys by the armchair, ignoring Mike’s complaints as they land right on his face.

“A diet coke for the lady.” He hands the can to you smoothly, though your gaze stays focused on the movie.

“Mhm.” It’s enough of a thank you to him, knowing you too well to disturb your focused moment.

Fishing out the bag of peanuts from his pocket, he throws himself rather loudly to the spot on the couch beside you, smiling at your annoyed tap on his leg for him to be quiet.

Without saying a word, he opens the packet on his hands, picking out peanuts one by one and cracking the shells open before handing them to you.

“Aren’t you gonna eat some too?” You say after a moment of realizing they’re appearing on your hand way too fast for you to be sharing.

“No, i’m good.” He affirms, so gentle it makes you momentarily glance at him.

Except seems to have the same idea as you, eyes focused on your face as if he’d been staring for at least a little while. It makes you grow all hot, though you blame it on the july weather.

Shaking out a confused nod, you turn back to the tv. Refusing to ask why he’s doing this. You really don’t want to know the answer.

It’s not that Steve’s not a nice guy, he’s always been kind to you for all you know. But then again you never really interacted with him back in school.

He’s just been extra nice for the last couple of months, and you would love it. You would. Except to you he pretty much seems to be obsessing over getting someone to date. And you don’t want to be one of them, not when he’s doing it all to get over someone.

Besides, Nancy is a really nice girl and the last thing you want is to get yourself into some kind of rivalry with her. That’s not you.

While you’re distracted you don’t notice Lucas approaching Dustin, whispering something to him while pointing at the magazine from before.

“Will you two let us watch the movie? Jeese.” Steve grumps, throwing you a ‘are they serious?’ look, although you know he doesn’t really care.

“Yeah so, about that- we gotta go!” Dustin suddenly jumps up from the couch, excited in a rather suspicious way.

“What?” You frown.

“We’re so sorry but i just found like the perfect gift for Max and it’s on sale! I need to go get it before someone gets their grabby hands on it.” Lucas points to the golden necklace on the catalogue.

It is pretty, you can’t deny that.

“Ok well, you two don’t take long cause the sun’s setting soon.” It’s a bit weird to be sounding like one of their moms, but you’ve gotten used to it.

“Us four, actually.” Dustin cuts in, pointing to Mike and Will you look like they are just as confused as you.

“That must be some heavy necklace for you to need four of you to carry it.” Steve answers amusedly, as if he knows exactly what the boy is doing.

Damn them and their way of communicating. Sometimes you really believe they were separated in birth, even with the age difference.

“Dude, you seriously are so out of touch. We need an extra opinion in case there’s no necklaces left.” It’s some stupid excuse, but you’re too tired and hot to retaliate.

“Just don’t take long. Your parents will all kill us if they knew we let you out till late.” You give in easily, finding yourself to be way more accepting than Steve.

“Be back before 8 or i’ll come get you!” Steve exclaims as the teenagers start running up the stairs.

“Yes, mom!” Dustin yells sarcastically.

Steve huffs beside you, not moving even a bit even with the extra space on the couch now.

“Could’ve at least called me Dad. Mom.” He scoffs the end of the phrase out.

“Oh no, you’re definitely mom.” You giggle, more bubbling out of your chest at his faux offensed face.

“Am not!” He squeaks.

“You sure are very motherly towards them. Sound exactly like my Mrs. Wheeler scolding at them.” You poke his bicep jokingly.

He rolls his eyes, though a little smile is at the corner of his mouth. He looks like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t for the next few seconds and you don’t wait to turn back to the tv.

“Does that mean you’re like the dad?” You freeze at his silly question.

Because he doesn’t mean for it to be silly and you don’t even have to process it to know it. He sure as hell doesn’t mean it in a ‘friendly divorced parents’ way.

“What?” You blurt, scraping your nails against the can on your hands anxiously.

He notices your demeanor, almost frowning but pulling the happy mask before his eyebrows get to pinch together.

“Like- cause i’m mom and all.” He laughs awkwardly. “We’re like their parents at the point with how much we babysit.”

“Right. Of course.” You smile tightly.

Your heart soars at the way he seems upset due to your dry tone. It almost makes you want to tell him that it’s okay, that you don’t mind it, that you wish you were actually a couple.

“I mean- i did feel like a dad with you bringing me a drink while i watch tv. You’d make a pretty good housewife.” Your eyes gleam when your comment lightens his smile.

“Look at us breaking stereotypes.” Steve muses, pretty teeth impossible not to look at when he smiles just for you.

You can only smile too, head leaning slightly back against the couch as your body feels suddenly aware that he’s close to you. Enough that your legs touch and your shoulders brush with every slight movement.

“I would make a nice housewife.” He affirms to himself, voice filled with ego.

“Yeah, don’t let it get to your pretty head.” You mock.

“You think i’m pretty?” He whispers, almost like a secret.

The air you’re about to let out catches on your throat, chest heavy in the worst best way. He’s so gorgeous - the most.

And you really want to feel it naturally, what he’s trying to give you. But you can’t. Because there’s always that little voice at the back of your head, like a string that makes you trip every time you try to go through the door that leads to him.

So you pull back, turning from his searching eyes and desperately trying to find something to say to make this less awkward.

“Oh look, Leia and Han are about to kiss for the first time.” Great. That so makes it better.

“Yeah.” Steve croaks after a moment.

It makes you want to dig into the couch, hide yourself inside the cushions until everything is okay. It makes it worse that he feels more hurt than angry at the rejection.

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom real quick.” He gets up, almost skipping steps as he goes up the stairs.

There’s a bathroom in the basement.

“Steve-“

“I’ll be right back.”

You dig your nails into the palms of your hands, feeling like a jerk and definitely lonely and weirdly not because of the empty basement. It’s for the best.

You’re tiring, he’d get tired. You’d tire him, is what you tell yourself to make it seem like a good decision.

He only comes back to tell you he’s picking the kids up, not quite looking you in the eye but acting like normal all over again. Almost as if he still wants to be overly nice to you. Still opens the car door for you. Still puts on your favorite radio station.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

“I just really have a feeling that he likes someone.” Robin rambles while organizing the mountain of tapes on their correct shelves.

“Steve?” You ask, shuddering a bit at the thought.

“Yeah, i mean- he hasn’t told me about any recent date. But then again i might have just made him think i don’t care about those.” She looks slightly apologetic as she says.

“I’m sure he doesn’t think that.” You reassure, rubbing her arm comfortably as you come closer to help sort.

Robin hums, putting on the expression she has when she’s trying to remember something.

“He did tell me about this girl. I didn’t think much of it at first but now that i’m thinking, he hasn’t mentioned anyone after that.” You try to process her words, trying to hide the way your stomach drops.

“And like he didn’t wanna reveal her identity. But he said it was someone he’s know for a long time, that he thought he finally found his person.” She goes on before adding, “‘said she’s different from other girls.” She scrunches her nose at the phrase.

“Oh yuck.” You laugh with her, forgetting the problem in question for a moment.

“So original of him, right?” Robin bumps her hip with yours.

“Please tell him to never confess to her by saying that.” You smile through it.

Then it hits you. Someone he’s known for a long time. He thinks she’s the one. Nancy.

“Actually, i was thinking you could talk to him.” She puts out, raising her eyebrows in question.

“Me?” You’re more confused than ever. Why would you need to speak to him? He can like whoever he wants to like. None of your business.

“As much as i want to find out who it is, i don’t think i’ll get it out of him. He acts all weird whenever i talk about it. And you’re his best friend, too. Maybe you could help him out.” She explains, though it seems like she’s holding back.

You’re Steve’s best friend. Did he say that? You hope he did.

It’s not a good idea that he might still be in love with Nancy. She’s got a boyfriend and they’re happy together.

“I guess that makes sense.” You agree, “Nancy would probably be upset if he tried something right now.”

“What?” Robin practically gasps.

“He seems like he wants to make a move, doesn’t he?”

“No, no, no- that’s not-“ Her eyes widen as she speaks, but the bell makes a loud noise as the store’s door opens, interrupting her mid sentence.

Steve smiles widely at you both, “I’m back!” As if you can’t see him right there.

It makes you smile a bit more, more so when he looks right at you. “You’re here. Hi.” He sounds rather excited about it.

“Yeah, Robin said i should keep you company since you’re covering for her.” You tell him.

“That’s nice of you, thank you.” He says.

“‘Course, it’s nothing.” You wave him off, sticking your hand into your pocket as you forget what to do with your hands.

“Okayyy…” Robin drags the word, leaving some kind of suggestion in the air. “That’s my cue to head out for a date with my lovely lady.” She bows dramatically.

“Yeah, okay. Brag.” Steve teases, though you see it in his smile that he loves that she’s happy.

“Bye, Rob. Have so much fun.” You receive a happy thumbs up before she’s out the door.

You smile to yourself, sorting through the tapes as you feel Steve come to stand beside you and let out a big breath before getting to work. Dramatic.

“Had fun with Buckley?” He asks, glancing at you with his soft deer eyes.

“I sure did. She’s much less boring than you.” You tease.

He brings his hand to his chest, “Oh wow, you wound me.” While giving you his best pout and it make it even harder for you to keep the friendly act going. “You totally love my company.”

“You’re okay.” You give in, refusing to look him in the eye as you know it’d crack your smile in one second. He notices.

“Did you have lunch?” He blurts randomly, as if remembering something.

“Uh- not yet, no.” You look at him amusedly.

“I brought you that sandwich you like, the one with the pretty wrapping. Cause, you know, i went there for lunch and i thought it would be nice.” He confesses nervously.

“Thanks, Steve.” You give in the urge to squeeze his bicep, your usual and mutual understanding thank you.

You let the comfortable silence fill the store, empty of customers due to it being lunch time.

Thoughts gear through your head, trying to put whatever you’re about to say in the right words so they don’t come out in a way that makes you look like a jerk.

Why couldn’t Robing be the one to speak to him? God, you feel like a mom having the conversation with her kid for the first time.

“So, there’s something i kinda need to talk to you about.” You start, words uneasy.

Steve nods slowly, as if processing. “‘Kay.” He urges you to go on.

“Robin tells me you like someone.” And fuck, you probably weren’t supposed to tell him she said that. Some good start you just picked for yourself.

“She does?” His expression seems to flicker with panic for a moment, before he practically shakes out of it and changes it into a confused one.

“Yeah, and i know it’s really none of my business but as your friend-“

“Best friend.” He corrects naturally.

“As your best friend,” The words feel nice to say, coming out too easy for the conversation you’re trying to have. “i feel like i have this duty to tell you when i think you’re gonna make a stupid decision. You know?”

Now he looks actually confused, eyebrows pinched together and thoughtless look. “Sure?”

“This to say that i understand you’re still on her,” It feels impossible to let her name out. “But i don’t think it’s a good idea to do something about it, quite unfair if i can be honest with you.”

“Wait, what?” He practically squeaks, dropping the tapes back in the cart. You try to understand why he’s avoiding it, but there’s no reason that comes to mind.

“Nancy.” You decide to be direct.

“Nancy? I’m not following, sweetheart.” The pet name rolls out his tongue easily and it leaves you in absolute despair.

“You’re thinking on making a move, are you not?” You try to have him catch up.

“No! I don’t know why Robin told you that, i really don’t. But i’m not doing anything with Nancy, there’s nothing with Nancy. Seriously.” He seems truthful enough as he speaks and you hate yourself for not fully believing him.

“But you like someone?”

He hesitates, “I do.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry for assuming, Robin didn’t actually say it was Nancy.” You give him a guilty quirk of the lips.

“That’s okay.” He reassures, sweet as always.

Steve shuffles on his feet, opening his mouth a few times as if he’s about to say something a but never seeming to muster the courage. You give him time.

“This girl-“ He cuts himself off, words coming out in a harsh breath, “she’s amazing. The most amazing girl i’ve ever met. And even though i have known her for a good while, i’ve looked at her with different eyes for the last few months.”

Your breath catches, you start to understand his words. Hate and love is what you have for them, no in between.

“She’s a breath of fresh air, although i do seem to be out of breath whenever she’s around. She’s the best with the kids, probably more caring than me. Has really good taste in music and movies - i wouldn’t have gotten this job if she didn’t make me decorate the name to every Star Wars movie.” He laughs but it seems more like relieved sigh.

You feel stuck to the ground, eyes wide and motionless. You don’t encourage him to go on, but he takes your silence.

“And most of all she makes me not care about what others think. Makes me wanna be a good person and nothing else.” He finishes, carefully leaning closer without stepping towards you.

You didn’t think this would happen like this, thrown right on your face like some splash of freezing water that leaves you freezing on the spot.

He’s lovely, his words are everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. But you’re filled with dread, because you know what’s about to come and you’re going to reject it.

“What do you say?”

It’s complicated, you’re not sure why you want to say no. You don’t fully believe him for one. It’s not fair to make him have someone who has doubts by his side.

“No.” You state, simply.

“What?” He asks, straightening up immediately and drily gulping.

You laugh, but it’s really more cause you don’t know what to say. “There’s no way you actually think we’d work.”

“Why not?” He sounds defensive, “I do think that, i think about it everyday.” His voice is more hurt than anything now.

“Steve, this is crazy. We’re best friends. No way.” You shake your head.

“Did you just hear all that i said? I don’t wanna be your best friend - at least not just that.” He exasperates, searching for your eyes when you refuse to look at him.

“Now, this was the kind of stupid decisions i was talking about a moment ago.” You scoff.

You’re trying to play it cool, but it’s like he sees right through it. He reaches for your hand, loosely enough that you can let go of it if you want.

“It’s not a stupid decision. If anything, it’s the best decision in think i’ve made in a while.” His thumb brushes your knuckles.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, eyes feeling with tears at the confrontation.

He frowns, “Tell me you don’t like me.”

“What?”

“Tell me you don’t like me back and i’ll leave you alone.” He asserts, focused on making it work.

“Steve, that’s not the point.” You say desperately, “I’m not your usual, you’re interested by this idea of me because we’re close and you want someone.”

“Wow, that’s what you think of me?” He looks truly offended now.

You purse your lips, feeling unfair for acting like this. “No, i’m sorry.”

“But we’re so different, truly different. And i don’t think there’s anything you can do right now to change my mind.” You want to reach out and pull him into a hug, but it really wouldn’t be a good idea right now.

“Sweetheart-“

You’re saved by the door opening, two clients coming in. Steve looks the most disappointed. But not angry, and that’s always a relief.

“I’m just- gonna get onto that sandwich while you take care of that.” You look apologetically at him, smiling at him to try amend the situation.

“Yeah- sure.” He rubs his temple for a second before turning away from you.

You’re certainly a jerk after that. But it’s only a few days later when he starts acting normal again, sweet as usual towards you and keeping you close as his best friend.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

A weird shiver runs across your back as you enter the abandoned house, even more when the big group turns into just you and Steve. The idea of the group being separated turns your stomach.

The flashlight on your hand doesn’t feel enough to light your path through the somber hallways, headache tingling on your temples as you try to find anything useful.

It’s not that things have been weird with Steve, which they have, but they’ve been weird with everyone. You lack the energy to try and even have a conversation with anyone. If you were to be honest, you’re not even sure why you’re here because your mind is all but up to having ideas that will actually help find Vecna.

It started a few weeks ago. The ultimate feeling of emptiness, like everything and everyone is moving and you’re stuck on the same spot. All the things happening in Hawkins don’t help your case either. Eddie being accused of being a murderer, sweet Chrissy’s death, Max almost being sentenced to that end too.

You don’t feel like you have a major thing ruining your life and making you miserable, but you feel sad even without it. And that leaves you to wallow in self pity and to think you aren’t anything but selfish. There are people who are in real danger around you and all you can think about is your unreasonable sadness.

The conversation at Radio family was a few months ago, not that you feel the need to track it. You thought you could pull yourself together after it, told yourself all you needed was time to get over it.

But all you can think about when he’s kind to you, when he brings you food, when his hand brushes your arm while he’s standing next to you — is that he actually mistakes it for real feelings for you. And the worst of it all is that you find yourself enjoying it, the idea of him loving you. Selfishly you wish he’s still confused, hoping he sometimes thinks about you at night like you think about him.

You feel his stare burn into the back of your skull as you walk slightly ahead of him, avoiding to walk beside him and having to make small talk.

The old wood board floor cracks under your shoes, filling the awkward silence that creates a barrier between the both of you. You stop in front of some type of wardrobe with glass door, pointing inside with your flashlight to get a look at what’s inside.

Steve keeps his distance, seemingly looking at the rest of the furniture in the room. “Someone sure liked bugs.” His face is scrunched when you turn to see, light pointed at a few glass jars with dead bugs inside it.

Your stomach turns at the sight, displeased but acknowledging hum ripping through your throat.

A small smile forms on his lips, “Scared?” He wiggles one of the jars, though the way he keeps it away from his body tells you he’s terrified.

In another occasion you think you would’ve made fun of him, teasing him relentlessly for being scared of dead bugs inside a jar.

“No, just gross.” You settle for answering, shrugging your shoulders without much emotion.

“Right.” He sighs, setting the jar down slowly before brushing his hands against his jeans. He stands a bit awkwardly, even more clueless than you about what to look for.

Your head aches all around, pressuring your eyes and temples.

You hear Steve hum to himself, a slight bored look as he seems to do it almost without noticing. He flicks the ruffles on a curtain with his fingers, immediately regretting it as dust spreads in the air and right on his fingers. You find yourself stifling a smile against your palm, realizing now you might have missed his antics a bit too much.

Palming his pocket, Steve pulls out a pack of gum that you know he carries around with him. You watch him awkwardly play with it after fishing one out for himself, taking a step towards you in false confidence after a second.

“Want some?” His arm reaches out to signal for you to take one, not leaving you much option but to accept it. Not that you could get yourself to anyway.

“Sure.” You reach to grab it, cursing when your fingers hit the it with too much force and it tumbles out of his hold.

Both of you bend to pick it up at the same time, but you’re the one who regrets it immediately. You don’t know if it’s because of the way his fingers graze yours or because of the hot liquid that starts running down your nose.

You flinch away immediately, head knocking against his forehead with force and making you stumble back with a pained groan.

“Fuck- i’m sorry!” He exclaims, a groan escaping his lips too as he reaches to touch his forehead with his fingers.

The hit makes your headache even stronger, eyes closed in attempt to make it go away. Although you’ve know for a while that it won’t. That’s also been going on for a few weeks, paired with nightmares that leave you sweaty and terrified to ever sleep again. It feels impossible to ever have a good dream again, not when your living life feels like a nightmare itself.

“Are you okay?” Steve’s panicked voice reaches your ears over the high stinging noise of your own head, eyes trying to get a good look at your face that you’ve turned away from him.

“‘M fine.” You try to dismiss, lifting a hand that helps nothing with keeping him away.

“Hey, don’t do that.” You know he means pulling away, grabbing you by the arm and gently pulling you to face him when you don’t necessarily go against it. “You’re bleeding.”

You’re reminded by why exactly you stood up so fast, and as if on cue the blood running from your nose touches your lips. He looks alarmed at the sight, eyes wide with worry and hands around your biceps with the most featherlight touch — you almost think you might be imagining him touching you.

“Here-“ Steve moves without thinking, stretching the fabric of his shirt sleeve so it covers his whole hand and bringing it to your nose.

His shirt will probably be stained forever, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it the least, cleaning the area around your nose like it’s his second nature to be attentive. He taps your skin with care, covered thumb brushing your lips to wipe the blood and lingering for a second too long.

Your hand rests on his arm as if it’s a natural instinct, watching the way his throat bobs when he accidentally pulls your lips open with a rather clumsy wipe and you grip his shirt lightly. “Sorry…” He mumbles, not needing to speak at a proper tone when standing so close, “for that and for hurting you.”

“Hurting me?” You throw him a confused look.

“Dunno if you remember but i hit you so hard your nose started bleeding just a second ago.” He tries to tease, smile tugging at his lips.

“I hit you.” You reason, huffing at the way he’s so sweet about it. Ready to take the blame when it’s not supposed to be his. “And-“ It was already bleeding before i hit you, is what you wish but step back from saying.

You don’t want him to think this is just like other people, the ones who get headaches and nosebleeds and visions and then get cursed and bones snapped to death. You can’t possibly be going through that — can’t believe you’re going through that.

“And it’s fine, anyway.” You settle for saying, brushing the possibilities off.

Steve hums, brows pulled into a frown that tells you he doesn’t necessarily believe you. But he doesn’t pressure you and you feel guilty for making him feel like he can’t do it just a little, like a best friend would out of worry. You’re quite sure all the pushing away and closing yourself off from him have taken a tool on making him think he can’t ask you about things.

You become too aware of how close he’s standing to you and how he takes in your features with soft eyes like he hasn’t been able to take a look at you in ages. Subconsciously, you tug his arm away and look at your feet.

He’s hit with how intimate the moment might have looked, arm dropping to his side as his mouth moves exasperatedly trying to find the right words. “I wasn’t trying anything, i swear.”

You know he wasn’t, Steve would never. Not after you told him not to, that’s not who he is. You just couldn’t handle it.

The gears in your head move as you try to keep yourself together, “Let’s just keep looking, Steve. Please.” You practically begging, eyes looking at his face for once.

“Of course.” He relents easily.

You’re taking steps away from his as soon as the words leave his mouth, flashlight on again as you suddenly find the celling so interesting. A simple excuse to have you look up and stop the tears from fully forming and falling down your face. Because why would you even cry?

The background noise of Steve’s presence suddenly disappears, you’re too embarrassed to look back and make sure he’s there.

The same shiver from earlier leads its way up your spine and forms a cold sweat. A clock ticks from the corner of the room, making your turn towards it with a gasp. That wasn’t there before.

And Steve, who was there just a moment ago, isn’t anymore. A panicked whimper pulls through your mouth, heart beating so hard against your ribcage you think it might crack a rib.

Cracking bones. You can already see it. Your own body getting the future it’s destined to have.

A hand finds your shoulder with a shake, pulling you out of what you can’t call a daze — because it feels more like a living nightmare. Steve calls your name, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You breathe in with force, ignoring the sweat that’s starting to drip down your back. “Yeah, i’m good.”

It gets harder to lie by the minute. You pretend to observe the empty corner of wall that just had a clock stuck in it.

He sighs from his spot behind you, “You can speak to me. You know that, right? Because i’m your friend, i want to be your friend.” He tries, as if he’s been holding back from speaking the whole time, “And i worry, so much it hurts. I’m sorry that i acted so impulsively before — but i’m not sorry for feeling it.” Not sorry for loving you.

“I know i can.” You nod, “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to make it weird, there’s just so much going on.” But you leave out everything else.

Steve waits for you to say something else, but it doesn’t come. You do your best at throwing him a warm smile, “This place just creeps me out, that’s all.”

He agrees, “That’s putting it lightly.”

You bounce slightly on your feet, not sure on what to say. It’s turned into this when you’re around him, awkward conversations and things left unsaid.

“C’mon, we should get some ice for your nose. I’m sure they’ve done enough searching for today.” He motions for the door with his head.

“Yep.” You walk ahead, once again ahead of him. It would make it harder to have his arm around your shoulder like it once was normal.

The imminent future makes it impossible to think of it as enjoyable. Him loving you means getting left without you, because your headache is stronger than ever, your nosebleeds are more intense and you think you’ve just had what all the victims had before they died — a vision.

Steve watches you refuse to walk beside him, finger coming to touch the spot on his shirt that’s stained with your blood.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

It happens fast, too fast. One moment you’re with your friends, setting up a trap with Robin while Steve and Dustin bicker on the back about something you’re too tired to pick up on. The next, just as you reach down to pick up a tool, everything feels darker.

They all look at you wrong. Even Dustin, who’s ever so sweet to you, has his eyes set on you with an uncharacteristic angry expression.

At first you believe it, as if your mind has been telling you to wait for the moment they all call you out for your bullshit. Warning you that they have every reason to turn against you.

When Steve speaks you think your heart might beat out of your chest, harsh words slicing you like a knife against your back. Yet his voice doesn’t seem his, a rough undertone and malice that isn’t Steve’s — not even when he’s mad.

You feel stupid once you realize what’s happening, recognizing the cloudy sky that erupts with red thunder that Max has told you about. So you run ignoring the calls from your friends, because you know they aren’t real.

The day that you’ve known was coming is finally here, the dread on your stomach turning into the drop of it at the knowledge of what’s going to happen next. And the worst part is that it’s only now that you feel guilty for not telling anyone. About the headaches, about the nosebleed, about the nightmares.

A droplet of sweat makes it’s way down your forehead as you move as fast as your feet allow you to, thinking about how confused everyone probably is. Because how could they have known?

You hate the choice you made of not allowing yourself to process it. You wish you would’ve told your friends how much they matter to you, how it’s not their fault that you feel miserable. You think about telling Steve that you were just so scared of exactly the situation what you’ve come to be in that you couldn’t allow yourself to love him at your fullest.

It’s not like you know why you didn’t tell them. Was it because you were scared? Or was it really just knowledge of what you were designed to go through?

The anxiety building in your chest makes it harder to breathe, slowing you down in the process.

You feel helpless and alone, trapped in a part of your mind with your worst nightmares. A vine wraps around your ankle and yanks you with force to the ground, elbows erupting with pain as soon as you hit it.

But it doesn’t compare to what you feel once you spot him, the creature that you’ve all been looking for a long time but that you wish was nowhere in sight now.

You claw at the death grip of the vines around your ankles, clumsily making an effort to regain your blood circulation as a sob escapes your mouth. Tears fall down your eyes and across your cheeks at the sight of them not budging.

He calls your name, to which you shake your head with a shaky breath and try your hardest to ignore. Even when you feel yourself slide through the ground as the vines pull you towards him.

You can’t run from what’s been planned for you. It sounds through your head like a reminder, leaving a ringing on your ears.

The last thing you want to do now is give up, not without getting to tell everyone everything you want to say. You refuse to leave like this.

And it’s like some force seems to hear you, a familiar melody sweeping through somewhere around you. It’s your favorite song, the one you’ve heard countless times on your walkman and that you take the liberty to turn up the sound of the radio when in Steve’s car.

It brings a warm feeling in contrast to the cold that surrounds you.

Distracted, the grip on your leg loosens. With a swift movement, you slide the vines off of you and scramble to your feet. This time it feels freeing when you run, towards the sound and the image of your friends.

They’re right there, so close. You can see them looking up at your floating figure, voices panicked as they call for you.

So you fight against your sore ankles until they reach their limit and you’re falling again, but this time you have arms around you as you reach the ground.

You’re breathing heavily when you come back to reality, frantically looking around to make sure you made it. Steve has his arms secured around you as he situates you between his legs with his chest pressed to your back, his voice cracking once he says your name.

“You’re okay— i’ve got you. It’s okay, baby. I promise.” His mouth is close to your ear as he speaks, reassuring you over his own worries. “I’m right here, not letting you go anywhere.”

A sob bubbles out of your throat and you grip onto the arms around you, probably a bit too tight — to which he doesn’t complain. Your chest heaves with struggle to breathe, tears clouding your vision as they fall down your face.

You feel him press a hand to your chest, “Can you take deep breaths for me?” The touch grounds you as you nod in agreement. “Come on. There you go, honey.”

His heart beats at an erratic pace against your back, you can tell he’s trying his hardest to be calm for you. “Steve.” Your voice is hoarse, fingers shakily grabbing his that are still pressed to your chest.

“Yes, ‘m right here.” His voice breaks mid sentence, tone desperate.

“I’m sorry.” You manage to say, breathing starting to feel like an easier task.

“No don’t say that,” You can picture him shaking his head even without seeing him. “Look at me.” Steve turns you in his arms, never letting go of you.

“This is not your fault, okay?” He’s cupping your face with gentle hands, eyes red and teary as his lips turn into the saddest pout you’ve seen. It almost gets you to smile.

He brushes your tears away, “Does anything hurt? Tell me, baby.” Eyes inspect at your face.

You shake your head with a sniff, wincing slightly as the cold wind hits your arms. “No.”

“Here.” He’s quick to take off his jacket, draping it around your shoulder and helping the sleeves into your arms. “All good.” His smile is forced but a good way of lightening the mood.

Not satisfied yet, Steve pulls you into his arms once again for a proper hug now. He ignores then way your knee pushes into his thigh a bit too hard, pressing you as close as possible with his nose buried in your hair. You slump your weight onto him, hands sprawled on his back as you press an impulsive but small kiss to his neck.

He sighs, “Oh my god.” The whisper comes out before he can stop it, more to himself than anything else as he finally relaxes. As if still in disbelief of the whole situation that just hit him like a truck.

You stay in his arms for a moment longer, only letting go when Robin and Dustin come back from filling the others in through the walkie.

“Thank god you’re okay.” Robin smiles with worry all over her face, pulling you into a bear hug that Dustin joins into. She drapes an arm over your shoulders as you walk to the car, sharing the worry of leaving you alone.

Steve stops you before you get on the backseat, hand to your bicep protectively. “Stay at my house?” You don’t have it in you to deny.

“We’re going too.” Dustin quips as if it’s a given.

For once, Steve doesn’t answer with a remark.

He helps you in even when you protest, pulling your seatbelt on. For the whole ride there your head rests on Robin’s shoulder, sharing occasional glances with Steve as he looks at you through the rear view mirror.

Once you arrive at his house, it’s not long before the others show up. They elaborate plans, ones that you feel too exhausted to pay attention to but try your hardest to. You notice the way they keep a close eye on you, not letting you be alone in any occasion.

And as they settle on his living room, Steve grants you some privacy as he pulls you into his bedroom. The offer of a shower is something you can’t deny, fresh clothes that belong to him awaiting for you after.

You leave the bathroom with your hair still wet, dripping on his shirt on your torso. He’s right there, laying out blankets on the floor beside the bed.

“Hey, do you feel better?” He’s worried and looking at you with wide eyes.

You shrug, “Shower felt good.”

Steve nods, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t. “I hope it’s okay that i sleep here— i don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone.” He shifts awkwardly as he speaks.

“It’s okay.” You smile, slightly endeared.

It’s not that you think you’re going to get much sleep. But being alone right now is the last thing you want. You’re not even sure if you’re out of the woods yet.

Settling inside the covers of his bed, you hear him sit on the floor against the bed over the blankets. You don’t think he intends to sleep at all.

You try to sleep, you really do. But the fact that he’s right there after months of not allowing yourself to be close to him is killing you. So you move without thinking, finding yourself taking a seat beside him without saying a word.

He doesn’t budge, contemplating.

“I love you.” Steve cuts through the silence, frowning as if it pains him to.

Air gets caught in your throat, “What?”

“You told me i just needed someone. Maybe i do. But that someone is you, and i’m more sure of it now than ever.” Guilt forms in your stomach at your harsh words from before. He remembers. Word by word.

“You don’t love me, Steve.” You start with a shake of your head. “Not that way. Because it would never work.”

“Why not?” He exasperates sadly.

You don’t answer, turning your head away once you feel the tears build up.

“Stop doing that.” He’s gentle even when frustrated. “Why do you do it? You tell me you don’t want it yet i see the way it hurts you to say it.” A hand slips to your cheek, angling towards him.

“Because— you have this idea. Your whole suburban dream. I can’t give you that, it’s not me.” You brush your eye with frustration.

He gulps the lump in his throat away, “Don’t you get it? I want whatever you want. Whatever you want. I will do it. Because it wouldn’t make sense otherwise, not to me. I would do anything you want me to do, sweetheart.”

You feel tired of hiding it, the need you feel to have something with him. Tired of pretending you don’t want it as if something is holding you back from it. Your own mind, your own insecurities, your own doing.

So you don’t stop yourself this time. Your lips press to his in a long waited kiss, fingers grabbing his shirt by the chest. Steve hums in surprise but doesn’t pull away, hands coming to hold your face in a ghost gentle touch.

His heart beats fast against your hand, his nose bumping against yours when you smile against his lips.

“I love you, Steve.” You allow yourself to say.

“I know.” He references, smug smile full of affection. His face is still leaning towards yours, giving you a good look at his shiny eyes.

There’s no doubt he does too.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, “For the things i said. And for pulling away.”

“Don’t be.” He reassures. “Didn’t deserve to have you just— whenever i wanted to. I shouldn’t have expected you to just take it. I needed you to know for sure that i love you. And if that meant i had to fight and wait, i’d do it. I did. I’d do it again. I love you.”

Steve’s thumb brushes against the pulse on your neck, leaving you space to lean against him.

“You’re still my best friend.” You mumble, head slumping on his shoulder.

“Don’t want it any other way.” A kiss to your head, then a pause. “We’re gonna get through this. You’re gonna be okay.”

You believe him through the doubt, humming against his collarbone.

“Sleep. I’m right here, baby.” The smooch he presses on your forehead is comforting, his hands pulling you down to lay against the blankets.

You fall asleep with your ear pressed to his chest, hand laying on his stomach as he hugs you close.

Steve loved naps as much as the next person. I mean, after a long day of unpaid babysitting, monster hunting and hours of dealing with irritating customers at his minimum wage job, he loved the idea of jumping into bed for a few hours of shut eye.

But he definitely didn’t love it as much as his beautiful girlfriend did.

He looked over at where you sat. It was early into the evening hours, you were curled in an adorable ball on the couch of the Squawk, wrapped in a handmade blanket he stole from Lucas to cover you with. Your hair was a little messy, pieces covering your face.

You’d fallen asleep barely a few minutes after Hopper ended the weekly meeting to discuss any new findings to get you closer to Vecna. It was pretty much all the same information as last week and at this point, it was more of a formality than anything else.

Everyone had quietly dispersed after his dismissal. Nancy and Jonathan went home together, El and Mike ran up to the roof hand-in-hand for some alone time, Dustin had quickly made his way to wherever he’s been spending all his time lately. That left himself, you, Robin and Lucas inside.

Steve was standing near the projector, cleaning up papers and blueprints left under the scope. Beside him, Robin helped clean up some of the snacks the kids left behind. It was quiet for the most part, only the sound of your sleepy breathing and the faint hum of the record Robin played for the radio.

Lucas was sitting across from you, and Steve noticed the way he kept glancing over at you. He was ready to ask what his deal was before Lucas spoke up.

“Should I like, wake her up or something?” Lucas asks, looking away from you and up at Steve.

His brows furrow, hands still moving papers into their folders. “What? No, she’s tired. Let her sleep,”

“Yeah, she’s sort of always tired,” Lucas mutters under his breath.

Steve can’t hear even an ounce of attitude in his tone but he’s also not understanding what Lucas is implying. Next to him, Robin huffs a laugh and he whips his head at her. He doesn’t like the idea of them having some sort of private conversation about you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks. The papers are long forgotten and he crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes flicker from his best friend and the young teen.

“Nothing,” Lucas shakes his head quickly, scrambling to gather his things. Steve’s annoyance spikes: so they are having a private conversation about you. So what if you fall asleep sometimes? It’s not like you’re lazy – is that what they’re trying to say? That you’re lazy?

It’d be an insane implication considering how you’re almost always the first one out in the field during a crawl. El grew pretty attached to you after she closed the gate the first time and ever since then, she’s practically begged you to accompany her everywhere and now that includes the intense training she does with Hopper – not once have you missed a session. You tag along with Steve and Dustin in the van for the late night crawls, and you volunteer for stakeouts with Nancy when it comes to the military cordon.

The last damn thing you were was lazy and he wasn’t about to let anyone, his best friends included, imply otherwise.

Robin seemed to have sense his thoughts and quickly jumped to Lucas’ defense. She sets the bowls of half eaten snacks back on the table.

“That’s not what he means, Steve,” She assures and Lucas looks grateful. Still, he doesn’t soften but he lets her continue. “He’s kinda right though. I mean, I’m a little worried she’s got some underlying medical condition we don’t know about or something. She knocks out at the drop of a hat lately,”

“She does not,” He scoffs but his shoulders loosen. Just barely.

Lucas jumps back in. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk, man. I’m just worried. What if she’s not just tired? Max still hasn’t woken up, it could be something like that,”

Finally, Steve softens. He sees the fear hidden behind Lucas’ eyes and he knows how hard his forced separation from Max has been. It’s been six months since that night at the Creel house and there was still no change for her. You and Steve have spent most of your free time with Lucas visiting her.

And no matter how scared Steve is of the possibility of you falling victim to Vecna’s curse, he knows this isn’t that. You don’t have visions, you don’t have nose bleeds and you very clearly have no issue sleeping. It’s been a rough few months and you’re tired. That’s all.

He hopes.

“She’s not Max, Lucas,” Steve says softly and watches the way his face falls. “She’s not going anywhere, she’s just napping, alright?”

The younger boy nods, and Steve knows despite his relent, he’s still worried. Robin gives Steve an empathetic smile and finishes cleaning up the dishes from the coffee table.

“Come on, I’ll drop you off at the hospital,”

Lucas smiles in return this time, happy to see his girlfriend even if she’s still unconscious. He quickly grabs his jacket and backpack, practically running out of the building. She turns towards Steve once he’s out of earshot.

“Maybe that’s all it is. But with our luck, it wouldn’t hurt to check in with her. I don’t think we can handle losing someone else,” She suggests with a shrug. Her words hit uncomfortably under his ribs, and he nods once before she’s turning to follow Lucas.

Steve turns back towards your sleeping frame, where you haven’t even twitched despite the entire conversation that took place around you. He leans down next to you, his hand raising to push the hair from your face. He watches your face and the way you look so peaceful.

The normal pinch between your brows is smoothed out, pretty pink lips slightly parted, there’s a tired flush covering your cheeks and your fingers are loosely gripping the blanket close to your chest.

He smiles to himself, but his mind begins to wander. Maybe they were right – you did fall asleep pretty often these past couple months. He’s not sure when it started but he knows there’s been times he’s noticed.

Whenever he lets you know it’s safe and just a waiting game now, you fall asleep in the passenger seat of the van during crawls. You fall asleep at normal group hangouts, head resting on his shoulder and both arms wrapped around his one. You fall asleep at times like now, after a meeting is over.

He shouldn’t be worried, he doesn’t have a true reason to be. When you’re awake, you’re here. You’re helping Nancy make plans, you’re helping El train, you’re helping keep the boys occupied when they get scared. You’re just a girl who likes extra sleep, that’s all.

Gently, his thumb glides across your cheek in a quiet way to rouse you awake. His other hand comes up and pulls the blanket from your skin. Slowly, your eyes flutter open and when they land on him, a sleepy smile covers your mouth.

“Hey, pretty girl,” He can’t help but wear his own matching smile. Your cheeks redden at his pet name, but he knows how much you love hearing it.

“Hi Steve,” You murmur. He’s pretty sure his heart just physically bursted in his chest – you always talk so softly, so sweetly to him. “Did I fall asleep?”

He hums and nods in response. His hand is still stroking your hair back. “Just for a bit. Everyone left, why don’t we go get somethin’ to eat before we go home, yeah?”

Almost immediately, you perk up. You’re pushing yourself off the couch, using his shoulders for balance. “Milkshakes too?”

There’s that adorable glint in your eyes and he knows for certain if you asked him to bring you the moon, he’d create a plan to have it in the palm of your hands within two hours.

“Of course we can get milkshakes, baby,” He promises. You gleam up at him, more than pleased, and rush to clean up the evidence of your nap. Once you’re satisfied, you’re slipping your hand in his and letting him lead you towards the car.

Steve feels content now that you’re awake and talking his ear off about basically nothing, but there’s still something that tugs at his chest. Part of him that thinks he should bring up your excessive napping, like Robin said, but you seem so happy. If it’s truly nothing, like he knows it is, why risk upsetting you and make you feel like everyone’s talking about your sleeping habits?

He glances down at you, and nods at the random piece of information you throw his way, and he’s made his decision. He’ll keep a better eye on you, but he won’t bring it up to you unless he’s left with no choice.

Later that night, Steve has you wrapped in his arms in your shared bed. The house is dark and quiet, only the sound of your favorite movie playing from the TV. You’d had dinner together at his favorite diner, with two milkshakes of course, and came straight home.

Your head lays on his chest, legs tangled with his and your fingers trace little shapes – Steve is pretty sure they’re hearts – across the skin of his arm that rests on his stomach. His other hand sits comfortably in your hair, gently running his fingers through it. He feels his exhaustion catching up to him and his eyes slowly begin to flutter.

He’s not sure when he finally falls asleep but he’s sure you’re bound to follow right after him.

One minute, Steve is laying comfortably with his beautiful girlfriend and the next, he’s laying in a pool of his own blood. His eyes are turned upwards, staring at the swarm of Demobats flying in the dark sky, flashes of red lighting are striking every few seconds and the light it offers shows him the amount of bats multiply as they get closer.

His breathing is uneven, he can feel the terror already carved into his stomach. His heart is racing and the sound fills his ears like ringing. He takes a quick glance beside him and sees he’s surrounded by dead bodies.

Robin’s body is covered in blood, her eyes open but lifeless – her blonde hair is stained red from the blood spilling from every injury on her body. Nancy is next to her in an almost identical manner. He feels his own face wet with tears, and it only worsens when his eyes move to the other side of him and he sees Dustin’s body. He has his homemade spear clutched between his fingers, like he was fighting to the last second. Lucas is next to him, blood staining his clothes and he’s gripping Max’s hand in his. Steve sees how all her limbs are broken, blood seeping from her eyes.

He wants to scream. It all happened so fast, but he was right there. How could he have let this happen? He’s supposed to protect them, and now they’re all gone. Brutally murdered right in front of him and he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save them.

He hears the bats screeching and the Demogorgons roaring get closer and he knows he has to find a way out but does he even want to? All his friends are dead.

Suddenly, your face appears in his memory. He looks around around and you’re not here. You could be alive, somewhere out here alone.

Steve forces himself to sit up and nearly cries at the painful sensation that shoots up from his abdomen to his chest. He glances down at himself, sees how his shirt is torn so bad it’s basically ripped in two. He has angry red slashes he can only assume are from Demogorgons across his ribs. There’s smaller cuts, like bites from the bats on his arms and chest. His arms are scratched up, spilling blood all across his skin.

Despite all the pain, he has to get to you. He couldn’t save everyone else but he can save you. He has to.

Ignoring the echos of the monsters getting closer to him, he forces himself to stand – pushing down the pain spiking in his feet and up his spine from the sharp ground of the Upside Down. He tries his best to run further into the forest, but all he can manage is a limp. Still, he moves as fast as he can.

It’s so dark down there, he’s relying on the terrifying flashes of red lighting to give him some sort of light. He moves further and further into the trees, careful to avoid any moving vines, in search of you. He ignores the burning in his weakened legs and the sharp pain from his stomach injuries.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been looking for you when he finally hears it. It’s distant and quiet but he knows it’s your voice screaming for help. His stomach drops at the way you sound so scared. So weak and broken, but you’re trying. You’re fighting to hold on. It pushes him to move faster.

He forces himself to run towards your voice. He’s shouting your name, begging you to keep talking to him. He’s promising you he’s close, that he’s gonna find you and protect you.

“Steve!” He can hear your voice clearer now and he knows he’s closer to you. There’s a waver in your voice and he has to fight back tears. He walks a few more yards and finally, he finds you. His heart drops at the sight.

You’re near what would be Lovers Lake in your world, lying on your back and a palm pressed tightly to your stomach. He doesn’t know where the strength comes from but all the pain in his body disappears and he’s running to you.

He falls to his knees beside you, hands ready to grab you but he halts when he finally takes in your state.

There’s so much fucking blood.

Your hair is already matted from the blood spilling from the wound on your head. The palm pressing to your stomach is soaked in blood from the slash covering the entire right side of your stomach. Your short covered legs are littered with slightly smaller but deep cuts. But the worst is the one on your neck. There’s a gash that tears open the skin from just under your ear, all the way out to the middle of your throat. The wound is pouring blood, staining your beautiful skin he loves.

Steve lets out a sob at the sight of you and he doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s supposed to do. You glance back at him and the only thing he can see in your eyes in pure fear.

“I-I’m here, baby, I’m here,” He cries. Frantically, he looks around for something – anything – to help him but there’s nothing. Only himself. There’s tears streaming down your cheeks and he watches you cough up blood when you try and respond. “Don’t talk, don’t talk,” He rushes out. Steve tears off a large piece of fabric from his own shirt and forces it into a ball, pushing it against the wound on your neck.

You cry out from the pain of the pressure and he feels his heart break.

“I know, I’m so sorry baby, I have – I have to stop the bleeding,” His cheeks begin to stain from his own tears as he watches you struggle.

“C-Can’t bre-breathe –“ You’re coughing out the words and more blood stains your lips. His head nods in understanding and he’s racking his brain to come up with a plan. A way to get you out of here alive.

But he doesn’t even know if that’s possible. You’re bleeding so much, and the pressure of his shaky hands is barely enough to cover the wound on your neck. There’s still the injury to your stomach, the cut on your head, and the deep cuts on your legs. You wouldn’t be able to walk because of them and if he somehow managed to get you up, he’d have to carry you out himself.

He wouldn’t even be thinking twice if he didn’t have his own injuries. The slash across his ribs is screaming in agony at him and the bites along his own legs make him weaker. What if he can’t get you out? He can’t let you die like this.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? I promise. You’re not gonna die in this fucking place,” He swears, carefully taking your hands and replacing his own to hold the fabric to your neck. He glances around to make sure there’s no monsters near before sliding one arm under your knees and the other under the back of your neck and moves to lift you.

Almost immediately, you’re screaming in pain. He nearly drops you out of fear from the loud sound of your pain. Your body is shaking from pain and you’re shaking your head at him, wordlessly begging him to put you down. He knows the two of you are far from the gate and if you were in this much pain from him picking you up, you were going to feel like you were being tortured if he carried you the two mile run back to safety.

He has no choice. Quickly, he drops back down to his knees and eases you out of his arms and back onto the bloodied ground. His vision is almost completely blurred from his tears. You’re gonna die out here, and he feels so fucking helpless.

“Baby please, I have to get you out of here,”

“You can’t,” You suddenly sob and he doesn’t think he can take much more of that sound. His body is shaking – from fear, anger, anxiety, every terrible thing someone can feel. “You were supposed to protect me, how could you let this happen?”

Blood still covers your body and you’re crying as you speak, but your voice is suddenly clear – as if there’s not a ten inch cut covering your throat.

He feels a pang in his chest. You’re right, he’s supposed to protect you. He dragged you into this and now you’re going to die, just like all his friends, and it’s all his fault.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” Steve sobs, gently cradling your face in his bloody hands. Blood smears across your skin.

“You did this to me, Steve. Why didn’t you save me?”

From behind him, he hears the monsters screech and clamor again and he knows it’s only a matter of minutes before they get to you both.

“Please. Please don’t leave me,” He begs. His arms are still wrapped around you and he cradles you to his chest. His arms are covered in the blood leaking from your body and it feels like you’re beginning to slip out of his arms from the amount of blood but he holds on tight.

Until you go limp.

Right there in his arms, he feels the way your body stills and falls aimlessly into his chest. No, no, no. He pulls you from his chest and when he looks down at you, your eyes are shut and your chest is unmoving.

He calls your name helplessly, tries to shake you awake but you’re not asleep. You’re dead. His body shakes with sobs as he stares down at your emotionless face, stained with blood and all he can do is remember every time you smiled at him.

And how you’ll never do it again.

The monsters are so close now, probably only a few feet away and for the first time, he wants it to be for him. He wants them to kill him, force him to be with his dead friends .. with you.

His friends are gone, you are gone and he has nothing else to live for. His greatest nightmare just came true and there’s no waking up.

“Steve!”

Suddenly, Steve’s body is jolted upwards and he’s back in his bed.

He’s overwhelmed with the smell of your presence. The soft cashmere and vanilla scent that makes him feel like he’s wrapped up in his very own security blanket.

He can feel your hands across his skin, trying to bring him out of his dream and back to you. He can hear you murmuring soft comforts to him, even if he can’t fully grasp what you’re actually saying.

He tries his best to regain his bearings as fast as possible. His body is all but drenched in sweat, his clothes cling to his skin. There’s a distant ringing in his ears he can’t seem to get rid of but he looks around at his surroundings.

“Shh, it’s okay, it was just a dream,” Your gentle voice whispers comfortingly. You’ve managed to pull him into your arms, his face tucked under the crook of your neck and your hands slowly stroke his back.

He can’t help himself when his arms squeeze you tight, almost too tight. You don’t complain, you hold him just as close. He listens to the sound of your heart and does his best to use it to calm his own racing heart.

You’re here, you’re alive. It was just a dream.

“I’m here baby, I’m right here,”

He’s back on the verge of tears, this time out of relief instead of fear. His nightmares are something he’s dealt with since he fought the Demogorgon at the Byers house and it’s something he’s never gotten used to. He knows for sure it’s not something he ever will.

But you’re there every time, comforting him and reminding him none of it was real.

He buries himself further into you, and you can feel his nails digging into your skin but you don’t seem to care. You’ve dealt with your own share of nightmares but they never seem to be as bad as his.

You hold Steve in your arms for a long time before his breathing has returned to normal and he’s ready to talk about it. When the nightmares first started, he refused to tell you what they were about but it didn’t take long for you to realize it was because it was almost always centered around losing you.

Slowly, he pulls away from your neck and lays on his back, resting against the pillow but he keeps one hand holding yours. You’re still sitting upright, your free hand resting on his chest, just above his heart.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” You ask.

He takes a quick glance at you and sees the concerned look on your face. That pinch between your brows is back, and despite yourself, there’s a small frown on your lips. He takes a deep breath.

“It was the same dream,” He begins. “I woke up down there, dead bodies all around me and you’re screaming for me. And it ends the same way..” He hesitates for a second, looking back into your beautiful eyes he loves so much. “I can’t save you,”

He watches the way your eyes sadden and he hates it. He hates the way he feels like he’s burdening you with his stupid nightmares.

“It wasn’t real, Steve,” Your hand raises to cradle his jaw. “It’s never going to be real. You know why?”

Wordlessly, he waits for your response.

“Because you’ve saved me every single time. You saved me in the tunnels two years ago, you saved me from evil Russian soldiers, and you saved me from the bats down there last year,”

He feels his eyes burn but he lets you comfort him.

“You’re always going to save me, baby. There’s nobody else I feel safer with than you. Nobody,” You promise fiercely and it’s enough for him to let his tears fall.

There’s a faint voice in the back of his head that tells him he’s weak for crying like this in front of you but when you wrap him in your arms again and coo into his ear, he can’t seem to care.

Because he knows you’re right. He saved you all those times and he’d always do it. He’d rather die than let anything happen to you and even if he has to live with these nightmares for the rest of his life, he still wakes up to you every time.

It’s probably an hour by the time he’s completely calmed down from the nightmare and you’ve sat wrapped in each others arms the whole time. When you shift to lay more comfortably, Steve looks around the room again.

He notices the TV is still playing, but it’s no longer the movie he fell asleep to. Instead, it’s Friday the 13th. There’s two other VHS tapes beside the TV, ones that weren’t there before he fell asleep, and he also notices the array of snacks on your bedside table. When he glances at the clock, he sees it’s nearing 4:30AM and that’s well past when he’d fallen asleep but from the looks of it, you’d stayed up.

You don’t seem to notice his confusion until he shifts to lay on his side. Your head tilts up at him and he can physically see the sleepiness on your face.

“Have you been awake this whole time?” You blink up at him, but he notices the way you look almost guilty and that confirms what he’d been thinking.

You nod hesitantly. “Yeah, I-I couldn’t sleep,”

When you nervously bite your lip, he knows you’re lying and you know you’re caught when you see the way he tracks the movement.

Steve would probably be more inclined to believe you if he didn’t have the conversation earlier about you falling asleep so often during the day. But he also can’t make sense of it – you’re choosing to stay up at night and nap at random times instead of getting decent sleep at night?

You moved in with him a few weeks ago and coincidentally, that’s around the same time you started napping more. Could it be his fault? Maybe he’s hogging the blankets, or maybe he moves too much in his sleep. He knows he runs too hot for a normal person, and maybe you’re too uncomfortable to fall asleep.

His mind races with possibilities.

“Alright, what’s going on?” He asks and watches the way you swallow.

“Hmm?”

“Babe, you’ve been falling asleep in the middle of the day and tonight, you’re up and having your own movie marathon till 4am. Somethin’s up,”

He tries his best to ignore the anxiety simmering in his stomach.

“It’s nothing,” You say softly, looking away from him. Gently, he raises his hand to cup your chin and pull you back to him.

“Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me,” He sounds so gentle that it breaks you almost instantly.

“I don’t like to fall asleep at night,” Steve’s brow furrow at your words, but you continue, your voice timid. “I want to be there if you have a nightmare. I don’t want you to wake up alone,”

Instantly, Steve is filled with guilt. You’ve been sacrificing your sleep to comfort him – but he’d never want you to do that. His nightmares don’t happen every night but he’s sure you’ve spent every night the past few weeks awake just in case. Probably busying yourself with movies, or a book, or just simply watching him as he slept.

He feels sick.

“Baby, I..” He sighs and he’s not even sure where to begin, and you look even more guilty. “I don’t want you to stay up like that for me,”

Steve watches the way you look away from him, and you’re nervously picking down at your fingers. “I know. I just – when you wake up, you look so scared, and you’re so confused until you see me and what if I fall asleep and you have to deal with it alone?”

When you finish, you look back up at him and he sees the tears lining your eyes. He feels his chest tighten uncomfortably, because he can hear the pure love in the voice, but also the fatigue. You’re exhausted.

Gently, he says your name and presses a kiss to your cheek. “You don’t need to be awake for me to realize where I am. When I wake up and I feel you next to me, your warmth and your breathing – that’s enough for me, baby,”

You raise your hand to hold onto his that rests against your cheek and you sink further into his hold. “I’m sorry,” You whisper and he immediately shakes his head. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone,”  

“I know, and I love you so much for caring, but I need you to be okay too – not running yourself into the ground, trying to make me feel better,”

“I am okay,” You argue, but you both know it’s futile and when he tilts his head at you, you relent. “I’m sorry,”

He strokes the apple of your cheekbone. “It’s okay, sweet girl. I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier,”

“It’s not y’fault,” You squeeze his hand once. “I wanted to do it. Being able to see you so peacefully when you sleep, where nothing can hurt you again .. After everything, it just makes me feel better too,”

Steve’s eyes soften even worse, because you love him so much more than he ever could’ve imagined. He knows the feeling, he’s overwhelmed with it every time he looks at you, but knowing you experience the same feeling – that intense need to protect and comfort him – every night, is enough to have him on the verge of crying again.

He leans down and presses his lips to your own. Every ounce of love and adoration coming from both of you is poured into the kiss. You’re both clinging to each other for the same reasons and he doesn’t ever want to let go.

When he pulls away for air, you have a dazed look in your eyes and he knows he looks the same way.

“I promise, I’m not going anywhere and definitely not while you’re sleeping, okay?” He murmurs against your mouth.

You nod, pecking his lips again. “Okay,”

“Promise me you won’t stay up anymore, yeah?”

You’re nodding again, arms wrapping around his middle. “I promise,”

Steve gathers you in his arms again, pulling you to lay on his chest while he settles on his back. “Good. Now let’s both fall asleep for the next twelve hours,”

You laugh softly into his skin. “It’s 5 in the morning. We probably have less than three hours before the kids are showing up on our doorstep with a new crisis,”

Steve huffs. “Let ‘em deal with it alone. You’ve got a lot of sleep to catch up on,” He smiles when he hears you laugh again, but you burrow yourself further into his arms. “Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up,”

the first thing anyone ever knew about steve harrington was that he was loud.

not loud in volume, though he could be, especially when he laughed so hard milk came out of his nose at age eight because you told him the punchline to a joke wrong on purpose, but loud in presence.

even as a little boy, steve had always seemed to fill every room he walked into, every backyard he ran through, every sidewalk he skidded his bike tires across. he was all scraped knees and crooked grins, wild hair that never sat flat no matter how much water he slapped on it, and a habit of speaking before he thought, then somehow charming his way out of whatever trouble that got him into.

and somehow, from the very beginning, wherever steve was, you were too.

your mothers liked to joke that before either of you could even walk, you’d already claimed each other. two little babies in matching sun hats sitting in paddling pools in neighbouring gardens, grabbing at each other’s hands with sticky fingers and refusing to settle unless you were side by side. apparently, steve used to cry when your parents took you inside for naps, little fists clenched, cheeks red, angry at the universe for daring to separate him from his favourite person.

some things never really changed.

you grew up attached at the hip in the kind of way people only are when history roots itself so deep between them that pulling apart would feel like tearing skin.

you learned to ride bikes together, both of you wobbling dangerously down your street while your dads shouted instructions that neither of you listened to.

steve crashed first, straight into a hedge, and you laughed so hard you tipped over too. he came out with leaves in his hair and a branch caught in his shirt collar, grinning like an idiot, and before he even checked his own scraped elbow, he was kneeling beside you asking if you were okay.

that was steve.

always checking for you first.

there were summers spent so thoroughly tangled together they blurred into one endless golden memory.

afternoons in his parents’ pool until your fingers wrinkled and your skin smelled permanently of chlorine, competitions to see who could hold their breath longest underwater, cannonball contests that ended with his mother yelling because water splashed onto her expensive outdoor furniture.

nights where you slept over so often that both houses stopped asking questions, your toothbrush permanently living in the bathroom connected to steve’s bedroom, one of his old shirts becoming your designated pyjama top.

you built blanket forts in his room and swore they were castles. you made secret handshakes that changed every month. you whispered under covers with flashlights when thunderstorms rolled in, talking about stupid things and serious things and everything in between.

you saw every side of each other.

the ugly sides too.

you saw steve cry the first time his dad called him a disappointment.

you saw him go quiet after, quieter than should’ve been possible for a boy like him, shoulders tense and eyes glassy as he sat on your bedroom floor staring at nothing.

you sat beside him and said nothing at all, just leaned your shoulder against his until he leaned back.

that became your thing.

when his parents fought, he came to your house.

when his father got cruel, he came to your house.

when business trips left that giant empty house colder than winter, he stayed at your house, eating dinner at your table and laughing with your parents like he belonged there, because he did.

your mother kissed the top of his head when he looked especially worn down, your father taught him how to fix things in the garage.

your home became the place he exhaled and you became the person he always looked for first.

always.

through bad haircuts and braces and acne and awkward limbs that grew too fast for your bodies to catch up, you stayed constant.

until high school came and suddenly, painfully, neither of you were awkward anymore.

you grew into yourself quietly, like spring unfolding. pretty in a way that didn’t scream for attention, but stole it anyway.

soft eyes that noticed everything. a laugh that was rarer now, but warm enough to make people chase it. intelligence that shone bright and effortless. kindness that lived in every small thing you did. helping someone pick up dropped books, remembering birthdays nobody else did, always offering your notes to the kids who missed class.

you were beautiful in the sort of way people didn’t fully understand until they looked twice.

steve understood immediately.

and steve, god, steve grew into himself like he’d been handcrafted for trouble.

broad shoulders. soft brown eyes hidden behind ridiculous lashes. hair that somehow always looked perfect. that stupid smile capable of making half the female population of hawkins forget their own names.

and steve knew it.

or at least, his ego did.

king steve, they called him.

captain of popularity.

girls hanging off his arm, boys desperate for his approval, parties every weekend. loud music, expensive beer stolen from his parents’ liquor cabinet, people packed into his house hoping to breathe the same air as him.

he played the part beautifully.

cocky grin, easy charm, careless laughter, pretty girls, empty conversations. but there were things everyone noticed that nobody understood.

how steve only went to parties if you were invited too, even when you almost never came. how he always looked around rooms like he was searching for someone. how if anybody talked badly about you, even as a joke, his entire face changed. how he got mean.

how no girl, no matter how gorgeous, ever lasted long.

how every relationship seemed flimsy compared to the quiet girl who sat beside him in class helping him pass english, who rolled her eyes at his jokes but smiled anyway, who knew where he kept spare house keys and which scar on his knee came from which childhood disaster.

what nobody knew was that steve harrington loved you so badly it ached.

it lived in him like breathing. natural, constant, unavoidable. it was in the way he memorised everything about you.

how you tucked your hair behind your ear when concentrating. how you chewed on pen caps while studying. how you always gave him the marshmallows from your hot chocolate because you hated them and he loved them. how your nose scrunched when you laughed for real. how you never noticed when boys stared because you were too busy living inside your own head.

it killed him a little, that obliviousness.

because steve flirted constantly.

he tested waters in stupid ways.

telling you about girls he hooked up with, watching your face for any crack in your expression.

there never was one.

just your soft, distracted little hums. sometimes a wrinkled nose if the girl sounded awful. sometimes advice.

advice.

jesus christ.

he’d stare at you, really stare, eyes warm and helpless and completely gone for you, and you’d blink back like he was just steve.

just your steve.

your best friend.

meanwhile, he was halfway to insanity.

what steve never saw were all the quiet ways you loved him back.

how you kept every note he’d ever scribbled you. how no boy ever compared, which was why you’d only dated twice and barely liked either of them. how every time he brought a girl around, something sharp and sour twisted in your chest. how you knew the exact shade of hazel his eyes turned in sunlight.

how you sometimes laid awake at night, staring at your ceiling, replaying the way he smiled at you that day or how his hand rested warm on your back guiding you through crowds.

how your mother’s teasing words looped endlessly in your head.

you and stevie were made for each other.

you’d laugh it off, call her crazy, then spend hours wondering if maybe she wasn’t. wondering if steve could ever look at you and see more.

wondering what it would feel like if he kissed you. wondering if kissing steve would ruin everything, or finally make sense of everything that already existed between you.

and every morning after, you’d wake up and slip right back into your place beside him like those thoughts had never happened at all.

best friends.

always.

completely blind to the fact that the boy beside you was one heartbeat away from loving you out loud.

and equally blind to the fact that you already loved him too.

-

life carried on the way it always had.

which was strange, really, considering there was this constant thing sitting between you and steve. neither of you touched it, neither of you spoke it aloud, but it lived there all the same. tucked into glances that lingered too long, into hugs that held just a second more than necessary, into the easy way your lives folded around each other like they were built to fit.

more days turned into more weeks, more weeks into more months, and everything stayed beautifully, painfully normal.

you still sat with him while he copied your homework answers in that messy handwriting of his, tongue poking slightly into his cheek in concentration like he was actually trying, even though half the time he was writing complete nonsense because he was too busy talking to focus.

you still spent lunches together. sometimes alone, sometimes with your few close friends, sometimes with whatever crowd steve had orbiting him that week, but even in a room full of people, his attention always drifted back to you.

always.

you were still the first number he called. still the person he showed up for without asking. still the person he looked for in every crowded room.

and he was still yours in all the ways that mattered, without ever actually being yours at all.

one night after dinner at your house, your mother insisting steve stay because she’d made too much food, as if she hadn’t been cooking with him in mind from the start, the two of you found yourselves in your bedroom, exactly where you always ended up.

lying on the floor.

side by side.

staring at the ceiling.

it was a strange little ritual you’d created years ago, one that somehow stuck. whenever something weighed heavy on either of you, whenever thoughts got too loud or life got too complicated, you ended up here. flat on your backs, shoulders nearly touching, eyes aimed upward like answers might be written in the cracks of your ceiling paint.

this was where the real conversations happened.

not the casual chatter, not gossip, not jokes, this was where truths lived. the ugly ones, the tender ones, the ones neither of you gave anybody else.

steve let out a long breath beside you, one hand resting on his stomach, the other tucked behind his head.

“he’s doing it again.”

you turned your head slightly toward him.

“your dad?”

he laughed once, humourless.

“who else?”

his jaw tightened, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“he’s on this whole thing about how i need to start learning the business now, so when he retires i can just… step in.” his voice hardened around the words. “like it’s some fucking honour.”

you stayed quiet.

you’d learned years ago that steve needed space to unravel before he needed comfort.

“he talks about it like he’s handing me a kingdom,” he muttered. “when really he’s handing me a prison sentence.”

your chest tightened.

because underneath the bitterness, underneath the anger, you heard what steve wasn’t saying.

he was scared, scared of becoming him. scared of looking in the mirror one day and seeing his father staring back.

steve scrubbed a hand over his face.

“i swear to god, i’d rather work in some shitty grocery store for the rest of my life than do what he does.”

that made you smile softly.

not because it was funny, though the dramatic way he said it was very steve, but because you knew him.

you knew this wasn’t about business being boring this was about morality. about goodness. about the way steve, despite all his pretending and ego and polished king-of-hawkins image, had the softest heart of anybody you knew.

he wanted to be kind, gentle. different. nothing like the man who’d raised him.

you reached your hand out between you, your pinky brushing lightly against his.

“what do you actually want?” you asked quietly.

“what?”

“after high school.” you looked back up at the ceiling. “college. life. what do you want, stevie?”

the room went quiet for a second, then two. then he laughed softly under his breath. not a happy laugh, the sad kind.

the self-deprecating kind.

“college?” he scoffed. “c’mon.”

you frowned instantly.

“don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“act like you’re stupid.”

he turned his head to look at you then, brown eyes soft in the dim lamp light.

“i’m not exactly ivy league material.”

“you’re smarter than you think.”

“i’m really not.”

“you are.”

there was firmness in your voice now, the kind that always made him listen.

“you just don’t try because somewhere along the line, somebody convinced you there was no point.”

his expression shifted. small, almost wounded, because you always saw right through him.

always.

you kept going, softer now.

“you’re smart, steve. genuinely smart. not even just academically, you read people better than anyone i know. you remember everything that matters. you’re creative. funny. emotionally intelligent, even if you pretend you aren’t.” you nudged his shoulder gently. “and if i have to spend the rest of my life reminding you of that, i will.”

steve stared at you and god, there was that look again. that look that made your stomach turn over.

warm, completely devastating. then, because he was steve, he ruined the moment on purpose.

“well,” he sighed dramatically, “in that case, i’ll just follow you wherever you go.”

you snorted.

“oh yeah?”

“absolutely.” he folded his hands over his chest. “be your little house wife.”

that made you laugh properly.

bright and sudden.

the kind of laugh that always made him smile like he’d won something.

“house wife?”

“yeah.”

“you?”

“i’d be incredible at it.”

“you can’t cook.”

“i can make toast.”

“you burn toast.”

“crispy toast.”

you laughed harder and soon he was laughing too, that big, warm laugh that filled your whole room.

then the laughter settled into something softer. comfortable quiet. and somewhere in that quiet, the strange truth of it hung there,

every version of the future either of you had ever imagined always included the other. always.

sometimes you were neighbours with houses connected by a garden gate. sometimes coworkers. sometimes roommates in a big city. sometimes pen pals, a ridiculous idea born from sixteen-year-old steve drunkenly declaring he was moving to italy after eating pasta he called religious.

you still teased him for that.

but every dream, every joke, every passing thought about what came next, included us.

never 'me'. never 'you'. always us.

neither of you spoke about the deeper version of that dream.

the one with shared mornings. shared beds. children with messy hair and stubborn attitudes. a home that belonged equally to both of you.

but somewhere, buried deep, you’d both imagined it.

more than once.

steve swallowed hard against that thought.

then casually, too casually, he asked,

“how come you’re still single?”

you turned your head.

“you’re single too.”

a slow smirk spread across his mouth.

“yeah, but i haven’t always been.”

you rolled your eyes.

“neither have i.”

“middle school boyfriends don’t count.”

you laughed.

“according to who?”

“according to me.”

you shook your head, smiling, then shrugged.

“i don’t know.”

and that answer sat strangely warm in steve’s chest.

because maybe, maybe you liked being single. maybe there was nobody. maybe it wasn’t that you didn’t want him specifically.

weirdly, that hurt less.

he smiled faintly, staring back up at the ceiling.

then you asked quietly,

“why haven’t you settled down with anyone?”

his chest tightened because there were a thousand truths he could say. because i’m in love with my best friend. because nobody feels like you. because every girl i kiss isn’t you.

instead, he shrugged.

“i don’t know.”

and selfishly, your heart liked that answer far more than the possibility of him loving somebody else.

silence settled again.

then steve spoke, voice quieter than before, serious,

“promise me something.”

“anything.”

he turned his head toward you.

there was vulnerability there, raw and boyish and achingly honest.

“don’t forget me.”

your brows pulled together instantly.

“steve-”

“i mean it.” he swallowed. “when all this ends. when college happens, life happens… if we end up in different places…” his voice got softer. “don’t forget about me.”

your whole chest ached because forgetting steve harrington would be like forgetting your own name.

impossible.

you reached across the floor and took his hand fully. fingers threading together like second nature. like instinct. like home.

you squeezed once.

“never” you whispered.

and steve squeezed back, holding your hand in the dark like it was something precious.

something worth keeping.

“promise?”

you smiled softly.

“i promise.”

neither of you realised then just how much that promise would come to mean.

-

by the time prom season rolled around, steve was losing his goddamn mind.

he sat at the edge of his bed one night, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the carpet while every thought in his head somehow circled back to you.

which, admittedly, wasn’t unusual. most roads in steve’s mind led to you, had for years.

but this was different, this was bigger.

this was prom.

the last school dance.

the final stupid, sweaty gymnasium decorated with cheap streamers and glitter and songs that would probably suck and punch that tasted vaguely like chemicals.

and steve wanted one thing.

just one.

you.

not in the way he’d had you before. showing up together because that’s what you always did, wandering in side by side because steve bringing you was as natural as breathing, dancing stupidly together in between him getting dragged off by friends and you laughing at him from the sidelines.

not as best friends.

not as what everyone already assumed you were.

he wanted to take you, really take you.

wanted to stand on your doorstep with flowers and nerves and sweaty palms. wanted to tell you you looked beautiful and mean it so hard it hurt. wanted to dance with his hands on your waist and know it meant something different.

wanted one night where he could pretend, or maybe, if he got lucky, not pretend at all.

so he came up with a plan.

a stupid plan. a deeply embarrassing plan. a plan that, in hindsight, made him want to throw himself directly into traffic.

he was going to make it obvious.

not say it, because apparently despite being steve harrington, king of confidence, he became a complete coward when it came to you, but obvious enough.

obvious enough that if you smiled a little wider than usual, blushed even slightly, acted flustered in any way he’d ask you.

simple. easy. foolproof.

except it was none of those things.

because monday morning, the second he pulled into your driveway, he already started acting insane.

normally, steve would pull up, lean dramatically on the horn once, and wait while you came out rolling your eyes.

his logic always being, your house is right there, you can hear the horn when i get in the car.

instead, that morning, he got out. walked to your front door. and knocked. actually knocked.

when you opened it, bag over your shoulder, hair still slightly messy from rushing around getting ready, he nearly forgot every coherent thought in his head.

you blinked at him then squinted suspiciously.

“…why are you at my door?”

he immediately panicked internally.

say something cool.

say something normal.

“felt like it.”

idiot.

your eyes narrowed further, mouth twitching like you were fighting a smile.

“okay…”

you kept looking at him funny all the way to the car, and honestly, fair enough.

but then he made it worse.

because when you reached the passenger side, he darted ahead and opened your door for you.

you stopped dead.

“what are you doing?”

steve leaned against the open door casually, like he wasn’t having a full body crisis.

“being nice?”

you laughed softly, confused and amused all at once.

“you are nice.”

“being nicer.”

you stared at him for a second then shook your head, smiling to yourself as you got in. that smile hit him like a truck.

holy shit.

was that wider than normal? was that flirty? was that polite?

what did that mean-

and thus began the longest week of steve harrington’s life.

because once he started, he couldn’t stop.

every class you didn’t share, he was waiting outside when the bell rang.

leaning against lockers trying to look casual, heart kicking up every time your face lit up when you saw him.

he carried your books.

your bag.

once, your stupid heavy history textbook that you always complained about.

he held doors open.

walked you to every class.

blew off tommy and half his friend group every lunch just to sit with you.

actually did his half of your joint assignment, not copied, not barely attempted, actually did it, and when you looked at him like he’d grown another head, he just shrugged like it was no big deal while internally screaming notice me.

he bought you lunch monday.

again on wednesday.

again on thursday.

sat in the library with you after school willingly.

willingly. the library.

for hours.

and every single thing you did made his brain short circuit.

because you just accepted it. completely. you didn’t question him much, didn’t pull away, didn’t act weird, didn’t reject any of it. you simply smiled that sweet little smile and let him fuss over you.

let him carry your things. let him buy your lunch. let him walk you around school like you were something precious.

and worst of all you looked happy about it. which should’ve been good. right? that should’ve been good.

except now steve was spiralling because what the hell did happy mean?

did you know what he was doing? were you oblivious? were you pitying him? were you just enjoying the attention?

meanwhile, you were living in your own version of insanity.

because steve had always made you feel special.

always.

from childhood to now, there had never been a moment where you doubted your place in his life.

but this?

this was different. this was soft, intentional. sweet in ways that made your stomach flip.

it felt suspiciously like being courted. like being wanted. like being his girl.

and god you liked it. liked it so much it scared you. so no, you didn’t question it. because if you asked, what if it stopped? what if he laughed and said he was just messing around? what if this tenderness disappeared?

so instead, you quietly soaked it in.

let yourself pretend just for a little while. let yourself imagine this was what loving steve openly might feel like.

which meant steve’s giant, ridiculous plan was failing spectacularly for one very simple reason-

the both of you were idiots.

by friday, steve was at breaking point.

he sat in his last class barely hearing a word the teacher said, knee bouncing under the desk.

what the hell was happening? surely by now, if you liked him, you would’ve said something. asked him what all this meant. given him something obvious back.

right?

unless you didn’t like him. unless you just thought he was being nice. unless this was normal to you because he’d always treated you well and you saw no difference.

jesus christ.

he’d spent an entire week acting like a lovesick freak and somehow ended up more confused than when he started.

the final bell rang and steve made a decision.

enough.

no more weird signals, no more spiralling, no more stupid plans.

he was asking you tonight.

flat out.

whatever happened, happened because he was absolutely not surviving another week of this.

what steve didn’t know was that at that exact same moment, sitting in class chewing the end of your pen and smiling stupidly to yourself remembering how he tucked your hair behind your ear at lunch you were thinking,

please don’t stop whatever this is.

please let me keep having this version of you.

even if it’s not real.

even if it’s only for a little while.

-

steve waited outside your last class.

again.

at this point, it had become routine. somewhere in his ridiculous attempt at flirting came a habit he’d accidentally fallen in love with.

there was just something about it.

the way your face always softened the second you spotted him leaning against the lockers. the little smile you never seemed able to hold back. the way you automatically walked toward him, like your feet knew where they belonged before your brain caught up.

it made something warm settle in his chest every single time.

so yes, even if his original reasons for waiting outside your classes had been pathetic and embarrassingly romantic, now he did it simply because he liked it.

liked being the person you looked for, liked walking beside you through crowded halls, liked carrying your books even when you insisted they “weren’t heavy.”

liked the feeling of everyone seeing you together.

he liked it far too much.

that friday, though, he was restless.

you noticed almost immediately.

the way his fingers tapped against his leg. the way his jaw kept tightening. the way he kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, only to close it again.

still, you didn’t ask.

if there was one thing years of knowing steve harrington had taught you, it was that when he was ready to talk, he would.

until then, you let silence be comfortable.

and it always was with him.

the drive home was dipped in golden evening light, quiet except for the radio humming softly in the background and the occasional sound of steve drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel.

when he took a corner too fast his hand instinctively shot out, catching your thigh for a second to steady you.

warm, solid, gone too quickly.

neither of you said anything but your stomach flipped anyway.

when he pulled up between your houses, you reached for the door handle-

“wait.”

your hand froze.

you turned back.

steve looked terrified, actually terrified.

your heart immediately started hammering.

oh my god.

oh my god.

was he-

this was it. this had to be it.

the weird week, the sweet gestures, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he’d been hovering close like he couldn’t help himself-

this was him asking you to prom.

your whole body went warm.

steve swallowed hard. right. just say it.

say prom.

“do you wanna go prom-”

your breath caught.

his heart launched into his throat.

“-dress shopping with me?”

silence.

steve internally punched himself in the face.

coward. absolute coward.

you blinked.

then laughed softly, trying to ignore how quickly hope had risen and crashed in your chest.

“are you getting a dress this year too, stevie?”

he huffed a little laugh, looking down, shaking his head.

“no, i mean…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “y’know, i’ll drive us to the city. we can get all fancy and buy expensive shit we probably don’t need. get ice cream on the way home.”

he looked up at you then.

hopeful. boyish.

impossibly handsome.

you smiled, a real one.

“that sounds nice.”

his shoulders loosened instantly.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you opened the door, stepping out, then turned back with a grin.

“it’s a date.”

and walked away.

steve sat frozen in his car.

date.

date?

did you mean date date?

or date as in phrase?

people said that all the time.

right?

right??

he smacked his forehead gently against the steering wheel.

meanwhile, halfway to your front door, you were spiralling too.

why would you say it’s a date? why would you say that?

that sounds romantic. that sounds intentional. he’s going to think you meant it romantically.

except he doesn’t like you.

probably.

so now you sound insane.

great.

perfect.

wonderful.

still, somehow, both of you went to bed smiling because stupid was easier when it felt this good.

-

nice and early the next morning, steve was at your door.

knocking.

again.

except this time when you opened it, you were very much not ready.

hair wild, sleep still heavy in your eyes, oversized sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder, soft pyjama shorts, bare legs and sleepy confusion.

steve forgot how breathing worked.

you frowned at him.

“why are you here?”

his brain completely short circuited.

“…shopping.”

you groaned.

“shit.”

you looked over your shoulder at the clock and winced.

“i overslept.”

steve finally recovered enough to shrug casually.

“i’ll wait.”

he walked past you like he belonged there, because he did, headed straight to your room, kicked off his shoes, and threw himself face down onto your bed.

dramatically, arms spread, muffled voice immediately rambling into your duvet.

“had the weirdest dream last night.”

you stood at your mirror trying to brush your hair while pulling on jeans.

“what?”

more muffled nonsense.

something about a shark. your third grade teacher. a ferrari. possibly italy.

you laughed.

“i understood none of that.”

he lifted his face slightly, cheek squished against your pillow.

“it made sense in dream logic.”

“sure.”

then face planted again, continuing to ramble while you got ready, his voice muffled into your blankets.

it was domestic in a way neither of you thought too hard about.

easy, dangerously easy.

soon enough, you were in the car headed toward the city.

the windows down, music loud. summer warmth creeping in. you stopped at a roadside place for breakfast sandwiches, then got back on the road. where steve immediately became unbearable.

“bite.”

you looked at him.

“…what?”

“feed me.”

“you have hands.”

“i’m driving. i need to concentrate.”

you stared.

he opened his mouth expectantly.

“bite.”

your eyes narrowed, he looked ridiculous.

you hated how cute it was.

with a sigh, you held the sandwich up for him. he leaned over dramatically, taking a huge bite, cheeks full like a chipmunk.

you laughed despite yourself.

“you’re such an idiot.”

secretly, steve loved the little annoyed crease between your brows. loved making you roll your eyes. loved that you always indulged him anyway.

shopping somehow started with your dress.

steve had expected torture. hours of standing around, fabric talk, waiting, boredom.

instead he got to watch you try on dresses, which was apparently heaven. every single dress had him losing his mind quietly.

blue. green. white. sparkly. simple. dramatic.

even the absolutely hideous monstrosity he tossed into your pile as a joke, some bright orange ruffled nightmare, looked unfairly cute because you came out striking poses and making ridiculous model faces until he laughed so hard he nearly cried.

“that one?” you asked, spinning.

“burn it.”

you grinned.

but then you stepped out wearing soft baby pink.

simple, elegant, gentle, completely you, and steve forgot how to speak.

you looked beautiful.

not pretty, not cute, beautiful. the kind that hurt to look at because it made wanting feel too big inside his chest.

you smiled shyly at your reflection.

“i kinda love this one.”

steve could only nod.

because if he opened his mouth, he’d probably propose.

when you disappeared back into the changing room after trying on the final dress, leaving the pink dress hanging outside, steve moved instantly.

straight to the register.

money down.

done.

easy.

when the cashier smiled warmly and said, “that’s sweet- paying for your girlfriend’s prom dress”

steve didn’t even think, didn’t correct her, just smiled softly.

“yeah.”

the word slipped out naturally like truth. he walked back holding the dress bag proudly. when you emerged and saw it, your face scrunched instantly.

“steve harrington-”

“don’t start.”

“i told you i was buying it-”

he shrugged, smiling.

“it’s our last prom, princess. gotta treat you right.”

princess. that stupid nickname. it hit you exactly where it always did.

that awful lovely feeling.

but you’d become very good at hiding it so you only rolled your eyes.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“and generous.”

“annoyingly generous.”

“you love me.”

you smiled softly.

“yeah.”

the quiet honesty of it made his chest tighten because you meant it one way and he heard it another.

then he grinned, standing.

“c’mon.”

you looped your arm through his without thinking.

“your turn.”

shopping for steve’s suit was, thankfully, much quicker.

mostly because he cared significantly less than you did.

he tried on maybe three jackets, two pairs of trousers, one shirt, then stood in front of the mirror shrugging like, yeah, this one’s fine, while you looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

“fine?” you repeated.

steve adjusted the collar lazily. “yeah.”

“fine is your final prom outfit?”

he looked down at himself.

navy suit. clean lines, fitted enough to make his shoulders look unfairly broad. white shirt, sleeves rolled halfway while he changed ties.

hair slightly messy from pulling shirts over his head.

beautiful, unfortunately.

he shrugged again.

“looks good enough.”

you stared.

“good enough” you echoed flatly.

his grin only widened “mhm.”

but then, then he did something so stupidly sweet that your entire brain briefly stopped functioning.

the woman helping fit him asked what colour tie he wanted, before she could even list options, steve answered immediately.

“baby pink.”

you blinked.

he looked over at you casually.

“to match your dress.”

simple, matter-of-fact. like it was obvious. like there was never another option.

to match your dress.

your heart practically punched through your ribs because it was little things. always little things with steve. the details, the quiet thoughtfulness, the instinctive way he always included you in everything.

the way matching your dress mattered to him.

not because it was prom, not because it was fashion, but because it was yours.

you stood there smiling like an idiot while he tried on ties, your mind spiralling somewhere far, far away.

and honestly?

you barely paid attention to anything else after that.

just him.

his hands fixing his cuffs, his soft smile when he caught you staring, the way he kept glancing toward you for approval.

god.

you were in trouble. deep trouble.

when you guys got in the car both taking a deep breath, pausing before the long drive home, you stopped him.

“steve?”

his hand froze on the key.

“yeah?”

your heart hammered.

this was insane, absolutely insane but suddenly you couldn’t keep waiting, couldn’t keep wondering. couldn’t keep pretending every soft thing between you didn’t mean something.

so you looked at him and did exactly what he’d been trying to do all week.

“do you wanna go to prom with me?”

steve blinked.

once.

twice.

“…what?”

you smiled nervously.

“prom.”

he laughed softly, confused.

“we always go together.”

you swallowed then forced yourself to say it.

“i mean… properly with me, steve.”

his entire body went still, heart pounding so hard he could hear it.

“what?”

god.

he looked so confused, so beautiful.

and suddenly courage, reckless, terrifying courage, grabbed hold of you. you leaned forward and kissed him.

soft, quick.

the second your lips touched his, your whole body lit up like lightning.

then panic immediately followed.

oh god.

what did you just do?

you pulled back instantly, mouth already opening to explain, apologise, ramble, but steve’s hand came up, cupping your cheek.

warm, gentle, and he pulled you right back in.

kissed you properly.

like he’d been starving. like he knew exactly what your lips would feel like because he’d imagined it a thousand times, but somehow it was still better.

so much better.

you could actually feel him melt, his whole body softened into it and then, that little sound.

a quiet sigh against your mouth.

soft, content, completely helpless. it shot straight into your chest. your new favourite sound. absolutely.

when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard, smiling in complete disbelief.

then he said-

“i hate you.”

your eyes flew open.

“…what?”

he laughed breathlessly.

“i have been waiting my whole life for you to show literally any sign that you liked me.” he pulled back enough to look at you, eyes wide with mock offence. “and the one week i actually decide to try and something about it, you beat me to it.”

you burst out laughing then he did too, forehead dropping back against yours. then suddenly he leaned back fully, staring at you like you were insane.

“no, seriously- what?”

you blinked.

“what?”

“why now?”

you shrugged, cheeks warm.

“i’ve always liked you, stevie.”

steve’s jaw actually dropped.

“what?”

you laughed.

“i’ve always liked you.”

“then why didn’t you say anything?!”

you gave him a look.

“why didn’t you?”

he stared at you like the answer was obvious.

“because you never acted like you wanted me back. ever.”

you frowned.

“maybe you’re oblivious.”

steve scoffed so hard it was almost offensive then gave you the most irritated look imaginable.

“i do not wanna hear you call anybody oblivious. you are the most oblivious person alive.”

you gasped.

“no i’m not.”

“yes, you are.”

“i’m cautious.”

“cautious of what?”

you went quieter then.

honest.

“reading too far into things.” your fingers picked at your sleeve. “you could’ve just been being nice, y’know? i didn’t wanna lose you.”

steve’s whole face softened instantly.

his hand found yours.

squeezed.

“in no world do you lose me, idiot.”

your eyes rolled automatically, mostly because if you looked at him too long you might cry.

then, lighter, you said,

“been waiting your whole life?” you smiled. “dramatic ass.”

he laughed then shook his head.

“no, i’m serious.”

“right.”

“i am.”

“okay, sure-”

before you could argue, he grabbed your face again and kissed you hard. full of grin and relief and years of built-up wanting.

when he pulled back, he was smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.

“and yeah,” he murmured. “i’ll go to prom with you.”

he winked.

“it’s a date.”

you groaned, laughing.

“that line was awful.”

“worked the first time.”

you shoved his shoulder.

he caught your hand, kissed your knuckles and then finally started the car.

the drive home was spent sharing ice cream, stealing kisses at red lights, and smiling so much both your faces hurt.

and when he parked between your houses that evening for the first time going home next door didn’t feel like enough.

because now, finally, you knew exactly where home was.

and it was sitting in the driver’s seat, smiling at you like he’d found his whole world.

-

the week leading up to prom was, quite possibly, the happiest either of you had ever been.

which was saying something, considering you and steve had spent your whole lives making happiness out of ordinary things.

bike rides and late-night talks. pool days and movie nights. studying together, even when steve mostly just distracted you.

shared dinners. inside jokes.

the quiet comfort of simply existing side by side.

you had already built a life around each other long before romance ever entered the picture.

but now there was kissing. and, quite frankly, that improved everything.

the strange thing was, almost nothing about your relationship changed, and somehow, everything changed.

you still woke up most mornings to the sound of steve’s car horn, or, more recently, to the sound of him knocking on your front door because apparently now he liked seeing your sleepy face. you still rode to school together, still shared lunches, still studied in the library after classes, still spent evenings draped across each other’s bedroom floors talking about life until one of you fell asleep mid-conversation.

you were still you.

he was still steve.

best friends in every way that mattered.

except now, when he saw you, his face immediately softened into the most helpless smile. except now, his hand naturally found yours every chance it got. except now, when he dropped you off at home, you kissed him goodnight. except now, when he made you laugh, he looked at your mouth afterwards like he couldn’t help himself.

except now, he kissed you whenever the urge struck him, which was often.

very often.

because steve had apparently been suppressing years of affection, and now that he was allowed to touch you the way he’d always wanted he simply never stopped.

a kiss on your forehead when he saw you in the morning. a kiss on your cheek while waiting in line for lunch. a kiss against your temple while you studied.

a quick peck when he passed you in the hallway. a longer one when nobody was looking.

soft kisses, laughing kisses, hungry kisses that left you breathless, lazy kisses that happened just because you were standing close.

sometimes he’d stop mid-sentence, stare at you for a second, then kiss you like he’d just remembered he could.

when you’d laugh and ask what that was for, he’d just grin.

“been wanting to for years.”

as if that explained everything. as if that wasn’t enough to make your heart explode every single time.

steve, somehow, became even sweeter.

which you honestly hadn’t thought possible.

he was constantly touching you in little ways. fingers brushing yours, hand on the small of your back, absentmindedly tucking your hair behind your ear, resting his chin on your shoulder while reading over your work even though he wasn’t actually reading any of it.

he looked at you like you were his favourite thing on earth, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was real.

truthfully, he couldn’t.

steve had spent years loving you quietly, years convincing himself he was okay with just having you however he could get you.

best friend. neighbour. constant companion.

he had told himself that was enough.

it hadn’t been, not really.

and now he got to kiss you. hold your hand. hear you call him yours in little casual ways that made his brain completely short circuit.

my stevie.

mine.

god.

he’d never been happier.

and you felt exactly the same.

you weren’t even officially dating yet. somehow, neither of you had actually labelled whatever this was, but it didn’t matter.

you were his.

he was yours.

everyone knew it.

that was enough.

for now.

then prom night arrived.

you spent the afternoon at your friend’s house with your three closest girlfriends, all of you crowded around mirrors with makeup scattered everywhere, hairspray thick in the air, music playing too loudly in the background while laughter bounced off the walls.

it was chaos, beautiful chaos.

and, naturally, your friends spent most of it teasing you mercilessly.

“finally,” one of them said dramatically while curling your hair. “do you understand how painful it’s been watching you two circle each other for years?”

another snorted from where she was doing eyeliner.

“literally years.”

“it was embarrassing,” the third added. “for everyone involved.”

you laughed, shaking your head.

“we were not that obvious.”

three deadpan looks met your reflection in the mirror.

then all together-

“you were.”

one of them groaned dramatically.

“he looked at you like you hung the moon.”

you covered your face.

“okay, stop.”

they only laughed harder but beneath the teasing was genuine relief. everyone who loved you had been waiting for this, waiting for you both to finally stop being idiots, waiting for the inevitable.

because to everyone else you and steve had always been a love story waiting to happen.

later, after hugs and promises to meet at prom, you headed home to get dressed.

and when you finally stepped into your baby pink dress, the same one steve secretly bought for you, you stared at yourself for a long moment.

soft curls framing your face, makeup gentle and glowing, the pink bringing warmth to your skin.

for once, nerves hit.

not because of prom.

because of steve.

because you wanted him to look at you and feel what you always felt when you looked at him.

then, a knock at the door.

your stomach flipped instantly.

you carefully made your way downstairs, hand lightly gripping the banister so you wouldn’t trip over your own feet and halfway down, you froze.

your mother had already opened the door.

steve was standing inside.

flowers in hand, pink flowers, the exact shade of your dress, suit fitted perfectly, tie matching you exactly like he’d planned, hair done but still somehow perfectly messy, looking so unfairly handsome it almost knocked the breath from your lungs.

then he looked up and froze. completely.

his whole body went still, flowers slackening slightly in his hand. mouth parting, eyes wide.

you nearly froze too but you also nearly missed a step, so survival instincts forced you forward.

when you reached him, smiling shyly, steve still looked stunned.

then softly, so softly,

“you look so beautiful."

his voice full of awe.

you felt your cheeks warm.

“you look handsome.”

that snapped him into a grin.

your mother immediately started gushing.

“oh, look at you two-”

your father, already prepared, handed her the old camera.

same tradition every dance, same photo spot every year.

except this year felt different, this year felt important.

steve’s hand settled naturally on your waist.

firm, warm, possessive in the gentlest way. you tucked into his side and both of you smiled brighter than you ever had before.

click.

perfect.

the second you stepped outside and the front door shut behind you steve kissed you. immediately. like he physically couldn’t help it.

you laughed softly against his mouth when he pulled away.

“what was that for?”

he shrugged, smiling.

“sorry. i feel like i have to all the time now.”

you blinked.

he looked adorably sheepish.

“i waited too long before.”

your whole chest melted.

you stood on your toes and kissed his cheek.

“good job i don’t mind.”

his smile widened impossibly.

the drive there was perfect. madonna played loudly, steve complained-

“this song again?”

-while secretly singing every word.

badly. using one hand as a fake microphone. you laughed until your stomach hurt and when he caught you looking at him with that soft smile he winked.

god.

you were doomed.

prom itself was… nice.

crowded, hot, loud. friends dragged you apart almost immediately, his crowd calling him over, yours pulling you in. reluctantly, you separated. but only briefly. because, like always, you found your way back to each other.

effortlessly, like magnets, just in time for the slow dance.

his hands found your waist, yours looped around his neck. you swayed together beneath dim lights, forehead resting lightly against his, smiling softly at nothing and everything.

it was perfect, too perfect, too short. because when the song ended, steve frowned.

“that’s bullshit.”

you laughed.

“what?”

“not enough dancing.”

before you could ask what he meant, he grabbed your hand and started pulling you through the crowd.

out the doors, into the parking lot.

you were laughing the whole time.

“stevie- what are you doing?”

he just laughed breathlessly.

“trust me.”

he dragged you to his car, opened the door, turned the radio on, shoved in a cassette, then david bowie filled the warm night air.

steve dramatically bowed.

held out his hand.

“may i have this dance?”

you laughed so hard your cheeks hurt then placed your hand in his.

under stars, in a mostly empty parking lot, next to his car, you slow danced.

giggling, stepping on each other’s feet, swaying dramatically, kissing halfway through because neither of you could help yourselves.

it was perfect. better than prom itself.

afterwards, breathless and smiling, you both looked toward the building, then at each other and silently agreed-

fuck prom.

ice cream was mandatory, then home.

summer air still warm enough that sitting in his back garden felt perfect.

until suddenly steve gasped, shot upright and ran to the pool, crouching beside it staring in dramatically.

you followed quickly.

“what? what?”

he waved urgently.

“come look.”

you leaned closer and he shoved you in. cold water swallowed you whole. when you surfaced gasping, steve was doubled over laughing.

that little bitch.

fine.

game on.

you frowned dramatically.

“ow- steve-”

his laughter stopped instantly.

“…what?”

you grabbed your arm.

“i think i hurt it-”

panic overtook his face.

“shit- how?”

he reached down and his hand out.

the sweetest idiot alive.

you grabbed it and yanked.

he crashed in beside you with a loud splash. when he surfaced, hair plastered down, face full of betrayal, you were laughing hysterically.

he looked annoyed for exactly two seconds before pulling you into him, arms wrapping around your waist holding you close in the water.

laughing softly now too.

then he kissed you.

forehead resting against yours after, smiling wide.

then quietly, like truth he’d been carrying forever,

“i love you.”

your eyes opened.

you smiled.

“i love you too.”

his face softened so completely it almost broke you.

then he hugged you hard like he never wanted to let go.

later, dripping wet, climbing out of the pool steve paused. looked at you seriously, then “that means you’re my girlfriend now, by the way.”

you smiled.

nodded.

“okay.”

he frowned jokingly.

“…okay?”

you blinked.

“what?”

he shoved wet hair back.

“i always thought you were perfectly happy being single.”

you smiled softly.

shrugged.

“maybe i was just waiting for you.”

he rolled his eyes immediately, tugging you into his side as he walked you both inside.

his lips pressed briefly to your temple.

then quietly, certainly, “you always had me.”

his arm tightened around you.

“always.”

-

can u leave the room whilst i change?

you’re halfway through explaining something about the jacket when you realise the camera’s slightly tilted.

“wait- hold on” you mumble, reaching forward to adjust it, fingers brushing the tripod. the frame steadies, catching the full view of your bedroom. soft lighting, a mess of shopping bags on the floor, and joe lounging on the edge of the bed like he’s been there for hours, which, to be fair, he has.

he’s got that absent, content look on his face, one leg bouncing lightly, phone in hand but not really using it. he glances up when you move back into frame, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“you good?” he asks.

“yeah, yeah” you wave him off, already slipping back into your on-camera voice. “okay-so, next thing i got-”

you reach down, digging through one of the bags, pulling out a top you’d been excited about since you saw it in the store.

“i didn’t even try this on, which is kind of risky,” you say, holding it up to yourself and angling it toward the camera. “but it looked cute on the hanger, so we’ll see.”

joe hums, nodding in that agreeable way he does, like he’s invested even if he doesn’t fully get it.

“looks nice” he says, easy.

you grin. “thanks for the expert opinion.”

he shrugs, unbothered.

there’s a beat where you just look at the top again, like you’re considering something, and then-

“actually- i kinda wanna try it on now.”

joe nods again, like yeah, obviously.

you glance toward him, tilting your head slightly. “can you step out for a sec?”

that gets his attention.

he looks up properly this time, eyebrows pulling together. “huh?”

“i’m gonna change,” you say, like it’s the most normal request in the world, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “so- can you just, like, step out?”

there’s a pause.

joe just stares at you.

not confused exactly, more like he’s trying to figure out if you’re serious.

“…you want me to leave?” he asks slowly.

you blink at him. “yeah?”

his eyebrows lift higher, a quiet kind of disbelief settling in. “we’re married, babe.”

you shrug, keeping your face as straight as possible. “yeah…”

another pause.

he sits up a little straighter now, phone forgotten in his lap. “i’ve seen every inch of you.”

it’s so matter-of-fact, so genuinely confused, that it almost breaks you right there.

you press your lips together, trying to hold it in, but there’s already a crack forming.

“okay, but-” you start, voice wobbling slightly.

he squints at you.

and that’s it, you’re done.

a smile breaks through, quick and uncontrollable, and you turn away from him, laughing under your breath.

joe exhales through his nose, shaking his head like he’s been expecting this. “you’re being weird” he mutters, but there’s a smile creeping in at the edges.

“no i’m not" you protest weakly, still laughing, covering your face for a second.

he leans back again, folding his arms now, watching you with narrowed eyes. “is this one of those things?”

you try to recover, clearing your throat and facing the camera again, but you’re still smiling too hard. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“yeah, you do,” he says, pointing at you lazily. “you get that look.”

“what look?”

“that look” he repeats, like it explains everything.

you shake your head, turning back to the camera, trying to push through. “anyway- i’m gonna try this on-”

“with me here” joe adds.

you laugh again, giving up completely this time. “okay, fine- yeah, with him here.”

he snorts softly, relaxing back into the bed like he’s won something.

“you’re so annoying” he says, but there’s no bite to it.

“you love me” you shoot back.

“unfortunately.”

you gasp, mock offended, tossing a piece of clothing at him. it lands on his shoulder and slides off, and he doesn’t even bother moving it.

“keep that in,” he adds, nodding toward the camera. “people should know you still do this to me.”

“they do know,” you say. “that’s why they’re here.”

he considers that, then nods. “fair.”

you end up not even trying the top on right away, too busy laughing and explaining what just happened, while joe just sits there, occasionally chiming in with quiet commentary that somehow makes it funnier.

comments:

user: his 'we’re married babe’ SENT ME

user: i love how he just accepts it at this point

user: ‘I’VE SEEN EVERY INCH OF YOU’ SIRRRR

guess height blindfolded

the camera’s already rolling by the time joe walks in, dragging his hand through his hair like he’s just woken up even though he’s been up for hours.

“what are we doing?” he asks, eyeing the setup with mild suspicion, but there’s a smile there already. he knows better than to think he’s safe at this point.

“this one’s normal” you say quickly, which immediately makes him doubt it more.

“yeah, okay.”

you hold up the scarf you’re using as a blindfold. “it’s that thing where you have to guess each other’s height, blindfolded.”

he tilts his head. “guess… height.”

“yeah, but like- without touching. you have to-” you pause, trying not to grin too early, “-line yourself up.”

he watches you for a second, then huffs a quiet laugh. “this sounds fake.”

“it’s not fake,” you insist. “people do it.”

“people do a lot of weird stuff,” he mutters, but he steps closer anyway. “so i’m blindfolded first?”

“yep.”

he doesn’t even argue, just dips his head slightly so you can tie it around his eyes. you’re a little more careful than necessary, fingers brushing his hair back as you knot it.

“can you see?” you ask.

“no,” he says immediately. then, after a beat, “maybe a little-”

“joe.”

“i’m kidding” he laughs.

you step back, looking at him. arms loose at his sides, relaxed, already amused.

“okay,” you say, moving into position in front of him. “you have to try and kiss me. no hands.”

“that’s it?” he asks.

“that’s it.”

there’s a second where he just stands there, like he’s thinking about it. then a slow smile spreads across his face.

“this is easy.”

you barely have time to react.

he leans forward, just slightly adjusting, like he already knows exactly where you are, and presses his lips to yours without hesitation, completely accurate on the first try.

it catches you off guard, the precision of it, and you make a small surprised noise against his mouth before you can stop yourself.

and of course, because it’s joe, he doesn’t just leave it at that.

his hand twitches at his side like he almost forgets the rules, and the kiss deepens just a fraction, lingering a second longer than it should.

“okay-” you laugh, pulling back, one hand coming up to his chest to push him away lightly. “okay, no-”

he breaks into a grin immediately, reaching up to pull the blindfold off. “what? that was so easy.”

“you didn’t even hesitate.”

he shrugs, way too pleased with himself. “i know where my wife is.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “whatever.”

“my turn to watch you struggle” he says, handing you the blindfold.

“i’m not gonna struggle” you argue, already tying it around your head.

“mmhm.”

you can hear the smile in his voice even without seeing it.

“okay,” you say, holding your hands out slightly before remembering the rule and dropping them again. “don’t move.”

“i’m not moving.”

you take a small step forward, trying to gauge the distance from memory. you’re close, you can feel it, but not exact.

you tilt your head up slightly, going off instinct, rising onto your tiptoes just a little-

and miss.

your lips brush somewhere closer to his chin, and you let out a quiet, embarrassed laugh. “wait-”

joe laughs too, soft and warm, and before you can try again, he gives in and lowers his head just enough to meet you properly.

this time the kiss lands right.

it’s softer than his, less confident, more carefu, —but it lingers for a second, and you can feel him smiling against your lips.

“you moved” you mumble, pulling back.

“i helped” he corrects.

you tug the blindfold off, blinking at him. “that doesn’t count.”

“it absolutely counts.”

“no, it doesn’t.”

he just grins, completely unbothered. “you were gonna headbutt my chin if i didn’t.”

“i was not.”

“you were close.”

you shove his shoulder lightly, and he laughs, catching your wrist for a second before letting go.

“so technically,” he adds, “i win.”

“you always say that.”

“because it’s always true.”

you groan, turning back toward the camera. “he thinks he won.”

“i did win” he says from behind you.

“he cheated.”

“i followed the rules perfectly.”

you glance back at him. “you literally tried to make out with me.”

“that’s not against the rules,” he says, way too quick.

you just stare at him for a second before laughing again, shaking your head.

comments:

user: 'i know where my wife is’ kill me

user: the way you got his chin im crying

user: this man is so smug for WHAT

user: ‘that was so easy’ relax???

anthropology rock

you don’t tell him what this one is.

that’s kind of the point.

the camera’s already set up on the counter, angled just right to catch the kitchen and part of the living room. there’s a small box sitting in front of you, nothing fancy, which almost makes it funnier, and you’re trying very hard not to smile too soon.

you can hear joe moving around behind you before he actually comes into frame, footsteps soft, unhurried.

“what’s that?” he asks.

“wait,” you say quickly, holding a hand up. “i wanted to show you on camera.”

that immediately makes him suspicious.

“…why?”

“just- come here.”

he walks over anyway, easy, curious, and slips in behind you without thinking, arms wrapping loosely around your waist as he leans his chin near your shoulder to get a better look at the box.

“okay,” he murmurs, “what did you buy now?”

you place your hands on the box like it’s something fragile. “so- i found this place online,” you start, already putting on that tone you use when you’re about to sell something ridiculous, “and they do, like, really curated home pieces.”

“curated” he repeats under his breath.

you ignore that.

“and i saw this and i literally had to get it. like, it’s so unique.”

he hums, still behind you, not fully convinced but willing to go along with it.

“okay,” you say, dragging it out slightly. “ready?”

“i guess.”

you open the box.

inside is, very obviously, just a rock.

not even a particularly interesting one. just… a rock.

there’s a beat.

joe doesn’t move at first. his arms stay around you, but you can feel the way his posture shifts, like his brain is trying to catch up with what he’s seeing.

then he leans slightly to the side, stepping out from behind you so he can look at it properly.

his eyebrows pull together, his mouth parting just a little.

“…isn’t that just a rock?” he asks quietly.

you turn to him immediately. “no.”

he looks back at the box. then at you. then back at the box again.

“that’s-” he gestures vaguely toward it, “that’s a rock.”

“it’s not just a rock,” you say, already fighting a smile. “it’s, like- a decorative piece.”

he stares at you.

“a decorative… rock.”

“yeah.”

“from where.”

you name some made-up boutique with way too many syllables, and he just blinks.

“and you bought this,” he says slowly, “on purpose.”

“yes.”

there’s another pause where he tries very hard to be respectful about it.

it does not work.

“i could go outside,” he starts, completely serious now, “and get you five of those. for free.”

you shake your head immediately. “no, you couldn’t, because this one is, like, it’s selected.”

“selected” he repeats again, a little louder this time.

“yeah.”

“by who?”

you hesitate for half a second. “designers.”

he lets out a quiet breath through his nose, looking down at the rock like it personally offended him.

“how much was it?” he asks.

you say a number that’s just believable enough to be ridiculous.

his head snaps up. “you’re joking.”

“it’s worth it” you insist.

“for a rock.”

“it’s not just a rock!”

he reaches into the box before you can stop him, picking it up carefully, like maybe, just maybe, he’s missing something.

he turns it over in his hands, inspecting it from every angle, squinting slightly like there’s supposed to be a hidden detail.

“i mean-” he starts, frowning, “it’s… smooth.”

you lose it.

a laugh slips out before you can stop it, quick and sharp, and you turn away slightly, trying to cover it.

joe pauses.

slowly, he looks up from the rock.

his eyes narrow.

“…no” he says.

you’re already laughing harder now, shoulders shaking, and you don’t even try to hide it. he lowers the rock back into the box very carefully. way too carefully.

“you’re kidding.”

you can’t even answer, just nodding, laughing into your hands.

he squints at you, head tilting slightly. “you made me analyze a rock.”

that only makes it worse.

“you were really looking at it” you manage between laughs.

“cause you said it was curated” he shoots back, but there’s already a smile breaking through.

you step toward him without thinking, wrapping your arms around him in a quick hug, still laughing against his shoulder.

he lets out a small huff, like he’s trying to stay annoyed but his arms come around you anyway, automatic, pulling you in.

“you’re ridiculous” he mutters.

“i know” you mumble back.

there’s a second where he holds onto the act, staying still, like he’s not going to give in and then he does.

you feel it in the way his shoulders relax, the way his hand shifts slightly against your back.

when you pull away, he’s smiling, softer now.

“you’re cute” you tell him.

he immediately looks away.

“don’t” he says, quick, like he wants to shut it down before it lands.

but there’s a faint flush creeping up his neck anyway.

“you are” you repeat.

he shakes his head, glancing off to the side like there’s suddenly something very interesting over there. “stop.”

you grin, reaching for the box again. “should i return the rock?”

“yes” he says instantly.

“no,” you say, hugging it to your chest. “it’s curated.”

he groans under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

“i’m going outside,” he mutters. “i’ll get you ten.”

you laugh again, and he can’t help it, he does too.

comments:

user: he was so gentle about it im crying

user: the way he REALLY tried to understand

user: joe taking this so seriously is killing me

user: the hug at the end im soft

kiss in the middle of an argument

the camera’s hidden on the shelf by the doorway, angled just enough to catch the kitchen without being obvious. you set it up a few minutes ago, half out of curiosity, half because you already knew how this would go.

joe’s at the sink, drying his hands off with a dish towel, clearly mid-thought and a little annoyed.

“i’m just saying,” he continues, turning toward you, “it takes, like, two seconds to rinse a plate before you put it in. otherwise it just- sits there.”

you lean back against the counter, arms loosely crossed, trying to look like you’re listening properly.

“i do rinse them” you say.

he gives you a look. “not really.”

“sometimes.”

“exactly,” he says, pointing at you slightly. “sometimes.”

it’s not a real argument, there’s no heat to it, but he’s in that mildly frustrated, rambling mode where he’s trying to make a point and you’re only half taking it seriously.

“and then i end up doing it later,” he goes on, pacing a step before stopping again. “which is fine, but it’s like- why not just do it the first time?”

you nod slowly, lips pressed together to hide the smile that’s threatening.

“i hear you” you say.

he keeps going anyway.

“i’m not asking for-”

you step forward and kiss him.

just a quick, simple peck. nothing dramatic.

but it cuts him off instantly.

he freezes.

“…what-” he blinks, looking at you like his brain just short-circuited. “what was that?”

you shrug, completely casual. “carry on.”

there’s a pause.

he just stares at you.

you tilt your head slightly. “go on, you were saying something about the plates.”

he opens his mouth then closes it again.

“…i can’t now” he says.

you try to keep a straight face. “why?”

he shakes his head a little, like he’s trying to reset. “because- you just-”

he doesn’t finish the sentence, just exhales quietly through his nose, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

“carry on, honey” you say, softer this time.

that does it.

he looks at you for another second, something shifting in his expression, and then he reaches out, hand settling at your waist as he pulls you closer.

“no” he murmurs.

and then he kisses you.

it’s slower this time, more deliberate, like he’s making a point of it. his other hand comes up briefly, brushing your arm before settling again, keeping you close.

when he pulls back, it’s only slightly, his forehead almost touching yours.

“just- don’t do that again” he says quietly.

you raise an eyebrow. “don’t do what?”

“that,” he says, glancing at your lips for half a second before meeting your eyes again. “and don’t use it to get out of things.”

you smile, just a little. “get out of what?”

he huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. “you know it’ll always work.”

you don’t even try to deny it.

there’s a beat. quiet, close, the argument completely gone now, and then he leans in again, kissing you once more, like he can’t quite help himself.

when he pulls back this time, he lingers, still holding onto you, expression softer than before.

“we’re still talking about the dishes later” he adds.

“sure” you say.

neither of you move.

comments:

user: THE WAY HE FORGOT HIS POINT IMMEDIATELY

user: this is the healthiest argument i’ve ever seen

user: they didn’t finish that conversation and you know it

he pretends to be you

“so- you’re gonna pretend to be me” you explain, already holding the camera up, trying not to laugh before it even starts.

joe’s leaning against the couch, arms crossed, giving you a look that’s somewhere between amused and suspicious.

you grin. “come on, it’ll be funny.”

he studies you for a second longer, then sighs like he’s being put upon, except there’s a smile tugging at his mouth already.

“fine,” he says. “but you can’t get mad.”

“i won’t get mad.”

“you will.”

“i won’t.”

he points at you. “you will.”

you laugh. “just start.”

-

the camera angle shifts.

joe’s sitting at your vanity, slightly hunched forward in a way that’s already exaggerated. he’s holding one of your makeup brushes like he has no idea what it does, but he’s committed.

he leans in toward the mirror, squinting.

“babe,” he says, in a tone that’s just a little too accurate, “is this too much blush?”

you snort from behind the camera. “no, you have to pretend to be me, not ask me-”

“i am pretending to be you,” he insists, not breaking character, tapping the brush against his cheek like he’s applying something. “i’m asking you so you can say no.”

“okay- fine. no, it’s not too much.”

he pauses, then slowly turns his head toward the camera, deadpan.

“…so it is.”

you burst out laughing.

he sets the brush down like he’s proven a point. “every time.”

“that is not true.”

“it is,” he says, nodding seriously. “you ask, i answer, and then you do whatever you were gonna do anyway.”

“that’s called trusting my instincts” you argue.

“that’s called ignoring me” he counters.

you’re still laughing as the clip cuts.

-

he’s standing in the kitchen now, arms folded, posture completely different, more upright, a little sharper.

you’re off-camera, watching.

“i don’t see why you let it pile up,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the (currently empty) laundry basket like it’s evidence. “until i do it. it’s rude.”

you choke on a laugh immediately.

he keeps going.

“it’s not that hard, honey” he adds, tone just slightly pointed.

“oh my god,” you say, half laughing, half offended. “i do not sound like that.”

he glances toward the camera, unfazed. “you do.”

“i do not say ‘it’s rude’ like that-”

“you do when you’re trying to make a point” he interrupts, nodding.

you cover your face, laughing harder.

he softens a little at that, the act slipping just enough for a smile to show.

“i’m just saying,” he adds, quieter now, “it’s accurate.”

-

you’ve got his bag over your shoulder, shoes half on, playing along.

“okay, i’m gonna go” you say, reaching for the handle like you’re heading out.

before you can open it, joe steps in front of you.

he doesn’t say anything at first, just reaches for you, one hand catching your arm lightly as he leans in and kisses you.

once. twice. again.

quick, soft kisses, one after the other, like he’s stalling.

you immediately start laughing. “you’re so-”

he ignores you, still in character, pulling you a little closer and pressing another kiss to your cheek, then your lips again.

“stay” he murmurs, voice softer now.

you try to stay in the bit, clearing your throat and straightening slightly, pretending to be him.

“…i mean- i could leave later,” you say, like you’re thinking it over. “i have some time.”

joe’s entire expression changes, a real smile spreading across his face.

“yeah?” he says.

you nod, trying not to laugh again.

his hand finds yours and he gently tugs you back inside, kicking the door shut with his foot before guiding you toward the couch.

“see?” he says, like he’s just proven something.

“you’re too easy to make stay” you tease.

“don’t care” he replies.

-

the two of you are on the couch now.

you’re sitting fully on top of him, legs on either side of his lap, like you always do without thinking. his hands rest loosely at your waist, steady, familiar.

joe clears his throat slightly, slipping back into the bit.

“okay, so basically,” he starts, gesturing with one hand while the other stays on you, “what’s happening is-”

he launches into a long, overly detailed explanation of a show you made him watch.

“-and that’s why that scene matters, because earlier, like, episode two, you see the same thing, but from a different perspective, so it’s actually-”

he pauses, looking down at you.

you’re watching him, trying not to laugh, already knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“-important,” he finishes, a little less confidently.

“do you even know what you’re saying right now?” you ask.

“no” he admits immediately.

you laugh, leaning forward slightly, your forehead brushing his.

“you do that,” he adds, quieter now. “you explain things like i already understand, but i don’t.”

“you just don’t pay attention” you argue.

“i try,” he says. “there’s just a lot of details.”

you smile, softer now, and he forgets the bit again for a second, just looking at you.

then he snaps back into it.

“anyway,” he says, gesturing again, “that’s why you should care.”

you laugh, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“good explanation” you tell him.

“thank you” he nods, like he’s proud of it.

-

you swing the camera back toward both of you, still on the couch.

joe’s arm is draped around you now, hand absentmindedly resting against your side.

“so?” you ask. “how’d you do?”

he considers it. “i think i nailed it.”

“you were a little mean.”

“i was honest” he corrects.

you roll your eyes. “you made me sound bossy.”

he glances at you. “you are a little bossy.”

you stare at him.

he smiles, quick and easy. “it’s cute.”

you try not to react to that, but it definitely lands.

there’s a small pause, comfortable.

then-

“do me” he adds suddenly.

you blink. “what?”

“my turn,” he clarifies. “you pretend to be me.”

you grin slowly.

“oh, i’m gonna be so annoying.”

he groans, already regretting it.

“no-”

the clip cuts off there.

comments:

user: he has u DOWNNNN

user: the overexplaining one is so real me too.

why arent u holding my hand?

the camera angle’s a little lower than usual. you’re trailing a step behind joe as he walks down the aisle, and he is, objectively, carrying way too much.

there’s a tote bag hanging off one shoulder, a couple of things tucked under his arm, and two more in his hands. he looks like he underestimated how much you were going to pick up and is now too stubborn to admit he needs a basket.

you watch him for a second, already smiling to yourself.

then-

“i don’t get why you’re not holding my hand.”

he stops.

slowly, he turns his head to look back at you.

it’s not even annoyance, it’s just confusion, like he genuinely needs a second to process what you just said.

his eyes flick over your face, then he glances down at his hands.

both of them.

very full.

he looks back at you.

you just stare at him, completely serious.

there’s a beat.

he exhales quietly through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh.

then he shifts slightly, adjusting what he’s holding just enough to free up one tiny movement and sticks his pinky finger out.

waiting.

you immediately break, laughing as you step closer and hook your pinky around his.

“thank you” you say, way too pleased about it.

he shakes his head, starting to walk again, your hand awkwardly linked to his through that one finger.

“you’re ridiculous” he mutters.

“what?” you say, still smiling. “i’m not allowed to want to hold your hand?”

he glances down at you, expression softening without him even trying to hide it.

“no,” he says, voice quieter now. “you’re always allowed to want that.”

it lands a little heavier than either of you expected.

you squeeze his pinky slightly, still hooked around his, and he gives the smallest smile in response, eyes flicking forward again as you keep walking.

after a second, he adjusts his grip on everything he’s carrying, like he’s trying to make it easier not to drop anything, but he doesn’t pull away.

“you could help, you know” he adds.

“no,” you say instantly. “i’m busy.”

“busy doing what?”

you lift your hand slightly, wiggling your pinky where it’s linked with his.

“this.”

he huffs out a laugh under his breath. “right. important job.”

“very.”

he shakes his head again, but he’s smiling properly now.

comments:

user: ‘you’re always allowed to want that’ STOP

user: this is the cutest one yet i’m not okay

user: the sigh before the pinky SENT ME

get the biscuit

the camera’s set low, propped up against something on the floor so it catches the whole living room.

right in the middle of the frame, one single biscuit.

you and joe are sitting a few feet back from it, side by side, already smiling like this is a bad idea.

“okay,” you say, trying to sound official. “first round- no arms.”

joe looks at you. then at the biscuit. then back at you.

“no arms” he repeats.

“no arms.”

“this is humiliating.”

“you agreed to it.”

he exhales, but he’s smiling. “alright.”

you both shuffle forward slightly, getting into position, hands tucked awkwardly behind your backs like that’s going to help.

“ready?” you ask.

“no” he says.

“three, two, one, go.”

you both immediately lunge forward-

and fail.

completely.

without your hands, there’s nothing to catch you, so you both just drop, straight down, faces way too close to the floor.

there’s a second of silence then joe starts laughing.

like, properly laughing.

you push yourself forward awkwardly, using your shoulders and whatever momentum you can manage, but it’s messy and uncoordinated and you’re barely moving.

“this is so stupid” you say, laughing into the floor.

“you can’t even-” joe tries to say, but he’s laughing too hard to finish.

he somehow manages to inch closer to the biscuit, wriggling forward in a way that shouldn’t work but does.

“no-” you gasp, seeing him get closer. “no, no, no-”

you throw yourself forward and basically land on top of him.

he lets out a loud laugh as you half-collapse across his back, both of you tangled and completely off track now.

“you cheated!” he says through laughter.

“i didn’t- move!”

you awkwardly slide off him, still laughing, and keep pushing forward, face practically against the floor until you get it.

you grab the biscuit with your mouth, lifting your head triumphantly.

“i win!” you say, words slightly muffled.

joe is still on the floor, not even trying anymore, just laughing into the carpet.

“you’re-” he shakes his head, breathless. “you’re insane.”

-

“no legs” you say, sitting up and brushing your hair back.

joe wipes at his face, still smiling. “this is worse.”

you both lie flat on your fronts, arms ready this time, legs lifted slightly off the ground.

“ready?” you ask.

“no” he says again.

“go.”

you both start dragging yourselves forward, using your arms to pull, legs kicking uselessly behind you.

it’s somehow even less graceful.

you make a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan as you try to move faster, but joe’s already ahead this time, pulling himself forward with more coordination than before.

“how are you faster like this?” you complain.

“i don’t know” he laughs.

you try to catch up, reaching forward, but he’s just a little bit quicker.

he gets there first, grabbing the biscuit.

“nooo” you groan dramatically, letting your face drop straight onto the floor in defeat.

joe doesn’t even celebrate.

he’s laughing again, holding the biscuit but not eating it, shoulders shaking.

“i can’t-” he tries, but gives up, just sitting there laughing with it still in his hand.

you lift your head slightly, looking at him. “are you gonna eat it or..”

he shakes his head, still laughing. “give me a second.”

-

you both sit up again, facing each other now with the biscuit reset in the middle.

“okay,” you say, already smiling. “last one- no arms, no legs.”

joe just stares at you.

“…what.”

“you have to roll.”

he lets out a disbelieving laugh. “this is not real.”

“it is. come on.”

he shakes his head, but lies down anyway, rolling onto his side.

you do the same.

“ready?” you ask.

“absolutely not.”

“go.”

you both start rolling at the same time and immediately crash into each other.

there’s no coordination at all. every time one of you gets slightly closer to the biscuit, the other bumps into you, knocking you off course.

“move!” you laugh, trying to roll past him.

“you move!” he shoots back, equally uncoordinated.

you end up half on top of each other again, legs tangled, both trying to roll in opposite directions and going nowhere.

“this isn’t working” joe says, laughing.

“it is working” you argue, attempting another roll, straight into him again.

“you’re just- blocking me!”

“you’re blocking me!”

you both try again, rolling over each other this time, completely abandoning any sense of strategy.

at one point you almost reach the biscuit and then joe rolls into you again, knocking you sideways.

“oh my god-” you laugh, breathless.

neither of you are even close anymore.

you’re just tangled together on the floor, laughing too hard to keep trying, rolling back and forth with no real direction.

the biscuit sits untouched a few feet away.

the clip cuts off with both of you still laughing, completely failing to reach it.

comments:

user: joe gave up immediately and just laughed 😭

user: the face plant when you lost IM CRYING

user: not a single brain cell between them

pretend to fall asleep around him

the camera’s tucked somewhere low on the shelf across from the couch, angled just enough to catch the two of you without being obvious.

the tv is on, some show joe’s been trying to get you into for weeks. you’re curled up next to him, legs tucked under a blanket, your head resting lightly against his shoulder.

he’s mid-explanation, as usual.

“-so that guy,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the screen with the remote, “he looks like he’s helping, but he’s not. like, you find out later that-”

you let your eyes drift shut.

not all at once, just slowly, like you’re actually getting sleepy, your breathing evening out as you sink a little more into him.

“-he’s been lying the whole time,” joe continues, still focused on the show. “and it kind of messes with-”

he pauses, just for a second.

you can feel it, the way his attention shifts from the screen to you.

there’s a quiet beat.

“…hey” he says softly, not really trying to wake you, more like checking.

you don’t move.

he watches you for another moment, and something in his posture changes. shoulders easing, expression softening.

“okay” he murmurs, almost to himself.

his voice drops after that, instinctively quieter even though you’re not responding anymore. he turns his head back to the tv, still watching, but he doesn’t keep explaining.

instead, he reaches for the remote.

the volume clicks down until it’s muted, but he leaves the screen on, eyes flicking back to it.

you feel him shift slightly beside you, careful, like he doesn’t want to disturb you. his arm adjusts just enough so you’re more comfortably tucked against him.

there’s a pause.

then a soft press against your forehead. a quick kiss, gentle, absentminded, like he didn’t even think about it. you almost react, but you hold it in.

he settles back again, leaning into the couch, his head tilting slightly so it rests against yours. one hand stays loosely near you, thumb brushing lightly against your arm without really thinking.

he keeps watching the show like that. quiet, still, occasionally glancing down at you with that same small smile before looking back at the screen.

everything about him is softer now. slower. like the whole room adjusted around the idea that you fell asleep. and he doesn’t try to move you or wake you or do anything about it.

he just lets you stay there.

-

comments:

user: MUTING THE TV IM SOBBING”

user: this is so gentle i can’t”

user: joe is actually unreal

stopping walking to see when he notices

it’s busier than usual, one of those afternoons where the streets are full but not overwhelming, just enough noise to blend into the background.

you’re walking with your friends, the group naturally split the way it always is- the guys a few steps ahead, talking about something you’re only half listening to, and you and the girls trailing behind.

someone brings it up.

“we should stop,” one of your friends says, lowering her voice slightly. “all at the same time.”

you already know what she means.

you grin. “yes.”

there’s a quick round of agreement, quiet laughter, glances exchanged like you’re about to pull off something way more serious than it is.

“okay,” another says. “on three.”

the guys keep walking ahead, completely unaware.

“one… two… three.”

you all just stop.

it’s weirdly quiet for a second, just the sound of footsteps moving away from you.

you watch as they keep going, still mid-conversation, not even slightly aware yet.

one of your friends snorts under her breath.

“no way they don’t notice” she whispers.

you don’t say anything, eyes already on joe.

he makes it maybe six seconds. seven, at most.

you see it happen.

it’s subtle at first, his head tilts slightly, like something feels off before he even fully registers it. then he glances to the side, expecting you to be there, you’re not.

he stops immediately.

the other guys take another few steps before realising he’s not with them, but even then, they don’t turn around right away.

joe does.

his eyes find you instantly.

you’re already smiling, trying not to laugh, standing there with the girls like you’ve done nothing wrong.

he gives you all a look, confused, a little suspicious, like he knows something’s up but hasn’t figured it out yet.

then he exhales, half amused, half like of course, and jogs back toward you.

behind him, the other guys are just now starting to slow down, glancing around.

your friends immediately look past joe, silently judging.

“they didn’t even notice” one of them mutters.

you’re laughing now, unable to hold it in as joe reaches you.

“what are you doing?” he asks, stopping in front of you, slightly out of breath but smiling.

you shake your head, still laughing. “nothing.”

he narrows his eyes a little, glancing at the others, then back at you. “you all just… stopped.”

“yeah.”

“…why?”

you don’t answer, just step closer and kiss him quickly, like that explains everything. it throws him off for a second, just enough that his expression softens completely.

“okay,” he says, quieter now, like he’s accepting it even if he doesn’t get it.

behind him, one of the other guys finally calls out, “are we stopping or what?”

your friends all turn, giving them pointed looks.

“you didn’t even notice!” one of them says.

there’s a chorus of confused reactions from down the street.

joe glances back at them, then at you again, still half smiling. “was that the point?”

you nod.

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “you’re weird.”

“you love it.”

“yeah” he says easily.

his hand finds yours without thinking this time, like he’s making sure you’re actually there again before he starts walking back.

you squeeze his hand once, still smiling, and fall into step beside him.

this time, he doesn’t drift ahead.

-

comments:

user: joe turned around so fast omg

user: he literally cannot function without u next to him

user: the little jog back IM DONE

user: the other boyfriends failed this test im sorry

joe trying to get u back (again) (fail)

this one isn’t even meant to be a trend at first.

it just starts as a normal video. camera set up in the kitchen, ingredients everywhere, both of you slightly too confident for people who don’t bake that often.

“i feel like this is gonna go well” you say, already laughing as you try to measure something without spilling it.

joe’s beside you, reading off the recipe like it’s optional. “it says a teaspoon.”

“that looks like a teaspoon.”

“that is not a teaspoon.”

“it’s close enough.”

he shakes his head, smiling. “this is why things go wrong.”

“things go wrong because you doubt me” you shoot back.

“yeah, that’s definitely it.”

the whole thing is like that. messy, loud, flour somehow ending up places it shouldn’t, both of you laughing more than actually following instructions.

at one point he flicks a bit of batter at you, and you immediately retaliate, and it turns into a five-second chaos moment before you both remember there’s a cake involved.

eventually, somehow, it actually comes together.

the cake’s baked, cooled, and now you’re both leaning over it, decorating.

it’s… a lot.

way too much frosting, random decorations that don’t really match, little sticks and toppers pushed into it at odd angles.

“it looks great” you say, fully lying.

joe nods. “it looks incredible.”

“like something from a bakery.”

“yeah,” he agrees, completely serious. “a bad one.”

you laugh, nudging him slightly.

the camera catches both of you standing behind it, admiring your work like you didn’t just freestyle the whole thing.

“okay,” you say, “ready to try it?”

“yeah.”

there’s a second, and then, out of nowhere joe gently but very deliberately pushes your head forward.

straight into the cake.

it’s quick, playful, the kind of thing that would be funny- except the second your face hits it, something’s off.

you come back up immediately with a sharp inhale, hand flying to your face.

“oh-” you groan, blinking hard. “joe-”

he’s already laughing at first, a quick, surprised laugh, until he sees your expression.

“wait- what?”

you wipe frosting from your forehead, wincing slightly. “there’s sticks in the cake, you bitch-”

his face drops instantly.

“what?”

you blink again, eyes watering from the impact, not crying but reacting, and when you pull your hand away there’s a tiny bit of blood mixed with frosting.

that’s it.

joe goes completely still.

“oh my god-” he steps closer immediately, hands hovering like he doesn’t know where to touch without making it worse. “are you okay?- i didn’t- i forgot-”

you let out a small, breathy laugh despite it, still wincing a little. “if you were trying to blind me, you could’ve just said that-”

“don’t-” he cuts in, shaking his head, already panicking a little. “don’t joke- hold on-”

he grabs a clean cloth, hands moving quickly but carefully as he steps back in front of you.

“look at me” he says softly.

you do, still smiling faintly even though your eyes are watery.

he gently wipes at your forehead, his touch light, focused, like he’s afraid of hurting you more.

“i’m so sorry,” he says, voice quieter now. “i completely forgot those were there- i could’ve hit your eye, i could’ve-”

“joe,” you interrupt, reaching up to catch his wrist lightly. “it’s fine, i swear.”

he shakes his head immediately. “it’s not fine, you’re hurt.”

“i’m not that hurt,” you insist. “it’s like- barely anything.”

he doesn’t look convinced at all.

his eyes keep scanning your face, checking over every little spot like he’s expecting to find something worse.

“i’m serious,” he says, still gently cleaning off the last of the frosting. “i’m so sorry.”

you watch him for a second, the way his brows are drawn together, how focused he is, how bad he clearly feels.

then you tilt your head slightly, softening.

“…it just means you have to be super nice to me for the rest of the day,” you say.

he pauses. looks at you. then exhales, something easing just a little.

“i was already gonna do that” he mutters.

you smile.

he drops the cloth somewhere on the counter and immediately pulls you into him, arms wrapping around you tight but careful.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs again, pressing a kiss to your hairline, then another, and another, like he can’t quite stop.

“i know” you say, muffled against his chest.

he keeps going anyway, kissing the top of your head, your temple, wherever he can reach without bothering the spot he just cleaned.

“i’m so sorry” he repeats.

you start laughing softly, arms wrapping around him in return.

“okay,” you say. “you’re making it worse now.”

you pull back just enough to look at him, still smiling. “you owe me, though.”

he nods immediately. “yeah. anything.”

“anything?”

“anything.”

you grin a little wider. “noted.”

he squints at you slightly, like he knows that’s going to come back to haunt him, but he doesn’t take it back.

instead, he just leans down and presses another soft kiss to your head, lingering this time.

“still sorry” he adds quietly.

you laugh again, leaning back into him.

comments:

user: ‘there’s sticks in the cake you bitch’ IM SORRY I LAUGHED

user: he felt so bad :((

user: the head kisses im sobbing

-----------

_____________________________________

if anyone were to ask, steve harrington would say his love language was physical touch. really, he couldn’t help his insistent need to reach out and touch you, not that you complained most of the time anyways, because it was just how he expressed his feelings. sometimes words weren’t enough, and steve was raised on the saying that “actions speak louder than words.” so it came to no surprise that he’d always have a hand on you; whether it was his fingers laced with yours, an arm slung over your shoulder or his hand ghosting over the small of your back, steve was always touching you in some degree.

steve could recall nearly every time he’d notice someone glance at the pair of you, or hear an off-handed comment from someone he knew about how you two were glued to the hip, how they almost never saw one of you without the other. he took pride in it, despite the judgemental tone some of them had, because why wouldn’t he want to spend quality time with the love of his life? he never really understood the idea of being without someone for long periods of time, because in his mind: to be loved is to be present.

i.

there was nothing romantic about the cramped employee back room of family video. it was dusty, the air was stale and more often than not you’d walk in and find keith sitting at the desk with a game & watch under the pretence of “admin work”. yet, steve still had the nerve to convince you that he couldn’t be more than five steps away from you, rambling on about how it’d physically hurt him to separate his hand from yours, and that he’s offended you wouldn’t “walk to the ends of the earth with your boyfriend in hand.” to which you just roll your eyes.

“steve, you’re so dramatic sometimes..” he’s moping, complaining that you don’t love him, because if you did, you’d be in the store room with him right now instead of calling him names. “is it a crime to want to be with my girlfriend?” he’s got a hand clutching his heart, murmuring that he’s wounded and the only cure for his broken heart is just behind the door to the back office. “no, but unauthorised entry in an employee only area is..” you’re teasing him now, steve is opening wearing his heart on his sleeve and expressing his unwavering love for you and you’re teasing him.

“baby, you’ve literally been behind doors countless times, and last time i checked..” he’s making a show of looking around, knowing full well the two of you were alone; robin not due to start her shift for another hour or so. “.. there’s no one else here.” it has you rolling your eyes, and steve’s calling checkmate. he’s got you right where he wants, no more excuses lined up on your tongue and you just sigh, giving in easily like you always do. steve’s internally cheering, a smug smile on his face as he interlocks your fingers with his, tugging you towards the secluded area out back, and all you can do is follow.

before you’re even able to question his clingy behaviour, steve is slowly backing you towards the nearest wall, one hand laced with yours and the other is pressed against the cold surface beside you, and it all clicks. “baby, you did not just convince me to come back here just so we can make out..” steve just shrugs, feigning innocence even when his eyes are telling you everything. “mm, don’t know what you’re on about.” he leans in anyway, and you don’t fight back, his lips on yours in a matter of seconds. and as much as you had wanted to poke fun of how needy he was today, you realised you needed this too, needed him close enough to touch, and you think you’re becoming just as bad as him.

it was just supposed to be a few innocent kisses, a few unspoken words in the form of his lips interlocked with yours, and yet, you can’t help but have an arm strung around the back of his neck, your need to have him closer clouding your judgement. steve’s just as bad, both hands on your waist, bringing you in, chest to chest, and you’re both whining about being too far away, despite the lack of space left between you. “you’re a terrible liar.” you call out, and he’s ignoring it in favour of kissing your jaw, following a path down your neck, while you’ve got a hand bunched in his hair, tugging just hard enough to get a sound out of him. he’s grinning up at you now, from the junction of your throat you can feel his teasing smile, and you roll your eyes, pretending you’re not wrapped around his finger right now, like you’re not as equally eager to have him.

he’s sliding a hand underneath your shirt, drawing aimless shapes along your bare skin, lost in the feeling, before there’s the distinct sound of shuffling outside that halts his movements. you both freeze, eyes stuck on the door before flicking back to each other, and you’re looking at him in horror, too afraid at the idea of being caught. “i thought you said it was just us?” you whisper, you curse him out for being reckless, and dragging you along with him, before you push him off you in favour of smoothing out the wrinkles on your clothes. steve’s groaning out in irritation, muttering something along the lines of “last time i checked, it was.” before sticking his head outside to see what the commotion was all about.

“dingus, the fuck are you doing? there’s a customer.” it’s robin, and steve’s eyes shoot up to the clock, she’s early, and he’s wincing because really, out of all days. steve coughs awkwardly, some feeble excuse on his tongue dies when robin takes notice of his disheveled appearance and he can tell she’s grown suspicious, that she’s got questions he doesn’t really want to reveal the answers to. her suspicions quickly turn into disgust when she pieces the picture together, and she’s looking at the door as if she can already guess who’s behind there with him. “think you can see what they want? i’m a bit preoccupied.” and robin is feigning a gag, all while the customer just stands there, judging the both of them before making a comment about the lack of professionalism the youth have these day.

“i’m not even clocked in you idiot!” but it doesn’t matter, because steve’s quick to close the door on her and robin flips him off when she thinks the customer isn’t looking. they were, and it’s just another thing she has to deal with before her shift even begins.

ii.

steve thinks it’s entirely unfair that you’re ignoring him right now. he’s lying between your legs, breath tickling your thighs and practically yearning for your attention. yet you’re more engrossed in whatever it is that nancy is saying to you on the phone, than your amazing, perfect, and very bored boyfriend. sure, you’ve go one hand playing idly with his hair, and it’s enough to have him close his eyes, to enjoy the way you rake your fingers through it softly, but it’s not enough to ease the ache of not being the centre of your attention. if the role were reversed, there wouldn’t even be a phone call, steve would happily ignore all his responsibilities if it meant he got to laze around with you, the most important person in his life.

it’s quiet, and the only sound in the room is nancy’s small voice bleeding through the speaker. she’s gossiping, giggling about something jonathan said and the vibration of your laughter makes steve look up, and he hates that he’s jealous over nothing. he hates that your attention is split between two, especially when it was so rare for the two of you to have a joint day off like this. sure, you both technically worked at the radio station, and you guys did see each other everyday, but rarely did he get to have you to himself like this.

he’s bored, grumbling under his breath and it momentarily grabs your attention, nancy’s speaking, but you’re not particularly listening right now, eyes locked onto your pouting boyfriend, who’s rolling his eyes and moving out of your space. you’re raising an eyebrow, and he’s leaning over you, and a part of you is expecting him to cling on to you, to bridge the sudden space between you. he cranes his body over yours, and breathes out a quick “sorry nance.” before taking the phone out of your hand and hanging up, placing it back on the cradle, and you can hear her sigh before she’s cut off. “steve, i was using that.” and he hums, clearly not listening in favour of wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side and focusing on the movie that played as background noise.

“oh sorry, i didn’t realise.” he’s being sarcastic, and you roll your eyes and hit his chest playfully, melting into his embrace nonetheless, because you were always so weak for your boyfriend despite his questionable intentions. “you’re lucky i love you.” and he can’t fight the smile on his face, he can’t play the role of the upset boyfriend anymore, because you always knew how to have him swoon with just a few words. “yeah? love you too.” there’s a lingering kiss to the edge of your mouth, and you’re turning your head, trying to catch his lips fully but he’s pulling away, teasing you like he always does.

“steve..” the roles feel reversed now, like you’re the one vowing for his attention and you realise just how easy you played into his hands. “you’re annoying.” he nods, ‘engrossed’ in the movie, and your fingers are grazing his jaw, pulling him back into your bubble so you can kiss him properly, so you can give him the attention you both were craving. “oh, hi baby.” steve is playing dumb, and you shake your head, bringing him even closer to the point where you have your legs thrown over his lap, perched on his thighs and blocking the view of the tv. “don’t ’hi baby’ me steve.” and the act drops, hands on your waist and he’s sighing into your mouth, both of you longing for the other.

“missed you.” he’s murmuring against your lips, breath mingling with yours and you can feel the way he pouts like he just can’t believe you would’ve rather spoken to nancy than to have him like this. “i’ve been here all day stevie..” and he’s shaking his head, pulling you closer because it’s different, yeah, you were here physically, but your attention wasn’t. steve just wanted to spend his day lying around idly with his girlfriend with no distractions, no interruptions.

“you were on the phone with nance for ages..” a sigh leaves your lips, cooing at his obvious bitterness and you’re quick to move both hands to the sides of his face, forcing him to look at you and you lean in for a chaste kiss. “it was for like ten minutes, you’re such a big baby..” steve rolls his eyes, but there’s a crack of a smile when he feels you stare at him, eyes shining with that familiar adoration and he doesn’t respond to your very true statement, because he’s aware that he was acting out, but really, who cares when he’s got you like this.

“yeah yeah, now can we please pay attention to your very handsome, doting boyfriend who wants to kiss his beautiful girlfriend right now.” and you just nod, breathing out a laugh and leaning forward once again.

iii.

dustin really wishes he missed this crawl, maybe then he wouldn’t have to deal with you and steve giggling in the front of the van like two lovesick teenagers. steve’s got a hand situated on your thigh, hearts in his eyes as you sit there, full focus on him whilst he explains the significance of the clutch pedal. you had made an offhanded comment on how you wish you learnt how to drive manual, and steve perked up, he felt like a petrolhead, eager to teach you all he knew.

dustin’s fiddling with a rubik’s cube he found lying around in the back, waiting for the signal from the others at the station, knowing it’d take awhile before they could finally hit the road. so he’s sighing, looking anywhere but the two of you, because he can already picture it, the way steve is gloating, priding himself on his extensive knowledge of shifting gears. he doesn’t need to look over to picture the way you’re batting your eyes, humming along to every word steve says, hyperaware of how steve’s hand is inching higher without him even realising it.

dustin wants to gag, you two were so disgustingly into each other that it’s suffocating, it’s got him flicking the antenna of his walkie and mumbling into the speaker, voicing a prayer and a cry for help. he can hear a snicker on the other side of the frequency, it’s robin, and she doesn’t even have the courtesy to act surprised, because it could be worse. “don’t bother henderson, it’s been like this all day.“ and he sighs, because he thought you two would’ve been tired of each other by now, really, he doesn’t understand how you find steve interesting enough to be infatuated by him at all waking hours of the day.

he thinks of steve like an older brother, his best friend, someone he looks up to but even he also knows just how annoying he can be. he admires your loyalty, because dustin might’ve clawed his hair out if he had to deal with steve the same way you do. steve was different before the two of you met, that cool, uncaring facade he carried with him only switched on when you were around and now that you two were together and grossly in love, it was like he was looking at a completely different person.

steve harrington, the same guy who beat the shit out some demodogs, who put up a fight against the russians is now the same steve who’s distracted by your every move, who misses his queues at the squawk because he’s too enamoured by you walking past while they’re on air. the same steve who keeps a polaroid of you two in his wallet, who insists that he can’t hang out with dustin on sunday’s because it’s date night, or because you two are seeing a movie. the same steve that’s looking at you like you’ve hung the stars, even in the cramped seats of the squawk van.

it’s best to ignore you two for now, because dustin knows that steve is too focused on you to even entertain his disappointed looks he keeps throwing at the pair of you. steve can’t help it though, he’s been dreaming for a girl like you, and now that you’re finally his, he wants to make sure that you know how much you mean to him, even at the cost of being teased by the entire party for being at your beck and call.

“..and that’s how you avoid a stall.” you’re nodding, and steve’s got that smug smile he always has when he’s showing off, and you couldn’t find him any more attractive as you do right now. you’re not even remotely interested in manual driving anymore, not when you’re distracted by how he hot he looks when he’s focused on something. you don’t even register the static of laughter in the back, the sound of a snicker coming through the speakers because steve’s looking at you in full earnest, soft smile tugged on his lips and it’s like the world around you goes mute.

“okay lovebirds, please don’t forget i’m here too.” a voice chimes in, and it’s like someone’s snapped their fingers, your attention drifting over from steve to dustin’s folded arms, he twitches when he can see you finally take off your rose tinted glasses and come back down to earth. you hear steve sigh beside you, annoyed that your time together is always cut short, and turns his head to greet his younger friend. “yes henderson?” but he’s distracted by the sound of your laughter, you’re clearing enjoying the exchange between the two and it just peeves dustin off more.

steve really can’t stay annoyed for long, not when you’re there; he has a soft spot for you always, and not even dustin’s glare can spoil his mood. “can’t you two hold it in until after the crawl?” dustin chimes in again, his hands emphasising the telemetry tracker beside him, and you nod, promising the two of you will behave, much to steve’s dismay. “baby..” you hold a hand out to stop steve from speaking out, and he pauses, eyes looking between you and dustin, and you can see the exact moment he gives up.

steve doesn’t remove his hand from your thigh though, instead he laces his fingers with yours and squeezes, because he still craves your touch even when he’s silently moping like this. you smile at him, squeezing back, and it’s then that they finally get the signal to drive, and dustin couldn’t be happier.

iv.

the kids had just graduated, and you soon find yourself situated with the others on the roof of the radio station. the nostalgia hitting and memories flood in of your time together at the squawk, and it feels like no time has changed, despite it being over a year since you all decided to pursue your seperate aspirations. there’s the lingering feeling of sentimentality, seeing your friends after months apart, and knowing it’ll be a long ways away until you’re all reunited again after this. it didn’t help that robin’s final goodbye on the radio had your heart feeling heavy for the past couple hours now, and sitting here, drink in tow, wasn’t doing it any favours.

jonathan and steve are bickering about the premise of jonathan’s film; capitalism, cannibalism? you weren’t really paying attention to the two, your eyes trailing around you, taking in the scenery, the sunset, the memories, and you’re thinking back to the first time you had discovered how to climb up to the roof. robin notices your silence, because she too is reminiscing all the time she took for granted with you guys, you two lock eyes, and there’s a silent agreement that you’d give anything to go back to how things were, minus the end of the world.

it’s then that robin speaks, roping nancy into spilling information about the “hot babes at emerson.” which has nancy rolling her eyes. she had dropped out, and that itself felt like a bombshell, but she had always known that maybe it wasn’t on the cards for her, that she was destined for other things, and you envy it a little. you hadn’t quite figured out what you wanted to do with your time, you felt a bit behind, and it was scary.

steve notices how quiet you’ve gotten, and the familiar feeling of his hand sliding into yours, fingers intertwined, is enough to silence that nagging voice in your head for the time being. you’re squeezing his hand back, grateful for the distraction before you notice the others around you fall quiet, it’s jarring how awkward it feels before robin’s clearing her throat, and she’s the one to address the elephant in the room.

“so is no one going to mention that huge rock on your hand?” and just like that, the air around you feels lighter and you can’t help but laugh at how blunt she’s being, and how shocked the others look when they finally take notice of the ring on your finger. “holy shit!” nancy exclaims, and she’s quick to move out of her chair, smacking steve’s hand out of yours; to which he groans in faux annoyance, in favour of checking the diamond attached to you.

it makes steve’s heart swell, the familiar feeling of pride that situates itself whenever he looks down at the engagement ring he had bought months ago. it’s a reminder of just how lucky he is, how he’s finally found the one, that he’s promised forever with you. “oh yeah, that..” you’re shy when people notice, but you can’t fight the grin that makes it’s way to your face every time, because steve harrington will always be your person, and now you have a physical reminder of that.

“spoiled her on a coach’s salary too.” you smack his shoulder, and steve pouts, knowing you can’t stay mad at him for long. there’s obvious heart eyes when you look up at him, that all too familiar feeling of yearning you don’t think will ever fade. it’s disgustingly cute, atleast that’s what robin says when she breaks the silence, and you can’t help but shy away from the eyes of the others, their gazes soft and it makes you feel extra vulnerable.

“took you long enough” robin’s calling out from beside you, and you furrow your eyebrows, because it still shocks you when you think back to his proposal, steve down on one knee with shining eyes and wobbly smile. he had this speech about how he couldn’t imagine a life without you, it was endearing how nervous he was, how sweaty his hand got whilst it was latched with yours, and you always tear up when you think back to that moment, how easy it was to say yes.

“now, what’re your thoughts about having six little nuggets?” jonathan jokes, and steve shoots him a glare, but you don’t fail to metion how easy it is to imagine a family with steve. “i mean, maybe not six, but definitely atleast two.” and it shuts steve up, you two had only really talked about kids a handful of times, nothing too serious, but he’s looking at you with stars in his eyes, there’s that familiar look of adoration, and you can see jonathan instantly regret bringing it up. “great, you’ve set him off again.” and steve doesn’t even care, because he’ll always be guilty of being in love with you, and god forbid a man is infatuated with his future wife.

────────────────────

yeah i ain’t even got an excuse for this one i literally blinked and it became this big ass fic.

i sincerely hope you all enjoyed this :) & please lmk if this was ok!!

i think a part of myself will always have room for steve, especially over the last month or so since i started writing. it’s kinda scary releasing something, but seeing people reblog and comment that they like my writing is enough for me to continue !!