It’s hot.

The body behind you shifts, inching closer until his bare chest is pressed fully against your back, his skin is warm, too warm in fact. A content sigh escapes his lips as his arm tightens around your waist, his fingers splay across your stomach like he’s trying to hold you there even in sleep. You wake slowly, blinking up at the ceiling, your skin sticky with sweat, sleep and him. Half dazed, you tilt your head towards Steve’s alarm cloak.

00:42

“Shit.” You stumble from the bed, waking the slumbering boy.

“Babe?” His voice is rough with sleep, and you turn to find him rubbing his eyes, already reaching for the lamp.

“I’m late,” you mutter, searching the floor for your clothes. “It’s late, I should’ve left hours ago. I can’t see anything.”

The soft lamp light clicks on. Steve is propped up against the headboard now, the blankets and sheets pool around his waist, his hair sticking up in every direction, lips parted in that dazed, just-woke-up look you secretly find adorable.

“Thanks.” You glance over at him, flushed, and in a hurry.

“No, thank you,” he smirks, his gaze scanning over your naked body when you bend over to pick up your scattered clothes. “You look amazing like this.”

“Perv,” you roll your eyes and playfully toss his shirt into his face. He catches it, laughing, watching as you shimmy into your jeans, moving with urgency.

Steve swings his legs over his side of the bed, the wooden floor creaking faintly as he stands. He bends to scoop up his gray sweatpants from where he tossed them hours ago, tugging them on with the same ease he peeled them off with. His hand closes around his car keys on the dresser.

“Come on, I’ll drive you,” he says, like it’s not even a question, like it’s decided.

“I rode my bike here.” You reply, tugging on your jacket.

“And?” He looks at you, eyebrows knitting together like that changes anything. “I’m not letting you ride home alone in the middle of the night.”

“Letting me?” You arch an eyebrows, crossing his room to stand in front of him. The corner of your mouth lifts into a slight smirk, your fingers gently toying with the drawstring of his sweats. “Careful, Harrington… People might start thinking that you care.”

“Care? About you?” Steve lets out a short breath, a mix between a scoff and laugh, but there’s a tension behind it. “Come on, we said casual, no feelings… Right?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, nodding at his words.

He’s not wrong, you were the one who said that. No strings, no messy complications, most importantly no heartache.

Or so you thought.

“Right,” you echo, your tone a little too sharp for your liking. “And since it’s so casual, I’ll be riding my bike home.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder in one motion, hoping you can move fast enough so he didn’t notice the flicker of emotion in your voice. Your boots thud softly against the staircase as you head for the front door.

His house is quiet, it always is. His parents gone again, off at another one of his dad’s conferences. Not that they’re ever really there.

Just as your hand reaches for the doorknob, you hear his voice behind you, softer now.

“Wait…”

You glance back, Steve’s standing at the bottom of his stairs in the dim light, hair messy, chest bare, sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

“Please,” he says, stepping closer to you, his hands sliding around your waist, the keys still clutched loosely in his right hand. “Just let me drive you home.”

“I live down the street, Steve. It’s Hawkins, nothing bad happens here.” You lean back in his embrace, your hands resting against his muscular chest, staring up into his eyes.

“Fine, fine, fine.” He blows out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his already wild hair, looking away. “Can you just… call me? So I know you got home safe?”

You pause for a moment, Steve looking anywhere but at you when he says those words.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at school,” you say instead, standing on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

But before you can pull away, his arms wrap tighter around your waist and Steve leans down to kiss you. One of his hands slides up, threading into your hair at the nape of your neck, gently guiding your head as he tilts it just right to deepen the kiss. Both your mouths part simultaneously, familiar, allowing his tongue to slide in, languidly stroking against your own.

His other arm tightens around you, pressing your bodies flush together, you let out a quiet moan before you can stop it.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only just.

His lips hover, his forehead drops to yours, and for a long second, neither of you move, just catching breath that has been stolen by a kiss that didn’t feel too casual.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

The night air is crisp and has more than a slight chill to it as you pedal through the quiet, dark streets of Hawkins, your tires crunching over loose gravel the only sound in the sleepy town.

“Shit.” Both Jonathan’s and your mom’s cars are parked at the front of your home. The porch light has been purposely left on for you, most likely by your younger brother, aware that you’re not in the safety of your bedroom.

You slip through the front door as quietly as possible, but the rusted hinges betray you, groaning loud enough to make you wince. You pause, waiting, listening.

The house is dark and silent as you continue your path down the hallway, tiptoeing past your younger brother’s rooms, past your mother’s.

Your door clicks softly closed behind you, with your back against the door, you let out a small breath, you touch your lips, still tingling from Steve Harrington’s kiss.

You wearily enter the kitchen, trying to act casual when you notice Jonathan standing by the counter, carefully stirring scrambled eggs in a pan, his eyes darting to yours, narrowing slightly. The shower running in the background gives you both privacy from your mother for his upcoming interrogation.

“So,” he says breaking the silence you were all too eager for. “Where were you last night?”

“Does it really matter?” You sigh dismissively, grabbing a glass from the cupboard, filling it with orange juice.

“I got home at midnight and your bike wasn’t outside, you weren’t in your room.”

You pause for just a second, then take a sip of your juice, your eyes carefully avoiding his. From the corner of your eye, you see him glance at the stove, jaw tightening like he’s trying to keep something back before turning back to you.

“You know Harrington’s a piece of shit, right?” He says all knowing, his voice without judgement. “He’s not good for you, he’s just using you. I’ve seen him and Nancy at school.”

You don’t flinch, you act like it doesn’t bother you.

“I’m not you, Jonathan. I don’t care about Nancy Wheeler.” You tell him. You tell him the lie you tell yourself, hoping if you say it enough it will come true. “And maybe I’m the one using him, he’s hot, he’s easy, he doesn’t ask questions. Did you ever think about that?”

The bathroom door creaks open, and your mom steps out ready for work, muttering to herself about her late shift and car keys she can never seem to find.

The conversation between you and Jonathan is finished for now. You slip out of the kitchen without a word, heading down the hall toward Will’s room to wake him for school.

“Will! Time to get up, baby.” You frown when you open the door to Will’s unmade bed, but there’s no sign of your baby brother in his room.

Your mom walks past just a moment later, clearly with the same plan in mind, only to stop short when she sees the empty bed.

“He came home last night, right?” Your mom follows you as you walk back into the kitchen about to ask Jonathan the same question. “Did he come home or not?”

“I don’t know, I was working, Erik asked me to cover a shift.” Jonathan justifies his absence to their mother, talking about the extra cash they sometimes desperately needed.

“You don’t know?” Joyce snaps before turning to you. “And what about you?”

Your eyes dart to Jonathan’s.

“I… I don’t know. I was out,” you mumble, the words barely above a whisper, a heaviness of guilt begins to creep up and settle into your chest.

“He was at the Wheelers all day, he probably just slept over.” Jonathan offers quickly. Your eye’s flicker gratefully at him, but the guilt is still lingering.

“What is wrong with you two? I can’t believe you two sometimes.” Joyce shakes her head as she grabs the phone off the wall. You anxiously play with the sleeve of your sweater, waiting for confirmation that Will just slept over Mike’s.

“You know, I think he might’ve just left early for school, thank you very much.” You and Jonathan listen on as your mom lies to Mrs Wheeler.