you’re djoking

“Are you seriously not going to talk to me?” Steve whines pathetically once he realizes you’re ignoring him.

You don’t answer verbally. Instead, you curl in on yourself, turning to face the passenger window.

“Oh, c’mon, Angel. Don’t be like that,” he begs, throwing you a look before turning back to the road.

You fight the urge to retort a witty comeback about how he should’ve thought about the repercussions of his actions, but you were determined to not speak to him until he apologized and meant it.

“You realize that you can’t realistically ignore me the whole evening, right?” Steve grips the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening at the hold he’s got on it.

You huff out an angry breath of disagreement, despite the fact that you know he’s right since you’re on the way to watch Eddie’s band play at The Hideout with the rest of your friends.

Steve tries again, “You’re killing me here. I promise, I really didn’t mean to be rude to you.”

You bite your tongue and want to tell him that the intent didn’t matter because it came off that way. It’s also not an apology, so you continue to stare dejectedly out the window, thinking back on the hurtful words that slipped past those plush pink lips of his.

Steve was over at your place, sitting on your bed - watching you finish getting ready when he started yapping about the latest girl he’d been casually hooking up with and why he ended things with her.

Hearing about it made an ugly jealous feeling twist inside of your chest, because you’ve had a thing for him ever since high school, but he was too clueless to see it.

He was complaining about how the girl was late to everything and how it made him feel like an afterthought.

“Well, maybe you should date someone punctual,” you press, emphasizing the word because he’s always teasing you about your need to get to places early.

Steve shakes his head, “I don’t know. I mean, I like her a lot. I just feel like there’s something missing.”

You curl the wand of mascara over your eyelashes one last time before huffing out a breath of frustration, “Obviously.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You fight the urge to yell at him that it’s you that’s missing - that he’s supposed to be with you, and that’s why he nitpicks each girl he’s with.

Instead you shove that thought deep back into the crevices of your brain, “It means you always find something wrong about the girls you date, Steve.”

He scoffs, “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” you point the mascara stick in his direction, twisting back around to cap it and pick up your tube of lip gloss.

“I do not. I just have standards, you know?” He says, but it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than you.

You purse your lips together, spreading the color evenly, “Whatever you say, lover boy.”

The nickname makes him annoyed, because you only ever called him that when you were being flippant.

“God, get off my back about it. It’s not like your opinion about who I go out with even matters,” Steve lashes out.

With anyone else you might’ve backed down, but because he’s your best friend, you fight back.

“Then stop being a bitch, Harrington. I’m sick of you whining about a new girl every time we hang out,” you grumble.

You knew you weren’t playing nice, but you were sick of him searching for something that was right in front of him. Plus the comment about your opinion not mattering hurt much more than you cared to admit, which made you defensive.

“Oh, I’m the one being a bitch?” Steve snaps sarcastically, and you instantly see regret washing over his face once the insult is out.

Your jaw drops at that, “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t actually call you a -,” he starts, but you cut him off.

“But you were thinking it, weren’t you?” You clench your teeth, fighting the urge to cry.

“No, Angel. I promise, that’s not what I meant,” he sighs heavily.

“If I’m such a bitch, Steve, then why are we even friends?” You fold your arms over your chest.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, “You’re not. I’m sorry.”

You laugh bitterly, “That’s a sad excuse for an apology.”

Steve gets mad at that, throws up hands in defeat, “Why are you pissed? You called me one first!”

“Because you’re always talking behind these girls' backs, Steve. And you’re only upset because I called you out on it,” you turn away from him, spritz your perfume on your wrists before storming out of your bedroom.

Steve scrambles to get up, tripping over his feet a little - following you down the stairs as you head towards the front door of your home.

“Where the hell are you going?” He calls after you.

“Unlike your new girlfriend, I don’t want to be late,” you retort.

Steve groans, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

You don’t bother answering, just make your way outside and to his car - waiting impatiently for him to unlock it.

Steve rounds the car, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t open the passenger door for you, even when you’re angry with him.

But being stubborn, you block him from getting to the handle.

“Can you not?” Steve narrows his eyes at you.

“Sorry, am I being a bitch?” You bite, and Steve mutters something under his breath.

“Just let me open the door for you,” he reaches out to try to gently pry your fingers off the handle.

“Please, Angel?” He says quietly when your hand refuses to move, and god does that nickname make you crumble easily.

You concede, stepping to the side. Once you slide into the Beamer, you decide that you don’t want to waste your breath arguing with him anymore - making the decision to keep quiet until he says he’s sorry; and not just because he felt like he should, but because he believed it.

You knew you were kind of being a bitch, especially since you called him one, but you were incredibly fed up with him acting like his love life was in shambles and expecting you to help clean up the mess.

As Steve’s pulling the car into the gravel lot, he’s still trying to get you to break and talk to him, but you scamper out before he’s even fully parked.

You find Robin leaning against the bar and grab onto her bicep, causing the drink she had in her hand to slosh slightly over the rim.

“I need you to sit next to me in the booth,” you inform her - cutting your eyes to the front door where Steve’s making his way inside.

“Shit, where did you come from?” She quips.

You grab a napkin and hand it over to help her clean up the spilled liquid, “Sorry. I’m just super annoyed with Steve and don’t want to sit next to him.”

She looks at him, “What did the dingus do now?”

“He keeps shoving his hopeless love life in my face. As if I want to hear about that when I’m in love with him,” you ramble.

Robin quirks an eyebrow up at you, “Need I remind you that you haven’t told him that?”

“And he also insinuated that I was being a bitch,” you add.

Robin looks sufficiently upset for you, “What an asshole.”

“After I told him that was being one,” you tag on sheepishly.

“Oh,” she laughs a little at the ridiculousness of it all.

She quiets when Steve makes his way over to the two of you, and his eyes narrow suspiciously at her lack of words, “What, did she convince you not to talk to me either?”

“I’ll have you know I’m my own person, Harrington. If I’m not talking to you it’s of my own free will,” Robin replies.

Steve snorts at that, turning to the bartender and ordering himself a beer and the drink of your choice - extending an olive branch that you weren’t quite ready to take.

“Robin Buckley not talking? Sure, totally believable,” he teases.

Robin’s mouth drops open in mock offense, and it’s then that Eddie interferes - steering the conversation in a different direction.

“Hey! You guys made it. Where’s the happy couple?” Eddie inquires, sliding up to the three of you and slinging his arm over your shoulder.

“They’re on their way. Nance got off work late,” you reply, leaning into Eddie’s embrace - throwing a discreet glance towards Steve whose jaw seems to tighten at the action.

Eddie’s eyes flick between the two of you, “Ooh, are Mommy and Daddy fighting?”

You shove his arm off you, “Shut up, Eddie.”

He grins at you, “Sorry, sunshine. You just look like you’re about to bite Harrington’s head off with that glare you’re giving him.”

“I kinda want to,” you mutter under your breath.

Steve looks all pouty at that, “Real mature.”

Eddie decides to drop it and turns to Robin.

“Is Vic coming?” He asks.

Robin sighs, “I couldn’t coax her to take a break from studying.”

“Too bad. Oh, by the way. There’s someone I want you guys to meet,” Eddie flags a girl down that’s trailing behind him and gestures for her to come over to your group.

He introduces you to the girl, and you know instantly that you’re doomed to watch Steve try to gain her interest when you see how he’s staring at her.

Steve immediately takes her hand, giving her that stupidly charming smile of his. You feel an ache at the way his eyes light up when she laughs at something he says - something you didn’t catch because the rushing sound in your ears from the pounding of your heart is too loud.

You instantly feel insecurity wash over you, because you looked absolutely nothing like the girl.

And god, was she gorgeous too.

You wanted her to open her mouth and say something that would give you a reason to hate her, but she didn’t - which almost made your envy over her that much worse because she was sweet.

She leans closer to Steve to hear him better, and you can’t help but notice how he angles his body in response.

Bile rises in your throat, and your breathing picks up tenfold - an anxious feeling stirs inside of you at watching them together.

“So sorry we’re late. My boss is a total prick and threw a last minute editing problem at me,” Nancy calls from a few feet behind you - dragging Jonathan by the hand through the crowd.

They join your little circle and because Nancy is the most observant person ever, she notices your odd behavior right away.

“You okay?” She asks softly, palm reaching out to grab delicately at your arm.

All the attention shifts to you, which you can’t stand, “Yeah, um, I’m totally fine.”

You awkwardly excuse yourself to the bathroom while Eddie cues up to play. The rest of your friends get settled in the booth, and you miss the way Steve’s eyes watch you worriedly.

The bathroom is dimly lit - smelling of cigarette smoke and weed. You really don’t want to stay in there for long, but you’re dreading having to spend the night watching Steve fall for another girl that’s not you.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, tears gathering quickly as you turn around - taking in your appearance. It’s not that you didn’t like how you looked, but you couldn’t help but compare yourself to every girl that Steve wanted, noticing how none of them ever seemed to resemble any qualities that you had.

Robin whips the door open and stops in her tracks when she sees you observing yourself, “What are you doing?”

“Do you think Steve has a type?” You confront her, wanting to know exactly what’s wrong with you.

“Who cares?” She shrugs.

“I do, Robin. It’s never me that he chooses,” you mumble bitterly.

“Harrington’s loss then, right? You’re a total babe,” Robin encourages, leaning her back against the porcelain of the sink.

“I’m sick of feeling like I’m not,” you admit.

“No guy is worth making you feel not good enough. Especially if that guy's supposed to be your best friend. But the only way you’re going to make him realize that is if you’re honest with him,” Robin says truthfully.

“You’re right,” you nod with a new determination to get over your self pity and go have fun with your friends.

Robin weaves her arm through yours to walk to the table together, and you freeze when you see the girl sitting in your normal spot. She’s next to Steve, still talking to him about god knows what.

You feel a flare of possessiveness - which you know is stupid because you weren’t even planning on sitting next to him, but you don’t like the way it makes you feel replaced.

All thoughts of ignoring him flew out of the window at that moment, and you don’t know what comes over you when you stand in front of the girl, “That’s my seat.”

The table goes silent, and you hate the way your friends stare at you - making you feel like a mean girl for the move you just pulled.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” the girl smiles at you - not thrown off at all, and she scooches out to take a seat next to Nancy instead.

“What the hell was that?” Steve says under his breath, sliding your drink over to you.

Your lips part at him remembering to grab it for you, and the automatic response of ‘thanks’ rests on your lips before you remember you’re supposed to be avoiding him.

Steve looks at you glumly, like he can’t believe you’re still choosing not to speak to him and you nearly cave at the pleading look on his face when Corroded Coffin jumps onto the makeshift stage to perform.

You try your best to lose yourself in the music, to focus on supporting Eddie, but every time you feel Steve shift next to you - it makes you realize that he keeps checking out the girl that’s now sitting across from you two.

It’s torture, and you’re grateful when the Eddie announces a quick break because you know it means Steve will get up and get the next round of drinks for everyone.

“I can help,” the girl offers.

That territorial feeling floods your bones again.

“I’ve got it,” you cut in snarkily.

Steve gives you a look of disbelief but doesn’t argue as you follow him to the bar.

After putting the order in, he turns to you, “Okay, what’s your deal?”

You swallow hard, starting to feel embarrassment crawl over you, and you keep your teeth clamped down.

Steve’s shoulder brushes yours as he steps into your space, “C’mon. Talk to me, please. I really am sorry, Angel. And I can tell something is going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

His hand reaches out to gently tap two fingers to your temple as he finishes speaking, and it makes you give in.

“You were staring at her,” you state accusingly.

“I was assessing her. There’s a difference,” Steve defends.

“Assessing her for what, Steve?” You reply crossly, titling your head.

“To get a read on if she’s into Eddie, which he asked me to do. You would’ve known if you talked to me earlier,” he gives you a pointed look.

“Oh,” you breathe out.

“Yeah, oh. And if you keep treating her like that, she’s definitely not gonna want to date him,” he replies.

You look back to your group of friends - watching as the girl keeps glancing towards the stage, like she’s counting down the moments until Eddie comes back out.

“Oh god, I am a bitch,” you moan out, dropping your head into your hands.

“You’re not. You were just being a protective friend,” Steve tries to assure you, hand resting hesitantly against your back.

You shake your head before mumbling, “It’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks curiously.

You peek at him through your fingers, panic overriding your system, “Nevermind.”

“No, no. You’ve gotta tell me now, Angel,” he laughs quietly and starts tugging at your hands.

Robin’s words flash across your mind briefly, ‘but the only way you’re going to make him realize that is if you’re honest with him.’

“I should probably, um, tell you something. But it can’t be here,” you answer meekly.

Steve nods in understanding, “Later, then?”

“Later,” you confirm.

When you bring the group's drinks back to the table, you spot Eddie and the girl giggling with each other - causing a new wave of guilt to wrack through you.

You’d been blinded by your need for Steve to notice you, and you didn’t like how it made you act out.

As you settle into the booth next to your best friend, you make the decision that you can no longer hide your feelings for him and ultimately, have to come clean.

The car ride back was different from the ride on the way to The Hideout, even though there was still some unresolved friction between you and Steve.

Mainly because Dustin Henderson was in the backseat since Steve promised he’d give the teenager a ride home from the Wheeler’s.

Dustin was chatting your ear off, filling the quiet that he wasn’t used to. He finally addresses it as Steve rolls to a stop in front of his house.

“I’m feeling like a child of divorce,” Dustin jokes, but you don’t find it funny.

“Really, Dustin?” You turn around to scowl at him.

“What? Obviously something weird is happening between you two. I don’t like it,” he declares.

Steve huffs in annoyance, “Just get out of the car, man.”

“Tough crowd,” he mutters, before opening up the car door, “maybe fix it soon though. I can literally feel the tension between you two. What do you call it, Steve, sexual electricity?”

Steve reaches back to push at Dustin’s head, “Dude.”

“Dustin,” you press, feeling your face flush heatedly.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m going,” he smiles at you before closing the door.

It’s a tad uncomfortable in the car now that Dustin’s gone - making you feel suffocated in the confined space, but finally Steve’s BMW reaches your place.

“Do you wanna come up to my room to talk?” You muster up the courage to ask.

Steve swallows thickly, nerves now wracking his body, “Yeah, c’mon.”

He observes your room the way he always does when he comes over. He would normally playfully joke about the softness of it, but instead he sits down on your bed, back leaning against the wall - patiently waiting for what you have to say.

“You know how you can be a brat, right?” You ask him bluntly, sitting down next to him, curling your legs up underneath you.

He rears back and his face pinches sassily - proving your point, “Wow, thanks.”

You bravely place a hand on his thigh, which makes his breath hitch at the contact, “I don’t mean it in a bad way. I like that you’re bratty. I like that you don’t let anyone walk all over you, besides maybe Dustin, and Robin,” you smile teasingly. He scoffs in jest, but lets you continue.

“And, I like that you know what you deserve from the girls you’re seeing. It’s just,” you trail off, having second thoughts about admitting how you’ve felt all along.

“Just, what?” He asks quietly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear - it’s natural, because he’s done it a thousand times before with you, and it gives you the courage you need to be upfront.

“I don’t like hearing about them, because I feel like I’m what you deserve,” you admit.

Steve’s eyes blow wide at the confession, stunned to silence.

“I’m not trying to say that in a bragging way either or anything like that. It’s just, I know you. I know how you take your coffee, and I know you love how your tight polo shirts make your arms look,” you watch in delight at how a blush rises up his cheeks at that, highlighting the moles and freckles that dot his skin.

“And I know that you secretly hate the scary movies Robin picks out-,” you start.

“I love scary movies,” he interjects.

“You hate them. You love rom coms, and I love that you do,” you smile sweetly, “and I know when you say that you’re fine you don’t really mean it, and I know that you’d do anything for the people you care about.”

His eyes start to soften - the lighting from the haze of the lamp making them look all doe like as he gazes at you.

“I know that you want a big family, and I know that being alone scares the shit out of you,” you whisper. Steve’s eyes start to go a bit glassy at that, so you reach out to interlock your fingers with his.

“I know that you think that none of these girls have ever known who you are and it’s because you don’t let them in enough to see all of you, but I see you. I see every part of you, and god I’m so in love with you it hurts,” you confess, staring down at your feet because you’ve just laid your heart out in front of him - expecting a rejection that’ll cut deep.

“C’mere,” he whispers, placing his hands on your waist.

He maneuvers you so that your back is resting against his chest, and his legs are spread out on either side of you - allowing you space to settle in between them. His arms wrap around your middle, and his head drops to the crook of your neck.

“Gonna tell you something, and I need you to stay facing away from me because everytime I try to tell you I freeze up. Got it?” Steve directs, and you’re already trying to turn around in his arms.

“Wait, can you please just listen for a moment, Angel?” He requests, tightening his hold on you.

Steve’s nose skims along your jawline, and you melt against him, intently waiting for him to start explaining.

“You not talking to me tonight? That must’ve been the most miserable thing to happen to me in a while,” he murmurs.

You fiddle with his fingers that are intertwined against your ribcage, silently encouraging him to keep going.

“When I realized you were giving me the silent treatment, I just about died,” he confesses.

“Steve,” you chide, finding his dramatics endearing.

He presses a kiss to the back of your neck in response, which makes your brain go haywire - completely taken aback by the affection he’s showing you.

“I mean it. My whole night was ruined. Couldn’t stand you not giving me attention,” he smirks, “and you know why?”

“Why?” You implore desperately.

“Cause I’ve wanted you to be mine for years now,” he breathes out, voice laced with a desire that makes you bloom with want.

You can’t stand it anymore - needing to turn around to see him. He helps you settle on his hips, knees digging into the cushioned material of your bedspread. His hands cup your lower back, slightly shifting you closer.

Your eyes cast down to his lips, and you suck in a ragged breath of surprise at his revelation.

“But, the girls,” you trail off, feeling a wave of vulnerability crash into you.

Steve looks down timidly, “Because I’m a coward who’s never been able to just tell you. And I could never find the right girl because none of them were you.”

You tentatively lean your forehead against his, stepping into uncharted waters by doing so.

“I’ve compared myself to every single one of them, you know,” you confide, not trying to guilt him - just needing to be transparent.

Steve winces defeatedly anyway, and your hands come up to hook around his neck.

“Just thought that maybe I wasn’t what you wanted and that you were trying to find someone totally different than me,” you shrug helplessly.

Steve’s hands come up to gently grasp your head, fingers splaying out along your jaw and neck tenderly, “Fuck, how could I miss that you’ve felt like that?”

You grab onto the collar of his shirt, twisting the material idly, “I got good at pretending not to care.”

“Still. You’re my best friend. Should've known,” he says in aggravation.

“You know now,” you reassure him, brushing at his cheekbone.

He nods eagerly, “Gonna spend a long time making it up to you.”

“Starting now?” You grin coyly.

He hums in agreement, before pulling you flush against him, “Starting now.”

Steve presses a kiss below your jaw, working his way up until he reaches your lips. He hovers over your mouth, thumb swiping against your chin - requesting for permission to kiss you properly.

You feel like dissolving into a puddle of need at the way Steve’s expertly slotting his lips with your own - being slow about it, almost lazy in the way he’s dragging his mouth against yours.

You thread your fingers through his hair, pulling a bit to signal that you need air. Steve’s displeased about it and reluctantly lets you go.

“I’m in love with you too, by the way,” he nips at the shell of your ear, making you release a little high pitched noise.

“Cute,” he murmurs, slyly moving to lay back against your bed - hauling you with him, which causes you to topple on top of him in a fit of giggles; allowing him to continue his siege of kissing your exposed skin.

You feel like you nearly have the wind knocked out of you with the way he’s looking at you, like he’s truly in love - your best friend, who you always thought wouldn't look at you the same way, has always been in love, just needed a little push from the silence.

Divider credits to @cursed-carmine

And even a year later, you still hadn’t quite found your footing.

Grief made it hard to get up some mornings, while other mornings felt totally normal. You knew logically that a loss that significant would make you feel deeply, but it was still so suffocating to not know when something or someone would trigger you. Especially since every-day life was tied into your father like air.

Even at home, you kept his TV on and his door closed like he was still in there resting. Sometimes pretending made things easier, but not always. 

Most days were mundane at this record job for you, but definitely more interesting than the office. You actually liked your coworkers and manager for the most part. And you got to meet all kinds of interesting people that walked through. It made for great distraction most days.

You saw just about everyone there was to see come through the store; business execs, mothers and fathers, fitness gurus, influencers. Everyone came through to look for their music they loved.

And just being in Metropolis itself was bound for some chaos too. 

It made things even more interesting having the newly formed Justice Gang around. Trouble did seem to find the city at some inconvenient times, bringing the craziest things like giant monsters and mutants. But the Justice Gang did a pretty good job of keeping the city safe.

Most of the thanks went to Metropolis’ hero, Superman. 

You admired Superman a lot after your Dad’s passing. Or at least the way he was portrayed on TV - resilient and indestructible. You envied that, wishing you could be just as strong.

The chime above the door sounded, causing you to snap out of your deep thoughts. 

It hadn’t been a busy day, and in your downtime, you had let yourself get caught up in your memories. It was one of the parts of the job you disliked the most - having so much time alone - but there wasn’t much the customers could do about your own wandering thoughts.

Putting on your best customer service face, you approached the man who’d walked through the door.

The first thing you noticed was how tall the man was. Even slightly hunched, he towered over the gondolas that held the records. 

Next, you noticed how ill-fitted his suit was. It looked like the heavy tweed of his suit jacket just fell over his shoulders, as well as the pants. For someone his size, he was being swallowed by his clothes, which felt… off.

And lastly, when he spotted you approaching him, he locked his eyes with yours. You couldn’t help but notice that they were bright blue, brighter than you think you’d ever seen. Even with just a glance, his eyes held something so deep and sincere. It almost felt otherworldly. 

This man’s gaze made you stop in your tracks, your heart starting like a motor. 

He was handsome. 

It had been a long time since you’d found attraction in anyone, and even then, it still took a while for you to see features that felt striking to you. But with this stranger, you were nearly dumbstruck.

“Can I help you find anything?” 

The words finally left your mouth without your volition as more of muscle memory. Months of asking the same dull question helped you here, as your brain felt as though it were turning to mush.

“Yes ma’am.” The man’s voice was velvety and rich with the smallest country twang in it. He was starting to smile wide at you, “I was looking for any old Johnny Cash records.” 

It was like his voice encompassed you, surrounding you with warmth. Just like his eyes, it wasn’t like anything you’d herald before, and it took you more by surprise than you’d anticipated. It took a moment before his question fully registered in your mind.

“Oh,” you breathed, shaking your head to try and put you back into customer service mode, “Yes. You can follow me. Everything is alphabetized by last name.” 

He gave you a grateful smile before you led him the short walk to the country section. Once there, you awkwardly stood off to the side, allowing the handsome stranger to look for himself. There were a lot of “C” names, so both of you started to sift through the records after a few moments.

“So, you’re a country fan?” you asked, albeit quietly.

You tried not to cringe at yourself as you chanced a look his way. He was still smiling, dimples forming at the corners of his mouth. As if he couldn’t get even more handsome.

“Kinda. I like it just fine, but not as much as my Pa. I’m grabbing these records for his birthday coming up.” 

You nodded, “That’s kind of you.” 

“Sort of…” The tall stranger shrugged once, but his smile didn’t waver, “I kinda messed up and his records got damaged a while back, so I’ve been slowly rebuilding his collection for him. It’s been slow going though. I’ve been busy, and he doesn’t live around here, so I’ll have to fly these out to him.” 

A sad sort of longing crossed his features as he spoke about his Pa. It didn’t dim his eyes, but it made them look weary. It made you think of your own father and how you would’ve done the same for him.

Shaking the thoughts away before you could get sad, you plucked out a sleeve of an old Johnny Cash album with a small, triumphant smile, handing it to the stranger. 

“Hey, well, at least you’re trying for him,” You said gently, “Even if it was a mistake on your part, your Pa must really appreciate the effort you’re putting in to rebuild it.” 

Once again, the blue eyes met yours and another smile graced his face, taking the record from your hands, 

“Thank you…” Just barely, you could see his cheeks growing a dark crimson, “Now you’re the one being kind.” 

You felt your face doing much of the same and you shrugged back at him, “I’m just trying my best.” 

He stood there for a long moment, just staring at the album, his large fingers fiddling with the paper cover. It was like he was thinking of more things to say, but couldn’t quite get them out. It would’ve been comical had you not been in much of the same boat.

Finally, he murmured, “I never got your name.”

Just above a murmur, you gave him your name and he hummed aloud with a larger smile than before. The small sound to him nearly reverberated the entire store, but no one else but you seemed to notice that.

“Clark.” He outstretched his hand immediately, and an air of confidence suddenly surrounded him. Your hands met and it was much more firm than you’d expected. It was even more surprising just how warm his skin was, “Clark Kent.” 

The name was instantly familiar to you, “Like the Daily Planet reporter?”

Ever so slightly, his eyes lit up.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me,” He said with a short nod and an awkward laugh, “So you read the news.” 

A laugh escaped you too, “I do. My Dad kept the news on all the time, so I kinda just gravitate towards keeping up with everything, plus there’s a lot going on here. You kinda gotta know the news in order to not get eaten by something alien… even if a newspaper is expensive these days.” 

Clark let out a small chuckle, more sure this time as he held up his hands in defense, “Listen, I just work there.” 

The two of you gave a smile to each other once again. The two of you stood there for a long few moments just looking and staring until you realized neither of you had made another move. You motioned for him to follow you again, starting to head toward the register when he stepped to your side. 

“If you don’t mind helping me find one more thing,” He said quickly, nearly stumbling over his words, “Do you have The Mighty Crabjoys?” 

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you looked him up and down. He was more the nerdy type than anything with the big glasses and swallowing suit. You didn’t think he seemed the type to like pop punk bands. 

You smirked, deciding to tease him, “Don’t tell me that’s for your Pa too.”

“No, it’s for me,” Clark shook his head, biting back a laugh, “But there seems to be some judgement coming from you about my taste in music. Not so nice now, huh?” 

Laughing again, you also held up your hands in surrender, 

“No judgement, Mr. Reporter, but I wouldn’t have pinned you as a Crabjoys fan.” 

“I enjoy them a lot,” he said with a small huff, “I need something to pump me up when I’m working on an article.”

You rolled your eyes and nodded your head toward the pop-punk section, “Follow me then, Mr. Kent.” 

As you turned, he let out another hum. His voice, even with small sounds, made you feel warm inside. You could still feel that same buzzing energy from him, like a beam of light bursting through a pitch black room. All of your thoughts went to how you wanted nothing more than to be enveloped by whatever he was giving off. 

You led him to the pop-punk area and began searching through the “M”s until you found exactly what you were looking for fairly quickly. You pulled the sleeve from its place and handed it to the much taller man standing beside you.

Clark bit his lip for just a second to try and hide the small smile that formed.

You on the other hand weren’t hiding your grin anymore, “Anything else I can help you find?” 

He let out a small sigh and held out his collection of records for you, “I guess this will be it, thank you, ma’am.” 

You both smiled at each other a little longer than necessary before you walked him to the register. Albeit, your pace slowed, feeling abnormally sad that your time together was coming to an end. Your limbs felt like they were moving at their own pace; becoming noodles as you got to the counter and started to ring up the incredibly handsome man’s items. 

Adjusting his glasses, Clark cleared his throat, “Are you new?” 

You nodded, “Kinda. I’ve only been working here for a couple of months. Why?” 

“Just curious. I haven’t seen you before,” He shook his head quickly, “It’s not that I come in here that often, but it’s been the same people here for so long. The other guy that works here, B-Dog, is a really fun guy. Met him a couple of times.” 

Laughing, you nodded, “He’s certainly a character.” 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here today instead.” 

His murmur was almost too quiet for you to hear, but when it hit your ears, you began to reel. You could feel your cheeks heating up again. You tried to hide your growing flush from him by ducking below the counter to grab him a bag for his purchase. 

You took a deep breath, trying to convince yourself that a little flirt was nothing serious. You popped back up quickly, giving him a genuine smile.

“I’m glad you’re here today too. It’s been really nice talking with you.” 

Clark smiled wide at that as he reached into his pocket. A confused look took over his face, and after tapping his suit pockets for a few seconds, he let out a defeated sigh.

“Shoot…” He whispered, “Silly me. I think I left my wallet at home. Would you be able to keep these for me?” 

Those piercing blue eyes gave you an almost pleading look, and you couldn’t help but nod in response almost automatically. 

“I can put them on hold for two days.”

There wasn’t actually a policy for that.  

“Perfect,” he smiled wide, biting his lip, “And will you be working in those two days?” 

The prospect of possibly getting to see him again was more than exciting. With your heart hammering hard against your chest, you felt like you could barely breathe enough to answer him. Eventually, you managed to speak again, “I’ll be here tomorrow… Nine to six.” 

“Good, Thank you,” your name rolled off his tongue, “It was a pleasure meeting you today.” 

 This time, you were the one to hum in response “The pleasure’s all mine.” 

With a small, final smile, he rushed out the door, calling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow!” 

No one else seemed to hear the boom of his voice; it was like it shook the entire earth. But as you looked around to see if anyone else was stunned, it was like you were the only one encapsulated by him. 

So, you chalked it up to just having a small, tiny crush.

***

The next morning, grief had other plans for you. 

It struck you hard especially after good days, making it difficult to get out of bed in the morning. Some days felt real and normal, while others felt fake. And now everything felt just a little too fake for you. 

Waking up in the apartment was always the hardest part. As you got ready for your day, you felt yourself going through all of the motions, but almost as if your head were underwater the entire time. 

It took so long for your brain to catch up sometimes, and you wished desperately that you could just bounce back and put on a brave face. You allowed yourself to cry to try and relieve some of the pressure in your mind, but it only proved to make your head even more foggy than before.

Some solace came from the news. Trying to distract yourself, you turned the TV on and tried to look for the good in life.

Superman, the protector of your city, had done it once again from a comet-like entity. And again, you found yourself wishing you could’ve been more like him. He seemed to do it all, and he did it with a smile on his face. Obviously you didn’t have the powers he had, but you figured he must’ve been so strong mentally just as much as physically. 

Once you got to the store later in the morning, you helped open slowly and did everything that was asked of you. It was a decent distraction for you as well, but sometimes the feelings were just a little too heavy. 

As the day progressed, busier than the day before, you successfully had gotten your mind off of some of your sadness, but had nearly forgotten about the tall man and his records from the day before. 

You had made yourself too busy to greet Clark when he walked in sometime after five. One of your other coworkers had greeted him and retrieved his records from the back. Feeling slightly defeated, you tried to stay out of their way, letting your coworker have the sale. 

However, nearly moments after you’d thought that, you felt his warm presence before you saw him approach you. When you saw him, it was like your entire demeanor changed.

“Hey there!” He greeted you with a chipper voice, “I was beginning to think you weren’t here today.” 

You chortled, but it didn’t feel as genuine as the day before, “Yeah. Barely made it.” 

Clark’s voice dropped almost immediately, “Barely, huh?” 

The sudden mood change shocked you a little. You hadn’t expected him to take you so seriously. 

Not wanting to sour the mood between the two of you, a small tug happened at the corner of your lip as you nodded, “Guess I’m not feeling the greatest today.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

His voice cut deep; inviting and enveloping just like the day before. It was welcome, but the warmth made you want to cry again. There was something about Clark that felt so familiar; nostalgic even, that it reminded you of spending your days in the sun as a kid. 

He frowned when you didn’t answer right away, “Anything I can do to help?” 

Gently, you shook your head, “That’s very sweet of you, but… no, I’ll be okay.” 

“I’ve got tylenol in my bag.” 

That made you laugh the tiniest bit, much more authentically, “It’s okay, Clark. Thank you. I’m just… a little sad. Nothing I can’t deal with.” 

“I have no doubt.” A soft smile graced his lips, “I’m sorry you’re sad. I wish I had some magic pill to cure that.” 

“Talking to you has been really helpful,” You murmured, hoping he wouldn’t hear you, “It’s made this day a little brighter.”

Before Clark could respond, your coworker B-Dog came back around, looking for Clark, but saw that he was talking with you. Luckily, Clark let him know that you’d been the one to initially help him, so your coworker relinquished the records to you to ring him up. You began leading him to the register again, feeling a small air of confidence arise in you.

When you turned at the counter to ring up his items again, you noticed a small dusting of pink overcoming Clark’s cheeks. Just your luck, he’d obviously heard you before, but he thanked you anyway. Quickly, he swiped his card to pay, keeping his eyes to the floor. 

After taking his purchase from you, he still made no move to exit. He stood there, somewhat awkwardly, staring at you with a sort of battle going on behind his eyes.

“S-Sorry.” Clark stammered, “I know this is very forward, so forgive me, but you’re very pretty.” 

This time, you knew your cheeks were burning too as soon as the words left his lips. Your mind went haywire as you were now the one to stare right back at him. You mumbled something of a thank you as you felt it leave your throat, but it was incredibly incoherent.

Clark was the one to laugh this time, breathlessly, like he was trying to catch up with himself as well. 

“I-I’m sorry. I know that was brash.” 

“No, it’s okay. I just don’t get compliments very often,” You said quickly, trying to regain your composure, “Thank you… you’re handsome yourself.” 

He smiled wide as the nervous energy expelled off of him, “Would you like to get lunch sometime with me? I know it can’t cure sadness, but maybe being near you would help a little. You know… like you said.” 

Biting your lip, you nodded, “I’d love that.” 

“Great!” Clark had said it a little too enthusiastically; too loud for the space. He cleared his throat again, speaking at a much more normal volume, “What day are you free next?” 

“Friday,” You said, slightly winded, “I’m off Friday.” 

“I could take you out on my lunch break. Guess it’ll even it out for disrupting your work time here.”

“This is far from disrupting me,” you said with a short laugh.

“How does noon sound?”

“Sounds like a date.”

You gave Clark a smile, the blush never leaving your cheeks.

“Yeah, sure does,” His voice cracked, “Um… how will I get in contact with you?”

Smirking, you thought of teasing him again, if only to make him blush more.

“I guess you can have my number.”

He smirked, shaking his head, presumably at himself, “I’ve forgotten how to talk to people.”

You were already writing your phone number on a post it note. You quickly tore it off and put the sticky side just below his pocket protector on his ill-fitted suit jacket. You weren’t normally this forward either, but it felt fun - exhilarating - to be so free with someone.

Clark’s smile got wider as he took off the sticky note and peeked at it before stuffing it in the pocket. He adjusted his glasses before looking back at you.

“Thank you again,” it was like velvet as he said your name, “See you Friday?”

“See you Friday.” You nodded. 

Leaving it at that, he walked out the door, but not before turning back to look at you once again. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you watching him trying to balance all of the things in his hands as he gave you a small wave. 

The light of the day sort of shifted after that, and you were left back to work and your own thoughts. The grief had still been there, quieting for a while as you spoke to Clark, just waiting to rear its ugly head back out. It seemed to come crashing back down as soon as he was out of sight. 

You excused yourself to the bathroom, just to give yourself a few extra moments alone and to allow some tears to escape. 

It was strange always feeling this whiplash of emotions especially after something so good. 

However, not even a minute after the tears had sprung, your phone dinged in your pocket. You dug it out, managing a smile as you read the message:

This is Clark! I look forward to helping you cure some sadness Friday!

Wiping away your tears with your palm, you felt as though he was already trying.

***

Friday came around much quicker now that you had something to look forward to. Most weeks, mundane as they were, tended to drag on. So, this was certainly a welcome change.

You woke up feeling a lot better than you had in a long time; you felt giddy and excited for what felt like the first time in forever. 

Admittedly, you’d only been on a handful of dates, and none of them had gone very well, so you were hopeful this would change too.

The two of you had been texting back and forth since you’d given him your number. Most of your messages were about the date and other details, like where to meet. But sometimes, you’d both delve off into other things, like talking about your days or tiny flirty messages back and forth. 

This felt different.

As you got ready, you made sure to wear some of your best clothes and put on the best smelling scent you had before walking out the door. You wanted to put in effort for yourself since it’d been so long, and in leaving the house, you felt fresh and confident.

The walk to the little cafe you decided to meet at felt excruciating long, like trudging through a dream. It felt like no matter how long you walked, you weren’t getting anywhere. You kept forward though, pure determination keeping you going. 

You felt your phone ding in your hand and you lifted it to see the message:

Just made it. I’m in the third booth from the back. 

Beside the text was a little winky face. Again, you smiled, luckily right around the corner. 

Trying to be as confident as you felt, you strode into the little cafe. You scanned the room for only a second before your eyes landed on the tall figure - already seated at a booth - waving you over. You couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your mouth as you made your way over to him. Awkwardly tall against the booth, he still clambered out of the seat to greet you, giving you the utmost respect.

“It’s nice to see you again.” He said as you approached, motioning for you to take the seat across from him, “I haven’t ordered yet. I thought I would wait for you.” 

“Thank you Clark,” You said as you sat, “It’s nice to see you again too. And it’s even nicer of you to sacrifice your lunch break for me, no less.” 

Clark gave you a wide, toothy grin, letting his dimples show and his accent pop out.

“It was nothin’. I usually take my time for lunch most days, anyway.” 

Surrounded by his warmth, especially being in the booth with him, you felt a lot closer than you were; more intimate than talking in the record store. 

You had some time to scour the menu before the waitress came by to take your orders. It was all mostly breakfast, so you settled for a small fruit salad and toast. Clark on the other hand got the works: a large breakfast, complete with eggs, toast, hashbrowns, bacon, and a small stack of pancakes. 

As the waitress walked away to put in your orders, Clark sat back in the booth, giving you a funny look, “Fruit salad and toast?” 

Again, you felt your cheeks burning, “There seems to be some judgement coming from you about my food choices.”

He shrugged, smirking, “A little. Doesn’t seem like much of a breakfast.”

“Well, it’s lunch,” you chided, “And it’s not much of a meal, but it’s better than the greasy breakfast food.”

Clark’s mouth fell open like you’d just said the most shocking thing in the world. You bit your lip, trying your best not to laugh as his hands started to frenzy around him.

“What?!” he guffawed, though a grin still evident on his face, “What’s wrong with greasy breakfast food? You can’t tell me you don’t like pancakes or waffles. Everyone likes one or the other! There’s, like, a whole stupid song about it…” 

Another laugh escaped, “There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s just not my preferred food choice.” 

“But fruit salad and toast?” 

“What’s to say I just wanted something small? This is my first date in a long time, after all, I’m a little nervous.” 

Clark didn’t say anything for a moment, only letting his smile widen slowly. He cleared his throat, “I haven’t been on a date in a long time either. I suppose I’m a bit nervous too.” 

“I’m relieved to know I’m not alone,” you murmured. 

The conversation flowed easily for a while until your food was sat down in front of you a few minutes later. The country twang in his rich voice came and went as you’d spoken, sparking your next question. 

“Where are you from, Clark?” You asked, beginning to prepare your toast the way you liked it, “Pa doesn’t sound like a Metropolis term.” 

“Because it’s not.” 

You glanced over at him to see that almost all of his eggs were already gone. Holding in a laugh, you let him continue. 

Swallowing his food, he took in a deep breath like he was about to reveal a secret, “I’m from Kansas. My Ma and Pa raised me on their farm and I moved here a few years ago for work.” 

The answer still felt vague, like there was more to be said, but you didn’t press him further. 

Instead, you hummed back with a small smile, “That makes a lot of sense.”

“Being from Kansas?” 

Clark shed his suit jacket off to the side, leaving him in just a light blue button down shirt. You watched as he rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and you came to realize you were getting a little lost. 

His arms were… huge. As he crossed them to get his other sleeves, it was like all of his muscles pulled at the thin fabric of his shirt, barely able to move and mold with him. The ill-fitted suit suddenly made even less sense as it obviously did him no justice. 

The man in front of you looked at you, clearing his throat when he noticed you watching him without any words. 

Speaking without volition, you blurted out, “Well, you definitely have a farm-boy physique. But... no, it's your southern hospitality.” 

Clark laughed aloud, the room booming again. 

He shrugged, trying to be modest, “I threw hay barrels around for a long time.” 

“Do you miss Kansas?” 

“Every day.” He admitted softly, "Sometimes, I wish I had stayed. But… most days I’m really proud of my work that I do here in Metropolis.” 

“Then you must really like writing for the Daily Planet. You’ve gotten to interview some pretty cool people.”

A smirk graced his face as he cut into his pancakes. He hiked his glasses up his face with his finger, shielding himself for a second before speaking, “You’ve read my work?”

“I have. I like your articles about Superman.” 

“Superman, huh?”

 It was like his pace slowed significantly; taking slower and more deliberate bites of his food as his eyes perked up to you. He seemed to watch you and study your reaction.

You took a small bite of fruit, “You make him sound really… human. I like the thought of that; being able to do anything, but still having the capacity to be kind and compassionate.”

Clark nodded, speaking softly, “I think it’s important for people to see that too. He’s just like everyone else.”

It gave you pause again as you locked eyes, a charming smile gracing his lips. You couldn’t help but let yourself smile too. It was almost making your cheeks sting with how much he made your lips curl up, but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to. 

“So,” he started as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, half of his food devoured, “You got a long round of questions. Mine starts now: Where are you from?” 

And again, your mouth curved up, “I’ve lived in Metropolis all my life. I am a born and raised metropolitan.” 

“We just call you folk city slickers back home.” He chuckled, “You must be close to your family then.” 

Biting your lip, you knew something like this would eventually come up. There wasn’t a use in being so vague, so you came out with it, trying to mask the grief that started to travel through your body.

“I was. I don’t have any immediate family here. It was just me and my dad, but he passed away last year.” 

Another look overtook Clark that you couldn’t place. You hadn’t told many people about your father, expecting a lot of pity looks, but this wasn’t that. He was looking at you like he understood very well. It had been difficult to talk about your father without getting emotional, but with Clark, you were able to keep calm. 

“Gosh,” he murmured, “My condolences.” 

You tried to smile through your growing sadness again, trying not to let the mood drop too far, “It’s still a little fresh, but I’ve been okay. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Picking up that you didn’t want to speak on the subject anymore, Clark gave you a polite nod before pivoting completely with his next question. “Have any pets?”

His bright eyes trailed you as he took in another big bite of his food, now blatantly gauging your reaction. You were grateful he didn’t press further about your past with your dad. 

“Do fish count?” 

“Sure,” he shrugged, “Do you like your job?” 

“Are you investigating me?” you asked with a small chuckle. Clark didn’t answer, simply motioning for you to continue through his mouthful of food. “I like my job most days. I like it better than the office job I had before.” 

He swallowed, “What do you like and dislike most about your job now?” 

“You are investigating me,” you mused, “I love music and people who also love music. I don’t like sales tactics.”

"Is that what was wrong with the office job?"

"Kinda" you sighed, "Just needed a change of pace."

“So you take pride in sharing your passion with people.” 

Your brows furrowed at him curiously as you nodded slowly, “I guess so.” 

Another smile graced his face, making his dimples show. 

The two of you ate and talked for a little longer with more basic getting-to-know-you questions. He asked things like what your favorite color was, or your favorite movie. Even with the most mundane questions, however, he looked as if he were filing every bit of information away for later.

His raven hair fell in a curl over his forehead as he moved, and all you could think of was reaching forward and putting it back in place. As much as it pained you, you kept your hands to yourself.

Towards the end of the date, Clark happily paid for the both of you, waving you off with a short, “You can pay for me next time.”

As you stood together from the small booth, you took a deep breath and asked him, “Can I walk you to work?” 

He flashed you a toothy grin, “I’d love that.” 

The short walk to the Daily Planet was filled with extra questions, but mainly it served as an excuse to be around him more. The feeling of warmth he radiated was addicting, making you wonder why herds of people weren’t following him around for it.

And all too soon, your walk came to an end. 

Both of you stood in front of the massive building, making no moves to go further. Neither of you said anything for a long while as exchanged short, shy glances. You didn’t want the date to end, and you were silently cursing yourself for it being such a short meeting.

“When can I see you again?” 

Clark was the first to break the ice, asking in a fast, hushed voice. Pushing his glasses up on his face nearly covered the blush that was forming on his cheeks. 

“That is, if you want to see me…” 

Your face was doing much of the same as you nodded back at him, “I do. What about Sunday?”

“We could have dinner?”

“It’s a date.” 

Smiling sheepishly, Clark’s hummed, low and deep, just like the day you met him. Slowly, he upturned his hand to you, silently asking for you to take it. Once you did, he brought it up to his lips slowly, leaving a light kiss along your knuckles. You were already reeling from that, but as he pulled his hand away - in one swift movement - he leaned forward to leave a kiss on your cheek. 

“This has been the best lunch I’ve had by far.”

“I’m glad. Very glad.” you stammered.

“See you Sunday?”

“Yeah," you breathed out, "See you Sunday.” 

With another big smile, he backed away toward the entrance of the building, nearly stumbling when his eyes wouldn’t leave you. His large, clumsy limbs flailed as he waved at you, and you couldn’t help but giggle. You waited until he was inside before making your way back to your apartment. 

At that moment, you felt like the luckiest person in Metropolis. 

You’d been on dates with others - plenty, actually - but had never felt the way you did on that one. Not even by a mile. Even in just that short time, he made you feel seen and listened to without having to blurt out every aspect of your life. 

Even being near him made you feel giddy, like a child with a crush. 

What left you even more dumbfounded is that Clark seemed to like you back, like he felt just as happy and carefree with you. And that was refreshing.

Almost as if to solidify your thoughts, you got a text almost as soon as you closed your apartment door. 

Hope you made it home safe. I can’t stop thinking about our date. I’m very excited for Sunday!

A bunch of emojis flooded in after: smiley faces, sunshine, and little hearts. 

You held the phone close to your chest and let out a small squeal of joy. Clark really did have a way of curing sadness. 

***

Sunday came before you knew it. In those near 48 hours, you were glued to your phone, responding and waiting on messages from Clark about when and where your Sunday date would be. You’d been texting even more since your date, and every text was like a breath of fresh air. 

The two of you decided - well, Clark decided - on a nicer, more upskaled restaurant in the heart of downtown. He made reservations for the two of you and everything.

It wasn’t until Sunday morning leading up to your date that something started to feel… off. 

Leading up to your date in the evening the both of you still had to work. To you, it was a nice distraction from the nerves pooling in your stomach. Your heart beat wildly against your chest the entire day any time you thought of the nerdy, dark-haired man.

Throughout the day, you and Clark continued to talk intermittently, but you notice he’d pulled back somewhat pretty early in the day. The messages he sent were still sincere and enthusiastic, but shorter and less frequent than they had been. 

You thought that maybe he was just having a busy day. And very desperately, you tried not to think about what else it could be.

Once work was done, you had some time to go home and get ready for your date. However, that weird feeling that something was wrong kept popping up. So when you entered your apartment, you stood in the living room, typing out a message to Clark.

We’re still on for tonight?

You decided to take a shower as you waited for his answer. 

Despite the strange feeling, you were beyond excited to go on another date with Clark. It had been a long time since you’d looked forward to something like this. You found yourself even wanting to put effort into how you looked; making yourself look as good as you felt. It wasn’t something you’d felt in such a long time. 

After your shower, you could feel anxiety building as you checked your phone. Luckily, there was a text waiting for you from Clark: 

Of course! I’m still at work, but I’ll get off soon!

A sigh of relief left you as you shot back another text, confirming that you’ll see him at the restaurant. 

Before long, you were checking yourself out in the mirror, putting on your last touches of jewelry and accessories. Another weird feeling washed over you, despite Clark’s confirmation, but you thought of it just being your nerves.

As you locked up your apartment, you took in a large breath, looking at the time and making sure that you were still on time for the reservation. You glanced at your messages, but the screen remained blank after the last message you sent. 

Although you didn’t know him that well, it didn’t seem normal.

Still, you sent another quick text, telling him you were on your way to the restaurant, hoping he would respond to you when he could.

Throughout the train ride downtown, the feeling that something wasn’t right was growing deeper in your abdomen. Especially with the radio silence from Clark. It had already been almost an hour since you’d last heard from him and normally he wouldn’t have gone that long without sending you something back already.

Still, you persisted. 

At the restaurant, you kept a brave face as you approached the counter. Part of you thought that maybe your date was already there, waiting for you at the table he reserved. But it was no such luck as you looked around the mostly vacant restaurant. 

You smiled at the hostess, giving her the name “Kent” and the reservation time. You felt a small rush of relief as she nodded to you, leading you back to a booth. She placed down two menus before giving you a polite smile back.

“Still waiting for your guest?” 

You tried to sound confident, “Yes, he’ll be here soon.” 

She gave you a solemn look before nodding and taking your drink order. Still hopeful, you decided to order a glass of red wine. As she walked away, you looked around at the few couples that littered the place before pulling out your phone.

You sent another message, telling him you were there. But there was nothing in return.

Feeling your heart pounding in your chest, you didn’t want to give up just yet. Although something felt wrong, you knew Clark wouldn’t put in effort to make reservations just to stand you up. He’d been so sweet to you that this didn’t seem like his character. 

But then again, you didn’t know him like that.

Against your better judgement, you still waited. And waited. And waited. 

After an hour, you felt more embarrassed than anything. The waitress had come up and asked you if you were waiting still, and each time you would nod, asking for another glass of red wine. Three glasses later, the waitress set a small appetizer down in front of you for free. 

Your heart couldn’t take it anymore.

Just as you were gathering your things, ready to go to the front to pay, your phone dinged. Reaching for it, you finally got some form of an answer by text. 

I’m so sorry. I got so caught up at work, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you–

Without reading the rest of the message, you stuffed your phone in your purse, not wanting to read any excuses. You finally asked for the check and paid for your wine, keeping your head low as you slowly made your way out of the restaurant. 

The waitress, and you were sure any of the patrons, were giving you sad looks, only making you feel worse. You took a mental note that you would never go there again out of pure embarrassment. 

You held your tears in until you were fully out of view of any prying eyes, but as soon as you were out the door, the dam broke and it was like a waterfall fell over your cheeks. You tried to wipe them away to no avail, only for more to continuously fall. 

As you walked home, you tried to cover your face with your hands, trying to focus on simply getting to the apartment. The subway had too many eyes, and you didn’t want anyone else to see you. With your eyes casted to the ground, the walk felt like an eternity. 

Halfway home, you passed by some men sitting on some apartment steps. You kept your head low, hoping no one could see your tear stained cheeks. Still, a low whistle sounded from one of the men who stood up, trying to get your attention. Typical of a lot of men in Metropolis, but you never budged, you simply ignored them, continuing on your walk.

But a little ways away, you could hear footsteps behind you and low murmuring as the men talked to each other. You tried to quicken your pace, feeling that they were trailing behind you fairly quickly. 

Your heart started to thud fast against your chest as you lengthened your stride. Easily, however, they were able to keep up, some of them being much faster. 

“Hey!” One of the men chimed behind you, “Where you going?”

You kept walking, ignoring him again. With just your luck most of the shops you passed were closed and no one else seemed to notice or care that these men were following you. Taking in a large breath, you remained forward, using all of your strength to speed up.

“This is a nice view back here. I would love to see the front.” 

Another man said, or maybe the same one. It didn’t matter though, and you didn’t dare to look behind you.

You were almost at a job, but judging by their footsteps, you knew they were still gaining on you. The tears that you’d been trying to keep in were freely flowing down your cheeks, creating a harsh sting against the cool night air. 

As a hand caught your shoulder, you let out a yelp, and in an instant, he showed up.

Superman.

You heard the commotion before you even had the chance to turn around. There was a smack and a groan as some of the bystanders around you finally started to turn their heads. As you finally looked behind you, there was Superman with his hand around the neck of who you could only assume was the man that grabbed your shoulder. 

From where you stood, you couldn’t see the strong man’s face, but you knew it was Superman just by everything else. You could obviously see how big and tall he was, but you could also feel the presence and power he had. 

The three other men were watching in horror as the large meta-human stood incredibly still, his cape flapping lightly in the wind as if he were waiting for them to speak first. 

“Fellas.” His voice was loud and pointed. He let the man by the neck go, shoving him towards his friends, “Why don’t you run home?” 

As the men scampered off, Superman watched for a moment, crossing his arms in front of him before turning to face you. 

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

Words and thoughts weren’t coming easily as you stared possibly for too long. The super hero in front of you started to smile wide, dimples poking out of the corners of his lips. 

A soft buzzing noise began in the back of your brain, low and soft, like it was trying to grab your attention. Maybe it was the combination of everything that had happened that day; the shoddy communication with Clark, him standing you up, the men, and now Superman, but you couldn’t hold your tears in any longer. The dam broke once again as tears spilled from your eyes. 

“I don’t know,” you sobbed. 

Superman’s eyes softened as he uncrossed his arms, making himself just a bit smaller for you. 

“It’s okay to not know.” The large meta-human motioned to a bench along the sidewalk about a block away, “Want to talk?” 

Nodding at him, he gave you a kind smile before leading you over to sit. As he sat beside you, you could immediately feel the inhuman warmth radiating off of him. It felt almost familiar but not enough to come to mind. 

Instead, you thought of your father. 

Superman didn’t say anything or make you feel like you needed to talk back at him. He simply sat with you and waited until you were ready. 

When you did finally speak, you tried to deflect off of your sad feelings, “Aren’t you supposed to be out saving the world?” 

The question came out more accusatory than you’d wanted, but it didn’t seem phased as he answered. 

“The world starts with the people in it.”

Without pressing, he waited again for you to continue talking. You took a deep breath, shaking your head at how ridiculous it was to be telling Superman of all people your mundane problems.

“This sounds so stupid saying this to you,” your laugh was wet as you tried to gain composure again, continuing, “I got stood up by a guy I really liked. And then this happened. But… this guy felt really different. Now, I’m not so sure.” 

“That’s not stupid.” His voice became quieter like it was just for you, “The only thing that’s stupid is the guy that stood you up.” 

You sighed, nodding, “Guess so. I got so frustrated and embarrassed. I think he tried to apologize, but I didn’t read his messages.”

“You have a right to be angry,” Superman caught your gaze and you weren’t sure if you ever noticed that his eyes were blue, “Regardless of if he apologizes, you don’t have to accept anything else from someone that wronged you.”

You thought for a moment. 

“I don’t want to feel angry though, and maybe that’s naive. But everything was going really well until a few hours ago.”

Superman sighed, cautiously placing a hand on your shoulder. That same warm familiar feeling washed over you once again as you leaned in to him. 

“I can’t offer you much, but I can offer you my opinion.” Nodding lamely, you urged him to continue, “It sounds cliche, but trust yourself. He miscommunicated and made you upset, rightfully so. If you feel like this bond you’ve made with him has severed beyond repair, don’t read the message, and don’t waste anymore energy on just some guy. But on the other hand, maybe he had a valid excuse and now he’s trying his best to apologize. It’s ultimately up to you to decide whether you give him the benefit of the doubt or not.”

For a long moment, you stared at the super human before you in complete awe. You’d looked up to him for a while, and here he was in the flesh giving you advice. 

“What would you do?” 

Superman laughed, his voice echoing through the city. 

“I have a bad habit of giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. It’s hard not to want to see the good in people. And who knows, maybe now he knows that he should’ve made time for you.”

You didn’t say anything to that, studying him again. The low buzzing in your head was getting slightly stronger; his blue eyes and dark hair were setting off sparks of something that you couldn’t place. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t grasp what was so familiar. 

After a few moments, your head started to ache. You shut your eyes for a second to recalibrate, giving up on trying to figure anything else out for the night. 

Certainly, he noticed you taking the moment, “You should rest.” 

He stood up from the bench and outstretched his hand to you. Gently, you took his offered hand, standing to face him. For someone so strong, he was incredibly gentle as he helped you up. He gave you a wide smile, standing tall once you were on your feet.

“Thank you, Superman.” You sighed, “You’ve done so much for me tonight. Not only saving me, but taking the time to talk to me too. I can’t thank you enough.” 

“You’re welcome, ma’am, but you don’t need to thank me. I’m just a guy trying to do what’s right.” He nodded to you once, beaming at you, “If you ever need to talk again, I’m just a shout away.” 

You nodded back and before you knew it, Superman was flying off into the evening sky.

Swiftly walking the rest of the way to your apartment, you felt more at ease than you had before. Once you got inside, you felt like you could breathe again finally. 

Still feeling utterly conflicted, you cleaned yourself off and threw your outfit in the hamper before finally crashing onto your couch. You didn’t let the tears well in your eyes this time as you pulled out your phone. 

Thinking over your conversation with Superman, you mulled over what you wanted to do with Clark. 

On one hand, he had stood you up. Plain and simple, that was a really awful thing to do. You’d felt so embarrassed and stupid at such a nice restaurant that it would make sense to cut him off much like he did for you. 

But Clark felt… different. That feeling you got while you were with him was unlike anything else you’d felt with someone before. He’d been so sweet before that there must’ve been something wrong for him to not show up.

You thought of what Superman said about giving people the benefit of the doubt. And you came to the conclusion that if the most powerful man on earth could give people a chance, you could too.

Finally, you opened up your phone to your unopened message from Clark. 

I’m so incredibly sorry. I haven’t stopped thinking about you, but I’m still caught at work. I hate to think you’re waiting for me, and I understand if this is inexcusable. It’s not my intention to leave you hanging. I’d love to try again.

You sighed heavily before typing out a reply: Can we talk?

Mere seconds after you hit send, your phone was ringing. It almost would’ve been funny had the situation been a little lighter. 

“Hello?” Clark sounded first, your name slipping quietly from his lips.

“Hey.” You said timidly. 

“Listen, before you say anything, I’m really sorry. I-I know I messed up really big. I get caught up with work like that sometimes, and I should’ve warned you instead of making you think I was leaving you high and dry. It’s not an excuse for being a jerk, but I thought I should at least offer you an apology.” 

Tears pricked at the back of your eyes again, but none fell. You were too tired to let anything else out, “I waited over an hour for you, Clark.”

“Gosh,” He sighed, “I… I understand if that was too much.”

“I really like you… but right now, after this, I-I really don’t know.” 

“It’s okay to not know.” He murmured.

Lightning zapped at your brain again and you furrowed your eyebrows, trying to shake it away as you didn’t want to think too hard. Clark waited silently on the other end of the line for you to speak. Hesitantly, you took in another deep breath. 

“Clark?” 

“Yes?” 

He answered like you took his breath away

“Can we try again… like you said?” 

He let out an audible sigh - like he was finally releasing the air he’d been holding, “Of course. Yes, we can try again. Thank you. Wherever you’d like and whenever you want, I’m all yours. I’ll even take off work for the day.”

You let out the smallest laugh, “You don’t have to do that much.”

Clark let out a hum of thought over the phone like music to your ears, “What about now?” 

Your eyebrows nearly shot to the ceiling.

“Now?” 

Over the receiver, a low chuckle sounded, “I can pick up some wine and a midnight snack?”

Your heart began to speed and stutter, your head already beginning to whirl. In your silence, Clark’s voice dropped even lower to a murmur, speaking again before you had the chance to overthink it.

“You can say no to tonight and we’d still make time for another date. I just want to make things up to you.”

“Okay…” you bit your lip, beginning to feel that giddy feeling again as before, “But you better bring a red.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Once you hung up, it only took about fifteen minutes before there was a knock at your door. You ran out of your bathroom to answer the door, having thrown on a more casual outfit than your pajamas.

At the door stood a very disheveled Clark, like he’d been running around. His curly dark hair was in disarray and he was still in his ill-fitted work suit. He held out a bottle of red wine, a bag of snacks, and a large bouquet of flowers. You looked at him incredulously as he beamed a large smile back at you. 

“Can I come in?” He said breathlessly.

A giggle escaped you as you stepped aside, letting the tall man walk through your door. He placed the items he brought on the nearest surface except for the flowers, which he held back out to you. 

Clark said your name quietly, catching your gaze, “I can’t express to you how genuinely sorry I am. Any excuse I give is not enough. I wanted to be there, but I wasn’t.”

Carefully, you took the flowers from him, but before you could pull away, he enveloped your hands with his. His strong fingers squeezed yours with a soft pressure, gazing into your eyes with his deep ones. 

“You’re here now,” you whispered.

His eyes flickered down to your lips. Your heart started to dance in your chest as he placed one of his hands along your cheek. He was hesitant, like he was testing the waters with you. Although he wasn't fully forgiven yet, you couldn't find yourself to pull away.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was just above a whisper.

You nodded once, but he didn’t move immediately. 

Ever so slowly, you pressed your lips together, like you were savoring every second. It was a quick, small beck before you pulled away to look at each other. 

And for a moment, things felt blissful again. 

No words needed to be spoken as you leaned in again, pulling him to you. The second kiss was longer, more intimate and slower… hungrier. But he didn’t make any moves to go any further. He was content with your lips, keeping you grounded as he molded to yours. He began to smile into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist.

The two of you kissed for a few moments longer, only pulling away when you needed to get air. 

Soon, the two of you were sitting on your couch with two glasses of wine in hand, eating your snacks as you slowly fell into a comfortable rhythm of talking and getting to know each other again. It felt like you could talk about everything and nothing with him all at once. 

And after a while, it was like the forgotten dinner never happened. 

Sometime in the night, Clark stood up from your couch to inspect the bookshelf of records you owned. 

“Golly, you have quite the collection,” He mused aloud. 

Clark walked over to the record player and carefully opened it up. The last record you’d been playing - The Righteous Brothers - was queued already and Clark simply pressed the play button.

“It was both me and my father’s collection.” you said as music started flowing through your speakers. 

“Unchained Melody.” Clark hummed, “My Pa loves this one.”

“Mine did too.”

Clark outreached his hand to you and for a moment, you had a flash of deja-vu back to your conversation with Superman. That moment with the super human felt like a lifetime ago, but in reality it had only been a few short hours. That low buzzing started in your head again, but this time, you could feel something poking and prodding as you looked at the man in glasses before you.

But the thought that crossed your mind was impossible.

Instead of thinking too hard, you took Clark’s hand, letting him help you off the couch. Ever patient, he waited for you to get closer before wrapping his arms securely around your waist, placing his chin on your shoulder as you swayed to the song.

“If you'll let me fix things,” He whispered, “I want to be yours if you’ll have me.” 

You smiled wide, nodding.

“I’d love that.”

You lived in absolutes, in extremities sharpened by probabilities where every outcome measured against loss, grief and love.

Love most of all.

You had never been optimistic about it. The second something became important enough to lose, your mind immediately began preparing for the damage, so when you and Steve happened, when whatever existed between you stopped being casual and started surviving things that should have destroyed it, your thoughts turned vicious toward yourself. 

You questioned every moment of it, every stretch of peace, explaining it away with the town, with trauma and proximity, with the fact that Hawkins had a way of welding people together under pressure until they could not tell the difference between dependence and devotion.

You told yourself it was because you had never seen love done right. Every example you had ever known seemed to rot eventually, becoming bitter, painful or cruel once it settled long enough to harden into permanence. From where you stood, love ruined people, it hollowed them out and left them recognizable only in pieces. You had built your entire life around avoiding that fate, around never needing anyone enough for them to destroy you if they left.

Hyper independence had become religion to you and Steve fought against that without even trying.

The longer your relationship lasted, the more unbearable that realization became since it survived everything thrown at it. Near death, bloodshed, monsters, fear and nights where either of you could have disappeared into the dark and never come back. It stayed standing anyway, stubborn, warm and terrifyingly steady but as long as it stayed exactly what it was, you could breathe through it. As long as nobody touched it, labeled it or pushed it toward something bigger, you could pretend you were still in control but the second the water shifted beneath the boat, the second the future became something tangible instead of implied, bile climbed your throat because the Upside Down had been constant too.

You had spent the entire afternoon preparing for the crawl. Weapons spread across tables, maps pinned down under impatient hands, everyone talking over each other inside the Squawk while tension sat thick in the room like smoke. This time you were going with Hopper. Nobody argued with the choice because every crawl into the Upside Down made the odds worse, every mission sharpening that ugly, unavoidable thought sitting in the back of everybody’s mind.

What if this was the one somebody did not come back from?

By the time the sun began sinking low enough to stain the fields gold and copper, you and Steve slipped outside together, escaping the suffocating planning and worried glances for a little while. The air smelled like dirt and drying grass, warm from the heat of the day but cooling quickly as evening settled over Hawkins.

You watched Steve walk a few steps ahead of you through the field before jogging lightly to catch up. “You think this is it?” you asked.

He glanced over at you, slowing his pace. “That you find Vecna tonight?”

You nodded once.

“The sooner we do,” he said carefully, “the sooner everything goes back to normal.” A grin tugged faintly at his mouth then, teasing something softer into his voice. “We’ll go back to our boring lives…You might actually have to get serious about getting a job.”

You let out a quiet laugh through your nose. “Don’t even know what I’d do with all that safety and time.” Your eyes drifted across the endless stretch of fields around you, the sunset catching along the horizon in bruised shades of orange and pink. “I barely remember what Hawkins was like before all this. Might actually get really boring.”

“We don’t have to stay here,” he said.

There was something careful hidden underneath the words, something almost restrained.

You looked at him sideways. “So what? We escape in one of those shitty getaway cars with the cans dragging behind it and a ‘just married’ sign taped to the back?”

Your tone stayed light, joking but Steve’s expression changed in a way that made your stomach immediately tighten.

He looked at you too long and then he sighed, so quiet you almost missed it but there was relief in it somehow, relief at finally standing near the thing he had clearly been carrying around for a long time.

The look on his face hit you like cold water. He looked hopeful…hopelessly in love.

Your body reacted before your thoughts did. You took a step back instinctively as Steve shook his head gently, almost like he thought moving too fast would scare you off.

“No,” you breathed, pulse beginning to pound hard enough to make your chest ache. Your stomach dropped violently as his stare remained unchanged. “N-no,” you repeated, softer this time, shaking your head.

“You can’t deny something that’s already yours.”

The words landed hard, making your throat tighten. You backed away again while he moved forward slowly, carefully, like approaching something wounded.

You pointed toward the ground between you both as if he had physically contaminated the space with it, with futures, promises and permanence, with things that never lasted for anybody around you no matter how badly they wanted them to.

“You picked a fucked up moment, Steven.”

“We need to make sense of this before you go down there,” he insisted, voice roughening around the edges. God, he was practically begging now. “We’ve had three good years,” he said as he stepped closer again, eyes fixed on yours as if he could hold you there through sheer will alone. “And it’s time we call it what it is.”

You kept shaking your head before you even realized you were doing it, the word ‘no’ falling from your mouth over and over while your feet kept carrying you backward through the field.

“I love you and I have for a long time and you need to hear it.” His voice trembled through the confession even while every word stayed painfully clear, intention unwavering despite the fear cracking underneath it. “I’ve tried to show you and you wouldn’t let me, which is fine, but before you go, before whatever happens down there is out of our hands, I need you to give me an answer because I just can’t…” He stopped for a second, swallowing hard enough for you to see it in his throat. “I can’t keep going like this.”

“Steve, please don’t,” you begged quietly.

But he kept going anyway, because this had clearly been clawing at him for too long to stop now.

“I learned what you couldn’t take and I stopped doing it.” His eyes stayed fixed on yours desperately, trying to hold you still long enough to finally understand him. “And I’m happy I did. It’s fine. And I waited, and I never complained because I...” He broke off suddenly, his expression twisting as his eyes glossed over. “You know, I figured you’d love me.”

The words hit you harder than anything else had.

You kept shaking your head softly, almost unconsciously, hoping he would see the panic written all over your face and stop before either of you said something irreversible.

Instead his voice got louder, never yelling but definitely fuller now, wounded and spilling out too fast to pull back. He looked away from you for the first time, gaze drifting across the field as if he could not bear watching your reaction anymore. It was obvious he was making this part up as he went along, fumbling through raw honesty without a plan, just like the two of you had stumbled through the relationship itself.

“And I realize maybe I messed up somewhere,” he said roughly. “Maybe I fucked the timing completely. Maybe I’m not this changed man everybody keeps saying I am...”

“No,” you cut in, stepping toward him to make him finally look back at you. “Yes, you are.”

Your voice cracked with urgency because none of this changed the fact that he deserved it. He deserved someone capable of holding what he offered without trembling underneath the weight of it.

“You’ve grown into an amazing man,” you said, forcing the words through the tightness in your throat. “Too good for me, and I’m grateful for all of these years and I’m so proud of you.” Emotion climbed too fast into your chest, choking the next sentence apart as soon as it left your mouth. “But I just...” You inhaled shakily. “This isn’t something I know how to keep. I don’t know why.” You shook your head harder, frustrated tears beginning to blur your vision.

“You can’t?” he echoed quietly, brows pulling together.

“No,” you breathed. Then you blinked quickly and kept talking before he could interrupt again, before you lost the nerve to keep hurting him.

“You should be with someone who can actually handle normal life when this is over. Someone who doesn’t flinch every time they’re shown affection and actually knows what to do with it.” Your voice shook despite how hard you tried to steady it. “I’m awkward, and I don’t even understand why we didn’t go wrong already when I’ve been proven over and over again that I ruin things. And I won’t drag you with me past this.” You motioned vaguely around you, toward Hawkins, toward the disaster your lives had become and the rot underneath everything.

“I love you, Y/n,” Steve said in the middle of your spiraling but hearing it again only made your panic sharpen.

“And we’d constantly fight over stupid shit like how I drive your car,” you continued breathlessly, motioning toward the distant shape of it sitting near the road. “We can’t help it even now.” You laughed once, hollow and humorless before your face crumpled again. “You’d end up hating how skeptical I am about everything, and I’d spend every day questioning what you could possibly see in me, and we’d become miserable, Steve. We’d wish we left it trapped here, down there with the demogorgons and all the rest of it, and everything would turn catastrophic.”

The silence afterward stretched painfully long. Only then did you realize Steve was no longer looking at you.

His eyes had dropped toward the ground, jaw tight like he was blaming the dirt beneath his feet, blaming the existence of the Upside Down itself for carving this fear into you so deeply that even love sounded like catastrophe.

“Anything else?” he asked finally. His voice was so quiet you barely heard him.

You bit the inside of your cheek until it hurt before shaking your head. “No. No, nothing else.”

“Alright.” He nodded once, firm and restrained, then turned back toward the Squawk.

The movement made your stomach plunge so violently it almost hurt. You reached for him instinctively. “Except that...”

Steve stopped and turned back toward you again, giving you a small nod to continue.

You froze for a second.

“Steve,” you started weakly, “I don’t think I’ll ever understand how to hold what you tried to give me. This...” You gestured helplessly between you both. “This is safer. Messing it up fatally won’t ruin me this way.”

“I think you’re wrong about that, Y/n,” he replied immediately, voice firm again despite how wrecked he looked.

“I don’t...”

“I think you will find a way,” he interrupted softly. “You’ll find somebody worth risking your heart for, and you’ll love them, and you’ll live and die for them because that’s your way.” His expression tightened painfully as he forced out the rest. “And you will.” He paused. “And I’ll watch.”

You stood there and watched Steve walk away from you while your own feet stayed rooted to the ground. Every instinct in your body screamed to stop him but wanting that and knowing how were two entirely different things and somewhere in the middle of your fear and selfishness you realized you had run out of words to justify yourself with. The reasoning that had always protected you suddenly sounded thin and desperate in your own head.

Still, you let him go.

You kept your eyes lowered when you walked back inside the Squawk, forcing yourself into focus as everybody geared up around you. You concentrated on the plan, on weapons, on timing and routes. You promised Hopper you were fine, focused and ready to go, which were the same lies that had carried you straight toward your own ruin.

You were reckless during the crawl, in small terrible ways that added up fast. 

You made decisions that sent adrenaline crashing through your body every few minutes just so you could feel something other than the hollow ache Steve had left behind. It all blurred together quickly after that, dark tunnels of vines, spores and rotting air while demogorgons chased close enough behind you to hear their shrieks echoing against the trees.

You had done this a thousand times before and that was probably the problem.

Your weapon slipped from your grasp while you were running and instead of leaving it behind, instead of following Hopper toward safety like you were supposed to, you slowed down. 

You turned back and tried to outsmart it, tried to buy Hopper more time to get ahead…and failed.

The hit came hard and fast, the force of it throwing you violently backward into the trunk of a tree. Pain exploded through your skull the second your head cracked against the bark. Through blurred, tear-filled vision you barely managed to see Hopper firing wildly, injuring the creature enough to force it retreating into the dark.

After that, consciousness came and went in fragments. You felt hands dragging you, voices yelling your name, blood running warm down the side of your face and the suffocating smell of the Upside Down clinging to your lungs.

When you finally forced your eyes open again, you were inside a house you did not recognize, laid out in some dim ruined room overtaken by thick crawling vines spreading across the walls and ceiling.

Hopper’s voice echoed loudly through the haze wrapped around your head as consciousness slowly dragged itself back into place. Your vision swam in and out of focus while you blinked at the ceiling above you, vines twisting across it like veins and watched him pace hurriedly through the room with a walkie talkie clutched tightly in his hand.

He had called in the accident the second you were dragged back to safety.

Steve, reckless in the exact way Steve always was when it came to you, had not hesitated for even a second after hearing Hopper’s voice break over the radio. He had driven straight through the newly opened gate with Nancy, Jonathan and Dustin, tracking a wounded demogorgon deeper into the Upside Down in hopes it would lead them to you. The more Hopper explained what happened, the harder Steve pressed down on the gas pedal, panic swallowing every other thought in his head until even your rejection disappeared beneath the need to reach you.

Now all of them were somewhere out there searching blindly while communication crackled in and out around the interference poisoning the air.

“Steve?” you called weakly, your voice scraping painfully against your throat as you tried pushing yourself upright. The second you moved, agony split through your skull.

Hopper immediately dropped the walkie onto the nearby table and rushed toward you.

“Hey, kiddo, hey.” His hands carefully steadied your shoulders before you could sit fully upright. “Lay back down. You hit your head pretty bad.”

Your fingers instinctively rose toward the throbbing ache near your temple. When you pulled your hand back down, blood stained your fingertips dark.

“It stopped bleeding,” Hopper assured quickly when your breathing shifted unevenly. “But you need to stay down. Help’s coming.”

He guided you gently back against the mattress and this time you let him. Your entire body felt weak and heavy, exhaustion pressing into your bones while pain pulsed behind your eyes.

“I messed up,” you rasped.

Hopper shook his head immediately, even though both of you knew you had. You had broken formation, abandoned the plan and nearly gotten yourself killed. Still, his expression softened instead of hardening.

“We don’t gotta talk about it right now.”

“With Steve,” you corrected shakily, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “I was too quick turning him down.”

Hopper blinked slowly before exhaling through his nose and lowering himself into the chair beside the bed.

Truthfully, he had guessed as much the second you and Steve walked back into the Squawk earlier that evening. The both of you had looked devastated in entirely different ways and Hopper knew heartbreak well enough to recognize it immediately. He understood now why Steve had seemed ready to tear the world apart before driving into the Upside Down after hearing your name over the radio. Hopper had spent years watching the two of you orbit each other helplessly, stuck in that miserable gray area between fear and devotion, too close to walk away but too terrified to call it what it was.

“Do you love him?” Hopper asked quietly.

You blinked toward the ceiling for a second before answering.

“If he asked me again,” you whispered, swallowing around the knot tightening painfully in your throat, “I think I’d say ‘yes’.” Your eyes finally moved toward Hopper’s. “Do you think he’ll ask me again?”

“But do you love him?” he repeated, firmer this time.

The question settled heavily in your chest. You gave a small nod against the pillow despite the way it made your head pulse violently. Tears slipped freely down your face now, warm against your skin.

“I just don’t want him seeing parts of me he can’t fix,” you admitted brokenly.

Hopper’s expression changed, something deeply understanding moving through his eyes.

Before he could answer, noise erupted from downstairs followed by multiple footsteps and raised voices. Then Steve’s voice cut through everything else as he called your name with enough panic behind it to make your entire body tense.

Hopper watched you react, watched the way your expression changed before you could stop it.

“Upstairs!” Hopper shouted back before slowly standing from the chair. His eyes stayed on you as Steve’s footsteps thundered through the house. “Steve’s a big boy…let him decide that for himself,” Hopper said softly.

Steve appeared in the doorway. His chest heaved violently from exertion, hair damp with sweat and sticking messily to his forehead while his wide frantic eyes landed on you almost painfully fast. Relief and terror crashed across his face so openly it made your chest ache.

He crossed the room. “Oh, my sweet girl,” he breathed.

Steve dropped beside the bed, one hand carefully cradling the side of your head while the other moved shakily over your arms and shoulders like he needed physical proof you were still there. His eyes scanned every visible injury at once, muttering frantically under his breath about getting you out, getting you to a hospital and figuring something out.

“What if you don’t like what you see?” you interrupted weakly, your trembling voice finally pulling his attention fully back to your face.

Steve’s eyes lifted to yours instantly and somehow, in that moment, it felt like he already understood every single thing you meant, like he had seen all the ugly parts already and stayed anyway.

His hand slid slowly to your cheek, thumb brushing carefully over your trembling lower lip while his breathing gradually steadied, his heartbeat finding an entirely different rhythm now that he knew you were alive.

“How deep am I allowed to look?” he asked quietly.

A sob broke from your chest. “As deep as it goes.”

Something in Steve’s expression softened completely before he leaned down carefully and kissed you, deep and warm and maybe a little desperate in a way that felt like breathing after nearly drowning, oxygen finally forcing its way back into your lungs to keep you alive through the pain, the fear and through every doubt that had ever convinced you love would ruin you before it could save you.

clark will always recall the way the whole room went quiet. jimmy had blinked like he had something in his eye as he squinted. even lois, who wasn't even looking at clark swung her entire head towards him. perry, who had secretly been eaves-dropping the entire time, nearly dropped the coffee he was making.

"girlfriend." jimmy repeated, fucking gawking.

clark turned a shade scarlet. "yes, my girlfriend."

"what's her name?" lois asked.

"y/n."

"pretty name," jimmy said after some silence.

"yeah, she's an extraordinarily pretty girl."

there was some silence again before perry moved over and slapped clark so sharply against his back that the poor man almost flinched. "crude sense of humour, boy, but i appreciate the effort."

clark hadn't even managed to scrounge up a wrinkled eyebrow and a question forming around his lips before the room dispersed. mainly, he presumed, to talk about the confident "joke" he had just made.

that night, when he comes home to you, the shy, farmer boy facade wiped off completely, he slides next to you in the bedsheets as you nestle against his bicep.

"how was work today?" you ask.

"good." after some silence where you just run your hand over his face, he adds, "they don't believe me."

"about?"

"us. that i have you."

you laugh, resting your cheek against his skin as you look up at him. "really?" he nods, brushing his fingers against your cheek. but you don't think much about it.

clark, on the other hand? well, he tries not to, but it's pretty hard when jimmy slides by him the next day and prods him a little too hard in the ribs and makes a joke about saying you have a woman just because you want them.

nor does lois, who talks to jimmy again about it and talks a little bit too loud about her partner.

"i'm not lying," clark says a little aggressively, the next week, at lunch, through gritted teeth as another jab is once again made. "i have a girlfriend."

"sure." perry says without missing a beat, stirring his coffee. "and you're superman."

well.

after about a few months of this banter, clark asks you to walk him to the daily planet that morning with his said reasons, and you're more than happy to obey.

when lois spots clark standing next to you, she thinks for a second that he's helping a very pretty lost woman even despite their proximity.

until he bends down and kisses you.

lois's jaw drops open as she swivels her head to perry, who seems to be seeing the same thing.

"am i? am i?" perry blinks, coffee long abandoned.

clark tries to act nonchalant about it while he introduces you to them, hand around your waist. and when jimmy appears, seeing you extend your hand to your lois while clark's nose is close to your temple which he can't even pass as friendship, well he almost faints.

oh, just wait until they found about who clark really was.

He’s saved from your deadpan, You should be by the waitress who’d served you earlier returning.

“Hi guys, let me just grab those for you there,” she says, taking your empty bowl and placing it on Clark’s plate, your dirty napkins gathered and scrunched. “Alright. Were you interested at all in getting any dessert tonight?” 

“Can we–” You look to Clark, more apprehensive than you’d pictured being when you were reading the menu. “Can I get something?” you ask quietly. 

Clark laughs. Stops. His hand snakes over the table to clasp your arm loosely. “‘Course you can,” he says, ‘can’ taking on this warm, loving tone that loosens your tensed shoulders, “what were you thinking? Did you read through them?”

You nod eagerly. “Yeah, yes, there’s a ten-layer chocolate fudge cake–”

Clark smiles at the waitress. “One for each of us, then, of the chocolate fudge cake, please.”

“Sure. Right back with you guys.”

You offer Clark a grateful smile. He smiles back. (You don’t catch the hesitancy there, a split second where Clark isn’t sure he deserves a smile at all.) 

The dessert comes not long after. You and Clark eat, sigh with pleasure, and wait only long enough to pay the bill before getting your coats and heading back to the car. “Did you wanna catch a movie?” he asks. 

“Come over and we can rent one–”

“I don’t have my things.”

You lick your lips, “Hm, okay. I have laundry at your place?”

“Washed and pressed.”

“Take me home with you?” 

“I could have you over my shoulder–”

You burst out laughing. “No, that’s okay! We can drive, I think that’ll be alright.”

The car is quiet. Clark clutches the wheel in a tight hand. You peer at him from the corner of your eye, perturbed by the sound of creaking leather. 

“Clark?” you ask gently. 

“Mm?”

“Is something wrong?” 

He shoots you a glance. Reaches over to grasp your thigh in his hand, then leaves it there to warm your knee. “You weren’t kidding, when you asked me if you could have dessert. Were you? I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“I… no. I wasn’t kidding.”

“Do you know that you don’t have to?” Clark flicks his head between you and the windshield, before making a decision. “Two seconds, angel.”

He turns off of the road into a lot bordering the edge of the Metropolis city park. Parks the car, engine running. 

His eyes are narrowed, a wrinkle between his brows. You miss his hand on your knee. 

“Clark, you didn’t have to…”

“No, I wanted to see you,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal, but I want you to really look at me.”

“I’m looking at you,” you promise.

“Do you think you have to ask me for permission before you do things?” he asks, the starts of his brows pinching up in a hurt that makes you straighten your back. 

“No.”

“So why did you ask me if you could have something for dessert, angel? What was the thought process there?” Clark offers his hand, palm up. 

“There wasn’t one.” 

You slip your hand into his. Clark closes his fingers around you and squeezes. “No?”

“I didn’t think. Just asked you. I guess I… I did wonder if I could have something before I asked you, but it’s– I wasn’t sitting there wondering if you’d let me, but then the waitress came and I guess I– Sorry. I can’t talk.”

“You can, you’re doing great. You just spell it out for me the best you can. I want to understand.”

You lick your lips. Your mouth is dry like you’ve been holding a cotton ball on your tongue. “You were paying, you always pay for me, so it’s not that I didn’t think you’d say yes or even that you’d think I was greedy for wanting it, I don’t think that of you, but then I… it wasn’t so much about you as me. Like, I shouldn’t be allowed it, maybe? It wasn’t a long– like, a long thought. But I did think it, and I asked, and I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” You offer an apologetic frown. “Sorry, Clark.” 

“No, it’s okay.” He rubs your knuckles with his thumb. “It’s okay.”

You really believe him. The way he says it, you can’t spy a shred of him that wants an apology. But you don’t know what to say, you need him to talk, so you wait. 

He smiles eventually, half heartbreak. “In the future, for as long as we’re together– so, forever,” he says, giving your hand a tug toward his stomach, where he presses it to his shirt, “you don’t have to ask me if you can have dessert, or anything at dinner. I don’t care if you want a hundred dollar bottle of wine. And I really don’t care if you want– if it’s a calorie thing, if you’re trying to be good about eating, if that’s why you worried you weren’t allowed, then put that out of your head. That’s no good.”

You relax into his touching. “No good,” you repeat softly. 

“If it’s permission you want, then you have it. Blanket permission to have the things you want when you’re with me.” 

A pleased flush overshadows the embarrassing warmth you’d already suffered. “Yeah?” you ask. 

Clark brings your hand to his lips, pressing a slight of a kiss to you. 

“Is it too on the nose if I propose ice cream?” he murmurs, nodding out the car window toward the beautiful white light of a Dairy Queen.

˚˖❀ ˚˖❀˚˖❀

“Come on, go.” 

“No, this is crazy!”

Steve could be such a stubborn ass sometimes. And today was no exception. After hours reading magazines and scouring phone books, you’d finally found an ASL tutor for Steve in Hawkins. Years of fighting in the Upside Down, getting thrown from left to right had left his ears in a less than ideal state. And though he insisted it was fine, “No big deal”, there were days when he could barely hear a word you said. He blamed it on an inability to focus or the TV being too loud when you couldn’t even hear it yourself, but you could tell it was starting to take a toll on him. The one time you managed to take him to the doctors, they said it was likely he would lose more hearing overtime. He’d waved it off and said they were just looking for money, though they would’ve charged for the appointment regardless of the verdict. That’s when the idea had struck you to try this. If Steve learned ASL now, then maybe it would be easier for him to accept it when his hearing got worse. And it would sure as hell make both your lives a lot easier when you needed to communicate with each other. Honestly, your throat was starting to get tired of having to raise your voice. 

Now you were standing at the bottom of your steps, as the tutor calmly unpacked in the living room. “Steve…” You slipped your hand into his, giving it a small squeeze. He squeezed back, though he wouldn’t look you in the eyes. “I’m right here with you.” His shoulders seemed to fall back a bit. He swiped his tongue over his lip once, and gave a reluctant nod. “Thank you.” You gave him a small peck on the cheek, guiding him into the kitchen. 

The first lesson went about as well as you could expect. The tutor, Jean, explained how she’d learned ASL because her own husband had a head injury that lead him to lose his hearing. Maybe that’s why when Jean asked why you wanted to learn, he had glanced to you and then, actually been honest. “I’ve, uh, had a few tumbles myself. Said my hearing’s gonna get worse.” You smiled at him encouragingly, though you weren’t sure how much help you were being. Jean was honest with Steve about how learning any new language was going to be a process. It required patience, sitting still, and having to do homework, some of Steve’s least favorite things. He murmured about how there was a reason he didn’t get into college and that elicited a small chuckle from Jean. He straightened up, a small smile overcoming his lips. Over the next hour, you could see him slowly letting loose. Not completely, but just enough that he was actually giving this a shot. You even walked away learning how to introduce yourselves. 

That night, after placing away the dishes, you headed upstairs. You were strangely exhausted from the day, and ready to speed into your bed. But as you passed the bathroom door, just slightly ajar, your eyes caught something. You took a small step back, not entering the room but peering through the small crack. There, standing at the sink, Steve was quietly practicing his words in the mirror. You made sure not to alert him of your presence, tiptoeing back into your room. You couldn’t erase the smile on your face all night. 

˚˖❀ ˚˖❀˚˖❀

You spent the next few months doing more and more lessons and though it was extremely difficult, the two of you were slowly picking up phrases. 

Steve had quickly grown excited for Jean to come over, storing away words he wanted to ask her about over the rest of the week. You adored watching him there, for once comfortable and honest about his hearing difficulties. He was allowed to make jokes about his problems and when Jean told stories about her own husband, you would both be laughing along about how that was just like Steve. He got to see that he wasn’t alone. He got to feel like it was normal. He was also growing less frustrated when he couldn’t hear you. Neither of you were quite there with full sentences but you could now sign out things you wanted him to do like “trash,” or “clean.” And what you started to notice was that you began to use those signs even when you didn’t have to. When you got into a particularly nasty argument that would only get worse when Steve struggled to keep up with your ramblings, a quiet hush would fall over you and the problems would be sealed with a closed fist running circles over your chest. “I’m sorry.” It fascinated you, how much could be said without words. Steve, too. 

And the best part?

You and Steve had your own secret language that the rest of the party couldn’t understand. If Jonathan was getting on Steve’s nerves or Nancy was being a little too bossy, the two of you could talk without the other even knowing. 

And it was one of those days that Dustin caught you. The gang was still scouring the Upside Down for Vecna and those nights were beginning to feel endless. You were all holed up in The Squawk (which was also becoming a harder job for Steve with everything), strategizing the next segment of the map you were going to take down. But you could tell from the look on Steve’s face that Nancy was talking too fast for him to keep up. You squeezed his hand to grab his attention and tried your best to translate the little words you could in your lap. You promised him that you would explain the rest later, which you know he hated, so this was your best compromise for now.

“What was that?” Dustin snapped from across the room. You both turned to him, Steve’s face immediately turning red. He was getting more comfortable with his hearing problems between the two of you, but he didn’t dare tell the rest of the group. You knew you just had to give him time. 

“What was what?” Nancy rolled her eyes, trying to focus the group’s attention back. 

But Dustin was invested. “That…” He pointed to where your hand was resting in your lap. “You were…” He waved his fingers around in imitation and Steve scowled next to you. 

“I wasn’t doing anything.” You shook your head. “Let’s get back to it.” 

Dustin scoffed. “You don’t need to lie to me, I just wanna know what it was.” “Guys we really don’t have time for this.” Jonathan interjected. 

Reluctantly, Dustin turned his attention back to the board. You kept your hands still until you were sure they weren’t looking. Everyone except Dustin. He was staring daggers between the two of you, like it was some personal offence that you wouldn’t tell him what was going on. You saw Steve shift next to you under the pressure of his friend’s gaze. It kept going. In time, none of you were even trying to pay attention to Nancy’s words, just caught in a death stare between you. Then, out of nowhere, Steve burst up. “It’s sign language, ok?!” He jumped. “I can’t understand Nance so I have to use stupid sign language.” His cheeks went red, looking down at his feet in shame. 

“Wait what?” Dustin burst out. You stayed silent, letting Steve be as open or as closed as he wanted to. But secretly relieved that he was finally saying something. 

“I have hearing…stuff, ok? And it’s getting worse, so I’m learning sign language, but I’m still fine to fight and help out, so please just…don’t make a big deal out of it.” Steve’s arms flailed around as he spoke but eventually he raised his face to meet everyone’s gaze. 

The whole room was silent for a long moment, everyone blinking at him. “Oh, honey.” Mrs Byers exhaled. You could just tell how badly Steve wanted to die hearing that. But there was one opinion he cared about the most. 

Dustin stared at Steve, mouth hanging open. What he said next sent another wave of shock through the group. “Can I…learn?” These months hadn’t been easy, with all of Dustin’s constant whining and rolling his eyes at everything. But now, you could tell he was serious about this. “What?” Steve blinked. 

“Yeah, actually, we should all learn.” Dustin nodded. “We can all communicate with Steve way easier and hey!” He jumped, an idea coming to him. “We’ve been in way too many situations where we have to talk but can’t because some monster will hear us. This could…help.” You hadn’t even thought of that. 

“Ok. I hate to do this, Steve, but we have to move soon so we need to go over the plan.” Nancy smiled sympathetically though her attention was clearly elsewhere. “Is there anything I can do to help you understand right now?” 

Steve shrunk back next to you on the table you were both sitting on. “Um, maybe… a little slower.”

“Of course.” Nancy continued with her briefing.  

Steve’s eyes widened. Really? They weren't going to tease him or anything? The mission was long, as always, and unfortunately, Vecna was nowhere to be found. 

Still, as the two of you cuddled together in bed, you couldn’t help but count the night as a huge victory. 

“I’m really proud of you, Steve.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“Thank you for making me get help.” He smiled, slipping his hand out from where it was wrapped around you. You raised your eyebrows, wondering what he was doing. He held up his hand, the pinky, index and thumb fingers stuck out — I love you. You giggled, returning the gesture. 

˚˖❀ ˚˖❀˚˖❀

Pajamas on, makeup scrubbed away, hair tidied the best it can be before it gets inevitably messy in sleep, you crawl into bed next to Steve, admiring him for a second in the backdrop of your pink sheets. He looks comfy under the flowery covers and fluffy blanket. Your bedroom tends to run cold but he is a walking heater and you will not sleep shivering tonight.

He opens his mouth to say something but pauses. Immediately you assume the worst. Is this one of those nights where you look like you've been hit by a truck? Steve fills his accidental silence. "You're so pretty like this."

"Hm?" You look down at yourself. No bra, which is good. Pajamas are cute; little shorts with a matching top. The collar has a tiny stain from breakfast some long lost day ago. None of this is anything special. You don't feel pretty in any monumental way, just comfortable, ready to rest.

Steve reaches, but he doesn't have to stretch far. His palm slides into place at the curve of your waist. He is soft now, hair combed, eyes a little sleepy. You love the way he smells when he shaves before bed. He tends to cuddle, and he doesn't like itching your sensitive skin with stubble. Not this month anyways. His shirt is gone, folded and tucked into one of your dresser drawers. Secretly, you hope he'll forget about it, another relic of his for you to wear and treasure.

"You," he starts, drumming his fingers once soft as butterfly wings, "look so pretty at bedtime."

"Steve." Your tone is half exasperated, but he knows you aren't. "I'm squishy right now."

"You're perfect. Always." He leans to nuzzle his nose into your cheek, stealing a kiss. "I love you in your jammies."

Throwing your head back into your pillow, you shut your eyes. "I'm tired."

"Yeah you are, sleepy girl." He kisses your brow. "Come back here. We need lots of rest for tomorrow."

"It's just shopping, Stevie," you mumble, but you let him roll you back. "You're acting like we're gonna go run a marathon."

"In the shoes you wear, baby, you might as well be." Hooking his fingers under your knee, he lifts your leg to rest over his hip, rubbing your calf briefly.

"You do all the heavy lifting," you say into his heart.

"Yeah, cause I'm gonna let you carry your bags. Yeah, right." Steve brushes this off, patting your bottom. "Like that's ever gonna happen."

"Would you turn down the sarcasm?" You kiss his shoulder. Steve tends to monologue.

"Sorry." His chin thumps your forehead. "What do you need to get tomorrow?"

"I don't need anything."

"Humor me, babe."

"Fine. I saw a dress I liked last time I was there. I don't know if they still have it."

"We'll find it," he promises easily, like he can procure it from thin air. His confidence is so sweet that you give him a kiss for it. "Then we'll go to mine after."

"What if you see it and it's terrible?"

He snorts. "Nothing looks terrible on you."

Burying your face in his chest, you spread yourself out like a starfish. Steve hums, splaying a hand over your back. His warm palms never fail to soothe you to sleep.

~.~

He loves the dress; a cute white thing that wrapped around your neck and left your back bare. Steve stood up from his seat outside the dressing room and you thought he might applaud. He picks out a new sweater and slings the hanger with your dress over his shoulder. "Go look around a little more. I'll pay real quick."

You flip through a rack of crewnecks, wondering if he would like the blue or red better. There is a selection of belts you want to look at for him too. You've finally decided on the blue when you overhear his name, whispered around the corner, behind the mirror.

"…his girlfriend?"

"Must be. Boy, what's he thinking?" Two voices laugh, and your heart sinks like a rock.

"I mean, he could have anybody he wants and he picked her? She's not even that pretty."

"She probably blackmailed him. Wanted a crack at the hottest guy in town."

"Yeah, but she seems so sweet. You really think she's got it in her?"

"Honestly, she's got that whole naive act. He probably thinks it's cute."

Tears are blurring your eyes. You try to blink them away, fingering a belt buckle. Is that really what everyone thinks? That you're using Steve for some kind of popularity contest?

"No, I know, I know." You listen back in, brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. "I'll bet she's got something he wants, if you know what I mean. Remember how he was back in school?"

"Well, he'll be done with her soon, then."

You swallow thickly, looking at your shoes, heels aching. Steve was right; they aren't good for walking around.

"Hi. Find somethin' else?" There he is, holding a shopping bag and wearing your favorite smile.

"No." You blink away your tears, hating that you're looking at him different. "I'm ready to go."

"You okay?" His brow crinkles, and his chest is open just in case you need it.

"Mhm." You muster a smile, taking his outstretched hand. "Yeah."

Every detail of him makes your heart stutter. The belt around his waist, his thick arms poking out the sleeves of his polo, the hair falling onto his forehead. It's more than him being pretty, though. Knowing that inside his shopping bag is a little white dress. The way he guides you through the crowd at the mall. You know that if you saw something you wanted to stop for, he would. It all enchants you.

Does anything about you enchant him? He is perfectly lovestruck, but insecurities run deep. Maybe it's a part of you that doesn't think it's possible for anyone to love you this much. It feels like a dream.

You feel it later that day when you are planting daisies in his backyard, smoothing the warm earth around the roots. He plunks one of his baseball caps on your head, kissing the top of it. "Need any help?"

Your fingers are dirt-stained, but he doesn't seem to care, intertwining them with his. "No. I'm all done."

"Want a lemonade?"

You're a sucker for the sparkling lemonades he keeps in the fridge. It almost aches how sweet he's being. Everything you overheard echoes in your ears, and you don't want to be seen right now. "Um, that's okay."

He frowns. "You've never turned down a lemonade." Brushing his fingers over your forehead, as if checking for a fever, he asks, "You okay?"

You know Steve isn't using you. You're too observant not to know. But people thinking you don't belong with him hit a nerve. Maybe it's because you've had that thought, deep and dark and recurring late at night when you can't suppress it.

You feel like you've gotten away with something evil when he opens a lemonade anyways under the pretense of sharing, but he pours your glass fuller. The awful, crying feeling only heightens when he picks up your hand and kisses the knuckles, eyes still on you. Those girls were right. You don't deserve him.

He pats you dry after your shower. You stiffly melt into him when he opens his covers. Sleep finds you in an instant.

You wake feeling heavy. He opens his eyes and watches you, maybe waiting for you to say something. The day before yesterday you sang like a canary, wanting to tell him every minute detail of your day and your dreams. Now, you are quiet, guilty in his arms.

"You okay?" Steve smooths your hair. "What's bugging you?"

"Nothing." You hope your smile is reassuring enough. How does one tell her boyfriend she thinks he's probably doing her a favor by dating her? She doesn't. She waits for him to figure it out and then says all the right things, all of which she is planning right now.

"I can hear you thinking, babe." His fingers find the back of your neck, tilting you up. "C'mon, let me in. What's up?"

Briefly, you consider it, but your reflexes take over. "Just tired."

He fusses over you, fluffing your pillow and then deciding his chest makes a better headrest for you. Steve has a special ritual for you when you're feeling down. His finger traces up your nose, once, twice, and again. He's humming something; the song changes every time. Right now, it's Uptown Girl.

"How about we go get some breakfast, sweetie?" Steve suggests, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. "The diner? We can have pancakes."

"Mm." Your bones are hollow, too weighty to move. Even though your guilt is eating you, it feels better to stay in the safety of his arms than move.

"It'll be good," he promises, slowly sitting you up. "We'll get out of the house. It'll make you feel better."

You're helpless when he's kind, and Steve is never unkind to you.

"What is it you like about me?"

It is desperate and jagged but you are at your wit's end. He has been trying to coax you to speak since breakfast.

It started out fine. Curling into a booth, you met his eyes across the table, smiling when he asks if you want chocolate chips in your pancakes. He held your hand over the table. You felt lazy in the best way, cozy. The diner is mostly empty and old music is playing on the jukebox.

The bell jinglrd after you order your pancakes and orange juice. You were relaxed, listening to him debate which movie you should rent for after dinner tonight.

Steve got up to wash his hands before the food arrives, and you leaned back in your seat, sipping your juice. You heard your name and froze, trying not to turn around. A man's voice. He sounded young. The music has stopped and needs another quarter to keep going.

"Can't believe Harrington was the one to bag her. She's a good lay."

"You and her-?"

"No, but she must be if Harrington's with her. I mean, what else would he do with that?"

You tried to breathe. If you started crying in the middle of the diner, people would talking about you worse than they do now. That's two times in two days you've heard others wonder why you and Steve are together. It feels like a sign, but you don't want it to be.

Now, sitting stiffly next to him on the sofa, you bubbled like a volcano until your question erupted out of nowhere.

He doesn't hesitate, turning to face you all the way. "You're the sweetest person in the whole world. You love everyone you meet." Steve tucks some of your hair behind your ear. "You see the world so different than me and you're always teaching me something new."

"I am?"

"I didn't know I had ladybugs in my backyard until you showed me." He is so gentle touching you. "You showed me how to make your chocolate chip cookies. And uh… I wanna learn about that thing you're always doing. With the yarn."

"Crochet. That's silly stuff." You frown and he cups your cheek, not letting you look away.

"No, not to me." Steve searches your eyes, brow straightening. "You showing me all that stuff? It means everything to me." He softens. "You take the time to show me yourself. Not many people have done that for me."

You swallow. "Steve…"

"Where's this coming from?" He is not accusatory. Your shoulders slump. It isn't any good to keep it inside anymore. He always manages to bring the truth out and you are tired from feeling alone.

"There were some people talking about us yesterday at the mall," you say softly. "And at the diner."

"Is that why-?" He interrupts himself, shaking his head and palming your cheek. "Who? What'd they say?"

"I don't know who it was," you confess, leaning into his hand. Lip trembling, you whisper, "Everyone thinks I'm a slut. They think I'm using you."

"Why would anyone think that?" Steve sounds shocked. There is a wrinkle above his nose and you want to smooth it out. "Baby, they've got it all wrong."

Your voice hitches every other word. "They think it's the only reason we could be together."

He smooths a baby hair from your forehead. "They've just got nothing better to talk about so they're making stuff up." Even though he's trying to reassure you, he sounds upset. Not at you.

"I'm sorry." The guilt is festering, eating at your insides.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who's sorry." Steve doesn't move his hand. "I was such an asshole in high school and now it's affecting you."

Your voice is crackly. "You're not an asshole."

"Maybe not now, but I was then." His thumb is curving up and down your cheekbone. "You knew me back then, baby. Smoking, drinking too much, playing up what everyone thought of me."

"You always had a good heart." Pressing your palm there, you hold his gaze. "You're good. So good."

"See? Look at the things you do for me." Steve kisses your cheek, then your chin to make you laugh. He's smiling when he pulls back. "Sweet girl. D'you know how much I love you?"

You pretend you don't so he'll give you more kisses. He frames your face in his hands. "I'll beat up every single person who even thinks about being mean."

"Steve."

"I'm kidding, baby. Just kidding." He guides your head down to his shoulder, slipping his arms around your waist. "Well, maybe half."

"Ha ha." You shut your eyes and he smooths your hair, nuzzling you close.

"Seriously though," he murmurs. "Don't keep it to yourself if it happens again. People are mean, but you don't have to be alone when they are. I've always got you and I'm gonna make sure everyone knows it."

A day or so later, you're browsing at Family Video when you hear your name in someone else's mouth. Steve is next to you, holding the three movies you picked out already. He shifts them to one arm, sliding the other around your waist.

When you walk past the two girls on your way to checkout, he drops a kiss into your hair and you feel a rush of excitement. He is yours.

“You know, I think I’m really starting to excel at this stuff.” He gloated as he sat down beside you, now curled up on the comfy cushions, watching him with an overload of love.

“Slow down, Gordan Ramsey.” You laughed. “You literally started two weeks ago.”

He hummed, but remained confident in his claim. “All I’m saying is that if Hell’s Kitchen needs another contestant, they know where to find me.” Steve shrugged, basking in his smugness as he leaned over to kiss you.

You immediately deepened it, rubbing your hands over his shoulders as you pushed him back, his lips parting surprisingly. Without giving him time to react, you straddled his lap, breaking the kiss to look at him seductively.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t into it by means—only that the mood had changed so quickly. “Woah, sweetheart, my cooking cannot be that good.” He joked, but you only tilted your head at him, confused on why he wasn’t already clawing your clothes off.

“I want you, baby.” You tried again, slowly starting to grind your hips against his.

He settled his hands over them, pausing you momentarily. “I want you too, honey—I really do,” he spoke truthfully. “—but you know you don’t have to, right, like I really just wanted us to cuddle.”

You suddenly felt hot all over, making quick work of climbing off of him, never having gotten rejected by Steve before.

“But—you made dinner for us.” You rushed to explain yourself, like it was obvious.

“So?” Steve only replied, testing if you meant what he was wondering.

“So I should pay you back.” You gestured, waiting for him to agree.

Only a subtle raise of his brows caught your attention, as he processed what you meant. “Wait,” he placed a hand over your knee, grounding you to him. “You think just because I made us some food—that you make everyday, you're supposed to sleep with me in return.” He spoke slowly.

Your eyes flickered all around his face, not sure why he was making taking care of him so difficult. “Isn’t that what I’m meant to do?” You shrugged.

“Absolutely not.” Steve said with a shake of his head. “I love the times we spend together, whether that’s doing something or nothing at all. Putting in low effort doesn’t have to result in sex, I want both of us to do it out of love—not obligation. Do you understand, honey?” He spoke softly.

You took a moment to process his words—it was daunting to come to the realization that your whole life you were made to believe the only way to give back and feel validated was through your body. That no man could be satisfied with only loving you as you are, and Steve was the first to prove all of them wrong.

“I…” you trailed off, feeling an overwhelming sense of sadness but also love, love for the man who made everything feel easier. “I don’t know what to say Steve, I never saw it that way.” You swallowed thickly. “Was never treated that way.”

His expression didn’t change, remaining focused on you and how he should’ve made that clearer before.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He sighed. “But I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel more comfortable, you never have to make yourself do anything again.” He took your hand, raising it up to his lips to press a hard kiss against each of the knuckles.

And for everyday after that, he showered you with as much love and care as possible. After taking you out, or doing something special, your first thought wasn’t to jump in bed, but instead to hold each other. To reteach your body what gentle touches felt like, the soft steadiness of his kisses.

“You’re worth so much more than you think.” He’d whisper against your collarbone, making you take shuddering breaths.

That didn’t stop Steve from glancing over at you every few seconds, like you were a puzzle he couldn’t piece together.

“You okay, baby?” He asked cautiously, eyes flickering between you and the road.

“Fine.” You quickly responded, unnatural, rehearsed.

Steve had noticed, of course he had. He noticed your knee bouncing as he pulled into the driveway, how you had spent an hour changing in and out of clothes—having never put in this much effort for a casual dinner, like you were internally fighting a battle.

He was nervous himself, meeting his girlfriend's parents was an already stressful affair, but you never spoke much about them in the past, and he never pressed.

He didn’t get out of the car right away, only turned to you and grabbed your hand, squeezing once.

“You sure you wanna do this?” He tilted his head.

You looked up at him, but your expression was blank. “I should be asking you the same.” Was the only thing you said before you climbed out, sending him deeper into confusion.

There was no one waiting at the door, was the first thing Steve noticed. You only knocked once before letting yourself in, slowly creeping into the kitchen—like you had spent years practicing the art of being unnoticed.

Your mom turned around from the stove where she stopped in her tracks upon seeing you two.

“Oh, you came.” She stated, almost as if your existence had inconvenienced her, there was no warm smile or welcoming hugs.

Her hard gaze slid past you, attaching onto Steve, she seemed to realize her audience and quickly corrected her expression—though too sharp, too performative.

“You must be Steve.”

Steve offered a polite smile, extending his hand forward for a handshake. “Mrs—”

Only to be cut off by your dads voice who entered the room, carrying a heavy presence, his arms crossed tightly while dragging his eyes slowly over Steve from head to toe.

“So,” he said flatly. “This is the Harrington boy.”

A deadly silence took over and Steve awkwardly swallowed, trying to break the tension. “Yes sir, Steve Harrington.”

Your father only hummed in response, and you felt the overwhelming urge to run away and hide in the corner as you usually did whenever things became too intense—but you weren’t going to, you were proud of Steve, and you were going to remain at his side.

Dinner felt like a ticking time bomb. The silent atmosphere didn’t feel peaceful, it was suffocating and every moment spent trapped at the table made you itch to escape.

The only sounds that filled the air were the silverware gently tapping against the porcelain—though you hadn’t eaten a bite, picking your food and refusing to meet your parents' gaze.

Your posture was rigid beside Steve, who kept glancing around the table, trying to figure out the right words to say, if this was a common occurrence between you and your family.

“Er,” Steve cleared his throat, trying to make light conversation. “Your house is very beautiful.”

Your mother sipped from her wine, forming her lips into a tight smile—far from appreciation, close to acknowledgment. “Thank you.”

Your dad leaned back in his chair, zeroing in on you like he could see right through you.

“She never liked this house.” He said, tilting his head, eyes still fixed on you.

Your stomach tightened, trying to not show how the hair on your arms stood up. “She said it never suited her.” He continued.

You shifted around uncomfortably in your seat, releasing an exhale. “I was a child.” You muttered, though it came out weak.

“Hm,” he took another bite. “Funny enough it looks like you haven’t changed much.” He couldn’t help but laugh, as if it was the funniest thing since you sat down. “This new performance doesn’t suit you either.”

The comment made you snap your head upwards, landing harsher than expected.

Steve looked between you two, like he wasn’t being let in on a joke. “Performance?” He asked, brows furrowing.

Your dad raised a fork, vaguely gesturing towards you. “The act that she’s got it all together.” He chuckled under his breath. “Trust me, it’s all going to spill out, sooner or later.”

Heat crawled up your neck, staring harder at your plate and wishing the floor would just open beneath you whole. Steve’s hand found your knee underneath the table, a steady touch, one that nearly undid you.

“She’s just nervous.” He attempted to speak on your behalf, your muscles having locked up and losing your ability to move.

“Nervous?” Your mother echoed. “About what?”

You could feel Steve’s eyes on the side of your head, but he continued. “She doesn’t really bring you up that often.”

Your mother sharply inhaled, you knew Steve was just trying to make things better—it was your fault for not having warned him, but you knew exactly where this was headed.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Your father asked, beginning to tap his fingers repeatedly on the white cloth.

“Nothing bad.” Steve rushed out. “Only that she’s busy. With friends—and work.”

“Maybe because she knows exactly what we would think of her now, how much more we expected.” Your mother was quick to jump in.

There it was again, the constant disappointment they never failed to remind you of, needing it to be communicated through every interaction.

“She’s doing fine.” Steve responded, “better than fine, actually.”

Your father still couldn’t believe what he was hearing, staring with wide eyes. “You really believe that?” He asked.

Steve didn’t miss a beat, “I know that.”

Your heart stuttered against your chest at the sincerity of his words. Hearing somebody defended you this hard, like you worth more than you ever saw yourself as—felt like there was an angel next to you.

“You're sweet, truly. But, she’s always been…difficult.” Your mother dabbed gently at the comers of her mouth.

You only felt embarrassed now, everything you’ve ever done or put up with being reduced to a single word, difficult. You watched as Steve’s expression hardened, and you knew you needed to calm things down before they escalated into a storm your parents were aiming for.

“Can we not do this tonight?” You begged, but no one listened.

“She’s not difficult.” Steve hadn’t breathed since the word had been uttered, reluctant to back down.

“Easy to say when you haven’t had to put up with her for nearly twenty years.” Your father scoffed, rolling his eyes.

That cracked the last bit of restraint you had inside, to allow the years of accepting their abuse to finally splinter all at once.

“Put up with me?” You repeated loudly, voice shaking.

The room went still, not even Steve dared to interrupt. But your father only looked irritated by your actions, your mother sighing tiredly like this was another tantrum she had to endure.

“You cannot seriously say that after how you’ve treated me my entire life.” You continued.

“Don’t act like I’m lying.” Your fathers tone snapped.

“No!” The word escaping you before you could rethink it. “You don’t get to act like I’m insane anymore—why do you think I left as soon as I could?” You heaved heavily, needing to get everything out, every confession that kept you up late at night.

“Because you continually make me feel horrible about myself.” Your voice cracked. “You pick apart everything I do, every choice I make, while I just sit there and take it all!”

“We pushed you because we expected better.” Your mother said coolly.

“And look where that got you.” You laughed humorlessly. “I didn’t turn out perfect—because you always made sure I knew I couldn’t be.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, everything suddenly made sense to him—why after every time you returned from your family's house you looked so bitter, why you had gotten your own place so soon after graduating.

“You have no idea what it’s like,” you felt yourself breaking apart, eyes burning. “To grow up knowing nothing you ever do, will ever be enough for your own parents to love you.”

“Quit being so sensitive.” Your mothers face hardened. And you realized in that moment—no matter how hard you tried to make it clear to them, they would just boil it down to your weakness.

You shook your head, pulling back to scrape your chair legs against the polished floor, you’ve had enough. Not sparing them a second glance, you stood up and made your way to the door, feeling the tears pour down your face. You left once, but you hadn’t learned your lesson.

You didn’t hear Steve call after you instantly, his own seat shoving back. “Hey—” but your ears were ringing as you slammed the door, running out to the car and leaning against it, hugging yourself.

Your breaths came out fast and uneven, chest tightening as you didn’t bother quieting the sobs, humiliation coursed through you.

Back inside the house, muffled voices rose faintly before the door opened once more, then hurried footsteps came your way.

“Sweetheart,” you squeezed your eyes shut, remembering that Steve had just watched your parents confirm every awful thing you’d silently worried he would eventually realize about you.

Steve stopped in front of you, looking just as frustrated, though his features softened into something only reserved for you, placing his hands to cup around your jaw to tilt your puffy eyes up at him.

“I know, baby, I know.” He whispered.

“It was a mistake.” You blurted, staring into his eyes that only held concern. “I shouldn’t have brought you here—let you see that.”

He paused for a second, before shaking his head. “No.” He said firmly. “That wasn’t your fault, you’re not the problem.”

That made you break a little more, eyes blurring all over again as you averted your gaze. “I tried so hard.” You pleaded, barely above a whisper. “I got good grades, I never asked for things, I sacrificed a piece of myself—and it still wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not true.” Steve used his thumb to gently swipe away your tears, ducking his head lower. “You’re enough, you’re enough for me, you're enough for yourself, that’s all that matters. Your parents wanted a version of you that doesn’t exist, and you don’t owe them anything.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, and you couldn’t help but feel lighter at his words. “I love you, and I’ll never stop reminding you of it.” He promised.

Really, you always thought that the eureka moment would happen because of some pinnacle of romance, a gallant gesture like Steve appearing outside your window playing a love song from a boombox, or kissing you under a display of fireworks, or presenting you with his left ear in a box. You know, cinematic, romantic, passionate displays of devotion like that.

But no, it doesn’t happen like that. You and Steve’s relationship is nothing like a movie- at least, no movie that you’d enjoy watching, you suppose, with otherworldly, Lovecraftian eldritch beings and all that. Monsters and near-death experiences abound, so it makes things a little less than romantic.

It’s just that, sometimes you and Steve find a way to find peace at the end of it all. And you guess that’s what this is, now. 

Steve is laying in your lap, on his stomach, between your spread legs on the couch. His head rests sideways against the soft curve of your stomach, and he sort of has his arms wrapped around your middle- but they’re also crammed up against the pillow you rest your back against, and you can’t imagine that’s comfortable, but he insisted that it was all right. It must have been the truth, too, because he’s conked. Totally and completely, out like a light. It’s the deepest sleep you’ve seen him get in days.

You have a book in your hand- the one you’ve been trying to read for ages, but between work and all the crap with the upside-down, you barely have time. You really, honestly meant to knock out some of it tonight, but you’ve reread the same page over and over for the last fifteen minutes. Steve said, as he was crawling into your lap like this, “Just go ahead and keep reading. No, ignore me, seriously, I just want to be close to you. No, I don’t want to sit behind you- God, what do you take me for? No, this is cozy, you’re cozy.” And there he lay, quietly listening to the slow in-and-out of your breath. 

At some point, your free hand found his hair, your fingers playing through it and stroking idly, subconsciously petting him like a cat. You’ve always loved his hair, but you know that he hears about it constantly, like Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington is only of any value when it looks nice. So, you’ve taken to complimenting him on things he doesn’t hear often enough. How smart and observant he is. How strong his hands are. How pretty his eyes are and how much you like the way his voice sounds in the morning, all raspy and thick with sleep. And you really like the way that he blushes when you say those things, too- but you’d be lying if you ever said that his hair didn’t do it for you. 

Of course, it helps that there’s a soft, drizzling rain hitting the pane of the window beside your head, a light staccato that creates an even cozier ambience. It also helps that Steve decided to leaf through your records and put on- of all things- your compilation of vintage french love songs, including Edith Piaf and Charles Trenet, among others. It was an odd choice for him, you thought; but to see him sleeping so soundly now, you think he orchestrated that just right.

Steve would never willingly volunteer the fact that he’s been suffering insomnia like crazy- you can observe it and ask him about it all you like, but he’s always going to be the suffer-in-silence type. You ask him if he needs any help, he says, “I’m good, I’m good.” You find him up at odd hours and offer to give him a melatonin and a mug of warm milk, and he just shakes his head. “I’m okay, honey. Go back to bed. I’ll race you.”

So, of course he wouldn’t let out the fact that he crawled into your lap planning to fall asleep, that he put on the soothing music for background noise, that between the lull of your slow breathing and the rain, he’d have the perfect soundtrack to fall asleep to. That he’s using you as a pillow because he knows that with you, he’s safe. 

Reading your book, you don’t know when exactly he fell asleep. But you do know that at some point, your fingers stroking through his hair made his breathing slow down and his shoulders finally relax. And at some point, his soft breaths turned into light snores. 

It shocks you, when you hear it. Your fingers pause, and you look down from your book at his head, his pretty face squished against your shirt and his eyes fluttering, watching a dream behind closed eyelids. His lips are parted and he may start drooling on you in a bit, but you don’t really care (it wouldn’t be the worst thing he ever got on one of your shirts, and you’ve never been squeamish). Tiny little snores fall from his lips, mingling in the air with the rain and the record on the turntable across the room. And your heart soars. 

You want to kiss him. Hook your hands under his armpits, pick him up like a teddy bear and cover him with so many kisses that he won’t know what to do with them all. If kisses were currency, Steve would be the richest man in the world by the time you’re done with him. The urge is so strong that it makes your hands twitch and your chest ache, but you hesitate. 

He looks so sweet, so peaceful. He snores again, and you don’t want to disturb him (even if it is to give him an ambush of kisses). He needs the sleep more right now, and you… you think you need him to keep using you as a vessel for his comfort. You need him to find his peace with you like this. 

And that’s when you realize you’re in love with him. 

With your fingers in his soft hair and his weight heavy on the bottom half of your body, and his body warmer than any blanket you own, you stare down at him and accept the fact that you, of course, have fallen in love with Steve Harrington. And it makes so much sense, too- that’s why it’s happening now, and not because of some climactic show of passion and devotion. 

You were friends first, and then slowly became lovers. And you’ve only been ‘together’ for a few months, only really had sex a couple times, but it feels like you’ve been his forever. You realize that it wouldn’t be so bad if you were his forever.

You want to tell him, almost as much as you wanted to kiss him a few seconds ago. You still hesitate to wake him up, and you still don’t know if he really feels the same. Can he? King Steve, every girl’s dream, the envy of nearly every guy in Hawkins. Can he be in love with you? Little ol’ you? 

You try to get rid of that thought before it even comes up. Of course he could be; anything’s possible. If you happen to be the first one to say it, that doesn’t mean that he won’t. 

He doesn’t have to, though. Not right now. Right now, you just want him to sleep. So, you stroke a lock of hair away from his sleeping face, and you say, “I’m in love with you, Steve,” because it’s the truth. 

It was normal. Easy.

Then somewhere between takeout containers and exhaustion and too many things left unsaid lately, it stopped being easy.

Steve couldn’t even fully remember how the fight started now. Something small. Something stupid. You accusing him of never talking about what he was feeling anymore. Steve snapping back that every conversation lately somehow turned into him doing something wrong.

Then it escalated.

Like it always did when both of you were too tired to communicate properly and too emotional to stop talking.

“You don’t even want to be here half the time,” you’d snapped at him.

Steve looked like you’d slapped him.

“That’s not fair.”

“Well, what am I supposed to think?” you shot back. “You barely look at me anymore.”

Steve ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not what’s happening.”

“Bullshit.”

The second the word left your mouth, you regretted it.

Steve’s expression hardened instantly—not angry exactly, just hurt.

“Seriously?”

But by then both of you were angry enough to keep going anyway.

It ended with Steve grabbing his jacket and slamming your apartment door hard enough to shake the walls while you cried in your kitchen.

Which would’ve already been bad enough.

Except you woke up this morning feeling like actual death.

By noon, your fever had climbed high enough that your teeth hurt. Your throat burned so badly it felt shredded every time you swallowed, and your chest ached from coughing so hard you could barely breathe afterward.

You held out until almost two in the afternoon before finally calling Steve.

Steve showed up thirteen minutes later with medicine, electrolyte drinks, soup ingredients, cough drops, two thermometers because “the other one looked unreliable,” and the kind of worried expression he tried hard to hide whenever he was scared.

He’d barely spoken to you since arriving.

Not mean or cruel.

Just… distant.

Like he was forcing himself to stay calm.

And honestly? You deserved it.

Right now, Steve sat at the foot of your bed with one leg bouncing anxiously while Back to the Future played on your TV. Every few minutes he glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were still conscious.

You had spent most of the day curled beneath blankets while he took care of you in silence.

He made soup.

Made you take medicine.

Refilled your water constantly.

Pressed cold washcloths to your forehead.

Cleaned your kitchen while you slept.

He even argued with Robin over the phone because she wanted to come over and “diagnose you dramatically,” and Steve insisted you needed rest.

But he still hadn’t really looked at you.

Not fully.

Not the way he usually did.

And every second of that distance sat heavy in your chest.

You pushed yourself upright slowly, immediately dizzy enough that the room tilted sideways.

Steve muted the TV instantly.

“Whoa, hey.” He stood fast. “What do you need?”

His voice softened automatically around concern despite everything.

Guilt clawed at your stomach.

“Just going to the bathroom” you muttered back.

Steve frowned immediately. “You need help walking?”

The fact that he was still asking things like that after last night almost made you cry on the spot.

You shook your head weakly.

Big mistake.

Your vision swam. Steve noticed instantly, moving closer without touching you yet.

“Easy,” he said quietly.

“I’m okay.”

“You almost fell over.”

“I’m dramatic.”

“No. You’re delirious with that fever you got.”

A weak huff escaped you that turned into coughing almost immediately. Steve’s expression tightened hard at the sound.

Gosh. You hated this.

Hated feeling helpless.

Hated knowing you’d hurt him.

Hated that he was still here anyway.

You shuffled toward the bathroom slowly while Steve watched like he was debating following you in case you collapsed.

Once the door shut behind you, the thin thread holding you together finally snapped.

You sank to the floor beside the sink with trembling hands covering your face.

Everything hurt.

Your body.

Your chest.

Your head.

Your heart.

The apartment felt too quiet without Steve talking to you properly. Every careful movement from him all day somehow hurt worse than if he’d just yelled.

You’d spent the entire morning thinking he was going to leave. That eventually he’d decide last night was too much.

That he’d grab the few things he kept at your apartment—his extra clothes, the Polaroids tucked beside your mirror, the stupid toothbrush he insisted on matching to yours—and walk out.

The thought alone made you nauseous.

A sob tore painfully out of your throat.

Then another.

Your coughing immediately got worse after that, sharp enough to make tears stream harder down your face.

You pressed your forehead against your knees miserably.

You were so tired.

Three soft knocks interrupted your spiraling.

“Sweetheart?”

The nickname nearly broke you.

“Can I come in?”

You couldn’t answer properly through your throat, so you tapped weakly against the floor instead.

A second later, the door opened carefully.

Steve stepped inside quietly before shutting it behind him.

The second he saw you on the floor, his entire face changed.

All the distance from earlier cracked instantly.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Fresh tears burned your eyes immediately.

Steve crouched in front of you carefully, close enough to touch but still giving you room.

“What happened?”

You laughed once weakly through your crying.

“What do you mean what happened?”

Steve’s eyebrows pulled together.

“You were okay five minutes ago.”

“No I wasn’t.”

Your voice came out smaller than intended.

Steve went still.

You wiped at your face angrily. “I feel awful and you’re mad at me and I know I deserve it but I just—” Your throat closed painfully around another cough. “I can’t do this today.”

The second the words left your mouth, Steve’s expression fell completely.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

You looked away immediately, ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked. “About yesterday. I know I was being horrible and dramatic and—”

“Hey.” Steve’s voice turned firm instantly. “Look at me.”

You didn’t want to.

He waited anyway.

Eventually, you forced yourself to lift your head.

Steve looked devastated.

Not angry.

Not cold.

Devastated.

“You seriously thought I was punishing you?”

Your stomach twisted.

“I mean…” you whispered.

“Baby, no.”

The tenderness in his voice hurt worse somehow.

Steve exhaled hard through his nose before sitting fully on the floor in front of you.

“I was trying to give you space.”

“In my own apartment?”

A tiny smile tugged at his mouth despite himself. “You know what I mean.”

You stared down at your hands.

“I didn’t know if you still wanted me around.”

Steve looked genuinely alarmed.

“What?”

“You left.”

His face softened instantly.

“Oh.”

The memory of last night clearly hit him all over again.

Steve dragged a hand down his face tiredly before scooting closer.

“I left because I was angry, and i didn't want to say something that i'd regret..” he admitted quietly. “Not because I wanted to leave you.”

Your eyes burned again.

“I said awful things.”

“So did I.”

“You didn’t mean them.”

“Neither did you.”

That shattered the last of your composure entirely. Another sob escaping before you could stop it.

“C’mere,” Steve murmured immediately.

He reached for you gently this time, hands warm against your arms as he pulled you across the tiny bathroom space until you were practically folded into his chest.

You went willingly. Like your body had spent all day waiting for this exact moment.

Steve wrapped both arms around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head while you cried against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again.

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I know that too, baby. I know,” he whispered softly.

You clutched weakly at the back of his shirt.

Steve rested his cheek against your hair.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmured after a moment. “I shouldn’t have walked out like that.”

“You were mad.”

“Still.” His arms tightened slightly. “I hate leaving you upset.”

Your chest ached.

Gosh. You loved him so much. Even when things got messy. Even when neither of you handled things perfectly. Even now, feverish and exhausted and crying on the bathroom floor.

Steve pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

You tried to answer.

Ended up coughing instead.

Steve sighed softly. “Okay, that’s enough talking for you.”

Despite everything, you smiled weakly.

“There it is,” he said immediately, relief flickering across his face. “Was wondering where that went.”

“Feel disgusting.”

“You look disgusting too.”

You stared at him in betrayal.

Steve grinned for the first time all day.

“Aw, there you are.”

You managed a watery laugh before another cough interrupted it.

“Okay,” Steve decided, pushing himself to his feet while still holding onto you carefully. “Bed. Now.”

“I can walk.”

“You almost passed out standing up twenty minutes ago.”

“Now you're being dramatic.”

“You almost walked into the wall.”

“…oh.”

“Yeah.”

He guided you slowly back toward the bedroom with one arm around your waist.

The apartment felt warmer now somehow. Like the tension finally dissolved.

Steve got you back under the blankets before disappearing briefly into the kitchen. You heard cabinets opening, water running, the microwave beeping.

When he returned, he carried fresh water, medicine, and one of your hoodies.

You blinked at it.

“Why do I need that?”

“Because you’re freezing and keep stealing my body heat.”

“You say that like you mind.”

Steve snorted quietly.

He helped you sit up long enough to take medicine, making sure you actually swallowed it before handing over the water bottle.

“Good?” he asked.

You nodded tiredly.

Steve adjusted the blankets around you again with ridiculous care before climbing into bed beside you.

The second he settled in, you moved toward him automatically.

Steve opened his arms immediately.

“Yeah,” he murmured softly as you curled into his chest. “There she is.”

You buried your face against his neck weakly.

He smelled like laundry detergent and the peppermint gum he always chewed when stressed.

One of his hands slid slowly through your hair while the other rubbed absent circles against your back.

“You scared me today,” he admitted quietly after a while.

You frowned sleepily against him. “Sorry.”

“You called and the first thing you said was ‘I think I’m dying’. I could practically hear your frown.”

“In my defense,” you mumbled, “I really did think I was in that moment.”

Steve pressed a kiss against your forehead after letting out a light laugh. “I almost ran a red light getting here.”

Guilt surfaced again immediately.

Steve must’ve felt you tense because he nudged your head gently.

“Hey,” he whispered. “None of that.”

“But—”

“No.” His hand moved to your cheek. “We had one bad night. That doesn’t erase everything else.”

Your throat tightened painfully for entirely different reasons this time.

Steve looked down at you carefully.

“I love you,” he said simply. “Even when we fight. Even when you’re stubborn. Even when you accuse me of emotionally cheating on you with Robin because I bought her mozzarella sticks.”

Your eyes widened weakly. “She was flirting with you.”

“She called me ugly twice during that conversation.”

“Ehh. She’s complicated. Playing hard to get.”

Steve laughed softly under his breath. The sound wrapped around you warm as a blanket. Your eyelids growing heavier by the second.

“Sleep,” Steve whispered, fingers tracing gently along your spine.

“You’ll stay?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Steve immediately pulled you closer.

“Try getting rid of me.”

Something in your chest finally loosened completely. You pressed one weak kiss against his collarbone. Steve’s hand stilled briefly in your hair. Then he tilted your chin up carefully and kissed you properly.

Slow.

Warm.

Apologetic in all the ways words sometimes couldn’t quite reach.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“Get some rest, sweetheart.”

For the first time since waking up sick, you actually thought maybe things would be okay again. And tucked safely against Steve’s heartbeat while he held you through the fever and exhaustion and leftover hurt, sleep finally came easily.