screw company policy

Steve never thought that he would dread passing by the record store. It wasn't too long ago that he could hardly wait for his breaks or slowdowns at Scoops so that he could race to the east wing of Starcourt Mall to visit you at Gold Vinyls.

But a couple of weeks ago, he did something hard but necessary. He broke things off with you. And he knows seeing you would make the weight on his shoulders ten times heavier.

He hates that he has to pass by the record shop to get to work. He hates that he forcibly looks straight ahead and doesn't allow himself to even glance at you. He hates that you're so close and he can't speak to you or touch you ever again.

Whenever you're working and see him walk by in his Scoops uniform, you wonder how it's so easy for him to act like you don't exist. You had hoped your heart would stop pinching in pain any time you were reminded of your ex, but you've given up hope. It hurts to see Steve just as much as it hurt when he ended things.

~

Steve had been hanging around Gold Vinyls for a couple weeks before he finally asked you to have lunch with him in the food court. Seeing as you immediately liked the handsome, charming guy who was in the record shop almost every day, but never actually bought anything, you accepted. 

"So, what's coming in next? Any big releases?" Steve asked, sitting across from you in the packed food court. Hundreds of voices bounced off every wall in the massive atrium of the mall and he had leaned in, looking disturbingly cute in his uniform. Nobody should be allowed to look that good in bright blue polyester, you thought.

"The new Tears For Fears record comes out in a couple of weeks," you answered, thinking about the large shipment you and your coworkers were expecting. You picked up a french fry. "You a fan?"

"I don't think I've heard of 'em," Steve said.

"They're very new wave," you replied. "I know you like to stick to your rock, but maybe it's time to broaden your horizons."

"Hey, I almost bought that Madonna record the other day," Steve says with a pointed finger. The way you smirk and roll your eyes makes his stomach do a somersault.

"Almost buying doesn't count," you tell him, recalling how much time you'd spent trying to convince him to give pop music a chance. "I've never had such a difficult customer."

"Is that all I am to you? A customer?" Steve teased, earning a smile from you.

"You never had any intention of buying anything, did you?" you asked.

"My record player broke a while ago," he admitted with a laugh.

"Steve!" you groaned, reaching over to nudge his shoulder. "I should've known you were coming by just to flirt."

"Did it work?" he asked, his big eyes softening.

"I'm here, aren't I?" you said shyly.

Your next date was at the movies, and when Steve kissed you and asked you to be his girlfriend at the end of the night, you were walking on clouds.

Three months had passed quickly. Things with Steve were perfect. Until they weren't.

Steve's heart was heavy when he picked you up that spring night. You slid into his car, reaching forward to kiss him like usual, but he froze under your touch.

"What's wrong?" you asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"We should talk," he said. He drove down the street without another word, feeling your gaze on him. He pulled off to a quiet side street and parked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The plan was to grab dinner together. But he had to do this now. And quickly. You needed to be out of his life as soon as possible. For your own good.

"What is it?" you asked softly. Steve finally looked at you again, his insides twisting in pain at your concerned expression. The streetlight cast highlights on your face, your beauty illuminated.

"I think... we should end this," Steve said. "Us."

"What?" you whispered. "Steve, what- what happened?"

"Nothing happened," he lied. "I just think... we'd be better off."

"What'd I do?" you asked. Steve sighed as if he could breathe out his guilt, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

"I swear, it's all me. It's me," he said. "I'm just not ready for something serious like I thought I was."

"You seemed... happy," you said quietly. You looked down at your lap, nervously picking at a loose thread on your jeans. "The other night, we had a great time. I thought."

"We did," Steve said, thinking back to your date at the drive-in, cuddling up with you and making jokes and sharing snacks. It was genuinely the happiest he'd been in a long time.

"Then, why...?" Your voice trailed off into nothingness. When Steve heard you sniffle, he almost cracked and told you everything. But that would put you in more danger.

"It's just... bad timing," he said, dipping his head in shame. "I'm sorry."

The sudden blow of Steve's words settled in your chest like a poisonous vine growing through your body. It had to be some sick joke.

But Steve didn't say anything more. He just sat quietly, one hand on the wheel, head low, his brown, tousled hair falling on his forehead.

"Okay," you said. You opened the car door and felt his hand on your elbow.

"I'll drive you home," he said urgently.

You looked back at him, his eyes glossy, and pulled your arm away from him. He had lost the right to touch you.

"I can walk," you replied.

"It's dangerous," he said.

"Anything's better than being in here." You exited the car. Steve swallowed the lump in his throat, driving back to your street to ensure he could watch you walk through your front door.

Just the night before, he had gotten the chilling news that things with the Upside Down weren't over yet. Robin was close to cracking a Russian code, and he knew no good was going to come from it. He had to keep you safe.

He'd done a lot of bad in his life and this was for your safety, so why did this feel like the worst thing he'd ever done?

~

It's another late night at the records shop. Your coworker called out and you're left with twice as much inventory. The mall is eerily quiet like it always is after close, and any typical sound, like a door being closed or a generator turning on, is magnified.

You hate the silence, so you turn on the old record player behind the counter. Tears For Fears' new album had quickly become one of your favorites, even though their music partly reminds you of Steve. You had played "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" to him and he actually liked it. You always skip the track for that reason.

You thumb through records, counting for your inventory report. Truthfully, you just want to be under your sheets and cry in bed like you'd been doing for the past two weeks. The break-up had shattered you.

You had been falling in love with Steve. You thought, or at least hoped, he was feeling the same way. You wondered if you were being dramatic - maybe three months wasn't enough time to grow to love someone.

But the moments the two of you had shared, the vulnerability, were so raw. Steve had opened up to you about how lonely he had felt most of his life, how his parents were there but never really there, how he spent his entire adolescence trying to fit in and ostracizing those that didn't in fears of losing his place in the social hierarchy.

He had been afraid to share this with you, but the shame and regret you saw in him, plus the kindness you had already become enamoured with, made you reassure him he had nothing to be afraid of.

But then he heartlessly cut you loose and never even called to see how you were. Maybe he hadn't changed after all.

Breathless and petrified, the drugs forcibly given to him by the Russians have dissolved out of Steve's system. He's running through the mall with Robin, Dustin, and Erica, towards the heart of Starcourt, where they'll be meeting the others.

The sound of quiet, muffled music stops Steve dead in his tracks. His group slow down, looking at him confusedly.

"What is it?" Dustin asks.

Steve only mumbles your name, his fear manifesting in front of his eyes. He gazes to his left, down to the east wing of the mall.

"I need to check something," Steve stammers. "You all go. I'll meet you there."

His legs pump beneath him as he rushes towards the record shop. He sees the metal gate over the entrance, but the music has been growing louder. Someone is definitely there, and he recognizes the album.

He approaches the shop and looks through the grid bars to see you writing on a clipboard. His heart sinks.

Life without you has been torture for him. He's been a shell of the person he once was. God, he missed seeing you. But he hates that you're here right now because you could get hurt. Or worse.

You hear someone say your name and you jump, startled. You look to the hallway and see Steve standing there, his face bloodied up and his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Holy shit," you gasp, dropping your clipboard, and running to the front of the store. "Steve? You scared me."

"Why are you here?" he asks.

"Why are you bloody?" you say. "Are you okay?" You stand opposite each other, with the holed metal bars separating you. He gazes into your eyes, the eyes he's been missing and dreaming about.

"You need to go home," Steve says lowly. You study his swollen eye, the bloodstains on his cheeks. The shock wears off, and the pain he had caused you bubbles back up to the surface.

"What are you talking about?" you ask. "What happened to you?"

"Listen, it's dangerous here," he says, looking behind him. "I can't see you get hurt."

"You already did that," you blurt out, the bitterness you've been holding onto for two weeks slipping out, even in the weight of the moment.

Steve steps back, a wave of guilt chilling over him.

"I did it to protect you from all this," Steve says quietly.

"All what?" you urge. Sounds of people shouting echo from deep in the mall.

"What was that?" you ask.

"You need to go home, please," Steve whines. "Please."

"Why? Tell me why first," you say.

Steve steps forwards again, hands gripping the metal barrier, fingers slipping into your side of the world.

"Go home and I'll explain everything after, okay?" Steve says. You take in a breath.

"I don't believe you," you finally say. He had lost your trust long ago.

You grab your store key from the keychain hanging out of your pocket, walk over to the left wall, and push open the gate, the metal clanging into its place.

"Don't," Steve says quietly.

"You're not going to tell me what's going on, so I'll have to find out myself," you mutter. You step out of the record shop and march towards the center of the mall, your heart racing with adrenaline and fear. 

You feel Steve's big hand circle around your elbow, just as it did the night he broke up with you.

"What?" you snap, stopping in your tracks as you look up at him. It hurts to see him so physically injured, but it hurts even more to be reminded of what he did to you.

"Don't you see this?" he asks, pointing vaguely to his roughed up face. "This, or worse, could happen to you. Just go home."

"I'm a grown-up, Steve," you say, albeit fearfully. "I can do what I want and right now, I'm going to figure out what is going on." It must be spite driving you forward as you continue to walk down the massive, empty corridor towards the thudding sounds.

Steve sighs, frustrated at your stubbornness and that you're in the mall after closing, but mostly, scared as hell that you'll get hurt. He trails behind you, raking back his hair.

A bloodcurdling, otherworldly screech echoes from the center of the mall. You freeze.

"What was that?" you ask.

Steve realizes there's no way you'll go home. He sighs.

"Monsters exist," Steve mutters. You turn to look at him with confusion. "I know it sounds crazy, and it is. But it's true. They're real and they live in another dimension."

"What?" you ask. "Then... wait, did one do that to you?"

You close the distance between each other, your icy exterior melting now that he's at least told you something.

"No," Steve says, subconscious of his appearance. "Those were people who were angry we were sniffing around."

"Are they after you?" you ask, eyebrows knitting.

"They could be," Steve says. "I don't want you involved in any of this."

"Steve... what happens to you matters to me. You can't just cut ties and assume I'll stop caring."

Steve mournfully travels over your face with his eyes, his left eye still swollen beyond belief.

You sigh and shake your head before turning to head towards the center of the mall again.

The spectacle is something out of a movie. A massive, multiple-limbed creature careens in the heart of Starcourt. Sparks from what you assume are firecrackers crackle and sparkle in the air. You look up to see people on the second story of the mall throwing items down at the monster. Small fires burn in several places around the large expanse.

You can't believe what you're seeing.

"Come on," Steve says urgently, grabbing your hand and pulling you up towards the escalators. They're turned off, so you both have to climb them quickly, heaving.

"Hide over there," he presses, pointing to a wall. "Or leave. That'd be better." You begrudgingly listen to his first instruction, still shocked at what you're seeing.

Steve finds some of the kids and joins them, putting his effort into the mission to destroy the Demogorgon.

You can't believe how young the others you see are - they must be in middle school. Once you look close enough, you can recognize the kids that you sometimes saw badgering Steve at Scoops the few times you went.

You feel ridiculous hiding away and muster up the courage to join the group of people by the balcony.

"Who are you?" one of the kids asks when you approach. Steve turns to see you and quietly whispers your name in frustration. It seems like you want to be in danger.

"I'm helping," you reply. "Hand me a firecracker."

~

The battle ends with Starcourt in flames. You sit at the back of an ambulance, its doors wide open, still trying to conceptualize how all that you saw was real.

You gaze at the mall in the distance, the red flames stark against the night sky. The sounds of sirens fill the air and your fingers are tender from the hot firecrackers you had been handling.

The monster was defeated, and somehow, a young girl with supernatural powers took it down. You try to steady your breaths.

Steve searches for you in the madness of the crowds. When he sees you in an ambulance with that faraway look in your eyes, his heart sinks. This is exactly what he had been trying to prevent; he wanted to keep you away from this trauma, this danger.

He approaches you and you meet his gaze. He had hurt you so badly just a couple of weeks ago that you could have sworn you'd hate him forever. But it seems the break-up was just a misguided attempt at keeping you safe.

Steve stuffs his hands in his pockets and settles beside you, his thigh pressed up against yours.

"You shouldn't have pushed me away," you say quietly, staring down at your lap. A summer breeze blows past you.

"I did it to avoid that look on your face," Steve replies. "Once you see all this... you can't go back to normal."

"You decided for me, though," you say, meeting his eyes. "You left without any explanation and didn't even let me have a say."

"I knew you'd do what you did tonight," Steve says. It was one of the first things he loved about you - you seemed more on the fearless than cautious side. But in this scenario, he doesn't want you coming face to face with the evils of the Upside Down.

"And so what that I did?" you respond. "So what? I decided that. I could have left. But you never gave me a chance to choose for myself."

Steve looks down at his interlaced fingers, chewing on his bottom lip. What had felt like the right thing to do was clearly wrong. Way wrong. He left you in the dark to assume he had just lost all interest in you.

"I'm sorry," Steve finally says. "I was worried about you. I love you."

The breath leaves your lungs as his words register. The crinkle in his forehead tells you he's just as shocked by his own words.

"You what?" you say.

He nervously scratches the back of his neck. He had pictured this moment before the two of you had broken up many times, but blurting it out while the two of you are sitting at the back of an ambulance wasn't anywhere near his daydreams.

"I do," he mumbles with a shrug. "I'm sorry if it doesn't feel like it, or didn't feel like it, or... I fucked up. I just didn't want you to get hurt. I couldn't live with myself if I introduced you to all this and something happened to you."

The puzzle pieces click into place for you. The way he had pushed you away was awful. It was cruel. But maybe, if the roles were reversed, you'd do the same.

"I understand," you say quietly. "I... I loved you, too, you know."

Steve's throat thickens. How could have been so lucky to have you love him, and how could he ruin it all?

"Do you still?" he asks, hanging onto the tense of the word you'd used. "Love me?"

You bite the inside of your cheek and nod, tears welling in your eyes.

"Yeah," you say with a shaky voice. "I wish you didn't leave me like that."

"I'm so sorry," Steve says. He takes the risk of putting his hand over yours. Thankfully, you flip your hand over and lace your fingers with his. The familiar feeling sends a wave of relief down his body. You always felt like home.

"I'll never do that again," he promises. "If you... if you want to still be with me. I swear, I'll - I'll tell you everything and let you make the decision, okay? I'm sorry, I just... I wanted to keep you safe."

You cock your head, your heartbeat loud in your ears, and look at him. Steve knows you're the most beautiful thing in the universe and if he gets another chance, he won't mess it up. He's sure of it.

You look at every beauty spot you had memorized on Steve's face. You think of every laugh you had shared. You feel every kiss he had given you.

Wordless, you lean forward and plant a gentle kiss on his bruised lips. Steve, despite the pain of his injuries, deepens the kiss, his hand finding his way to your jaw, cradling you tenderly.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he whispers when you pull back, foreheads pressed together. He was sure he'd never get the chance to tell you. "I'll remind you of it every day."

You thought you could never trust Steve Harrington again. But the way he's holding you tells you that your heart is safe with him.

The cool late summer air immediately presses against your cheeks as you close your car door and trek towards the Byers' house. Your boots click-clack under the concrete driveway as you approach the front door, anger filling you from head to toe.

Why can't Dustin listen? Why can't he understand that you're scared for him? You're not forbidding him from involving himself in the insane conspiracies surrounding the Hawkins lab to take away his fun; you're doing it to keep him safe.

Life in Hawkins has gotten terrifying. You even resorted to spray-painting a toy gun black to keep in your bag at all times to scare off anyone - or anything - threatening. Dustin told you about the monsters and the Upside Down. And after enough time, you finally believed him.

Terrifying things have happened in this town. You barely kept your wits about you when Mike went missing, and Mike was always like a little brother to you. If something happened to Dustin... well, you don't want to think about that.

On top of all that, there's a severe storm warning being broadcast on every tv and radio station. Extreme winds and thunder and lightening and record levels of rainfall. You just want your little brother safe at home.

You aggressively hit your knuckles against the front door. You canvassed a few of your little brothers’ friends houses before you arrived here, but you immediately figured out that Dustin's here - he did a crap job hiding his bike in the driveway.

The door swings open and you meet familiar eyes. Steve Harrington's eyes. Eyes that you spent your adolescence looking into.

Air escapes your lungs and you forget how to speak for a second. As if this night could get any worse.

Steve says your name quietly, and he realizes it's the first time he's spoken directly to you since ninth grade. You look beautiful. And mad. Very mad.

"I'm looking for my brother," you state, right to business. Your stare is cold and so is the chilly gust of wind you bring in with you.

"Yeah, he's..." Steve steps back, looking to his left and nervously scratching the back of his neck.

You take advantage of the distance Steve has created between himself and the front step, so you stalk into the house, finding Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Max surrounding the coffee table studying vague sketches.

The color drains from your little brother's face. He knows he's been caught red-handed.

"Dustin, we're going home," you say, tightening the grip on your bag. “You all should go home. I can drive you. A storm is coming.”

"I can't," he whines.

"You can't?" you ask. You sigh - you're angry beyond words but you don't want to embarrass him in front of his friends. "Let's talk in the kitchen."

You march past Steve, whose eyes are fixed on you. He hasn't been this close to you since... well, since you were kids. Now, you're both high school seniors living in different worlds. He wonders if you ever think about when the world was just you and him.

~~~

The summer before high school was the best summer Steve had ever had. You came over almost every day to swim in his pool together.

Your friendship had started by chance. You were randomly assigned joining desks in your seventh grade math class and all Steve had to do to break the ice was ask you for a pencil. Once Steve finally dug up the courage to ask you to hang out outside of school when the school year ended, you were basically inseparable.

It was a lazy August day at the Harrington's. Steve's father was hardly around and his mother wasn't always exactly the most hospitable - and very clear about the fact that no pool water was ever to be tracked into the house - but she would leave snacks by the poolside for you on rare occasions.

You bit into a green apple slice, looking at your best friend of almost two years.

"What do you think high school's gonna be like?" you asked, legs stretched out on the lounging chair. You gazed out at the glistening pool, but Steve kept his eyes on you. He didn't know you were aware of how often he stared at you.

You figured he was just a hormonal teenage boy interested in any and every girl he saw. But you'd always hoped he saw more than that in you. Because you saw everything in him.

"I'm joining every sports team I can," Steve finally answered.

"So, we'll never hang out again. Great," you replied, looking over at him. Steve tried to hide his excitement over your open affection for him. He figured he was just a friend and only a friend to you - but a guy could dream.

"We'll still hang out," he replied, grabbing an apple slice from the plate sitting on the small end table between you.

"Not if you become a total jock," you said. Steve chuckled, his dark, wet mop of hair nearly hanging over his eyes.

"We will! I swear on the temperature turtle," Steve said with wide eyes. You laughed, looking over at the floating pool thermometer on the water's surface. The two of you had had what felt like hundreds of debates on what kind of plastic animal sat on the top of the thermometer.

"For the last time, it's a tortoise," you reply. "So, your 'swear' doesn't count."

"It is a turtle." Steve gazed at you, the sound of your laughter and the buzzing pool filtration system and the birds chirping high up in the trees filling him with joy.

"I'm not having this fight with you again, Harrington," you muttered, but the smile on your face gave you away.

Steve didn't know it at the time, but he did lie. When school started, it didn't take more than a day for him to drift into another group, far away from the perfect friendship the two of you had built.

~~~

You look down at your little brother as the two of you stand in the Byers' kitchen. Dustin's eyes are already pleading you to give in and let him stay. You disapprovingly shake your head at him and half of you wants to rattle some sense into him and the other half just wants to hug him because you're scared for his safety.

You give into the second half and pull him in. He freezes, likely confused as to why his pissed off big sister is giving him a cuddle, but he quickly relaxes and hugs you back.

"I thought I told you to stop it with this stuff," you mumble. "I'm scared for you. I keep having to lie to Mom that you're safe and staying out of trouble. Why are you making me lie?"

"This is important," Dustin says. He pulls back and you cross your arms.

"You being alive is important, Dustin," you reply.

"Listen, remember how I told you about the Mind Flayer?" Dustin begins. "It's stuck in Will's body. They're trying to get it out of him at the school and El and Hopper are trying to close the gate so that nothing else from the Upside Down can come in and and we're trying to burn the tunnels to lure these things called Demodogs away from the lab but Steve won't let us-"

Your head is spinning and you hold a palm up to stop his rambling.

"Hold on, I need to catch up," you say, forehead crinkling in confusion. "Why is Steve involved in any of this?"

His name feels foreign in your mouth, which ties your stomach in a knot. He's a complete stranger now and it's as if the pain never dulls down.

"He's been helping us," Dustin says. A lightbulb seems to go off in his head. "He actually mentioned you used to be friends."

"Used to be," you reply. You wonder what else Steve might have said about you. "He's not a nice guy, Dustin."

"Sure he is," Dustin replies.

"He only cares about himself," you blurt out, realizing the hurt Steve caused you is pushing you off track. "Wait, what the hell are Demodogs?"

"They're Demogorgons before they fully become Demogorgons."

"And they want to kill us all, I'm guessing," you say.

"Well, yeah," Dustin says, eyes darting away.

"And you're putting yourselves right in their path," you finish.

"Listen, I know you're worried," Dustin starts, beginning to stutter. "But I can't just sit at home while there's something I could actually be doing something to help. I'm not being stupid. I'm being careful and we have El on our side. I told you about how powerful she is, right?"

As you continue to bicker with Dustin, Steve rakes his hand through his hair, leaning against the other side of the wall. He heard what you said about him. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but God, he missed your voice.

You're justified for saying that about him. He'll never forget the day in freshman year when he watched your heart break.

~~~

Hawkins High was bigger than you had thought. Walking through the hallways with Steve by your side and a crumbled timetable in your hands, you realized you weren't exactly as prepared as you thought for the first day.

"Relax," you heard. You looked up at Steve, who still had a hint of the sunburn he had earned from swimming with you all summer on his cheeks.

"Who says I'm not?" you asked.

"Henderson, what do I always say?"

You sigh.

"Huh?" Steve asked.

"That my face says it all."

"Your face says it all," Steve echoed. It was true - he could read you like a book. And right now, you were clearly anxious. You felt like the crowds were closing in on you and you could barely breathe.

"You'll do great," Steve consoled.

You look up at your best friend, his kind eyes telling you that he really believed his own words. You were never good with new settings - and he knew that - but Steve was like a chameleon, adapting to every twist life gave him.

How a boy who had grown up in such a cold home be so warm was always a mystery to you.

"Thanks, Harrington." You elbowed him with a smile. Nothing could ever make Steve feel as good as he did when he cheered you up. "You will too, but you already know that."

"Of course I do," Steve said with mock cockiness.

Once lunch rolled around, you waited at the entrance of the cafeteria like you and Steve had planned. When you grabbed your lunch trays and sat a table, you quickly began talking about how your morning classes went. Until Tommy Hagan interrupted the two of you by slapping a hand on Steve's shoulder.

"Bro, how annoying is that teacher?" Tommy said. He didn't even acknowledge you. "Acting like we're in the military or something. It's ninth grade English. Relax."

"Yeah," Steve said with a chuckle, glancing up at Tommy. You had had maybe three conversations with Tommy before, all of them unpleasant. He was always a boisterous and obnoxious boy and while Steve did hang out with him sometimes, you were always the favorite friend. You took pride in that.

"We're all sitting over there," Tommy told Steve, pointing to a table not far behind. "You should come."

The massive smile on Steve's face sort of shattered you.

"Sounds good, man," Steve replied. Tommy clapped his hand on Steve's back again and left. Again, without even making eye contact with you.

"You wanna go sit over there?" Steve asked you quietly.

"No," you said honestly. "That guy's kind of a jerk."

"He's not that bad," Steve said, clearly disappointed in your response.

"You can go ahead," you replied. You didn't want to hold Steve back, so you gave him the out, but you knew there was no chance he'd just abandon you.

"You sure?" Steve asked. You stilled, then nodded. "Okay, I'll see you after school."

Your best friend stood up, took his lunch tray, and walked over to Tommy's group.

Your lunch tasted particularly bitter that day. How could Steve just leave you like that? You knew he struggled with loneliness and craved popularity. His parents really never had any interest in getting to know him. And he always flocked to any social event he could, eager to fit in. But to leave you like that? That wasn't the kind person you'd gotten to know.

After school, the plan was to walk home with Steve. You weren't sure if he would bail or not. But when you saw him heading down the hallway in his group of new friends, you got a bad feeling in your stomach.

Still, despite your instinct to stay away from him, you approached Steve, tightening your grip on your backpack strap.

"Hey," you said, swallowing down the pain he'd left you with at lunch. You'd give him an earful once you were alone, though.

"Hey," Steve replied casually.

"We still walking home?" you asked.

"Uh, I don't know," he replied quietly, looking over at the group of boys surrounding him. You had never seen him look so spineless.

"We got plans," Tommy said with a pompous chuckle.

"This chick bothering you?" one of the guys behind Steve joked. Your stomach burned with embarrassment.

"I'll, uh, I'll catch you later," Steve said heartlessly. Your feet were heavy as if they were made of concrete as he walked away, leaving you alone in the emptying hallway.

He called your house a few times afterwards, but you told your mom to tell Steve you didn't want to talk. If he made eye contact with you at school, you looked away and made it clear he was a stranger to you now.

When he left you in that hallway, letting his friends embarrass you like that, you decided you hated Steve Harrington and nothing he could do would ever change that.

~~~

"Please, this is important," Dustin repeats for the millionth time. You reach your hand forward to pinch his chin, a gesture of affection you've done basically since Dustin was a baby.

"I'm not leaving your side," you tell him. A wide, toothy grin spreads across your little brother's face. He won the argument. This time. "So, what the hell is up with these tunnels?"

"Come, we made a blueprint," Dustin says, stepping away and expecting you to follow. You sigh and let him lead the way.

When you enter the living room, you see Steve sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees. He looks up at you and you look away, but his eyes follow you as you cross the room.

You sit down amongst the kids and stare down at the array of papers on the coffee table. Lucas begins to explain the blueprints to you and you nod along, trying to follow.

Steve watches you, endeared by the way your brows furrow as you listen to Lucas. Your concentration face hasn’t changed. He had a crush on you back in seventh grade, and he realizes it has not gone away at all.

How can that be? He doesn't even know who you are anymore. It's been almost four years. He wonders how much he's missed in your life. If you're still the same kind, funny girl he once called his best friend. He bets you are.

You catch his gaze and Steve quickly looks down at the carpeted floor. Your heart drops as the feeling pulls you back to your memories of feeling Steve's stare on you, wondering if he liked you just as much as you liked him.

A pounding on the door startles you. You grow cold. You notice Steve quickly stand and cross the room.

"Hide," Steve says quietly to all of you as he approaches the front door. The kids scatter towards the back of the house and you worryingly follow. Seeing him so protective is odd; the picture of Steve you've had in your head is of a selfish, popularity-obsessed boy. Who is this guy?

You hide in a nearby bedroom, shutting the door and looking back at the four kids, who look as nervous as you surely look.

"Max!" you hear.

"It's Billy," Max whispers, her eyes darting between everyone in the room.

You hear Steve mutter something. Next, you hear some sort of scuffle. Then, hard thud and a groan. Your eyes widen. They're fighting.

"Stay in here," you order, quickly slipping out of the room and rushing into the bedroom.

Billy is kneeling over Steve, landing harsh punches. Steve is losing - and badly. You run to the bag you left on the living room floor and fish out the fake gun.

"Stop!" you scream, holding out the pistol. Billy looks up with a smirk. It disappears once he notices what you have in your hands.

"Whoa," Billy says with a nervous chuckle. "No need for that."

"Get the hell out," you say, hoping your shaky voice doesn't give you away.

"Listen, this is between me and Harrington. You don't need to get involved," Billy replies. He stands with his palms up. You look down at Steve, whose face is covered with blood.

You swore you hated Steve, but seeing him like this because he was protecting you and your little brother and his friends makes your heart tighten with concern.

"Get out!" you scream louder, stepping towards him. "I already called the police." Hopefully he can’t tell you’re lying.

"Jesus," Billy mutters. He sucks his teeth. "I'll be back, don't you worry, Harrington."

He leaves through the door and you hear the loud engine of his car start up. You exhale deeply.

"Shit, you're bleeding really bad," you say to Steve, settling down on your knees.

"Damn, Henderson. You're packing heat?" Steve mumbles.

"It's fake," you whisper, grateful Billy didn't call your bluff. You hear the kids scatter out of the room and you look back at them.

"Get a towel," you tell them, meeting eyes with Dustin.

Steve's head is pounding, his eye is burning, and his lip is stinging. He got the wind knocked out of him but as he looks up at you gazing down at him with worry, he feels relief wash over him.

"Can you move to the couch?" you ask. "You should sit up. You have a nosebleed and lying down will make it worse."

"That's a big ask," Steve mumbles. He obeys, though, and slowly sits up. He carries himself to the couch, limping, and settles on the cushion, blood gushing down his face.

Dustin appears behind you, holding a tea towel in his hand and some bandages in another.

"Thanks, Dusty," you whisper. You give the cloth to Steve.

"A lot of pressure," you instruct him. A loud clap of thunder sounds from outside.

"There's that storm," you mumble, then look over at the group of kids. "Nobody's leaving, okay? Not by bike or car. It's about to get nasty out there."

"But we have to help-" Dustin begins.

"You're no help if you get ran off the road," you reply. You sigh and shake your head. "We'll wait out the storm, okay? See if you can get into contact with the others. And try to get some sleep, guys? It's..." You check your watch. "It's nearly 11:30. I'll wake you up when the weather eases up."

Dustin looks frustrated, but he finally nods and runs off to presumably find his walkie in the direction of the kitchen. His friends follow and you're left alone in the living room with Steve.

Hard rain starts to fire against the window.

"You might have saved my life," Steve half-chuckles, the white rag turning towel with his blood. "With a fake gun."

You meet his gaze again. You're sad to see him in so much pain, and you're angry that you're sad because you feel like he doesn't deserve your sympathy, but here you are, feeling sorry for the boy who abandoned you and broke your heart.

"Yeah, well..." is all you can say. You hand Steve the bandages you're holding and your fingers make contact. You swallow hard. You once dreamed about kissing Steve. Now you feel strange even touching his hand.

Steve sees the pain in your expression and it makes his insides twist with guilt.

"I'm sorry, Henderson," Steve mumbles.

"Not like you asked to get your ass kicked," you say with a shrug, eyes darting away. "I should go check on-"

"No. I'm sorry. You know for what."

You meet his eyes again, then Dustin enters the room.

"We couldn't reach them," Dustin tells you, followed by Lucas, Mike, and Max.

"We'll try again later," you say. "Please try to get some sleep now, okay? There's nothing else we can do. Just find a bed and sleep. It'll make you sharper when it's time to go."

Dustin begrugingly agrees and the kids stalk off to the back of the house, leaving you alone with Steve again.

You stare down at your hands, clasped together in your lap. You can only shake your head at the words Steve just mumbled, your throat tightening as emotion floods you.

"I was so fucking stupid," Steve says lowly, tasting nothing but blood and guilt. "I just wanted to be cool and I didn't care about hurting you."

"Yeah, well, that was clear," you admit.

"Why didn't you call me back? Or talk to me anymore?”

"Seriously?" you snap, your anger finally bubbling up to the surface. "Would you want to talk to me if I did that to you?"

Steve bites his cheek and looks away for a second. You still see a trace of the boy you once knew in him.

"Exactly," you mutter. Steve's eyes are deep with sadness as they travel over your face. His nosebleed has stopped, his skin streaked with dry blood, and his face is already swelling.

A small part of Steve is surprised you still hold any anger over the situation. That you hold any leftover feelings. He thought by now, you couldn't care less if he were dead or alive.

"Lately, I've realized that... I really had the wrong priorities," Steve says quietly. "I cared about getting approval from some assholes more than the people who actually cared about me."

You can't deny that some part of you still does care about him.

"You know, any time Dustin even mentions you, I want to ask how you're doing," Steve says.

The confession makes you freeze for a second.

"Well, I'm not doing so great," you reply curtly. "I'm worried to death about those kids."

"I know. Me, too." Steve dabs the cloth against his chin one more time, then holds it in his lap, sinking into the couch.

"How did you even get involved in all this?" you ask. The storm roars outside, trees tapping against the paneling as the wind forces them to shake.

"Funny enough, I saw my first monster here by accident," Steve tells you. "Then Dustin somehow roped me in."

"He would," you reply, and you crack your first smirk since you started talking to him.

"I really am sorry," Steve says. "To be honest, I still think about you a lot and... about how badly I fucked up."

Silence settles between you, his words sending pricks to your stomach. You bite your bottom lip.

"You just... left," you whisper with a shake of your head.

"I wish I didn't," Steve says. "I liked you a lot. I really did. You were my best friend. Hell, I -" He stops himself, gently pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What?" you say.

Nerves fill Steve's chest and he shakes his head. This moment seems so fragile and he's scared to break it by telling you the whole truth of how he felt about you.

"I'm just sorry," he repeats.

You'd been waiting for this for ages, but the bitter taste in your mouth might not go away. You tighten your jaw and Steve sits up to look at you.

"You still wear everything on your face," he replies. "You're mad."

"Don't act like you still know me, Steve," you mutter with a tired sigh, eyes darting away from him. "I need to call my mom and find a place to sleep."

Steve watches you cross the room into the kitchen and his heart sinks. He takes a moment before heading to the bathroom to clean himself up. He can't look at himself in the mirror.

Fighting tears as they threaten their way out, you sigh before picking up the phone, entering your home number, and letting your mom know that you and Dustin are safe and waiting out the storm at the Byers'.

Afterwards, you set out to find a bed. Upon entering each bedroom, you see that every possible bed space is taken up. Fantastic.

Maybe you can sleep on the floor somewhere. You'd sleep in your car, but with the lightening storm, that's likely a bad idea.

When you re-enter the living room, Steve is sprawled out on the couch, the blood wiped off his face.

He's angry with himself. For what he did to you, for pushing away the best person he'd ever known, for ruining his and your own happiness. And now he feels like he'd do anything to be close to you again.

"Do you know if there are any sleeping bags or something around here?" you ask. Steve darts up, unaware that you were standing there. "All the beds are taken up."

"Uhh," he mumbles, looking around. You're still getting used to his matured voice. "I don't know. I... you take the couch and I'll sleep in my car."

"Lightening. Not a good idea," you reply. "I'll just find some blankets and sleep on the floor."

"This might be a pullout couch," Steve says. Before you can protest, he stands and moves the cushions. To his relief, he finds a bar and pulls it. The couch starts to open up.

Steve pushes the coffee table out of the way, then pulls the couch all the way out to reveal a mattress.

"We can both just crash here," Steve says with a nervous shrug. An awkward pause sinks between you.

"No other choice," you finally mumble, although the thought of being close to him admittedly sends your stomach into somersaults. Which it shouldn’t. You should hate him.

"You take this side so I can be closer to the door," Steve says, pointing a finger to the inside of the bed.

You settle on the far side of the mattress by the wall. For years, you've thought of Steve as a selfish jerk. Yet everything he has done since you arrived at this house tonight has proven you wrong.

Now that you know monsters exist and the world can end at any minute, part of you wants to just forgive Steve and forget it all. But the other part is telling you to stay far away from the boy who broke your heart.

Steve turns off the ceiling light, leaving a dim lamp by the couch on, and settles beside you, his arm pressing against yours. So much for staying far away.

He smells like cologne and blood and hairspray. You've watched him grow up at distance throughout high school, the gangly messy-haired boy you once knew turning into a broad-shouldered and well-kept man. Why you still have any pull towards him, you cannot understand.

Steve listens to your breath and stares up at the ceiling, the lighting softening every edge and corner. It wasn't worth it. Popularity, parties, a disingenuous feeling of fitting in. He lost you in the process and you were worth so much more.

"Thanks for scaring that dickhead outta here," Steve says lowly. You think back to the sight of Billy beating Steve up and wince.

"I may hate you, but I'm not gonna let you die," you say lightheartedly, realizing just how much he'd gone through tonight.

"You hate me?" Steve asks. The crack in his voice makes your blood cold with guilt. He sounds like his young self again.

"I was trying to make a joke," you respond. "I... tried to hate you but I couldn't. It'd be easier if I hated you, though."

"Why?"

"So I could forget everything," you admit. "I think about you too, you know. And sometimes I still wonder what it was about me that made me worth leaving."

The rawness of your words cuts through Steve.

"God, nothing," Steve says. He swears he feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Nothing made you worth leaving. I was an idiot."

"Yeah, you were," you say softly, closing your eyes as exhaustion fills you. Worrying about your little brother and driving all over town looking for him sure can tire a person out.

"I wonder how things would be if I never..." Steve doesn't finish the sentence. You know what he wants to say. If he never abandoned you.

"We'd probably still be best friends," you reply honestly. Maybe even dating, you secretly think.

"What if someday I asked for more?" Steve asks. Your eyelids fly open and you can't help but turn to look at him. He does the same, his eyes travelling over your face. You wonder if by some fatigued mistake, you had said your thoughts out loud.

"What?" you whisper.

"I..." Steve turns his head to look at the ceiling again, leaving you to look at his profile, to study the slope of his nose and his pursed lips in the dim lighting. "I'm being an idiot again."

You bite your lip and mirror him, looking up and nervously pinching your fingers together. Steve feels like hours pass before you finally reply.

"You weren't exactly subtle, Harrington," you say.

"What?" he asks.

"You used to stare at me all the time," you say with a nervous chuckle. "That made your disappearing act even more..."

You exhale, hoping Steve will fill in the blanks. But he doesn't. He just waits.

"More what?" he finally asks.

"Painful," you finish.

"I regret it. A lot." You feel Steve bring his hand up to his face. The thought of him possibly crying right now stings, even though you had cried many times since he left you.

"You swear on the tortoise?" you say to try to make him laugh. It works.

Steve chuckles, bringing his hand back down, and you glance over at his profile again to watch his Adam's apple bob with his laugh.

"Yes, and it was a turtle," he says, turning to meet your gaze.

You share a look, when suddenly, vicious thunder cracks from outside and you flinch, subconsciously grabbing his hand. The feeling of your small hand around Steve's makes his heart skip.

"Jesus," you mutter, heart pounding.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

"Yeah, just..." You take your hand back. "Startled me."

"You scared of rain these days?" Steve tries to tease. "You used to love rain. Even swimming in it."

You think back to your childhood in the Harringtons’ pool, laughing whenever rain rolled in, floating in the water and loving every second.

"Things change," you mumble. "And apparently monsters exist in another dimension." You still can't believe what's happening in your hometown.

Steve wonders how much you’ve changed. Maybe he’ll get the privilege of finding out.

"You know I'd never let anything happen to him, right?" Steve says. "To any of them." He feels a fierce protection over the kids, and truthfully, being close to Dustin makes him feel like he's somehow close to you again.

"I had no idea he even... knew you," you reply.

"He's a really good kid," Steve says.

"Yeah, he is." The rain has gotten even fiercer, battering the walls and windows. You yawn, letting your eyelids fall again. Steve gazes at you for a moment, then falls asleep, too.

A crack of thunder wakes you up from your haze. It takes a second to remember where you are. As you gently shuffle in place, you realize warm, firm arms are encircling you, and your nose is up against Steve's chest.

You arm is around his waist, completely snuggled up to the man you considered your enemy earlier today. You breathe out a sigh, your heart racing, when Steve stirs awake, too.

"Hey," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. "Thunder?"

"Yeah," you reply.

"Nothing's gonna hurt you, okay?" he says into your hair.  

And it's strange how normal this feels; cuddled up to Steve, having him comfort you. You should shoo him away, create distance between you and the man who once betrayed you.

But all the bitterness feels juvenile now. You give into your instinct to nuzzle closer into him, his large frame protecting you.

Steve smirks to himself, unable to believe he’s here right now and entirely sure that he doesn’t deserve it.

You doze off again. You don’t know how much time has passed when your eyelids flit open and notice that the warm embrace you were just reveling in is no longer there. You shuffle around to see that Steve is sitting up, his legs off the side of the couch, his back to you.

He feels the weight shift when you sit up and he turns to look at you. Your lips pull into a smile at his mussed hair. A glimpse at the boy you once knew.

“Is it still storming?” you ask, listening for the rain.

“Yeah,” he says softly. As if on cue, thunder rumbles in the distance.

“What’s up?”

“Freaked out about burning those tunnels,” he answers honestly. He looks down at his watch to see it’s half past midnight. It’d only been forty-five minutes since he first lay down next to you. “Do you know when the storm’s supposed to let up?”

“The forecast said around 2 a.m.,” you respond. “It’s just a waiting game now. It’s really not safe to drive in. They said zero visibility.”

“Shit,” Steve mumbles nervously, his legs bouncing quickly.

“We can do this, Steve,” you console him. “We just have to wait. Once it’s go-time, we’ll do what we need to do.” It’s strange - when you were kids, Steve was always the one giving you the confidence boost. The roles have reversed.

“I can’t get you involved, too,” Steve says.

“I’ve already decided I’m involved when I pulled out that fake gun.”

This earns a chuckle from him, gifting you with a glint of joy. You gaze at his jawline, the shallow dimple in his cheek.

Steve shifts so his full body is turned towards you and the two of you are facing each other on the couch.

“I missed you,” Steve says. His brows are knitted together and he places a hand on the couch in between you, a gesture of cease-fire, of peace. “I’ll never do anything like that again if you’ll let me in.”

You look down at his big hand on the faded blue mattress and with a quickened breath, you decide to meet him halfway and put your hand over his.

The two of you stare at each other, the storm enduring outside, your hearts pounding in unison.

“I missed you, too,” you say in the dimness filling the room. “Try to get some rest, okay?”

He can’t remember the last time he felt so cared for. He realizes it must have been when you two were still friends. 

Steve lies down and you face each other, eyes locked. He knows the biggest mistake he ever made was leaving you, but he is sure in this moment, he will never do that to you again. The only way he’d ever go separate ways from you is if you choose to.

Through the years, you thought you wanted to hurt Steve the way he hurt you. But you realize that’s not really what you wanted. You just wanted Steve again. After he groveled, of course. 

He gazes at you, your hair framing your face, your eyes perfect and your lips parting like you’re going to say something. He’s hanging on every possible word.

“It’ll take time, Steve,” you tell him. “For me to fully trust you again.”

“If it takes years, I’ll still be here,” he answers. 

And you’re sure you’re completely contradicting yourself when you do this, but you inch forward, inviting him to take the friendship you once had and are building once again to the next level.

Steve’s breath is caught in his throat - he’s not sure if this is really happening. He stares at you, gazing into your eyes, their urgency asking you if this is real.

You only silently nod and he closes the distance, meeting your lips with his tenderly, and he swears, fireworks are exploding throughout his body.

You melt beneath his kiss, pulled back to the summer days by the poolside, to the gentle glances and the silly jokes and the serious conversations.

You slowly part, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing against each other.

“I’m not gonna mess this up,” Steve promises.

“I believe you,” you reply. And you mean it.

You doze off, wrapped up in each other, not sure what the night, let alone the future, will bring. But your heart tells you that the boy you once loved never really left. He just got lost along the way, but found himself again. And thankfully, he found you again, too.

Your arms burn beneath the unyielding straps that the soldiers wrapped around you and Steve. Your heart is pounding like it's threatening to jump out of your chest, and with every gasp of breath, the trap tightens, your back flush against Steve's.

The soldiers are speaking amongst each other, menacingly circling you and Steve like a pack of vultures. It's been like this for at least fifteen minutes, if you can even count on your grasp of time right now.

So far, one soldier had been interrogating you and Steve, demanding you tell him who you work for over and over as if your honest answer will change.

You have no idea how you ended up here.

Well, you do. You stuck your nose in Steve's business because you have a crush on him. You've been into him since you started working at Scoops a few months ago. How were you supposed to know that inserting yourself into the sneaky whispers Steve and Dustin were sharing would turn into you cracking a code and ending up in a secret Russian bunker?

Trapped in a secret Russian bunker. None of this feels real. It can't be.

Until you feel the hot whip of a slap against your cheek. That brings you back to reality. You yelp in pain and feel Steve rattle aggressively behind you, wrangling against you.

"Don't touch her!" Steve shouts. You've never heard him sound so desperate.

You dip your head, chin to your chest, as tears spring out of your eyes. Anxiety pools into your stomach - this could just be the start of the torture.

"We don't know anything," you mutter for the hundredth time. "We work... in a damn... ice cream shop."

Steve wants to kill them. Especially the interrogating soldier who just hurt you. He feels so stupid. Why did he allow you to get involved?

When you started at Scoops, he was eager to get to know the new girl. He quickly learned not only were you beautiful, but kind, funny, and wickedly smart. Hell, they likely wouldn't have cracked the code without you.

But now you're here. It's his fault.

"Are you okay?" he mumbles softly to you, turning his head as far back as it'll go.

"Yeah," you reply, choked up tone betraying you.

Fuck. Steve can tell you're lying. You're not okay. How could you be?

The interrogating soldier steps in front of Steve again and Steve is sure he wants to murder the man.

"You have one more chance before we resort to... harsher measures," the soldier says with his thick accent, leaning over in front of Steve. "Who do you work for?"

"Let her go," Steve says, his strangled words coming out like a whine. The protectiveness he has over you surprises you, and somehow hurts and warms your heart at the same time. "Just let her go. Do whatever you want to me but please-"

You cringe as you hear a hard smack, Steve's body rattling against yours.

"Stop! Jesus, stop!" you scream, feeling like your throat is closing in on itself. The soldier doesn't relent, and every jab, every groan from Steve, makes your stomach drop lower and lower.

Tears burn your cheeks as you wrangle in your constrictions. Finally, the blows cease, and the soldier mutters something to the others before they exit the small, clinical room.

"Please tell me you're okay," you mumble, shaking. Your cheek still stings from the slap, but you're sure it's nothing close to what Steve is feeling.

"I'm definitely not lookin' as pretty as usual right now," Steve groans, heaving. Of course he's making jokes at a time like this.

"We're going to get out of here," you console, realizing you're saying it not only for Steve's comfort, but your own, too.

The door slams open again and your blood freezes. A soldier you hadn't seen before doesn't spare a second to sink a needle into the side of your neck, causing you to shriek in pain and fear.

Based on Steve's protests, you can tell he's getting the same treatment.

"What the hell is that?" he shouts, shaking against you.

This can't be happening. It has to be a nightmare.

"You'll see," the soldier replies with an evil chuckle. The men leave as quickly as entered, leaving you and Steve in silence again.

"God, I hope the kids are okay," you whisper, heart lurching at the thought of Dustin and Erica running around down here.

"With those attitudes? They won't let anything happen to them," Steve assures, watching blood drip from the wounds on his face onto his blue shorts. It's sweet how you're thinking of them, too. He doesn't know what he'd do if something happened to Dustin and Erica.

Steve groans and tilts back, finding solace in resting against the back of his head against yours.

"This okay?" he asks with a tired voice, wondering what the hell kind of chemical is rushing through his veins right now.

"Yeah," you answer quickly. "Did they hit you hard?"

"I may be bleeding," Steve replies.

"God," you whisper, shaking your head.

"It's okay, red's my color," he says.

"Steve," you whisper, but a chuckle bubbles up in your throat. The chuckle turns into a laugh as the feeling of floating fills your body. It's like you're drunk.

"What?" Steve asks. He loves the sound of your laugh, always has, but he's concerned about your sudden outburst.

"It's just..." Your voice trails off into laughter again. Steve is confused. Until it hits him.

He begins to giggle, and soon, both of you are laughing in unison, loopy and delirious.

"We're in a fucking Russian bunker," you mutter, laughing, "under a mall. I just wanted a summer job. What the hell?"

"You know, I thought they wanted to hurt us," Steve replies with a giggle, "but I feel kinda good."

"I feel great," you sigh as euphoria spilling through your veins. "What, they like us all of a sudden?"

"Maybe they want free ice cream," Steve says. It makes you kick your legs in laughter.

"They won't get any from me. I quit."

"You can't quit," Steve whines, rolling his head against yours. "I can't survive without you."

"Oh, you'll be okay," you reply.

"No way. I need you there."

"I can come in as a customer," you propose. "Actually, maybe then, I could be on the receiving end of those famous Harrington moves. Always wondered what that was like."

"What moves?" he laughs.

"You know, the way you flirt with all the girls who come in," you reply.

"You want me to flirt with you?" Steve asks. Even with the sparks and buzzes he feels in his brain, he can think clearly enough to know he does flirt with you - not with customers; that's just schmoozing to get a tip. He flirts with you. Basically every shift you have together. Do you not realize that?

And wait - if you want him to flirt with you, could that mean you like him back?

You just giggle, so Steve blurts it out.

"I flirt with you all the time," he says, shaking his head. "You don't see that?"

"Oh, yeah right," you laugh.

The doors open again. You expect the soldiers to enter, but it's Dustin and Erica with wide eyes.

"Hey, kids!" you whisper, laughing.

"The kids are here!" Steve whispers behind you, chuckling.

"Are you guys drunk?" Dustin asks, rushing over to remove the belts holding you in place.

"We're definitely something," you respond.

"Hurry!" Erica calls, keeping watch at the door.

The feeling of the constrictions being loosened is incredible and you stand on wobbly knees, finally facing Steve. His face is beaten to a pulp, blood smeared under his nose.

"Shit, Steve," you whisper.

"Is it that bad?" he asks.

"We have to run," Dustin interrupts. "You ready?"

As the four of you sprint down the hallway, the drug thankfully making all the pain you had in your muscles subside, you feel your hand be gently grasped.

You look down to see that Steve has taken your hand, running with you, his hair feathering with every stride. God, even beaten up, the man is handsome.

It takes a minute to adjust to his touch. The closest you'd ever gotten to him was accidentally bumping into him while working. This feels intimate.

Escaping the bunker is a blur, mainly because you feel extremely nauseous the whole time.

The feeling of being out of the elevator is otherworldly. The four of you made it. You almost want to cry, but your body is still making you laugh.

You all stand in the dark, empty mall.

"You okay?" Steve asks, gazing over your features. You're so pretty that it nearly sends him into a trance outside of the one he's already in.

"Ask yourself that, Steve," you reply, eyes studying his injuries. "I think you're gonna need a lot of Advil."

"Come on," Dustin urges, beckoning you deeper into the mall.

"Question - can we go to a restroom? I'm gonna throw up," you ask, following the kids.

"Hey, me too!" Steve says with a chuckle.

"Fine, but hurry!" Dustin says.

"So bossy," Steve mumbles, making you laugh again.

You make it to your destination and after Dustin instructs you not to leave each other's sight, nor the restroom, he and Erica run off. You're seated on the tiled floor, head and stomach spinning.

You vomit a few times, flushing over and over, and you hear Steve do the same.

"Nothing bonds people like barfing together," you say, voice echoing through the restroom.

Steve is sitting in the stall next to yours, and you can spot his legs stretched out on the floor. He stares down at his shoes, thinking about how much you'd been through tonight all because of him.

He'll never get the sound of your shriek after you'd been hit out of his head. Even with everything that had happened to him, that was the worst part of tonight.

"Where'd he hit you?" Steve asks, raking a hand through his hair.

"My cheek," you respond. "And it looked like he hit you... everywhere. Does it hurt?"

Being able to hear but not see Steve is reminding you of the bunker.

"Yeah, I think I'm starting to come down," Steve says.

"Me, too," you reply. "What was that, some kind of truth serum?"

"I hope not," Steve says. "That means you're being honest about quitting."

You chuckle, and the sound is sweet to Steve's ears. You stare at his legs, the stall blocking you from seeing his face.

"I was trying to be funny," you reply. "I can't leave. You need me. You can't make banana splits if your life depended on it."

"Hey," Steve whines from the other stall. "Don't act like cutting a banana perfectly in half is easy."

"Some people just got it," you say.

"Like you?"

"Exactly," you answer.

Steve can't take not looking at you any longer, so he shifts and slides himself beneath the stall wall, finally meeting your eyes once he rests his back on the wall opposite to you.

He can't fully see out of his right eye - it's surely swollen. But what he can see is you: hair mussed, gaze tired, knees tucked up, and looking beautiful as ever.

The two of you face each other in the tiny stall, seemingly both thinking about what you had just survived.

He hasn't forgotten your coy remark about flirting. It feels ridiculous to fixate on that with everything that's gone on today, but he can't let it dissolve into nothingness. He wants so badly to bring it up, take whatever courage he has left from that drug.

"You think they'll find us?" you ask, worried about the soldiers that had taken you captive.

"Nah," Steve says, even though he's been thinking the same. "Look how easily we outran them. With two kids. They're not exactly the smartest." You chuckle and take in his darkened eyes. You were sure you'd die earlier tonight - you can't live any longer hiding your feelings from him.

He beats you to it.

"You know I do flirt with you, right?" Steve asks, a slight drag in his voice.

You feel your lips perk up into a small smile.

"Or am I that bad at it that you can't tell?" he adds. Truthfully, he was always a bit more hesitant than usual whenever he flirted with you at work. He really didn't want to mess things up with you. Still doesn't.

"I thought you were just being nice," you reply, looking down at his name tag.

"I thought you were just being nice," Steve says. You blush. "Were you?"

Seeing him nervous like this makes your stomach numb. Your gaze follows the spattered blood on his collar. It's heartbreaking.

"No," you answer simply. You tilt your head adorably, and Steve feels like his heart is going to explode right there.

You gaze at him, the evidence of everything that had happened that night on his swollen face. Before you can offer to help clean him up, the shriek of the fire alarms startles you.

"What now?" Steve groans, frustrated the moment's been ruined.

You hear the door swing open, and you expect the worst and slide forward to find Steve's hand. He takes it quickly, his hand warm and big. It feels natural to hold him like this now.

"We gotta go!" you recognize Dustin's voice. You and Steve meet eyes and stand up.

You thought you had already seen everything tonight, but after a ruthless battle in the heart of the mall, you're convinced you're trapped in a weird, vivid dream.

Ages pass before you're outside the mall in the summer night, sitting in Steve's passenger seat with the window rolled down, the mall being eaten by flames behind you.

The kids have already been picked up by their respective guardians, and Steve settles in his seat and turns his key in his engine. You haven't said much to anyone since the jarring battle.

"I shouldn't have gotten you involved in this," Steve mumbles once he looks over to see the faraway look in your eyes.

"Did you really have a choice?" you quip. You gaze at him and he smirks. You were pretty relentless with getting included in Steve and Dustin's mission.

"Still," he says. "Pretty sure you got enough trauma to last a lifetime."

"Says the guy with a busted up face," you reply.

"Busted up?" he jokingly whines. You only shrug.

Steve drives his BMW out of the parking lot. He can see out if his swollen injured eye, but not the best, so he's driving carefully and slowly, knowing he couldn't bear to put you into any more danger.

"What'd the paramedics say?" you question.

"Nothing broken. Painkillers and ice for the swelling. You?"

"Just shock," you respond. But you can tell you'll be bruised and sore tomorrow morning.

Steve nods solemnly, still blaming himself for letting you write yourself into this horror story.

You look over at him again, his gaze fixed on the road. With your mom working the night shift, unwise to the fact that you've been out all night, you realize she likely will assume you're asleep when she gets home in the morning and will go straight to bed herself. Totally unaware of what her daughter experienced tonight.

And you know Steve's parents are out of town again. You don't want to be alone.

"Can I crash at yours tonight?" you ask boldly. The drug has worn off, but a shred of your bravery has somehow stuck around.

Steve reaches across the console, placing a comforting hand on your knee. The contact makes your heart skip.

"Yeah," he says softly, like he was waiting for you to ask. You watch the passing street lights cast highlights and shadows on his profile as he focuses on driving.

When you pull into the driveway of Steve's massive house, knowing you'll be in the same building as him brings you comfort.

You exit the car silently, both wondering if the other remembers the conversation on the restroom floor, remembers the weight of your words.

You enter the dark, quiet house, nerves fluttering between both of you.

"There's a guest room down the hall and a shower right next to it," Steve says nervously. "There should be shampoo in there. I'll grab you a towel."

"Thank you," you stammer.

Once you have the soft cotton towel in your hands, you thank Steve and pace towards the guest room, not saying good night or anything of the sort to him, because you don't want this to be to the end of the night.

Once the hot water hits your back, you sigh from relief and lather the strawberry-scented shampoo in your hair. It's not until you wrap the towel around you that you realize you don't have a change of clothes.

When Steve hears a knock and your voice from his en suite, his breath catches in his throat. Even though you were only downstairs, you felt like miles away from him. He's relieved you're close by.

Steve has been trying to wash his face over the sink, his shirt peeled off and crumbled on the floor so he can stop having to look at the stains on it, but the painful swelling scattered over his face has not made cleaning up easy. He hasn't even gotten into the shower yet, concerned about what the water will feel like on his wounds.

He wipes his hands and walks over to his bedroom door to see you on the other with wet hair and a big white towel wrapped around your body.

He tries not to gawk.

You do the same once you realize he's down to just his Scoops shorts, his chest bare.

"Just realized I don't have pajamas," you say with a sweet chuckle. "Have any I can borrow?"

"Shit, sorry," Steve says. "Didn't even think of that."

"It's okay, neither did I," you reply. "We had a crazy night." You watch as he paces over to his dresser and picks out a few clothes.

His room is big and neat and quite dark; it doesn't reflect the boy you know at all. You wonder how much say he had in what his own bedroom looked like.

"Here," Steve says, handing you a small ball of clothes.

"Thank you," you say softly. You take a beat before speaking again. "How's your face? Can I help clean you up?"

"That'd be..." he sighs. "That'd be really nice."

"Sure," you reply gladly. "I'll be back."

After going downstairs to change into too-big sweatpants and a faded blue t-shirt that reads "Hawkins High Athletic Dept", you softly knock on Steve's door again.

"Come in!" he calls from the restroom connected to his room. You make your way through the room, the carpeting soft against your bare feet, and meet Steve, who's standing over his sink with a small hand towel in his grip.

"Our second time in a bathroom together in 24 hours," he quips, and despite the pain and fear of the night, you laugh.

"Here, I can take that," you say, motioning to the blood-stained hand towel. Steve gives it to you, then turns to lean against the countertop, looking down at you with wide eyes. The way you look in his clothes makes his stomach do a somersault.

You give him a small, nervous smile and run the hand towel under warm water before facing him again, lightly padding the towel over his cheeks, slowly wiping off dried blood. You can see the soft brown hair peppering his chest in your peripheral, and seeing Steve like this, so vulnerable, in such a natural state, makes your heart rate go even faster.

"How bad does it hurt?" you ask.

"I'm tough," Steve replies with a shrug.

"God, Harrington," you say with a chuckle. The way you shake your head is so cute to him that it takes everything in him not to reach out and kiss you. "Be honest for once."

"About what?" he asks. You still, the cloth hovering over his chin now, where a big gash trails down from his lip.

"Everything," you answer vaguely.

"I was," he responds. Air feels heavier around you now; he remembers that conversation and so do you and both of you know it and now there's no skirting around it.

"So was I," you say. You trap your bottom lip under your teeth as you look up at him, the moment feeling fragile as if it's made of glass. Your hand drops, the towel still in your grasp.

You continue to stare, and Steve's heart nearly breaks at the sadness in your eyes.

"What?" he asks, worrying you're about to tell him it'll never work, you two could never actually be together.

Tears threaten to pool out as you think more about it. About what he'd done down in the bunker.

"You told them to let me go and to... take you," you say softly. "I can't believe you did that."

"Are you kidding?" Steve says with a gentle chuckle. "Of course I did. Hearing you..." He looks down, shakes his head, squints a bit. "Hearing you cry like that, I... It was harder to deal with than anything they could've done to me."

You let out a deep breath and lean forward, giving into your impulse to just hold him, hold the man who would've sacrificed himself for you.

Steve takes you in his arms immediately, his biceps firm against your sides, his big hands covering your lower back.

"In case you don't know, I like you a lot," you mumble into his neck. You can smell a mix of his sweat and cologne, and God, nothing has ever smelled better.

"I like you more," Steve mumbles. He never wants to let you go. He could stay in this moment forever.

Once you lean back, you study his swollen face, and if you weren't sure you were falling for him before when he was just your cute and charming coworker, you know now when he stands before you, a vulnerable and gentle and kind man.

"It won't hurt me if we kiss," Steve says softly, "if you were wondering."

"You sure? You got a bruise right-"

"I'm sure," he interrupts.

You crack a smile, feel blood rush to your cheeks, and close the distance to press your lips against his tenderly. You feel Steve's hands press against your hips and you've never felt so safe in your life.

When you break apart, Steve's dark eyes travel over your face and a part of him is scared. Scared that this is all something that's in the heat of the moment and you'll call it off the next time you see each other. Hell, maybe you really will quit your job.

But the way you smile at him puts his heart at ease.

"Mind if I sleep in your bed tonight?" you ask, brows furrowed in concern.

The fact that you just asked that, and the fact that Steve smiles widely at the question, assures both of you that there is no hesitation on either side. You both meant everything you said, and you have no intention on taking it back.