Hella Rapscallion

“Hey,” he said, trying for casual. “Sorry. Got held up.”

That was all.

You climbed in and shut the door harder than you meant to, the sound filling the car before you could pretend you hadn’t done it on purpose.

Steve glanced over at you, one hand still resting on the gear stick. “Okay. That sounded personal.”

“It wasn’t,” you said, looking ahead.

“It definitely was.”

“I’m fine.”

Steve stared at you for a second, and even without looking at him properly, you could feel the way his attention settled on the side of your face. “That’s not a fine face.”

You turned to him. “I don’t have a fine face.”

“Yeah, you do. It’s this little…” He gestured vaguely, as if drawing your expression in the air. “Tight mouth thing.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have a tight mouth thing if you weren’t always late.”

Steve blinked, like he hadn’t expected the conversation to turn that quickly. For a second, there was still room for him to soften, still room for you to smile and make it less serious than it sounded, but neither of you took the chance.

“I said I was sorry,” he said.

“You said you got held up.”

“Okay, and then I said sorry.”

“Barely.”

He let out a small laugh, but there was no humour in it, only frustration starting to edge into his voice. “What do you want me to do, get on my knees in the parking lot?”

“No, Steve. I want you to show up when you say you will.”

The car went quiet.

Steve looked away first, pulling out of the parking lot with his jaw set and his hand a little too tight on the steering wheel. “I’m twenty minutes late.”

“You’re always twenty minutes late.”

“That’s not true.”

“It kind of is.”

“Right,” he said, nodding once as he looked at the road. “Okay. So we’re doing this.”

You frowned. “Doing what?”

“The thing where one small thing suddenly means I’m the worst boyfriend in Hawkins.”

“I never said that.”

“You’re acting like it.”

“I’m acting like I’m annoyed because I was waiting for you.”

“And I’m acting like I’m sorry because I was late.”

“No, you’re acting like I’m dramatic for being annoyed.”

Steve glanced at you, his eyebrows lifting before he could stop himself. “You are being a little dramatic.”

The second he said it, you both felt the shift.

Your face dropped, and Steve’s expression changed too, just enough to show he knew he had said the wrong thing. But pride got there before the apology did, and instead of taking it back, he tightened his grip on the wheel and stared ahead.

“Seriously?” you said.

He exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I meant-” He stopped himself, shaking his head as if he already knew whatever came next would make it worse. “Forget it.”

You turned toward the window, watching the passing streetlights blur into soft gold lines against the glass.

Fine.

If he wanted to forget it, you would forget it.

Except neither of you did.

The silence stretched all the way to your house, but it did not make anything better. It only gave you both more time to sit in everything you had said, more time to replay the little digs, more time to feel hurt without admitting that was what you were feeling.

When Steve finally pulled up outside your house, he parked by the curb but left the engine running, one hand still on the wheel like he was already halfway to leaving.

That annoyed you even more, partly because you knew he was probably just unsure what to do, and partly because you hated that he was making you ask.

“You can come in, you know,” you said, though your tone made it sound more like a challenge than an invitation.

Steve looked at you carefully. “Do you want me to?”

“Do you want to?”

He gave a frustrated little laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Why are you answering everything with another question?”

“Why are you acting like being here is a chore?”

“I’m not.”

“You literally haven’t turned the car off.”

Steve looked at the keys, then back at you. “Because I didn’t know if you wanted me to come in.”

“You could ask.”

“I just did.”

“No, you asked like you were hoping I’d say no.”

He leaned back in his seat, his shoulders tense and his expression caught somewhere between hurt and irritation. “I can’t win with you tonight.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

You turned to him fully. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m trying, and everything I say is apparently wrong.”

“You’re not trying. You’re defending yourself.”

“Because you’re acting like I did something awful.”

“I’m acting like I wanted to spend time with you and you showed up late, then made me feel stupid for caring.”

Steve’s expression changed for a second. Softer. Guilty. Like the words had actually reached him.

But then he looked away.

“I didn’t make you feel stupid.”

The softness in you closed again, because for one tiny moment you had thought he understood, and then he had gone straight back to proving his point.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m not deciding it. I’m saying that wasn’t what I meant.”

“But it is what you did.”

Steve’s fingers tapped once against the wheel. “Okay. So what do you want me to say?”

The question came out tired, but it sounded dismissive, like he was asking for the correct answer instead of actually wanting to understand you.

You stared at him. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Nothing makes a girl feel loved like her boyfriend asking what line he’s supposed to say to stop the argument.”

Steve closed his eyes briefly. “That is not what I meant.”

“Then maybe think before you say things.”

He looked at you then, and for half a second, the hurt on his face was plain before he covered it with a harder expression. “I do think.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The car went silent.

You regretted it almost immediately. Not enough to say so, not yet, but enough for your stomach to twist and for your fingers to curl slightly in your lap.

Steve looked forward, his jaw tight. “Nice.”

You swallowed. “Steve-”

“No, it’s fine.” He nodded once, eyes fixed on the road ahead even though the car was still parked. “Apparently I don’t think. I don’t try. I’m always late. Got it.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That is exactly what you said.”

“No, it’s what you’re choosing to hear.”

He laughed under his breath, bitter this time, and you hated it. You hated the way it made you feel like he had already decided you were impossible, like he had stopped seeing why you were hurt and only saw the argument itself.

“Right,” he said. “Yeah. Of course.”

“You know what?” you said, reaching for the door handle because leaving suddenly felt easier than staying there and letting the whole thing get worse. “Forget it.”

Steve turned his head. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“You’re just leaving?”

“You were clearly about to anyway.”

“I was parked outside your house.”

“With the engine still on.”

“Because we were talking.”

“No, we were arguing.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rising slightly now, “because you’re mad at me for being late, and I’m trying to explain-”

“You’re not explaining, Steve. You’re making excuses.”

That did it.

His expression shut down.

“Fine,” he said.

The word landed between you like a door slamming.

You waited for him to say something else. To soften. To reach for your hand. To do any of the things he usually did when he realised you were both going too far.

But he didn’t.

He just stared ahead, breathing hard through his nose, and the longer he said nothing, the more impossible it felt for you to say anything either.

Your hand tightened on the door handle.

Fine.

You opened the door and got out.

The cold air hit you instantly, but you barely felt it as you shut the door, harder than you meant to, and started toward your house. Behind you, Steve didn’t drive away, and for one second you thought he might get out.

You wanted him to.

You wanted to hear his car door open. You wanted him to call your name, to come after you, to say the whole thing had been stupid and he was sorry and could you both please just stop before you said something else you couldn’t take back.

But nothing happened.

So you kept walking.

When you reached your front door, you glanced back despite yourself.

Steve was still there, hands on the wheel, head lowered slightly, and for one tiny second your anger wavered because he looked less angry than lost.

Then his headlights shifted as he pulled away from the curb.

Your chest tightened.

Fine.

If he could leave, then you could let him.

You went inside without looking back again.

Hours later, the argument felt even stupider.

That was the worst part.

It hadn’t been about anything serious, not really. It had started with Steve being late, then a comment, then a look, then him saying something sharper than he meant to and you snapping back before you could stop yourself. Within minutes, it had grown into something neither of you knew how to get out of without being the first one to back down.

Now you could barely remember who had actually started it.

All you knew was that Steve had left with his jaw tight and his hands fixed on the steering wheel, and you had let him go because you were too proud to ask him to stay.

You told yourself you weren’t waiting for him.

You weren’t.

You were just sitting on your bed, staring at the same page of your book for the past twenty minutes because the words would not settle in your head. Every little noise outside made your eyes flick toward the window, and every time the phone stayed silent, your chest pulled a little tighter.

He was probably still mad.

Fine.

You were still mad too.

At least, you were trying to be.

You had replayed the argument so many times that the words had started to blur together. One second you remembered Steve’s face when you snapped at him, the way his expression had dropped before he covered it with irritation, and the next you remembered him looking away from you, muttering something under his breath like he didn’t trust himself to speak properly.

You hated that part most.

Not because he had left, exactly, but because you had stood there and watched him go. You had waited for him to turn around. You had wanted him to. But when he didn’t, you had folded your arms, lifted your chin, and pretended you didn’t care.

You cared.

Far too much.

Your room felt quieter without him in it. Usually, Steve had a way of filling the space even when he wasn’t doing much. He would sit at the end of your bed and flick through one of your magazines, making little comments under his breath, or he would complain that your window was impossible to open even though he still insisted on climbing through it half the time.

Now, the silence felt pointed.

Lonely.

You closed your book and threw it lightly beside you before pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes.

“I’m not apologising first,” you muttered to yourself.

The sentence sounded childish out loud, which only made you more annoyed.

Then there was a knock at your window.

You froze.

For a second, you thought you had imagined it. Then another knock came, quieter this time, followed by a familiar voice through the glass.

“Don’t throw anything at me.”

Your heart betrayed you immediately.

You got up slowly, pulling the curtain back to find Steve Harrington standing outside your window, hair slightly messy and jacket zipped halfway, holding a paper bag in one hand and looking far less confident than he usually tried to.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then he gave you a small, awkward wave with the hand holding the bag.

You opened the window but didn’t move aside yet. “What are you doing here?”

Steve looked down at the bag, then back at you. “I brought you something.”

You glanced at it. “Is that supposed to fix everything?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I know it doesn’t. I just…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes dropped from yours. “It’s your favourite snack.”

Your expression softened before you could stop it.

Of course he remembered.

Steve noticed things like that, even when he pretended he didn’t. He remembered which flavour you picked out first, how you always claimed you weren’t hungry and then stole half of his food anyway, and the small details you mentioned once and forgot about until he brought them back to you like they mattered.

“I’m still mad at you,” you said, but your voice had lost most of its edge.

“I know.”

“And you were being annoying.”

“I know.”

“And stubborn.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Okay, that one feels a little unfair coming from you.”

You gave him a look.

Steve immediately nodded. “Right. Not the time.”

For a moment, the silence sat between you both. It wasn’t heavy like before, but it was awkward and careful, like both of you were standing on opposite sides of something fragile and neither wanted to be the one to break it again.

Then Steve held the bag out a little.

“I miss you,” he said.

It was quiet, so quiet you almost thought you had imagined it.

Your throat tightened.

Steve looked embarrassed as soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes dropping to the window ledge as he let out a small breath. “I know it’s only been a few hours, and I know that sounds dramatic, but I do. I hate fighting with you. I hate walking away and pretending I’m fine when I’m just driving around like an idiot, thinking about what I should’ve said instead.”

You looked at him for a long moment.

The anger you had been holding onto felt smaller now, not gone completely, but softer around the edges.

“You were driving around?” you asked.

Steve huffed, glancing away. “Yeah.”

“Steve.”

“I know.”

“That’s very dramatic.”

He looked back at you. “I literally just said that.”

A tiny smile pulled at your mouth, and Steve’s shoulders dropped like that one small reaction had taken half the weight off him.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted. “I went past Family Video twice. Then Dustin’s house, but I didn’t stop because I knew he’d somehow make it worse. Then I ended up buying that.” He nodded toward the bag. “And then I sat in my car for ten minutes trying to decide if showing up here made me look pathetic.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “A little.”

Steve sighed. “Great. Love that.”

“But in a sweet way.”

His eyes flicked back to yours. “Yeah?”

You nodded, softer now. “Yeah.”

Steve swallowed, his hand still resting on the window frame. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For what I said. And for leaving like that. I shouldn’t have.”

You looked down at the bag in your hands, the paper crinkling under your fingers.

“I’m sorry too,” you said quietly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“You kind of had a reason.”

“So did you.”

“Maybe,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “But I still hated it. The second I walked away, I hated it.”

You glanced up at him.

Steve’s face had gone serious in that way it sometimes did when he was trying not to joke his way out of something. His hair was falling slightly out of place, and there was a nervous little crease between his brows.

“I don’t want us to be like that,” he said. “The whole saying things just to win thing. I don’t want to win if it means you look at me like that after.”

Your chest ached because you knew exactly what he meant. You had both been trying so hard to prove a point that neither of you had stopped to listen properly, and now that the anger had thinned out, all that was left underneath it was how much you hated being apart from him.

“I don’t either,” you said.

Another silence passed, but this one felt different.

Gentler.

You finally stepped back from the window. “Are you coming in or are you planning to stand there looking sad all night?”

Steve blinked, then pointed at himself. “I looked sad?”

“You looked very sad.”

“I was going for regretful.”

“Same thing.”

He started to climb through the window, which would have been much more graceful if his foot had not caught on the frame halfway in.

“Careful,” you said, grabbing his arm.

“I’m fine,” Steve said quickly, despite nearly falling into your room. “Totally fine. Very smooth.”

“You almost face-planted.”

“Didn’t, though.”

You shook your head, but you were smiling properly now, and Steve noticed that too.

Once he was inside, he stood in front of you, close enough that you could smell his cologne and the cold air still clinging to his jacket. For a moment, neither of you said anything, and then Steve reached out gently, his fingers brushing your sleeve like he still wasn’t completely sure he was allowed to touch you.

“I really did miss you,” he said again, softer this time.

Your chest warmed.

You leaned into him before you could overthink it, wrapping your arms around his waist, and Steve didn’t hesitate. He pulled you in immediately, one hand settling against your back while the other cradled the back of your head, holding you like he had been waiting all night to do it.

For a while, neither of you moved.

His hold was firm, almost like he was trying to apologise through it, like he wanted you to understand all the things he had been too stubborn to say earlier.

“I was waiting for you to apologise first,” you mumbled into his jacket.

Steve laughed under his breath. “Yeah, me too.”

“That was stupid.”

“Really stupid.”

“You’re still stubborn.”

“So are you.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, and Steve’s mouth twitched.

“But, like, in a cute way.”

“Careful.”

“Right. Sorry.”

You shook your head, trying not to laugh as he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. It was slow and soft, lingering just long enough to make your eyes close.

When he pulled back, he brushed his thumb lightly over your sleeve.

“Next time,” he said, “we should probably not wait hours to say sorry.”

“Probably not.”

“And maybe one of us should be the bigger person.”

You looked at him.

He nodded seriously. “I vote you.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly. “Steve.”

“What? You’re very emotionally mature.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet you missed me.”

You tried to glare at him, but it came out too fond to work.

Steve smiled, warm and pleased, then reached for the paper bag still sitting between you. “So,” he said, holding it up, “am I forgiven enough to share these, or is this more of a peace offering I have to surrender completely?”

You took the bag from him. “I’ll think about it.”

“That means yes.”

“That means sit down.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of your bed like he belonged there, because he did. You joined him a second later, the space between you smaller than it had been all night, and Steve watched as you opened the bag, his knee brushing yours.

“You really remembered my favourite?” you asked.

He looked almost offended. “Of course I remembered.”

“I’m just checking.”

“I remember everything.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Steve paused. “Okay, not everything. But important things.”

Your smile softened.

He nudged your knee gently with his. “You’re important.”

The words were simple, but they settled into you anyway.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, and Steve shifted at once, making room for you like it was instinct. His arm came around you a moment later, warm and familiar, and for a few minutes neither of you said much at all.

The argument wasn’t fixed all at once, not completely. There were still things to talk about, still feelings to untangle, still apologies that would mean more because of what happened after them rather than what was said in the moment. But Steve was there, holding you like he didn’t want to let go, and your favourite snack was sitting between you like a tiny peace offering.

When he pressed another kiss to the top of your head and whispered, “Still mad?”

You looked up at him, pretending to consider it.

“A little.”

Steve nodded. “Fair.”

“But less.”

His smile came back, soft and relieved. “I can work with less.”

For now, that was enough.

keys had always been the type to talk when his brain was running at full speed, even if the rest of the world was winding down. you’d learned that pretty early into dating him. sometimes it was about code, sometimes about bugs in the game, sometimes about ideas that woke him up at three in the morning and refused to let him sleep again.

tonight was one of those nights.

the room was dim except for the soft yellow light from the lamp on the nightstand. you were already curled up under the blankets, half facing him while he laid on his back beside you, staring up at the ceiling like it was a whiteboard.

“because if the ai can learn patterns from the players,” he was saying, hands moving a little as he talked, “then technically the npcs wouldn’t just repeat dialogue trees. they’d adapt. like actually adapt. which means the world would feel way more-”

he stopped for half a second, searching for the word.

“alive” he finished quietly.

you hummed softly in agreement, eyes half closed. honestly, you didn’t understand all of it. a lot of the technical stuff flew right over your head.

but you liked listening to him.

the way he got excited about it. the way his voice sped up when he was onto something. the little pauses where he’d realise he was rambling and glance over at you to make sure you were still awake.

you always were. at least long enough.

“and if that works,” he continued, softer now, “then it might actually fix the interaction loop that’s been breaking the side quests, which would mean-”

he turned his head toward you mid-sentence.

you were still looking at him, but barely. sleep was already pulling at you.

his voice softened immediately.

“am i keeping you up?”

“no,” you murmured, voice slow with sleep. “i like listening.”

he smiled at that, the kind that was small but real.

lately, nights like this were the only time you really had him. between the long hours at work and the way he’d stay late trying to fix things or test things or 'just run one more build', he wasn’t home nearly as much as he used to be.

and when he was, he was still half in the game.

he wasn’t distant when he was with you. not at all. he was still the same soft, sweet guy who kissed your forehead without thinking and held your hand while you walked places.

he just… wasn’t around enough lately.

you shifted a little closer under the blankets.

“keys?”

“yeah?”

you hesitated for a second. you didn’t want to make it a whole thing. he already looked tired most days.

so you just asked lightly, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“if i make dinner tomorrow… like a nice one… will you come home early?”

he blinked, surprised by the question.

“like… early early?” he asked.

“mhm.” your voice was already fading toward sleep. “just us.”

for about half a second he clearly thought about something work-related. you could practically see the gears turning.

then he looked at you again.

“yeah” he said. “yeah, of course.”

you relaxed a little at that.

he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. then another.

“what are you making?” he asked quietly.

“haven’t decided yet.”

“i’m already excited” he said, smiling against your skin.

you huffed a sleepy little laugh.

a minute passed. maybe two. his arm slid around you automatically, pulling you a little closer as you drifted off.

“hey” he murmured softly.

“i’ll come home early” he repeated, almost like a promise.

then he pressed one more small kiss to your cheek, and eventually, both of you fell asleep.

-

you spent most of the day getting everything ready.

you cleaned the apartment first. not just a quick tidy, you actually cleaned it. wiped the counters, folded the blankets on the couch, opened the windows for a while so the place smelled like fresh air instead of takeout and coffee like it usually did after one of keys’ long work weeks.

then you went to the store.

you bought the stuff to make one of his favorite meals, something he’d once offhandedly said reminded him of when he was younger. you weren’t even sure if he remembered telling you that. but you did.

by the time the afternoon rolled around the place looked nice. softer somehow. you lit one of the candles you liked and set the table instead of just eating on the couch like usual.

it felt stupidly hopeful.

5:00 pm.

you checked the time on your phone again even though you’d already looked at it twice in the last minute.

keys had said he’d come home early and apparently, early early to keys meant five. you smiled to yourself a little, adjusting one of the plates on the table.

the food was done, sitting warm on the stove. you waited.

5:30.

that was fine. traffic existed. builds failed. something probably came up at work. you told yourself not to be weird about it.

6:00.

you were sitting on the couch now, legs tucked under you, scrolling on your phone but not really reading anything.

the food had probably cooled by now.

6:30.

the quiet in the apartment started to feel heavier.

you checked your phone again. no texts. no missed calls. nothing.

a small thought crept in that you immediately tried to push away.

maybe he forgot.

you sat there for a few more minutes, staring at the blank tv screen across from you.

the thought came back.

maybe he forgot about this. about you.

it stung in this weird, dull way that sat right in the middle of your chest. not sharp enough to make you cry right away. just enough to make your throat feel tight.

because last night he’d sounded so sure.

yeah, of course.

i’m already excited.

like it was a promise.

and now it was almost seven.

you sighed quietly and pushed yourself up from the couch.

“okay” you muttered to the empty apartment.

you wrapped the food up slowly, putting everything into containers and sliding them into the fridge. the kitchen that had felt warm earlier just felt quiet now.

when you were done, you changed into your pajamas.

you grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and curled up again, grabbing the remote. fantastic mr fox popped up on the screen a second later. your comfort movie.

you told yourself you were fine. that it was just dinner. that he was busy and that was normal and that you weren’t going to be dramatic about it. still, the weird little ache in your chest wouldn’t go away.

by the time the door finally unlocked it was a little after nine. you heard keys come in, keys jingling, the door shutting behind him.

“hey!” he called automatically.

his voice sounded normal. casual. like any other night.

you didn’t answer right away.

he dropped his bag somewhere near the door and started talking as he walked further inside.

“today was insane, you would not believe the bug we finally figured out” he laughed a little to himself. “millie and i were staring at this one line of code for like an hour and then-”

he stepped into the living room and finally saw you on the couch. he smiled when he saw you, completely relaxed.

“we ended up staying late again because that’s when we usually get the most work done, and millie had this idea about-”

something in his sentence snagged in your brain.

you glanced over at him.

“oh,” you said quietly. “you were with millie?”

he didn’t even notice the tone.

“yeah,” he said easily, shrugging his jacket off. “we usually stay late together. it’s just easier to get stuff done after most people leave.”

“oh” you said again.

“yeah and then we finally got this nteraction to stop looping which means-”

he kept talking as he moved further into the living room. but then he stopped. because now he could actually see your face.

his smile faded a little.

“…what?” he asked gently. “what’s wrong?”

you shrugged, eyes back on the movie.

“nothing.”

he frowned slightly.

“you look upset.”

“i’m not.”

he stood there for a second, confused.

“…how was your day?” he asked.

“fine.”

“did you do anything?”

“not really.”

keys shifted a little where he stood, clearly trying to figure out what he’d missed.

“…did you eat?” he asked.

you didn’t answer right away.

he was about to ask what you had for dinner and then it clicked. his whole face changed.

the pieces hit him all at once.

the faint smell of food still lingering in the apartment. the way you were barely looking at him.

“...shit” he breathed.

you finally looked at him again.

his expression had completely dropped.

“baby-”

“it’s whatever” you cut in quietly.

you looked back at the screen.

“it was just dinner.”

he looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

“i-”

“i’m sure millie fed you something real sweet instead.”

that made him go still.

“…what?” he said, genuinely thrown.

you laughed softly but there was nothing happy in it.

“well every single night you’re picking her over me so what is it?”

keys blinked at you.

“is it really just about the game?” you continued. “or is it because she gets all of your stupid tech shit and i don’t?”

his face fell even more.

“am i too stupid for you or something?”

he looked genuinely shocked now.

“what? no-”

“because it kinda feels like it.”

“hey-”

“every night you stay late with her,” you said, voice tight now. “every night.”

“please don’t say that,” he said quickly. “you know i wouldn’t-”

“i clearly don’t, keys.”

that shut him up.

he just stared at you.

“what am i supposed to think?” you asked. “i spent all day making the place nice and buying ingredients and cooking for you and putting so much thought into you-”

your voice cracked a little.

“-when i’m not even a passing thought in your head.”

he looked crushed.

“how much of an idiot are you trying to make me feel?”

silence filled the room.

you pushed yourself up off the couch before he could say anything else.

“wait-”

but you were already walking past him. straight to the bathroom. you shut the door behind you and locked it before he could follow. and once you were alone, the tears you’d been holding back all night finally started to fall.

-

you stayed in the bathroom longer than you meant to.

at first you were just crying. the kind that sneaks up on you and then suddenly won’t stop once it starts. you leaned against the counter, head down, trying to keep quiet even though there was no point.

the apartment was silent outside the door.

eventually the tears slowed. you splashed some water on your face, staring at yourself in the mirror for a second like you didn’t totally recognise the person looking back.

you stayed there a little longer, just breathing. trying to settle the tight feeling in your chest.

out in the kitchen, keys stood in front of the fridge.

he hadn’t really meant to open it. not at first. he’d sat on the couch for a while with his head in his hands, replaying everything you said over and over again until the words made his stomach twist.

every night you’re picking her over me. am i too stupid for you?

he pushed himself up eventually and wandered into the kitchen without thinking.

maybe he just wanted to see. maybe he wanted to make himself feel worse. he wasn’t totally sure.

he opened the fridge.

the containers were stacked neatly on the shelf.

he pulled one out.

when he opened it and saw what you’d made, his chest tightened so hard it almost hurt. it was the meal he used to love when he was a kid. the one he’d mentioned once, months ago, in passing. he hadn’t even realised you were paying that much attention.

his throat closed up.

“…oh my god” he whispered.

his eyes burned suddenly. before he could stop it, a few quiet tears slipped down his face. he rubbed at them quickly with the heel of his hand, but it didn’t really help.

“shit” he breathed.

he stood there for another moment, staring at the food like it might say something back to him. then he carefully closed the container and put it back in the fridge.

he slowly walked back into the living room, sitting down on the couch again, elbows on his knees, staring at the screen without actually seeing it.

a while later, the bathroom door opened.

you stepped out quietly.

you glanced toward the living room for half a second and saw him sitting there, staring at the now dark tv screen.

your chest tightened again.

you looked away quickly and walked straight to the bedroom.

you didn’t say anything. you just got into bed and pulled the blanket over your head, curling toward your side of the mattress.

ten minutes passed. maybe more. then you heard soft footsteps in the hallway. your breathing almost stopped.

the door creaked open slowly. keys walked in like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be there. the mattress dipped slightly when he sat down, but not beside you, he sat at the bottom of the bed instead.

for a few seconds he didn’t say anything.

then he spoke.

“…i love you.”

his voice was quiet.

rough.

like he’d been crying.

“so much.”

you stayed still under the blanket.

“and i never… ever wanted to make you feel like an idiot” he said.

he swallowed.

“that- that might actually be the worst thing anyone’s ever accused me of.”

his hands twisted together a little in his lap.

“you’re one of the smartest people i know,” he said. “seriously.”

his voice wavered slightly.

“yeah, you don’t know a lot about gaming or coding or whatever but… that’s not- that’s not a bad thing.”

he sniffed quietly.

“i like telling you about it. i like explaining it to you.”

a small, shaky laugh left him.

“it makes me feel… important, i guess. like i actually know something cool for once.”

you could hear him shifting slightly on the bed.

“and i would never-” he stopped, breathing out slowly. “i would never even dream of looking at another girl the way i look at you.”

his voice dropped softer.

“never mind doing something behind your back.”

another pause.

“i’m really sorry i made you feel like i was.”

he kept talking after that. apologising again and again, words tumbling out like he’d been holding them in.

about how he didn’t realise how much time he’d been spending at work. about how he hadn’t noticed how far he was pushing things. about how scared he’d been sitting on the couch thinking about how close he’d gotten to losing you.

“you’re… everything to me,” he said quietly. “i didn’t realise how much of a dick i was being until tonight.”

his voice cracked a little.

“if you want me to find somewhere else to stay tonight, i will. i get it. i just… i needed you to know that.”

the room went quiet. you hadn’t moved the whole time. after a long moment, you slowly lowered the blanket just enough to look toward him.

your voice came out small.

“…you don’t have to leave.”

he didn’t say anything.

but you heard him exhale softly, like some tension left his body.

you assumed he nodded.

a moment later, the mattress shifted again as he slowly got into bed beside you. he stayed on his side. leaving space between you.

neither of you slept.

the silence stretched on while both of you stared into the dark, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time.

after a while you spoke quietly.

“maybe i overreacted.”

keys sat up so fast the mattress bounced.

“no” he said immediately.

“no no no, baby please- don’t say that.”

his voice was almost frantic.

“this is all on me. i wasn’t treating you like i promised i would.”

he ran a hand through his hair.

“i promised myself i’d be good to you. really good to you.”

his voice softened again.

“and i wasn’t.”

you nodded a little in the dark.

he let out a long breath before slowly laying back down.

another quiet stretch passed.

then he spoke again, hesitant.

“…can i hold you?”

he paused.

“i’m not expecting everything to just be okay,” he added quickly. “i know it’s not.”

his voice softened even more.

“but can i… please hold you?”

you nodded again before realising he couldn’t see it.

“…yes” you said quietly.

a moment later you felt him move closer behind you.

his arm wrapped carefully around your waist, like he was afraid you might pull away. you didn’t. you both stayed like that for a long time.

eventually exhaustion won out and sometime in the middle of the night, the two of you drifted into a restless sleep.

-

when you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the empty space beside you.

the bed was cold where keys had been.

you blinked slowly, still half asleep, then reached for your phone on the nightstand.

11:03 am.

you frowned a little.

“…oh.”

he must already be at work.

that thought made your chest sink slightly. you knew it made sense. he had a job, obviously. you weren’t expecting him to just skip it forever because of one fight. still… you kind of wished he’d been there when you woke up.

you sighed softly and pushed the blanket back, sliding out of bed.

the apartment was quiet when you stepped into the hallway.

then you heard keys’ voice from the living room.

“…yeah i know, i know-”

you paused for a second.

he was on the phone.

your eyebrows lifted slightly.

“i know but please-” he continued, pacing slightly by the sound of it.

there was a pause while the other person talked.

“…yeah. yeah i know.”

his voice softened a little.

your chest loosened a tiny bit.

you didn’t stick around to hear the rest. it felt wrong to stand there and listen, so you continued into the kitchen instead.

you were halfway through stretching when you noticed the mug on the counter.

your favorite one. already filled with coffee.

you blinked at it for a second then you picked it up.

it was still warm.

a small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth before you could stop it.

if this all works out, you thought, i wouldn’t mind seeing him grovel a little.

the idea made you smile just a little more.

right as keys walked into the kitchen.

he stopped when he saw you.

“good morning” he said quickly.

his hair was messy, like he’d been running his hands through it all morning.

then he noticed the mug in your hands.

“oh- sorry,” he added. “i was gonna bring that to you.”

“it’s okay” you said quietly.

you took a sip.

the coffee was exactly how you liked it. you glanced at him over the rim of the mug.

“…why aren’t you at work?”

he didn’t even hesitate.

“that’s not important to me right now.”

you studied his face for a second.

he looked serious. tired, but serious.

that answer seemed to satisfy you, because you nodded once and walked past him toward the bedroom.

he turned immediately and followed.

you sat down on the edge of the bed. he sat a little further down, leaving space between you like he had the night before.

you took another sip of coffee.

you were about to say something when he spoke first.

“can i just say something?”

you nodded.

he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“…i just wanted to thank you” he said.

you blinked.

“for what?”

“for making my life the best it’s ever been.”

you stared at him.

he kept going, clearly nervous.

“and i just wanted you to know that i’ll always be there for you if you ever need me in the future.”

you tilted your head slightly.

“…huh?”

he paused. you both looked confused now.

“why are you saying that?” you asked.

he hesitated.

“…well i just thought-”

and then it clicked for you.

your eyebrows shot up.

“…keys,” you said slowly. “did you think i was just gonna break up with you?”

his expression immediately gave him away.

you let out a small laugh before you could stop yourself.

“i’m not breaking up with you.”

for a second he just stared at you. then the relief hit him all at once. his shoulders dropped and a huge smile broke across his face before he could stop it.

“you’re not?”

“no.”

he let out a breath that sounded like he’d been holding it since last night.

“oh my god.”

you shook your head slightly, amused.

“you’re such a nerd.”

“i was preparing” he muttered.

you snorted quietly.

after that, the conversation came easier. keys apologised again. and again. and again. sometimes in full sentences, sometimes just quietly under his breath like he couldn’t stop himself.

you talked about it for a while. about how things had been feeling lately. about how much time he’d been spending at work.

keys listened the whole time. really listened.

at one point he rubbed his face and groaned quietly.

“i can’t believe i was doing that.”

“doing what?” you asked.

“pushing you away like that.”

he looked over at you.

“…you’re my favorite person.”

your lips twitched slightly.

eventually you both agreed on something simple. you’d just see how today went. no big decisions. no pressure. just spend the day together.

which is exactly what you did.

the two of you stayed in all day, lounging around the apartment. watching random movies, talking, sitting close on the couch like you hadn’t done in weeks.

at some point keys remembered the food from last night.

“wait,” he said suddenly. “can we eat that?”

you laughed.

“yeah.”

so you reheated yesterday’s dinner.

keys looked almost painfully guilty the entire time but when he took the first bite he immediately lit up.

“oh my god” he said.

you looked at him suspiciously.

“what?”

“this is so good.”

he pointed his fork at you.

“you killed this.”

you smiled a little despite yourself.

he kept eating, shaking his head.

“i can’t believe you made this for me.”

his voice softened.

“…thank you.”

you looked down at your plate, smiling quietly.

-

the rest of the day went really nicely if you were being honest.

it wasn’t awkward like you thought it might be. there weren’t long silences or weird tension sitting between you on the couch. it actually felt normal again. maybe even better than normal.

keys stuck close to you the whole day without making it obvious he was doing it. like when you both sat on the couch, he’d lean into your side a little. when you got up to grab something from the kitchen, he’d follow a minute later like he just happened to also want water.

at one point you were both standing near the counter and keys said something stupid, you laughed, and before he even seemed to think about it, he leaned in and kissed you.

just quick, then he pulled back immediately. his eyes searched your face like he was checking if he’d just made a huge mistake.

you looked at him for a second. not mad. not skeptical. just normal.

when he realised that, the relief on his face was immediate.

“okay” he muttered softly.

then he leaned in again and kissed you properly this time.

by the end of the night you were both curled up on the couch again watching something neither of you were really paying attention to.

when you eventually went to bed, it felt good.

like things had settled again.

you fell asleep easily.

the next morning, when you woke up, the first thing you noticed was that keys was still there.

your eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light in the room.

he was still asleep beside you.

for a second you assumed it must be early. like really early. maybe he’d just woken up too and was resting a little longer before leaving.

you grabbed your phone off the nightstand.

10:48 am.

you blinked.

“…huh.”

the small movement must’ve woken him up, because he shifted slightly beside you.

keys cracked his eyes open and looked at you.

then he smiled. a sleepy, soft kind of smile.

you looked back at him.

“…i think you’re late for work.”

he just shook his head a little and closed his eyes again.

you frowned slightly when he didn’t explain.

after a second he opened one eye again to your puzzled expression.

he laughed quietly then he reached out, grabbed your wrist gently, and pulled you back down into the bed with him.

“come here” he mumbled.

you let out a small surprised noise but didn’t resist.

he wrapped an arm around you automatically, pulling you against his chest.

“yesterday,” he mumbled into the pillow, voice still thick with sleep, “i called in and said i was gonna take some time off.”

you blinked up at him.

“…what?”

“working from home,” he added. “for a while.”

he groaned slightly.

“there was a very long, very boring conversation about it.”

you snorted quietly.

“and i might’ve begged a little.”

you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.

so that was who he was talking to on the phone yesterday.

you looked up at him.

“…thank you.”

he shook his head immediately.

before you could say anything else he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“you don’t need to thank me,” he murmured.

his voice was gentle.

“it shouldn’t have gotten to the point where i had to do that.”

your chest warmed a little at that.

he tightened his arm around you slightly.

“we’re staying right here today” he mumbled.

“doing absolutely nothing.”

you smiled into his shirt.

“sounds good.”

a few minutes later the room went quiet again.

and eventually, the two of you drifted back to sleep, tangled together in the blankets.

—————

the glow of your desk lamp was the only thing lighting your room by the time you finally looked up from your history notes. outside, the sky had gone dark hours ago, the faint sound of crickets slipped through your cracked bedroom window. your pencil rolled from between your fingers as you stretched your arms above your head with a groan.

you hated homework.

not because you were bad at school, you actually did pretty well, but because hawkins high suddenly seemed obsessed with making everyone miserable this year.

especially with that stupid new program.

speak up!

even the name sounded fake cheerful.

principal higgins had introduced it last monday during assembly, standing awkwardly behind the microphone while half the gym ignored him.

“students can anonymously communicate with one another for educational assistance,” he’d explained proudly. “it’s designed to encourage collaboration and improve grades schoolwide.”

translation?

people who were too embarrassed to ask for help could hide behind fake usernames instead.

at first everyone thought it was ridiculous.

tommy hagan had loudly called it “nerd tinder,” earning laughs from half the basketball team while teachers pretended not to hear him. even your friends spent lunch making fun of it.

you did too, honestly.

because seriously, who was actually going to use some weird school messaging board to ask strangers for chemistry help?

apparently a lot of people.

you stared at the chunky old computer sitting on your desk. it hummed loudly by the time it turned on, the screen flickering slightly before stabilising. your parents bought it for christmas years ago after you begged them for one, though now it was mostly used for homework and occasionally typing essays before the printer jammed for the hundredth time.

still, it worked.

eventually.

you chewed the inside of your cheek before leaning forward and typing in the school website address.

the login page for speak up! popped onto the screen.

you almost backed out immediately.

this was dumb.

you had friends if you needed help. normal people had friends. or classmates. or literally anyone else besides anonymous weirdos online.

but, you kinda understood the idea.

there were definitely people at school who acted too cool to ask questions in class. people who’d rather fail than admit they didn’t get something.

plus, maybe some kids just didn’t have anyone.

with a small sigh, you clicked register username.

after thinking for a second, your fingers typed:

uptowngirl

creative? no.

but the billy joel song had been stuck in your head all week and honestly you couldn’t think of anything else.

once you logged in, a long list of posts appeared on the screen.

and wow.

people were actually using this thing.

messages filled the page.

can someone explain algebra 3 page 52?

need help studying for bio test.

is anyone good at essay editing?

you blinked.

okay. maybe principal higgins wasn’t completely insane.

your eyes scanned lazily down the page until one username made you snort.

farrahfawcettspray: Need help with chem homework. Seriously desperate.

you laughed quietly to yourself.

there was no way that was a guy, right?

you literally had the exact same can of farrah fawcett hairspray sitting on your dresser.

for a second you considered logging off, but you had already finished the chemistry assignment. and it honestly wasn’t that hard once you understood it.

before you could overthink it, you clicked their profile and typed:

uptowngirl: hey, you said you need help with chem?

you expected to wait at least a few minutes for a response.

instead one came instantly.

farrahfawcettspray: Please

you smiled despite yourself.

dramatic.

you started trying to explain the worksheet the best you could.

uptowngirl: okay so for number 4 you have to balance the equation first

farrahfawcettspray: What equation

you stared.

uptowngirl: the one on the page?

farrahfawcettspray: Oh jesus christ

a laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

for the next twenty minutes the two of you went back and forth. you genuinely tried helping at first, but after realising they seemed completely and utterly lost, you finally gave up and just started feeding them the answers directly.

honestly, whoever they were, chemistry clearly was not their thing.

finally another message popped up.

farrahfawcettspray: You’re a lifesaver, thanks uptown girl

you frowned for half a second before remembering that was your username.

uptowngirl: no problem farrah

a response came immediately.

farrahfawcettspray: Don’t call me that

you grinned.

uptowngirl: goodnight farrah

you logged off before they could answer.

shutting down the computer took nearly five whole minutes, the thing whining dramatically as the screen slowly faded black.

you got ready for bed afterward feeling strangely… good. like you’d actually helped someone.

-

the next morning at school, you told your friends about it during lunch.

“wait,” your friend laughed around a mouthful of fries, “you actually used speak up?”

you groaned. “only once.”

“oh my god.”

“shut up.”

“was it romantic?” another teased dramatically. “anonymous study flirting?”

you rolled your eyes. “they barely knew what an equation was.”

that got another round of laughter from the table.

still, you found yourself smiling too.

the whole thing was kinda funny.

by the end of the day you’d almost forgotten about it completely.

hawkins high emptied fast once the final bell rang, students flooding into the parking lot in loud clusters. you adjusted your bag higher on your shoulder as you headed toward the front doors, already mentally preparing yourself for the walk home.

your house wasn’t exactly close.

but the shortcut you found through the side streets cut the trip almost in half.

the october air was chilly enough to sting your cheeks as you walked, leaves crunching beneath your shoes. the neighborhood was quiet this time of day, most people still at work.

you were halfway down the street when you heard a car slow behind you.

your heartbeat jumped instantly.

you turned slightly and immediately wished you hadn’t.

a familiar bmw rolled beside you.

of course.

steve harrington sat in the driver’s seat, one hand lazily on the wheel. tommy was leaned halfway across the passenger seat already grinning like an idiot while carol lounged in the back.

you rolled your eyes and faced forward again.

keep walking, ignore them. easy.

the car crawled beside you anyway.

“hey!” tommy called.

you kept walking.

“hey sweetheart, why’s a pretty girl like you walking home all alone?”

carol smacked the back of his head immediately.

“god, tommy.”

“ow-”

from the corner of your eye you caught steve shooting tommy some annoyed look before glancing at you briefly.

you just smiled sweetly then flipped them off without breaking stride.

there was a beat of silence then tommy barked out an offended laugh.

“bitch!”

the bmw sped off ahead of you with a screech.

you sighed heavily.

god, you hated those people.

tommy and carol were the worst, loud, mean, constantly acting like hawkins high revolved around them.

and steve harrington?

honestly, you didn’t know him enough personally to hate him the same way but the rumors definitely didn’t help.

every girl in school seemed obsessed with him for reasons you couldn’t understand beyond the hair and the stupidly perfect face. supposedly he’d dated half the girls in hawkins already, and every story made him sound more arrogant than the last.

definitely not your type, not even close.

by the time you finally got home, the sky had darkened into deep blue.

the house was empty.

your parents were both working late again.

you dropped your bag by the stairs, called out a halfhearted “hello?” anyway, then headed upstairs after grabbing a soda from the fridge.

you weren’t really hungry.

your room was warm compared to the chilly outside air, and you immediately sat at your desk with a sigh, pulling your homework toward you.

math first.

then english.

then maybe death.

after about twenty minutes, your eyes drifted toward the computer sitting beside you.

the screen was dark.

you hesitated then reached over and turned it on.

the machine groaned loudly in protest.

“c’mon” you muttered.

eventually the screen flickered to life.

you logged into speak up! mostly out of curiosity.

the second your profile loaded, a notification popped up instantly.

1 new message from farrahfawcettspray

your eyebrows lifted.

you clicked it.

farrahfawcettspray: I failed the chem quiz

you laughed before typing back.

uptowngirl: that sounds like a you problem

three dots appeared almost immediately.

farrahfawcettspray: Wow. Cruel.

uptowngirl: you survived though

farrahfawcettspray: Barely

you smiled a little without meaning to.

there was something weirdly easy about talking like this. maybe because you didn’t know who they were. no awkwardness. no trying to act cool.

just words on a screen.

another message appeared.

farrahfawcettspray: You got homework tonight?

uptowngirl: obviously

farrahfawcettspray: Wanna help me again?

you snorted softly.

hopeless, completely hopeless. and somehow, for some reason, you typed back anyway.

uptowngirl: fine. but this is the last time, farrah.

there was a pause.

then:

farrahfawcettspray: You really like calling me that huh

you grinned at the screen.

maybe this whole speak up thing wasn’t so stupid after all.

-

somewhere along the way, logging onto speak up! became part of your routine.

you’d get home from school, dump your bag by your desk, complain your way through homework, eat whatever leftovers were in the fridge, then eventually sit down in front of your computer with the quiet expectation that there’d already be a message waiting for you.

and there usually was.

sometimes it was something dramatic like:

farrahfawcettspray: I think Mrs o’donnell genuinely enjoys watching teenagers suffer.

or-

farrahfawcettspray: If i fail math i’m becoming a criminal.

other times it was just:

farrahfawcettspray: You there?

simple.

stupidly simple.

but somehow it always made you smile.

you didn’t really talk to anyone else on the site anymore. not because you meant to stop helping other people, it just.. happened naturally. every time you logged on, you found yourself clicking the same username first.

and apparently he did too.

you learned pretty quickly that “farrah” was definitely not a girl.

that discovery came after nearly two weeks of talking.

uptowngirl: serious question

farrahfawcettspray: Uh oh

uptowngirl: why the hell is that your username if you’re a guy

there’d been a long pause before the reply finally came through.

farrahfawcettspray: My sister was talking about hairspray when i made the account

you stared at the screen.

huh.

that actually made sense. kind of.

uptowngirl: still weird

farrahfawcettspray: You’re literally named after a billy joel song

fair point.

you didn’t learn much else about him after that.

not big things, anyway.

he wasn’t great at schoolwork, that became painfully obvious very quickly, but he didn’t seem stupid. honestly, sometimes he said things that surprised you. little observations that were funny or weirdly thoughtful in ways you didn’t expect.

mostly though, your conversations were random.

complaining about teachers, ranting about homework, talking about the absolute freaks wandering the halls of hawkins high.

without naming names, obviously.

farrahfawcettspray: Someone left their lunch in the locker room and it smelled like sweaty fish for a week

uptowngirl: what does sweaty fish even smell like

farrahfawcettspray: Death

or

uptowngirl: i watched someone trip over absolutely nothing in the cafeteria today

farrahfawcettspray: That might’ve been me

uptowngirl: honestly wouldn’t surprise me

you started looking forward to those conversations more than you probably should have.

it was weird.

because you didn’t know him, not really. you tried figuring it out sometimes, usually while lying awake at night after logging off.

you mentally ran through people at school constantly.

who had a sister? who hated chemistry this much? who wanted a big family someday?

who said they wanted to buy an rv and drive around the country because “hawkins is depressing as shit”?

who admitted they could only sleep on the side of the bed closest to the wall because they were scared something would grab their ankle from underneath?

that one had made you laugh so hard you almost woke your parents up.

uptowngirl: you are literally a child

farrahfawcettspray: You say that now until a monster grabs your leg

uptowngirl: from under the bed??

farrahfawcettspray: YES

uptowngirl: you’re insane

but the more you thought about it, the more you realised the things you knew about him weren’t really things that narrowed anyone down.

they were too personal, too strange.

you couldn’t exactly walk through school looking at people and think:

yeah, he definitely sleeps facing the wall because he’s scared of bed monsters.

or

that guy absolutely wants six kids someday.

it didn’t work like that.

maybe that was the point, maybe this was all supposed to be.

just some weird invisible string tying you to a stranger.

still, was it weird that you felt like you liked him? not even physically, you didn’t know what he looked like.

didn’t know his voice, didn’t know how he laughed or walked or what color his eyes were.

but after weeks of talking every single night, it started feeling like you did know him in a way.

you knew the version of him behind the screen. you knew he was dramatic. and funny. and kind of an idiot.

you knew he hated peas with an alarming amount of passion, you knew he procrastinated every assignment until the absolute last second. you knew he got attached to stupid things easily because he once spent ten full minutes ranting after losing a lighter he “connected to.”

you knew him.

just not who he actually was.

just not who he…

was.

yeah.

oops.

-

one friday night, your friend convinced you to stay over at her house.

between movies, junk food, and listening to her complain about her ex-boyfriend for almost two straight hours, you honestly didn’t think about the weird little web page once.

not until the next afternoon when you finally got home.

your house was quiet when you walked in, duffel bag slipping from your shoulder onto the floor with a thud.

almost immediately, your brain went:

check the computer.

which was ridiculous, completely ridiculous. still, you headed upstairs.

the computer took forever to load like always, buzzing loudly while the screen slowly flickered alive.

you logged in and immediately saw two unread messages.

your stomach did a weird little flip before you could stop it.

farrahfawcettspray: Never guess what happened to me today

then, sent hours later:

farrahfawcettspray: Tough crowd

you smiled automatically.

god.

you typed back quickly.

uptowngirl: sorry! stayed at my friend’s house last night

uptowngirl: what happened??

the response came almost instantly like he’d been online already.

farrahfawcettspray: I got home and realised i left my window open

uptowngirl: okay?

farrahfawcettspray: There was a fucking fat frog sitting on my bed

you burst out laughing alone in your room.

actually laughing.

uptowngirl: you’re lying

farrahfawcettspray: Why would i lie about this

uptowngirl: because frogs can’t climb houses??

the typing bubble appeared immediately.

farrahfawcettspray: THEY CAN

uptowngirl: no they can’t

farrahfawcettspray: One was literally on my bed

uptowngirl: maybe it walked in

farrahfawcettspray: Through a second story window??

uptowngirl: good point

farrahfawcettspray: Thank you

for the next twenty minutes, the two of you argued about frog climbing abilities. twenty whole minutes. which honestly should’ve concerned you more than it did.

eventually you leaned back in your chair, smiling at the screen like an idiot.

god, he was stupid.

the thought came naturally now. comfortable. fond, almost.

and immediately after that came another thought.

was he?

you frowned slightly at the screen.

because really you didn’t know.

you didn’t know if he was tall or short, popular or invisible, funny in real life or just online.

you didn’t know if you’d even like him face to face and somehow that was the strangest part of all.

feeling this connected to someone whose face you couldn’t even picture.

-

more weeks passed so quickly it almost made you sick.

somehow talking to him had become the most normal thing in the world.

you’d wake up, go to school, come home, and somewhere in between all of it you’d find yourself thinking about whatever stupid thing he’d said the night before.

sometimes you caught yourself almost telling your friends about him before stopping at the last second.

because what even was he?

some anonymous guy from school you talked to every night?

it sounded ridiculous when you thought about it too hard.

still, the conversations never stopped. if anything, they got longer, easier.

and lately, you could tell you were both trying, very discreetly, to figure each other out.

not outright asking names or anything obvious, just little things.

tiny questions hidden inside normal conversation.

farrahfawcettspray: What were you wearing today?

you’d immediately narrowed your eyes at the screen.

uptowngirl: why

farrahfawcettspray: Curious

uptowngirl: that sounds suspicious

farrahfawcettspray: Or maybe i just care deeply about fashion

you snorted.

another time

uptowngirl: you said your shoes got soaked today. what shoes?

farrahfawcettspray: Nice try

you’d rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.

it became a game after a while.

you weren’t even sure if you wanted him to know who you were, that was the weird part. it wasn’t that you were embarrassed of yourself. you weren’t.

but after months of talking like this, what if he’d built some version of you in his head that didn’t match reality?

what if you disappointed him?

or worse what if he disappointed you?

it was stupid, completely stupid, but you couldn’t stop the thoughts anyway.

-

today had felt normal at first.

cold morning air, crowded hallways, just another day at hawkins high. then suddenly over the speakers came principal higgins’ voice.

“all students report to the gymnasium for assembly.”

the entire school groaned collectively.

you slumped back in your seat.

“if this is about safe sex again i’m leaving” your friend muttered beside you.

the gym was loud when everyone piled in, sneakers squeaking across the polished floor as students shoved into bleachers. you sat wedged between your friends half-listening while principal higgins adjusted the microphone awkwardly.

“i’ll keep this brief” he started.

already a lie.

you zoned out almost immediately until one phrase suddenly snapped you back to attention.

“the speak up! program-”

your head lifted.

“-will officially be shutting down at the end of the semester.”

your stomach dropped.

“…what?” you muttered under your breath.

around you, barely anyone reacted.

a few students laughed.

someone yelled “finally.”

principal higgins kept rambling.

“unfortunately, participation has remained low, and despite initial hopes, there hasn’t been a significant increase in overall grades-”

your friends looked entirely unbothered.

“knew that thing was stupid” one of them whispered.

“seriously who even used it?”

you forced out a little laugh along with them.

but honestly? you barely heard the rest of the assembly. because all you could think was the guy. how were you supposed to talk to him now? would you still talk to him?

would he even want to?

“the website will officially close four weeks from today” principal higgins finished.

four weeks.

shit.

-

that night, the first thing you did when you got home was turn your computer on.

you probably would’ve anyway but now it felt different.

the machine hummed loudly while loading, and for once you sat impatiently tapping your fingers against the desk waiting for it to hurry up.

the second you logged in, you opened your messages.

then typed quickly:

uptowngirl: were you in the assembly today?

there was a pause.

then:

farrahfawcettspray: Yeah. I was literally just gonna ask you that

you leaned back slightly.

uptowngirl: it’s so stupid they’re shutting it down

farrahfawcettspray: Right? Some of us actually use this thing

uptowngirl: exactly

then after a second:

uptowngirl: okay maybe not for homework anymore

he replied immediately.

farrahfawcettspray: Yeah we definitely stopped pretending awhile ago

you smiled despite the weird ache sitting in your chest.

the two of you eventually agreed to just keep talking normally and when the site closed, it closed.

that was it.

when it’s over, it’s over.

simple.

or at least that’s what you told yourselves.

and somehow, after awhile, talking to him like usual made you almost forget anything was wrong at all.

-

the next day at school, you were heading toward your locker when you heard familiar voices echoing down the hallway.

tommy.

carol.

steve.

you tried ignoring them.

really, you did.

but then tommy loudly said, “god, some people at this school are actually painful to look at.”

carol snorted immediately.

you glanced over just in time to see them both staring at some poor freshman walking away red-faced.

your expression soured.

same old shit.

steve stood beside them leaning against the lockers, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. he barely chuckled, more out of obligation than actual amusement.

still, he laughed.

you rolled your eyes and kept walking.

honestly, you wondered if they’d ever actually grow up.

-

that night, you found yourself ranting about it online.

without names, obviously.

uptowngirl: some people at school genuinely act like they’re still twelve

there was a longer pause than usual before he answered.

farrahfawcettspray: Do your friends ever piss you off?

you blinked slightly at the screen.

that felt random.

uptowngirl: how so

another pause.

farrahfawcettspray: Like in general

your brows furrowed.

uptowngirl: not all the time

uptowngirl: friends aren’t really supposed to make you feel bad constantly

there was a moment before the reply came through.

farrahfawcettspray: Oh

you sat up a little straighter.

uptowngirl: is it all your friends?

farrahfawcettspray: Kinda

you frowned.

uptowngirl: then make new ones

almost instantly:

farrahfawcettspray: Not that easy

you stared at the words for a second then shrugged it off.

he was right, you guessed.

maybe he was one of the quieter kids at school. the kind who got stuck with shitty people because they didn’t know how to leave them.

you knew people like that.

still, the conversation stayed in your head longer than it probably should have.

-

a week passed.

three weeks left.

three weeks until the website disappeared.

three weeks until mystery guy disappeared with it.

you tried not to think about it too much.

failed miserably.

that night, your room was dark except for the glow of the computer screen when his message suddenly appeared.

farrahfawcettspray: Will i ever know who you are?

your heartbeat stumbled slightly.

you stared at the sentence for way too long before typing back.

uptowngirl: i thought you said when it’s over it’s over

uptowngirl: why does it matter?

his response came faster than usual.

farrahfawcettspray: Screw that

you swallowed.

uptowngirl: why do you even wanna know?

another pause.

longer this time.

then

farrahfawcettspray: Why don’t you?

you froze.

because honestly?

you didn’t have a good answer. there wasn’t one big dramatic reason, just your own stupid thoughts. your own worries.

what if he expected someone cooler? prettier? funnier?

what if meeting ruined whatever this was?

you stared at the blinking cursor for almost a full minute before finally typing:

uptowngirl: i don’t know

for once, he didn’t joke.

didn’t tease you.

just

farrahfawcettspray: Okay

the simple response weirdly made your chest hurt.

then another message appeared.

farrahfawcettspray: What if we compromise?

you frowned slightly.

uptowngirl: how

there was a pause before his answer came through.

farrahfawcettspray: The day the website closes is prom right?

your stomach tightened immediately.

uptowngirl: yeah

farrahfawcettspray: We meet then

your eyes widened slightly.

farrahfawcettspray: Not a whole big thing

farrahfawcettspray: Just somewhere behind the school or something

farrahfawcettspray: So we know

your pulse had started beating noticeably faster now.

you read the messages twice. three times.

farrahfawcettspray: And if it’s awkward or terrible or whatever

farrahfawcettspray: We just go back to our lives

farrahfawcettspray: Deal?

you stared at the screen.

your reflection stared back faintly from the monitor.

this suddenly felt terrifying. and exciting. and horrifying.

all at once.

but maybe he was right. what could really go that wrong?

slowly, you typed back

uptowngirl: okay

almost immediately:

farrahfawcettspray: Okay

your heart thudded harder against your ribs.

in three weeks, you’d finally know who he was.

-

the last three weeks somehow felt unbearably slow and way too fast all at once.

every day dragged.

every night disappeared.

it didn’t help that exam season had officially started, meaning every teacher at school suddenly decided their class was the most important thing on earth.

you were stressed constantly.

your room became a mess of textbooks, loose papers, highlighters, half-empty soda cans and crumpled notes. your desk lamp stayed on until stupid hours of the night while you studied until your eyes hurt.

still somehow, despite all that, the thing making your stomach twist the most wasn’t even exams.

it was prom.

well.

not prom itself, the reveal.

you wouldn’t exactly call it stress. more like nervousness that kept sneaking up on you at random moments.

because holy shit.

you were actually going to meet him and every time you thought about it for too long your brain immediately spiraled.

what if he saw you and regretted everything?

what if you did?

what if it got awkward instantly?

what if one of you didn’t show up at all?

you tried not to think about it.

failed miserably.

honestly though, exams distracted you enough that the days still moved quickly. surprisingly, you actually thought you were doing pretty well too.

and apparently mystery guy was absolutely not.

somewhere during the second week, your conversations somehow circled all the way back to how they first started.

him begging for academic help.

farrahfawcettspray: I’m dropping out

you snorted quietly at your desk before replying.

uptowngirl: dramatic

farrahfawcettspray: Just failed so hard i saw my future

uptowngirl: you said after the first exam you were “done trying”

farrahfawcettspray: Yeah well now i’m scared

you laughed under your breath then spent the next hour helping him study anyway. again.

you honestly should’ve charged him tutoring fees at that point.

-

when exams finally ended, there was only one week left until prom. one week left until you found out who he was.

after that, the teasing started.

mostly from him.

farrahfawcettspray: You nervous?

uptowngirl: not even slightly

farrahfawcettspray: Liar

uptowngirl: you wish

farrahfawcettspray: You’re gonna see me and faint

you rolled your eyes so hard you nearly gave yourself a headache.

uptowngirl: keep dreaming farrah

he immediately sent back:

farrahfawcettspray: You still call me that after all this time. Cruel.

still, despite your constant denial, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

you were nervous. terribly so.

thankfully, dress shopping with your friends ended up distracting you for at least one full day.

you all made an entire event out of it. trying on ridiculous dresses just to laugh at each other, eating greasy mall food afterward, arguing over colors and shoes and hairstyles.

for awhile, things felt normal again.

easy.

you ended up buying a buttercup yellow dress that honestly looked really good on you.

it complimented your skin perfectly, hugged your waist just right, and made you feel prettier than you expected.

at least if everything went horribly wrong, you’d still look hot doing it.

-

a few days before prom, the two of you finally made a more solid plan.

simple, easy. less terrifying that way.

at 8:00, he’d go outside to the field behind the school.

at 8:05, you’d follow after him.

that way nobody would really notice you leaving together.

you appreciated that because honestly? the idea of everyone finding out about this made you want to die.

-

then suddenly it was prom night and you were nervous enough to throw up.

your hands shook slightly while fixing your hair in the mirror, your mom fussing over you while insisting you looked beautiful.

which, honestly?

you kinda did.

the yellow dress looked even better all done up properly. your hair sat perfectly for once, your makeup actually cooperated, and when you looked in the mirror you almost felt bad for mystery guy.

almost.

prom itself was exactly what you expected.

too loud, too warm, too many people packed into one room pretending the decorations didn’t look cheap.

still, it was fun enough.

you drank several unfortunately non-alcoholic punch cups, mingled with your friends, danced a little when forced to, and spent most of the evening pretending you weren’t constantly checking the time.

then suddenly 7:58.

your stomach dropped.

7:59.

holy shit.

8:00.

you immediately looked toward the doors.

five minutes, five minutes until you met him.

for a horrible second, you were tempted to stand there and watch the exit like a hawk. just wait and see who slipped outside.

but no. no, you’d waited this long. you could wait five more minutes.

probably.

another part of you briefly considered just not going at all.

seriously.

you could stay right here, pretend none of this ever happened.

but then what?

go home? never talk to him again?

the website would probably be deleted tonight.

this was it.

your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.

one of your friends noticed your weird expression almost immediately.

“you okay?”

“yeah,” you lied quickly. “just hot in here.”

“want me to come outside with you?”

“no!”

they blinked at your immediate response.

you forced a smaller smile. “i’m fine. seriously.”

it still took another minute of convincing and multiple be safes and don’t stay gone forevers before they finally let you leave alone.

the walk toward the field felt endless.

seriously endless.

you were convinced the path had physically grown longer somehow.

your heels clicked nervously against the pavement while your mind spiraled violently. was it that guy from health class? was it the one you once saw picking his nose behind the bleachers? was it that angry dude always getting into fights?

your heartbeat got faster with every step.

then you saw someone standing near the benches by the field.

just the back of them.

but honestly?

anyone would recognize that hair.

steve harrington.

your entire body stopped.

what.

the.

fuck.

your brain completely blanked.

there was absolutely no way. no actual way.

you must’ve made some noise because before you could even think about turning around and sprinting back inside, he turned too.

his eyebrows shot upward immediately when he saw you.

you both stared at each other in complete shock.

then at the exact same time:

“you’re-”

you both stopped.

silence.

then slowly, awkwardly, you both nodded.

steve let out a breathy huff of disbelief before a small smile pulled at his mouth.

and honestly?

you couldn’t stop staring.

because somehow it made sense now.

the humor. the dramatic texting. the stupid confidence covering up actual insecurity.

oh my god.

you squinted at him suddenly.

“you don’t have a sister.”

his face immediately changed.

“…what?”

“you told me you picked the username because your sister was talking about the spray.”

steve looked away, then back at you, then dragged a hand down his face with a groan.

“yeah, okay, i lied.”

you stared then barked out a laugh.

“you use farrah fawcett spray?”

he pointed at you immediately. “swear to god if you tell anyone-”

you laughed harder, holding your hands up in surrender.

“okay, okay!”

his expression twisted into embarrassed annoyance while you grinned at him.

god.

of course it was him.

steve glanced awkwardly toward a nearby bench before nodding toward it. you hesitated only a second before following him over and sitting beside him.

for a moment, neither of you spoke.

it suddenly felt so strange hearing the voice attached to the messages.

then steve looked over at you, squinting slightly.

“so…” he said slowly.

you looked back at him.

he pointed vaguely.

“uptown girl.”

you bit back a smile immediately because the expression on his face was so genuinely baffled.

you nodded once.

“…yeah.”

he huffed out another laugh.

for awhile, the conversation was awkward, not horribly awkward, just strange.

you’d spent months talking nonstop and suddenly neither of you knew where to start now that you were face to face.

still, eventually it got easier.

little laughs slipped in naturally. comfortable silences too. you found yourself relaxing without realising it.

then finally you admitted, “i was not expecting it to be someone like you.”

steve raised an eyebrow.

“someone like me?”

“yeah,” you said honestly. “i thought i couldn’t stand you.”

he scoffed softly, glancing away.

“fair.”

you smiled slightly.

then he looked back at you.

“didn’t expect you either.”

you grinned. “upset it’s not someone who’ll sleep with you?”

he side-eyed you immediately, giving you the dirtiest look imaginable.

it made you laugh.

then suddenly he smirked.

“who says you won’t?”

you stared at him flatly.

he laughed quietly at your expression.

god, there he was. the real steve harrington finally showing up.

after awhile, you sighed softly and glanced back toward the school.

“i should probably head inside.”

steve nodded a little.

“yeah.”

“but…” you paused, trying to find the right word. “thank you for being my…”

you trailed off, and when you looked back at him, there was something almost hopeful in his expression.

“…friend” you finished quietly.

his smile softened immediately then he held his hand out toward you dramatically. you laughed under your breath before shaking it.

“yeah,” he said softly. “thanks.”

you started turning back toward the school.

then

“wait.”

you looked back.

steve rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before speaking again.

“can this not be… like, the end?”

you blinked.

“huh?”

“i mean,” he said quickly, “i still wanna talk to you.”

something warm twisted in your chest.

you sighed dramatically instead to cover it.

“do you have paper?”

he blinked at you.

“…obviously not.”

you rolled your eyes.

“do you at least have a pen?”

“maybe in my car.”

you nodded immediately. “okay. c’mon.”

he looked confused but led you toward the parking lot anyway.

once you got there, steve dug around inside the bmw until finally finding a pen shoved somewhere in the center console.

“ha” he said proudly.

you snorted before grabbing his wrist.

he looked startled as you pushed his jacket sleeve up slightly.

then realisation hit his face.

“oh.”

before writing anything, you paused dramatically.

“if i do this,” you said, “you have to get your annoying ass friends to leave me alone.”

steve smiled slightly.

“i’ll see what i can do-”

you gave him a look immediately.

“okay, okay,” he laughed. “fine. i’ll tell them to lay off.”

“thank you.”

carefully, you wrote your number across his forearm. his eyes stayed on your face the entire time, which absolutely did not make your heart beat faster. not at all.

when you finished, you stepped back slightly.

then quietly, before leaving, you said

“you’re better than them, steve.”

his expression shifted immediately.

you smiled softly.

“much better.”

for a second he just looked at you, really looked at you. then slowly, he smiled too. and somehow it looked nothing like the smug cocky smiles you’d seen in school hallways.

this one felt real.

you turned then, heading back toward prom with your heartbeat still all over the place.

and for the first time in months, mystery guy wasn’t a mystery anymore.

-

walking back into prom after meeting steve felt strange in the best possible way, like somehow the whole room looked different now.

the lights hanging from the ceiling seemed warmer, the music sounded less annoying, even the sweaty overcrowded gym somehow felt easier to breathe in. your cheeks actually hurt from smiling by the time you made it back to your friends.

which unfortunately meant they noticed immediately.

one of them narrowed her eyes the second you sat back down at the table.

“okay. what happened.”

you grabbed your drink quickly to hide your smile. “nothing.”

“bullshit.”

“seriously.”

another one gasped dramatically. “oh my god she kissed someone.”

you nearly choked on your drink. “what? no!”

“then why do you look like that?”

“like what?”

“like you’re in love.”

you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, laughing despite yourself while they all continued trying to interrogate you. but honestly? you didn’t even mind.

because your chest still felt warm from sitting beside steve outside. from hearing his voice say uptown girl out loud. from realising that somehow, impossibly, the person you’d spent months talking to was him.

god.

if someone had told you months ago that the boy you couldn’t stand would end up becoming your favorite person to talk to, you would’ve laughed directly in their face.

yet here you were.

the rest of the night passed in this happy blur.

you danced with your friends until your feet hurt, got dragged into stupid prom photos you’d probably cringe at later, and every now and then you’d spot steve somewhere across the room.

sometimes he’d already be looking at you. every single time it happened, he’d smirk slightly. and every single time your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.

-

somehow by the end of the night you ended up at an afterparty. you honestly had no clue whose house it even was. someone said some girl from another school was throwing it, and suddenly everybody was piling into cars and driving there like it was the event of the century.

the house was packed. absolutely packed. music blasted loud enough to shake the floorboards, people crowded every room, and the air inside was thick with sweat, cheap perfume and alcohol.

actual alcohol this time.

which explained why after your third drink you started feeling significantly warmer and significantly less capable of making good decisions.

still, you were having fun. a lot of fun, actually. you laughed so hard at one point your stomach hurt, though later you couldn’t even remember what was so funny.

eventually though the heat inside the house became unbearable. your head felt fuzzy and your skin felt sticky and suddenly all you wanted was air. so, you slipped outside quietly, shutting the door behind you with a relieved sigh.

the cool night breeze hit your face immediately.

“oh thank god” you muttered dramatically.

then your eyes landed on someone sitting near the side of the porch.

steve. he sat alone on the curb, cigarette between his fingers, staring down at the pavement.

you smiled automatically, of course he was outside. but as you walked closer, your smile faded slightly.

he looked pissed. not angry exactly, more upset. his jaw was tense and his shoulders were tight in that way people got when they were trying really hard not to let something bother them.

you almost considered turning around and leaving him alone. almost. but you were already too close now. plus, liquid courage was a beautiful thing.

when steve finally noticed you approaching, he quickly dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his shoe before offering you a tight-lipped smile.

“hey.”

“hey,” you answered slowly, stopping beside him. “what’s up with you?”

“nothing.”

you stared at him.

“steve.”

“i’m serious.”

“come onnn,” you whined dramatically, nudging his shoulder lightly with yours. “you tell me everything.”

his eyes flicked toward you at that, something softened there for a second. then he sighed heavily and looked down at the ground before lowering himself onto the curb fully.

you sat beside him immediately.

for a minute neither of you spoke. music thumped faintly through the walls behind you while cars occasionally passed in the distance.

then finally steve spoke quietly.

“i hope you’re right.”

you frowned slightly. “about what?”

he rubbed his palms together once before muttering

“about me being better than my friends.”

your expression softened instantly.

“what happened?”

he laughed quietly. not in a funny way, more tired. “what didn’t happen?”

you stayed quiet, letting him continue.

after a second he sighed again.

“they were being assholes to some guy inside.”

you immediately knew who “they” meant.

tommy. carol. probably half the people they hung around too.

“just relentless,” steve muttered. “wouldn’t leave him alone.”

he picked absentmindedly at the label peeling off a beer bottle nearby.

“i told them to stop.”

you looked at him carefully. “and?”

“and tommy started calling me a pussy.”

your jaw tightened immediately.

steve shrugged like he was trying not to care.

“said i’ve gotten soft lately.”

you hated how casually he said it, like he’d heard things like that a hundred times before.

“so i left.”

he gestured vaguely around them.

“and here we are.”

you sighed softly. for a second you just sat there looking at him, really looking at him. and honestly? he looked exhausted. not physically, just tired of pretending. tired of acting like somebody he didn’t even seem to like anymore.

you nudged his shoulder gently.

“they’ll probably get over it.”

steve huffed out a small laugh. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you smiled slightly. “you are kinda the leader of the pack.”

that earned a real smile from him, small, but real. still, it faded quickly.

“that’s the thing,” he admitted quietly. “i hate that.”

you tilted your head. “then stop.”

“stop what?”

“being friends with them.”

he immediately gave you a look.

“you’ve literally said this before.”

“because i’m right.”

“i can’t just drop them.”

“why not?”

he opened his mouth. closed it again. then shrugged helplessly. “i don’t know. it’d be weird.”

you snorted softly.

“weird for who?”

“everyone’ll be up my ass about it.”

you shrugged lazily. “who cares?”

steve looked at you for a second like he genuinely wished he could think like that.

then silence settled again.

but honestly, your drunk brain couldn’t stay focused for very long. after a minute you suddenly stood up. “i’m going back inside.”

steve looked up at you from where he sat. then without thinking, you held your hand out toward him dramatically.

“c’mon, harrington.”

his eyes flicked down to your hand. for a second you thought he’d ignore it, instead he took it. you pulled him up with a grin.

“i’m gonna stay out here and smoke another cigarette first” he said.

immediately your nose scrunched.

“gross.”

he laughed quietly.

“then i’ll come in.”

you nodded once.

“okay.”

you and steve somehow never found each other again that night after that

-

break started almost immediately after prom.

suddenly there was no school. no exams. no teachers. just endless warm days stretching ahead of you.

and somehow steve became part of nearly all of them.

at first, it was mostly phone calls. almost every night.

which felt weird initially because now you knew who he was. you weren’t staring at a screen anymore waiting for little messages to appear. now it was his actual voice in your ear while you laid in bed staring at the ceiling.

sometimes you’d catch yourself smiling halfway through conversations for absolutely no reason.

you got used to it surprisingly quickly though.

you’d spend the day with friends or shopping or sitting around bored at home, and eventually every night ended the same way. talking to steve until one of you got too sleepy to keep the conversation going.

sometimes the talks lasted hours. about serious things, stupid things, everything.

one night you spent almost forty minutes debating whether cereal counted as soup.

it absolutely did not.

another night steve admitted he’d never actually learned how to cook anything beyond scrambled eggs and toast.

“how are you alive?”

then eventually, one afternoon, steve casually asked “wanna go out tomorrow?”

you blinked against the phone.

“…out?”

“yeah,” he answered quickly. “like, just us.”

your stomach flipped immediately.

“maybe the drive-in?”

there was this weird nervousness in his voice that made your chest ache a little.

“yeah,” you answered before you could overthink it. “okay.”

he picked you up the next evening at six.

honestly neither of you watched the movie. you tried, for maybe ten minutes, then somehow you started talking and never really stopped.

you learned steve hadn’t hung out with tommy or carol once over break.

that made you smile more than it probably should have.

because maybe he was finally realising he didn’t have to keep pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

at one point while absentmindedly eating popcorn, steve admitted quietly

“i think i like being just steve better.”

you looked over at him softly.

then he smirked slightly.

“or maybe i just like being farrahfawcettspray.”

you burst out laughing immediately.

god, you loved him.

well. not loved. probably, maybe.

okay maybe a little.

because after that first date, which neither of you actually called a date yet, things just naturally snowballed.

you and steve started hanging out constantly.

drives with the windows down and music blasting, shopping trips where he complained the entire time but still carried your bags, county fairs, late night fast food runs, movies, blanket forts. so many blanket forts.

once steve spent nearly an hour engineering one in his living room because apparently “structural integrity matters.”

his parents were never around, meaning his house quickly became your favorite place to be.

you’d never seen steve happier.

he laughed easier around you. acted softer, realer.

he didn’t have to be king steve with you, he could just exist.

and somewhere along the way, he realised he genuinely liked you more than anyone he’d ever met before which was terrifying.

on your side?

you were absolutely gone for him too. completely. hopelessly. but obviously you weren’t going to make the first move.

absolutely not.

you’d wait for when he makes the first move, if that time ever came.

-

surprisingly, it did.

it was nearing the end of the break, only one weekend left before school started again.

you already had plans with steve that night.

nothing unusual. a movie, some takeout.

normal.

but the second you got into his car, you noticed something was off.

he looked nervous, like genuinely nervous. you almost asked about it immediately but decided against it. still, the weird energy stayed the whole drive.

then he pulled into his driveway.

you reached to open the car door and suddenly his hand gently caught your arm. you turned toward him instantly.

he still looked nervous.

your stomach tightened.

“steve?”

he swallowed once before speaking.

“i’ve had some of the best conversations and honestly… some of the best times of my life with you.”

your expression softened immediately.

he laughed awkwardly under his breath.

“which is funny considering how we started.”

you smiled.

but before you could respond, he kept going quickly.

“and i want you to know i really like you.”

you stared at him.

“like really like you.”

he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“and i was wondering if maybe tonight could maybe be a date.”

your smile spread instantly, so quickly your cheeks hurt. but your silence lasted just slightly too long because immediately steve panicked.

“you don’t have to say yes,” he rushed out quickly. “i just wanted you to know-”

“steve.”

he stopped immediately.

you laughed softly.

“i like you too.”

his eyes widened.

“…you do?”

you laughed harder now.

“obviously.”

the smile that spread across his face right then honestly might’ve been your favorite thing you’d ever seen.

he squeezed your arm gently before grinning.

“c’mon then.”

then suddenly he looked ridiculously eager, which only confused you more when he immediately said

“close your eyes.”

you blinked. “what?”

“just trust me.”

laughing softly, you obeyed anyway.

he carefully led you inside while you tried not to trip over absolutely nothing.

eventually he stopped.

“okay.”

you opened your eyes and immediately melted.

the living room floor was covered in blankets and pillows, little lights hung around the room glowing softly, your favorite takeout sat on the coffee table and a movie was already waiting on the screen.

“steve…”

he shrugged immediately like it was nothing but there was a smug little blush sitting on his cheeks.

“it’s cute” you said honestly.

“yeah yeah.”

you grinned harder.

the two of you curled up together on the floor afterward, eating takeout and pretending to watch the movie.

mostly you watched steve slowly get sleepier beside you.

after the movie ended, his eyes were half closed already, hair messy from your fingers constantly running through it earlier.

you smiled softly then leaned over and kissed his cheek.

immediately his eyes opened.

before you could react properly, his hand gently cupped your face.

and then he kissed you.

properly.

finally.

and god it was everything.

his lips were impossibly soft.

the kiss started careful for about half a second before you both melted into it completely, finding rhythm naturally like you’d already done this a hundred times before. perfect. completely perfect.

when you finally pulled apart, steve looked at you with this expression that made you feel like your entire body might dissolve.

then he shifted slightly and pulled you down gently against his chest.

quietly, he murmured:

“i’m glad you decided to help me.”

you snorted softly against him.

“i’m glad you suck at chemistry.”

he laughed immediately and lightly smacked your arm.

eventually, somewhere tangled together beneath blankets and fairy lights, the two of you fell asleep.

and after that, everything naturally fell into place.

steve slowly drifted away from tommy and carol completely, he started hanging around different people. better people.

sometimes your people.

your friends met him properly and somehow immediately loved him, which honestly shocked you considering how much they used to complain about him.

but steve around you was different.

and now steve harrington, formerly known as farrahfawcettspray, was one of the most important people in your life.

and you?

you became his whole world.

-

When you ask her that, she pauses, then avoids the question. This clearly isn't the goody two-shoes Nancy Wheeler you remember from high school.

What you do remember, however, is that she got into some hot water when she started dating Steve "The Hair" Harrington — god, what a douche he was — but last you heard, they'd broken up over some stupid misogynistic shit he pulled and she'd moved onto Jonathan Byers. You thought it was an odd pairing, but it wasn't much of your business.

"Anyway, you're in school for nursing, right?" Nancy steers the conversation effortlessly away from your questioning, and you swallow, bumping your hip against the ugly floral wallpaper that decorates the kitchen walls.

Again, you have no clue how she remembers that. You and Nancy were a year apart in school, and you were friends when you were younger, but you'd drifted apart in middle school.

"You there?" she asks.

You clear your throat. "Yeah, I'm a sophomore. Why does any of this matter, Nancy? You're not answering any of my questions, and honestly, you sound like you're on drugs or like you're having some kind of psychotic break—"

Suddenly, you're cut off by some shuffling on the other end, and you think you hear some yelling — a mix of older teenagers and prepubescent ones, then painful groaning. Your eyebrows furrow in concern.

"Nancy? Nancy, are you alright?"

"This isn't Nancy," a male voice croons on the other end. Your eyes widen. "Hi sweetheart, my name's Eddie. You might remember me, I've been a senior for like, four years. Anyway, good ol' Wheeler isn't on drugs and she isn't having a psychotic break, that I can promise. What she's telling you sounds totally bonkers, I know, because I was you a few weeks ago, but she's telling the truth. I promise."

The image in your brain only gets foggier. Was Eddie Munson on the other line? In what weird, fucked up world is Nancy Wheeler hanging out with Eddie Munson?

"So, all that aside, the reason why we're calling is because we need someone trustworthy with medical skills. Is that you? It kinda has to be, because you already know all the nitty gritty details, and we'll have to kill you if you say no."

You fumble. "Um. I- I don't know. I'm only a sophomore."

"Do you know how to take care of wounds?"

"It, um, depends on how bad they are."

"Let's say they're... moderately bad. From an animal. Hypothetically supernatural. Of the bat kind."

"What?"

"How about stitches?" Eddie continues, "Because, listen, I'm no doc, but I'm pre-tty sure Harrington could use a few."

"Harrington?" you echo, "Wait, this is about Steve Harrington?"

In the background, you hear a child's loud voice: "You said you wouldn't tell her!"

"Eddie," you say slowly, "Are there... kids there?"

"Listen, don't worry about that," he says, and it's far too nonchalant for your worrisome nature to take, "Are you able to help or not?"

You glance at your packed dufflebag on the bed. The one that was ready to spend the week at your parents' house before Nancy Wheeler called 30 minutes ago.

"Yeah," you say, grabbing your keys from the hook next to the front door. "Give me a second to grab a pen and paper, I just need the address."

Up until today, you've never been to the Harrington's house before.

In high school, you were never invited to Steve's infamous parties, but you always heard about them at school on Monday — about someone doing keg stands, about some couple, together or not, having sex, about someone jumping in the pool naked... teenage debauchery you were never part of, yet, for some reason, you yearned to experience.

The house is dark from the outside, and somehow, it feels even colder on the inside. A girl with short hair answers the door — someone you faintly recognize — and she immediately seems more down to earth, but more high-strung than Nancy.

"Hey," she greets in a tone that feels kind and familiar, and a part of you wishes you had that effect on people, "Steve's laying down in the living room. Nancy and Eddie took the kids home."

You nod as you follow her through the expansive house, all marble and tacky and wealth expressed in ways that feel frigid.

"I'm Robin, by the way," she says, "Nance said you were someone we could trust?"

You shrug. "To be honest, I'm not sure why. We were friends growing up but we grew apart... I don't even know how she got my number."

Robin waves her off, "That was all Eddie and Dustin. Don't be surprised if they hack your stuff one day."

You can't tell if she's joking or not.

In the living room, Steve Harrington — who you think you may have spoken to once when you were both juniors, and that's it — is laying shirtless on the couch, his eyes lazily half-closed while The Golden Girls play on TV. You want to snort at that, but you're more concerned about the red, bloody lashings and cuts that cover his side and throat. You swallow at the sight.

"I know Nancy kind of gave you a rundown about the whole monster thing but it's probably a little more gnarly in person," Robin says softly. She kneels down by Steve's head and presses a hand to his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Hey dingus, we brought someone to help clean you up since we're all no help."

"What did you guys do for him?" you ask, willing your nerves to fade. There's something different about working on someone you knew in high school — the attractive jock all-star everyone had a crush on, that is — instead of some random person you're practicing on.

"Um, Nance made him a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. And we're not sure if he's concussed or anything, but we've been keeping him awake... gave him water and something to eat and some ibuprofen for the pain. That's it, really... we didn't know what else, and we couldn't bring him to the hospital. He looks like he got mauled by a bear."

"Yeah," you agree humorlessly, opening your first aid kit on the floor. You pull your pen light out and bite your lip. "Do you think we can get him to sit up?"

"Sure, if you help me."

You nod, each of you taking one of Steve's arms.

"Hey Steve, we're gonna help you up a little, alright?" you say gently, tactfully pulling him up into a seating position against the couch cushions. You're surprised that he goes easily, his head flopping back as he groans. "Can you hold your head up for me? I remember you had really bitchin' hair in high school. Do you still have it?"

"'f course I do," Steve mutters, his hazel eyes languidly glazing over you. You flick your pen light on to look at his pupils. "Hey, 'member you."

"Hm?" you ask, distracted by the task at hand. He's clearly exhausted and might have been injected by some... supernatural venom, but he's not concussed, which is a win in your book. You decide to move on to cleaning the cuts on his face.

"I said I 'member you," he repeats, hissing when the alcohol cloth makes contact with the bloodied slices on his skin. "We went to school together."

"We did," you murmur, smiling softly. "We were in the same class."

"Uh-huh. Class of '85, baby!" Steve attempts to pump his fist in the air but quickly retracts in, a zip of pain ripping through his shoulder. This time, you do snort with laugher. "You're pretty when you laugh."

"Looks like you haven't changed a bit, Harrington," you say as you finish tending to the wounds on his face. "Let's take care of this thing on your neck, huh? What happened here?"

Steve shrugs nonchalantly. "Demobat tried to strangle me."

"Right," you mutter, assessing the damage. "Looks like you might have some scarring. You'll need to keep an eye on this and make sure it doesn't get infected. Do you trust anyone enough to stay here and do that?"

You look to where you thought Robin was sitting behind you, but it seems as if she's long gone.

"Don' really wanna bother anyone with it," he replies. "I can do it. 'm a big boy."

You furrow your eyebrows. "Steve, you're in seriously rough shape. Someone should be taking care of you."

He pouts. You hate to admit that it's adorable.

"Don' like asking for help."

You sigh. "It doesn't look like you need stitches or anything crazy, but let me stay the night to keep an eye on you, alright? I don't think you should be alone right now."

Steve, wide-eyed and boyish, looks to you like you just hung the moon for him.

He doesn't fight you as you continue to clean and check his wounds.

Steve sleeps for the next day.

You don't bother trying to move him to his bedroom. He's clearly comfortable, snoring away on the couch, and it sounds like he hasn't gotten enough sleep in the past month. So, you let him.

In the meantime, you don't do much. Robin left her phone number behind, so you call her periodically with updates, not that there are many. You don't know where Steve's parents are, but you remember them being quite sparse in high school, so you're unsurprised that the pattern's unbroken almost two years later.

You live out of your duffelbag and call your own parents to let them know that you got caught up with something at school and you'll hopefully be home in a few days. In the meantime, you occupy yourself with reading books that you brought along from your apartment, and when that gets boring, you watch TV and wait for Steve to wake up.

Eventually, that evening, he does.

You brace yourself. You're not sure what for — in the few hours you've spent watching doctors and nurses treat patients, you've seen some people wake up distraught, some angry, others confused and upset, but Steve does... none of those things.

His eyes blink at you blearily, craning his neck and stretching it against the arm of the couch. He lets out a low groan, one that makes your stomach flip, and you swallow, taking slow steps towards him with your first aid kit in hand.

"Hey," you greet delicately, "How are you feeling?"

Steve looks at you as you scan over the angry red marks on his throat. He has on a shirt on, but you'll need to peel back the fabric to assess the wounds on his stomach, too.

"Shitty," he croaks, his eyes widening some at the crack in his voice, "Went through puberty again, too, I guess."

You smile bemusedly before lowering to your knees and sitting back on your ankles. At eye level, Steve looks far less exhausted than he did 24 hours ago.

"You look better," you say, eyeing the cuts on his cheek. "You should eat something and drink some water. Shower, maybe."

"You saying I smell?"

"Well, if you and all your friends really aren't fucking around about all this demoshit, I would assume they can't smell great."

Steve attempts to shrug. "I've smelled worse. Like Dustin Henderson after demolishing multiple roast beef sandwiches."

You wrinkle your nose, popping open your kit to begin the process of cleaning his cuts and replacing the bandaids.

"Is there a reason why you all hang out with freshmen? Or is Nancy's brother just, like, really attached to her?"

Steve winces when the cold alcohol cloth touches his skin. You murmur out a halfhearted apology.

"'s a long story," he mutters. "I kinda... accidentally got myself involved in this and... now I'm here."

"And now you're here," you echo softly. "Barely walking with a random nurse-in-training tending to your supernatural bat wounds."

"Psshhhh," Steve turns his neck to face you, cocking his eyebrows. "'Random'? I told Nance to call you."

You pause, a mess of used, bloodied alcohol swabs on the ground beside you.

"How on earth did you know I was a nursing student?" you ask, reaching for the stack of bandaids. "We barely talked in high school. I don't even think we signed each other's yearbooks at graduation."

"Um, yes, we did," Steve says pointedly. You arch an eyebrow at him in disbelief. "Go upstairs to my room. Hawkins Class of '85, the yearbook is on my shelf."

"I'll pass for now," you smirk.

"Anyway," he huffs dramatically. "We were lab partners spring semester junior year. You were always really good at science and I vividly remember asking you why you liked that stuff so much — you're the only reason why I even passed anatomy, and you said you wanted to be a nurse."

"You remember that?"

He shrugs. Like it's insignificant. Like you're surprised anyone can even recall your name instead of just passing over your face like a mushy blob.

"I just thought it was cool," Steve continues. "No one I knew at the time had any idea what they wanted to do, and you were so set already. Even when I was a senior, I had no clue. I was just gonna hang around Hawkins and work for my dad and... I just thought, maybe I could be like you, y'know?"

Your face warms, so you busy yourself with tidying the mess you've made on the ground. It feels silly to be so awestruck by Steve Harrington and yet... how couldn't you be?

"That's really nice, Steve. Thank you." you say softly. His face melts, matching the sweet smile on your face, and he almost looks relieved.

"Thank you for coming here," he mumbles. "I know it's not, like... your typical situation."

"I'm happy to help," you reach out hesitantly and place your hand against his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Let me make you something to eat, alright?"

You don't anticipate staying another night at Steve's, but it just... happens.

You make dinner for the two of you while the local news plays lowly in the living room, the TV flashing against Steve's tired face. Together, you eat grilled cheese sandwiches in silence. You hand him a glass of water between bites and then offer him a Gatorade.

After dinner, you run a shower for him in the ensuite bathroom of his bedroom. You lay towels out for him and slowly help him up the stairs, just like he's any other patient, and not the boy who could make any girl, teenager, or woman in Hawkins fall to their knees just with a flick of his eyes. You tell him to shout if he needs you, but you secretly hope he doesn't. You're not sure if you could spare yourself the embarrassment of helped a naked, wet, injured Steve Harrington.

While he showers, you make his bed and prep your supplies so you can tend to his cuts and wounds when he gets out. It's a repetitive but necessary process to prevent any infections, and Steve's lucky he didn't need stitches or anything worse. You're fumbling with your collection of travel-sized bottles of topical antibiotics when Steve emerges from the steamy bathroom in a pair of gym shorts and an old Hawkins High School shirt.

You look up, your polite greeting suddenly lost in your throat at the sight of his wet hair and tired eyes. There's something devastating and boy-like about his appearance, and your heart twists in your chest. You try to shove it down.

"That was exhausting," Steve mumbles, his posture slightly slumped. He eyes his bed, then where you sit on the carpeted floor. "Oh— did you— are you leaving?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," you admit. "I just thought it might be more comfortable for you to sleep in your own bed instead of the couch. And I have to redo all your bandages and stuff."

Steve nods. "Where do you want me, doc?"

"On the bed is fine."

By this point, you and Steve have familiarized yourself with this process, and with each gentle clean and touch, his wounds get a little bit better. You assume he'll be able to do this for himself at some point in the near future, but there's a part of you — the caretaker, nurse part of you, you assume — that really likes doing it for him.

He lifts his shirt, twisting slightly to showcase the bruising and sores on his side.

"Can you stay another night?"

For a moment, you pause. Glance up at him, but his eyes are focused on the Hawkins basketball team pendent tacked up on the wall. You continue adhering the band-aid to his skin.

"I can do that," you say softly. "You're healing up well, though. I can teach Robin or Nancy, or whoever you want, to do this, if you'd like."

Steve doesn't immediately reply. Not when you gently pull down the material of his worn sleep shirt and help him back into a sitting position, and not when he runs a hand through his damp hair.

"Will you grab the yearbook off the shelf?"

Your eyes follow to where he's pointing and you nod, standing from your spot on the bed. You retrieve it and hand it to him, watching as he flips to the back pages. It doesn't take him long to find the masses of autographs — not to mention, a couple of lipstick marks and more than a few phone numbers.

"Looks like you had quite a few admirers." you joke.

"Yeah, and none of them cared once high school wasn't real anymore," he snorts humorlessly. It's a second more before he points to your messy handwriting, shoving the yearbook into your lap. Sure enough, your signature is there, followed by a short message. "Read it and weep, doc."

You roll your eyes. "So? Everyone signs each other's yearbooks at the end of the year. It's a whole nostalgia thing."

"Read it."

"To Steve," you read aloud, "It's been great going to school with you all these years. Excited to see where you land. Wishing you the best of luck."

You look up at him expectedly. He shoots you a look.

"Keep going."

Below your handwriting is someone's unfamiliar penmanship. It takes you a few seconds to decipher it, but when you do, your stomach flips.

Coolest girl in Hawkins. Super smart. Wants to be a nurse. If she ever comes back to this loser town, it's a sign I have to ask her out.

"Who wrote that?"

Steve puffs out a breathy laugh. "Who do you think?"

"You thought that about me?"

"Of course." he says it like it's the easiest answer in the world. "I still do."

You can't help it when a loud laugh bubbles up out of you. Steve grins, wide and toothy, and you think it's the cutest thing you've ever seen in the world.

"I think you're delusional, Harrington. Maybe you are concussed."

"You said I wasn't, and you've been a damn good nurse so far."

You laugh again, shaking your head at the boy before you. You feel unbelievably giddy, like you just found out your middle school crush likes you back.

And maybe, really, that's exactly what it is — even if you're hesitant to admit it to yourself.

With a swallow, Steve gently shuts the hard covered yearbook before pushing it to the side, as if closing it will put some kind of finality to the ridiculousness of everything that was Hawkins High.

You remember Steve having a rough go of it his senior year. You don't know the details, but you heard rumors. No college acceptances, Nancy Wheeler drunkenly breaking up with him at a Halloween party that fall. It had been a long freefall for King Steve — one that had twisted up your insides at the time, even if the extent of your interactions were longing glances in the hallways.

"Stay," Steve suddenly says, and this time, his ask is breathier, quieter than it was 20 minutes ago.

You look at him. Allow your eyes to wash over the golden boy sitting in front of you, who's no longer such a golden boy at all, but bruised and beaten down and cut up by supernatural forces that you still don't quite understand. He's been swallowed up and spit out by Hawkins and young adulthood and Scoops Ahoy and Nancy Wheeler and Tommy Hagan and Mr. and Mrs. Harrington and even his latest venture at Family Video, where he works with Robin but regularly gets yelled at by teens trying to rent R-rated movies.

(He swears it's not that bad, but his eyes all but twitched at the mention of his boss, who apparently has a dictator-like approach to running the store.)

"I already told you I'll stay." you reply softly, hand pressing into the soft mattress. Your fingers make an indentation in the foam, and Steve's mouth parts. Carefully, he reaches out, his larger palm covering yours. Your breath hitches in your throat and you feel like the biggest loser alive, your gaze remaining low on your now-joined fingers.

"No... I mean, stay here. In my bed. If you're comfortable." Steve amends. He almost sounds nervous, and it finally makes you look up. When you do, his eyes are wide, and you realize you're right.

You nod. "Do you want the TV on?"

He thinks for a moment. The past few nights, you've been sleeping to the sounds of the local news and late night re-runs of sitcoms. You don't ask why and Steve's grateful for it.

"No, 's fine," he decides, trying to shift into a more comfortable position against the pillows.

"Don't strain yourself," you scold. "I'll help you move if you need it."

Steve snorts lowly as you round the bed, clicking the lamp off. His bedroom, now bathed in the inky blue of 1 1 pm, feels less intimidating this way.

You climb in on the other side, pulling his comforter over your body.

"Are you comfortable?" he asks as you move onto your side.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Shush."

You smile. Steve doesn't miss it.

He wishes he could face you, but he can't with the wounds on his side. Instead, he lays on his back, his arm splayed out between you two, his hand palm face up. It's quiet for the first few minutes as you both listen to each other's breathing.

Steve's not sure if you're sleeping when he says it.

"Can I ask you something?"

You open your eyes. "Hm?"

"Sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No," you answer honestly. "I was drifting a little, but I'm awake. What'd you wanna ask?"

He pauses. Promises himself he won't lose his nerve.

"When I'm a little better... Maybe before you head back to school, or maybe in the summer when you come back, like after the semester's over... can I take you on that date?"

Steve stretches his neck to look at you. Even with his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he can't quite make out your facial expression, with the way you're biting your lip and smiling at him. He can't figure out if you're looking at him with pity or if you're excited, but either way, he can't recall the last time he was this nervous to ask someone out.

And then, he feels your hand slide into his, and it's like all of his worries never even existed at all.

"I would really, really love that, Steve." you murmur, intertwining your fingers with his.