kcd15

Fridays at Family Video always had a certain vibe - too many customers, too many returns, too many weirdos asking for movies that absolutely did not exist. But today felt… slower.

Maybe it was the weather, the late-fall haze settling over Hawkins, or maybe it was the fact that Robin was off for the day, leaving just you and Steve behind the counter...an objectively dangerous combination.

The bell above the door hadn’t chimed in fifteen minutes. Steve had reorganized the “Staff Picks” wall twice and was now pretending to read the back of a horror movie you knew he’d never actually watch. You were leaning on the counter, sorting membership cards you did not need to sort.

It was the kind of quiet that made you too aware of him. Of how close he stood. Of how his cologne mixed with the smell of old VHS cases. Of how his arm would brush yours when he leaned over the counter to pretend he was looking at something important.

This was the problem with closing shifts with Steve: the second the store slowed down, he got reckless.

And reckless Steve Harrington was your weakness.

He pushed the movie aside, drumming his fingers against the Formica countertop, gaze drifting toward you like it always, always, did when he got bored.

“Can I come over today?” Steve asked, leaning on the counter and hitting you with the most pathetic pair of puppy-dog eyes known to mankind.

“Nope.” You popped the P just to be rude.

His face fell. “Wait, what? Why?”

“You work tomorrow morning.”

“That hasn’t stopped us before,” he argued, sounding almost offended.

“Yeah, but Dustin is also definitely gonna be home tonight.”

Steve groaned. “That little cockblocker. Why can’t we just tell him already?”

You stared at him, horrified. “Oh my god, you have to be kidding. He would literally kill us. He’d break up with us. He’d write me out of the family tree entirely.” You lifted a hand, miming the scenario, “‘Hey Dustin, how was Hellfire? By the way, your best friend Steve is shagging me in his free time.’”

Steve recoiled. “Okay, well OF COURSE he’d be mad if you phrased it like that.”

“Point is,” you sighed, “let’s just keep this thing between you and me”, you paused. “and Robin.”

He leaned closer, resting his elbows on the counter, the faintest shadow of disappointment pulling at his expression. Before you could read into it, the bell chimed and he jolted upright like he’d been caught doing something illegal.

Tiffany D. walked in - perfect hair, perfect sweater, the kind of girl who never had to try. You watched her scan the store until her gaze locked on Steve. Of course.

She beelined toward him.

Steve flashed her a polite smile, the one that used to make half the school swoon, and your heart did a weird, half jump.

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. You were not getting jealous over Steve Harrington.

You and Steve were… nothing. Officially unofficial. Friends who blew off steam. A lot of steam. Frequently. But still… just friends.

So you shoved off the counter and marched toward the back room before you could accidentally listen in. From behind the beaded curtain, you heard her laugh. Then heard Steve laugh back.

Ugh.

You breathed deeply. In. Out. Do not be jealous. Do not show it. Do not give him the satisfaction.

Only when she called out a cheerful “Thank you!” and the bell jingled again did you let your shoulders relax.

You emerged wiping imaginary dust off your hands, “She was hot,” you tossed over your shoulder, very casually-not-casual.

“Tiffany?” Steve asked, sounding personally offended.

“Yeah. You get her number?”

“No.” He fumbled a VHS tape and nearly dropped it.

“Aww,” you said, forcing a syrupy laugh, “did Stevie’s flirting not work?”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he insisted. “That was not flirting, you wanna see some real flirting?”

Your mouth twitched. “Please. Enlighten me dear o’stevie boy.”

He squinted, studying you like he was calculating the best way to strike, “I hate you,” he announced - laughing - just before he lunged. You shrieked. Actually shrieked and Steve grabbed your waist, lifting you clean off the ground while you kicked your legs and uselessly smacked his shoulders.

“Put me down!” you breath-laughed. He did the opposite - carrying you across the store and gently setting you on the counter, bracketing you in

“Come over tonight,” he said…not a question, a statement.

“I told you,” you began, “you have work, and Dustin—”

“Screw Dustin,” he said instantly. “Come over. He’ll never know. Tell him you slept at Robin’s. He’ll buy it.”

Your stomach did an Olympic-level flip. He had no idea how easy it was for you to say yes, how much you wanted nothing more than to spend the night with him. So instead, you teased, “My, my, my. Someone is hornyyyy tonight.”

His smile froze for a single beat and then he made an overdramatic, pained noise and let his head flop onto your chest, “you are helpless” he muttered.

“There, there, Steve,” you said, stroking his hair with false sympathy. “I’ll come over.”

His head snapped up so fast you almost laughed, “Really?”

You nodded, fighting a grin. “Yes.”

Steve was still smiling - dumb, boyish, stunned - long after you agreed to come over. He didn’t even play it cool. He just stood there grinning at you like you'd hung the moon.

“Okay,” he said, voice a little wrecked. “We should probably close before I embarrass myself further.”

“Impossible,” you said sweetly. “You peaked in ‘84.”

He flicked a tape at you. You dodged it, laughing, and he shook his head like he couldn’t believe you existed. He locked the door, lowered the gate, and shut the lights off in one practiced sweep. In the dark, the outline of him was all broad shoulders and soft edges… a silhouette you knew too well.

“Come on,” he murmured, nudging you toward the exit with a gentle hand at the small of your back. “Let’s get out of here.”

His room was dim except for the lamp on his nightstand. Posters you’d seen a hundred times always looked different in the low light, warmer somehow. More intimate.

You tossed your jacket on his chair. Steve shut the door with a soft click.

And that was all it took.

He crossed the room in two strides, hands already sliding to your waist, pulling you into him like he’d been holding back all day. You barely got a breath out before his mouth was on yours - hungry, warm, familiar.

His fingers curled in the hem of your shirt, not yanking it but holding, like he wanted to drag you closer but didn’t want to rush you. So, you kissed him harder.

Your hands slid into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch against your mouth. He pushed you gently back into the door, the soft thud vibrating down your spine.

One of your hands fisted in his hair, the other sliding under his shirt to the small of his back. He sucked in a breath when you touched him there, pressing closer, chest to chest.

You kept tugging his shirt up, silently telling him to take it off. He let out a shaky laugh, “Bossy.”

“Just take it off.” you mumbled between kisses.

He obeyed,  tossing it somewhere behind him without looking, and kissed you again, deeper, the kind that made your knees go weak. He flip you off the door and walked you backwards until the back of your legs hit the bed, his lips never leaving yours. You gasped softly as you fell onto the mattress, and he followed you down, bracing himself on his forearms so he didn’t crush you.

Your fingers brushed the sharp line of his jaw; he closed his eyes like the touch unraveled him completely.

“God,” he whispered against your throat, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

Your breath hitched, and you swore you misheard him.

His lips trailed lower -slow, deliberate, knowing - and you couldn’t help the sound that slipped out. He smirked against your skin, because of course he smirked; he’d earned that reaction before, more than once, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Still gets you every time,” he murmured, mouth brushing the hollow of your throat.

“Shut up,” you breathed, fingers sliding into his hair and tugging.

He groaned, a real, unfiltered one, and pressed himself closer, his weight familiar over you, comforting and electrifying all at once. He moved like someone who had mapped your body already, who knew where to touch, how to kiss, how to pull another gasp from you without even thinking.

He tugged your shirt up, you lifted your arms without thinking, letting him pull it over your head and toss it aside. He leaned back a fraction, just enough to look at you in the dim lamplight, eyes sweeping over your skin like he was seeing something he’d missed earlier.

Not worship. Not awe. But familiarity. Want.

His lips found yours again, deeper now, his hand sliding along your thigh with confident pressure that had your pulse kicking hard. He guided your leg around his hip, pulling you tighter against him, hips slotting together in a way that was far too familiar, far too easy.

He exhaled sharply, forehead dropping to yours.

“God, you’re -” He cut himself off with another kiss, rougher this time, like the words were too big, too revealing.

Your hands slid down his back, tracing the lines you already knew, the curves of muscle you’d held onto too many times to pretend they didn’t matter.He shivered when your nails dragged lightly along his lower back.

“I swear Henderson, every damn time,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked. “You do that and I’m -  I’m gone.”

You smiled against his mouth. “Then don’t pretend you’ve got any self-control.”

He laughed breathlessly, kissing you again, deeper, harder, his weight shifting as he moved with that familiar urgency that only ever showed up when it was you.

No uncertainty. No slow warming-up. Just two people who knew each other inside and out.

You woke up to sunlight bleeding through Steve’s curtains and the warm, heavy weight of an arm draped across your waist.

For a moment, you didn’t move.

Steve was still asleep behind you, face buried against your shoulder, hair a total disaster, breathing slow and even. He was warm, too warm, and you let yourself enjoy it for three seconds before reality shoved its way in.

Home. Dustin. Reality.

You slipped carefully out of Steve’s hold, but he immediately groaned and reached for you like a sleepy toddler.

“Mh - come back,” he mumbled into the pillow.

You snorted softly. “I have to go.”

“Noooo,” he said dramatically, eyes still closed, arm searching blindly. “Five minutes.”

“You have work,” you reminded him, pulling your jeans from the floor.

He glanced over at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, unfairly soft -  “Yeah,” he muttered. “I was hoping that part was a nightmare.”

You snorted, stuffing your shirt into your bag before he caught how flustered you felt, “I should go. Before Dustin wakes up and starts his morning crusade.”

Steve froze mid-stretch, “Hold on. You’re walking?”

“…Yes?”

He stared like you’d just told him you planned on fighting a Demogorgon with a butter knife.

You pointed at him, “If I’m going to convince Dustin I crashed at Robin’s, you absolutely cannot be dropping me off at home. No arguing. Besides you are already late for work”

He stood, coming closer, tugging on a wrinkled shirt as he did.

“Fine, but If you’re gonna walk home…”,  he hesitated, eyes flicking to yours. “At least call when you get in”

You didn’t tease him for worrying. You didn’t make a joke. You just nodded, because the reason behind the request was obvious - everyone in the group had gotten a little paranoid due to their traumas.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’ll call.”

Something unspoken settled between you -  warm and a little dangerous - and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something more.

But instead, he stepped back, grabbed his name tag off the nightstand, and cleared his throat.

“Okay,” he said lightly. “ I should fix my hair or something. I look like I just crawled out of… well. Never mind."

You cracked a smile. “Good luck with that.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

You opened his bedroom door - pausing when he said: “Hey”

You looked back.

He gave you a small, stupidly soft smile. “Thanks for coming over.”

You swallowed, trying your hardest to play it cool, "Anytime Harrington”

The Henderson front door creaked exactly the way it did every morning -  loud, accusing, like it knew you were up to something.

You slipped inside anyway, shutting it with the gentlest possible click, shoes already in your hand. The house was quiet. Dustin’s room door was shut. The kitchen was empty.

Perfect. Safe. Home sweet -“Um, where were you?”

You physically jolted from shock as Dustin burst out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, towel around his shoulders, curls sticking straight up like he’d stuck his head in an outlet.

“Jesus, Dustin!” you hissed. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“I almost gave YOU - ? Where were you?” , he squinted, suspicious,  “You weren’t in your bed when I checked.”

You froze.

“You… went into my room?”

“Yeah,” he said, like it was obvious. “You didn’t come home last night. I thought you died or something!”

Panic pricked behind your ribs.

Keep it cool. Keep it casual. Think.

“I slept at Robin’s,” you blurted.

Dustin blinked. “You did? Why?”

“Uh… girls’ night?”

“Girls Night?”

“Yes, Dustin, you know where girls get together and watch movies and gossip and shit.”

He stared… then nodded slowly.

“Huh. Weird. But okay.”

You exhaled as subtly as possible.

He stalked into the kitchen for cereal, muttering to himself about Social Dynamics of Teenage Girls or whatever nerd analysis he was running this time. 

You tiptoed down the hall to your room, shut the door, and collapsed face-first onto your bed.

Your heart was still racing as you dialed Family Video, still half buried in your pillow.

It rang twice before:

“Family Video, Robin speaking,” she answered in her usual deadpan.

“It’s me,” you said softly.

A pause. Then a shift in her tone - sly and knowing.

“Let me guess… you’re calling to let Steve know you got home?”

You could practically see her eyebrow lift, and you mentally cursed Steve for spilling the beans to Robin.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “He asked me to.”

Then Robin let out a very knowing, very smug, “Ohhhhhhh.”

“Don’t,” you warned.

“Damn, Henderson,” she continued, slow and amused. “Look at you two being… cute. Practically a real couple.”

You groaned. “Robin - ”

“So, how was it? Actually -nope, I don’t wanna know. Forget I asked.”

Somewhere in the background you heard Steve yell, “Is that Y/N? Robin, is that =?”

Robin talked over him loudly.  “Anyway! How the hell did you get today off? I swear Keith is in love with you. He gives you all the easy shifts, it’s disgusting. Meanwhile, I ask for one Saturday off and suddenly it’s ‘We’ll see, Buckley,’ and ‘We’re understaffed, Buckley,’ and—”

“Robin,” you interrupted gently, “love, I have to go. Please just tell Steve I got home.”

“Okay, okay.” She sighed dramatically. “Ai ai, captain.”

“Thank you.”

“Mhm. Go shower. You sound dirty.”

“ROBIN.”

You set the phone back onto the cradle and exhaled into your pillow until it muffled every embarrassing feeling ballooning in your chest.

“Cute.”

“Couple.” Robin was out of her mind.

You were not cute. You were not a couple. Steve was just… Steve.

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling as if it would offer answers. It didn’t. It never did. Instead it let you sit in the quiet morning light, hair a mess, replaying last night - the way his fingers traced your body, his voice whispering in your ear, the way his mouth –

God. You needed to get a grip.

You grabbed the blanket and pulled it over your face, letting yourself sink into the mattress. You stayed like for what felt like hours -  wrapped up in the illusion that everything was simple, that last night was just last night and not one of the many nights blurring together into something that felt dangerously like a pattern.

Then the knob twisted and your door bangs open so hard it ricochets off the wall.

“Code red,” Dustin announces.

“Son of a bitch,” you say, pushing up on your elbows. “Do you know how knocking works?”

He’s breathing hard, cap slightly askew, curls frizzed from either sweat or panic or both. Max is behind him in the hall, leaning against the doorframe with her arms folded and her expression set to its default: unimpressed.

“What did you do?” you ask, because with Dustin, it’s a fair first question.

“Nothing,” he says. “It’s not me. It’s Eddie.”

You blink. “Eddie… Munson?”

“Yes, Eddie Munson, do you know any other Eddies?” he snaps, pacing into the room like a caged animal.

“I mean, there’s Eddie from the arcade who keeps hitting on - ”

“Focus!” Dustin practically yells.

Max rolls her eyes. “He’s been like this since I got here. Save yourself.”

“What happened?” you ask, sitting all the way up now.

Dustin rakes a hand through his hair. “Okay, so, last night Max saw Eddie had a deal - like, a thing - with Chrissy Cunningham - ”

“The cheerleader?” you interrupt.

“Yes, the cheerleader, can I please talk?” he says. “Max said she saw flickering lights and shit. And now there’s cops at his trailer and tape and they’re saying Chrissy’s dead and no one has seen Eddie since.”

The words hit you in quick succession, too fast to process.

“Wait, slow down,” you say. “Chrissy’s dead?”

Max nods, the set of her mouth tight. “That’s what the news said this morning. ‘Hawkins teen tragically deceased, ongoing investigation, blah blah blah.’”

“And Eddie’s missing,” Dustin repeats, as if you misunderstand that part. “I called, no answer. I biked past the park - cops everywhere. His uncle said no one’s seen him.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, bare feet hitting the carpet.

“Maybe he’s just hiding,” you say. “If the cops think he did it—”

“He didn’t,” Dustin says immediately, "Also, don't forget about the flickering lights, we all know what that means”.

“I know,” you say. “But they don’t know that. I mean if all of this is true, and Chrissy died in some upside Demogorgon way, and Eddie was there - I mean there's no way the cops dont think its him”

“Exactly!” Dustin points at you like you’ve proven his point. “He probably freaked out and hid, and who knows what else is out there, and the cops are gonna screw it up, and if we don’t find him first - ”

“Okay,” you cut in. “Okay. Breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“Yeah, well breathe less dramatically,” you say.

He glares but obeys, shoulders moving slower.

Your stomach gives a slow, uneasy twist. This feels familiar. Too familiar. The rush of gathering facts before adults can screw it up. The unsteady sense that something under your feet is already cracking, you just haven’t fallen through yet.

You take a breath of your own. “Okay. So what’s the plan?”

Dustin straightens. “We go to Family Video.”

You blink. “That’s the plan?”

“Steve’s there,” he says, like that explains everything. “He’s the chauffeur. Robin’s there. She’s smart-ish. We’re smart. We put our heads together. We find Eddie before everyone else does.”

Max snorts. “You’re really leaning into this ‘Dustin Henderson, detective’ thing, huh?”

“Do you have a better idea?” he fires back.

She pauses. “No.”

“Alright then,” he says, turning back to you. “Come on, get your shoes.”

You look down at your socks, at the magazine still open on the bed. The normalcy of your room suddenly feels flimsy.

“Let me change,” you say, pushing up to stand.

“Be fast,” Dustin says. “Eddie could be bleeding out in a ditch somewhere.”

“Jesus, dude,” Max cuts in. “Maybe dial it down.”

You yank a pair of jeans from your chair, pull them on, grab the first clean-ish shirt you see, and shove your feet into sneakers. Your hands feel clumsier than they should, like your brain is one step behind your body.

You don’t know Eddie well. But you know Dustin. And you know that look - fear bottling up under stubbornness, spilling out as urgency. You’ve seen it before. Late nights. Flashlights. Monsters.

You shrug on a jacket and grab your house keys.

“Let’s go,” you say.

Dustin practically sprints down the hall, Max following close behind.

As you pull the front door shut behind you, you catch a glimpse of the family photo on the entryway table - one of the few where everyone’s smiling. Your mom. Dustin. You.

For a second, you wish this was a different kind of emergency. A broken bike. A failed test. Anything else.

But you’ve lived in Hawkins long enough to know better.

Family Video looks the same as always from the outside - sun-faded posters taped to the windows, a cardboard cutout of some horror villain leering next to a display of rom-coms. The fluorescent lights inside buzz steadily, oblivious.

The bell over the door jingles as you push it open. The familiar smell hits you: plastic, cleaning solution, the faint linger of stale popcorn from the machine Keith keeps threatening to throw out.

Steve and Robin are behind the counter.

Robin is leaning over the register, reading the back of a VHS box out loud in a dramatic voice. Steve is sorting returns into stacks, not listening.

“‘A love triangle that defies time,’” Robin intones. “What does that even mean? Is one of them a ghost?”

“Please just put it in drama,” Steve says. “Where Keith told us to.”

“It’s not drama, it’s crime against cinema,” she says.

Then she notices you and straightens, dropping the tape onto the counter. “Oh good,” she says. “Reinforcements. We’re under attack from the romance section.”

Steve glances up at her, then follows her gaze to you. His whole face changes.

He looks surprised, then happy, then concerned in the span of a heartbeat.

“Hey,” he says. “Wait, what are you doing here so early?”

“Yeah, about that,” you say, moving forward with Dustin and Max flanking you. “We’ve got… a situation.”

Robin’s brows shoot up. “Please say it’s not more late fees, I don’t have the energy.”

“Eddie’s missing,” Dustin blurts.

The air in the store feels different instantly. Thinner. Tighter.

Steve’s brows knit. “Missing how?”

“And Chrissy Cunningham is dead,” Max adds, voice flat. “At his trailer.”

Robin’s mouth falls open. “The cheerleader?”

“Wait, what?” Steve says, straightening fully now.

After that, everything moved fast.

You, Dustin, Max, Steve, and Robin huddled in the back room, trading everything you knew - Chrissy’s death, Eddie’s disappearance, the way the cops were already circling. Robin scribbled theories while Dustin paced like a detective on a deadline, and Steve kept glancing between all of you like he was trying to hold the group together by sheer will. 

It didn’t take long to land on the only lead you had: Reefer Rick. If Eddie was scared and hiding, he’d go somewhere familiar, somewhere off the grid. So with nothing but a name, a direction, and a gnawing sense that things were about to get worse, you all piled into Steve’s car and headed toward Lover’s Lake.

The drive felt longer than it should have, and you blame the eerie silence that took over the car - everyone clearly deep in thought over what is happening.

Dustin is hunched over his notebook in the back with you, scribbling arrows between names and locations like he’s plotting a war. Max stares out the window, fingers drumming restlessly against her thigh. Robin is chewing on the edge of her thumbnail in the passenger seat, eyes flicking between the road and the trees like one of them might suddenly get up and walk.

And Steve… Steve keeps looking at you in the rearview mirror.

He doesn’t do it constantly, but it’s often enough that you notice a pattern. Every time Dustin says something that makes the situation feel more real - “If the cops find him first” or “what if whatever took Chrissy, took him, what if the monster is at Reefer Rick's house” - Steve’s gaze flicks up, finds yours, like he’s checking that you’re okay 

“We are not dying because of some stoner named Reefer Rick,” Robin says finally, breaking the silence. “If I get murdered in a boathouse, I’m coming back to haunt all of you.”

“If you come back, it’ll be the Upside Down’s fault, not the boathouse,” Dustin says. “Completely different situation.”

“We don’t even know if it’s Upside Down-related,” you say. “We just know it’s… weird.”

“It’s Hawkins,” Max says. “Weird is implied.”

She’s not wrong.

Trees start to thicken on either side of the road. The lake creeps into view between branches - gray, still, reflecting a sky that looks too heavy for mid-afternoon. Steve slows as he turns onto the narrow dirt road that leads toward Reefer Rick’s. Branches scrape the sides of the BMW.

“Careful, Harrington,” Robin says. “Your rich boy car can’t handle nature.”

“Shut up,” he mutters, easing over a rut.

The road opens up to a clearing after a minute - a small, battered house back in the trees and, closer to the water, a weathered boathouse listing slightly to one side. There’s no sign of life. No car. No smoke from a chimney. Just the quiet splash of the lake against the dock.

Steve kills the engine. The sudden silence rings in your ears.

“Okay,” he says. “Rule number one: nobody freak out.”

“Why would you say that?” Robin snaps. “Now I’m automatically freaking out.”

“Rule number two,” he continues as if she hasn’t spoken, “we stick together. No wandering off. No ‘I’m just gonna check over here’ bullshit. Got it?”

Dustin rolls his eyes. “Who died and made you boss?”

“Literally no one,” Steve says. “Let’s keep it that way.”

You swallow a nervous little laugh and open your door. The air outside is colder by the water, sharp and damp. The smell of algae and old wood wraps around you immediately.

You all walk toward the boathouse, shoes crunching on gravel, then thudding on the dock. The boards creak under your combined weight.

“Wow,” Robin says quietly. “This is… murdery.”

“Comforting,” Max mutters.

The boathouse door is partially ajar, hanging crookedly on one hinge. A chain dangles uselessly from a hook where a lock probably used to be.

Steve reaches it first, bracing a hand on the frame.

“Stay behind me,” he says.

You snort. “Relax, Captain America. It’s a shed.”

Steve shoots you a look over his shoulder. “A creepy shed. With potential murderers. Big difference.”

“You say that like you could actually stop a murderer.”

His mouth opens - offended, ready to argue - but Robin cuts in.

“You’re not exactly a tank, Harrington.”

He swings his glare to her. “Do you want me to open the creepy door or not?”

She gestures grandly. “After you, O Brave Sir Knight.”

He takes a breath, muttering something that sounds like “why am I friends with any of you,” and pushes the door open with his shoulder.

The inside of the boathouse is dim and smells like damp wood, oil, and old fish. Light filters in through cracks in the walls and gaps under the roof; dust motes float lazily in the beams. There’s a small boat propped on a set of blocks, a couple of oars, some discarded nets, and piles of junk scattered around the floor.

No Eddie.

Dustin steps carefully inside, scanning the floor for signs of movement. “He has to be here. It makes too much sense.”

“Unless he already left,” Max says.

“No,” Dustin argues. “Look.” He points at the ground. “Those are fresh footprints. Two sets - one going in, one moving around. And this -” he crouches, touching a small dark patch on the floor “ - is either grease or blood.”

“Please be grease,” Robin says.

Dustin moves further in, eyes narrowed. “Eddie?” he calls, voice echoing off the wooden walls. “It’s us. Dustin. Henderson. We’re not cops.”

You follow, heartbeat ticking in your throat. The boathouse feels smaller once you’re inside, the walls closer, the shadows deeper.

“Maybe he’s hiding,” you say, your voice sounding muffled in your own ears. “If he thinks the cops are coming…”

“Or if he thinks we don’t believe him,” Dustin adds quietly before calling out again, “Eddie, if you’re here, come out. We’re not gonna turn you in, man. We just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Silence.

A drop of water plunks somewhere in the back. The boat creaks slightly on its blocks.

You look around, eyes adjusting to the dim. There are corners of the boathouse that are darker than the rest - behind the boat, along the back wall, near the piles of coiled rope - and you can feel Steve’s tension ratcheting up with every second Eddie doesn’t appear.

Your attention snags on an oar leaning against the wall just inside the door. It’s long, heavy, the handle smooth from years of use.

You grab it before you think too much about it, and point the stack of paint jars to your left.

Steve whips around so fast his sneaker squeaks on the damp floor. “What are you doing?”

You freeze mid-reach, oar already in your hands. “Just” You gesture vaguely at the darker corners of the boathouse. “Poking things.”

He stares at you like you’ve announced you’re about to perform brain surgery with a spoon, “Poking things?” he echoes.

“Well, unless you want me sticking my bare hand into mystery holes - ”

“Oh my god, please don’t say ‘mystery holes,’” he groans, dragging a hand down his face like he wants to scrub the phrase right out of the air.

Robin perks up. “She’s got a point.”

“I hate that she has a point,” Steve fires back, still glaring at you as he reaches forward, "give me that"

"No" You lift your chin, giving him a smug little shrug. “You’re just jealous of my superior weaponry.”

“That’s not a weapon,” he argues, pointing accusingly at the oar. “That’s… a boat stick.”

You blink. “It’s literally called an oar, Steve.”

“That’s what I said.”

“That is not what you said.” you teased, trying so hard not to call him adorable right now.

“Guys,” Dustin hisses, eyes wide as he gestures at the whole eerie, creaking murder-scene vibe around you. “Can we focus, please?”

You tighten your grip on the oar and step a little deeper into the boathouse. The air grows colder the farther you venture, shadows thickening along the back wall. Dustin and Max fall into step beside you, pacing carefully around coils of rope and old fishing gear. From behind, Robin mutters something about her ghost haunting Keith’s lunch break if she dies here.

Steve stays right on your right flank - close enough that you can hear the uneven way he breathes when something creaks, close enough that his arm brushes yours when he instinctively moves in front of you again.

You roll your eyes but don’t push him away.

You use the oar to nudge aside a stack of nets. Dust rises. A crab trap rattles. Nothing.

But every rustle, every shift of the floorboards makes Steve tense like he’s ready to tackle you to the ground and throw himself on top of whatever comes next.

You push a bucket. It clatters over, empty.

You tap the underside of a shelf, then reach out with the oar to push the tarp covering the boat, just a little, just to see if - 

Suddenly, the tarp explodes.

Something big and fast surges up from the boat with a yell. You barely have time to scream before everything goes sideways.

Steve’s hands slam into the front of your shoulders, shoving you back hard.

You stumble, feet tangling, back slamming into the ground. The oar clatters out of your hands, skidding across the floor.

Your vision jolts, then steadies on the scene in front of you:

Steve pushed up against the wall, with a knife pressed to his throat by Eddie Munson himself.

“Back!” he snaps at you without looking, voice low and sharp. “Stay back!”

Your whole body froze.

For a heartbeat, just one, you forgot how to breathe. Steve’s chest rose sharply against the blade. Eddie’s eyes were wild, terrified, cornered animal panic radiating off him in waves.

“Eddie - ” you tried, but the word barely made it out.

Then Dustin lunged forward, hands up, voice cracking as he shouted, “EDDIE, STOP! IT’S US! IT’S ME!”

Those few seconds felt like hours.

Eddie’s eyes flickered to Dustin. Back to Steve. Back to you.

Finally - finally - his grip loosened. He jerked the knife away from Steve’s throat and staggered back, shaking.

Steve braced his hand against the wall, swallowing hard, the red line blooming just under his jaw making your stomach twist.

“Dude,” Dustin gasped, “we’re not here to hurt you - we’re trying to help you.”

It took a while before Eddie believed it.

But eventually, you were all crowded inside the boat house, voices low, lights dim, fear buzzing around like a trapped insect. Eddie paced, hands trembling, as he explained what he saw. Chrissy. The way she died. The impossible way her body broke. The way the walls seemed to close in.

And you…you sat there listening, nodding, asking questions, but inside?

Inside you wanted to scream.

To sob. To throw something. To beg the universe to give you one year where you didn’t have to worry about monsters or curses or alternate dimensions.

You were so tired of this. So tired of pretending you weren’t scared. So tired of pretending this wasn’t ripping pieces out of you.

Steve kept glancing at you from across the room - small looks, quick flickers, checking you were okay without drawing attention….And it should’ve helped.

But right now, it only made your throat feel tight.

Because your life wasn’t normal. Hadn’t been normal since the moment the Demogorgon tore its way into town.

You weren’t a regular teenager. Your friends weren’t regular kids. And now another creature, another curse, was hanging over your heads, threatening to take someone else you cared about.

Eddie’s voice shook as he whispered, “I didn’t do this. I swear. I swear on my life.”

And for the first time since stepping into the boat house, you found your voice.

“We know,” you said softly. “We believe you.”

But inside, the truth pressed heavy against your ribs: You weren’t sure how many more horrors Hawkins could throw at you before something inside you finally broke.

You’re the last one to step out of the boathouse.

The air outside feels sharper, cooler, like the whole lake is holding its breath. The others head toward the car first, voices overlapping - Robin ranting about boathouses, Dustin theorizing, Max insisting she’s not scared.

You take a moment before following.

Your chest still feels fluttery from the adrenaline. Or maybe from something else entirely.

Steve slows until he’s walking beside you.

For a few steps, neither of you say anything. The boards of the dock creak beneath your shoes. A gull calls somewhere across the lake. Your heartbeat hasn’t quite settled.

He keeps glancing at you without turning his head - small, quick looks like he’s checking for damage.

Finally, he exhales. “You okay?”

Your lips tilt upward. “Are you asking me or yourself?”

That makes him huff out something like a laugh, soft and shaky. “Both, I guess.”

“I’m fine,” you say.

He doesn’t look convinced. His brows pinch just slightly, the way they do when he’s still replaying a moment in his head - like he’s still seeing Eddie exploding out of that tarp.

“I didn’t… hurt you, right?” he asks quietly, eyes flicking to your shoulder where his hands shoved you back.

You shake your head. “No. You just scared the shit out of me.”

His mouth quirks. “Yeah. Same.”

You don’t say anything else, and neither does he.

But he stays close the whole walk back - closer than he normally lets himself in public. Close enough that your sleeve brushes his every few steps. 

He opens your car door before getting into his own, his hand braced on the frame like he’s shielding you from hitting your head. He’s done it before, but today it feels… heavier.

“Thanks,” you say, stepping in.

He pauses - not long, but long enough. His eyes drift over your face, checking you all over again, before he nods. “Yeah. Sure.” He shuts the door gently. The drive back feels heavier than the drive out.

No one talks at first, not even Dustin, which is how you know things are bad. He keeps fidgeting with the walkie in his lap, tapping it against his knee in uneven patterns.

Max sits beside him, staring out the window. Her jaw is tight, shoulders tense. She hasn’t spoken since Eddie described what happened to Chrissy.

Robin leans forward from the backseat, elbows on her knees, brain clearly spinning.

Steve’s hands grip the steering wheel a little too hard.

And you… you sit behind him, directly in the line of the rearview mirror.

Which he checks.

Frequently.

The BMW hums along the road. When a quiet stretch of forest passes outside the windows, Robin finally speaks.

“Okay… she levitated?” Robin says, brows furrowed. “And her bones snapped? And nobody finds that just a LITTLE weird?”

Dustin shakes his head. “This is big. Bigger than the demodogs. Bigger than the Russian Spies. Bigger than the gate.”

Robin sighs dramatically. “Cool, cool, love that. Love that it’s never a normal murder. It’s always freaky, supernatural nightmare fuel.”

Steve clears his throat. “Whatever it is… Eddie saw it. Or thinks he did.”

“It wasn’t a hallucination,” Dustin insists. “Everything he described matches the Upside Down rulebook.”

“Great,” Robin mutters. “We should write a handbook. ‘Surviving Interdimensional Trauma for Dummies.’ Volume 1.”

You should laugh. You should say something clever. But you just watch Steve’s hands flex around the wheel.

You pretend not to notice.

Just like you pretend you don’t still feel his mouth on your neck from last night. Just like you pretend you don’t want to climb over the seat and bury yourself in his arms and cry right now. Just like you pretend whatever is happening between you two isn’t real. Just like you pretended you werent scared out of your mind right now.

Because pretending is easy. Pretending is safe. Pretending is what the two of you do best.

And as you glance around at the others - Dustin hunched forward, Max stone-quiet, Robin chewing her thumbnail - the sinking realization settles in your chest:

Whatever is happening in Hawkins again, it’s only the beginning.

But Steve catches your wrist, and spins you back toward him, and his face is flushed and his jaw is clenched and his eyes are on fire and…well, he must be having a similar thought process about your current state, because suddenly his mouth is crushed to yours and his hands are moving up to tangle in your hair with a ferocity that steals the breath from your lungs. He backs you into the door of his bedroom, slamming you against it and caging you in with his body so hard that the impact might hurt if it weren’t for his hand catching the back of your head to shield you from the blow.

“You drive me insane.” He growls, low, as his furious hands tug your shirt over your head like the garment is the most offensive thing he’s ever seen. “Never fucking listen. Always talking back.”

“Take this off.” You tug at his own shirt, breathless and growing increasingly more desperate with each layer of clothing remaining between you.

“And bossy.” But he pulls his shirt over his head, ducking back down to bite at your neck hard enough to make your knees buckle.

“Oh, I’m the bossy one now-“ he cuts you off with another bite, hands sliding over your waist as he presses you tighter against the door until there doesn’t seem to be a millimeter of space left between you.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened if I hadn’t been there in time?” His words are dangerously quiet against your jaw, and you think he might be shaking. You pull back, catching his lips with your own as you begin to fumble with his belt. He responds faster than the crack of a whip, snatching your wrists with one hand and pinning them to the wall above your head without once breaking the kiss.

“Never sticking to the fucking plan.” He continues between demanding kisses, the fingers of his free hand working expertly at the button of your jeans. “Never. Fucking. Listen.”

“We didn’t have time to- oh God.” Your defense is cut off with a gasp as his hand dives beneath your waistband, and you hear his breath catch as his skilled fingers find just how desperate you are for him.

“Fuck-“ for just a moment, his composure breaks. You whimper, the sound leaving you before you can remember that you’re trying to sass him, and he crushes his lips to yours again as he begins to work you like a well-loved instrument. Despite his words, and the gravel still lacing his tone, his movements aren’t rough. He holds you still against the wall, completely in control, but his kiss is loving and his fingers are deft as they move in the exact way he knows will make you fall apart faster than you can think.

“Almost lost you, because you can’t stop throwing yourself into danger.” He murmurs, crooking his finger and adding a second in a single smooth movement that makes your toes curl.

“We didn’t have…t-time, fuck. Steve.”

“Still arguing with me.” He almost grumbles, but his voice is so raw and his fingers are speeding up inside of you and his thumb is working in small circles and you’re having trouble remembering to be pissy with him. That’s probably his fucking intention, but you definitely can’t complain right now. “You almost die, and two seconds later you’re arguing with me.” He pulls back, just far enough to let his nose bump against yours, eyes locked on your face like he’s trying to memorize every expression that crosses it.

He’s losing his grip on his anger, too. You can see the fury in his eyes replace itself with something like reverence as they look into yours, as he crooks his fingers again and swallows your gasp of helpless pleasure like it’s a drug. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. Hold onto me.”

He releases your wrists, and pulls his fingers back so quickly that you nearly sob from the sudden loss. Your arms move to lock around his broad shoulders before you can think, and his hands come down to the backs of your thighs so he can lift you against the wall and kiss you so hard and rough that you forget how to breathe right. His hips rock against yours, and when your nails dig into the warm skin of his back he groans low enough for the sound to vibrate through you.

“Want you.” You murmur, and he moans again as he pulls you back from the door and lowers you onto the bed, still so careful despite his anger.

Once again, your hands move down to tug at his belt, desperate for more of him, and once again, he bats them away.

“Not yet.” He murmurs into the hollow of your throat, trailing searing kisses over your collarbone as he crawls lower. Lower. You whine, arching your back in frustration as your fingers curl against his shoulders in a stubborn attempt to pull him back to you.

“Steve, just-“

He interrupts you with a sharp bite to your hip, hands already working to pull you out of your jeans.

“Do you really think,” his voice is even lower now, dark eyes still burning as he turns them up to you, “that after the shit you pulled tonight, you get to tell me how to fuck you?”

You do your best to glare, even as his words send molten heat through your already burning bloodstream. You can’t find it in yourself to answer, and his satisfied hum only makes you burn hotter. Cocky bastard.

“That’s what I thought.” He murmurs, thumbs hooking in the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down as you squirm with a desperation that makes frustration ignite in your core all over again.

He lifts your knee over his shoulder, ducking back down to drag his blunt teeth along the inside of your thigh, and you try so, so hard not to give in. To stay mad at him. To find the words to tell him that he was being overprotective and you had everything under control and just because you’re about to lose your mind with lust and need doesn’t mean you’re done yelling at him.

And then his mouth is on you, hot and skilled and overwhelming, and anything you might have said is cut off by a near-sob of pleasure.

“That’s it.” He murmurs, the words vibrating through you as your fingers tangle helplessly in his hair. “Lemme hear you.”

The way Steve Harrington can take you apart with his mouth should be studied by science. The way you see stars as he writes sonnets into your body with his tongue, the way his fingers join the machinations of his mouth to make you cry out so loudly you’re worried you might wake half the fucking neighborhood. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, and his hand moves up to push your knee back down onto the bed, moaning into you like he’s getting off on this just as much as you are and it’s so fucking hot you might die.

Your high approaches like a fucking freight train, barreling towards you almost alarmingly fast. It’s overwhelming to the point of near-pain, but Steve doesn’t stop. Not for a second. His hand leaves your thigh, sliding up your stomach and your ribs until you’re almost mindlessly clawing at the muscled bicep before you, desperate to anchor yourself to anything solid.

His hand catches your fingers instead, threading them through his own, and when you look down, his eyes are dark and starved and possessive and locked right the fuck onto yours, and you fall over the edge with a scream of his name.

When you come to, still struggling to catch your breath, it’s to your boyfriend climbing up your body like a panther poising to attack, lips brushing over any exposed skin he can reach like he’s trying to inhale you into his very lungs.

“So good. You did so good for me…” he murmurs as he reaches the hollow of your throat, and you can only raise a hand to comb your fingers weakly through his hair. Your grip tightens, however, when you feel his own fingers return to where they were aiding his tongue moments ago, making you gasp and squirm beneath him, still oversensitive.

“S-Steve.” You start, only to be cut off by a sharp gasp as he slips two digits inside of you without so much as a warning.

“Shoulda tied you to the fuckin’ headboard.” He growls, breath warm against the shell of your ear. The words make you arch beneath him, and it takes a lot more focus than you would like to admit for you to smirk.

“Still mad, huh?”

He catches the lobe of your ear between his teeth, and speeds up the movement of his hand until you’re writhing.

And once again, his fingers move and curl inside of you, relentlessly massaging your sweet spot until you’re shaking beneath him.

He kisses you, slow and hungry and deep, and whispers soft praise against your lips until he finally builds you slowly back up to the precipice. Works you open until you’re moaning and gasping shamelessly into his mouth.

Just as you’re about to combust, clinging to him like a lifeline, he pulls back.

“No no no-“ you gasp, mindlessly, and almost reach down between you before his hand flies up to catch yours, pressing it back against the sheets by your head.

“Shhh.” He coos, nuzzling into your cheek with a cocky smirk. “Not so quick to talk back now, are ya?”

“Asshole.” You wish you meant it. He laughs, kissing your cheek, and finally reaches down to tug his jeans over his hips.

He’s big. Almost too big. Even with all of the preparation, all of the time he took to work you open for him, the stretch makes you whimper as he pushes in, slow and careful and shaking with restraint.

“You can take it, baby.” He half-whispers, more than a little breathless himself, and squeezes your hand a little tighter as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. “I’ve got you. My girl. So fucking tight. Made for me, yeah? You were fucking made for me…”

He kisses you again, groaning as he sinks all the way into you, and begins to move in a slow, steady rhythm. Like he’s savoring every thrust. Like he’s taking his sweet time making sure each movement hits the deepest, warmest parts of you.

“S-Steve.” His name leaves your lips in a desperate gasp, and the fingers of the hand not holding your own tighten behind your knee as he pulls it up a little higher around his hip.

“What is it, baby?” He asks, teasing and soft as you writhe beneath him. His lips glide over the line of your jaw, and his next thrust is just a little rougher. A little more intense. It sends a shot of pleasure through you, but it’s not enough. Not nearly. You whimper, the fingers of your free hand digging deep into his bicep as you try to match his movements with your own. Try to create just a little bit more friction.

He tsks at you, holding you still as he presses his lips to yours.

“Mm, always such a firecracker.” He purrs, another slow roll of his hips making you keen. “But you get so sweet like this, don’t you?”

“Steve.” You nearly sob his name now, and he still doesn’t pick up speed, but he does slide his tongue between your lips with a rock of his hips that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Shh,” he coos again , and you can see the restraint in his shoulders. See how difficult it is to keep his slow rhythm in the way sweat beads on his brow. “Be good, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Y-you…ngh.” The insult dies on your tongue.

“I what?” He whispers, breath warm against your cheek. His hand tightens in yours, still teasing, and your toes curl as your head falls back against the pillows with frustration. More more more. You need more so badly you can’t think straight. You know he does too. You’re going to kill him. “You know what I wanna hear, sweetheart.”

He wants you to beg. You’re definitely gonna kill him.

“This is…you’re…” words are not your friend, it seems.

He thrusts a little harder, just once, and you whine. “C’mon, be sweet for me.”

“Please.” You nearly sob, and he grins as his free hand comes up to smooth over your hair. “Please, please please.”

“Good girl.” He purrs, and finally starts to speed up. Finally angles himself to hit that spot inside of you that has you moaning into his shoulder. “Was that so hard?”

“Steve.”

And even with the way his fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so he can kiss you so roughly you wonder if your lips might bruise, and the way he snaps his hips so hard against yours you wonder if the headboard is going to dent the wall, his fingers are still tangled in yours by your head. His eyes are still locked on your own, and there’s so much love in his gaze that you think you might drown in it.

You’re drowning in him, and you never want to come up for air.

“I love you.” He whispers, hoarse and hungry and raw. “I love you so much. Doing so good for me. Fuck.” He kisses you again, and you can do nothing but sob out more pleas and broken forms of his name.

You feel like you’re on fire. It’s so good it hurts. You can’t think. You can’t speak. You wonder for a moment if he’s somehow broken your brain, mind almost too empty to even register the sweet words he’s whispering against your skin.

You try to tell him so. Try to express the intensity of what’s building inside of you. The words fail, and you just choke on a whimper of “S’ t-too…”

“I’ve got you.” He kisses your cheek. Your nose. Your lips. “I’ve got you. Let go for me. Wanna feel it.”

And you do. You’re too far gone to even scream anymore, biting down so hard on his shoulder that you’re positive it’s going to leave a bruise and clinging to him with everything you’ve got as your vision goes completely white for the second time tonight.

“So good... Fuck, fuck baby.” His breath is warm against your throat as you slowly fall back to earth. He follows you over the edge, pulling back to press his lips to yours in a surprisingly gentle kiss as he comes apart with a guttural moan of your name.

You’re boneless. Exhausted. Damp with sweat and still trying to remember how to form coherent thought.

Steve seems to be in the same boat, collapsing on top of you and taking a moment to catch his breath. His nose nuzzles into the skin beneath your jaw, hand releasing your leg to slide lovingly up over your waist.

“You okay?” He murmurs, and you can only nod, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders with an exhausted hum.

“Still mad?” You ask, and he finally pulls back to look down at you again, fingers tracing over your still-flushed cheek.

“You can’t do that.” He says, soft and just a little rasped. “You can’t…you have to be more careful. I almost lost you.”

“Well, if that’s how you’re gonna show me that you’re mad-“

“I’m serious.” He turns your face towards him, and his eyes are soft. Vulnerable. The fire and fury from before is gone. “I almost lost you tonight. You almost…” his breath stutters a little, “I can’t lose you. Don’t you get that?”

His thumb smooths over your cheek, like he’s savoring the feeling of your skin, and you can’t blame your exhaustion for the way your heart melts.

“Okay.” You turn your face, kiss the skin of his palm. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

He nods, and leans down to kiss you, slow and sweet and soft.

And as he gathers you into his arms, lips barely leaving your skin for more than a second as he shifts to wiggle you both beneath the covers, you completely forget that you were ever upset with him in the first place. Something about him being overprotective. Or bossy. Or both.

You’ll try to remember that you’re mad in the morning. Or not. Or you’ll just hold him, and remind him how much you love him in the dim light of his bedroom, and wait until you can feel your legs again.

Steve Harrington, the love of your life, drives you absolutely fucking crazy.

There isn’t really a specific moment. A date that you can pinpoint.

It wasn’t when you were six and he patched up your scraped knee in the playground. Or when he punched Miles Smith for standing you up for the junior prom. It definitely wasn’t the dark times of sophomore and junior where you could barely get Steve to speak to you for longer than fifteen minutes a time.

No– there was no discernable moment where it clicked.

All you know for certain was that over the past year you’ve realised that you are hopelessly, madly, disgustingly in love with your best friend. And there was nothing you could do about it.

Not unless you wanted to change the fragile perimeters with which your long standing friendship had been built on.

What you had with Steve had been platonic for so long that when you realised it was love and not just hanging out, eating pizza and sleeping in his bed top-and-tailed like little kids– you blocked it out.

For months you’d been carrying on the farce of your normal activities, while you vividly fantasised about him confessing his love for you. Or kissing you without whim. Or other… things that you’re too ashamed to even acknowledge.

He was a best friend that sometimes when you looked at him made you want to set yourself on fire to burn away the lust that would pour off of you.

It wasn’t even when he’d shower at your place and prance around in just a towel like he owned the place.

It was everything.

Like today, for example.

All he was doing was eating a bagel in the diner you guys had been eating in since you were sixteen. And you were sure that if he asked you to take all of your clothes off for him, you’d do it– even with the old men sitting in the booth directly behind you looking on.

Even when he drops ketchup down his stupid, cute chin. It doesn’t make you any less fond of him. In fact, it might actually make you love him more. Reminds you that he isn’t as perfect as everyone else might think he is.

You don’t realise you’re staring, or that the waffles you’d ordered were turning soggy. But Steve does. Steve always notices.

“Food not good?” He asks, mouth still full of dough and egg.

You snap back down from your imagination that runs wildly without your permission and clear your throat roughly.

It hadn’t always been so hard to speak to him. This time last year when the feelings were barely a murmur still, you could at least pretend it was platonic to you. You didn’t lose yourself watching him eat.

It was mortifying. Even though he couldn’t hear what you were thinking– you felt naked. Vulnerable at all times to his prying eyes.

You don’t want to resent him for it, it’s not his fault that you’ve obviously suffered some sort of mental health episode of late.

“You eat like a five year old.” You mutter as a response, poking your waffle with the sharp end of a fork.

He smiles chagrin, mouth full of bagel– cheeks swollen like a chipmunk. You find it so endearing that you have to stop yourself from reaching across the table to stroke the protruding cheek.

Instead, you overcompensate by scoffing back at him. It’s like a monster was using your body as its own. You’re never mean to Steve. And right now, you were being a classic bitch.

You see the downcast on his eyes as he swallows the swell of food back and wipes his mouth before leaning against the plush red leather of the seat regarding you quizzically.

“Okay, I'll relent. What’s wrong? You’ve been weird all week.” He sighs.

You feel bad but you fear if you drop the act it’ll become crystal clear to him what the real problem was. And you could kiss your beautiful friendship goodbye.

“Why do we have to come to the same place all the time? Why don’t we ever go somewhere else?” You change the topic.

Steve looks at you in mock offense. You understand why. This has been a staple for you guys for a decade.

Hungover- diner.

Broken up with- diner.

Unrequited love- diner.

Too bad this time the diner couldn’t solve anything.

Because this time, him being across from you in your favourite booth, is the issue you’re trying to resolve.

“You love the food here.” Steve responds stiffly. “The diner isn’t the problem. Your foul attitude is.”

You don’t miss a beat. You narrow your eyes at him like he’s prey.

“I don’t have an attitude. And there isn’t a problem.” You insist.

Steve pulls his fingers over his eyebrow in the way he does that suggests he’s had quite enough of your bad mood for one day.

“Alright, why don’t I get the cheque? We’ll go back to yours? Put a movie on? Be somewhere you can be grumpy in peace.”

If anything, his suggestion is sweet. He’s not even holding your spite against you. It’s classic Steve to be nice to you even when you don’t deserve it. But it feeds the rising anger toward the feelings you can’t control.

“You don’t need to pay for me.” You argue back. At this point you’re just trying to be obtuse.

“I always pay.” He says deadpan while he pulls his wallet out.

This is true. It’s not that you haven’t tried. But he always pulls you back and whispers into your ear that it’s on him. He gets his back though. He hasn’t paid for a movie rental once in all the years you’ve known each other.

“Well…” you impotently try to find another thing to be grumpy about. “Maybe I don’t want to hang out after.”

You did. You, so, definitely did.

All you wanted was to go home and accept the tender affection Steve would give you if you asked for it. Hugs and foot rubs weren’t something out of the question for you guys.

The problem was it just would never be enough. Not unless you could kiss him goodnight after. Have him love you the way he did all the girlfriends you’d seen come and go.

Steve drops his wallet down on the table with a clatter. You can see the subtle clench of his jaw while he does it.

“I’d like to avoid poking the bear if I can, but I gotta say you’re being a real bitch right now. So I’m gonna go pay, drop you off at home and try to not be mad at you for the rest of today.” He whisper-yells.

You can feel the eyes of the neighbouring booths start to fix their gaze on what must seem like a couple engaging in a fight so publicly.

You want to stand up and scream that you’re not together.

You never will be.

–

Things get worse. If that’s even possible.

Steve tries a couple more times the days following to get you to come out of your sullen mood, but a week later you find that your bad mood has rubbed off on your usually charismatic friend.

Steve’s set up shop on your sofa while you clean your apartment.

Usually you welcome the company but today he’d worn the backwards hat he wears that drives you crazy and it’s distracting you. In reality he was doing you a favour, coming over to watch you clean. He knows you find distraction helpful.

But today he was being more than a pleasant chit-chat while you dust.

Today, it felt like he was actively taunting you with his boyish good looks that were off limits exclusively to you.

He dumps an empty Cheetos bag on the coffee table his feet are balanced on. “You’re out of chips.”

You know he’s only telling you as a courtesy so that you won’t go to look for them in a couple days when you’re stressed and come up short. He’s kind like that. He knows that you’ll forget if he doesn’t verbalise it.

Plus like most things that belong to you, your kitchen is open all hours for Steve. But the coiling in your stomach was at an eleven today so you seize the opportunity to overcompensate with chastising him.

“We’re out of chips because you ate them all, Steve.” You say, snatching the empty bag from the table to dispose of.

He barely takes his eyes off the tv as you do. He was getting used to your sour words, evidently.

“Yeah I understand the concept of eating, babe.” He says sardonically. “We’ll go to the store when you’re done. I’ll buy more.”

There’s only a slight hint of snapping in his tone, and the use of the pet name washes over you like an electrical current.

All the frustration has to go somewhere. You choose out.

“Gee thanks. Thank you for coming round, putting your dirty sneakers on my table, eating all of my food and barely even talking to me.” You yell, dumping the empty packet in the trash.

When you turn around you expect to find him still watching the set like nothing had happened but instead you find him turned fully around, arms leant on the back of the sofa to stare at you with a look of pure outrage.

“Are you seriously yelling at me? Over Cheetos? I’ll buy you a crate of damn Cheetos if it’ll get you to stop talking to me like dirt.” He yells back.

You throw your hands up in complete exasperation. He was making it easier to fight with him– now that he was giving back as good as he got.

“It’s not about the chips.” You shout.

You realise as soon as it comes out the tone you were using was unacceptable. Not just because it was Steve. But because you have common decency.

He stands up without another word to walk round the sofa.

“Then what is it about? Invasion of the body-snatchers? Has someone stolen my usually pleasant best friend and replaced her with a complete asshole.”

Your mouth falls open in shock at what he’d said. This was probably the most aggressive Steve has ever been with you. And you completely deserved it.

You can’t even think of what to say because as soon as you start to formulate the words he’s heading with pace to the front door.

“Steve.” You try, following behind him. “Don’t go.”

He doesn’t turn around when you ask, just opens the door to slam behind him.

–

You get radio silence as a punishment for your behaviour. It doesn’t go unnoticed amongst the group when the annual barbecue at the Wheelers rolls around the following weekend.

You were despondent with continuously receiving Steve’s voicemail when you called. You had gotten what you’d wanted, which was to no longer feel constantly at the whim of your lust for him. But it was replaced with a new, almost more overpowering feeling.

Longing.

This was the longest stretch of time you and Steve hadn’t spoken since… forever?

You knew he’d be there when you arrived because you were chronically late, Steve loved Mrs. Wheeler and wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be useful for her. Undoubtedly he’d have been there an hour early.

You weren’t wrong.

When you get there everyone’s already outside, eating overcooked burgers and drinking homemade lemonade. You don’t get a cold welcome by any means. But it doesn’t go unnoticed that you hadn’t arrived with Steve. Much more so that he doesn’t come over to greet you with a hug.

It’s so alarming that the first thing Robin says to you when she gets a moment alone is about it.

“You and Steve are fighting?” She asks, handing you a cup of lemonade that Holly had made– no doubt too sweet.

You just look at it swirling beneath you in the red cup instead of sipping.

“Is it that obvious?” You ask pitifully.

Robin snorts in exaggeration. “Obvious? He’s over there looking at you like a wife whose husband has gone to war. What did he do?”

You feel bad on instinct that he’s getting the blame. You steal a glance over to him where he sits clearly not listening to Mr. Wheeler's story. You catch him looking and he doesn’t break his eyeline. Just holds you in his gaze with a desperation you’re not used to him wearing for you.

You have to physically force yourself to look away. You sigh at Robin who’s still hovering over you with bemusement.

“It’s not him. It’s me.” You clarify. “I’ve kind of been verbally harassing him lately.”

Robin can obviously sense that this was going to be a sit-down kind of chat, and pulls a camp chair over to you.

“Does this have anything to do with you being smittenly in love with him?” She suggests like it was as simple as a request to pass her the ketchup.

You choke on your own spit. It catches in the bottom of your throat. The burn is so violent that you actually gulp back the correctly assumed too sweet lemonade to clear it.

“Don’t die over it, man.” She laughs at you. “Don’t tell me you’re shocked that I know? You guys aren’t really subtle.”

You hold her look suddenly finding it hard to speak to your affable friend. If it was so clear to her, did Steve know too? Did all Hawkins see your devotion to him?

“Bury the lead much, Robin.” You finally get out. “Not that it matters– yes, it does have to do with the fact that I’m in love with Steve. And can I just say how much I appreciate your tact toward my suffering.”

Robin tilts her head at you. She seems perplexed, even though you think you’d been refreshingly transparent for once.

“Why would this cause you suffering, sweets?”

You laugh weakly at her naivety. “Because he doesn’t feel the same. And because he’s my best friend. I can’t even be around him without biting his head off, Rob’s.”

You think she might feel sympathy for you. You were hoping for a hug, or a pat on the back. It did feel somewhat like a weight had been lifted off of you. And now you were ready to seek comfort for it.

Instead, you receive a slap on the arm. A biting slap at that.

You pull your arm back in shock. “Okay– ow?”

“You can’t seriously be that blind?” She exclaims. “He couldn’t be more obviously in love with you.”

It would be nice if you could believe her unyielding positivity. Robin would be the type to vie on the side of love finding a way, given that she has the perfect girlfriend.

“I appreciate what you’re doing, but I don’t need the pep talk. What I need is to get over myself. And him.” You announce brokenly.

She doesn’t try anymore to convince you that you’re wrong, but you do catch her looking at Steve over her shoulder with a sad look.

You get it.

–

It’s become a tradition now that you guys stay behind to do the clean up.

Ted and Karen usually get too drunk and tired to do much once everyone starts to go. Plus afterward you guys file down to the basement for a sleepover. The older you guys get the less enjoyable camping down there becomes. Tender backs and work schedules make it harder but year in, year out you do it anyway.

It was tradition after all.

Nancy does her usual boss duties and gives you your various jobs.

Steve still hasn’t spoken to you. Not that you’ve tried. Just avoided his looks, and everyone else’s uncomfortable whispering. You know they’re talking about the inexplicable tension. You’re sure Robin won’t have told them. She’s not a gossip, despite being a talker. But you’re aware of how it looks.

You’re in the garden while Nancy gives out jobs, bringing in stacked plastic cups to get ahead of the clean up. When you go to place them on the kitchen island Nancy snatches them back from you.

You raise your eyebrow at her making more work for herself.

“I need you to set the basement up.” She says with a smile.

If you didn’t know better you’d say she was up to something, but you’re out of sorts right now so your guess could be wildly off.

You don’t argue. Just salute her like the captain she is to make way for the basement.

She’d given you the easy job. You were thankful that someone else got the dishes. Probably Mike, because he pouts and tantrums while he does it and the consensus is that it serves as after dinner amusement.

When you descend into the basement you’re surprised to find Steve already setting it up. His back is to you, cotton shirt straining against his shoulders while he clears floor space for duvets and pillows. You try to ignore the niggling feeling you’ve become accustomed to when you see him.

You miss being able to enter a room to find him and feel excited. You only had yourself to blame for it too.

When he hears your footsteps on the creaky bottom step, he turns round to face you. He wasn’t doing anything wrong but he looks guilty anyway. It should be you feeling like that.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, clasping your hands in a nervous twitch. “Nancy asked me to do it, I didn’t realise you were already on the job.”

He throws the pillow he’s holding down at his feet. “She asked me to do it too.”

Suddenly it becomes clear to you why she’d been so sheepish earlier. You tilt your head back to silently curse her. And Robin.

Schemers at heart, they couldn’t help themselves.

“We’ve been tricked.” You say and flop down on the wooden staircase. “They’re trying to get us to talk.”

He looks back at you, the offense registers when he realises what you mean.

“They have to trick you into talking to me?” He asks. “In a nutshell, can you just tell me what I’ve done to piss you off so much?”

You let out a breath of barely concealed panic. It’s not like you hadn’t tried to call.

“I’ve been calling.” You point out.

He sits down on the sofa still looking at you. “Yeah, well I’ve not been ready to talk.”

You scoff on instinct. “Then don’t tell me off for not speaking to you, Steve. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to be like how you used to be.” He yells back. “I want to take you out for lunch and not have you act like I’m an asshole for paying. I want to come over and hang out with you without you chewing me out.”

The tension is rising to levels that you’re too uncomfortable to deal with. You stand with the intention of getting away before it reaches critical mass but Steve is matching over to hold you there by the arm instead. He’s so close that you can feel his heat radiating onto your cold skin.

“Don’t just take off because you don’t want to be honest. It’s not fair. You can’t just avoid me for the rest of your life. I won’t let you.” He says firmly, not moving his hand off your arm.

You try to pull it back but he keeps his grasp.

“I’m not avoiding you. I’d have already had this chat if you’d picked up your damn phone.” You shout back at him. You’re keeping eye contact with him, even though it physically hurts, you’re trying to gauge his reaction.

He looks almost desperate. It’s difficult to read, because it’s an emotion you’ve not seen from Steve before.

“You are avoiding me. Even when you’re with me, it’s like being with a ghost. You don’t talk to me, you barely even listen. I can’t remember the last time we just watched a movie and cuddled. In fact you barely even touch me anymore.” He says with the kind of panic you’d think would be reserved only for a partner.

Your heartbeat has risen up to his throat. “I’m not your girlfriend. Why would I do any of those things?”

The words tumble out before you can help them. You freeze. You don’t even breathe. It’s not an admission but it feels like one.

“Yeah? Maybe I want you to be.” He whispers.

You had a million quippy responses locked and loaded for whatever he said back to you, but absolutely nothing for that. There was nothing to say unfortunately. You’d used all the words you had trying to pretend that you didn’t share that sentiment. Nothing could have prepared you for it.

So, without words all there was left was action.

As by some sort of transient pull, you’re flinging yourself forward to press your lips against his.

Any notion that he’d turn you down lives in a mental plain you mustn’t have access to. Besides he doesn’t give you the chance to doubt when he’s pulling you flush against him to deepen it with every pulling open mouthed kiss.

You’re cognizant enough to know that his hands are winding themselves under your top to pull at it, pushing warm hands up into the concealed flesh of your stomach.

You gasp wantonly into his mouth. It seems to spur him forward as he drags your bodies, still fevered in kisses, to the sofa to pull your body over his in a straddling position.

You break only to remove clothes that just seem to be blocking valuable access to skin you’re so desperate to get to. Your hands are dragging over his chest, his shoulders, his lower stomach. All the places you’d fantasised about feeling so many times before.

When he pushes his fingers into the band of your shorts to unbutton them, you become more aware that you are, in fact, in Nancy Wheeler's basement.

You pull back, barely even able to breathe without laboured tension– looking down at his swollen lips and wild eyes. He continues undoing the buttons, using the air time to flip you onto your back on the sofa.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” You gasp, letting him pull your shorts down. It’s half hearted at best. The burn between your legs disagreed with the sentiment of stopping. “They could come down.”

He pushes down to press a chaste peck to your lips.

“Let ‘em. I need you.”

All other thoughts fleet away. You yank him down by his hair to capture his mouth once more.

You guys don’t pretend like you have a lot of time. You were chasing down a clock of desperate need. It feels like seconds before you strip off the necessary clothes to get him where you need him most.

When he pushes down to lick tentatively at your aching clit, your body arches in a violent yank. You bite down into the palm of your hand.

He doesn’t build up, just immediately swipes along you like he can’t get enough of the cries you muffle into your hand.

You think you might actually cry, it feels good. Too good.

You have to pull him up with a violent grab. You need him like water or air. He lets you push him back to a sitting position and when you sink yourself almost fully onto his thickness in one go you both keen forward to whimper into each other's mouths.

You knew he was big. You’d felt it pressing against you when you were making out but it’s different going in. The ache is a burning ball of delicious pain that was worth it in every way imaginable.

The last couple of inches are a slow drag. He guides you down by pushing your hips. Every second feels like an hour. Your chest is vibrating with every shattered breath.

“Fuckfuckfuck…” you chant.

He pulls his bottom lip into his teeth as he watches himself disappear fully into your warmth. You’re still for a second, and then slowly grind yourself into the base of his crotch. It explodes an eruption of tingling through you, tantamount to nothing else you’ve ever experienced.

He looks up as if there’s a broken plea to be shared. Like you know exactly what he’s thinking.

“You feel good, baby” He groans. “Taking me so well.”

You clench around him at the praise you eat right up. He hisses at the sudden tightening.

It’s not like the other sex you’ve had. You don’t feel like you’re chasing the high with a stranger. Or doing it just because you can.

You love him. And you’re pretty sure he loves you back. It makes it better in every way.

You move in a tantric rhythm. He pushes back at you on every bounce, meeting up to your every desperate movement.

It feels so good that you forget you ought to be quiet. Your moans are pushing into the realms of screams. You let him pull your hair off your face to clear it from your vision. You keep eye contact with him for as long as you can before you have to shut your eyes in blissful resignation to the pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whines, and pulls you down to latch onto your lips again.

You lose time it feels like– with him inside you. It’s more erratic, just desperate clawing, and thrusting.

When you feel the cloying burn of release threatening to burst, you have to give way and let your head fall into his shoulder, allowing him to take over the heavy lifting of pounding his hips upward into you.

You’re gone when it hits, sobbing into his chest, nails dug into his arm.

He follows closely behind you.

You guys sit in the basement of your friends house, holding each other through the continuous aftershocks that roll in from a pretty spectacular orgasm.

It’s wordless when you pull off of him. Except from the hiss of over sensation and aching in your lower stomach. It wasn’t sore while you were doing it but you’d grossly overestimated his size and the vigour with which he’d went for last couple minutes. You don’t regret it though. Not at all.

The room is filled with shattered pants, as you shakily redress.

“Was that a mistake?” You eventually whisper, pulling your shorts back over you. You’re scared to find out that he doesn’t feel like you do.

You attempt to reach for your shirt on the floor but before you can he grasps at your hand to pull you back to face him.

He looks more sincere than you’d ever seen him. All big eyes and gentle smiles.

“I meant what I said. About wanting you to be my girlfriend.” He insists. Looking at you with nothing but sincerity. “I love you so much that it psychically hurts not being around you. The only reason I never said anything was because I never thought I could be good enough for you. When you started being so angry all the time, I figured you’d worked it out too.”

Your heart bleeds for your sensitive Stevie thinking that all the bad stuff he thought about himself was being confirmed by your sudden coldness.

You pull him forward to properly hug you for what felt like the first time in a year. You don’t realise how bad you needed it. Even more than the sex. He wraps himself around you like a weighted blanket, grounding you to the earth.

“You’re my best friend.” You say into the hold. “I thought that if I acted like I hated you, it would make it go away. But I can’t. I can’t make myself not love you.”

He pulls you back by the shoulders to face him firmly. He’s grinning at you. “You’re stupid. So stupid. You think I’d ever have let you get away that easily?”

You push forward once more to hold him, no longer worried about your friends upstairs, surely aware of what you guys were doing now. You weren’t worried about anything anymore. It was swept away in the frenzy of love you could finally allow yourself to feel.

You can’t say for certain when it was that you fell in love with Steve Harrington. You’d never truly know. Maybe it was forever.

But you do know the day that he became yours. Maybe that’s all that mattered?

—

Tim Simmons asked you why your clothes always had frays at the seams. When you told him your mom bought them at outlet stores the class turned bitter quiet. Their eyes felt like bullets and it was the first time you’d considered that other people didn’t do the same.

Growing up in a trailer park didn’t seem odd to you because all of the people you loved lived in one too. The kids in the neighbouring trailers wore hand-me-downs too. No one had a VCR so you guys would play outside all day and night. Usually until your parents would get up to work the graveyard shifts that pay double-time.

It would be two years later you realised that it wasn’t just that you had a little bit less than the kids in your school, but that most of Hawkins was more or less middle class. People’s houses didn’t have wheels, and their parents didn’t work twelve hour shifts cleaning houses.

You’d branched out from your circle of one to go to a sleepover at a girl from your class's house. When you were drove down her peaceful suburban culdesac you were frostbitten with shock to see house after house bigger than yours. The green lawns rolled one by one past your dawning eyes.

You spent that sleepover counting things in the house that you hadn’t even heard of.

Toaster ovens, name brands, VCRs. It was endless.

It didn’t take a lot to see that the other ten girls at the sleepover weren’t bewildered as you were at the sheer depth of wealth she had. And that was because in Hawkins, it was more odd to have nothing than it was to have everything.

The third and final event was in the ninth grade.

The day you realised that it wasn’t just that some people had more than you. Some people live lives of opulent luxury. Some families have more than they could ever possibly need.

They were the families that people like you served to live. Not lived to serve.

That was the day you went to The Harringtons home.

You knew your mom worked for someone. Of course you did. Where else would she be going every morning? You just hadn’t ever questioned for whom or where.

Steve had been in your class since kindergarten. Up until then you knew him as the shiny boy.

Shiny hair, shiny teeth, shiny clothes.

He looked as if he’d squeak if you touched the soft flesh of his arm.

You weren’t particularly interested in him but for some reason during English class sat behind him year in, year out– you’d mentally draw constellations with the freckles and moles on the back of his neck. You were fascinated by the back of this clean boy's neck.

He never uttered a word to you. Not once in ten years. You felt like if anything he looked through you mostly. Almost like you were translucent to a person like him.

It was a formative analogy for the rest of your life really.

Nonetheless, you found yourself at work with your mom one weekend in the summer before freshman year. Normally Ms.Sherman two trailers down sat for you but she’d come down with a particularly nasty case of shingles and mom was still insistent that you were yet to be trusted alone.

You shuffled behind her up the gravel path to the biggest house you’d ever clapped eyes on.

It dwarfed you. The high archways and barren space.

It was hard to imagine people living there. Much less a family. Everything was so clean. But then again you had supposed that’s what your mom was paid for.

What you hadn’t expected was to find your shiny boy propped up against the bannister of the biggest staircase you’d ever seen. Grinning ear-to-ear at your mom. You remember the way his smile dropped when you became unobstructed from view behind her back.

He looked tiny with his house as his backdrop. If you hadn’t known better you’d have thought that maybe he was waiting on your moms arrival but you wouldn’t have thought that to be possible. Not with all the stuff he had in his house to occupy himself with.

What would a boy who had everything need the company of his cleaning lady for?

He didn’t address you. He just moped back up the stairs, flashing the back of his neck that you’d already memorised.

You thought about him the rest of summer. His broken doll body waiting in his gargantuan home. You wondered what he was so desperate for that he didn’t already have. And if he now looked upon you with pity like Tim Simmons did about your clothes in fifth grade.

You spent hours steamrolling the same questions in your head over and over again. You were so desperate to see him at school that when he walked right up to you on the first day you were vibrating with the hope that maybe he was coming to address your tacit connection.

Instead, he announced with little tact to the passing students that your mom was his maid, and that you were dirt poor. He lamented about your trailer house and second hand clothes to each student that on-looked.

Taking the heat for it seemed easy at the time because none of what he was saying was untrue. And even the pitying stares felt less like knives because you now understood your place. Especially to shiny people like him.

You hadn’t planned to start a lifelong feud with Steve over it. In fact, you were willing to be the bigger person. You figured you had big plans ahead of you, and you wouldn’t even remember one boy when your real life began. Especially when you started excelling academically.

But the more you succeeded, the more Steve antagonised you that year.

You’re not sure what the snap was. If you’d just had enough one day or if it was when you noticed that Steve was struggling in almost every class but your mouth started moving before your brain and you found yourself verbally berating him back. You said things you’d never imagined saying.

Belittling him for his academic woes and implying that the only job he’d ever get was working for his daddy.

Four years passed and each day was the same as the last. You and Steve bickered until you ran out of time or things to say. You had never wished ill upon someone before but you found your mind wandering about tackling him most days. When graduation rolled around, and you realised you’d never have to see him again, it might have been the best day of your life.

Even though you’d had no money for college and your mom had taken off east a day before the ceremony, you were just thankful that you wouldn’t be reminded every day how low life you were compared to everyone else you knew.

Which is why as you stand ten paces in front of him at the diner job you work to pay for the trailer you share with your friend, you find yourself filled with unspeakable rage.

Steve was good looking in school. Not that you thought he was much to sniff at once he opened the cavernous venom hole he called a mouth. But now, at twenty-three he is broad. Thick with age. Astonishingly handsome. He has stubble he never had before. And he wears suits to work evidently.

Last you’d heard of him his dad had made a sizable donation to Columbia to get Steve in. Here he sits five years later at a table of business men, college educated and you are right where you started because there was no daddy with a paycheck to propel you forward in life. No amount of gifted programs and AP classes could change that for you.

You’re the only person working the lunch rush today. There’s no way of getting around serving him and his cronies. The only solace you can take in the fact that you’re wasting away your ample IQ while simultaneously having to face him down doing it, is that at least you look better than you did in high school.

Still it’s meager comfort especially knowing that your nickname was ‘diner-girl’ sophomore through senior year. All you had to show for your eight years of dedicated service is being shift manager.

This is part of the deep hatred you hold for Steve. You don’t feel less than for what you do or who you are normally. Until you’re around people like him. People who want for nothing but still make everything other people’s problem.

You pull in a deep breath from behind the counter and fix your uniform dress by habit. No matter how many times you remind yourself money doesn’t make him better than you, it sounds like a meek squeak beside the roar inside you that says be defensive even if he’s nice. Not that he would be.

You know before you reach the table that he knows it’s you approaching. There was no pretence that he might have forgotten who you are. It would be difficult to erase from either memory, considering you spent as much time arguing with each other as you did learning in school.

The smirk that pulls to his mouth is sneering and mean. All your nerves are melting, because once more the nasty spirit only Steve brings out in you is taking the wheel. You start thinking about the things you can say before you open your mouth to greet them. He beats you to it. Impatient and spoiled as always.

“Diner-girl?” He claps his hands in glee. “You still work here?”

He folds his arms over his chest and watches you pull in to stand at the bottom of his table. You’re clicking the sharp end of your pen into the pad, imagining his face is on it.

His colleagues don’t seem phased by his condescending tone. You recognise the type. Corporate shrills. The type of people that would run over their mom to get a six figure deal.

“Steve.” You bite. “Still riding daddy’s coat-tails?”

There’s no loving ribbing in your tone, and his face is scarlett with trademark outrage. Sometimes in school you’d colour match him in your head. The darker the red, the harsher the burn. It made it easier to get to him.

“Is that any way to talk to paying customers?” He chastises. His tone is light, probably to imply to the suits he’s with that we’re old friends playing. But his eyes tell you a different story.

“You’ve not paid for anything yet. So, order or leave.” You sneer back. You pinch a smile to the other man to try and save a potential tip. “Gentlemen. Drinks for the table?”

–

Much to your disdain, Steve and company stay for all of the lunch rush. All the way until you finish your shift at two. You’re pointed in your addressing of only the other man. Which gains you a decent tip. You’re certain Steve had no part in it. He wasn’t the generous type and you don’t imagine four years of college handed to him on a platter will have changed that.

You purposefully hold back leaving to the car-park even though your ride is waiting– just to be sure you see the back of him first. You’re aggravated even still once you get in your roommate's car.

Eddie’s so relaxed all the time that he’s practically horizontal. He’s not someone you would usually force to listen to your violent ramblings after a bad day, even with him being your oldest friend. Ramblings about Steve are another story though. He brought out the worst in you in all ways.

Eddie’s uncle Wayne lived two rows from yours. He was a year older than you so you didn’t spend much time with him in school until he was held back in your senior year. He was always there though. Every weekend and holiday would be spent with Eddie. For as long as you can recall.

When your mom took off with her boyfriend, never to be seen of again, Eddie took her room and the rest was history.

He’d adopted a less orthodox way of funding his lifestyle. He monopolised on his dimebag dealing from school and made it into a career. He earned more money in one night selling weed and other assorted goodies than you made in a whole week at the diner. Enough that he could afford to move into an apartment of his own if wanted to. But he chooses to share your shoebox instead.

If you had nothing else, you had an excellent friend in him. You doubt you’d have survived all the shit otherwise.

He’s battering the wheel of his van to the beat of the Pantera song he’s listening to when you hop in. His flexible job schedule means that he’s available to ferry you around from place to place. Another thing you’re usually grateful for.

Today, however, you just wish you could shut the whole world off. Seeing Steve was a time trip you hadn’t asked for.

You turn the music off without asking, much to your curly headed friends displeasure.

“Hands off the stereo, lil’ miss.” He playfully shoos your hand away.

You shoot him a clipped glare. “Not today.”

He huffs in surrender, used to your occasional crabby demeanor. He knows that working twelve hours a day doesn’t make you pliable for playful banter all the time. Every kid that grew up around you guys had first hand experience of the crappy job burn out.

“Bad day?” He asks, pulling out of the now empty car-park. It would stay like that until five, when the truckers and dinner diners would appear.

You shove your jacket down at your feet. It was cold in Hawkins now. Winter had blown a cold breeze and apparently your childhood enemy in with it.

“Steve Harrington's back in town.” You spit. “He was in the diner today. And if you were wondering if he was any less of an asshole, he’s not.”

You turn to try and gauge the look of horror or outrage you expect from your best friend. Instead you see him wincing at best but no shock tremors roll in.

You narrow your eyes on him. Eddie was an expressive person. There was no such thing as a muted reaction from him. But here was, giving you nothing.

“No response to that? My arch-nemesis is home after a million years, probably making more than I’ll earn in a year in a month and I had to serve him. Gonna need words, maestro.”

He catches you from his side-eye and sighs.

You fold your arms over your chest and wait patiently for him to explain his monoslavic reaction.

“I knew he was back in town, alright? Stop sending me daggers.” He whines. “Also, too old to use the words ‘arch-nemesis.’ I say it with love.”

It wasn’t that you were mad he was being so lax in his reaction. No, it wasn’t that at all filling you with red hot anger. It was that he hadn’t pre-warned you.

“Eddie. He’s evil. Lest we forget that he humilia-“

“Humiliated you, ruined your life, and monopolised your every waking thought for all of high school. I know it was harrowing for you but I can’t help who I run into at the hide-out.” He interrupts.

You flush at the insinuation you speak about it too much. Back then, sure. You spent a lot of time speaking about Steve. But if anything, you were just a product of his targeted brutality. You had barely thought about him since you became a grown up.

“When did you run into him?” You press.

He shrugs lazily, the way he does when he doesn’t want to answer a pointed question.

“Eddie?” You try again.

“A couple weeks ago? A month tops.” He folds.

“A month?” You yell and smack his shoulder.

“I am driving!” He shrieks. “New rule: no hitting Eddie while he drives a motor vehicle.”

You’re fizzling with thoughts about what you might want to say to him but you’re struggling to land on one that can fully express the depth of this betrayal.

“We tell each other everything. You told me the last time you had a haemorrhoid, but this you let me be blind-sided by.”

Eddie sighs once more and keeps his eyes ahead on the November sky, already becoming overcast even in this early afternoon hour.

“You’re already so stressed out all the time, man. I didn’t wanna upset you.”

“I’m not upset. I’m pissed. He’s still so condescending. Coming into my place of work and acting like he owns the place. He wouldn’t be so high and mighty without his—“

“Without his dad’s money.” Eddie finishes. He twists to regard you sympathetically. “I love you. You’re my soulmate. But I can’t relive this again. You’ve gotta be the bigger person. You’ll probably never see him anyway. Hawkins can be a big place if you try hard enough.”

You scoff at his patronising suggestion. Eddie might be your nearest and dearest but he was off the mark so often that when he uttered the placating words you already knew he would live to be wrong. Much to your suffering.

That would not be the last you saw of Steve. That much you were sure.

–

Steve makes a point of coming to the diner every other day. Always with different men in suits. Sometimes they order coffee, sometimes they get late lunch, sometimes it seems like they just come in to click your heels like you were some kind of robot waitress, built to beckon at their call.

Steve doesn’t say much. Just smirks as you rush yourself off your feet day in, day out to serve him and the other ten tables in at a time.

The silence was almost worse than the bickering. There was no way for you to get a lick back. It’s just you running after him while he metaphorically spits at your feet.

It isn’t until he starts attending alone that the snide back and forths begin again.

You don’t want to consider that he might be coming in by himself now just so he can snip at you. But nothing surprises you with Steve. All that money, so much time. It wouldn’t be unfathomable that he would create his own fun by picking fights with you while you try to work. And working you were. The festive season was hurtling forward as the weeks passed and each day brought more out of town holiday passers than the last.

Sometimes you could resist the temptation of chewing him out. Most times you don’t. It was nowhere near the same verbosity you guys once had for it. It wasn’t that there wasn’t a love of the game, because you’ll always love to hate Steve Harrington. It was the necessity of not losing your job.

Your manager was a creepy guy called Joey. He was barely in, which you welcomed openly, and on the days he wasn’t you could spit fire back at Steve every time you passed him perched at the counter nursing a coffee.

Today was one of those days.

“Do you have nothing better to do, Harrington?” You chortle as you buss down the counter.

It was almost the end of your shift and you were counting the minutes down till you could get away from the prying eyes. The dinner rush had ended, and this was the first moment you’d had to enquire about Steve’s dedication to ruining every shift you’ve had this month.

He smirks into the rim of his cup. You bet to some brain dead tramp it would be sexy. To you, it was a challenge to see how fast you could wipe it off.

“Clearly more than you. Do you work everyday by choice or did your mom running off with that biker leave you completely destitute?” He simpers.

This was the first time Steve had said something to you since being home that made your blood run icy. You stalled all wiping motion on the counter to stare at him. That was a low blow even for Steve. You didn’t even know he knew about that. He’s smiling plainly at you like he’d asked you the time.

The laugh you let out is laced with putrid hatred.

“You’re vile. I know you got your job through nepotism because you can’t find your own asshole with two hands but some of us actually have to work for our living.” You bite. “Get the fuck off my counter, I’m losing brain cells sharing air space with you.”

The hurt only momentarily flashes over his face before he’s bounced right back to his usual smug aura.

“Ouch, diner-girl. I touch a nerve? Does your mommy running off sting still?”

You snatch his still half full latte from in front of him and dump it on the pass behind you.

“At least my mom loved me enough to spend time with me before she left.” This was something you’d never touched on with Steve before.

You knew his folks were never around. Ironically the mom he was slating you for worried if he was lonely a lot. Enough that she would think aloud to you about it. You watch it hit like a nuclear blast. The aftershocks roll in statically.

He shoves back off the stool like you’d splashed him with acid.

“Bitch.” He matches, standing at attention now.

“Dick.” You bounce right back.

You don’t realise how laboured your breathing is until you see his chest vibrating and realise that yours matches. You’re lucky that no one was around to see the altercation because there’s no part of you that’s proud of the way he riles you up.

You think Steve wouldn’t mind either way. He seemed unburdened by those anchors.

The stalemate is only surrendered when the chimes of the front door sound signalling the entrance of Tammy coming to take over for you. You’d been so caught up with firing missiles at Steve that you’d hadn’t spied the clock telling you your shift had ended.

He scoffs as he watches you pull your apron off violently. You give him one last glare before you head to the back room to get your stuff.

The ricochets of arguing with Steve like this is a careful back and forth between shame and regret.

Shame that you’d let him get to you once more. Regret that you didn’t just chuck a cup off his smarmy head when you had the shot.

When you get out to the car-park to get into Eddie’s van you catch the tail end of Steve’s car pulling out and Eddie walking away from where he was parked. You raise your eyebrow at him.

He just shrugs laxidazically like it was no big deal. You make a mental note that you’ll be keeping an eye on it but choose to ride back in silence to avoid coming across like a crazed lunatic.

You want to tell Eddie what Steve had said about your mom. You want to tell him that everyday he comes into your work just to antagonise you but you don’t. Out of fear that he’ll suggest you’re obsessed like he had the night you’d informed him of his return to Hawkins.

You wonder how much more Steve will take from you upon his return. It seemed as though the only safe place you had left was the trailer park, because you’d doubt a guy like him would be caught dead in the bad side of town.

Work isn’t safe, the hide-out certainly wouldn't be, not that you would have time off to ever go. Now Eddie, your closest friend wasn’t a trusted confidant because he seems to have some kind of tacit relationship with him these days.

You manage to hold your tongue until just before you go to bed. You’d immediately taken off to your room to get into sweats and rejoined Eddie in the sitting room to watch tv in silence. He smoked, you mulled over him seeing him walk away from Steve’s car outside the diner. The casual familiarity when he pushed off the window and threw a two single salute at the rear of his car.

You wouldn’t take a flippant denial. It was too easy the way in which they interacted. You couldn’t be sure what you’d do if it so happened that he’d made friends with him. Flee the country perhaps?

“Eddie?” You ask.

The tv is loud and he’s thoroughly engaged with it, joint between his fingers burning out at the end. He only hums back at you, eyes glued to the set.

“What were you talking to Steve about?”

His head snaps back at you. The question startles him seemingly. He mutes the TV like it was instinct, without even looking away.

He opens and closes his mouth trying to find the words to explain to you. You can already tell you won’t like whatever he has to say.

“It’s nothing?” He eventually lands on.

You’re not convinced and you don’t let the face you pull back at him pretend otherwise.

“You seemed chummy, that's all.” You shrug.

You’re playing it off to be a casual line of questioning. If you don’t go on the offensive, you think you might get somewhere.

He sighs and drops the spliff in the ashtray.

“We are not chummy. He buys weed off of me. A lot actually. I think he’s bored. The big city must have ruined Hawkins for him.” He clarifies. You want to sigh out loud but hold it in.

“So… that’s what today was about?” You press.

“Yes. We smoke together sometimes when he picks up but other than that it’s strictly business.”

The tension you’d been feeling clambers up your spine again at the suggestion that he was hanging around to have the company of your best friend.

“He smokes with you? Steve, who hates poor people, smokes with you. Eddie Munson. King of Forest Hill’s shit mountain.”

Eddie shrugs once more, fully tilted to look at you now.

“I don’t think he hates poor people. I think he’s just too proud to admit defeat in your little feud.”

You scoff aloud.

Even if this had nothing to do with the quality of social standing you have, Steve had still made sport of tormenting you for the better part of half of a decade. You don’t buy the affable guy picking up weed act he was obviously spinning. It was clear he was trying to get under your skin.

“You don’t find it odd that he’s never so much as sniffed in your direction until now.” You inquire.

You can see the irritation washing over his usually soft gentle face.

“What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I just think it’s not a coincidence.” You mumble.

Eddie laughs humourlessly. “For your information I’ve been selling Steve weed since he was sixteen. I’m incredibly likable. And I don’t appreciate you insinuating I’m too low class for that.”

You shoot up not realising how misconstrued what you were trying to say was.

“Eddie, no. I’m not saying that, I just don’t trust him.” You try to explain.

He pauses for a minute and palms your knee gently, like a parent with an infant.

“I know you don’t. And I also know that he’s not pleasant to you as much as you're not with him. But I need you to leave me out of it.” He finally says.

You nod numbly and watch as he unmutes the tv and faces forward again like nothing had even happened.

You felt worse than before you’d asked.

–

You leave work with a pep in your step for the first time in weeks the day after. Even the mood you’d been in upon waking up after the less an optimal conversation you’d had with Eddie the day before was cured. Steve was yet to make an appearance today.

There was a small hope that the scathing comment you’d made to him yesterday had done the trick. Perhaps you’d pushed him too far this time. You don’t want to be the kind of person that feels giddy about being cruel. But if it got him away from you then you’re not one to complain.

Your attitude is slightly marred when you get outside to find that Eddie’s van wasn’t waiting for you. It feels akin to waiting for a parent past pick up time in elementary school. You pace the car-park like a woman possessed.

Your thick winter coat does little to keep the cool off you. Especially now that the start of December has come.

You give him the benefit of the doubt for fifteen minutes before deciding that it would be warmer to make the twenty minute walk back to Forest Hill’s.

Eddie was never late.

Even with his relaxed nature, he’s punctual. And if he wasn’t going to make it, he always called.

The concern was always that he’d been caught. His line of work, while lucrative, is not particularly safe. He’d had a couple of close calls over the years. You figure the dedicated deputies of the Hawkins force know of him. It was a small town after all.

You don’t walk at a meek pace. You speed. You walk so fast that you get sweaty under your big jacket even in the freezing bitter night.

The fear is only assuaged when you spy a certain red BMW that could only belong to one person, is parked out front your home. The rage bubbles all the way up from your toes to your skull at the thought that he hadn’t collected you because he was smoking with fucking Steve.

You take a run up to the trailer, desperate to get in and chastise him like he was a naughty child.

Instead you find Steve standing in the living room biting at his nails nervously. No Eddie to be found.

It’s odd to see Steve in your cramped living room. You’d made use of every inch of the trailer. It’s every bit as you as it could be. Fairy lights adorn each wall, thick colourful throws over sofas, plants on window sills. You love your home. But seeing Steve in it made it seem so inconsequential. Still as shiny as he had been when the world was big and you were small. It’s jarring. He cramps your space. Like he’s too big to be in it.

He jumps in horror when you crash in.

There’s a serious silence where you just stand and stare at one another. Neither of you want to break the tension. It doesn’t seem like a time to bicker, based on the stress painted over each of his hazel eyes. He seems so worried in fact, that you forget you hate him for a moment.

He clears his throat.

“I have a good explanation for this. I was just here to pick up some shit from Eddie. He didn’t have it on him. He took off that way to get it.” He gestures wildly to the door you’d just come through. “That was an hour and a half ago. I haven’t heard from him since, and I’m, like, worried.”

Your heart slams up through your chest. It feels similar to a panic attack. It might actually be a panic attack you realise. Eddie doesn’t take off. He doesn’t not pick you up from work. He certainly does not leave Steve Harrington in the house for you to find.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” You pant, and shove past Steve with little concern for his personal space. You need to make sure you hide any paraphernalia just in case the cops come to ransack the place.

You don’t need to be told he’d been busted. Any minute now that phone would ring. A bail call, no doubt. You’re keenly aware this record will fuck him for life.

Steve is jittering behind you. “Um– what are you doing?”

You scoff from Eddie’s room– beginning to dump bongs, and empty baggies into a duffel bag from his room.

“I’m destroying evidence.” You state as if it’s obvious. “He’s been busted.”

Steve clatters into the room behind you and watches you pull out drawer after drawer.

“How do you know?” He exclaims.

You pinch a glare back to him. He looks nervous. Less about your friend probably. More about getting out of here before it’s swarming with cops. Daniel Harrington's son doesn’t get caught in a drug dealer's house in the sketchy part of town, you’re sure.

“Eddie would have to be detained to leave you in the house for me to find. Trust me.”

He nods slowly like he’s registering the words. Where to put them. For once he doesn’t say anything back. You’re surprised. You didn’t know he was capable of self-restraint.

“Are you going to help? Or just stand there and gawp at me, Harrington.” You ask, dumping the duffel at his feet. “There’s shit all over his room. This place needs to be wiped clean. Do you hear me?”

Steve doesn’t whine about it, just silently sets about the space.

“I feel weird going through his stuff.” He mumbles.

You scoff a laugh under your breath.

“I don’t remember you ever being concerned about privacy.” You mutter.

He wasn’t concerned about your privacy when he told every person in Hawkins high that your mom was a maid, or that you were as poor as the poor came.

“Yeah, well… I like Eddie.” He replies from his crouched position on the other side of the bed.

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see you.

“You like whatever pisses me off.” You correct him.

His mounds of quaffed hair appear from the other side to catch your eyeline. He looks confused at the suggestion.

“You think you dictate my life enough that I’d choose my friends around it?” He doesn’t even look smug. Just agape that you truly believed that.

You point at him accusingly. “You are the devil, and I wouldn’t put anything past you. Plus, he’s not your friend. He’s your drug dealer. He’s my friend. Since we were two, don't get it twisted.”

Steve’s clapping laughter back at you, unperturbed by your nasty remarks.

“He’s not a toy, diner-girl.”

You pause for a second and think about how you sound. Like a spoiled brat who wasn’t getting their way. While Eddie was probably sitting in a cell. It’s not your proudest moment. Especially when the reality check was being delivered by him.

You press your lips flat and look back down at the now appropriately cleared drawers.

You guys keep lapping the room in silence until the phone chimes from the kitchen. You don’t look back at Steve before leaping out of the bedroom to crash into the kitchen wall, almost dropping the receiver from your shaking hands.

“Eddie?” You yell when you get the phone to your ear.

You hear him sigh in relief that you were home to take the call.

“Thank god.” He whispers. “Listen, I need you to clean out the house.”

“Already done. What happened?” You exclaim.

You can hear the clank of what you think is cuffs from the other line. “I can’t get into it over the phone but they’ve got me dead to rights this time. Is Steve still there?”

You look to your left to find him leant against the wall, hugging his arms to his chest.

You sigh. “Yeah, he is. Thanks for that, by the way.”

It’s mostly joking, you know he can tell you don’t mean it. You make jokes when you’re nervous. You’ve done it since you were a kid.

“You can kill me for it later. But right now I need you to do me a favour.”

“Anything.” You promise.

“You’re not going to like it.” He pushes.

“I said anything.” You snap.

“How fast can Steve get you to the station?” He asks.

You dig your thumb into your eye.

–

You and Steve ride to the station in silence. It’s out of character for you guys to not use extra time to find new ways to hurt the other. The worry about Eddie was taking all your mental energy. You can’t speak for Steve, but for once you think you might be seeing a pinch of humanity from him.

It doesn’t change the deep pools of despise you personally feel toward him. But you’re willing to accept that Eddie's soft heart had charmed Steve, someone you consider to be one of the coldest people you’ve ever met.

“Why does he want you to come in?” You ask.

Steve stops twisting his hands in stressed motions on the wheel to look at your from the corner of his eye.

“Guess I’m more connected than you.” He says smugly but you can tell his heart isn’t in it.

He just doesn’t want you to see the chink in his armour.

“Must be nice having a rich dad.” You sing-song. “Gives you all manner of delusions of grandeur.”

He sneers back at you but stays mute the rest of the journey. When you eventually pull up next to the row of Hawkins PD cars, Steve pushes an arm over to the passenger door to cage you as you try to get out.

You raise your eyebrows at him like he’d scolded you with boiling water. He realises the casual touch he’d offered and yanks his arm back.

“Let me do the talking.” He insists. “Better yet, you go see Eddie in lock-up; I’ll talk to the officer on duty.”

“What makes you think you’d be any better than me?”

He looks back at you deadpan and you reason that it isn’t worth arguing with him. He was probably going to pull a rich boy rank on the poor schmuck that hauled Eddie in.

It’s quiet in the station. It was closing in on midnight and Hawkins is a quiet town. There’s only one desk sergeant on. Probably the same arresting officer. Even with the meager staff inside, they keep the fluorescent light beams on their highest settings overhead. The front desk is cluttered with tinsel, and a small Christmas tree ornament. It doesn’t look festive in this setting. Just bleak.

You attempt to follow Steve to the desk but he turns to face you with a forceful look. You sigh and turn left to where the hallway leads to the holding cells, but you stop dead when you realise you’d be obstructed from view enough to eavesdrop on King Steve throwing his weight around.

You want ammunition and more reasons to hate him.

You pin your back to the wall to listen in on him speaking to the desk officer.

“–listen man, I know it looks bad but he can’t have this on his record.” You distantly hear Steve insist.

The man, who you recognised to be John Hurley who was two years above you in school, sighs back to him.

“I caught him in the act, Steve. Money exchanged hands, I watched him leave with the weed. It would take a lot to make that go away.”

You expect Steve to drop the pleasant act when he realised he wasn’t getting his way. You waited for him to drop the hammer. You’re holding your breath with the anticipation of getting confirmation that he truly was an irredeemable person.

“I hear you, bud. I can see you’re in a bind, and if you help me out I’ll chuck you some cash for the trouble. He’s a friend, you know?” Steve whispers.

You can barely hear him but it’s registering loud and clear now. It’s tough to admit when you’ve been wrong about something. You’re willing to accept just this once that maybe Steve really did care for your loveable oaf of a best friend.

“It’ll cost you, man. Making that paperwork go away is gonna be a bitch. Time-consuming. And it’s Christmas time. I gotta see the kids.” John mutters.

There’s a pause and you risk a look around the corner to watch Steve roll a wad of cash bigger than you’d ever seen in real life. John looks around to make sure no one sees him pull it off the desk.

“Well, consider this a gift to them. Give Helena and the kids the best Christmas ever.” Steve insists.

It doesn’t feel manipulative. Not to your trained eyes. It seemed sincere. He knew his wife’s name. Even you couldn’t remember that much about him, even after going to school with him all those years.

“I’ll go get your friend, I guess.” John shrugs plainly. “But don’t let me see him back here. This won’t work twice.”

You see John circling the desk to come out the back way to the hallway you’re in so you push forward and act like you were coming the opposite way.

You don’t acknowledge that you heard anything when you head over to Steve. You’re half expecting him to brag about bribing Eddie out of trouble. But he circles to face you like nothing had happened at all.

“Eddie okay?” He inquires.

You blink at him, shocked that he’s not using this upper hand.

“They wouldn’t let me through.” You lie. “What happened with John?”

Steve doesn’t keep eye contact with you, looking anywhere but at you when he shrugs nonchalantly.

“They didn’t have anything on him. It wasn’t a hard sell.” He lies right back at you.

As you lived and breathed you could drop down dead at this display of humility from Steve. Your brain can’t process it. It actually hurts you to think about.

It’s not just the nicety he’s done for Eddie. But the lack of want to be praised for it. The only thing that can pull you from your shock is here the doors open down the hallway to reveal a shameful Eddie, rubbing his wrists.

You don’t think about it before taking off down the hall to hug him. You could make sense of what Steve did later.

–

Steve doesn’t make an appearance at your work for the rest of the weekdays. Much to your confusion. You’re getting antsy about not seeing him after his stunt at the station. Your curiosity was getting the best of you.

You didn't necessarily want to tell him what you saw, but inquiring minds such as your own want to see him in action with people who aren’t you. It was almost an experiment.

It was starting to look resoundingly like you were the lightning rod for all of Steve’s hate. He was seemingly generous and kind to everyone but you.

It’s classic Steve to disappear the only time you wish to see him. He must have a radar for your desires just so he can avoid them.

You knew that the weekend would be a bust too. Over the holidays you work private cater-waitressing for Christmas parties. So you wouldn’t be around at the diner for his unwelcome drop-ins.

The catering company pay double time in the festive period for looking pretty and passing out glasses of champagne to rich folks. So, instead of wearing your butter yellow diner schmock, you get to dress in a little black dress and tights.

Eddie usually works bar at the parties. It’s the only legal work he ever does. You secretly think it’s for the exposure of his main enterprise. He charges double to drunk, rich suckers who don’t know the price of a gram of weed from a carton of milk.

You never know where or what event you’re working. You just get given the address and drive there day of.

You think your luck is turning when you realise the direction you’re going in. Eddie’s driving but doesn’t notice. Or you suppose he mustn’t know much about Steve beyond their smokes.

But you do.

You know only one family who lives on the road you’re driving up and that’s the Harringtons. You can’t forget it because of the day your mom brought you with her to work.

Steve’s dad might be the only CEO brave enough to host his work holiday parties in his own home. But then again he lives in a McMansion on the hill. So, what would you know?

Eddie is open-mouthed when the extravagant house becomes clear in view.

“Woah.” He mumbles.

“You never been to your smoking buddies house before?” You ask jokingly.

Eddie breaks the car to park aggressively, causing you to jolt forward against the strain of the seatbelt. You stifle the tightening of it on your neck.

“Steve lives here?” He chokes.

You smile at him sardonically. “Who else would?”

The party is teeming with men in tuxedos and beautiful women in Oscar night worthy dresses. You’ve worked countless events like this, but it was easily the most opulent one you’ve ever done. You can practically taste the aroma of wealth in the room. It’s even more glaring when people take the flutes of golden champagne from your tray with little more than a dismissive glance.

You work a full hour without a thank you, or excuse me. You’re weary that you will get any manners tonight. You were just the help after all. You only barely make it out for your first break to take a breath on the back lawn before you snapped and shoved the next person that clicked their finger at you.

When you push out the sliding doors from the kitchen, the freezing wind is a welcome reminder that you’re still alive and not an insentient creature like those people in there seemed to believe you to be. You open your arms like a bird of prey to take in the prickle bit by bit.

“Not cold?” A voice pulls you from your fleeting moment of peace.

The voice startles you, ricocheting you into mid-air. You know who the words belongs to before you find him leant against a tree behind you.

You may be coldly indifferent to Steve but he still takes your breath away in his tux. It makes you feel less pity for the girls like Nancy Wheeler who once fell for his wily charm. You may know better, but it’s hard to deny that he had the face of an angel.

You drag your arms around your middle and push forward to stand closer to him. You still had snooping on the agenda after his performance a couple days ago.

“Needed a break from the rich people smell. You’d think with all that money they’d find better cologne.” You challenge to him.

Now that you're nearer to him, you see the orange glow of the spliff he’s smoking. He’s only distantly lit by the moon, but you can still make out the roll of his eyes.

“Not that you can smell it over that joint, Cheech.” It feels odd coming out of your mouth. It’s not quite rude. It’s almost a joke. Almost.

Steve seems to read it that way too because he doesn’t try to goad you. Instead he holds the non-burning end out to you. You’re surprised by the uncharacteristic gesture from him.

“I don’t smoke.” You clarify with a wave of the hand. “…but thanks?”

He nods subtly and continues puffing. If you didn’t know better you’d say he seems anxious. There’s a quiver in his knees you’ve never seen before.

“You clean up well.” He says after a minute. “For trailer trash.”

You catch the lack of heart in it once more. The words are the same but there’s less fire in it. A dull resignation. It’s almost sad to see.

“Nothing on the girls in there. No one’s ugly, just poor right?” You huff.

The laugh he lets out is weak with sentiment. You’re starting to worry that someone had kidnapped Steve and replaced him with this lifeless husk.

“They’re the ugliest people I know. No hearts.” He mutters, and drops the joint at his feet. “You know the type.”

He’s pushing forward to walk past you but you feel compelled to grab him by his arm to keep him from advancing away. You think you want to ask him about bailing Eddie out, but there’s also a part of you that wants to make sure he’s okay. It’s minuscule, and ill-advised but it’s almost tragic to see him miserable enough to not even have the will to fight with you.

He inspects the hand on his bicep before you snatch it back. Your mouth is open a small width to work up the courage to say something to his expectant face but the chance is narrowly stolen from you.

The slamming of the sliding door grabs your attention back to the house, where you find an older man sternly stampeding his way over to you both. You see Steve shrink three sizes down. It’s clear who he is without knowing. It wasn’t just that Steve looked the spit of his father. It was watching him revert back into a small child with every stomp the older Harrington made over to you.

“How did I know I’d find you out here?” He hisses when he reaches whispering distance. He was obviously not trying to make a scene in front of his important guests.

Steve doesn’t argue back, just gazes down at his leather dress shoes that probably cost more than Eddie’s van.

“Let me see your eyes, Steve. I can smell the pot from the door.” His dad berates. “You don’t have enough stupid in you already without doping yourself up on my time.”

You don’t like the way he speaks to Steve. Not one bit. You can’t put your finger on why that is. He’s saying things no worse than anything you’d hurled at him over the years. But there was an insidiousness. A malice, because he’s the man who was supposed to love him the most in the world. Speaking to him the way someone who hates Steve does.

You see the bobbing gulp down Steve’s throat when he faces up to him. They’re virtually the same height but you wouldn’t be able to tell with the way he sheepishly looks up at his disapproving father. Your heart aches for him. The shiny boy you hate so.

You can’t help yourself from stepping in.

“Sir– I can’t apologise enough. It’s not Steve who was smoking. It was me. He came out here to tell me to stop.” The lie is easy to come out with. Rolls off the tongue.

You just hope Steve doesn’t give you away by not dropping the horrified look he was giving you. You weren’t giving him the out lightly. You were fighting every natural urge in your body to let him suffer.

Steve’s dad– who you know as Daniel– visibly softens. You get the distinct impression that he might have just been looking for a reason to yell at his kid. Which makes you want to tear flesh off him.

“Can’t get any decent help these days.” He mutters, pushing his thumb into the bridge of his nose. You recognise the habit to be the same as Steve’s when he’s stressed. “Young lady, you’ve made a grave mistake. I want you out of my house. Take your drugs with you.”

You nod numbly back at him. “I can’t apologise more, sir.”

The words taste bad coming out. You don’t wish this man any apologies. Just a lifelong wedgie.

“Your manager will be hearing about this.” He firmly states, arms crossing over his chest.

Steve interrupts him abruptly. He seems to be as shellshocked with you as you are with yourself. You’d given up the pay-check of a lifetime for Steve freaking Harrington. And you don’t even feel bad about it because it was the right thing to do.

“Dad, c'mon. It’s her livelihood. She’ll lose out on her pay.” He argues.

Daniel Harrington looks at his child like he’d slapped him with something sharp. “And why should you care about that, son?”

You can see the clench and unclench of Steve’s jaw. It must hurt him to grind his teeth like that. It’s unusual to see him hold his tongue. The Steve you know doesn’t back down from a fight. That’s why it’s all you guys ever do.

“I’m just going to go. I really am sorry again.” You interrupt them, backing away sheepishly, before almost running back to the sliding door to head inside for Eddie’s keys.

You’re not entirely ready to reframe the Steve you’ve known and hated all these years. You refuse to admit that you’d burned a perfectly good job to the ground for him because he’s some kind of misunderstood soul. But you knew now why being called dumb got under his skin the way it did. It also made you feel like you might owe him one for never letting him forget it.

Evidently you weren’t Steve’s first or greatest critic. He lived in the bedroom down the hall from him. He wasn’t bothered that you were calling him stupid. It bothered him that you were confirming what his dad thought of him. You felt uneasy about the whole thing suddenly.

When you wake the next day to an envelope taped to the trailer door with the words ‘diner-girl’ scrawled on the front you find yourself humbly shocked to find your entire shift's worth of wages inside. Attached was a note.

‘I owe you one—Steve. X’

You wonder if that’s even true or not.

–

The unexpected truce of 1990 happens wordlessly. Steve comes to the diner everyday the week after his dads Christmas party. But doesn’t utter a word.

Neither do you.

There’s no pointed glares or not-so-accidental shoves. It’s quiet in all ways.

You weren’t queuing up desperate to be his friend. No matter what you did he’d still be the same boy to you he was all those years ago. But you were willing to accept your share of the blame in the negative spiral you guys had created.

You had never considered that Steve’s dad was genuinely cruel. Much less that he too belittled him for Steve's lack of academic prowess. You want to say that if you did know that you wouldn’t have used it against him. But you would have. The real power struggle you were having was that you felt softer toward him knowing what he’d done for Eddie. It humanised him to you.

Which made watching his dad be so baselessly cruel harder than you’d care to admit. It took the burning desire to beat him away and left an uncomfortable wobble between you guys instead.

There was a shift in control and power. Who had it and what it meant.

You didn’t feel as looked down upon when Steve watched you this week because for once in your life you felt bad for him. There was a suspension of the ideal you had of spoiled, rich-boy Steve.

Instead you saw Steve in your mind's eye, sitting on that big staircase alone again waiting for the family maid to be nice to him.

You couldn’t feel anything but sad for him for that.

So– that lands you here on Christmas Eve. Collecting yourself for your last shift before the annual closure of the restaurant.

You know he’ll be in the diner because he’d been there every night that week. You figure he’s waiting for you to say something to him. Some kind of low ball crack about his horrible father that would never come. You’d resolve that you’d barter a peace treaty when you saw him tonight. Release him of his standpost duty.

Maybe you guys could move on with your lives without all the suffering now that you saw him as your equal. He could find something better to do with his time than haunt your work.

You’re running over the plan in your head when you spy a card balancing against the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. You can already see from the winding loops of penmanship adorning your name that it’s a card from your mother. The only one she’d ever sent since leaving. Eddie must have left it out for you to find.

It makes you sick with panic. You can feel bile crawling up your throat, and it takes a few minutes of psyching yourself up to read it. You’re so focused on digesting each word over and over again that you barely notice Eddie coming in behind you swinging his keys with him, getting ready to deliver you to work.

It isn’t until you feel the hand on your back that you’re back in the room and not picturing your mother on a Floridian coast telling you that her and her new husband had moved into a house together with his kids. You don’t know why she’d think you’d want to know that. She was never coming home, so it didn’t matter to you that her dentist husband had bought them a three bedroom house overlooking the beach.

It didn’t matter because here you remained having scraped yourself through early adulthood in the same place you grew up because no one was moving you into fancy houses on the coast.

You dump the card in the trash with an aggressive shove, turning to face your concerned friend.

“Junk mail?” He asks.

“Might as well be.” You mumble back and flock out to the van without further conversation on the matter.

The restaurant is quiet for a Christmas Eve shift. You were only to be in for two hours to help with creepy Joey with the early close tonight. Even as a manager he was entirely incompetent. He shouldn’t need your help to do last minute stock lists and usher out tables at 9pm. At best you guys would maybe get a couple disgruntled customers unhappy with your disrupted schedule but it’s nothing a guy like him shouldn’t be able to handle.

But there you were traipsing into work on what should be a night off to see the last tables off.

You’re surprised to find Steve sat upon the counter in between you checking the stock room and coming back again. You’d only been gone a couple minutes.

He’s dressed casually. He looks almost like he did in school again. His hair is pushed back into a backwards cap, and he’s wearing sweats. You stop dead in your tracks coming back through the counter. He catches your eyeline and throws you a two finger salute.

You nod weakly back at him ready to get this conversation over with, but you’re stopped by Joey who’s cashing out the till.

“Pretty boy on the end asked for you. I gave him a coffee but get him gone in the next thirty. I’m not trying to be here longer than I have to tonight.” He says barely looking up at you.

You don’t bother to answer his sharp tone. You know the only reason he wants Steve to go is so he can be alone with you for the twenty minutes after lock-up where you sweep and mop. He wasn’t called creepy Joey for nothing.

You start making your way down, before Joey shouts behind you. “One more thing, sweetheart. Your roommate called, he can’t give you a ride tonight. Lucky for you, I’ve got the jag out back.”

You don’t look back because the roll of your eyes was too aggressive but you see Steve’s hand tighten around the coffee cup he’s holding.

You stop in front of him and wait for him to say something. He asked for you after all.

“Did you get the money?” He asks finally, tapping the edge of the ceramic mug.

Of course, that’s what he wanted. To know he hadn’t wasted a couple hundred bucks. You don’t know what you’re disappointed about. You thought maybe he’d offer you more insight into the scene with his dad. Then again, why would he indulge you of all people with family secrets.

“I did. I appreciate it.” You struggle to get it out. You’re not used to being thankful for anything Steve does. “You been coming here all week to ask me that?”

Steve smiles down at his coffee bashfully. It’s almost endearing– in an annoying Steve way.

“No, I’ve been coming in to see if you’d use what happened the other night against me. But I’m getting the vibe that we don't do that anymore?” He mumbles.

You’re thoughtful about what he said. You don’t entirely buy that just because he has a crappy dad means that you have to completely forgive him for the nasty stuff he’d done to you over the years. It also doesn’t mean you can’t surrender yourself to living amicably now.

“I’m willing to plant the white flag if you are.”

Steve holds out his hand to yours to shake on it. You don’t believe you’ve ever touched skin to skin with Steve before. It’s funny how intimate a handshake can feel when you’ve spent years at someone’s throat. You have to avoid eye contact to hide the flush.

You think there’s a lingering on the pull back of your hands but you choose to pointedly ignore it.

Steve clears his throat once you’re no longer connected. “Your boss sucks by the way.”

You stifle a clipped laugh. “Creepy Joey? Yeah, he’s a weasel but what can you do?”

“Let me take you home tonight?” He replies immediately like he was getting it up from being stuck in his throat.

You raise your eyebrows at him. You don’t doubt he’s used that line a million times before and that it’s not his fault that it sounds dirty coming out of his mouth.

You can see the embarrassment registering on his cheeks.

“Baby steps, Steve. I barely don’t want to kill you. Maybe another time? If I need it.” You chuckle. “Although now that we’re not fighting, you don’t have any reason to come in anymore. I doubt I’ll ever see you.”

“I’ll be back.” He nods mostly to himself. “I like the coffee. And the quiet.”

You look at him with a perplexed quirk. You know the coffee here is trash. Steve could afford to buy his own coffee machine instead of coming all the way out here to drink the lukewarm, stale Java you guys sling. You don’t understand him. Even when you think you start to, it’s gone again.

“No one likes our coffee.”

“Well, I do.” He doubles down. “I like the view as well. The trees are calming.”

“You sit the opposite way to the window.” You challenge him.

Even when you get along you argue. Maybe it’s just who you are to each other and that’s okay.

He smirks at you like it’s so much easier now. You still think he’s smug but at least you don’t want to slap it off him.

“Why you making this hard for me?” He chuckles.

“Old habits,” you shrug. “On a serious note though, you’ve gotta bounce. Closing for Santa.”

Steve nods and bows his head as he walks out silently.

–

You regret not taking Steve up on his offer for a ride as soon as you start mopping after Joey had locked the doors. He sat and watched you from one of the stools. This isn’t the first time you’d done close up with him alone. But it is the first time where both of you have known that there was no Eddie outside to get you.

You doubted that he’d actually do anything. Still, you wouldn’t be getting in his car with him once you left. That was for sure.

You make a point of going out behind him from the back door. You want the buffer of locking up so you don't have to make small talk with him. It doesn’t work to your advantage because all it does was ensure that he could crowd you into the staff door. He was watching you attempt to get the key in with little grace, amusement painted on him.

You want to steady your hand but the nerves of knowing you had to break the news that you wouldn’t be leaving with him was filling you with dread. If he wasn’t your boss you’d have no problem telling him to take a hike, but he is– so you play nice.

“You’re shaking, babe. I don’t make you nervous, do I?” He murmurs, trying to push the hair that’s fallen past your face over your ear.

You shoot him a look to convey the depth with which you don’t want him touching you, and the hint he takes from that is to crowd your space every further.

You push backward to put more distance between him and you. You’re running through each probable scenario of how to let him down easy enough that you won’t get fired on the spot.

“Listen, Joey– I don’t want to hurt your feelings but you’re my boss and this…” you motion between you both, “is just never going to happen.”

You see the flash of rage flash between his heavy set brows, and you know that what you’ve said hasn’t landed how you thought it might.

“Is it because of the kid coming in for all of your shifts? Loser with the hair?” He accuses.

You stifle back a laugh at the mere suggestion that anything would ever happen between you and Steve. You’re surprised he’s not noticed the disdain emanating off of the two of you during his visits.

“What? No, definitely not. I’m just not looking to muddy the water at my job.” You argue back.

Joey snorts cruelly. It’s not the same sort of sneer you used to get from Steve. There was something sinister about this which Steve’s taunting lacked.

“You must think I was born yesterday. I see the way he looks at you.”

You’re struggling to find a way to reason with his clear break from reality. He mustn’t be right in any way at all if that’s the vibe he was picking up from yours and Steve’s pattering back and forth.

“Steve barely tolerates me, Joey. You’re just choosing not to hear me because it’s not what you want to hear.” You sigh, and begin to turn to walk away from him.

You don’t have the mental bandwidth to have this conversation with him. Not after the letter from your mom and the confusing amnesty you and Steve had come to this evening.

You don’t get far before you feel his clammy fingers curl around your wrist. You hadn’t had a minute to put your jacket on. You didn’t realise how cold you were until the shock from the adrenaline rush ran through you. This wasn’t a possibility you’d assessed– him touching you. You underestimated the depth of his creepiness.

You try to pull your hand back, but he closes round you with a more bruising force.

“Get off!” You yelp, trying to push him away.

“I just want you to stay and talk to me. You don’t need to be so uptight about it.” He whines.

You’re about to start really handing it to him because the reasoning that you ought to be polite to the guy who pays your rent has lapsed. Now that you know he’s the type of guy to touch you without you explicitly asking, you figure a new job might not be the worst way to bring a new year in. But you don’t get the chance.

You barely see Steve advancing before he’s nose to nose with Joey.

“Steve?” You shout, wrist suddenly free from its hold.

“What’s your fucking problem?” Joey tells.

“You touching her.” Steve spits out.

There’s some kind of scuffle between the two where they just push each other back and for the most part it’s pretty tame to watch. Still, you pull Steve back by the shoulder to try to diffuse this confusing interaction you’re witnessing. But you fail to get him away in time before Steve throws a punch at your manager's face. You hear the curdling crack of his fist meeting his nose; you don’t need to be a professional to know it’s broken. Especially with the way Joey bucks back to cup his nose that’s profusely bleeding.

“Fuck!” He yells muffled by his fingers. “I think your boyfriend broke my nose, skank.”

It sounds stifled– almost like he had a bad cold, and you have to hold back a giggle from the shock of what’s just happened.

“Yeah, well…” Steve seems to be shellshocked too, struggling to stumble to a point, rubbing his evidently sore hand. “Good?”

You pull Steve back. “Not my boyfriend, Joey.”

He flips you off as you drag Steve away. “Tell him that.”

Steve follows your dragging to the BMW that you’d hadn’t noticed when you came out. Probably from the distraction of being sexually harassed.

When you guys get in his car you’re realising what had actually just happened and the shrieking laughter that rips through you is uncontrollable, like a nervous tick. Steve is holding his hand to his chest like a bird with a broken wing and watches you incredulously.

“You just punched my boss.” You wheeze. “What the fuck was that? Have you ever even punched someone before?”

Steve is shaking his head with a weak smile pulling to his lips. He pulls his hand out to test the water flexing them. He hisses as he does.

“No one ever told me that punching people hurts.” He whines. “I don’t regret it though. I’m sorry, but the way he was touching you wasn’t fucking alright.”

You ignore his clear discomfort to address the elephant in the room.

“Why are you still here? You left thirty minutes ago.” You accuse. “Have you…have you just sat out here waiting?”

You can see even in the darkness of the car that he’s a Scarlett hue of red. It’s a shade you’ve never seen him go before, not even in your worst fights.

“You seemed…sad. And I didn’t like the vibe of that guy. I tried to leave. I really tried. But I just couldn’t do it.” He whispers. “And aren’t you glad I did? You’d rather ride home with that meatball than me?”

You ponder it for a minute. Steve isn’t wrong. You were sad today, and Joey is a meatball. You don’t know you couldn’t just swallow it and accept his ride when he first offered. It’s just not something you can do with Steve.

You sigh and dump your jacket at your feet. “It’s a pride thing, Steve. Getting help from you… I just don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

He nods steadily, facing the wheel instead of you. It looks like he’s really digesting what you’re saying.

“Could you do me a favour and not be alone with him again then. And let me drive you home now?” He requests quietly. “I feel like I owe you for the other night. And for all the things I did to you when we were kids. No one…”

He trails off and you’re on tenterhooks for him to finish the thought.

“No one… what?” You press.

“No one's ever done something like that for me before. Just because they could. Not because they want something.” He finishes finally, and looks at you with a tenderness that you’re not sure what to do with.

You’re unprepared for the vulnerability so you nod sympathetically and let him drive you home in silence. It’s tense. But a different tense than you’re used to. There’s a lot of things you want to say, but you don’t bother. You don’t trust your voice to get them out successfully. Steve doesn’t cast a glance at you until you pull up to the trailer.

You both open your mouth at the same time to say something so neither of you get it out. You just sit and look at each other for a second. There’s a part of you that considers inviting him in. But you don't know why you would do that. It just seems like you should.

You think better of it when he clears his throat and breaks eye contact to look at where Eddie usually parks.

“Not home yet then?” He asks meekly.

“Guess not.” You confirm. “I should…” you chuck a thumb over your shoulder to motion to your house.

You don’t need to expand on the thought because he’s nodding like he understands completely.

You practically sprint to the door and when you get inside you brace your back against it to let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

You have no idea what was going on. The strange tension between you guys, the tentative unpredictability that replaced what was once fiery rage. Suddenly you feel small in your usually cosy space. Maybe it’s Eddie’s absence or the weight of the strange night you’ve had. Or maybe it’s that Christmas is only two hours away but you think you should’ve asked him to come inside. You’re feeling regret that you don’t know what to do with.

It manifests in you cursing under your breath and pacing the length of the kitchenette. It doesn’t last long though because there’s an erratic banging coming suddenly from the door. You know it’s Steve without seeing him.

You don’t hesitate to pull the door open and find him just as frazzled as you on the outside. He doesn’t wait for you to invite him in, just breezes past you, hat replaced with a tugging hand through his hair.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m doing this.” He rambles. “I just feel like if I don’t get this out I’ll burst or something. I need you to know how sorry I am.”

It’s not what you expect him to say. There’s a pregnant pause that lapses. You shut the door calmly with it.

“I didn’t just stay tonight because I thought your boss was a freak. I wanted to be there when you finished to check you were okay. It’s none of my business, and you have every right to tell me to fuck off, but I just… I think I care about you.” He continues. “I think maybe without all the fighting, all the room I have for you is being used for wanting to be around you.”

You don’t let a minute pass before you too are breaking into your folder of unspoken thoughts.

“My mom sent me a letter today.” You whisper. It comes out without your permission like word vomit. You don’t know why you felt like telling him when you didn’t even tell Eddie. “That’s why I’m sad. I also feel guilty for not knowing what your dad was like. I’m so sorry. I wish I could take it all back.”

You guys stood opposite each other breathing laboured as you unload every thought you’ve ever had about the other that wasn’t despicable. When you take away the nastiness between you, all the words that are left are the things left unsaid.

“That’s not your fault.” He whispers. “I didn’t hate you because you were poor or whatever. I hated you because your mom was sometimes the only person I’d speak to in a day. I hated that she brought you that day because it meant I couldn’t speak to her by myself. I lashed out and that’s wrong. It’s so wrong. There’s so many times I’ve thought about telling you this but I just got too deep in.”

The words hit like a semi. You’d already sort of got there on your own without him telling you this. But hearing the words from his mouth felt different. It felt like closure you’d so desperately needed.

“No need for that now, right?” You think out loud. “Neither of your parents left to have another family.”

He laughs miserably. “I wish they would.”

The air suddenly feels much lighter around you. You guys had quite literally cleared the air. It just took eight years and one uncomfortable car ride to do it. It all seems so petty and trivial now.

“God, I feel better.” You whisper. “Do you?”

He sighs in relief. “Immeasurably so. What do we do now?”

You think about it for a minute as he makes his way closer to you and the door. Preparing to leave presumably. He stands right in front of you. Closer than you ever think he’s been. You find that you like being so near.

“I think we just move on.” You answer simply, like it has always been so easy.

He smiles back at you, but you catch his lingering looks falling back on your lips. Your heart is battering against your ribs. The palpable vibe between you two doesn’t last. He nods back to the door, not taking his eyes off yours.

“I should go.”

You nod in disappointed approval. Of course, he should. But it’s not what you want him to do.

When he turns his back on you to advance forward, you keep your eyes on the back of his neck. You can make out the freckles you spent all those years making shapes with. It’s like someone else takes over your cognition.

“Or, you could stay?” You whisper.

He halts dead. There’s an unbearable thirty seconds where you think he might say no. Before he eventually turns round to make his way to you.

“Or I stay.” He confirms breathlessly and cups his hands around your cheeks to pull your lips to his.

When you feel the first press of his soft mouth on yours, it suddenly feels like everything made sense for the first time.

All the anguish, and frustration didn’t matter anymore. You guys had needed it to get here. You don’t fight the melt that comes over you. You open your mouth to him in silent submission. You let him lick forwardly into your mouth as you wrap your arms around his neck to try and get him as close to as possible. It’s not enough to kiss him, you want to wrap him around you like a warm hug.

When he pulls back your ragged breaths are the only noise in the room. You keep your eyes locked on his. There’s no depth of regret to be found in his desperate eyes. Just dawning realisation.

“What do you want?” He whispers.

You don’t think before pulling him back in. “All of it.”

You guys stumble wildly back to your room with little struggle. Much like fighting, it would seem like kissing is something you and Steve do well.

It’s like a rhythmic dance. You shed clothes with no clumsy hands. It’s confident, like you’d done it a thousand times before.

You don’t want to curl around yourself to hide the acres of bare skin now on show for him. You just want to feel his warmth on yours.

When you guys lie back on the bed, you curl your legs around his waist to pull his hips flush against yours. You can feel the length of him trapped between your bodies and when you wrap your hand around him, he lets his forehead fall down to look between you, biting out a broken gasp.

“Fuck.”

You only pump twice before he pulls your hand back to pin both your them beside your head. You look at him with silent questioning and he stutters over his words.

“I need to touch you.” He pleads.

You nod violently. If you thought you could speak you’d beg.

He kisses his path down your body. Over each shoulder, on the mound of one breast, straight to your aching core. You’re already set alight with want. He could do anything he wanted and you’d let him just to capture this moment forever. And when his mouth attaches onto your weeping centre you cry out like you’d fallen to earth from a great height.

He groans into you. It’s all secondary senses now. Your body isn’t your own. It belongs to him.

The swiping of his tongue over you is the only thing you feel other than churning, pulling heat in your abdomen. Your hand pulls at the length of his brown hair, curled around it like it was tethering you.

You don’t want him to stop, but you’re so empty that you could cry.

“Steve…” you whimper.

“I know, baby.” He whispers into you. He sounds thick with want and he pushes his tongue back to the bundle of nerves he was working against.

“No,” you gasp, and buck up. “Need you inside me. Like now.”

His eyes look almost black when he looks back up at your pleading face. It doesn’t take any begging to get him where you want him. When you connect at the middle– him sunk as deep as you could take him, there’s no pretence left. No place to hide from how you feel. He curls his hands around your own and presses a kiss to your lips and you’re all gone.

Lost in him.

–

When you wake up in the morning, Steve is wrapped around your naked back. You’re warm from every inch, even with the biting cold of the Christmas chill.

You feel the dancing kisses of his over your shoulder. It feels intimate. More intimate than what you’d done last night.

When you roll around to face him, he’s smiling sheepishly. It wouldn’t be strange if it felt wrong. But it didn’t. It felt good.

You giggle at the absurdity of it all. He matches your pitch.

“This is so weird.” You say finally, stroking his hair out of his eyes. He leans back into the pet.

“How not weird it is?” He asks.

He’s exactly right. It’s like he was reading your mind.

There would be so much time to make sense of what this was, or what it could be. But right now you want to enjoy it without straining a muscle to make it a sprint.

“It’s Christmas.” You think out loud.

Steve pecks your lips once in response. “I didn’t get you anything. Wasn’t really planning on this happening.”

You hum back at him softly. “How about a coffee? One you make for me this time.”

He grins at you fondly. It’s surreal having him look so tenderly. He pulls the back of your hand to peck it, before dragging his naked body from the covers, searching for his discarded boxers.

“That I can do.” He confirms. “Think Eddie came home?”

You think back on the events that transpired before you guys fell into an exhausted slumber. “I hope not,” you smirk at him.

Steve doesn’t bother dressing past boxers when he pulls your door open.

“We’ll find out.” He smiles lazily and heads out into the sitting room.

You lose sight of him but keenly listen out for the sounds of him serving you for once. It’s peaceful for a moment. You get to stretch out in bed, feeling unburdened for the first time in a long time. It’s fleeting though. You’re pulled from it when you hear your best friend screaming in delight.

You wince at the realisation that he was indeed home.

“Finally!” You hear Eddie scream, obviously catching sight of Steve almost naked in your kitchen. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

You smile to yourself awaiting Steve’s return, because Eddie was right.

Instead, here you sat ten minutes later on opposite sides of the room staring at each other in silence. The type of tense quiet that sets the hairs on the back of your neck at attention. You can see Steve’s nervous finger twitches.

You’re still aggravated about the fiancé, and the lies, and the emotional manipulation– stuff that even after you guys split up you wouldn’t dream Steve would do to you.

Not when he knew you inside and out. Not when he’d held you through all the worst things that had ever happened to you.

There’s a thought cycle.

You think of something to say– maybe a subtle whimper to ask if he’ll come closer or maybe hold your hand to stop the tremor. And then you remember.

You remember the woman whose clothes live in his hamper, who he eats dinner with and holds through cold nights. And then all the words flock away like they’d never even been there.

“Are we just gonna sit in silence till they get back?” You mutter.

His hands enclose his face and you can see the strain of his shoulders hunching up over him.

You don’t know why he asked you to come in for this and it’s become increasingly evident that he doesn’t either. Steve’s problem is that he never knows what he wants.

Not really.

He didn’t know that he wanted you four years ago. That’s why he let you go. He didn’t know if he wanted to marry that woman and that’s how he wound up tumbling about with you in the back of his truck.

It was okay back when you were kids. It was okay because the uncertainty was dull by comparison to the flooding endorphins of young love.

But now?

Now you knew what it felt like to live in the Steve limbo and it was too hard to bear a second more.

“This is harder than I thought it would be.” He announces, dragging the skin around his eyes down when he pulls his hands off.

You huff a laugh, and lean back into the cushions completely lifeless to the predicament you’re in.

“Yeah, that tends to happen when you cheat.”

The passing of distress on his face is a wave. It lands on his eyebrows, pulled down in a cross of stress.

“It’s nuanced.” He finally whispers.

You’re incredulous. Indignant in fact.

“I’m not seeing it. All I’m seeing is that up until a month ago you were getting married and then I got to town and she’s, what? Old news?”

“She was already in Utah with her family. The wedding was already off.” He raises his voice. “How many times do you want me to say that?”

You sigh and run your hand through your hair. “But you were together until yesterday? That’s what you said. You were ‘taking space.’”

Space was allotted to her. But not you. Steve didn’t grant you such allowance when you split up. It was a full stop. A dead end.

“Well…yes… but it was already over. We both knew it.”

“Just like we were before I left? Did you sleep with someone else when you were with me?”

It was a question that had been buzzing around your head. It was a little mosquito whispering nasty riddles in your ear but this was the first time you had given it room to grow loud enough to be a wail.

Steve is up before you can blink into comprehension. Moving across the carpet with the purpose to sit on the coffee table in front of you.

If you shifted to the left a smidge, your knees would brush, but you remain stationary as you are.

“Never.” He whispers emphatically, elbows dug into his knees looking at you. He’s trying to dip to catch your eyeline but you’re looking across his shoulder and out the window to the summer sun laying shadows across the carpet. “I would never have cheated on you. They way I loved you…”

He shakes his head like he’s battering the thought away. “The way I love you. There was no one else.” He corrects.

You cast your eyes over to his eyes.

I love you from him feels the same when it sinks in as it did the first time he said it when you were seventeen. But there’s a finality to it. There’s no connection to the present. Because there is no present for you guys.

“And look where it landed us, Steve. You made me a home-wrecker. The other woman…” you’re chuckling as you sit up. “Do you know how degrading it is to love you the way I have for all these years and be reduced to that?”

There’s a tilt in his head back the way and you can tell by the way he blinks that he’s willing away tears.

“I didn’t think you would come back. You left. I was holding you captive here. You wanted to leave and I didn’t. You were never gonna go if I didn’t end it.” He pleads. “I had to move on. I had to.”

You want to believe what he’s saying but it feels like a pitiful excuse. The reasoning of a guilty man.

“What’s she like?” You ask suddenly.

His face twists up in horrified confusion. “What? I’m not answering that.” He shakes his head violently. “Why would you…”

“Why would I want to know about the woman you loved enough to ask to marry you? Why would I not?” You insist. “C’mon Steve. What’s she like? Is she beautiful? Is she funny? Is she a spit-fire in the sack?”

You’re hounding him now, biting off more of him than you think he has to give.

“Stop! Stop this. You’re being…” he’s angry now, you can see the blood rising through him. “It doesn’t matter what she’s like. She’s not you.”

The humourless laughter that escapes you feels like fire.

“She’s not me?” You repeat. “It’s funny you say that, because that’s the exact problem in a nutshell.”

You can see him moving to say something in frustration. An impulsive counter to your aggressive berating. He’s opened his mouth but the words die on his lips and he closes them again.

You’ve raised your eyebrow that he’s gained that self control since you’d been away.

There was a lot of fighting in the last couple months you were together. You thought it was passion. You were wrong in the way that only a girl in love can be.

“Is there no way?” He whispers eventually. You can see the hope brewing on his bottom lip.

He believes that you’re dragging this out to punish him. And maybe you might have been at that start but you can see much clearer now in the light of day how broken you guys are together.

You know you can’t go back. Not where you are now. You might not be ready to leave him entirely in the rear view and skip town. But dating? All the trust. All the unquestioned loyalty has been destroyed by him.

“I just can’t. I can’t go back.” You gasp through tears. You didn’t even know you were sitting on tears until they’re free flowing.

“Baby…” he’s frantic trying to push forward to be closer but you dodge him.

“I’ve not been baby for a long time, Steve.”

“Just really think about this. Think about what you’re saying. You’re back. You’re here. We can be us again. How easy was it the other night?” He hiccups. “If I’d just gotten you away from that fucking bar in time we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. We’d already be fixed.”

You shake your head and you feel the force pushing tears to fall onto your knees.

“No, we wouldn’t. I’d have found out eventually. And if I’d never come home, who’s to say you wouldn’t have gone through with the wedding?”

“I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He stands and paces in front of you, hair pushed and pulled in agitation. This seems to be the bargaining portion of this afternoon.

“Let me prove it.”

You ping up to look at him.

“Prove it.” You jab. “How’re you doing that?”

“We’ll be friends. I’ll leave you alone about getting back together but we’ll be friends. You can see I’m not this guy.”

There’s no being friends with him. You caved and slept with him after virtually ignoring him all month. What would it be like if you were social with each other?

“That isn’t going to prove anything, Steve. All it’s going to do is prolong the inevitable. We were never friends. Not really.” You sigh.

He stops dead in his tracks and twists to face you.

“We were friends. We were pretty damn good friends.” He insists.

“Yeah, we were real tight for a month before we dated for three years. I don’t really think that counts.” You’re pushing yourself up now and pushing past him to make way for the door. “I’ve got to get the stuff out of my car before mom comes home.”

“I’ll help.” He follows hot on your heels.

You want to chastise him or dodge his eager lap dog routine but there’s little point because you know he won’t go. He was a stubborn boy that grew into a stubborn man.

“That’s on you if you want to waste your time but I’m done. I don’t want to spend another four years like this.” You mutter when you get outside.

He doesn’t let your words phase him. It’s all of little consequence to him now because he’s decided how this will play out. He doesn’t need cooperation because he has blind hope.

“You’ll see. I’m going to be the best damn friend you’ve ever had.” He announces, pulling the box up from the ground and disappearing back into the house.

-

Steve’s plan was obviously not well mapped out because he leaves straight after your car is empty.

You let him help. There’s no reason to make more trouble for yourself by not using the extra hands. But you don’t say a word.

You ignore his constant chattering. The never ending work stories and the nostalgia trips he pulls about being in your old room.

You were rising above it.

The faceless ex-fiancé in Utah made it easier to keep the pining feelings at bay.

Her imaginary faces drives you for the weeks following your showdown with Steve. Keep you motivated to stay busy so that you can’t think about his offer or the fact that it's really over this time.

Whatever aggression you were channeling was yielding some results.

You and Eddie apartment hunt so that people ask about your plans to stay you can counter that you were planting roots. You were also interviewing for every job you can find in the paper.

You even attend events that Steve will be at. You smile at his jokes at movie nights, and don’t flinch when he tells everyone that the wedding is off. You don’t divulge in Jonathon when he pokes at you about it.

You were officially moving on. You had decided it, whether or not your heart agreed.

Today would be the sixth apartment you and Eddie had looked at. You were not feeling hopeful. Everywhere had been too cramped, or too rural, or too crack den adjacent.

Although desperation to get out of your overrun family home was starting to make living under a meth lab actually seem appealing.

You’re sipping bad coffee from the cafe next door to the apartment block. The styrofoam cup is starting to burn the skin of your hand when Eddie finally laps the stairs of the building.

You can distantly hear the people inside being seen ahead of you guys. The outside had promise– good parking, nice area and a bunch of stores on the block– which probably meant they’d get it and not you and Eddie. You aren’t the most desirable tenants being that you were unemployed for the time being and Eddie dresses like a motley crue reject.

What you don’t anticipate is Steve trailing up behind him, still in his work clothes, probably on lunch.

You’d gotten good at modulating your face when you see him now. Subtle acknowledgement seems to be enough to not draw attention from whoever you’re with, but just resigned enough to let Steve know that you had yet to have a change of heart.

“Do we need a police escort to view a house?” You ask, raising a brow at Eddie who’s still wiping grease off his hands, fresh from work.

“He didn’t tell you?” Steve beams.

Steve had been utilising radical positivity around you. The glances he gives are less pining and more like you’ve already agreed to be his wife. You think you might understand the ploy. That if he wills you into submission with sickly sweet love you’ll forget about what he’s done.

But he’s wrong. You were running on a diet of bitter pettiness– all his smiles and favours were doing was pissing you off.

You deadpan back at both of them. “Elaborate.”

Eddies rubbing the back of his neck like a guilty child.

“This is my building. Actually you’re leaning on my door.” Steve shrugs pointing at the red door you’d perched against, with the purpose of giving the landlady in the apartment opposite space to exit.

The look you give Eddie is violent. Downright murderous. When he’d called about this place he told you he’d seen a flier on the grocery store bulletin board.

The first nice place you’d arranged to see and it was Steve central.

Eddie smiles weakly. “Did you see the parking?”

“All I see is a dirty lying liar.” You hiss.

Eddie recoils visibly from you. It’s rare that you’re stern with him, on account of your decade worth of loving friendship.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t live in that trailer anymore, dude. Steve’s our in. The property manager loves him.” He pleads his case to you.

It’s not that you don’t empathise with him. You absolutely do.

However you also know that if you have to see Steve every morning on his way to work you’ll snap and suffer some sort of mental health crisis.

“Don’t do this to me, man.” You sigh when he looks at you with the kicked puppy face that he knows kills you.

“Steve really went out on a limb for us. The lady said she was only seeing other people as a formality. It’s a done deal if we want it.” Eddie begs, pretty much vibrating against the wall opposite you.

You smile bitterly at Steve who’s quietly watching you surrender to your urges of being a good friend. “You shouldn’t have Steve.” The voice you put on is drenched with sickly sweet venom. “Really. Shouldn’t have.”

Your tone doesn’t seem to put Steve off. In fact, it seems to fuel him if anything. Maybe he was just happy you were saying more than a few mumbled words at him sporadically.

Steve smirks at you. “It’s what friends do.”

-

Incidentally, much to your displeasure, the apartment is perfect. You knew it was yours as soon as you saw it. Even though you had to pretend to hate it a little bit to prevent giving them the satisfaction.

Steve wasn’t lying when he said it was a done deal. The landlady– Sharon– didn’t even ask for employment details. She just fawned and swooned over Deputy Harrington like he was the freaking pope.

You know you owe him in some way because all of your job hunting time was no longer being monopolised by needing a place to sleep that was quiet and not swarmed by locusts of teenagers.

Sharon didn’t seem put off by how eager you guys were to get your stuff in. She handed you the keys then and there, even with the promise of a security deposit still at least a week from materialising.

You still underestimate the length Steve’s wily charms go. Even when you have first hand experience.

Moving in was the simple part. It wasn’t like you had much to move over. All your belongings still fit in the back of your car. You were done in an hour, and with the place fully furnished there was no stalling to allow yourself to be at home in the space.

Eddie was the chaotic force. You were thankful that you packed light as you watched Nancy and Jonathon helping him clatter box after box up the two story climb.

You’re busying yourself with stacking books on the shelf in the living room to avoid the burning stare of your twin who you’d been avoiding since everyone worked out you’d moved directly across the corridor from your ex.

Jonathon didn’t catch the worst of your emotional turbulence during the first break up because you’d fled north to make it New York’s problem. But he’d made it clear that watching you sob and retch onto Nancy's shoulder after Eddie’s birthday was all he could take. He was colder with Steve than usual after.

You wouldn’t want to imagine how he’d be if he knew what had really happened that night. That you weren’t just suffering because the man you love was getting married.

He’d chirped at you a couple times after Steve announced he and Tina had split. You were being more aloof with your twin than you’d ever been. You never lied to Jonathon because he always knows. This time was no different.

You watch from the corner of your eye as Nancy and Eddie head back down to the van to grab more stuff; it does not escape you that Jonathon holds back to stay with the boxes he’d piled high in the living room.

There’s no beat of silence. No pregnant pause before he takes a seat on the edge of the sofa. “Explain to me again why you’re doing this?”

Your hands clam up immediately. You don’t take your eyes off the stacks of books you're balancing.

“Well, this is a bookshelf. It holds books in an aesthetically pleasing fashion.”

He’s stern when you catch him from the corner of your field of vision. “Funny. But not what I mean. You’re moving across the hall from Steve. Does that seem wise?”

You sigh pulling yourself and the now empty box up with you, still dodging his stare.

“I’m doing this for Eddie.” You mumble and dump the folded down cardboardp out the open door of your apartment into the staircase to be taken out to the trash.

“Bullshit.” He sings songs back at you like it's a game. “Steve breaks up with his fiancé and suddenly you’re living in this building? I don’t buy that this is a coincidence.”

You ping back to look at him finally. Sharply too. “I had nothing to do with that. The wedding was off before I even moved back.”

You realise the error you’ve made as soon as they leave your lips but it’s too late to pull them back. There’s no way that you could know that unless he’d told you. And there’s no innocent reason why that would’ve come up. Jonathon knows you both too well to swallow anything you peddle to him stating otherwise.

He points at you calmly like he’d asked you to hand the salt but you can see the recognition flash across his eyes.

“What did you do?” He accuses.

“Nothing! Okay? I did nothing. He put in a good word for the apartment because Eddie is going to die in his uncle's trailer otherwise and the wedding thing… it just sort of came up.” You’re defensive, and trying to side sweep your twins prying.

It’s not like him to be so forceful but you wonder if in some way he can feel the agony you’re carrying around.

“And when would that have come up?” Jonathon persists.

“He came round to moms a couple days after Eddie’s birthday. We talked.”

He nods and digests the information. You’re being protective of what you share now but your guilt is exuding out of your pores. It was in the walls. Jonathon knows it too.

“Talked? That’s all you did?”

You nod silently, mouth pressed into a hard line. You wouldn’t be lying to say nothing happened that day. But it would be a stretch to deny that something had happened that you were hiding. If you didn’t say it verbally, your body language would give it away.

Jonathon stands up and crowds over you. “You’re lying to me. You know I’m the one person in the world that will always be on your side, and you’re lying to me. For him.”

“I’m not lying. All we did that day was talk.”

“That day?” Jonathon questions. He clicks his fingers erratically, almost without control. “Eddie’s birthday– he drove you to the hide-out. You…”

His voice is hunched up in disgust. The breath that escapes you is accidental. It’s a gasp of panic that all you’d had to do was use the wrong words and he’d clocked you.

“I don’t want to talk about this.” You say and make way for the boxes that don’t belong to you, ready to open them even though you’d have no way of knowing where to unpack them to.

“Yes, we are.” Jonathon insists. “You slept with him that night. Didn’t you?”

The weight of his interrogation was crushing you. All of your avoidance was suffocating your will to lie.

“Fine. Yes. Yes, I slept with him.” You shout, and shove the door box in front of you away. “Yes, it was while they were together. No, I didn’t know about it. Yes, I’m an idiot. Can we just drop it?”

Even though he’d already made sense of what had happened, your brother looks at you like you’d murdered something in front of him.

“Who are you?” He mutters. “I don’t know this person I’m looking at.”

You choke back the cry and swallow the shame.

“I told you I didn’t know about her.” You croak.

“That’s not what I’m talking about. This isn’t you? You’re not stupid. You don’t sleep with exes in their car and then move into the same building as them.” Jonathon sighs. “Are you getting back together with him?”

You shake your head aggressively.

“No! Of course not.” You say, trying to plead innocence with the pull of your brow. You want him to know that you’re hurt that he would even ask. “I told him when he came round that day that I wouldn’t go back. That I couldn’t.”

“Okay, then why are we here?” He throws his arms around, trying to punctuate his point.

“I don’t want everyone to know.” You whisper. “I just want to pretend it never happened. So here I am, pretending.”

“If you believe that’s the reason why you’re moving in here then you’re being foolish. And that’s not something my sister is.” Jonathon mumbles and heads out the door.

You’re leaping up to follow, trying to shout after him but you’re cut short when you see him shoulder barging past Steve as he storms off down the stairs.

You’re yelling in frustration before you can help it. Steve being here for this was too much. You’re already struggling to cope with the sudden feeling that you might be the worst person who’s ever lived.

“Why are you always here?” You shout at him.

He’s halfway between two steps, halted dead.

You turn on your heels and storm back into the house that seems much less inviting than it did a moment ago.

You hear him following you.

“Can you just go? You’ve done enough damage today, and you’ve not even been here.”

He crowds the door shifting foot to foot. “I heard.”

You laugh humourlessly at him. “Good, you’re all caught up. My brother thinks I’m a monster. I think I’m an idiot. And here you are, the person causing it all. Any more favour’s you want to do me, Steve?”

He’s staring downward at the floor. You hate that you wish he’d look at you instead. Even though you hate him right now.

“You’re not an idiot.” He whispers. “I’m an ass. I didn’t think. When I suggested this place to Eddie– I thought I was helping. I’ll talk to Jonathon.”

You’re wiping the free fall of tears. “It doesn’t matter. He’s right. I could’ve said no. I could’ve insisted we hold out for a different place.”

Steve moves forward but you hold your hand up to signal you don’t want him closer. You just want him to leave before you have any opportunity to ruin things anymore than they already have.

“Could you just go?” You whisper.

He keeps moving across the room at you, so you take the measures to keep width between you.

“You’re upset. I don’t want to leave when you’re upset.”

He’s not being pushy. You can feel the tentative steps he’s taking to show you that he’s not trying to further his agenda. You still don’t want to be close to him. It feels too much like how it goes with you guys.

He finds you when you’re vulnerable and you need him so you give in. Every time.

“I’m not upset, I just have a lot to do.” You lie. You’re trying to pretend even for a second that you’re fine with hating him. With him leaving you alone.

“You’re crying.” He points out. “We don’t need to talk. I’m just not leaving while you cry. I can’t.”

“I’m crying because I’m embarrassed.” You say. “I’m embarrassed that I can’t put this behind me.”

Steve laughs breathily and sits on the sofa opposite where you’re standing.

“You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. This is all me. I’m trying to force you to be my friend but you’re right we were never friends.” He sighs and presses his thumb into the bridge of his nose. “I thought that if I could live in denial about this, it would go away. But I can’t. I’ve loved you since I was seventeen years old and I’ve ruined it.”

This is the first time since you’ve been home that you see what he’s been trying to do. Sleeping with you before he split up with Tina, getting the apartment, forcing the peppy chit-chat. It was desperation to pretend that you guys hadn’t been broken all this time.

You tiptoe over the sofa and perch next to him. He doesn’t acknowledge it.

“I forgive you.” You whisper.

You see the jolt of shock tremor through him. You don’t let the possibility of him misunderstanding stew.

“I forgive both of us for the silly mistakes we’ve made.” You clarify. “I think we should draw a line in the sand now. We need to. I don’t want to find myself four years later still hating us for the mess we made.”

He’s quiet for a minute. “So what does that mean?”

“We’re friends… at least we will be.” You say peeking up at him. “Eventually.”

He nods back weakly, “eventually.”

-

Things fall into unceremonious harmony for a little while.

The rock you’ve been lugging around in your gut seems lighter now.

Steve is a neighbour. A friend in some ways. He comes over for breakfast sometimes. You occasionally supply him free crappy coffee from the cafe underneath you– they had employed you the past six weeks.

It’s weird. But it’s almost normal now.

He’s still your Steve. But it’s okay because when you look at him you don’t want to turn yourself inside out anymore. You don’t see the peppy girl from Utah with an engagement ring when you look at him now.

He’s Deputy Steve. He isn’t the boy who broke up with you outside your childhood home.

At least you could pretend he wasn’t.

You guys weren’t hanging out alone yet. You maybe wouldn’t ever. It was baby steps.

You’re not surprised anymore when you find him in your kitchen. It’s not an every day thing but Eddie gave him a key. He made good use of it. You think he doesn’t like living alone. It probably reminds him of being a kid. So you don’t grudge the unannounced drop-ins.

You are surprised this morning however because Eddie had taken off early to run errands. Yet still Steve stood in your kitchen chewing the edge of crueller.

You reflexively straighten out your ratty pajamas and try to swallow back the embarrassment that you’ve still got toothpaste on a particularly aggressive pimple under your nose. It doesn’t matter what he thinks about you anymore but it would be nice if he still enjoyed to look at you sometimes.

“Eddie’s not here.” You announce instead of wishing him a good morning.

You want to give him an out in case he doesn’t want to stick around for banal small talk. He doesn’t seem phased. Just smiles shying and pushes a mug of coffee over the counter as you breeze into the kitchen.

“I know, he told me about the Halloween plans.”

The plan in question is a swaray Eddie insisted you guys should have. A half housewarming, half Halloween party. So that’s where Eddie was– collecting decorations and punch bowls.

You were lukewarm about it at best. You’re pretty wiped from your new work schedule and the way things were still going with Jonathon you weren’t thrilled about hosting for him.

Steve had made some attempt at trying to get your brother to be reasonable but he was too hurt that you’d lied to see sense yet. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t speak to you. But it was tense in a way that only time could heal. And that’s what you were hoping would happen if you left it alone.

You smile meekly at him.

“Yeah. I’m thrilled. In two weeks I get to host a bunch of viruses who will eat my food and mess up my house. Lucky me.” You poke at the donut box. “Any jelly?”

Steve smiles and opens the box like it’s a prize. “I got one strawberry filled with your name on it. Your favourite.”

You choose not to acknowledge that he still knows what your favourite foods are. Or that you can already see without tasting it that he’s made your coffee exactly to your liking.

“What’s the occasion?” You prod, hopping up onto the counter taking careful nibbles of the pastry to avoid spilling the contents.

Steve’s leaning on the opposite counter– no uniform on, evidently his day off.

He shrugs lazily. “I’m being neighbourly. Besides, since when were you such a Halloween downer?”

You discard the half destroyed donut next to you and sip the still hot coffee that was indeed just the way you like it. It’s bittersweet that he still knows you so well– to be known is to be loved.

“I liked Halloween when we were kids. When it was someone else’s job to clean up.” You clarify.

“You loved Halloween.” He corrects. You’re suddenly feeling like this is more than casual chat now. The way his eyes mist over tells you otherwise. “Do you remember when we became friends? Real friends?”

You cast your mind back. You can’t pinpoint an exact date. Or a particular sequence of events. When you remember the years during Steve it’s a kaleidoscope. It’s more vague snapshots of your life. Drives, sleepovers, firsts. But no moment where it all clicked.

You shake your head slowly back at him, but smile brightly to try and keep it light. “You were just always around, I guess. You played the long game.”

He smiles back at you but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He shakes his head after a minute and casts his gaze down.

“Halloween ‘84.” He says finally. “Me and Nance had split up a couple weeks before. I thought my life was over, then there you were covered head to toe in fake blood.”

You flush upward, suddenly aware of what he was talking about. You’d gone to the party with Jonathon who ditched you for Nancy.

No one knew who you were supposed to be dressed up as– Carrie with the pigs blood. You were embarrassed and hoping you would be able to make a fast exit. Instead you found Steve sitting on the lawn of whoever’s house you were at. He looked so alone that night. You felt like if you didn’t sit with him you’d regret it forever.

You talked till the party finished. It was one of the best nights of your whole life. You can’t believe you almost forgot.

“I was miserable that night. You sat next to me– I knew then and there, that you were like no one I’d ever meet. I couldn’t figure out why you wanted to talk to an asshole like me.”

He looks back up at you, there’s a ghost of a laugh on his lips. You’re so shocked that it takes you a minute to find your voice.

“You were only a little bit of an asshole back then.” You whisper.

“No, I was a massive asshole. You didn’t treat me like I was King Steve or whatever. I was just Steve to you.” He says. “I think I fell in love with you the minute I laid eyes on you in that ridiculous costume.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. You can see Steve meandering closer to you. You weren’t sharp enough after hearing the raw truth from him to give the appropriate space you guys ought to have.

“Do you really not remember?” He whispers.

He’s right in front of you now, standing in the gap between your legs at the counter. You can feel the soft breath fanning over your face.

You think about bridging the gap to touch him. Or if you should answer back that you remember it so clearly now that it could be yesterday. Or how you knew when you saw him that night hunched like a broken doll that you’d wanted to grab him and never let him go.

Instead you let the moment hold you both solidly. You let the soft morning glow capture you into believing that if neither of you blinks, or breaths that you can stay exactly where you are with no consequence.

It’s stolen from you before you’re ready. Much the same as how it always was with Steve.

The rattling of Eddie’s keys in the front door pulls you from the vivid hysteria. Before you can control it you spring up and past him, clearing the lump in your throat as you go.

“That was a long time ago, Steve.” You mumble.

You don’t look back to watch him watch you go. But you know he is.

-

The moment with Steve in the kitchen is all you think about at work that day.

You’re so shook up by the whole thing that when your coworker Issac asks you out on a date you say yes without thinking about it too much.

Issac’s a nice guy. You find him easy to speak to. His boyish good looks and blonde curls don’t make you swoon but you don’t find you want to stab yourself in the eye when he speaks so he’ll do.

You’re not into him. You know it before he even shows up the next night to go out.

But you’ve got to do it. You know you do.

It was clear to you no amount of space you take from Steve matters because the minute you’re alone with him it’s like the earth pulls on its axis.

There’s some kind of invisible string that connects him to you.

So you say yes to Issac. You open yourself up to possibility of making it impossible for Steve to get close to you ever again.

You didn’t know how much Steve held in about you guys. He was never that verbal when you were together. He’d never told you that Halloween was when he fell in love with you when you were together.

You suppose he didn’t have to back then because there was no reason to look back when you thought you’d always have something to look forward to.

There was so much that you imagined lay ahead when you were still together. Children, marriage, mortgages.

Now all you shared was memories.

You’re running around the empty apartment trying to calm your nerves about going on a date with someone you couldn’t care less about. You’re not anxious about what he’ll think about you because you’re too busy thinking about what you’ll say to Steve the next time you see him.

You can pretend for the rest of your life that it doesn’t matter anymore– that you’re friends– but then he opens his mouth and deep down you’re suddenly all so aware that no one will ever know you the way he does.

The knock on the door comes ten minutes early and you’re still one sneaker down. You’re hopping and cursing over to the door, willing that Issac was here early to give you an out. Maybe he too is doing this to get over the love of his life.

Maybe he’s here to tell you that you don’t have to go on this silly date. You feel more ridiculous every second that passes for making this impulsive decision.

When you pull the door open and don’t find your date for the night but instead Steve, holding a six pack of beer, you find yourself halted in shock. You don’t greet him or even open the door. He doesn’t need the invitation, he just rushes in past you.

You shut the door slowly and take a deep breath down before you turn to look at him.

He’s stood completely still, maybe trying to avoid the possibility that you tell him to leave before he can get out whatever must be eating at him.

“Steve…” you whisper.

He drops the beer on the coffee table and holds his hand up to stop you.

“I know I said I’d give up but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about yesterday.” He says. “We had a moment, I thought maybe if I came over and didn’t give you the chance to overthink it, we could just get some pizza and talk. Like we used to?”

Your hearts like thunder in your chest. You want what he’s offering so bad. You want it enough that you almost forget what you’d already agreed to do tonight. There’s a time bomb making its way to you.

You’re standing holding your sneaker trying to find the words to say that might get you out of this situation. You could kick him out, but then you think that maybe you won’t get another shot at this again. But then there’s the thought of Steve watching you leave for a date if you don’t.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you? I should’ve asked. I just… I think that if I’d asked you’d say no. I think that you want this, you just need to not think about it.” He interrupts.

He’s frantic. Blabbering. Steve isn’t usually a worrier. He’s so self-assured normally.

“I do want to talk about it, Steve.” You stop him, shifting onto the one foot to pull your sneaker on. “But tonight is not a good time. Any other night… except tonight.”

He looks down trodden. You can see the disappointment washing him over in real time.

“Oh. You’re busy?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

You nod softly and try to think of something else to say to explain it to him, but before you can find the thought the second knock of the evening hits the door.

Your heart falls out your ass.

Steve knows even without you telling him what’s going on. Your guilty eyes must say all that need be said.

He laughs humourlessly. It feels like a jab to the gut.

“Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.” He points at the door.

You open your mouth to try to explain but Issac knocks again, louder this time.

“Fuck. Just give me two seconds.” You mutter to Steve and spin back to open the door a crack.

Issac has flowers and a smile. You feel bad that you’re using him so carelessly. Especially now that you want so badly to just stay here with Steve anyway.

“You look great.” He smirks. “Sorry, am I too early?”

You plaster a smile on. He’s as good as a stranger so he doesn’t know it’s fake like plastic.

“Could you wait for me? I need a minute.”

If he’s phased by your indifference then he doesn’t show it. You got the vibe that he was a self-assured person.

“Sure.” He shrugs. “I’ll just wait out in the car?”

You nod and smile weakly.

You slam the door closed unintentionally. You wish the earth would swallow you whole. You don’t want to see the way Steve looks at you. The hurt that will flush his usually light eyes.

He looks angrier than hurt. Maybe that’s better. Easier.

His hands are balled into tensing fists. You can see the veins bulging up his forearms.

“You’re kidding? Right?” He accuses.

You wince when you push forward. You worry that you could be facing down the barrel of a scene you don’t want to make.

“It’s just dinner.” You reassure, trying to get closer to stop the impending damage.

He pushes backward from you.

“After yesterday? It’s not just dinner. We had a moment. I know you felt it.” He shouts. “Who is he?”

You push a gasp out and pull your hand through your hair. You resist the urge to yank it as punishment for being so naive.

“He’s just someone I work with. It’s not a big deal. He asked, I didn't want to be rude.”

Steve holds the back of the sofa. You can see the grip he has on it is hard, the knuckles on his hand are pure white.

“It is a big deal. It’s a massive deal.” He pushes. “You’re going on a date with someone who isn’t me.”

You scoff at him. No amount of guilt you feel will allow you to forget the hypocrisy of what Steve’s saying to you.

“You were engaged three months ago, so I don’t really think you’re the authority on stuff like this.”

“And we’re back here again. You’re going to punish me the rest of my life. That’s why we’ll never be happy again. You can’t let it go to look at the big picture.” He’s pulled back to point at you. “We could be happy, but you won’t let us.”

There’s a bubble of panic rising through your chest. It’s all going so quickly that you can’t wade through the feelings to find what you think. You stay mute instead. You can feel him coiled across the room waiting for you to say something else.

“If we’ve got a shot, don’t go. Stay here, and we’ll talk.” He pleads. “If you go with him… we’re doomed. There’s nothing here to save.”

You think of the moment you found out about Tina. The way you wanted to curl up inside yourself and die. How unsafe you felt with Steve. It’s so tempting to stay, but it feels like you guys have had this talk a million times over. And the song always remains the same.

If you go, it’s over. You’re free from all the doubt. The uncertainty. You’re free from the possibility of Steve breaking you again.

“It’s just dinner.” You whisper weakly staring down at your feet.

You can hear him walking forward until he’s shoulder to shoulder to you, preparing to exit the way he came.

“It’s not just dinner. You’re going out with him instead of staying here to talk about us. I hear you loud and clear.”

You don’t look up to confirm he’s gone, the opening and slamming of the door says it all.

-

Issac is fine.

That’s about all you can say about him. If anything he’s kind of condescending but if you stopped seeing him entirely you’ll have to admit that you’d thrown Steve away two weeks ago for nothing.

So you go on a couple more dates with him. You decided quickly into the last date you’d had that you had let yourself suffer enough. And yet here he was in your house. Acting like he was your boyfriend.

You had to invite him to the Halloween housewarming. Everyone you worked with was already coming. It didn’t do much in the way of helping with the Steve of it all.

He isn’t speaking to you. He won’t even look at you when you bump into him in the hallway. All unannounced stop-ins cease. You’re starting to feel like you’d made the whole thing up.

Now you’re faced with the prospect of having Issac at a party with all your friends. You don’t even get the chance to tell them it’s not because you like the guy. In fact you were starting to think you might hate him.

He had been patient with you, even when you repeatedly reject all of his advances of furthering past a goodnight hug after three dates. But tonight he’d decided that you owed him more than polite greetings. He was trying to grasp at your waist, your hands, shouting a centimetre away from your ear.

The apartment was busy. You had more people inside it than you expected. You didn’t even know you guys knew this many people. And yet you’d still ended up cornered by Issac.

You can see Steve taking rueful glances at you both over the neck of his beer bottle. You wish so bad you could telepathically communicate to him that you weren’t dating this over-served Neanderthal but instead you’re forced to pretend you’re listening to what he’s saying.

Issac was pretty over-confident. So much so that he feels comfortable very loudly critiquing your costume.

You’d done your take on Lydia Deetz from beetlejuice. He wasn’t impressed. Seems that Issac thought you ought to have worn something a little more sexy. Maybe Baywatch or Princess Leia with the gold bikini.

He’s too self-absorbed to even know you well enough after three dinners and two months of working together that you don’t even like Star Wars.

You know that no one is particularly fond of him before they have a chance to tell you. You can see it in the subtle looks your friends give each other from their various spots in the room. There had been no time in the mess of getting ready for you to tell them you already had plans of ending things with him before they even started.

This whole charade was now feeling like Devine punishment for fumbling this all so badly. You were learning in real time that two wrongs don’t make a right, and that it had been cruel to be so merciless with Steve.

He kept pulling at the puffed sleeve of your dress in bemusement that you’d covered so much skin. You keep politely shrugging him off. You’re slowly realising that being gracious to maintain a good coworking relationship might not be an option with this guy. He wasn’t much for taking hints.

“You know, Halloween is supposed to be the one night a year you can dress slutty.” He loudly announces. For the fourth time.

You can see Steve hissing under his breath to Robin who’s stood with him looking at your ‘date’ like he was an insect that had crawled up through the dirt.

It's too loud in the apartment to know what they’re saying but you know it’s about you. You’d have to be shouting like Issac was to be heard above the music.

You can see the shake in Steve’s hand while he gestures. You want to go over and calm him down, but you’re too scared of being completely rejected.

“Not really my vibe.” You mutter back at him, dodging another prying hand of him. He’s too drunk to read your disinterest.

You’re too busy watching Steve aggressively speak at Robin.

Issac snorts at you. You don’t need to read between the lines that it’s supposed to be cutting.

“Yeah, figures. You’re kind of a prude.”

You’re not offended by what he’s saying. Embarrassed, maybe. But being offended isn’t something you can bring yourself to feel toward him. You don’t really take much stock in what a guy like him thinks about you.

There’s shame though. You know people can hear him yelling at you through the crowd. People are on-looking.

You shrug at him lazily. You don’t have the energy to chew him out. Come tomorrow morning you’d never speak to him again anyway.

You hear the smash of a bottle from across the room and see Steve knocking one over. Robins pulled him over the door and you know that he’s heard the nasty remark to you. Even across the sea of people he’s angrily pointing at you guys, face contorted in disgust.

Robin's weak in her rubbing of his shoulder, but he’s still shrugging her off. He takes one glance back over and catches your eyeline for the first time tonight. He shakes his head and drops it almost immediately before turning on his heel, out the front door that he’s stood next to.

The slam shakes the picture frame hanging next to it. People only vaguely notice his sharp departure.

You don’t think twice about pushing yourself off the wall you’ve been pressed against. You’re attempting to push past Issac as if he weren’t there at all but he pulls you back. The look you give him nothing short of violent. You’d been too nice to let him think he could keep you trapped somewhere without your say so.

You pull your arm away with a scowl.

“Where are you going?” He all but slurs.

You roll your eyes at him. You were struggling to swallow the depths of despise you feel for this man.

“It’s my party. I’m going to mingle?”

He scoffs at you. “You’re a tease.”

The laugh pulls through you like glass on skin. “Man, you’re such an ass. Where do you get off speaking to women like this?”

He’s too drunk to pull together a coherent rebuttal before you shove through him instead of past him this time. You needed to find Steve to tell him that you’d clearly lost your mind these past couple weeks.

Your ego can’t take that someone you care about this much thinks you’re dating a horror show like him.

It takes a second to push through the crowd to Robin. She’s not moved from the door that Steve’s just fled from. She doesn’t seem surprised to see you approaching.

She throws a thumb over her shoulder in the direction Steve went.

“His place.” She clarifies.

You nod gratefully, scurrying out into the thankfully quiet and less stimulating hallway.

You breathe in the colder air and mentally prepare for the possibility that he tells you to take a hike. You know what you would do if you were him.

It takes courage to walk into Steve’s house without invitation. You don’t think you need one. Not when it’s him. But after your callous propensity with him the past couple months maybe that’s not the case. All you know is that you’re desperate now so you do it anyway.

His apartment is laid out like yours. Identical mirror image. But it smells like him.

It smells like fall, and vanilla. A hint of boy.

He’s tidy. The apartment is devoid of trinkets and clutter like yours and Eddie’s house is. It’s practical. Just like he is.

You don’t find him in the living room or kitchen. You can tell he’s gone straight to his room because he’s not even turned the lights on. Everything is lit with the street lights pouring through the windows.

Your feet are carrying you without much interaction with your brain. You’ve had to switch it off so the voice in your head doesn’t talk you out of breaking and entering. By all accounts this was technically a felony.

“I’m in my room, Robin. I don’t really want to talk right now.” Steve yells through, just as you’re reaching the narrow corridor.

He’d obviously heard someone coming through. You don’t let it deter you either way.

His bedroom door is open, and you can see him hunched on the edge of his bed. He’s got his head cradled in his hands, you can see the swelling in his knuckles. You don’t need to be a genius to work out he’s punched something.

You chew at the corner of your bottom lip. Now that you’re in front of him you don’t really know what to say. You hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Hey…” you whisper.

His head shoots up at you. You can see the vague hint that he’s furious. There’s a rosiness in his cheeks that he doesn’t usually have.

He’s shaking his head profusely. “I can’t do it. I can’t.”

Your heart feels like it’s been pulled through your stomach. You knew there was a chance he’d ask you to go. And you’d listen.

You’re not going to force him to entertain you after tonight. You know you’re the problem right now.

“You want me to go?” You ask sheepishly.

He’s stumbling over a laugh. It sounds like a sob.

“No, I never want you to go. But I can’t watch you with that imbecile. If I hear him speak to you like that again, I’m going to kill him.” He seethes rubbing his hands over his knees. “You really want him?”

Your breath hitched up and you collapse forward to sit next to him on the bed. You sit so close that your thigh is brushing his. It feels like your skin is set alight.

“Not even remotely.” You plead. “I think I hate him. It was over before it even started. I didn’t want to go out with him that night but I was so focused on getting over you that I agreed to that stupid fucking date.”

Steve’s turned to face you on the bed. You can see the loosening of all his muscles. He’s no longer rigid in rage. You can practically feel the relief roll in waves through the room.

“You don’t like him?” He sighs.

You shake your head no.

Steve sighs like he’s suddenly been released from some kind of vice grip. “Thank god.”

You grab at his hand to inspect the budding bruises. “Lose a fight with a wall?”

He smiles easily back at you. “The bathroom mirror actually. Seemed like better target practice with that douche canoe in there.”

You nod sympathetically and run the pad of your thumb over his knuckles.

It’s quiet for a minute and you think about what to say.

“I do remember Halloween.” You whisper.

You look back up at Steve to see him registering what you said. There’s hope teeming in his hazel eyes.

“Yeah?” He asks quietly.

You nod slowly. “I think it was one of the best nights of my life. You were dressed up as Tom Cruise. You were the only person at the party that didn’t look at me like I was a freak.”

Steve’s looking at you intently now. His mouth is parted slightly, like he’s struggling to find air any other way.

“Now that I think about it… I fell in love with you the minute I laid eyes on you too. I’ve never stopped.”

You don’t get a verbal response. You don’t need one. Not when he flips his hand round to grasp yours and pulls you forward to him.

His mouth envelopes yours and suddenly it feels like nothing in the world could ever be bad or wrong as long as it’s with him.

There’s no rush, no reason to worry that he’ll be going anywhere. The kiss was like coming home after a long trip.

You curl around each other like ivy that’s grown intertwined together.

When he pulls back you don’t let go of his hand. You stay holding it between you, trying to collapse time to stay suspended in this feeling. Both of your chests are shattered wrecks, visibly shaken with the weight of what you know will happen next. If only you’ll both let it.

“Will you stay?” He begs.

You don’t need to think about it. You begin pulling at his clothes to get to more skin as fast as you can. As fast as your hands can move.

He follows your lead.

“Only forever.” You confirm and allow yourself to be pulled under by him once more.

TAG-LIST:

It’s aggressively humid when you step out of the car and you’re reminded of why you choose to head north for college. Jonathon had told you to dress for the warm but it was although in your four years away you’d developed some kind of selective amnesia about home. Your twin, sensitive as ever, had the good sense to know this and you’re thankful now that you had kept up your weekly tradition to call.

You’d worked hard to avoid coming back. You’d like to blame it on the stifling warmth but you know there was a much more glaring concern. Not that you were ready to admit it.

It had become a routine since you’d moved away for your mom and Hopper to call and ask when they should get you a room ready, and for you to worm your way out of it by saying you had too much work. Even as long as it’s been they still state displeasure in it, you’d argue for ten minutes before they’d relent until the next birthday or Christmas or Easter. You’d assuaged your guilt over it because it’s not like they were short of kids to wrangle. Even now that you’re all grown up.

But alas, same as the swallows making their yearly migration home, school had ended and it was time to accept that you couldn’t avoid it any longer.

You’d taken two years out before college. You’d told yourself it was because you weren’t ready, and that as a family you needed more time acclimating to the new matrimony between your mom and the sheriff but you knew it was a lie.

It was the Steve of it all.

Back then you and Steve were solid. A team. You’d stop, he’d start. So there had been a level of loyalty you felt obligated to. But that was then.

Before.

It felt, even now, to call Steve just a boyfriend like a disservice to the depth of waters you’d been treading in him. It had begun in shallow waves and then without warning or reason, you’d sunk so deep. Too deep. So naturally when it ended, three years down the line after you’d already decided it was a forever sort of thing, you ran. As far as you could go, as fast as you could go.

It seems like you can only go so long before you collapse. You’d ran a marathon in a sprint and expected not to burn out and now coming home, you realise all the ways you’d turned wrong.

Your house looked different. You lean back against your car to ground yourself when you see it. They must have had more time these days, with half of their kids completely independent to the nest now.

There’s a fresh paint job, potted flowers on the porch, wind-chimes hung above the door entrance. It’s a departure from the home you’d grown up in. You’re not bitter about it, it’s hard to be when you know how happy they are.

In New York you got to be pessimistic. There’s a certain type of melancholy that’s permitted in a city that big. It’s why no one was weirded out by the broken hearted moping your first year there. The heartbreak was less overpowering these days. It’s the sort of pain you can live with instead of the debilitating, soul sucking darkness that you’d been carrying around.

The pain that had healed over into a vicious scar was feeling more and more tugged at from the minute you drove past the town perimeter. All the pain and doubt you’d left here had apparently been waiting suspended in time, just for you.

You and Steve broke up quietly. Where you’re sitting it feels like you can still see the two of you sitting leant against your childhood home, legs pulled to your chests quietly agreeing that it was time to end it. It’s been so long that it’s hard to remember what did it.

You shake the thought from your head. This is precisely why you didn’t want to come back.

You lean into the open window of the driver's seat and pop the boot. All of your belongings could officially fit between the trunk of your car and the back seat. You’d ruthlessly culled the stock over the last month for your arrival home. Since the break up you’d lost an attachment to things material or otherwise. Clothes, friends, apartments— replaceable. You were keenly aware of the impermanent nature of it all now.

While pulling bag after bag out there’s stirring from inside the window that used to belong to Jonathon.

“Mom! She’s here!”

It’s Will. You smile to yourself. You know there’s no rush, they’d come to you.

You hear the scream before your mom runs off the porch at you. Her arms are open and you’re enveloped by the comforting smell of Marlboro reds and patchouli. There’s a wave of calm, the tense of the drive is gone and suddenly you’re a child once more, engulfed in the warmth of your mother.

“Mom.” You sigh into her grasp.

“You are never leaving again. Do you hear me!” She’s back to hold you at the shoulders, and you can see she’s still the beautifully manic woman you’d left behind. There’s an intensity in her tone but she’s smiling. You know she’s just missed having all her babies in reachable hold.

“Okay Joyce, give her some room to breathe, don't scare her off before we get her in the damn door.” Hopper's footsteps are encroaching now, not that it’s hard to see him over your moms petite frame.

She moves out of the way for him. You’re not sure what the correct greeting for the husband of your mom is. It’s not that you didn’t love Hop, but it’d been so long that you’d forgotten what you might be to him.

Before you can ponder it longer you’re pulled forward into a hug almost more crushing than your moms. “It’s good to see you kid.”

“Hey Hop.” You muffle into his shoulder.

The three of you stand in a soft silence. It’s different than over the phone. You feel welcome to be home but it’s been so long that it’s hard to remember what to say. The kids, although not so kid-shaped anymore, are standing at the door waiting. You had not realised the whole team would be here.

“Can you come over now?” Will shouts. You’re off at an accelerated pace.

Your little brother, now sans bowl cut and air of uncertainty, is as soft as you remember. You grasp the back of his head while you hold him, trying to commit it to memory. He’s a man now. And you were suddenly all so aware that you’d missed so much.

“When did you get so big?” You cry, examining them when you pull back.

They’re all as tall as you. You have to reach to hug Mike.

“It has been like, a million years.” Max scolds.

You wince. It’s in Max's nature to state the obvious and it doesn’t feel like it’s meant to cut but it does. El is holding a card, hand painted. You know it’s Will’s work without looking hard.

Hop and mom had meandered over too, and you pretend not to notice the residual tears on her face. The guilt was already hard enough as is.

“Jonathon?” You ask expectantly.

“Kitchen.” Mom confirms. “Nancy too. They’re on cooking duties. The rest are on their way.”

You’re shellshocked.

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting a whole welcoming committee.”

Mom pulls her eyebrows down. “It’s been four years. Why would we not make a big deal about this?”

You know you’re being sqoosh ungrateful but the less of an affair this was, the less reminder of the pain of leaving.

“I don’t know, I just didn’t realise it was a thing I guess. Robin and Eddie are coming together?” You’re purposefully avoiding the question you want to ask.

The Steve word was a non-starter. You’d told them during your calls that you didn’t want to know. This strict instruction had been followed militantly. It was harder to maintain with some people. Robin had been the hardest to keep up with without it.

So much so that your calls had reached sporadic status. Every couple of months you’d talk for two hours like no time at all had passed but you knew her life was so intertwined with his still that it was hard to be in the know the way a best friend should.

You’ve retreated inside and the house is so different that you’re awed for a moment that it was even yours. There’s a beat in the room at your question. You know what it means before anyone answers.

“They’re catching a ride with Steve.” Henderson confirms.

Everyone flinches to look at him, to which he shrugs nonchalantly. “What? They are?”

The embarrassment of being treated like some kind of fragile object is enough to send you straight out the door you just came in.

“Guys I’m not going to suffer some sort of mental break if you say his name.”

Everyone visibly relaxes. “I mean? You did like run away when you guys…” Max once more is the voice of tactless objectivity. You’ve missed her so much that you don’t even care.

“I didn’t run away, I went to college.” You correct “And now I’m back. Besides, that was a million years ago now.”

It felt like yesterday to you. You can still see early mornings in the kitchen, coffee on the sofa pretending to be older than you were. You can feel feather light kisses down your neck and the whisper of promises in your ear.

No, it wasn’t a million years ago. Not even close. But you refuse to let everyone in on it. Especially not when he was bound to be here imminently.

The eyes of the room remain unconvinced and you’re thankful that Jonathon decides to break the tension for you.

“Long drive?”

You’ve leapt across the room at him, arms around his middle because despite loving everyone in this room to death, being away from your twin for this long had felt acutely similar to missing an arm or a leg.

His chest is vibrating with the chuckle he’s letting out.

“You have no idea.” You say in his ear.

Jonathon and you never looked alike. Not even when you were kids. People never believed you were siblings, much less twins. But you could tell in others. You can tell it in the way that he always knows exactly what you’re thinking and how you know when he’s entered a room without knowing.

Nancy is behind him, hands clasped at her waist. She looks the same as she always had. Beautiful.

She seems nervous, but then again so are you. Everyone sort of knew on some level that it was weird for you guys. You loved her as she was in your life now, Jonathan's partner in every way conceivable, but she was still your first love's first love.

“Hey Nance.” You’re smiling at her and you mean it. For all things considered she was one hell of a person.

She visibly unclenches and you guys hug the way you always have. Like you share a secret.

You’re barely even home a minute when the usual chaos begins. Everyone’s speaking, there’s nowhere in the room to hide in silence. You’re trying to keep up with all the things you’ve missed. They speak about people you’ve never heard of before, and classes you didn’t know they took. It’s almost a welcome break when you hear the beep of a horn from outside.

There’s multiple actually, you know without a doubt that it’s Eddie from the passenger seat.

It’s comforting that some things just don’t change. You don’t even hear the car park up before his dark head of curls are crashing through the front door, mess of leather and heavy boots coming with him.

“You’re actually here! She's actually here!” He’s like the Hawkins crier. All he’s missing is a bell and horse.

“I’m glad to see that becoming a working man hasn’t changed you.” You’re referring to his outfit. You know he’s a mechanic now. A business owner, in fact.

He’s flattened you against him, it’s like being crushed by heavy machinery.

“They’d have to kill me first. But I am unkillable, friend.”

When you pull back, you can see Robin standing in the doorway. She doesn’t look happy; which you try not to internalise. She’s stiff, almost disbelieving.

“I’m sorry– I just had this picture in my head, like I was going to come in here and you wouldn’t actually be here. I’m just…” she walks further in. “You look different.”

You don’t really. Not in the drastic way you could. All the key stuff remained the same. No new disfigurements or modifications.

“You look exactly the same.” You’re shyly moving in closer to her. “Are you gonna give me a hug?”

She’s on you in seconds flat. There’s an edge to it that you know you don’t have the capacity to explore yet. Not on your first day back.

Not with him gently shutting the door ahead of you.

Now, if anyone looked different it was Steve. Gone was the baby face you remember. He had a stubble thing going on now. And he was broader. Your eyes cast down on him trying to find a place to put all the feelings. He’s as handsome as you remember but in a way that felt grown up.

What hadn’t changed were his eyes. He’s caught you in his hold with them. You still feel like turning to dust while they’re on you. Just like when you were 17. You can feel them in every part of your being.

Neither of you move. You’re not even sure if you’re breathing.

No one else as much as blinks. And then just as soon as he was there with you, he was gone. He clears his throat loudly and looks down at the container he was holding.

“I brought the cake.” There’s a weakness in his voice. Tempered exhaustion.

With the tension broken, Hopper claps his hands, the crash echoing across the room.

“You heard the man. Cake!”

-

The one thing about being gone so long was the constant reminder of it. The unspoken crime of betrayal you’d committed. All of you had some sort of found family thing going on. For some reason mom and Hopper had a habit of collecting strays.

There were the boys who had always sort of been there. But then Hopper adopted El, and then Max moved to town. Nancy and Steve had been in the backdrop of your life for as long as you could remember but then they broke up and Jonathon and Nancy became what they are now.

And Steve and you had thrummed up some sort of understanding with each other that your twin who suddenly had no time for you and him broken-hearted would waste your time together. It hadn’t been in the plan to fall in love, but such is life.

With you was brought your own best friends. Him in Robin and you in Eddie. The rest had been history.

Unfortunately that meant that there was some sort of unspoken allegiance that ran under the surface of your guys’ island of misfit toys. And you had severed that.

No one has outright said anything to you yet about your departure all those years ago but it’s felt.

It’s felt in the way they’d crack jokes you didn’t understand, in the way that your parents suddenly seemed to adore Steve like he was their own. It was overwhelming and all consuming. Sitting up on the roof hiding from your own party was the first time all evening that you’d taken a breath unencumbered.

The roof had always been your spot when you were in your teens. The only person who knew you’d hide up there was Steve. You would sneak up to make out on summer nights to avoid the watchful eye of Hopper all those years ago, back when you were too young to worry that there would ever be a time where you couldn’t find his touch as easy as breathing.

“I haven’t been up here in years.” The voice pulls you from your peaceful silence, you jump a mile out of your skin.

Steve is up on his feet behind you, wiping off flecks of white paint taken off while climbing the freshly painted trellis. The same thing had happened to you.

You try to steady your battering chest, half from the fright and half from the anticipation of speaking with him alone. He’d been mute downstairs. It was starting to feel as though he was never going to speak to you again. Perhaps it would’ve been easier if he didn’t.

“God, Steve, has no one ever told you not to sneak up on people on roofs. I could’ve broken my neck.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his face, to the untrained eye it wouldn’t be readable but you had a degree in Steve.

“I don’t exactly make a habit of climbing up on roofs. Not anymore.” He clarifies, laying down next to you.

He maintains an arms length distance. It’s appreciated. You weren’t willing to bet that you wouldn't pull gravitationally into him. That’s how it felt when you were younger. For a moment you lay in silence. You wouldn’t say it was comfortable, but it was bounds better than how it was with all those watchful eyes on you downstairs.

“Running away from your own party? Vintage you, Byers.”

You’re sighing before you mean to. “What can I say? At least I’m consistent.” There's a tone from both of you. It’s not quite passive aggressive, but it didn’t feel breezy like it used to. “I wasn’t exactly expecting the whole family reunion. How did they wrangle you into cake duty?”

Neither of you are looking at each other. The sun was setting and the last thing you wanted was seeing him in the soft glow light of golden hour. It was already hard enough as it is given his abnormally perfect face.

“They didn’t have to wrangle me. Your mom asked. I can’t say no to Joyce.”

This piques your interest, enough so that you turn to face him now. Incredulous. When you’d left Steve was deferential to your mom in the way that she was his girlfriend's mother. It was all ma’am this, Mrs. Hopper that.

“Joyce?” You ask. “That’s new. Since when were you guys so tight?”

There’s a wry chuckle. “Since Hopper became my boss. They host me for a Friday dinner every second week.” You try not to feel the scourge of rage that bubbles below your chest. “It’s been four years. Did you think the world would stop?”

There it was. There was the contempt you’d been waiting for. The penny had dropped as suddenly as the sun had evidently set over the horizon, twilight blinking in.

“No, I didn’t think that it would stop, I just wasn’t expecting to come home and find my ex was suddenly part of the furniture.” You’re exasperated now, your hands are doing as much of the talking as your mouth. “My bad, deputy.”

You guys are sitting up now. It’s suddenly colder and it was feeling much too similar to the last conversation you’d had. The one that saw the bitter demise of your love.

“Sorry, was I supposed to curl up and die when you left?”

“You broke up with me. This is absurd. Why are you here, Steve?”

There’s a wave of despair that passes over his face, you choose to ignore the knot that tightens under your ribs.

You hope, against all better judgment, that he might crack and divulge that he’d missed you. Or maybe that being apart had felt like a small death to him the way it has to you.

“Like I said– Joyce asked me to.”

The other problem with the connection you and Steve had forged over those years- aside from the unbreakable soul-bond that had plagued you even after all this time- was that he knew exactly what to say to hurt you.

It’s not even the words, it's the way he says them. The casual indifference, the dismissive verbal flip off. It felt like a chain being pulled tighter and tighter around your neck.

You’re up on your feet before you give him the satisfaction of knowing he can still hurt you.

“Great talk Steve, can’t wait to do it again soon.”

He’s hot on your heels, his hand wrapped taught around your wrist. You pull back as if you’d been caught in the splatter of an oil burn. Your eyes narrow in on him, a silent warning. His hands are up in a silent surrender before you can even tell him not to touch you.

“Can you just stop?” He sounds tired. He looks it too. Now that you have a close range look at him you can see that along with the subtle broadening of his once boyish good looks, there’s an arch of exhaustion that can only come with age. “I didn’t come up here to fight with you. I don’t want you taking off again the next time I say the wrong thing.”

You scoff at him, it’s childish and reminiscent of the fights you guys would have in his parked car in the lead up to your inevitable separation. There was something about him that brought out the girl in you, the stubborn one that couldn’t let things lie.

“Could’ve fooled me. I’m kind of getting it from all sides here. You’re the last person I need this from, Steve. Do you not think I know just how much of a disappointment I’ve been to all of you?”

The shattered look of confusion pulls the middle of his brows down.

“What does that even mean?”

“You don’t think I can see it? I see it on all of your faces. I left, I’m sorry. What do you want from me? A blood tribute to show you that it wasn’t malicious.”

“You’re a child, you know that? Room full of people happy to see you, you come hide up here. I came to tell you that we can be good, and even then you won’t let me. It doesn’t need to be this unrelenting cycle of suffering.”

For him it doesn’t. It’s abundantly clear to you that this wasn’t taking a toll on him like it was you. From the way he acts, it seems he’d cut his hand off before he reached for you again.

“That’s what you came up for?”

“Yes. Can we just draw a line in the sand?” He sighs, gripping the bridge of the nose, the same way he always has. “I’m not going anywhere, and for the sake of your mom I hope you’re not either. We’re going to need to learn to live with this.”

“You would be surprised with what people can live with.” It’s bitter, there’s venom soaked in and the petty party of you hopes it burns him as he digests it. “We’re good. I’m over it. You can keep coming round for your little family dinners or whatever.”

There’s a silence, this is entirely too similar to the breakup now. There’s a space between you where you stand opposite each other on the roof that feels like it could be miles. You’re looking at each other but it’s like you’re strangers. You suppose you were now.

The nod he gives you back is weak, a silent surrender. You don’t wait for him before climbing back down.

-

A month back in Indiana passes at a glacial pace. It feels like you’d been back for years, except everything was different. Suddenly you were some sort of flight risk. Every time you leave the house your mom is on you like water on wet.

You don’t just get an invite to things like you used to. No, they say things like, “if you’re still around in a few months…” Robin was acting as though had some sort of terminal disease, that the days of sleepovers and coffee runs are numbered to some sort of inevitable force that will take you from their grasp.

You had reached the point where the only people you could hang out with are Jonathon and Eddie. Jonathan’s always busy with his Nance and his freelance photography gig. Leaving Eddie to absorb the weight of your company.

You wouldn’t even call to announce your arrival anymore. You’d pull up to his garage- only once checking the car park for Steve’s truck five times over- and then sit and observe him work for hours. Just so you could get a second of peace from the constant petting and primping from your family.

Today was like no other. You’re sitting on the work bench opposite him in silence. The good thing about the length of your friendship with Eddie was that it no longer required constant chatter. He was also the only person in town who seemed to believe you when you said you had no immediate plans to flee.

You had successfully avoided Steve for the most part, but on the more challenging days when you’d arrive home to find him hopping into his truck leaving your family home, he’d offer you a curt nod of acknowledgement. If he was worried about you taking off he wasn’t showing it. The new job was keeping him busy from what you can tell. He’s been notably absent from the sparse group settings you’ve been in since.

But you knew your good luck was bound to run out soon. You wish you’d have prepared yourself for it better.

“It’s my birthday this weekend.” Eddie announces from under the hood of the subaru he was working on.

You’re painting your nails a deep purple and hum in response so as not to break concentration.

When he says nothing back to you, you peek up to find him now out unblocked from the red hood. His arms crossed like a disapproving mother. Expectantly.

“Yes, Eddie– you’re only my oldest and closest friend, I know when your birthday is.” You laugh.

He pretends to pout and kick his foot against the concrete below him. “Wouldn’t hurt you to say it more.”

You shake your head and twist the cap of the polish back on. “You’re ridiculous, but go on.”

“A bunch of us were going to go to The Hideout on Friday. Thought you’d maybe want to come?”

You try not to feel hurt that there’s any part of him that would think you wouldn’t but even you can admit you’ve been less than emotionally unavailable to your friends since you’ve been home. For momentary necessity, you have to feel even just a fraction less. It’s how you survived in New York and that was without Steve just around the next corner waiting to pull your heart out once more. Maybe it was translating as more aloof than self preservation.

“Eddie, of course I want to.” You’re trying to be more emphatic about it than you usually would be because it hurts to hear the misplaced doubt.

“Steve’s coming.”

And there it was. You suddenly understood his reluctance to bring this to you. Your peace treaty was still being adhered to. There was no plausible reason you could think of why you guys couldn’t attend a social gathering together. Even though your arrival party was soured tremendously by the bitter words you’d exchanged. That was without the influence of drinking as well.

Had Eddie not have been looking at you like a big kid you maybe would’ve tried to lie your way out of it but you don’t want to completely destroy your relationship with the last person in town who didn’t treat you like you were bound for take-off.

“That’s…okay.” You chew it out with all the enthusiasm of swallowing glass.

If Eddie notices he doesn’t show it.

-

The countdown clock to Friday was a dark cloud that hangs over the rest of your week.

By the time the day does roll around you’ve forgotten that this Friday is also Steve’s bi-monthly visit. You had managed to make yourself scarce on his first visit, but now that you were heading out that night there was a whole day's worth of preparation ahead of you.

You’d panicked yourself into a two hour bath, an hour of throwing various outfits around your bedroom and then an extra hour on top applying and reapplying makeup because nothing was sitting quite right.

If your day was anything to go by, the evening was shaping up to be exponentially worse.

You knew Steve was here because you’d heard the crunch gravel under the wheels of his car, about a half hour into your outfit debacle. You had not made your presence known.

It wasn’t so much that you didn’t want him to be a part of a family tradition, even if it’s one not with his own. It just didn’t escape you when you heard him laughing with Hopper in your sitting room that if he didn’t give up on you guys the way he had that it could be both of you in that room, having dinner with the folks before you went back to an apartment you shared together.

When you finally did emerge from your perilous suffering you still weren't at ease with how you’d made yourself up, but there was a surrender you’ve willed yourself into that if you didn’t go now, you never would. Especially when it didn’t seem like Steve was any closer to leaving.

All conversation goes silent when you enter, and it only makes you feel a lot like you’re some sort of caged animal at a zoo being inspected. You pointedly don’t look at them before helping yourself to a beer in the fridge. You weren’t planning on doing tonight sober.

“You look nice. Where are you off to?” Your mum is already verbally crowding you.

You’ve never had a problem with personal space but since you’d had your own stripped from you since coming home, you were suddenly desperate to have a minute alone. It had been hard to breathe in the direction of your front door without mom demanding to know when you’d be returning.

“It’s Eddie’s birthday. Heading to The Hideout.” You say, hopping up onto the kitchen counter. “Didn’t the deputy tell you? It’s a whole group affair.”

You’re being sardonic but it’s hard to not get riled up when you see him lounging in your living room like he owned it.

Your mom is sitting at the kitchen table, stack of opened mail in front of her obviously trying to organise them in some cohesive way. Not that she has ever been known for her strategic filing skills.

Will and El are the only people that react to your biting tone, the discomfort is written all over their face. Steve’s only indicator that he heard was the subtle clenching and unclenching of his jaw. There doesn’t seem to be any value in sticking around to watch him ignore you and play 21 questions with mom.

You’re hopping down, pulling your jacket from the wall in what felt like seconds. She’s on your heels, fluttering with energy.

“And when should I expect you back?”

You stop dead and hold back the scream of frustration. “I don’t know. Can we all just move past this glass kid thing we’ve been doing when I go places? It’s not like I’m going to disappear.”

The worst thing about your little outburst isn’t the sharp intake of breath you hear her take. It’s that you’re outside of your body watching yourself act like a spoiled brat but you can’t stop it. It’s like word vomit.

“No, of course you’re not, you just decided that you were no longer obligated to be a part of our family for four years, so it’s just hard to trust you when you say you’re going to stay a while.” She’s crying but it seems to be out of frustration more than anything.

You soften immediately. “Mom, I’m sor–“ but before you can even get the words out she’s taking off down the hall, door slam punctuating the end of the conversation.

You don’t look at the other eyes in the room. You were shrouded in shame. It’s easier to just throw yourself out onto the porch, gulping in the fresh air. You know it’s been hard for her. You don’t know why you can’t just let her mother you the way she wants.

“Fuck!” You yell into your fist.

Maybe coming back hadn’t been as wise as you thought. It wasn’t something you would be proud of if you proved them all right by leaving again but maybe you don’t have a place here anymore? Maybe you just weren’t the person they wanted you to be anymore.

You hear the slam of the door behind you and you know it’s Steve without him saying anything. It was sort of like a radar you had for him.

“If you’ve come to pile on, don’t bother. I already feel like a first class asshole.” Your head is tilted back, attempting to quash the tears threatening to come.

He doesn’t say anything, he just curtly walks around you, keys lazily swinging on his finger. It might be worse that he just completely bypasses you. At least if he berated you it’d be like he still cared. Just when you think he’s going ignore you entirely, he gets over the truck and he opens the passenger door first.

You know without knowing what he’s doing but still you stand completely stagnant.

He’s looking at his feet instead of you. “Are you coming or not?”

Your feet react before your brain can catch up and before you assess the damage this might inflict you’re in the truck, cold beer held between your legs. He gets in the other side wordlessly.

The drive is quiet for the first few minutes. It’s not as tense as it was the last time. You didn’t have the energy to be snippy with him. You were feeling too guilty about your little outburst back there.

Steve collapses the silence for you.

“You okay?”

“What do you think?”

He’s facing the road ahead, but nods slowly to show you that he’s heard you.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

You did. You absolutely did. But admitting that to him would be out of the question.

You snort. It’s not mean, just apathetic. “We don’t need to do this, Steve.”

There’s a clench of his hands on the wheel.

“No, we don’t but I don’t particularly enjoy watching you suffer, so how about I pull up at the overlook and we talk about it so that I don’t bring you to Eddie's birthday in tears.” It’s a question but he doesn’t say it like one. And there’s no chance to argue back because he’s already making the right turn to go.

“I’m not crying.” You argue back, but it’s hard to hide the quiver in your voice that would indicate that even if you weren’t now; you would be soon.

He looks at you deadpan. “Let’s just not.”

Whether you wanted it to be the case or not, he knew you. There was little in the way to hide from him when it came to your emotions.

When you pull to the overlook you try not to remember all the time you guys had spent here when you were together. Mostly in the first year, when there was little in the way of opportunity to have sex in your rooms.

“So,” he starts, cutting the engine. “What was that about?”

You’re sighing, and you stop yourself from digging your fingers into your eyes to avoid smudging the makeup you’d spent so long agonising over.

“I’m a big baby, that’s what’s going on.”

He’s tilted slightly so that his back is against the window and you feel his eyes on you like ice. He’s suppressing a smile again, just like that night on the roof. You wonder pitifully if you’ll ever get a real one from him again.

“I just need some space. Not like space space but I feel like I can’t breathe without being reminded that I’ve been a selfish wreck the past couple years. I’m home, aren’t I? Does that count for nothing?”

He’s thinking, he always had brow wrinkles when he’s deep in thought but even only at 24 they were more prominent. You want to press the pad of your finger into them.

“I’d like to avoid you violently attacking me, but I have to say I get where she’s coming from.”

You shoot a dagger back at him.

“You think I don’t? I know I created this problem but it’s everyone, Steve. And you know what? I’ll say it, it’s not only my fault.”

“No? Did someone force you to never visit?”

You meet his eyes, and it’s wordless what the force that had held you back was. He must realise what you’re thinking before you have the time to respond because he’s running a shaky hand through his hair. You figured it was obvious that you didn’t come back to avoid seeing him.

“Oh.”

“Was it not obvious?”

Suddenly he seems to be transfixed on his lap. The vulnerability of the situation was starting to suffocate you. It felt like there was no room to exist in the car anymore. You’re pushing yourself out of the truck with force. You just want to be somewhere not confined with him.

Even once you’re out in the open air you feel as though you’re being crushed under some kind of unbearable force.

You don’t hear Steve get out of the car, you’re too focused on not having some kind of mental collapse. If you could just get to the Hideout, there would be a buffer to cover all the unspoken problems between you guys and you would be able to go back to ignoring each other.

“I just need a minute to breathe. Then if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to go.”

Steve has stopped in front of you now, you can tell that he won’t let it lie until he’s said whatever’s brewing inside him now.

“You really didn’t come home all this time because of me?” There’s a breathless edge to his voice. “All these years?”

It takes all you have in you not to shove him right then and there. It’s one thing that he broke up with you and had the audacity not to disappear to make it easier for you, but it was another to try and trick you into admitting that even after all this time that he was it for you. That it would always be him.

“What do you want me to say? Because I’m already feeling pretty mortified by the spectacle I put on at the house, I’d like to save some modicum of my self respect by not admitting that I’m still pining for you.”

He’s closed in on you almost immediately. You don’t see it coming. There was a list of scenarios for how this was going to go but him kissing you was dead last. The joy delays the initial shock, so much so that there’s a split second where you consider kissing back, but saner heads prevailed.

You shove him back harsher than you mean to. It’s reflex more than anything. He staggers back from you, hand cupping his mouth. He looks as shocked as you must.

“Have you lost your mind?” You shout. “What about this situation made you think that would be a good idea?”

“I still love you.”

There’s a snap somewhere deep inside. It’s like whatever thing was keeping you attached to the reality of the situation you’re in– the fact that he broke your heart, the fact that you were doing nothing but inviting more pain to reside within you when you had no space left to give– is severed. And all that’s left is the thump in your chest. It’s like you’ve been lit back up again, whatever light had been snubbed out all those years ago, turned back on.

You push forward now and meet him somewhere in the middle. The touch of his mouth on yours is enough to break you at the knees, not that it matters now because his hands have snaked around your middle. There’s not enough time to touch all of the parts of him you want to. You don’t just want the tug of his hair or bridge of his nose. You want to rediscover every inch of him, from elbow ditch to kneecap.

His hands travel up the expanse of your sides up into your hair, which he grips with gentle force to lead you backwards to the back door of the truck. The cold of the metal sending shivers up your arms not that you can even tell because you’re all but a burning ball of need now.

You pull back to take a gasp of air. You’re both nothing but shattered breaths, you’re grasping the landscape of his chest trying to ground yourself before you do something you can’t take back.

“We shouldn’t do this.” You’re weary in your delivery. You don’t believe a word you’re saying.

“Definitely not.” He replies, head tilted down into the side of your neck. You feel the breath cascading down it. He looks back up at your eyes, then down to your lips. “Fuck it?”

You don't even bother to reply, just pull him back forward by the collar of his jacket. Whatever doubts had been circling overhead were gone and if anything the verbosity of it ramped up even further. You’re vaguely aware of Steve pulling the back seat door open and ushering you in.

There’s no time wasted, no pretense about what you were going to do. You’re stripping each other off like there’d been no time at all. Like you’d never been apart.

He still knows every inch of you. Exactly where to touch, what to say, if you weren’t so turned on it would be sad.

You’re folded in on each other, he’s pulling you up over his lap, and there’s nothing separating you. It’s just skin, sweat and heat. You’re sliding yourself over him, kissing up the channel of his jaw right up to the lobe of his ear. He sounds broken in every imaginable way.

His hands are bruising into your hips now, halting the teasing drag of your heat over him.

“Quit teasin’.” He all but gasps out.

You’re grinning like you weren’t feeling the clawing desperation just as bad as he was, just happy to finally have some kind of control over the situation again.

“But it’s so fun.”

He groans into your chest, trying to kiss down over your nipples which only makes you buck yourself over him with further intensity.

When he pulls you up to push his head into the pillows of your walls, you have the thought that there’s still time to stop. You could go back and prevent any further heartache you could practically see in your near future but the way he looks at you sees that thought off just as he pushes up into you.

The stretch is almost unbearable. It hurts so good and when you meet down in the middle you’re pushed forward, panting into his mouth. It’s slow, calculated- the way you move together. It's better than you ever could have remembered it. You’re dizzy with lust.

“God, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so…” he’s chanting into your neck as the intensity of the push and pull becomes all too much for both of you.

Your nails are racking down the expanse of his chest.

Your whole body has become over-taken with a violent shake, each drag of yourself up his length taking more than the last. You’re all violent hiccups and whines, body tilted, head bowed to his chest. He’s moving your body for you, your facilities for conscious bouncing completely gone. He encircles one hand on the swell of your rear and other curling around the lengths of your hair to pull you back to look at him.

His face is cracked open with nothing but desperation. The pleasure is too much for you to keep your eyes open and on him.

You can feel his hand smoothing back the hair falling over your face and he halts all movement entirely, holding you suspended at the base of his crotch.

You’re whining now, body a mind all of its own, grinding onto him desperately. His chest is moving up and down in a shattered pattern, you can feel it on under your hands.

“Look at me… c’mon baby, let me see you…” his hand on your hip is bruising and you clench around him to which he keens. Peppering kisses over your cheeks. You peel your eyes open, catching his eye-line and without so much as a second thought he’s pulling you up and all the way down until he’s hilted inside. The scream that rips through you is closer to a sob. “So good…you’re so good.”

-

The drive to the Hideout is quiet, but what you guys had just done had said all that needed to be said. When you’d gotten back into the front seat there was nothing on your mind other than getting through tonight so you can start the rest of your life.

The way you figured it that was either a goodbye, a closing of the door or tomorrow you’d pick up where you left off and everything would be simple once more. You were hoping for the latter.

It’s not like he’d treated you as though he wasn’t interested in being more. He was driving one handed, his hand clasped to yours in your lap. You’re mindlessly playing with his fingers, inspecting them, trying to catalogue it in your mind in case his change of heart was a monetary blip and the Steve that broke up with you outside your childhood home those years past would reemerge in the light of day tomorrow.

When we get to the car park at the bar you’re trying to evacuate before he kills the engine, desperate for the distraction of drinks. He has another idea because he’s leaning over your lap to pull your door shut. Turning to face him you raise an eyebrow expectantly. He looks white as a sheet now.

“Do you think we could…” he clears his throat, and you know by the nervous tick he had- rubbing the back of his neck- that whatever he has to say, he doesn’t want to, “look, I think we should not tell anyone about this.”

Your stomach is pulling with panic. You had mentally prepared yourself for this to be the final act of our long and complicated break up but what you hadn’t prepared for was not at least getting the night before he removed all of your major organs in front of you, heart first.

You’re opening your mouth to say something when he’s hurriedly cutting you off. “Just for tonight, at least. I think they’ll complicate it before we have a chance to even work out what it was.”

You try not to get used to the saccharine sweet taste of hope but before you can help yourself you’re picturing it all. The house, the shared bank account, the Friday night dinners. You can almost taste it.

You’re nodding slowly, willing yourself not to look too hopeful in front of him. At least if it doesn’t happen, you’ll be the only one who knows it’s killed you a little.

The Hideout is covered in a low smaug. It’s the only bar in town and the frequent fliers come from all over town.

Along the expanse of the bar are bikers, cupping their beers and smoking cigarettes. Tables just down from where you find your friends sitting are kids you went to high school with although they’re not really kids anymore, none of you were. You can see some of the off-duty cops at the duke box, and the new seniors of Hawkins High hiding at the furthest edge of the bar from them.

There really was no rhyme or reason to the clientele. It’s almost comforting that the more things change, the more they stay the same around here.

There’s a sea of waves from your friends at the table when you walk in, all in attendance minus the birthday boy. When Steve appears from behind you, the waves falter for a second and you see Jonathon swivel to make a face at Nancy.

He’s up and over to you in seconds, pulling you to the bar under the guise of getting his twin a drink. Once you’re encased in your own bubble backs to your friends who you can hear greeting Steve, he turns to look at you with an unreadable expression.

“You caught a ride with Steve?”

You don’t want to lie to him, not fully, so you don’t.

“I had an argument with mom, Steve was there. It’s a long story.” You resolve that it’s best to stick with half truths, knowing he’d see through you immediately otherwise.

“You had an argument with mom? Are we sixteen again?”

You sigh, and cover your hands with your face. The incident with mom had slipped your mind in the daze of what happened at the overlook. “I told you, it’s a long story.”

Jonathon seems to be appeased by you agonising over the fight with mom and for a second you thank whatever high power is at play that you’d been chosen tonight to make two arguably bad decisions.

Even if he wasn’t convinced he didn’t say anything, and the opportunity is taken when you hear Eddie calling after you at the bar. You shake off the tension and put the face on the birthday boy.

“Happy birthday, old man.” You yell into his ear when he lifts you into a hug. You can smell the Jack and cokes emanating off of him.

“I’m twenty-FIVE and I’m never gonna die.” He screams, much to the displeasure of the bikers huddling along the bar.

With any luck this would be all of the commotion Eddie makes tonight but you know him and it won’t be.

Sitting at the table all together is as close as it had been to normal since you got home. It felt like no time had passed at all which is not a feeling you’d had once since you’d been back in town.

Jonathon and Steve bicker, Robin speaks all but too much, Eddie tries to convince you all to take shots, much to Nancy’s despair, one of the designated drivers for the night. You were just sitting back watching, realising how much you’d missed this feeling. It’s so nice that you forget for a minute that anything could ever go wrong.

And then one of the off-duty-deputies comes over. Steve stiffens, you can see it from the corner of your eye. You’d been making a concerted effort not to look at him.

“Harrington, man, as I live and breathe. I ain’t seen you in a bar in months.” The man’s drunk and you see Steve, angling to stand to speak to him off to the side but he’s already looming over you all. “Tina finally let you out of the house?”

You’re acutely aware of the feeling of your body. Your blood ran ice cold. You maybe wouldn’t have picked up on it had the entire table not stopped moving. It felt like no one was even breathing. Steve’s eyes are burning into the side of your head. You know what it means. You don’t need to ask but you do it anyway.

“You have a girlfriend?” Your voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to you. You’re somewhere outside your body, panic is your neighbour and it’s knocking your door down.

The deputy is laughing, too drunk to pick up the tsunami of tension battering in waves over the table. “Fiancé. Not that we ever see her. She still down visiting her folks in Utah?”

You’re faintly aware of the sound of your chair clattering to the ground as you leap up like you’ve suddenly caught fire. You cast your eyes around the table, you only find the guilty looks of your nearest and dearest friends staring back at you. You don’t bother to stick around. You’re taking off for the door and you see Steve stand and try to reach for you.

“Don’t.” You bite back, his hand suspended in the air. If looks could kill, Steve Harrington would be six feet under.

When you get outside you immediately set off the dirt road to walk yourself back. You don’t care that it’s pitch black, or that you can only faintly remember the walking route to take.

No, the only thing in your mind is Steve, living in that house with his fiancé. You helped him cheat. You were the other woman. You want to be selfless and think of her, in Utah with her family while her soon-to-be-husband fucks you in the backseat of his truck but all you can think about is any world where you’re not the one he was marrying. It’s so debilitating that you have to lurch forward over a tree to dry retch.

That was why he didn’t want you to say anything. No, he had no intention of being with you. The guise of a chance to talk would be his opportunity to break the news that he already belonged to someone else. He’d made you steal something that had once been yours back.

And then there was everyone else. Their eyes on you, their guilt that they knew and hadn’t told you.

You knew you’d told them you didn’t want to know anything but that there’s going on a couple dates and there’s getting married.

You hear the squeak of the breaks behind you while you retch. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s Nancy and Jonathon. Their car's brakes were noisier than the engine. The door opens and the smoothing hand of Nancy comes to pull your hair back away from your face. You don’t know how badly you needed to be touched in that moment but suddenly you’re twisting around to throw yourself into her arms, sobs raking through your body.

The waves of cries are so violent that you don’t even feel like you’re breathing anymore, it’s like drowning on dry land. She lets you cry, she doesn’t say anything at all and suddenly you’re thankful that you and Nancy weren’t talkers.

You don’t know how long you do this but when you’re calm enough that the only thing left to come up are hiccups and gasps, she’s walking you, arm cascaded over your shoulders to the back of the car. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d cried. You think it must have been the day you guys broke up but it couldn’t have been that long. Could it?

Jonathon is in the passenger seat, and he looks back at you like he can feel the pain you’re in. You weakly smile back at him and curl into a ball in the back seat, letting some kind of sleep find you while they drive you home.

-

The next couple days are a black hole.

You vaguely remember coming home and collapsing into your mom. You think you apologize, just to be shushed and rocked as if you were a baby again. You know that they were awaiting the crash. It was only a matter of time before the tight coil you’d been wired in would unravel. This place isn’t good for someone who wants to stay composed and you were nothing if not closed off these days.

You lay in bed for the first entire 24 hours trying to work out what you were going to do. The tricky thing was that the only thing you could think of was to leave. As much as you hated Steve, you weren’t going to incriminate yourself by telling everyone what you’d done, and the sad truth was that you couldn’t see him again. Not ever.

On day three, unmoved from bed, you’re vaguely aware of your mum telling you from your doorway that her and Hop were talking the kids to a college tour and they’d be gone all day. You’re too numb to give much more than a weak wave off. It had already been decided that you were leaving. Again.

You weren’t going to be able to share your life with him anymore. You’d proved that to yourself now. There was just no way to be near him without getting completely sucked in.

You decide it would be easier for you to take off without having to say bye. You’re not convinced you wouldn’t be locked in the house by your mom if you pre-warned her. Forgiveness, not permission and you trust your family enough to know they’ll forgive you. Eventually.

It takes two hours to fill the duffle bags you’d arrived with just one month ago. Plus the half hour for a shower you desperately needed. You’re trying not to pity yourself that you were too weak to even make it past a month before giving up. Or worse you only made it a month before sleeping with Steve.

You don’t really want to waste time. You know that if you think about what you’re doing for too long, you’ll walk it back.

You’ll stay forever.

The cruiser pulls up while you’re packing the back seat. The initial sound of a car had sent you into ugly, cloying panic that it would be your mom. Or worse, Steve. But the Hawkins PD logo was the first thing visible on the bonnet.

Just when you think you’re safe. That maybe it’s one of Hopper's colleagues bothering him on his day off- not uncommon- Steve emerged from the driver's seat. The look of attrition written on his face.

Your heart might as well be pulled out of your chest still beating. After the second day you’d heard nothing from him, you’d resounded that you wouldn’t be. He’d been caught after all. Or maybe his wife had come back from her parents.

You were bitter. You want to throw one of the books from the box you’re holding at his head. You don’t, but that’s only because you had to stack the box to the ground because the shake of your hands was unbearable.

There’s a sense of panic when he runs over. Panic and anger.

“You’re leaving?” He’s paced forward at you, only for you to take steps back, around to the rear of the car.

You can’t even think of something to say, you just close the trunk over, and make way for the house. He’s hot on your heels, crunching leaves under his feet. He pulls you by the hand, and you grab it back instinctually. You can’t have him touching you, not when you’re already so broken from what’s happened.

He’s skidding around to stop in front of you, desperately trying to get you to stop moving without touching you. His hands are pulled up in surrender to try and stall you.

“Stop! Please!”

You still don’t say anything, just try to side-step him, which he blocks. You’re almost dancing now, side to side trying to get around the other.

“Let me through. I have nothing to say to you.” There’s a blankness in your voice. A verbal full stop. You couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“I broke up with her.”

You stop dead now. He’s pleading with you, with his eyes, with his hands, with the way he seems to think that if you go back into your house you’ll be gone forever.

“Well, that was stupid.” You spit. “Did you also tell her you had sex with your ex-girlfriend? That you’re a genuine piece of shit?”

You seemed to have shocked him because you managed to circle around him and sit yourself on the porch step, your head suddenly feeling so tight that it might pop.

He’s turned on his heel to face you now. “Is that what you want? Is that what it’ll take? I’ll do it right now; I’ll do anything you ask. I’d bleed myself dry. Just tell me what you want.” He begs.

It would be so easy to just believe everything he says. To let yourself be sucked back in again. But you know you can’t, not when he tries to prop himself, hands on your knees in front of you. All you feel is the pain, and the faceless woman you’ll probably never meet.

You push his hands off of you. “I just don’t want to feel like this anymore.” You’re cocooned in on yourself; forehead on your thighs, trying to remember how you used to be before all of this suffering.

You hear him sigh, and the thud of his body sitting next to you. There’s a pause, and for a second you get to pretend that you’re not here doing this.

“The wedding was already off.” He whispers. “That’s why she’s with her parents. We were taking some space to work out if it was salvageable.”

The pulsing in your head seems so bad now that you could throw up, you don’t make any move to look at him.

“You-– you weren’t supposed to come back.” The laugh he let out was sour. “I had mentally prepared myself that I’d pushed you too much. Seeing you that night on the roof was more than I could take.”

Even if you were naive enough to believe what he was saying, even if you could delude yourself into thinking that it made it any less wrong, you still know he’s never a sure thing. This was still the person who had discarded you with such carelessness.

You’ve all but given up now. The anger you’d been using to fuel you was dying.

“Why did we break up, Steve?”

You’re racking your brain trying to remember what it was he said that day. What you had so numbly agreed to, too proud to beg him to stay.

You can barely even remember the excuses he’d given you.

Was it never seeing each other? Your brother dating his ex? This place and his desperation to not leave it?

It was all murky water to you now.

“I used to think I knew why, but now I’m not sure.” He says, facing out at the trees before us. “Do you think we could just go inside and talk? See if we there’s still an us here to save.”

You look at your car filled with stuff. You think of the migratory patterns of the swallows, flying back for the summer each year. Just like you did that first day back in Hawkins. You think about the fact that the only way to have somewhere to fly back to is to have a home in the first place, and you know that if you get in that car you never will again.

You stand up without a word and walk to the door, you see him turned to watch you as you go. You go inside, leaving the door open for him behind you.

Even then, your doubts were not assuaged because with this particular complex group of people there was no such thing as easy.

Which is why when you guys eventually made your way into the cabin that was home for the night and found there was no electricity– you were not surprised.

Not one bit.

“Do we even know where the fuse box is?” Robin pants, skirting the perimeter of a panic attack.

You guys were facing down the barrel of a freezing night of sleep, unless you all squeezed into the living room to crowd the fire overnight which was less than appealing.

Everyone turned to face Eddie who had against all better judgement been allowed to book your accommodation for the night.

You want your curly haired friend to seem more sure than he did, but you know before he answers that he has no clue because he’s chewing the knuckle of his thumb like it’s a hunk of steak.

“You didn’t ask.” You say.

It’s not a question. It's a fact.

Everyone– except Steve, who seems to be amused unsurprisingly– is groaning. You have to bite back the urge to say something to wipe the smirk of his stupid face.

“Who books something without asking these questions, Eddie?” Nancy hounds from where she’s stood at the kitchen, mounds of uncooked meat steadily going bad without the chill of the fridge.

“I don’t know, alright! It was a steal. I didn’t wanna barrage the guy.” Eddie defends.

Not that you don’t love your friend, but this is the prime example of not being convinced of the fun weekend he had promised.

“Did you get a number?” Jonathon asks, pushed forward to the edge of the sofa.

The silence that follows is deafening, eliciting a groan from the peanut gallery again.

“Guys, where’s your sense of adventure? We’re six highly capable adults. If we split off into groups, one of us will find it.” Steve assures, feeding the fire with a poker. “And besides, if not, we’ll do a little cuddle puddle.”

The amnesty that you’d vowed to take with Steve was cracked right then and there.

It’s not that you hated him. No it wasn’t that at all. You just can’t abide his nonchalant wandering through life.

And the fact your little brother seems to believe that Steve knows all.

Steve is above reproach, and everyone should be like Steve.

Even you.

You know that Steve can tell you don't much vibe with his casual indifference to anchors that seem to burden everyone else but him. He was just one of those people that had little to worry himself over and that just bugged you.

“Wise words, Steve. How about we save the floor for someone with something worth contributing. What do you think?”

It’s nasty. You know it. But it’s how you communicate.

He smiles at you easily, always unconcerned with your biting.

“Henderson- not that I don’t love the way you flirt with me- let’s see what everyone else thinks before you verbally assault me.”

The rage bubbles the back of your throat the way that seems to be reserved only for Steve but keep lull in case the consensus does align with his plan.

Everyone is shifting uncomfortably, especially when you fold your arms over your chest with silent surrender.

“It’s not the worst idea.” Robin mumbles.

Steve’s smirk widens, eyes only locked in on you.

“Shut up.” You mutter at him, staring down his eyeline.

He folds his hand over his heart in mock hurt. “You wound me. You can just say that you want to cosy up to me in front of the fire instead of finding the fuse box, I don’t bite.”

You’re throwing your hands in frustration before you can help it. “You know what Steve, why don’t you just go fuc–“

Your dressing down is cut short by Jonathon of all people.

“Oh my god, can you two take a night off. For once.”

You open your mouth in a shocked gape, and Steve seems to feel the same. He rolls his eyes a little but seems to give up all the same.

“Agreed.” Nancy says pushing herself through to the sitting room now, taking the position of the group leader that she always ends up being. “Steve’s idea is good. There’s only a couple places it could be. Robin and Eddie, you look round the outside of the house. Me and Jonathon will check the basement…”

You know what comes next but you still start shaking your head before she says it.

“Don’t start. You two need to spend a little time learning how to be nice to each other because I’m not wasting my one weekend off listening to you bicker. You can check the attic.”

Steve doesn’t protest at all. He doesn’t even seem to be bothered. He’s all lazy shrugs before he pushes himself up.

“Me and you it is, grumpy.” He cheers.

You’re not too proud to admit that you're just scared enough of Nancy not to be a bother to her. But you still petulantly stomp ahead of Steve up the stairs.

The attic wasn’t closed off by a hatch. It’s connected to a rickety set of stairs, and seems to be well maintained despite the boxes and fishing gear being stored in it.

Steve’s prancing around without a care in the world while you follow with the torch.

“It’s definitely not up here.” You point out, already aware of the bare walls with no fuse box attached.

Steve’s still pushing through the boxes anyway.

“Beats going into the spooky basement. I’ve seen Evil Dead. I don’t want to be the first victim when you get possessed.”

You scoff. “Like I’d need to be possessed for that.”

“Have I done something particular to offend you? This little ‘will they, won’t they’ thing we have going on is starting to feel a little passive-aggressive.”

This exact thing is the reason you struggle so bad with Steve. It’s all a joke to him. Even your sharp words seem to bounce right off him.

Maybe it’s jealousy about your brother. Maybe it’s the fact that you hate that he seems to be so above it all. All you know is that whenever he speaks, you want to bash your face into concrete.

“I was actually going for aggressive-aggressive. Where were you getting passive from?”

Steve stops suddenly ahead of you, causing you to stumble into his back. When he turns around you’re almost nose to nose with an uncharacteristically peeved Steve.

“I’m being so serious. Why do you hate me?”

You take a half step back to try and dampen the sudden hit you have of Steve’s, and you hate to admit, appealing cologne. Some kind of cinnamon and fall leaves scent.

You pointedly look at your feet to avoid his prying eyes.

“I don’t hate you,” you mumble. “You just… you wear too much product in your hair. And you never take anything seriously. And for some reason everyone just loves you, even when you’re being a cocky shit.”

You hear the huff of a clipped laugh. And then your chins being pulled up to face his eyes, which you had never noticed were half green.

You’re suddenly feeling very exposed, unable to pull your eyes away from him.

“I get it.” He breathes. “You’re into me. You’re into me, and you’re trying not to jump my bones.”

The shock of suddenly being put on the spot by him is dwarfed by anger once more, and you’re shoving him off with a huff.

“Oh my god, you’re so gross. Why are you like this?”

He’s laughing to himself still, pulling a hand through his hair.

“You’re so easy to rile up, Henderson. My boyish good looks really get under your skin.”

You’re vibrating with the pent up energy that’s brewing under your skin. You’re sure you’re close to exploding, even if you’re not sure what that means for you. All you want to do is wipe that stupid smirk off his face.

You’re not really sure what comes over you but instead of shouting like you thought you would, you’re pouncing at him and biting at his mouth with a bruising kiss.

He stumbles backward, but still pulls his hands onto your hips for stability, kissing you back with the same intensity you’re displaying.

It’s as close to a fight a kiss could be. You’re battling for who’ll lead and who will follow. It’s all teeth clanking and you’re vaguely aware that you’re falling back and forth into various boxes.

“I knew you wanted me.” Steve gasps, between kisses.

You bite his lower lip firmly. “Do you ever shut up?”

He groans forwardly and pulls your pelvis into him and you can feel the hardness forming underneath you. There’s a tantalising warm pooling in your stomach.

Your hands tucked into his belt trying to get it open, while he was making a path under your jumper to pull at the cup of your bra.

You guys are making a lot of noise, the path of destruction was knocking over the fishing rods, and various boxes.

You’re so into it that you can only distantly hear the yell from Nancy downstairs.

“We got it.”

You try to pull back and give Steve a warning look about the sounds from above them but he’s flushed completely in his cheeks and keeps steadily trying to undress you of your clothes.

“They’re back in the house.” You hiss.

“I don’t care. Let them hear.” He groans and finally gets a hand down the front of your jeans.

It’s hard to pinpoint what the exact reason was. You think about all your glaring differences. His rich boy nature. You being from the wrong side of the tracks.

When you think about it that way it makes your parting seem easier. Less like a gaping hole in your chest.

Steve started up working with his dad.

You guys had been together for almost a year without any hiccups, and then his dad gives him that fucking job.

When you met he was a completely different person to the agitated, pompous man that he became the last two months you were together.

You’d decided early into his corporate work that his dad was a cancer to him.

He metastasized in the flesh of your once soft boyfriend who would eat pizza pockets in pajamas with stains on them. Ones that you still keep in the top drawer of your room, not washed from the last time he’d worn them.

Back then the differences seemed small. He was trying so hard to be the exact opposite of how he was raised.

Neither of you had money, but you didn’t care. Because the brown haired boy you’d come home to would curl himself around you like a comforter.

He’d trace small circles around the width of your sternum and tell you about the children he’d give you. How you’d both always be home to make them dinner. Take road trips to national parks in the spring. You could see it so clearly that when the first cracks appeared you swallowed them down.

You didn’t chastise him for coming home late, whisky drunk and snappy because the business meeting he’d led had ended in a bar. He had joined an unspoken boys club and you were not welcome.

You grew up less than wealthy. Money wasn’t a concern because there was none. When Steve would tell you about his childhood you’d find yourself thankful that you didn’t because money seems to do nothing but corrupt what’s good.

When you split, he’d been bitter. Spiting you with gasps of accusations. Saying that all he was trying to do was give you what you wanted.

He was too long gone to reason with, even when you said it wasn’t what you wanted, it was what the little boy with no one at his ball games wanted.

It was the pat on the back and ‘good job, son’ he’d never got.

You empathised. But you loved him too much to watch him suffer for it.

You were sure he hated you for it too.

Which is why the banging thuds on your door and familiar wailing of the man you missed so terribly were so astounding to you.

It’s 2am. You’re bleary with sleep, heart already jacked up into your throat, willing that you’re somehow still sleeping and this was all a vivid nightmare.

You’re not angry that you’ve been woken. You’re completely resigned. The pain of the break up had stolen more vibrant emotions from you. Anger and tears took too much to produce.

You’d had to settle for apathy and dissociation.

You have to pull five full breaths in before you pull the door open. You hadn’t seen his face at all in the month since you’d been apart. Robin had to come round and destroy all the evidence that you once shared this shoe box with him.

Now it was just yours, all the Steve you had was taken from you, just as he had been.

When you open the door– just a crack– you expect to see him drunk. But he looks sheepish. Pained

You can see the bloody nose and swelling on his hand clear as day even in the true blue of night.

You can’t help it, you can’t help the violent urge you have to pull him in immediately and rock him like you could make it all better so easily. But you settle for pulling the door as wide as it’ll go.

You can see the tears crashing over the bottom of his eyes even before you greet him. You think you can see him relax but it could be your mind playing tricks on you.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

It’s a cracked sob. He won’t look at you as the thunder of cries heaved his shoulder to and fro.

You pull him in wordlessly, careful not to yank too hard on what seems to be a hand ripped open, presumably cut on some kind of wall. Or teeth from punching.

He collapses in your arms like he’s small again. You hold him while he cries on your shoulder, rubbing his back and saying nothing. The sound of the clock in the kitchen is so loud that it echoes through the expanse of the room.

You let him pass through the tears without trying to take siege with conversation but you know once his cries fell way to small hiccups that you’d need to ask.

“What happened to you, Stevie?” You’re pulling him away from you at arms length to squint out the damage on his nose.

From the little medical experience you have, you doubt it’s broken. Painfully bashed for sure though.

He’s all wobbles. His lower lip, the soft slope of his chin, the dent between his brows.

You run your thumb across the ditch and try to smooth it out for him.

He pulls your hand down to press his check into the palm, eyes closed like he could finally rest.

You’re suddenly reminded of the Steve you met a couple years ago. Gentle and easy like a river.

The moment doesn’t last. You can still see the blood hasn’t clotted. And you wanted to know what had brought your sweet boy home to you after so long.

“Can I clean you up?” You ask, pulling yourself away.

“Please.” He whispers.

You make way to the bathroom together. You don’t need to tell him where to go. It was his house too. It feels like he’d almost never left now that he was back in it. Like a piece of the furniture.

You stand between his legs from where he’s perched on the edge of the tub.

You feel bad having to dab him with the antiseptic wipes but you know it’s for the greater good. And he seems so numb to it that he doesn’t even hiss.

“You gonna tell me who you lost a fight to this time?”

Steve had been in a number of fist fights since you’d known him. He could fuse short in the wrong setting.

Never with you. But sometimes you wonder if living with that angry man for so long will mean it always lives within him too.

He sighs, and busies himself pulling at the hem of the top you’d gone to sleep in.

It’s his.

“You still wear this?” He asks.

You pointedly don’t answer. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“My dad.” He mumbles back.

You freeze the dabbing motion. Steve had spoke of childhood arguments and verbal dressing downs before. Never violence though.

“Steve…” you whimper.

He forces a chuckle that seems to be weathered by whatever emotional pain he’s in.

“I threw the first punch.” He clarifies. You only feel marginally better. “I just can’t take it anymore. The pressure.”

You put the wipe down on the sink and run a hand through his hair. It’s still soft but it’s coated in gel that he barely wore when you dated. He’s sighing in some kind of exasperated relief.

“I hate who he wants me to be. I hate that I’m so weak that it works, and…” he’s looking at you like wants to commit it to memory, hold you in place in front of him. “I hate that I was so worried about giving you everything you deserve that I made you hate me.”

Your heart falls through you. You want to wrap him around you. Hold him like you’re the earth tethering him.

“I don’t hate you.” You whimper back. “I could never hate you. I just wish you’d come home.”

You don’t mean to the house.

“Can I?” He pleads, arms circling round your middle and pressing his forehead into your abdomen. “I’ve missed you so much, I feel like I can barely breathe.”

You don’t need to tell him he doesn’t need to ask. The door remained open, and would forever. All he’d need to do is knock.

You don’t know what possessed you to call him. You do it almost every time you get drunk now.

The last vodka soda you’d had was the tipping point. There was no way you could stay any longer and if you’d told Nancy and Robin that you’d wanted to go home they would’ve called Jonathon who had already agreed to pick you up from girls night.

Steve was on a date tonight. He’s your best friend so the liberty you’ve taken calling him was only barely allowed. You didn’t want to go home with anyone else though. Not even the college guys who’d bought you all a round.

You don’t know how you know that he’ll actually show up but you just knew he would. Like he always does. You sat on the concrete bumper in the parking lot waiting for him, not a shred of doubt you’d see him arriving any minute.

Steve has yet to disappoint you in all your years of friendship. This time would be no different.

When the red BMW pulls up you don’t get up to move. You’re too busy smiling goofily that you’d finally get to go back home with him. That he’d known what you’d wanted him to do, even when the message his machine had caught probably made little sense to anyone but you.

He pulls up, passenger side facing you and you can just barely make out him holding the wheel one-handed. Lazily.

You can tell from the little you can see of him that he’s trying hard to be serious and disapproving but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It never does when it’s directed at you.

You wave at him, uninhibited and full of joy.

You still don’t make any move to get up. You’re tilting forward inspecting the undone lace of your chucks. You don’t remember them coming loose. But then again everything over the past hour looked like an indistinguishable mess of giggling, and drinking. Hugging your friends too long. Tripping over the feet of strangers in the bar.

Steve walks round the car, stern clipped lips pouted.

“You came?” You cheer.

He sighs with very little conviction. “You called.”

You wiggle your foot out in front of you like you’d never seen it before, trying to call attention to your sneaker.

“My shoes untied.” It’s a petulant whine.

Steve’s got the ghost of a smile, trying to maintain his air of displeasure at having to come pick you up.

“You’re wasted.” He points out. “C’mere, drunkie.”

He’s going to pull you up, but you're dead weight like a petulant child.

“No, Stevie.” You drawl. “My shoe.”

The thing you love the most about him is that you don’t have to tell him what you want. He always knows. He knows you want him to help tie your shoe, and that you wanted to sleep in his bed tonight, wrapped in his scent, in his sheets.

He sighs once more. “Man, I am never letting you live this one down.”

He’s stacked down on to the balls of his feet, crouched to balance your foot on his knee.

“But I love you.” You pout.

You can see him smiling at the ground, as he loops your lace round each other.

It’s not something you say often. Even though he’s your best friend. Even though you crash at his house after a bar crawl and you call him after bad days.

It means nothing, it means everything. It’s safe to say it because you mean it. Secretly you think he knows that’s it’s more than just the normal friend love. He’s your Steve after all.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course you do.” He mutters, finishing the loop with a sharp yank. “Let’s go before you get a second wind. I am not waiting for you to get another drink.”

You let him take you by the hand and walk you like a child to the passenger door. He doesn’t even flinch when you tap the softness of his cheek with your hand and slur, “grumpy.”

You’re boneless and lazy in the way you collapse yourself into the seat. Normally you don’t find the passenger side all that comfortable but tonight it felt like a California king compared to the hard concrete you’d made a home on just minutes ago.

When Steve gets in, the pretend mood he’s in seems to dissipate. This is what always happens. When he does something for you he’ll pretend to hate it but secretly you know he loves it. He lives to make life easier for the people he cares about.

You want to say you called him just because he was reliable but the truth of the matter was that as soon as you start to drink a little, the line you’ve drawn in the sand about the limitations on your relationship with Steve is washed away by the tide.

He’s driving the opposite way to his house, you’re not too drunk to see that.

“Where are we going?” You pout.

He’s smiling but he’s looking forward like it has nothing to do with you.

This is the game you play.

“We’re getting you a burger.” He replies like it was obvious.

“And a milkshake?” You press.

“Vanilla.” He confirms, still facing the quiet late night traffic.

You’re giddy. Positively gleaming. The kiss you plant on his cheek is chaste and daring; even for you. You pretend not to see the rise of pink over his ears.

“How was your date with whats-her-name?” You ask, speaking with exaggerated hand gestures, almost whacking the window with the loose wave of your arm.

“Samantha.” Steve corrects.

“Yeah, Sarah. Whatever. How was it?”

He chuckles softly to himself, and makes a point to still not look at you.

You don’t care how the date was. All you cared about was that he was home early enough to catch your message on his machine which couldn’t have been a sign of success.

“She was rude to the waitress.” He finally replied, turning to look at you with a wince. “She clicked at her when we wanted the bill.”

You mock gasp in abject horror. “Boo! Did you parade her through town square with a shame bell?”

Steve doesn’t try to hide his amused laughing.

“No, but I dodged her kiss goodnight.”

You try not to smirk like you’d won some sort of prize but it’s unhelpable.

“Don’t look too cut up for me please.” He teases, reaching over to poke the corner of your smirk.

You push back into the touch, trying to capture it for as long as possible.

“I’m not gonna pretend that I’m not thrilled you’re here taking me for a burger and not making out with Susan.”

“Samantha.” He corrects once more. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re pretty menacing when you’re drunk?”

“Has anyone told you that you’re really pretty when you drive?”

You see the gulp push down his throat. You were pushing your luck now but he wasn’t stopping you.

“See– menace.” He mumbles, reaching over to fold his hand over your knee.

You stroke over the bumps of his knuckles.

“You’re my Stevie. I don’t think that makes me a menace.” You whisper back.

He squeezes over your leg. “I’m yours, am I?”

You don’t back track like you maybe would’ve had you been one or two drinks more sober. That just wasn’t the case. You were blasted, honest and just happy to have his hand on your bare skin.

You look up and smirk, finding him regarding you seriously.

“Well, duh. Why else would I call you to get me instead of staying with the frat boys in the bar.”

You’re pulling up to the drive thru line, and you push forward to peck him once on the lips. It’s like fireworks or whatever cheesy thing people say. The glow of the red writing covered his usually golden skin.

You feel the push of his lips back on you, his hand wraps up around the back of your neck, a solid grip that leaves a tingle in it’s wake.

You push forward to try and deepen the kiss but he pulls up to hold your jaw steady, looking straight into your eyes.

“Tell me this again in the morning, yeah?” He whispers, breath fanning on your lips.

When you were thirteen you broke your arm.

Dustin and Lucas had climbed the tallest tree in the local park and got stuck. You’d only taken them to fend off bullies who would torment them for their wonder and fixation on all things unexplainable. When you heard their cries from the canopies above, it felt like the danger was more imminent than it truly was.

At thirteen it felt like the most dangerous thing that could happen to people with boring suburban lives like you. So, you scaled the edge of the bark and when you reached just under their wails your foot lost grip, hurtling you to the ground below.

The irony was that they found no problem scrambling down to you once they realised you were hurt. But you remember the snap. The agonising pain that followed. The pain didn’t come as soon as you hit the earth. The shock was what rolled through you first.

Your mother, who was clinically histrionic, cradled you when you were poked and prodded at the emergency room– whispering into your hair that nothing would ever hurt that bad again. At the time, you didn’t believe her. Even with your quiet naivety.

You wouldn’t know until years later just how wrong she would be.

–

You and Steve were wordless in the drive back to the squawk. It didn’t stop your hands from remaining woven together until you collected Robin from getting changed in preparation for the long night of felonious activities that lay ahead.

There was no concrete understanding that your admission of loving him back meant you belonged to each other now. But it felt like there was.

The thought occurred to you when you’d catch Steve looking over at you during the drive that he’d been yours for months. Ever since that day in the basement. All you’d have to do was ask.

It just wasn’t time to break down the exact perimeters of what had happened the hours before. The apocalypse wasn’t the time, nor place, to argue with Dustin about the direct violation of his express wishes– much less conclude that you were ‘exclusive.’

Not when you guys piled person after person into various vehicles to head to the Turnbow residence. Not when Dustin pointedly pushed in ahead of you to take Steve’s passenger seat, glaring back at you through the window until you sighed and opted to travel in the van instead. You didn’t miss the look of longing Steve sent you as you went.

You guys had participated in some pretty sketchy dealings since the world split in four. Even before if you want to be technical. Espionage on military operations, hiding a fugitive, smuggling weapons into a secure compound. The list is endless.

But drugging and kidnapping a family with your kid brother and friends was easily the darkest, lowest ebb of the tragic devolution of your once (mediocre) nuclear family status.

It was easy to divorce yourself from the morally bankrupt and completely unsensible thing you were doing when it was only Erica in the house. It’s not until you see the family out cold that the gravity of the situation dawns on you.

Setting the traps barely even registers for you. You have to compartmentalise by leaving your body while you do it. Watching Steve chainsaw the floor plan is disorientating at best. At worst, it will be a memory that you’ll wonder was real well into your old age.

You know you don’t want to be here when the demogorgon comes. You want to be in the confines of the car, with eyes on your little brother and Steve so you know they're safe. Going to the farm with the Turnows is a non-option because you don’t think you could watch them awake as captives, knowing that you’d participated in putting them there.

It wouldn’t be as simple as that though. It never is.

“Where do you wanna go?” Lucas asks you, as you each begin to file out into your adopted locations.

Nancy, Jonathon, Lucas and Mike were agreed upon remaining inside the property to ensure the tagging of the demogorgon. Robin, Murray, Joyce and Will would deliver the family to their hostage station (words you never thought would pass your mental headspace.) Finally, Steve and Dustin– as always– driver and navigator.

You usually kept watch during crawls, but that was out. And you had been uncharacteristically mute during pre-planning, not unnoticed by Steve who occasionally (discreetly) brushed your hand and back during the dismantling of the house. You just didn’t think any of the options were appealing. But in the car with Dustin and Steve, no matter how tense, seemed to be the least panic inducing.

When you open your mouth to contribute for the first time that night, Steve steals the floor.

“She’ll go back to the farm.” He states as if it was a matter of fact.

The look you give him mirrors Dustin’s outrage. Albeit for different reasons. You were horrified at the suggestion that you weren’t welcome to ride with him. Dustin doesn’t seem to appreciate the level of care he was still offering you, despite his vocal distaste for it.

“Will I?” You test with the raise of a brow. He pulls his eyebrows firmly back at you. “Why can’t I go with you guys?”

“He won’t need you to come with us.” Dustin interrupts, obviously trying to keep his agenda in the forefront of your mind.

The group around you is twisting in haste, trying to remain vigorous with our planning as the impending clock counts down to the other dimensional, unbeatable beast probably making its way right to your doorstep.

“Actually, he wants you to be safe.” Steve clarifies, pinching his glare back at your brother. If possible they were even more icy with each other than they had been earlier in the day.

Dustin pretends to gag openly at the declaration made by the man you love. Even underneath the abundant outrage you feel that either of them think it’s acceptable to argue over you like a toy, was the swell in your chest that Steve cares for you the way does.

He cares for you the way you care for others.

The problem with falling in love with your brother's best friend and apparently former hero, is that for all their bickering, they were still profoundly alike in a lot of ways. Same stubborn bullheaded antics, with you as the lightening rod in the centre.

“Well, given that I’m a grown woman and don’t need to be told what to do, I think I can decide what’s best for me.” You sternly reprimand the grumpy boys before you. “If I’m not welcome with you guys, I’ll keep my post right here.”

You can see the argument about to wash ashore when Nancy steps in to diffuse the pointless circles this would inevitably go in.

“Great, now that’s decided, we get into our positions. Any minute now.” She claps her hands in the final declaration, not allowing any more room for fruitless debate.

Steve’s disagreement dies on his tongue, but he still tries to push forward to try and hug you bye. You move forward into his raising arms but Dustin scoffs before there’s a follow through, dragging him off by the arm. You apologise with your eyes as much as you can translate back to him, but it’s meaningless without words. It won’t reassure him anymore that you’re going to be in the firing line. Just like you don’t feel any better knowing him and Dustin would be sitting ducks out there in the car.

Opting to stay inside to ensure the trap worked didn’t seem like a bad idea until the lights started flickering, signalling how close it was to you guys now.

Your position with Lucas waiting to be potentially mauled felt acutely more vulnerable than you’d anticipated. You wanted to hold him to you, like you were both still kids. That was so long ago now that it felt like a memory so distant that it might have been the case that you’d never been small.

“Here we go.” You whisper, pulling at his hand to squeeze before moving yourself to the wall away from him.

You weren’t worried about yourself. Nor Jonathon or Nancy. You knew they could handle themselves. Especially Nancy who was a killer shot– no pun intended. It was Lucas and Mike who you still couldn’t accept weren’t the nerdy babies you’d watch become little men.

When the demo eventually broke through the house, searching for Derek in its one minded pursuit to destroy everything in its path, you guys had gotten a good go at it. You all landed a shot before it had the chance to hurt anyone.

You’d made a fatal error by being elated that you guys had narrowly avoided being swiped before you collapsed the ginormous creature down below to be shot off by Nancy. Celebrating small victories usually does nothing but bring you pain.

You didn’t think about stampeding back down to catch up with Nancy and Jonathon forgetting the monster still inside. As you pushed into the room, seeing the demogorgon still retching and writhing in pain– you didn't anticipate it running through you to escape the house.

Much like breaking your arm when you were a kid, the pain doesn’t register on impact. In fact you don’t even realise that you’re anything more than being thrown into the wall beside you. Much less that it had torn a jagged nail across you.

The earth holds still momentarily. For a minute, you’re just happy that you’re alive enough to see Nancy propelling forward to drag you up. But then you feel the warmth spreading down your arm, along with the subtle wet that came with it– you realise it’s worse than you anticipated.

When you look down to examine and see the crimson pooling below you is when the pain peels in waves. Jonathon is shouting, you can see it but you don’t hear it. The ringing is too violent in your ears. It seems that your heartbeat now lives in your head and not your chest.

“Shit.” You whisper-shout as the plasma continues to flow.

Nancy winces when you try to push yourself up onto your feet but almost collapse under the shake of your thighs. The pain is now throbbing, hot and frenzied over the right side of your body.

“Nancy, we need to go! It’s getting away.” Jonathon screams and pulls you forward, ignoring the wail of pain that escapes you. “I’m so sorry.” He yells as he all but carries you outside.

You can see Nancy flanking your other side but she doesn’t need to help because the rush of adrenaline pumps through you, allowing your feet to engage the way your brain tells them to. The pain is less unbearable now that you’re moving.

“Nancy?” You squeal. “Can you tell me how bad it is?”

She looks at you as you silently plead for good news. “It looks like a flesh wound, the bleeding is already stopping. You’re just in shock.” She assures.

Nancy’s sage wisdom placates you. You know she wouldn’t lie to you if she could help it, plus the throb was now a dull ache.

It must look gnarly though because you see Steve pushing up around the driver's side, body still half in. The horror is painted on his face, and you can already see that he’s going to abandon his position of chasing the monster down to inspect your fresh wounds. Getting hurt was one thing, but having it be for nothing would be useless.

“Get back in the car, Steve.” You gasp through gritted teeth as Jonathon pulls the door open to usher you inside.

“What happened?” He screams, trying to push into the back to you but to no avail once Jonathon and Nancy had followed you into the car.

Dustin is still reading the signal but is half turned to look at you with a quivering bottom lip that churns your guts into guilt that you were scaring him.

“What do you think?” You whine as Jonathon pushes an old T-shirt from the bed of the car into your sore shoulder. “I’m fine, guys. This is nothing. Just don’t lose the signal.”

“You are not fine, you’re bleeding.”

Steve’s fully turned around in the seat to reach his arm back to brush your hair from your shoulder to get a better look at it. It was dark in the car and you were so crushed up in the back that it would be impossible for him to scope the damage. All he was doing was wasting valuable seconds you needed.

There’s nothing you’d want more than to be fortunate enough to just be held through the aftershocks of the pain by Steve, but it was too important that you guys find Holly to think too much about your selfish desire.

“We’re going to lose it.” Dustin half chokes, only one eye on signal.

“Drive!” You scream back.

And like Steve always will– he does you what you ask.

The ride is bumpy. To put it mildly. To be frank, you’re all lucky to be alive.

You jolt with every fence you knock down. You distract yourself from the pain by listing every vehicular crime you commit in the pursuit. It works in the sense that you get the chance to inspect the gash on your chest and shoulder.

Nancy, as she so frequently is, was right that it appeared to be a flesh wound. It barely passed the surface. But it didn’t stop the blood from soaking into your shirt. Jonathon’s pressure on it had halted the profusion of the bleeding, the gash was starting to clot and dry in some places.

It would scar. That was a fact you couldn’t ignore.

You don’t realise that you’d curled your non-wounded hand around Jonathan's arm in abject horror when you guys eventually caught up to the signal– running it over just before it got to Derek and your loved ones in the barn.

The lick back felt good, even though there was a threat of bile coming up from the reckless driving you guys had been subject to.

Once the car was no longer in motion, you all watch impotently as the beast tears a gate into the tower. You can feel the heartbeat that was jammed up into your throat. All of you are panting, it’s the only noise you can hear.

“Steve, fall back.” Jonathon insists.

You’re usually rational judgement is being clouded by your pain, and the reminder of the little blonde girl who had been a baby what felt like yesterday– trapped with Vecna somewhere terrifying. All you want is to follow behind it. To make the colossal fuck-up worth it.

You can already tell by Steve’s stationary motion, watching the gate swell in front of him that he was thinking about driving through it too. You want him to. You want to kill it, even in your weakened state. Above the scar it would leave, and what you feared could’ve been your death– it had destroyed your favourite fucking shirt.

“Get her out.” He says without looking back. You know he’s speaking about you.

“No.” You argue back, seeing the gate get marginally smaller. You know there’s not enough time for you and Jonathon to evacuate before it’ll close.

“I can drive through, we can catch it, but I can’t do it when she’s in the car. Jonathon, get her out.” Steve yells through clenched teeth.

You shake off jonathon’s hand pushing into your shoulder to weakly pull yourself between the gap of the front and passenger seat. Steve won’t look at you, just keeps his hands tightened painfully around the wheel.

“Steve, we don’t have time. Just do it.” You insist using your strong arm to hold rub his shoulder reassuringly.

Dustin’s mouth is open in shock at the mere suggestion that you guys go through at all, much less with you hurt.

“Don’t you dare, man. She’s bleeding. She might need to go to the hospital.” Dustin exclaims.

“Get out of the car.” Steve whispers and finally turns to you pleadingly. “Please.”

You shake your head adamantly holding your position, looking at him with all the conviction you can muster. The gate closes another inch. The panic that you’ll miss it ramps up. Not just for you.

“Do it.” Nancy finally announces from the backseat, and you’re thankful she’s on the same page.

“It’s for Holly, Steve.” You beg.

He seems anguished in his resolve but before you can think, the car’s moving faster than breathing, slamming you all forward and eventually through the gate.

–

You had an aversion to jell-o as a kid. You couldn’t stand the squelch or the wobble of the solidified gelatin.

Crash landing into the wall in the upside down felt like your distaste for it was a foreboding warning of things to come.

It wasn’t the first time you guys had ventured into the unknown landscape of the world below so it wasn’t shocking to find slimy or goopy mess. The upside down had an air of damp about it. Even the atmosphere was thicker– but the holding force that the Beamer had submerged into was a new substance. Much like driving into jell-o.

You can take solace that even though your only mode of transport was stuck in unexplored extra-dimensional material, because at least you guys didn’t run into something firm at the speed you were going. The worst of the impact was the jolting against the seatbelts– minor compared to flying through a windshield.

Once you guys had stumbled out of the car, you got a look around where you’d entered from. The church was immediately flanking you. But the wall appeared to be blocking off access to any path forward.

“Is everyone okay?” Nancy gasps. You’re barely listening as you push yourself forward to attempt to poke a tentative finger into the wall– it felt as alive as everything else around you was.

There’s a chorus of hums in confirmation that no one was hurt. You ignore it to continue your exploration but before you can reach a finger onto the enormous thing in front of you, a hand curls around your wrist to gently stop you. You turn in shock to find Steve regarding your snooping hands sternly.

“Don’t touch anything. Hive-mind, remember?”

You shudder without meaning to– recalling the curling of the wet vines choking you in the Creel house a year and a half ago. Knowing that at the same time Eddie was being torn piece to piece by bats while your gentle brother fought his way to him. You often try to block out being here from your recollection but it’s impossible once you're back inside again.

You want to wrap yourself around Steve like a blanket. Thankful that none of you had been irreparably injured in the passing of the gate. But you restrain yourself. His body heat against you might be a grounding force but you know Dustin is standing analysing every touch.

You yank away more forcefully than you intend to, stumbling over to your not-so-little brother to inspect his already bruised face. You’re happy to note that there’s no new injuries. He lets you examine him like he was a specimen in a lab but only because you see him looking at your no longer bleeding wound.

“Are you okay?” You ask, searching his eyes for any signs of furthering emotional damage.

He doesn’t get the chance to answer because Steve is bulldozing over to where you both stand.

“We’re fine. The question is are you?” He announces, arms crossed in disapprovement.

You let your arms drop at your side to face his judging eyes. You know this is how Steve is translating his concern and love. By making you feel like a child who’d touched the stove but you don’t regret demanding he drive forward even with you injured.

Dustin lets Steve reach over to pull at the rips in your t-shirt, pulling the edge of the flannel submerged in your own blood slightly off the shoulder. Your brother must be feeling charitable. Or seriously concerned that you were at risk if it wasn’t looked at properly.

The path of Steve’s cold fingers erupt goosebumps over your back and you have to stifle the whimper when he grazes the claw mark.

Steve’s eyebrows are pulled down over his eyes– the frown that paints his mouth is pursing, like he was biting back a shout or cry. You couldn’t be sure which. You clasp your hand around his prying touch gently to try to halt the anxious preening. You can feel the slight shake in his hand.

“Steve, look at me.” You mutter firmly. He doesn’t take his eyes off it, you have to reach out to pull his jaw upward to find the eyeline of his hazel beams. “I’m not even bleeding anymore. It’s fine.”

The chains that were holding him back from the emotion that had been imprisoned in his coiled expression breaks at your words. He was no longer in a trance state.

The way he steals his hand back from yours is so violent that the air it pulls makes you cold. You shiver. Fear masked with anger still feels like you’re being chastised. You learn that today.

He shakily laughs, but it feels hurtful. It feels like tiny pinpricks into your back. The hand he pulls through his hair is biting. You can tell the tug will have hurt.

“No. No, it is not fine. I didn’t want to drive through with you in the car.” He yells. “You used finding Nance’s sister against me. You used… used the way I feel about you against me.”

You pull in the deep breath and cast a look back at your brother and friends uncomfortable faces as they watch Steve shake with anger.

The argument you feel coming kicks into the base of your gut. You didn’t mean to manipulate him, but you couldn’t be the reason you guys didn’t make it through. For Hopper and El.

For little Holly.

“We weren’t going to make it if I got out, Steve. All of that work would’ve been for nothing. I’m barely even hurt.” You say trying to take a step forward to him.

He pulls back and holds his hand ahead of him to maintain the space between you that feels like miles.

“We would’ve had time– if you’d gotten out when I begged you. Now we’re stuck here, and you’re injured. You’re covered in your own blood. And why is that? Because once again you’ve put someone else ahead of yourself.” He shouts, but the look he gives you isn’t aggressive. It’s painful. “Ahead of me.”

Your mouth has fallen into an open well of words you can’t grab fast enough to get out. Steve’s never shouted at you. You don’t even know how to place the tone he’s using with you. It doesn’t help that you believe you’re both, more or less, right.

“Steve…” you whisper pathetically, hoping that you can wordlessly express how sorry you are.

The passing looks back and forth are interrupted by Dustin walking forward. You think for a minute that he was going to take Steve’s side by the way that he looks. But instead he shoves Steve with a speed that you can’t even predict the movement to stop it.

“You should’ve made her get out of the car. What were you thinking?” He screams. “She’s all I’ve got. You shouldn’t have listened to her.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach. You think Steve might be sympathetic to your brother’s instability in terms of his emotional connections to people in his current state of grief. But it’s clear to you that neither of them are in a place where they can think rationally.

“Dustin, don’t pretend that you’re concerned for her well-being. You’ve been acting like she doesn’t exist for months, unless it’s to make her feel bad.” He bites back. “I wasn’t the only one in the car. Nancy wanted us to go too. Why don’t you yell at her as well? Better yet, why don’t you tell your sister? Since you’re so worried about her.”

Dustin pushes forward at him in a lunge at him– instinctively you use your bad arm to pull him back, causing a scream to rip through your throat. Nancy and Jonathon descend to pull Dustin back for you so you can hold your pulsing arm to your chest, continuing to stare at Steve who seems to be too clouded in anger to see sense right now.

“Guys, stop it. It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re here now. And we need to find Hopper and El.” Jonathon insists, trying to be the tranquil voice of reason.

It seems to do the trick in some manner because Steve scoffs and chucks the walkie at Nancy– before pacing back to inspect the car.

Getting through to Hopper and El is easier than you’d thought it would be. You didn’t imagine that waiting for them would be the hardest part. But it is.

Dustin and Steve aren’t speaking to each other. Neither of them are talking to you. The only person that seems to be completely on your side with the matter is Nancy.

Steve kept a first-aid kit in his glove compartment. It’s moments like that where you appreciate that you guys are so used to being in harm's path. You weren’t exactly jazzed at the idea of breathing in the ashen ebbs that circulate the airways in the upside down. Much less letting it into the broken skin of your shoulder.

You weren’t going to make a fuss about it if there wasn’t an alternative because it was you that had insisted you come in with everyone– but when Nancy walks over with a small smile holding the kit, you want to jump in glee. Fending off infection was a small victory in the shit storm you guys were in.

You sit in one of the pews with Nancy in front of you dabbing away with disinfectant wipes. It isn’t the pain that’s making you swallow back tears that threaten. You just couldn’t think of a way to make amends to Steve for offending him so greatly. Not with everyone around, and him sat outside still inspecting his car.

Jonathon’s watching Nancy clean you up with his classic pensive expression. He hadn’t wanted to come through the gate at all. Fallen soldier or not. Nancy had been the pushing force.

Their relationship seemed to be suffering dramatically as is, especially with Steve around. It would appear that all of you guys were struggling to maintain your interpersonal relationships with everything going on.

“I’m an idiot.” You whisper to no one in particular.

Nancy halts for a second, looking down at you with big sympathetic eyes. You don’t think you deserve it.

She’s still quiet when she discarded the cloth to pull out bandages.

“Why don’t you talk to him?” She finally asks, taping you up slowly and carefully.

It sounds so simple when she says it. But you know it won’t be like that in practice. It wasn’t just you forcing Steve to go against what he thought was better judgement. He’s still carrying you calling it off in favour of Dustin yesterday. Even though it only lasted a day, it was still fresh. And there hadn’t been a proper resolution that you guys would make it work.

Plus, any conversation you have now will be shrouded with the judging eyes of Dustin.

“I wish it were that simple.” You mumble, taking a peak to see Dustin was on the opposite end of the church, blissfully unaware. But Nancy follows your eyes to him.

She smiles knowingly. “He doesn’t want you to be with Steve?”

You shake your head a simple no.

“I doubt it even matters now. I think I’ve blown it.” You’re completely despondent. It seemed easier to give up than fight the inevitable. Too much was working against you.

You’re surprised when it’s not Nancy to console you, but Jonathon.

“You’ve not blown it, man.” He says it like it was so obvious. “He’s in love with you. Anyone can see it. He didn’t want to drive in here with you hurt– he didn’t have to do it. He just can’t say no. Because he loves you.”

You look at him shell-shocked that it’s Jonathon Byers giving you valuable wisdom on Steve. Considering they don’t like each other one bit.

“Maybe. But if anything that makes it worse. I know he wouldn’t say no if I pressed it. And you saw what good it did. He thinks I manipulated him for sport.”

“Did you?” Nancy asks pointedly looking at you.

You have to really think about it.

You didn’t do it for fun– you know without having to ponder. You did it for a purpose. Albeit, part of it was selfishly that you wanted to kill that thing to take a chunk back at what it represents.

You’ll never get a run at Vecna as yourself. You’re not powerful, or supernatural. You’re just you. But then you think of that monster killing Barb, killing Bob, ripping Eddie apart in front of your brother, taking a swipe out of you. And you wish you could.

Steve was a pawn in that feeling tonight.

You’d used him for your own gain. At the consequence of everything else. Just like sleeping with him over these few months knowing you could never follow through. You knew you guys were falling in love. And you also knew that you’d never tell Dustin unless you got caught.

It was a loaded question Nancy had asked you. One that had you answering truths about yourself you weren’t emotionally prepared to face.

“He’s scared.” Jonathon says, not letting you answer. “We’re all scared. Just be honest with him.”

You don’t miss the look shared between Nancy and Jonathon that follows. You’re not self-centred enough to not know there’s a double meaning there for them. You’re just thankful for the reality check.

“All patched up. It'll be a gnarly scar but you can tell people you got it fighting monsters at least.” She smirks down at you. “You should go talk to him. We’ll keep Dustin occupied.”

You smile at her as thankfully as you can muster and take off down to the church door, past your brother whose back is turned to you scornfully.

You figure it’s better that you’re bandaged up for this. Might soften the anger he feels. There’s nothing you can do about the blood stained into your clothes however.

He’s not even looking at the car when you get out. Just sat around under the wheel, mournfully staring at his trainers. He looks sad. Sad in a way you never imagined Steve could be. If he hears you coming he doesn’t acknowledge it. Just continues staring between the gap in his knees that are pulled up in front of him.

“You’re gonna get your jeans dirty.” You say as you walk up to him. It lands like a lead ball. He’s not in the mood to humour you.

“Your favourite shirt is covered in your own blood– I think I’ll live.” He says bitterly.

You sit next to him on the ground but side on so you can face his profile.

“I’m all better. Nurse Wheeler fixed me up.” You point out, nodding down at your now covered chest and shoulder. You neglect to say that it still hurts like a bitch. “Couple of tylenol when we get back, and it’ll be like it never even happened.”

When he finally turns his head to look at you, it’s clear that he’s been weepy. Even just a little. If you thought he’d accept, you’d stroke his cheek. It doesn’t seem right at the minute though.

“But it did.” He says numbly, devoid of any Steve charm. “I can’t do this.”

He’s not looking at you when he stands up. The panic crawls up through you, and you follow his leed to leap up behind him.

“Can’t do what?” You accuse.

He still won’t look at you, just pushes his hands onto the side of the car tilting his head down. You put your hand on his back between his shoulder blades, desperate to get to him in some way but he just shrugs you off.

“I can’t love you and do this. Watch you put yourself in harm's way, and not be allowed to kiss you goodbye when we split up because you’d rather Dustin be happy than yourself.” He breathes out. “I can’t do both. I either have you completely, or not at all.”

You’re completely frozen watching his back rise and fall rapidly in front of you. The words are hitting like friendly fire.

“Are you saying you don’t want to keep doing this?” You ask pitifully.

He’s laughing breathily down to nothing and turns to lean himself back on the car.

“I want to do this forever. But I want it to be real. I want to have a say in the danger you’re in. I don’t want to think you’ll die before I can call you my fucking girlfriend.” He replies, completely exhausted. “The one thing I want, I can’t have because it’ll completely blow up your life. I don’t want to be the reason you and Dustin fall further apart.”

You don’t realise you’re crying until you feel a tear fall past your chin. You feel like you’re moving in slow motion to wipe it away.

“If it’s you or blow my life up, I’d do it.” You whisper back to him.

You can see he wasn’t expecting you to say that. There’s a stutter in his chest in front of you. In actuality, you hadn’t expected the words either. They came before you could think of the consequences.

He shakes his head like he’s pushing thoughts away. “And have you resent me for it one day? Nancy blamed us for Barb dying and it tore us apart. I won’t do that again.”

The more he speaks, the more you get the impression that this was a break up. The final conclusion to this confusing saga.

“You don’t know that’ll happen. You can’t just make that decision unilaterally. Without asking me what I want.” You argue back, letting anger win over the fear that it was done before it even started.

He smiles back at you without a hint of humour, just irony. “Like what you’ve done for me this whole time? I’d have told everyone the first two weeks in. I knew what I wanted right then and there. But you were right, it isn’t the right time. Not with everything going on.”

You think you might be having some kind of break from reality. There’s nothing you can say, it’s word soup. You could plead, beg or promise. But it wouldn’t change the past. And it certainly wouldn’t change how Dustin feels.

“Can we at least talk about this later? When we’re not stuck here.” You ask him brokenly. “I don’t want to decide this now. I want us to be sure.”

He stiffens his back up like he’s thinking about it. You hold your breath on the chance that he completely rejects your offer of hope. But he clears his throat, leaning over to wipe a stray tear on your cheek.

“We can do that.” He confirms brokenly and saunters off back to the church.

You can see Dustin standing in the doorway watching Steve as he goes. Just like you.

–

You were against the idea of going to the lab surprisingly considering your impulsive stunt earlier about driving into the upside down. Whatever fit of madness had overcome you then was dwindling. Burnt out in the fire that you’re carrying around in your gut after the talk with Steve.

But here you were, in the staircase of the lab deciding who goes where.

You hadn’t bothered to cast your vote on staying or going back at the church. It was getting too heated between Steve, Nancy and Jonathon. You were busy trying to wrap your head around the information Dustin had dumped on you guys. And the fact that Steve wouldn’t even look at you. Even when you tried to catch his field of vision.

Even though he’d said you guys could talk, your usual pessimism had taken the wheel. You think of the person you were before Steve.

The person who didn’t want to find love. Who believed that anything good was doomed to fail– just as your parents marriage did. Alas, here you were. Hopelessly devoted to Steve Harrington. So much so that when you guys are up shit creek without a paddle, he’s still all you can think about.

Dustin flashes his torch up the stairs webbed with black vines. “Up, or down?”

In an ideal world the choice to you would be simple. Neither. But given that your rag tag team were the foot soldiers of the supernatural resistance, you didn’t have that option. So– up or down it was.

Nancy answers first, with her trademark conviction. “I say both. Search in two teams. Cover more ground.”

Logically, you agreed. But you know what teams usually looked like for you guys. Steve and Dustin, with you as the responsible adult. Nancy and Jonathon. You couldn’t imagine a scenario where that worked this time.

Steve doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that’s cool with me, but can we just switch the teams up? Nance, you and me go up?”

You can’t help but feel like your heart was being pulled from behind your ribs, down through all of your major organs and eventually out of your ass. Your head swivels to look at him before you can will yourself not to. There was a small bit of hope that he’d read the room and not try to get under your skin. Under Jonathon’s too.

Steve’s problem is that sometimes in an effort to seem like he was over Nancy, he did the exact opposite and made you wonder if anyone would ever live up to the perfect Nancy Wheeler.

You pull your bottom lip under by your teeth and bite hard to stop yourself from saying something out of bitter jealousy.

“Are you serious?” Jonathon snaps, looking at him with bewilderment.

Steve’s expression becomes only more insistent. “Me and Henderson need some space.”

You don’t even know which Henderson he’s talking about, which only makes the words more poisonous to your ears.

“Please.” Dustin mutters. “I’m not the one he’s trying to get away from.”

You kick the side of his foot violently like you were telling him off for going in your room when you were kids.

Jonathon catches your pained expression and nods in weak encouragement. “Fine. How about me and you?” He suggests to Steve.

You subtly smile weakly at him, suddenly appreciating once more that you had a friend as empathic as Jonathon. Although you’re sure it’s not completely altruistic, given him not loving Steve’s continued friendship with Nance.

“I think we need some space too.” Steve says matter-of-factly.

“So, anyone but Nancy. That’s just…” Jonathon ponders it for a moment. “It’s convenient.”

You appreciate that he didn’t suggest you and Steve go together before coming to that conclusion. You don’t want to feel the rejection of him saying he’d rather go with her.

Steve looks at him like he didn’t understand what he meant one bit. “Huh?”

“Hey!” Nancy interrupts. “We don’t have time for this. Let’s keep it simple. Stick to the usual teams.”

You panic at this notion and before you think about it you argue back. “Why don’t I go my own way? Three teams would be more effective.”

Steve spins around to look at you like you’d punched him in the head. His eyes are pleading that you not keep suggesting doing dangerous stuff at every turn. Especially when it’s so out of character for you.

Dustin gets there first. “Yeah, right. Wouldn’t it be easier to just jump off the building? You’d die quicker. You’ll come with us.”

You ignore Steve and Dustin’s bickering as you descend the stairs down. You carry yourself ahead to them to find a room that looks like a day-care. You’re too disturbed by the scene before you to completely tune into the aggressive banter the boys are engaging in. You find yourself in front of the wall, looking at the rainbow painted on it.

You have to remove yourself from the space and float past Steve and Dustin still bickering next to the entrance, opting to head into the neighbouring room which looks to be an observation office.

You can’t be in this place without thinking of El. Small, skinny, shaven-head El in this prison disguised as a nursery. It chills your spine.

When you peel your eyes back from the desk in the corner you find only Dustin there. You raise your brow at him.

“Steve’s decided to sit and play with his balls.” He announces spitefully.

You screw up your face in disgust at what your baby sibling says to you. Especially with the undertones of him knowing about your bedroom activities. But still, you remain mute following the light of your torch to find a theoretical generator. Not that you’d even know it by sight if you even did find it.

You don’t want to discourage Dustin by saying that he’s wrong but you get the distinct impression you’re on a tiding to nothing down here. Henderson’s are right a lot of the time in your experience being one. But then again, a broken clock is right twice a day so maybe you guys had been operating on luck thus far.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, as you rummage through the remnants of paperwork. Until Dustin clears his throat.

“What was that outside the church earlier?” He mumbles. “With Steve.”

You look at him standing with his torchlight directed at you and shield your eyes from the beams. You don’t even know where to begin but lying seems like a futile endeavour now that he knew everything anyway.

“A break-up.” You mutter. “I think.”

It’s quiet. Too quiet, after you say it. You don’t even bother to keep looking at him for a reaction. You know this isn’t bad news to him.

“You breaking up with Steve?” He ponders from across the room.

You sigh, and once more surrender to the truth.

“No.”

Dustin clatters his torch down on the desk in front of him. You look over your shoulder to see his angry face.

“He broke up with you because of what happened in the car?” He exclaims. “While you’re hurt. What a douche canon.”

You smile weakly at him, and make your way over. This is the first time in a long time your little brother was speaking to you like he was your toothless little guy again.

“He’s not a douche, Dustin. You know that better than I do.” You say when you get over to his side of the room. “It’s not because of the car incident.”

Dustin thinks on it, and you keep insinuating eyes on him. It takes a minute, but it clicks.

“Oh.” He whispers. “He broke up with you because of me?”

You look at him with a tilt of the head. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? Me to dump him. It’s all the same to you, I’m sure.”

Dustin pushes forward to crush you in a hug. It’s unexpected but the sigh that breaks through you is peaceful. It’s nice to hold him, like he was a kid again.

“I don’t want that if it makes you this sad.” He says, muffled by your top.

He pulls back almost as soon as he'd hugged you. Looking at you with guilt all over. You knew he had too deep a well of love within him to force the hand. Even in his grief.

But it wasn’t just him that was the problem. The trust in your relationship with Steve was broken before it was built. You’d ended things, you’d tried to sever the ties and used his feelings for your own personal gain.

It would be easy to blame it all on Dustin’s distaste for it. But it would be a lie.

You squeeze his shoulder, and smile weakly at him. You know it’s not reassuring or believable. “It’s more complicated than that, kid. It’s not just you. It’s a lot of stuff that we might be able to work out. Or we won’t. All I know is that tonight is not the time to do it.”

He opens his mouth to reply but falls short. You turn your back to him to head outward to another room.

You don’t pass Steve in your travels down the hall. You find room after room of nothing but beds until you reach a dead-end and start walking back. With each step forward you take the sounds of shouting become clearer.

You can’t make out anything distinguishable, just words here or there.

“Selfish.” “Hurt her.” “Eddie.”

“Nancy.”

It isn’t until you hear the undeniable sound of fighting that you break into a run down the laboratory hallway.

You don’t find them in time before the fight seems to be more or less done. They’ve pushed into the back part of the rainbow room, not before destroying the tables and chairs of the abandoned space. You can see them breaking apart from the floor– Dustin crying and Steve hunched against the wall.

“What the fuck?” You shout. “Have you both lost your mind? Look where we are right now. And you two are having a fist fight?”

They look at you with what can only be catalogued as shame. Steve shakes his head at you like he can’t face you down after the scene they’d put on.

“I’m done.” He says, completely out of breath as he storms past you, brushing your side as he goes.

You turn slightly to watch his back storm out the way you came. You think about going after him but turn to your brother instead, who’s still shouting after Steve angrily.

“Yeah, run back to Nance.” He cries. “You dumb…fake asshole.”

The broken pleas crack you in two. You try to push forward to attend to him but he holds his hand up in surrender, like he doesn’t want you to come any closer.

You remain stagnant yards away from him, trying to piece together how your sweet brother and Steve who had spent years bonding could end up physically fighting– you know it couldn’t just be because of you.

“What happened?” You press again.

He just sighs and shakes his head back at you. “Ask him. I need a minute alone.”

You go back and forth on it for a minute, trying to decide if it’s really what he wants. Or if it’s even what’s right. But it might be the only way you get any answers, so you turn on your heel to hunt Steve down.

You don’t want to completely break any last chance that you might get of salvaging the remnants of your relationship with Steve, but also you kind of want to slap him up the head for stooping to fighting a kid. Especially when the kid is your kid.

When you find him he’s pinned into the corner of the stairs chewing his knuckles. You can see the guilt is eating him a little. You don’t think he’s completely lost his ability to understand how absurd they were behaving. It’s the only thing that stops you from chewing him out. He keeps his eyes on you as you stop in front of him.

“I didn’t start that.” He says before you can get a word out.

You scoff. “I should hope not, Steve. Starting fights with teenagers isn’t a good look.”

He regards you, remaining arms to his chest as he thinks of the best way to approach you with this. “He seems to have changed his tune about us. Apparently I’m the asshole for breaking up with you? I thought we weren’t going to decide anything tonight.”

You shut your eyes in exasperation. You should’ve known Dustin would say something. “I’m just preparing for the inevitable. Based on what you said at the church, I can’t see it going any other way. How was I supposed to know that as soon he got what he wanted, he’d change his mind? He’s not exactly been predictable lately.”

Steve snorts indignantly. “Don’t I know it? He just decked me with a rubix cube. And told me that I would never live up to the great Eddie Munson. How do you want me to respond to that?”

Your heart squeezes for Dustin. You knew it had all been about Eddie. His erratic behaviour, his avoidance of love, his aggression with Steve. You just didn’t think he’d ever say it.

You sigh and rub your sore shoulder as you slide down onto your butt on the stairs. “I wouldn’t have fought with him, personally. But I get your point.”

“I can’t believe you told him I dumped you. This is precisely what I was talking about at the church. You didn’t think to mention that you broke up with me first. And that I had to talk you out of it.” He accuses. “We’re trying to get him on our side. Not make him hate me more.”

You push your forehead against your knees and count your heartbeats to calm down your nervous system from the pain in your head, arm and heart.

“I’m sorry, okay.” You mumble into your knees before pulling up to look at his disgruntled face. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this. I don’t exactly have a wealth of normal relationships to pull from. I didn’t think when I fell in love for the first time that it would be so complicated. I thought I’d meet a guy at college and things would be normal. It wasn’t like I could’ve anticipated that we’d be here.”

He seems taken aback by what you’ve said but he doesn’t get the chance to reply because the screams of your brother come echoing down the halls first. You follow his wails as they climb the stairs with him, but all you can do is make out his vague yelps for Nancy and Jonathon.

You and Steve look at each other in horror at whatever bad news would most likely follow, the heated dialogue you were having forgotten about in an instant.

The whole building starts to shake violently. Steve pulls you backward into him by the waist to hold you both steady against the walls, until eventually your brother breaks into vision, screaming into the walkie as he goes. He seems barely cognisant that you guys were there as he pushes past you, inadvertently bashing your sore arm causing you to yelp out in pain.

“Are you okay?” Steve shouts at you, looking after your brother still scrambling up the stairs.

You nod pitifully.

“What are you doing?” Steve screams behind Dustin, before pulling you by the good hand to chase after him.

You let yourself be guided by the clasping hand of Steve, mind wildly trying to assess what could have set him off and how it was surely connected to the shaking of the earth around you.

When you guys find him he’s sat pulled up against the wall, defeated.

“Dustin.” You sympathetically mumble to him, sitting at his level.

“I was wrong. I was terribly, catastrophically wrong.” He says shaking his head, still breathless from his flight up the stairs.

You pull in a gasp trying not to panic at the admission. You’ve never heard him so down trodden. Or worse, willing to accept that he didn’t know everything.

You look at Steve in distress. His lips flatten in a thin line. He curls his hand around your shoulder as Dustin explains that the wall wasn’t made by Vecna or the lab. That it was potentially the gap between life and death for you all. And that what you have to contend with now is that Nancy probably just shot right through it.

You’re in too much shock by the events that had transpired to keep up with the constant back and forth between Steve pacing and Dustin thumbing through Brenner's book trying to pinpoint why the world hadn’t ended with the damage to the exotic matter.

You consider yourself to be a pretty switched on person but even you were struggling to keep up with the intricacies of the concept Dustin was trying to explain to you. All you do know is that when Steve insists you guys head upward to find them– you agree. Even while Dustin persists saying that none of you know if it’s even safe.

As far as you’re concerned, getting Jonathon and Nancy back to somewhere less life-threatening is all that mattered now.

You try to block out Dustin’s ramblings as you guys follow the winding corridors back to the main entrance that is a hue with a red glow now.

You keep following the path upward. Steve is shouting down the walkie to try to get through to your friends to tell them you were coming. It’s hard to concentrate on anything except the dripping goop falling from the walls and ceiling.

“The higher we go, the more dangerous it gets.” Dustin insists from behind you.

You’re turning to tell him that it doesn’t matter, that you weren’t safe either way when he pushes forward to pull Steve back from the hole that had burned into the stairs ahead of you. It’s close enough that if he’d taken one more step forward, he’d have fallen completely through. You gasp a panicked yelp that gets caught in your throat.

“Dustin, what were you saying?” You ask, suddenly very intrigued by his prediction that upwards was certain death for all of you.

The hole in the stairs is vast and lengthy now. There’s no way to get up. You guys stand impotently trying to work a way around it.

“We still need to find to them.” Steve announces in an obvious manner.

You’re biting at your cuticles, nodding to yourself more than anything because he’s absolutely right. “I know, Steve. I’m thinking.”

Dustin is looking wildly between you like you’d both gone mad.

“Neither of you are thinking clearly. We can’t do it.” Dustin insists.

You’re wracking your brain over and over again. You needed something practical as a stand in for the stairs, but you were in a lab. It’s not like they’d have stuff to hand. There’s nothing but lab equipment here. Except maybe janitorial stuff.

It comes to you like a freight train hitting you at high speed. You start clicking wildly at Steve. He looks at you expectantly, knowing that you’d thought of something.

“Janitors closests! Steve, we need a ladder. What do janitors use?” You exclaim.

He doesn’t waste a second running back the way you came and re-emerging with a metal ladder to balance between each end of the hole. You push forward to go up it. Steve pulls you back to hold you still. You look at him with a raise of the brow, only to be met with his incredulous face.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“It was my idea.” You say pointedly. “‘My risk. I’ll go first.”

Steve looks at you in disbelief and shakes his head. “With your gammy shoulder? No way. We’ll see if it works with me. If it does, I’ll help you both climb up.”

You try to find a reason to argue with him but nothing comes to you so you nod at him in a silent surrender. He turns to go forward but Dustin pulls him back aggressively.

“That’s never going to work, Steve. Stop!” Dustin yells at him as Steve shakes the hand off him to try again. He keeps listing the reasons not to go. “It’s unstable. It’s not safe. You’re going to fall.”

You try to hold your brother by the shoulders to stop him from preventing Steve’s progress forward because you know this is what you guys have to do, but he just keeps shrugging you off to get Steve’s attention.

Steve looks back at you first for permission and you nod at him that you still think he should go. He then casts downwards to Dustin. “It’s unstable. I got it already, okay?”

He attempts once more to make his way up, before Dustin aggressively pushes you back again, dragging Steve’s tan jacket down with his hand.

“No, don’t! Stop.” He begs. It rips through you in a way that pains you more than anything the demogorgon did. The pure unadulterated dread in his voice is chilling. “Stop being an asshole.”

“Dustin, you need to let him go.” You cry.

Steve grabs at Dustin’s arms to hold his frantic yanking still. “I’m not being an asshole. I’m trying to get to them.”

You watch him plead with your wailing brother, knowing there was nothing you could do. Dustin needed to get this out. You could see where this was going before it happens.

“You always try to get yourself killed, and I can’t let it happen again.” You clasp your hand around your mouth to muffle the sob you let out hearing him say that to Steve. “Stop being so selfish, please. If you go up there, you’re gonna die. And I can’t deal with it again. You can’t die, I can’t deal with it again. Don’t let it happen again. Please. Please don’t let it happen again.”

You cry into the closing hand on your mouth when you watch the shock register on Steve’s face, followed by dawning realization. The anguish that escapes Dustin is almost too much to bear. You think of your small boy, once so bright, broken down into what he is now. He collapses into Steve who looks over his head at you with shock.

You start wiping the tears away to give him a reassuring look that it needed to happen. He needed to release the pain he was holding. You can’t help yourself but to lurch forward to wrap yourself around his back so that he’s clutched from both sides between you and Steve.

“I’m sorry.” He weeps still.

You shush him as keep him between your and Steve’s arms. “It’s okay.” You coo into his back.

You stand there for a moment in the eye of the storm but it’s taken from you in the next– as you watch the staircase gap widen and the ladder fall. Taking your opportunity to move upward with it.

–

Finding your way to Nancy and Jonathon is an unbearable task of taking wild, unsure turns in the lab that you can barely track– until you eventually find a different path upward. Somehow the three of you, emotionally exhausted as you were, manage to do it.

Holding Nancy and Jonathon for a few seconds felt like a reward for all the panic it took to sledgehammer your way through a wall to them.

The victory is short-lived though because you then have to watch Holly Wheeler fall through the sky. It was a lose-lose no matter how you cut it. She would have either hurtled to her death in front of her sister or the second option of being pulled back up by an invisible force to the other side of the upside down. To the place that none of you knew what was.

It doesn’t stop you from intertwining your hand with Nancy’s to squeeze a small plea of support that you were going to do everything you could to bring her back to them. Just like you know she would do if it was the other way around.

It isn’t until you guys get a line with Mike on the other side that it seems like you might have some luck turning.

The second bout of good luck comes in the form of being reunited with everyone, even if you were still in the upside down. It felt like coming home after a long trip, and you guys had only been gone a few hours. You never imagined that Mike Wheelers face would be a beacon of safety, but there he was, reassuring you that you were getting out of here.

This time at least.

Neither you, Steve or Dustin acknowledged what happened on the stairs. But you felt like a weight had been lifted off of you personally. It didn’t help with you and Steve in the long-run or more importantly stopping Vecna and getting Holly back. But it was something at least.

Getting back through the gate and realising it was day time was disorientating. Almost as much as realising Mr. Clarke was now in the know about the upside down.

And Max was awake too. Your brain was struggling to keep up with it all. It didn’t feel like enough time had passed for some much to have transpired. But that was Hawkins for you.

Then there was Will being a sorcerer.

You actually have to crouch down next to Max’s chair to digest it all at once. Will the wise, the quiet boy from down the block, being endowed with all that power.

You guys were working under the express notion that you’ll all sit down to discuss the plan moving forward as soon as you get into the squawk but when Hopper sees the hatchet job of a clean up on your shoulder, he demands you go fix it first before the meeting can start.

You’re thankful that you might finally get a moment of peace in the bathroom. Finally able to shed your bloody clothes in favour of a spare WSQK work shirt. It doesn’t last when you find Steve pushing his way in behind you with a more substantial first-aid kit in his hold.

“Thought you might need a hand.” He clarifies when you don’t say or do anything, other than stare wildly.

You nod stiffly back at him, suddenly wishing that you could just get some sleep. Pretend for a couple hours that this wasn’t your guys’ life.

You aren’t shy with peeling off the top half of your clothes in front of him, leaving you in just a bra. It’s not really a sexy moment for either of you.

Intimate perhaps considering he was about to tend your wounds for you. Which seems like a long-term partner activity. In Hawkins though, it wouldn’t even surmount to first base, it happens so often.

When he gets the bandages off– already discoloured from the grime in the lab– he winces when he inspects it properly in the light of day. You turn to peek at it in the mirror too and find yourself short of breath.

This was the first time you’ve seen properly the damage inflicted.

It’s grotesque.

Survivable and devoid the need of stitching, but you find yourself understanding more why no one wanted to drag you into the upside down with it.

You pull yourself back to face Steve again, the unmistakable wobble on your lip. He sighs and brushes your bottom lip with his thumb to stop it from trembling.

“I got you. We’ll clean it up properly.” He whispers.

You nod mostly to yourself. “Are you not still mad at me?”

He sighs when he begins laying out the much vaster equipment from the kit. Much more applicable to the needs of the wound.

“Yes, I’m mad at you. But I think I’m comfortable admitting that it was too sharp to try and completely cut us off.” He says finally. “I’ve been spending all this time fighting with Dustin, because he was worried I was going to go like Eddie. I don’t want to do the same thing.”

He’s not looking at you while he says this. His eyes are trained firmly on the swabbing of your chest and shoulder. You’ve pushed yourself to sit on the counter to accommodate his access. You don’t reply back because you’re waiting for him to continue, knowing there would be more to come.

“When I saw you being carried out of the house I was scared. I thought you were going to die. That was my immediate gut reaction. I had no idea it was only a surface wound, you were too far away. And when I realised you were okay, but ready to take more I just panicked. I don’t know if I've ever felt like that about someone before.”

You keep your eyes forward too unprepared to face him yet as you digest what he’s saying. “So, you pushed me away? Like Dustin did to you?”

He pulls your jaw down to look at him. “In a way, sure. Don’t get me wrong, I was really pissed. Like blowing the roof off a house pissed that you didn’t get out of the car. I just kept thinking about how I didn’t hug you before I left the Turnbows. I wanted to. But I didn’t because of Dustin. I was mad at myself too. I’m still mad at myself.”

You pull the hand that’s re-cleaning the gash down to hold in your lap instead. You cover it with both your hands to keep it caged like if you let go, he’d disappear.

“If we’re doing confession time– I knew if I pushed you in the car, you’d do what I asked. I’m an asshole. That wasn’t about Holly. That was about me trying to fight against something I can’t.” You tell him. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that I tried to end things without considering how you might feel too. I’m just…not good at this.”

He sighs back at you.

“Neither am I.” He confesses.

There’s a lull. You guys stand still and keep eyes on each other trying to lock yourselves in a rare moment of calm.

“I can’t believe we’re having this talk while I’m topless.” You laugh breathily. The bizarre nature of this whole situation takes hold for a moment.

He smirks at you in the way he does that makes you tingle from head to toe. “I’d prefer if you were topless for most stuff. Actually, we could lose the bra too, and it wouldn’t hurt a bit.”

You shove him playfully, but he grabs your hand to pull you forward into a kiss instead.

You melt on impact, opening yourself up to his molding lips on yours. You let him pull you forward so that you were completely flush against him, and once again find yourself wishing that you were normal because you guys had some crazy make-up sex to do.

Instead you have to settle for the deep kiss you’re getting now. His hands move up to hold your cheeks and you thread your fingers into his hair with a biting hold.

When you pull back your whole body feels like it has been uncoiled from a frigid plank. Your limbs felt less like they were weighted down by bricks.

“I really wish we didn’t need to save the world right now.” You whisper to him.

He nods knowingly, and keeps you locked in place with his hands cupping your face.

“After this, we’ll talk. I promise.” He reassures you. “We’ll do it right this time.”

You think of the opportunity that you guys might not even get. Maybe none of it would matter in a day because there would be no world left to speak of. But man, what a kiss to end it on.

“Just talk?” You smirk.

He groans and pulls you forward into another kiss.

You know everyone is waiting outside to decipher how you could pull everything back from the edge of complete and total oblivion but you just let you and him enjoy your last moment of serenity before you had to step out into the last battle.

TAG-LIST:

After he’d taken off to bed, minutes after your mouth had moved before your head– agreeing to end things with Steve, you found yourself alight with burning energy. The realisation had been a slow creep.

It took ten full minutes of sitting in the darkness of your living room to assess the damage you’d done with that split second decision.

Any prayer you’d had of carrying yourself off to bed to sleep yourself into a better day had evaporated as if by magic.

Instead you say and folded and re-folded a pile of laundry fourteen times. Criss-cross-apple-sauce on your bedroom floor, you piled the same clothes over and over again while you ran through the different scenarios you were faced with.

Usually this sort of repetitive and mindless routine was reserved only for nights before crawls. And of late, days where things with Dustin had been particularly challenging.

For the first time in your life, it was about a boy.

It was maybe flippant to write Steve off as just a boy. It would appear that he was much, much more than that because you realise now that you were genuinely considering walking back a promise made to Dustin– something you had never done.

It was hard for you to not follow through on things at the best of times. Even when you didn’t want to. You were a textbook people-pleaser. It was just your nature.

You knew intellectually that Dustin didn’t know the gravity of what he was asking of you. All he’s known from the men in his life is loss. It wasn’t beyond you that even when he acts like he hates Steve, it’s all just a protective measure to ensure he can’t leave. Just like dad.

Like Eddie.

You also know this because as tough as it was to admit, you did the exact same thing.

That was your cross to bear now.

You had carried on allowing yourself to fall in love with Steve when you knew what would happen deep down. You knew there was only so long that you could maintain what you were doing. And you didn’t even have the excuse of saying you didn’t know that this would be the outcome.

You’d known the minute that you guys started up how it would end. You didn’t like being right so often, the trouble was you always were.

Steve called four times at midnight. You did not answer.

Not that you didn’t dance around it as it rang, almost picking it up before physically dragging your own hand away.

The sad reality was that no matter how many times you circled the point, or how badly you wanted to answer the call and hear his voice, you were going to choose Dustin.

You had to choose Dustin.

When sleep eventually came, it was restless. You knew that when dawn found you, there was no longer the fantasy of screwing it all for being with Steve.

Because light would bring you back to the real world. The world where your parents don’t stay together and where there’s monsters and waking nightmares at every turn.

-

Sunday was quiet.

No calls, no visits, no Steve.

You couldn’t move in the house without Dustin’s watchful eyes on you. He was- evidently- having a hard time trusting that you weren’t going take off. He had stapled himself to the sofa. Pointedly not speaking to you when you’d emerge from your room for a coffee or to make a sandwich you wouldn’t end up eating.

He stayed there all afternoon and well into the evening. You had only dragged yourself out a few times, mainly due to the way he’d glare at you from across the room. It felt like tiny little pin-pricks across your scalp.

And also the longer you spent cocooned in your bedroom, the longer you could pretend you wouldn’t need to go out to the squawk tomorrow, back to the strange routine you were calling normal.

Around eleven, he’d evidently decided that you weren’t planning to go out and meet Steve for some kind of dirty rendezvous. You heard his shuffling down the hall and the clatter of his bedroom door closing.

You don’t want to sigh in relief that you were free of the judging eyes but you do. You could practically feel them through the walls.

When the phone rang, undoubtedly Steve, you had finally talked yourself into ripping the bandaid off. You were only prolonging the inevitable, and you knew doing it in person was a non-starter.

You’d killed monsters and shot guns– but nothing was as terrifying as what you were about to do now.

“Hey…” you whisper into the receiver.

There’s an exaggerated huff on the other end.

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but you can never do that to me again.” He chastises. “I’ve been this close to getting in the car and driving over there.”

You pin your eyes closed, realising all so suddenly how not easy he was going to make this for you.

“I’m sorry… I’ve been thinking.” You murmur.

“Thinking for 24 hours?” He asks, soundly less than impressed. “I don’t know what there is to think about. He knows now, doesn’t that make this all much clearer?”

You sigh, and begin aggressively picking a frayed stitch on your bed sheet. “Just stuff.”

You can hear shuffling on the other end, and you can assume it’s Steve sitting further to attention, maybe trying to wrap his head around your evasiveness. You weren’t exactly giving him much.

“Okay, stuff. Say, here’s an idea– how about we do a new game. You ask the questions and I give you really vague answers?”

You’re starting to get a wicked headache, the stress is compiling.

“Steve…” you sigh. “Dustin’s asked me to end things.”

There’s a soft chuckle down the phone. “Well, that’s ridiculous. How’d he take it when you told him no?”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” He bites. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“What am I supposed to do? He’s my brother, Steve.” You’re whisper shouting now.

“So what? You’re just going to keep letting other people dictate your life until you’re miserable?”

You don’t like the way he’s speaking to you. He’s not being mean– not like you had worried he would’ve been. If Steve was going to be mean to you, he probably already would’ve. He’s just sharper than he usually is. It's just brutal honesty.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You mumble, completely resigned to it.

The only thing you get back is the dial tone. You pull the phone away from your face to stare at it in shock.

You’d figured it was going to go down pretty terribly, but you hadn’t for a second considered that he’d be so pissed that he’d ice you out entirely.

You’re so broken down from the stress of the day that you don’t even have the will to cry.

You lay in the dark room in complete silence for fifteen minutes trying to think of what you could do to avoid seeing him again. You were sure you would relent as soon as you saw his knowing look. You also knew that you guys were so weaved into each other’s lives now that you couldn’t avoid it for long.

You suppose that must be what Dustin had meant about what would happen if you split up. You wish you’d thought it through before you fell in love with him.

As if by some kismet irony– as if Steve knew exactly what you were already thinking about not feeling strong enough to stay firm if you saw him in person, you hear the tapping on your window. You’re too numb to even jump from the fright. There was no doubt about who it would be. No one else would come by your window.

You don’t want to have given up something you wanted so badly just to have Dustin hear him knocking at your window, so you open it against all better judgement.

“Steve.” You hiss. “You can’t be here right now.”

He’s waving you off, while pushing up and hooking his leg over the pane to climb down onto the carpet of your room. He looks disheveled. Panicked almost. If you guys hadn’t just had that talk, you’d have thought something actually bad had happened.

“Yeah, like I was going to have that chat over the phone. If you’re going to end this, you’re going to have to do it to my face.”

You push back to sit on the edge of your bed while he stands in front of you, hands clamped on his hips.

“You’re not being fair, Steve.”

There’s a wry smile dancing on his face.

“I’m not being fair? I told you I loved you yesterday and as a response to that you broke up with me over the phone.” He’s hisses.

There’s a bubble of a sob dancing in your throat. You hadn’t planned on having to do this in person. You don’t think you would be believable enough to lie to his face about thinking this is the right thing to do.

“That’s not exactly what happened. It’s more complicated than that.” You insist, suddenly unable to remove your eyes from legs in front of you.

“No, you’re right. It’s way more complicated than that. I don’t believe for a second that this is just Dustin forcing your hand.” He’s moving inch by inch closer to where you’re sitting. “You’re scared- scared that I might be the best thing for you.”

You know you don’t have the emotional bandwidth to digest what he’s just said to you. Maybe deep down you know there’s some truth to it, but the reality is that you’re doing this either way so your motives matter very little in the long run.

“Maybe. But it doesn’t change anything.”

He scoffs at you, before pulling you up to stand in front of him. You’re trying to lean back out of his grasp but he’s holding you firm by the shoulders.

“It changes everything. Please, just don’t do this?” He pleads. “Today has been awful. I can’t think when I don’t see you, when I can’t feel you.”

He’s rubbing his hands on your shoulder, round your neck. You’re leaning into him, it’s like second nature. It’s almost too easy to be weak with him.

He’s titling forward. He makes a gentle path leaving soft kisses over your face. Like a map down your features. One on your forehead, down both cheeks, over your chin and finally up to your lips.

You can already feel yourself slipping back into his comforting hold. You’re pushing back into the kiss, not even thinking about the pain you were just in moments ago.

You can feel the relieved breath he must have been holding release into the kiss. You barely even react when you guys begin walking back the way to the bed, your hands already carded within his hair.

All thoughts were gone from your head. It was like he had some unexplainable hold on you that every time you’re with him, all better judgement is stolen from you.

When the back of your legs hit the bed, you let him fold his arm around your waist to pull you flush against him. The he way shifts forward to lay both of you down on the bed is precise. Like he’d done it a million times before.

You’re still intertwined, kissing softly and deeply. There was no doubt in your mind how far you’d let it go. You felt powerless to this.

The brush of tongue is the only feeling in your body. He’s pulling your leg up by the knee ditch to hook up over his hip so he can push forward onto your pelvis. The gasp that escapes is swallowed by his mouth. He pulls away to move down below the path of your neck to leave gentle bites and grazes.

For the first time since he’d kissed you, you opened your eyes and tilted your head to side to give him more access.

You’re breathless, your heart battering away against your ribs.

“I missed you.” He mumbles into your throat. “Your neck…” he pulls his hand up to close around yours next to your head. “Your hands…Your lips.”

It's all muffled by your skin, and you’re whining, body beginning to move like an instrument tuned just for him.

It’s not until your eyes lock in on the photo on the bedside dresser that you realise just what you were about to do.

It was you and Dustin in your front yard, your hands balanced on his shoulders. He’s still small, compact. So full of love and trust. You’re shoving yourself up, and by proxy Steve, to scurry back to the window across the way from him. You can see the shake of his hands while he’s pushing himself back into a sitting position on the bed.

There’s tears burning at the corner of your eyes.

“You can’t do that, Steve. I've made a choice, you can’t come here and confuse me.” You’re frantic now, trying to wipe tears before they fall. “You might not think it’s the right one, and you can hate me for it but it’s mine to make.”

You can see him nodding slowly to himself. “Is it yours?” He asks, just a sprinkle of spite. He stands up and pushes forward to the window, lightly grazing past you as he goes. “For the record, I really think you’re going to regret this.”

He sounds angrier than you’d ever heard him, so much so that you have to avert your eyes. And without another remark he’s gone out the window almost as soon as he’d arrived.

Like he’d never been here at all.

-

You want to say that you were able to put it all aside after he left. That you felt confident in the decision you’d made.

But that would be a lie.

In actuality, you lay in bed openly weeping for a couple hours, interspersed with looking at the clock to count down the hours of sleep you’d have left to catch before you’d have to deliver yourself to Nancy’s for a ride.

You were lucky if what you had more than three hours. You felt every minute of your lost sleep when you emerged the next morning to caffeinate.

Dustin is up when you head through. Still avoiding all direct eye contact. You want to be able to just wish him well on his day at school, already in a tight spot with him after the Steve stuff but underneath his tan jacket you can see the faint wording of the hellfire top you knew he had been getting all manner of grief for wearing around town.

The narrative that the late Eddie was a satanic killer lived on, even though he didn’t. And that top was like an ugly red target painted on your little brother's back. You’re sighing when you realise you have to say something.

“Don’t bite my head off, but you can’t keep wearing that.” You say while pouring your coffee.

All you get back is daggers. This wasn’t the first time you guys had this disagreement. It wasn’t because you hadn’t cared for Eddie. You truly had. But it was unavoidable that everyone in town thought he was a cold blooded killer.

“Can we drop the attitude? I’m not having a good morning and all I want is to try and prevent you getting your ass kicked before you’ve even given the week a chance.”

“They can beat me up. Hellfire still lives.” He says bluntly walking to the door, disappearing to school. At least you hope that’s where he’s going.

You had naively assumed that because of what you’d sacrificed for him just days ago he might be open to talking to you like a person again but apparently his sour mood remains.

You were uncomfortably close to shutting down all together and the day was barely nubile.

To make matters worse your car was still totalled, meaning you’d have to face Nancy's house too. Before going to the squawk. Where Steve would be.

Great.

All in all, it was shaping that today would be just one obstacle after another. You were preparing for it to be the most difficult day you’d had this year, and that’s saying a lot considering the dystopian hellscape your life now is.

Everyone’s finishing up breakfast when you arrive. Mr.Wheeler opens the door to you. It isn’t lost on you that he looks defeated to see another interloper entering his home. You’re thankful you don’t have to stick around long before you’re being ferried out by Nancy and Jonathon.

“You look like hell.” Jonathon remarks as you guys get into the car.

It takes all you have in you not to burst into tears.

“Been a weekend.” You mumble, watching the houses as you drive past.

There’s a beat before you’re pressed again.

“Dustin?” Nancy asks.

You shrug back, suddenly feeling less than enthusiastic about talking about any of it. Unfortunately now, when you think about Dustin- you think about Steve- and when you think about Steve you want to sob uncontrollably. A vicious cycle really.

You know you’ll have to relent eventually because Nancy isn’t the type to let things lie.

“Steve?” She presses further.

The cry bubbles in the back of your throat before you can stop it. Jonathon spins back to look at you. To his credit, the nice guy he is, you’d like to say he looked concerned but that wasn’t it. He looked deeply uncomfortable with the public display you were putting on.

You weren’t an emotional person really. You were too rational for it usually. Steve had kind of cracked you open, in that sense.

Apparently letting one emotion through the tight seams had left holes in all manner of places for unwelcome feelings.

Nancy is also looking back in the rear-view, mouth slightly agape. You just want to curl in a ball and hide.

“Can you guys not look at me right now. Please. It’ll stop eventually.” You angrily bite, still wiping tears.

“You- um- want to talk about it?” Jonathon tries, clearly his throat like the words were hard to find.

You’re violently shaking your head back, tears already drying back up again. Your throat was raw from swallowing back the lump.

The subject is dropped entirely. It’s just unfortunate they’d had to see you like that before it was.

Nancy turns on the radio to catch Rockin’ Robin's set. You want to listen but you selectively block it out unintentionally.

You were too busy thinking. Thinking your new status as basket case. And the worst part about it was that you couldn’t help but feel in the grand scheme of things this stuff with Steve was small. But maybe all of it had just compounded and become too much for you.

You only tune back in when the radio begins cutting in and out of a high pitched frequency. Jonathon smacks it a couple times, and you shuffle forward to, interest piqued, just before it cuts out entirely.

“What are the chances that’s just your radio, and not some ooky spooky military stuff?” You ask Nancy.

“She was complying?” Nancy offers.

You wish you’d had more input on that but the truth was you hadn’t been listening even a little.

You don’t say anything when you slouch back. You’d know soon enough, one way or another.

-

When you guys arrive at the station you’re met with Steve and Robin tearing the place apart.

Steve acknowledges you at least… if acknowledging meant brushing past you like the wind and occasionally snapping up to glare.

“You asked Dustin, right?” You enquire with Robin.

Steve snorts from the other end of the room. You try not to let it bug you too much– he was probably hurting too, but you would only take so much before you broke. Him hating you was too painful to imagine.

“He turned his walkie off.” She replied walking past you.

“Don’t even get me started.” Steve dismisses the Dustin conservation before it can even be pressed further.

You can’t imagine that Steve will be feeling very charitable toward your brother today. Given the tsunami of crap barrelling through our life in some ways because of him.

There was an intensity to his tone that felt final to everyone. Even after Nancy had found the manual, you replayed it in your head. The bite in his words.

You’re thinking about Dustin too. He never turns his walkie off. You wished it had been as simple as complying with his demands to get a glimmer of him back but clearly this was a problem that would not find a simple end.

Once figuring out where the remote radio head was you guys meander out to inspect the tower. You can see from the ground up that it reaches well above the concaves of the clouds.

You certainly weren’t going to be suggesting you climb it anytime soon. Besides you could already see how it was going to play out anyway. Steve couldn’t miss an opportunity to display some kind of physical prowess.

What you hadn’t anticipated was the macho bravado thing between him and Jonathon. You knew it was residual arch-nemesis bullshit from a couple years back. Still, wasn’t a fun watch for you. Not when the origin of this for them was Nancy.

“Yeah, this is a great idea guys. Make it a race.” You yell sardonically as they climb. “Fall and break your neck. That’ll further the mission.”

You know they’ll have only heard the first couple things you’d said, it was more comedic relief for you guys stuck at the bottom watching their shameful competitiveness.

Both girls snort at least a little.

“What is it about your presence that brings out their inner-Neanderthal?” Robins asks Nancy who seems to have turned away in some kind of embarrassment. Not that you can blame her.

“I think this is only half about me.” Nancy says, looking at you pointedly.

You directly ignore the look you receive from both girls and instead land eyes on the grocery truck peeling in.

You head off before you have to answer anything you don’t want to. It wasn’t that groceries weren’t a welcome surprise. It was that you weren’t due them. Which means something is afoot. You sigh at the idea.

Maybe you should’ve tried harder to sleep last night.

“Good morning sunshine. Lovely to see you bright-eyed this morning.” Murray bellows hopping out the truck. You can read the sarcasm a mile off.

You fight the urge to grimace knowing that it was pretty apparent to everyone today that you are not in a good mood.

“Were we expecting you today?” You ask knowingly, hoping to move on from your less than jolly exterior.

You can see Nancy and Robin making their over now too.

He grins back. “Just wait till you see what I’ve got back here.”

-

With arrival of word from Murray that there was a burn tonight– meaning there would be a crawl too– you sat numbly listening to Nancy explain the plan to you guys. You don’t even have the heart to sneer at Steve’s suggestion that we were wasting time on what he thought was already a well dead threat.

You knew he’d been toying with this idea for a while, you however didn’t believe in taking chances like that. We’d never gotten that lucky before.

You were busying yourself trying to batter away the terrible feeling lurking over you- the feeling that said this wasn’t going to go well.

The bad feeling wasn’t so much alarming to you. Now that you guys have done this probably thirty times over, the icky feeling was par the course. The only difference this time is that you were going into tonight with your life in metaphorical disarray.

You decide to sneak back upstairs to get some seriously required air. It was claustrophobic down there. Especially with Steve lurking behind, hating you silently.

It was starting to push into the golden hour. It was so nice outside that it almost makes you forget what you’re here for.

The slam of the door closing behind you pulls you from a vivid daydream that you were having of just taking an autumn walk. That was the calibre of your wildest dreams now. A peaceful walk.

You don’t pretend you’re not surprised to see Steve.

“You think this is still necessary?” He asks.

There’s no undertone. No reason to think that not even twelve hours ago he was pleading with you not to call off seeing each other. It’s disarming for you.

Nonetheless, you weren’t going to lie to him. There was no point.

You sigh, “I’m with her on this one, Steve.”

He turns back to look at you like all of the things that have happened over the past couple of days have come flooding back. It’s written all over his face.

“Don’t know why I would think you wouldn’t be.” He shrugs, apathetic. “Also, whatever ‘peace treaty’ you and Dustin have worked out—hasn’t done shit. He’s still the exact same as he's been for months.”

You pinch a glare back at him. It’s even harder doing this with him when you’re not actually feeling angry. Not even when you try.

At best you’re frustrated that he’s being so agro, but you’re too in love with him to be truly mad. This charade you were playing was all the big emotions you had, suddenly with nowhere to put them.

“Thanks, Steve. What I really need is you coming out here to kick me while I’m down.” You bite.

His eyes soften up marginally.

“I’m just saying, if you’re doing this to heal his wounds, it’s not going to work.” He clarifies. He takes a couple meek steps closer to where you’re crouching against the wall. “You look exhausted, did you sleep at all?”

You can’t help yourself from hiding behind your hands. You don’t know if you can bear him being nice to you, which is where you fear this was going. You shake your heads from beneath the cupping of your face.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” You hear him ask. “Just let me make it better.”

You can just barely feel the brush of his finger tips on your hair- you imagine going to smooth his hand down it, the way that only he does when you spiral. You wish you didn’t know better.

You leap up and slap your hands against your thighs as you do. He see him pull his hand back like you’d caught him in the act. “Well, Steve, that’s just the thing…” you’re walking round him and pushing the door, “all you’re doing is making it harder.”

You pretend not to hear him distantly curse and kick the gravel behind you.

-

Evening creeped in as the rest of the party arrived to collude in the basement of the radio station. Everyone except Dustin.

You had taken yourself off to sit on the bumper of Nancy's car hoping against all your instincts that your little brother would appear pushing a broken bike soon. Just to tell you he’d had a malfunction or something boring to explain him missing something as important as this.

You’d asked the boys about his disappearing act. All three were just as clueless as you. It might not have been unusual for him to be MIA. But not on a night like this.

Not when his job was to keep us connected to Hopper in the upside down. You know it had already been decided that if he didn’t show, which was seeming imminent now, that Jonathon would cover him. You weren’t even sure Jonathon knew how to do what Dustin did. Even all the times he’d shown you, it might as well be hieroglyphics for all you understood of it.

The one upside to all this was that you would get to take your post with Lucas and Mike– away from the aggressive tension that had only ramped up more since your run in with Steve in the afternoon.

Steve was already situated in the van. You’d come out after him but the walkie had gone when he’d asked about what the trick was with Dustin’s safety latch.

You knew you’d run out of time waiting for him when the party was beginning to push their way out of the squawk. You lazily drag your feet over to Nancy who was seeing everyone off.

“You ready, boys?” You ask when you reach Mike and Lucas, ready with their binoculars.

They look at Nancy with a questioning eye.

“Does she not know?” Lucas asks.

You peek back at Nancy with a raised eyebrow.

She’s smiling nervously at you, and you already know you’re not going to like whatever this was.

“Change of plans,” she twinkles, clearly trying to put a positive spin on it. “You’re going to go with Jonathon and Steve. Neither of them are confident with the equipment.”

You’re already huffing out at her. “Well, neither am I? I’d just be one more novice. What’s the good in that?”

You really don’t want to be trapped in a van with Steve. Only marginally behind that, being trapped in a van with the unbearable testosterone that seems to be fostered when those men are together.

“I also trust that you’ll keep them focused. I don’t want this going belly up because they can’t stop bickering about what to do if they run into trouble.”

You press your thumb into the bridge of your nose trying to think of what you could say to talk her out of this but you’re drawing a blank. You follow her logic completely, but it doesn’t mean you like it any more.

“And there’s been no word from Dustin?” You turn to face the boys, who were doing a lot to look anywhere but you.

“Not since the woods at lunch time.” Lucas confirms.

“Oh, this is just fantastic.” You snipe, already turning on your heels to stomp over to the WSQK van.

Whatever sadness and longing you were feeling was beginning to be tempered with pools of rage. Especially at Dustin. It’s evil and you’re not proud of it but the only reasonable explanation you would accept would be if something had physically prevented him from coming. Of all the silly, inconsiderate, irresponsible things.

You’re practically vibrating when you yank the passenger door to the van open. Steve looks as pained to see you, not that you expected anything more.

“No Byers?” He asks. There's a tinge of hope in his tone.

“You got both of us.” You mutter. “Your lucky night.”

“Any word from the prince of darkness?” He presses.

You want to keep the chatting to a minimum now. Your threshold for nonsense today has been well and truly met. The way you were feeling now, it was getting harder to remember why you had completely turned yourself inside out for Dustin this weekend. Especially when you’re still having to maintain the proximity you are to Steve.

You know- bitterly- that if you asked Steve to hold you right now he would. And you need it. And you can’t.

“Do you think I’d be here if we had?”

“Right.” Steve chokes. “Look if you’re going to be here, I need us to be good while we’re out doing this.”

You turn to look round at him, surprised by the dampened sincerity. You’re about to open your mouth to say something when he interrupts.

“Nothing bad’s happened before, I know. I’ve just never had you here with me during the crawls. I already find it pretty distracting wondering if you’re safe when you're on look out. So you being here is–“ he’s looking purposefully down at the wheel. “It’s just that it’ll be on me to make sure nothing happens to you, so I need us to cooperate here.”

Your heart is doing the thunder and swell thing it does without your permission. You don’t know why you’re surprised by it anymore, it’s how it always is with Steve nowadays.

Without thinking you lean over and pull his hand off the wheel. Just because it wasn’t going to work out doesn’t mean you don’t understand exactly what he’s saying. The news of Will’s fresh connection to vecna meant that the suspected danger was as imminent as it had ever been. The tone of the night was sharper for everyone.

“Nothings going to happen.”

His fingers lace through yours like they had a hundred times before. Like there was never a time where they weren’t latched. He squeezes once in a silent response. You sit like that for a minute, both of you facing out the way of the windshield in silence. Hands clasped in your lap.

You only pull back when Jonathon swings the back door open. Any pretence of the gentle Steve you’d just had were gone, and he smirks back at Jonathon.

“You ready, Byers?”

-

You’re starting to think that you ought to stop verbally predicting smooth sailing from now on. Seems that whenever you do, it all goes to hell. You’re sitting in the front of the now broken down van, periodically turning back to look at Jonathon who’s white as a sheet.

There were a million thoughts flying around your head.

For one, you’d just had to listen to Jonathon get the update from Nancy on her family. We’d lost the signal on Hopper. Broke the van down. Holly was missing, and so was Dustin. In terms of shit creek, you were ten miles down without a paddle.

The first good thing that happened since you came out here was running into a kind samaritan who could give you a jump.

You were nervously turning and twisting the ring on your thumb, trying to put the things that had happened in a reasonable order but there was just no way to catalogue it. You guys had gone so long without trouble that you forgot how it feels when it all comes crashing down again.

“You worried about Dustin?” Jonathon asks from behind you, he sounds small.

You sigh and look round at him. You let a weak smile reach your face, a gesture that you were right there with him in his panic. “Not more than I’m worried about the Wheelers.”

Jonathon nods silently. Knowingly.

You were worried about Dustin. Terrified now. But then you think of Nancy and Mike, and the feeling dims.

You guys don’t delve much deeper into it. There wasn’t really much to say. It doesn’t last long anyway before Steve’s hopping back in.

“Our Good Samaritan is turning sour. I think she might’ve placed me.”

“Placed you?” Jonathon asks, leaning forward.

You also turn to raise an eyebrow at him. It didn’t take a genius to assume Steve would’ve flirted his way into the help, or that he already knew her. It hadn’t escaped you since you’d started seeing him that you were joining a long line of other women he’d pursued.

“Stood up her sister. Multiple occasions.” Steve confirms.

You bite back a scoff and roll your eyes. It's a reflex that you fold your arms across your chest like a petulant child.

“Of course.” You mutter to yourself.

Sometimes you think that maybe it was better off that your attachment to Steve had been taken out of your hands because despite all of his loyalty and doting, you knew he could be capable of hefty destruction when he wanted to.

He catches your jealous wife routine and the corners of a smirk perk the edge of his lips. If Jonathon wasn’t here you imagine this interaction would’ve gone differently. In the sense that unfortunately for you, you kind of like the cocky look on him.

You’re thankful that he is.

“You get a hold of Nance?” Steve asks.

It’s all very solemn again. For a couple seconds you could forget what was happening. But the reality was always an overarching cloud waiting to break its banks upon all of you. You could feel the pressure bending along the glue that was holding the plan together.

“Dads in an induced coma. Moms in surgery.” Jonathon clarifies. “They’re not going to know anything for a couple hours.”

You feel for him. You can’t imagine how hard it is that he has to be here with us instead of her. It must sting that extra bit that ‘us’ is also Steve.

“Do you think we should go see her?” Steve asks, rubbing the back of his hand on his face.

You peek back to catch the question wash over Jonathon. It was a shitty thing to ask. He was obviously agonising over the dilemma already. But we can’t exactly abandon the mission. Not with Hop somewhere under us, no connection to a way back.

“Steve.” You press.

“No. We stick to the mission.” Jonathon sighs. “Find Hopper, find eleven, and find Holly.”

You don’t want to push in the middle of the interaction that you could already see playing out ahead of you. Steve, for all the good intentions he has, is always going to be stepping on Jonathan's toes with Nancy.

“That seems complicated. Like it might take a lot of time.” Steve says, not really looking at either of you. “Maybe we could stop at the hospital on the way? Bring her some flowers or something.”

Whatever jealous that had brewed at the suggestion of Steve with the girl outside had barely subsided before you were springing your head back up to look at him. Your eyes are narrowed almost entirely into slits. You don’t need to look behind you to know that Jonathon was probably welling with the same emotion.

Steve catches the look immediately.

“What?”

“We’re not bringing her flowers, Steve. We focus on this. Nancy’s with her family, she’s with Mike. Holly is alone, and probably terrified.” You bite at him. “Jonathon’s right, we finish the mission.”

You can see the hurt and confusion glazing over his eyes. You can’t think of a time you’ve ever had to use a tone like this with him. You can’t remember a time though where you’ve felt like slapping him up the head though.

You don’t feel any kind of real threat about his worry for Nancy other than that he loves forever you suppose. But you know it made Jonathon feel bad. You could see it.

“What’s with the biting my head off?” He asks sitting round to look at you more. “Did what we spoke about early not make it clear to you that I can’t do passive aggression with you. During this.”

Suddenly none of this was about the flowers comment or Nancy. It always came back around to the elephant in the room that was suffocating you both.

“I just don’t think you’re using your head.” You mutter.

“Oh, what am I using then?” He spars back.

“You do not want me to answer that.”

He’s looking at you like you’ve throat punched him and you can see whatever digging comment he has locked and loaded brewing up onto the surface but it’s cut off by Jonathon groaning dramatically.

“I know you guys are clearly going through some kind of break up, and if this was any normal day, I’d leave you to it but I need you guys to stop being so selfish and focus on what really matters.” The decibel he’s speaking at is about twice as loud as Jonathan's usual tortured soul whisper cadence.

You and Steve both whip round in shock and in some ways for you– shame. Because he’s right. You guys are being wickedly self-centred right now.

You want to apologise to him but before you can there’s an aggressive prolonged horn signaling that the girl had finally had enough of this charade.

The fright pulls your eyes outward to the pitch you guys were parked up next to you, and you catch sight of the looming figure pushing a bike approaching you.

“Dustin.” You whisper and lunge out the van.

He raised his hand in a weak gesture. His face is completely battered open. His nose looks broken, at best. Two black eyes. T-shirt torn.

If you didn’t know better you’d have said he’d been hunted by a demogorgon but you know the handy work of teenage bullies when you saw it.

You wrap him up into your arms and hold his head into you, like you’re trying to nest him somewhere safe where he can’t be harmed ever again.

The shock registers that he’s even letting you do this. So you know whatever had happened was bad.

You pull him and the bike over to the van where he hops in back with Jonathon. You don’t take your eyes off of him until he’s in the safe confines of the metal. You were considering locking him in it and never letting him out again. When you hop back into the van Steve is looking at you like he wanted to reach over and scoop you in. Just the way you imagine you looked when you saw Dustin.

It’s all short lived because he had to get out to detach the cables and close up the hood.

You’re spun round and looking at him before you can stop it. You guys go over the main events. The Wheelers, the lost signal, Holly. But you don’t bother to let it sink before you’re asking him for some answers.

“Your face?” You demand. “And where have you been? Do you know how sick with worry I’ve been?”

He’s nodding numbly at you. You look at him with expectation.

“I’m going to need words here.”

He evades your looks. “I fell off my bike.”

You spin round to bite your knuckles in rage, just as Steve is climbing up front again to start the van.

You know that it was Andy and co. For the hellfire top. There was no doubt in your mind.

“You must think I was born yesterday, Dustin Henderson.” You’re almost yelling. The other two boys in the van are avoiding looking at you for fear of catching stray fire. “I told you what would happen if you wore that shirt out. You might not like me very much right now, but I love you. So you can’t lie to me, or disappear because I won’t let you. And if you think you’re not grounded until college, you’ve got another thing coming.”

You don’t notice Steve’s hand moving off the wheel while you chew him out, but you feel his hand grasping round your knee. It would be almost unnoticeable to the untrained eye but you feel some of the fire inside you subside. You want to thank him with your eyes but you’re too busy keeping a locked gaze on Dustin.

“You don’t have the authority to ground me.” He scoffs.

“Try me.”

He’s already full of excuses. He throws them all out. That we ought to have known how to keep the signal, how he’d been on route to the squawk but you’re barely listening because all that you can hear is the blood whooshing around your ears.

“I don’t want to hear it. I really don’t, Dustin.”

You turn back to face the road, but you can hear his wry chuckle from the back.

“I mean, I don’t think you’ve got the moral high ground to stand on right now.”

You don’t have the time to spin back to let him have it, because Steve’s turned back for you.

“Jesus Christ, Henderson! Just admit it, you’re wrong this time.”

You look at him mouth agape.

“Can all of you shut up! I’m trying to listen.” Jonathon yells.

The car falls into an uneasy silence.

Steve doesn’t take his hand off your knee.

-

The rest of the ride around G1 is a bust.

You want to be surprised but you’re not. It would never be that simple.

You’re lucky that Robin and Will came up with something at least. Even if the plan was for us to commit a quadruple felony, fight a demogorgon and go into the upside down. You weren’t exactly thrilled with the prospect of kidnapping an entire family.

Everyone was sleep deprived but you were working over time with it because you were coming up to 48 hours of almost no sleep. The plan made less and less sense every hour that passed without rest.

You were no closer to relinquishing your anger with Dustin, and the feeling was clearly mutual.

You were just thankful that the basement had been cleared out. You didn’t feel like offering to lend you services to getting Erica or collecting benzos. No one seemed to mind.

You don’t realise that you’d fallen asleep sitting up until you’re nudged awake by Steve. For a second you forget where you are and are just thankful to see his face.

He’s leant forward over you, sort of rubbing what you think might be hair off your face. You register what’s going on finally. You spring forward and find the basement still barren before you, other than Steve.

“Hey.” He whispers, “don’t rush up, I don’t think you’ve been asleep long. Think everyone’s thinking they’re going to head home to grab a change of clothes before tonight. You want me to take you?”

“Dustin?” You ask, sitting up instead of answering him.

He sighs and stands up so as not to crowd you. “He’s upstairs mutilating my car.”

You pull your eyebrows together and look up at him.

“Am I still half-asleep?”

Steve laughs half heartedly. “No, he’s using my car for the antenna. And while we’re on that I think that makes us even for me banging his sister.”

“Is that what it was? You banging me?” You tease.

You were tiptoeing dangerously close to the invisible line you’d drawn. You want to say it’s light hearted but it’s not.

“You know it wasn’t just that.” He mumbles shifting from foot to foot.

“He’s okay with me hopping a ride with you?” You inquire standing up to face him now.

“I didn’t really ask. Needs to be done. I’m happy to be of service.”

“I bet.”

The space between you guys seems to have closed in much closer. Like magnets pulling against the force of each other. The sudden turn of life or death events dwarfs the need to be selfless for once. You just want to feel him close to you.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” He whispers.

Your noses are brushing now, and you can feel your lips tingling with his breath hitting them.

Just when your lips brush his, you hear the sliding door to the basement being pulled open and you can’t stop the refraction of yourself backwards, crashing right back down to earth.

“Car’s done!” Dustin yells down.

You clear your throat and stalk back up the stairs without looking back

-

Dustin opts not to join you in going home to get changed. You doubt he’d have made it long through the door before mom was on him about his face, so it was better that way anyway. There was no room to talk about the situation between you and Steve in the basement. Particularly because you guys had dropped Robin off at hers first with the intention of swinging back to collect her.

Steve had a stash of clothes in the boot, so the only destination was yours.

You hadn’t expected you would ever have Steve in your house again, after Saturday. You’re thankful when you find that mom isn’t home when you guys come through. You’d offered Steve to wait in the car but he’d dismissed it before you even got the words out.

“No mom.” Steve points out when you get down the hall to your room.

“Guess so.” You mutter.

The pile of washing you’d stress folded still sat under the sill of your window. Suspended in time the way you found your house was. It seemed like no matter what happened out there, when you came home it was like time remained unmoved. Unchanged by the brutality of the supernatural bullshit you guys keep facing.

Steve doesn’t think twice and hopping up on the bed.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “You just going to watch me get changed then?”

He grins back at you, unphased by your pointed question. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

You sigh, and shift over to pull a fresh pair of folded jeans and jumper from the pile. “We’re still not meant to be doing this.” You point out.

“Funny way of showing it.” He laughs. “I mean, if Dustin hadn’t interrupted us, you’d have kissed me not even an hour ago.”

You find it hard to find flaw in his logic and perch on the bed opposite him, knees folded underneath you. “Why is this so difficult?”

You had barely managed 12 hours without almost completely giving in to this. The reality of it was that you were no closer to having a blessing from Dustin. He was barely even speaking to you after your outburst in the van. But it was like a switch had been flipped for you.

You’d gotten a taste of something that was just yours and you were realising that you were powerless how you feel about Steve. You could promise Dustin till you were blue in the face that you’d stay away but you can’t.

Steve knows that too. That’s why he’s felt so confident in pushing the boundaries you’d set.

“Because you love me.” He says it like it’s a matter of fact. And it was.

You did.

“I do. I’m sorry I’ve not said it before now.” You whisper looking down at your hands dancing nervously over your jeans.

He pulls your hand off your lap to bring you in closer. “You still haven’t.” He points out.

You look up at him, he’s smiling like he wasn’t worried about whether you’d say the actual words. Even if you left it at that it would be enough for him because that’s who Steve is to you. Someone who doesn’t require you to give things you might not want to give.

“I love you.”

You see the shock register on him in real time. He sits forward, as if being pulled by strings.

“Yeah?” He asks, grin pulling his checks almost up to his ears.

It’s infectious. You’re doing it back before you can help it. It’s nice to feel something is worth smiling about, especially when you know what lay ahead of you tonight.

“Yeah.” You confirm back in a whisper.

He drags you forward to kiss you. Nothing is surmountable to the relief you feel moving your mouth against his. The bruising weight you’d been carrying felt suddenly light. You were floating through air, shifting to straddle yourself over him.

The dragging force of your neck down to him is all you feel beyond the tingle that’s set all your limbs alight.

You wish there was nothing else to do. No monsters to kill or missing children to find so you could stay wrapped in this moment forever.

But it’s not simple. Not in Hawkins.

The crackle of the radio and Robin's voice declaring she was ready when you are pulls you out of the vivid fantasy you have of a world where you and Steve are just normal twenty-one year olds in an empty house.

You stare at each other for a minute, mouths swollen and red, chests shattering up and down.

“Later?” He asks.

“Later.” You confirm.

You know you should worry about the dangers that lie ahead. And the impending wrath of your little brother, but for now you’re just taking the win you so rarely get.

TAGLIST:

Before that, with the little memories you still have, you were maybe a pinch type A. You would organise your stuffed toys in a uniformed row, babbling to a still toddler Dustin about the correct order for which organising would be most practical.

The backdrop of your parents fighting distant while you perfected the stuffed animals. At the young age you were and being shouldered with the burden of your infant brother, it was the only thing you could think to do in times of great stress. After he took off- cementing the timely demise of your already shaky home- you became decidedly less type A and more type neurotic.

In fact, your duties were so over developed that your life ended up less yours and more ours.

Dustin was precocious as a young boy, and filled with a boundless thirst to learn. Something that your mum was ill prepared for in the darker years after her gilting. Somewhere between pigtails on a swing and who you were now, you had become responsible for two children.

Yourself and Dustin.

So began the eleven years following. The parties you’d miss to pick him up from the Wheelers and ferry him off to bed, or the packing of his lunches you did instead of eating before school. Years of servitude that you can’t bring yourself to resent because of the love that would swell when he’d toothlessly smile at you as he’d doddle out of school.

It was second nature now to never do anything for yourself first. Including not going to college in favour of staying here to see Dustin through school.

What you hadn’t anticipated was the apocalypse that followed.

There was a part of you that wondered if it was divine intervention that ensured you couldn’t leave. Or that it was ironic that now that Dustin was finally old enough and independent enough for you to be selfish for a while you get trapped inside a dystopian under-the-dome scenario.

You had been selfless for so long now that it was all you knew. Which is all the more why the situation you’d found yourself in was so troubling.

The situation being that you had been fooling around with Steve Harrington behind the back of the brother you’d given up just about everything to make happy.

The trouble really started after the lockdown.

Steve had kind of just been background noise to you in high school. Everyone had been. The truth of the matter is that before Will disappeared you had found little need to interact with anyone from classes.

You found it hard to explain to people the set up you had. You didn’t imagine it would be appealing to have to bring your kid brother anytime you wanted to go to the mall with a friend or having to decline party invites because Dustin needed dinner. So you just hadn’t bothered.

And then three years ago you find Hawkins high royalty walking round the woods with your little brother.

That’s not to say you guys were close. In actuality up until a month ago Steve was nothing more to you than an extra pair of hands you had so desperately needed with Dustin, what with suddenly having to keep him out of mortal peril. Constantly.

Maybe it was the fact that you knew you couldn’t leave Hawkins, or maybe it was the compiling weight of clandestine meetings in the basement at the radio station coercing you guys into forced proximity. All you know is that one night you were the last people there and something snapped.

Dustin had taken off on his own that night. Again. You had just about reached your limits with his newly adopted attitude. It had been the longest amount of time you’d ever spent alone with Steve, by and large because he was Dustin’s friend.

You guess it was just a build up of misplaced energy because one minute you guys were cleaning up the mess of maps and coffee cups and the next you were making out on top of one of the tables.

The sex had maybe been a misinformed idea. At the time you had figured that if you were gonna do something wrong, you should go all in.

Especially if there was a chance you wouldn’t see another opportunity to have sex for the unspecified duration of captivity.

The shame afterward was hard to stomach. Which is all the more surprising when it happened again.

And again.

And again.

Leading you right back to where you are now; getting groped in the back of a WSQK van, wondering just how you’d allowed yourself to become so untethered to the sensible person you are.

Steve was kissing you roughly, there was no pretence of nicety now. You weren’t in some kind of romcom.

No, what you and Steve had was dirty. Shameful.

The shag carpet of the van tickles your back on the expanse of bare skin from your hiked up top. His hands were working their way down to unbutton your jeans, there was already a quiver in your chest from the anticipation.

“Not that I don’t love whatever this is, Henderson,” he’s unzipped your jeans now, hand dancing along your low stomach, in a way that makes it hard to listen to him. “But explain to me again why we can’t just do this in bed, like normal people.”

You want to shove him by the head for attempting to kill the moment by bringing this topic up for the second time this week, but you don’t. That would mean stopping what was going to happen next.

Instead, you huff and roll you both so that you’re the one straddling him. “Because you’re Dustin’s only positive male role model now and if he finds out you’re doing his sister it’ll snuff out the light inside of him.”

What’s left of it after last year.

Steve’s hands have enclosed on your ass, grinding you gently into his clothed crotch.

“I don’t think I’m the role model you think I am. I am doing his sister, what kind of person does that make me?” His tone is joking, so is the wry smirk he’s wearing but you still mock slap his chest.

“Exactly. Which is why we’re not making this a bigger thing than we need to.” You’re dragging your hands down his bare chest to hook your fingers in his jeans, to which he tilts his head back to let out a shaky breath. “So can we stop talking about this now? You’re killing the mood.”

Steve’s leaning up on his arms, leaning his weight back into them and looking at you quizzically. In a way that makes you less horny, and more examined. The hint of a smile that dances on his lips makes you feel more exposed than any time he’d actually seen you naked.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of bossy?” His head is tilted regarding you like he was suddenly very fond of you.

The whole thing about Steve was that you viewed him as an easy mark. You weren’t looking to make him fall in love with you because there was nothing that could be done about it. Not while Dustin’s the way he is right now. Even though you’re keenly aware that the only thing keeping you above water right now is getting an hour with Steve every other day in secret.

“Since I was five.” You confirm and smash down to kiss him again, hoping to avoid any more gentle flirting that was decidedly not looking much like foreplay anymore.

He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back, his hands snake back to your rear. He’s breaking the kisses to whisper to you. “I…kind of,” another peck on your lips, “like it.”

You’re groaning forwardly into his mouth, and you move to pull your shirt over head. It all stopped short rather quickly when there was a rattling in the front of the van. You follow the thudding footsteps to the back of the van.

“STEVE?” There’s a pulling at the handle of the back door.

You know your little brother's agitated impatience when you hear it. You pull a look of bewilderment to Steve, whose eyebrows are pulled together as tightly as yours.

“Did you know he was here?” You whisper.

Steve shrugs back at you. You know it’s been quiet for too long. You slap Steve’s bare chest and gesture aggressively to the side of the van.

“What? Oh. OH.” He grabs his shirt from the floor next to him. “Yeah man. What’s up?” He calls out, as you push yourself off him to fluff your hair. He does not sound as breezy as you’d want him to. In fact, it’s breathless almost.

Your heart is thudding in your throat. It’s not like Dustin knows you’re in here but you can’t think of any reason why you would be if he asked. You could say you were helping with equipment but it’s not like you work here. And your special job on crawls is taking watch, not radio frequencies.

“Is my sister in there?” He calls back.

You inwardly sigh.

“Yeah, Dustin. I'm here.” You wait until Steve is dressed, and inspect his face before you open the door. You guys had almost been caught two weeks prior due to a lipgloss malfunction.

If anything you guys were getting worse at being subtle, but you hadn’t been amply prepared for whatever this was.

Once you’re assured it’s all fine, Steve pushes forward to unlock the door. Dustin looks as aggravated as he sounded. You wince when you see him standing, arms crossed like a small child throwing a tantrum.

“Why was the door locked?” He doesn’t sound accusing. You know that his trusting nature probably wouldn’t allow him to consider that you were fondling each other.

“I’m teaching Steve some of the electrical stuff for the next crawl, I wasn’t exactly trying to broadcast it to any random person coming past.” The lie rolls off your tongue expertly and you have to block out the little voice in your head screaming that you were a crappy sister to lie to him like that.

He barely even acknowledges what you’ve said, he’s too busy breaking out into why he’d needed you in the first place. Something about his bike chain being broken and coming here to find Steve, and seeing your car instead.

“Can we go? Now?”

You steal a look at Steve who seems less than impressed by the tone with which he was speaking to you.

Another thing about what you guys were doing was that Dustin had kind of been impossible to cooperate with recently. You knew it wasn’t his fault. Not by a mile.

You’re not sure what seeing your best friend dying in your arms does to you, not specifically anyway but there was nothing in Dustin’s behaviour that surprises you after. Not that it makes it any less challenging for you. The moody, sarky, aggressive boy you were looking at now was nothing like the little boy you’d practically raised.

And you weren’t the only one feeling it.

“Dude, don’t talk to your sister like that.” Steve mutters, pushing his way out of the van with a shake of his head.

You want to tell him to stop but the support didn’t go unappreciated. It wasn’t a secret that you’d been finding his attitude hard to handle, especially when you know that a lot of it wasn’t his fault. You’d still given up most of your twenty-one years to provide care for him, and now he seemed to want nothing more than for you to disappear.

“Wasn’t aware you were her white knight, Steve.” He mutters sourly.

You can see the clench in Steve’s jaw, and it wasn’t exactly like you could put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It hadn’t been easy for Steve either. For some reason he’d become the scapegoat for a lot of the pain Dustin was clearly carrying around after Eddie.

“Dustin, why don’t you take my keys to get in the car. I need to finish putting some of the equipment away.” Again you lie all too easily.

You’d gone pro at this point.

Dustin snatches your keys and disappears behind the door, off into the dark car park to your car. You’re letting out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. You sit on the bed of the truck, pressing your elbows into your knees and your palms into your eyes. It was two-fold, you were thankful he wasn’t suspicious at all– but also there was the fact that he wasn’t suspicious because he was too busy being so angry.

“You okay?” Steve asks, stroking the back of your head. You’re welcome for the comfort and lean back into it.

There were moments like these where you reframe Steve in your mind. Yeah, the sex was awesome and you were thankful for the distraction but it was nice to have someone taking care of you sometimes. Even if it was because you guys were sleeping together occasionally.

“I’m good.” You sigh. “Just coming down from the shock.”

Steve hums, he doesn’t sound convinced. “How long are we letting him pull this for? Look at you, you’re a ball of nerves.”

You know Steve’s right. That you’re not helping him by allowing him to treat the people he loved like trash but also you can’t think of how to tell him that without sounding like you were saying you didn’t care that he was suffering.

“He’s hurting, Steve. What am I to do?” You whine.

In the eleven years since you’d unofficially become his primary caregiver, you’d never not known what to do.

Steve’s looking at you empathetically, still stroking you gently. “We’re not doing him any favors. Everyone’s lost something.”

“Well–“

You’re cut off from your train of thought at the shrill, continuous beep of your car horn. You’re sighing once more, getting up to head over.

Steve’s looking at you again, unimpressed with how you were rudely being summoned. You shrug and plaster a fake smile on. “Duty calls.”

You push forward to kiss him on the cheek, a quiet thank you for his help. He drags you back when you try to pull back and lamps one right on your lips. You have a thought that you hope you’re appropriately covered but it’s gone by the time Steve’s tongue is brushing yours. His hands are warming up your cheeks, you’d hadn’t realised they’d been getting eaten by the cold of night.

When you pull back he lays his forehead on yours.

You guys were definitely starting to walk the tight rope of this no longer being just a physical thing. You know because right now you don’t want to stay to have sex, you want to stay to curl up into his side.

You smile and pull back. “I’m going now.”

Steve’s smiling back, like it was all so easy to him. “Call me?”

“We’ll see.”

-

As usual, Dustin makes it a personal challenge to not speak to you once during the car ride home. And upon entry to the house, he took off to his room, slam punctuating the fact that he didn’t want to be around you.

You find that you’re by yourself once more in the expanse of your childhood home. Mom would have long since taken herself off to bed with the cat; not that you guys would have had a thrilling conversation had she still been up.

You’d gotten used to being alone in the house now.

The trouble with being alone is that it leaves you all sorts of time to think about all the problems that lay in your wake. There was the upcoming crawl, Dustin’s crash out era and the feeling you were trying to shake that you might be depending on Steve more than you want to admit.

You spend the hours up until midnight agonising over them all, a never ending cycle of talking yourself down, only to come back to the first niggling anxiety thought you’d started with.

The call to your house phone startles your continuous waking nightmare. You know it’ll be Steve before you answer. He’s the only person that would ever call this late.

This was a new development also. The midnight calls to discuss the day, even if we’d seen each other just hours previous. You wondered pitifully if it was the loneliness on Steve’s end, knowing that it wasn’t that for you at all. Not by a mile. It had gotten to the point where it didn’t feel like the day was done if you didn’t speak to Steve, sometimes even falling asleep while still on the phone.

“What time do you call this?” You answer, a running gag between you guys.

He’s chuckling breathlessly down the phone. “Sorry, I’m looking for this really hot girl I was hanging out with in my van today. You wouldn’t happen to know her?”

You ignore the flip of your stomach, trying to pretend that his voice doesn’t give you a bad case of the fluffy’s.

“Hm, I think you’ve got the wrong number. I’d better get off so you can find her…”

“No– no, definitely don’t do that.” He splutters. “I think you’d better stay and keep me company. I’m in this big cold bed all by myself… You know if you got over your aversion to having sex in beds, you could be here too?”

You’re rolling your eyes before you even mean to. This back and forth seemed to be a worm in Steve’s brain currently. It wasn’t that you didn’t want that. You did. You really did. It just didn’t seem feasible to keep up the secret charade while having sleepovers at each other's house.

“I can feel you rolling your eyes at me, Henderson.” He scolds.

“If you feel that, can you also feel what I’m going to say next?”

“We can’t do that because then you’d have to tell your basically-an-adult brother that we’re sleeping together. Blah, blah blah.” Even though he’s teasing and putting on your voice, which if anyone else did you would despise, you find yourself smiling into the darkness of your room.

“Aw, you do listen to me.”

“How could I not when I like the sound of your voice so much?” He says it casually but what he’s saying is anything but casual.

“Steve.” You press.

You wanted to hear him say stuff like this so bad that it almost hurt. But the reality of the situation was that you guys were just fooling yourselves. First off, Dustin wouldn't be alright with it. You knew your brother better than anyone, his blessing was not something you could predict in the near future.

Secondly, you had doubts of your own. Doubts that it mustn’t be a coincidence that the minute you can’t leave town, slicing the dating pool down to very little, that Steve finally notices your existence. The minute this is all over you’ll be chopped liver again. So it seemed redundant to blow up your life for that.

He sighs in defeat. “I know, a guy can always dream though. How was the ride home?”

You know without him saying that he’s asking about Dustin.

“Oh, it was just delightful. In fact, couldn’t shut him up. And then when we got home he braided my hair and we watched sixteen candles.”

“Okay, grumpy. No need for the sarcasm.”

You petulantly pout, even though you know he can’t see you.

“It was exactly how it’s been for months. He couldn’t be less interested in talking to me. He took off to his room as soon as we got home.” You try not to sound as sad as you do.

The silence was probably the hardest part. It wasn’t fun not knowing where he was ever, but not hearing his silly rambles about stuff sucked. It made you wish you hadn’t taken it for granted.

“This fucking kid. Are you sure you don’t want me to say anything?”

Steve’s been watching you torment yourself over this for months. Even before you guys started up. It was hard not to notice the tremendous stress you’ve been under trying to keep him above water. You’d never been impotent like this before. Dustin was deferential to you in all ways before this. It’s not like you enjoy having the control but at least you could keep him safe if he let you in on his schemes.

Now it was like living with a ghost. A ghost that hates you.

“Definitely not. It’ll just make it worse. Especially coming from you. He just needs time.”

The more you say this, the less you believe it was the only problem.

Steve sounds unsure when he hums in agreement. “I miss you.”

You’re giggling before you can help yourself. “You saw me four hours ago.”

“I know but you were stolen away from me early. These four hours cut into valuable time.”

The smile on your face is actually starting to hurt.

“You’re just upset because you’re blue ballin’” you joke, trying to lighten the tension you were suddenly feeling.

“I mean, yeah, obviously. But I just miss you, generally.” He sounds mopey, and you’re sure that if you could see him right now he’d be looking all tortured and pensive. “You coming to the squawk tomorrow?”

You’re stifling a yawn when you count the days in your head to work out is in fact Saturday tomorrow. Well today, if you count that it’s now a quarter past midnight.

“I was planning on it, yeah. You trying to trick me into coming to see you?”

“You see right through me, babe.”

-

You were not having a good morning.

Every morning you had been trying to keep up some pretence of positivity. That maybe today would be the day that would see the end of Dustin’s suffering or that maybe you’d get the call that miraculously you guys knew that vecna was dead and life could resolve back into some kind of normalcy.

And every day you are reminded that things are never that easy. Not in Hawkins.

To start with, you’d burnt the toast, which wouldn’t have alone set you up for the sour mood you’d come to. But then you’d knocked on Dustin’s door hoping to coax him into coming with you to the squawk.

Only to find his bedroom empty, bed made over.

You were growing weary of his constant flight risk status. It was more often than not that you found him already departed each morning. But less so on the weekends, without school to see to.

The cloying panic carried you out to your car hoping to speed your way to the radio station and find him already set up shop. Instead, your car had decided that today of all days was the time to finally give up on you.

It had long past been on its last legs. You were insistent that it was because it had character when people (mostly Steve) would tell you it was time to consider putting it into retirement.

You had decided apathetically that it just wasn’t your day. Not at all.

You had reached peace with it by the time you’d called Nancy for a ride, knowing that she’d be heading to the same place as you. Not before you beat the living hell out of your steering wheel and weeped a while.

The final, and most cutting part of your morning was having to wait for said ride in the over-populated and overstimulating Wheeler-Byers household. You didn’t know how they were living like this, on top of each other all the time because you’d spent all but five minutes in there and were ready to pull every last strand of hair from your head.

At least you’d gotten time to corner Will and Mike about the whereabouts of your brother.

“Guys, can you hold on a sec.” You call out to them before they ride off from Nancy's car, opting to take their bikes.

They turn to look at you expectantly. “Do you know where Dustin is?”

Monoslavic as ever teenage boys are, they both shrug like you’d asked them to jump off a cliff or something.

“Awesome. Great talk.” The stress was starting to make your patience run thin, especially when they turned back and took off in the direction you, Nancy and Jonathon would be heading too.

You’re sighing, mostly to yourself when you sink against the back seat.

The couple are also looking at you now with barely concealed concern.

“You don’t know where he is?” Jonathon asked.

You slap your hands against your thighs in exasperation. “Of course I don’t. Apparently leaving me a note to say he’s not dead in a ditch or beat to death for wearing his hellfire top would just be too easy.”

Nancy is facing the road but pulling up to make eye contact with you in the rear mirror. “Don’t you think it’s time to talk to him about it? Tell him he can’t keep putting himself at risk?”

You’re laughing sardonically. “You sound like Steve. I really don’t want to push him away even more. If I chastise him for grieving, he’ll never speak to me again.”

Nancy's eyebrows are pulled together like she’s deep in thought.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Steve recently.”

The flush batters up your neck and over your cheeks, you push your chin down into your chest to avoid her prodding nature.

“Nancy.” Jonathon bites.

“What? She has. Maybe Dustin’s noticed and that’s why he’s being so evasive.”

You ponder it for a moment. It could’ve been a little bit to do with that but he’d been hanging by a thread even before.

You shake your head at her. “It’s definitely the Eddie stuff.”

The utterance of his name creates an uneasy tension in the air. None of us spoke about it much. His death had been tough for all of you to stomach, especially because you’d been so close to it when it happened. But it didn’t change that it was the truth.

Nancy nods back at you sadly and you ride in silence the rest of the way there.

When you arrive at the squawk you don’t wait for them to come out with you. You’re hot on the trail of hope that you’ll find him in there, arguing with Steve about this or that. But all you find when you arrive is Robin and Steve closing up their morning show.

You enter so abruptly that they look at you as if you’d appeared on fire.

“Dustin?” Is all you ask, pleading.

Robin sadly shakes her head. This not being the first time this had happened of late.

“He’s taken off? Again?” Steve has circled round the booth to come over close by, but not touching– but definitely wanting to. You can tell by the way his hands twitch.

There’s nothing you’d want more for him than to just ignore your strict instructions and do it anyway because with the day you were having you needed it.

You’re nodding numbly and crash down on the ancient leather sofa.

“And my car gave up this morning. I swear I’ve pissed off some sort of ancient deity because I’m cursed.”

Steve chuckles to himself mostly and flops down next to you. Robin seems to have decided to busy herself with the organisation of tapes. “You’re not cursed, crazy. You’re just stressed.” He’s discretely enveloped your hand in his, holding them on his lap. “How’d you get here?”

Before you can tell him that Nancy had been your saviour this morning, you hear the sounds of her and Jonathon speaking as they come in. As if by instinct you’re snatching your hand back from Steve and readjusting yourself so that you’re stiffer sitting next to him on the sofa.

He sighs, and it lands like a rock in your gut because you know he’s getting sick of this. Sick of the lying and the pretending.

Hell, you were too. It was getting harder to lie to yourself that you weren’t maybe a little close to falling in love with him.

“You want me to take you home tonight at least?”

You turn to find him smiling weakly back at you, all hopeful and longing. Your heart melts in real time.

“Obviously.”

-

The day followed like all the other days since we’d been trapped like rats in Hawkins. You’d go over plans for when the next burn would roll around. Discuss the perimeters you’d be following next. The probability that it would even do anything this time.

Dustin never ended up appearing. You were less than pleasant to be around. Every hour he didn’t show up you become more and more irritable.

By the time you and Steve were driving back to the house, you were practically foaming at the mouth agitated. Not even the smoothing circles he was rubbing into your thigh were distracting you now.

The house is desolate when you get back. There’s no sign of life in any part of the house. It’s easy to assume where mom is. Maybe playing bridge at the rec centre, or book club. But Dustin. When you skid down the hall you find his room just as you’d left it. Except now shrouded in shadows from the closing in of night.

You don’t even pretend you’re not sulking when you mope back to your room, finding Steve laying on your bed.

“No?” He asks.

You shake your head and fall face first onto the space next to him. You’re crying before you can stop it. The stress of today has finally broken the dam.

“Baby.” You heard Steve coo, “c’mere.”

You’re being folded up into his arms, despite your hands still covering the tears you were mortified that you hadn’t been able to stifle. His nose is pressed into your hair; you can tell because he pecks the crown of your head sporadically.

“God, I’m being so stupid. He’s not ten anymore. I’m just so worried about him.”

You’re violently rubbing the residual tears away, trying to cool down the rawness of the skin.

Steve’s looking at you now, the lines on his face are telling you all you need to know about what he’s going to say.

“When he gets back, I’m talking to him.” You sit up to protest only to be met with his palm telling you to stop before you start. “I don’t wanna hear it. I’m tired of watching you suffer. This will help both of you in the long run.”

You’re sitting up now, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. There’s so many things you want to say back but you can’t even will yourself to do it. You were completely burnt out.

“What’re you thinking?” Steve whispers, pulling your hair off of your left shoulder to stroke your neck.

Before you can stop it from spilling out; it’s gone. “I’m worried I’m being punished for sleeping with you behind his back.”

Steve’s hand stills entirely.

He’s laughing humourlessly as he pushes himself all the way back to lean against the headboard.

“You’re unbelievable.”

You twist round in shock, not expecting the bitter tone. Steve had never spoken to you like that. Not once in the years you’d known him and definitely not since you’d started seeing each other.

“What?” You’re bewildered.

“I’ve known you for a long time now, and I’ve never seen you do wrong by that kid. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do one thing for yourself. Now, you’re finally doing something that- not that I’m tooting my own horn- might be making you a little bit happy, you’re doing everything you can to sabotage it.” He’s not being mean, that wouldn’t be the right word but he just seems resigned to it.

“What is that? Why do you do that? Why won’t you let me take you out on a date? Or even just let me sleep in the same bed as you? I’m trying so hard to love you and you won’t let me.”

The shock is like an electrical current. He doesn’t seem particularly worried about what he’d said. No, it seemed to be that Steve was relieved that he’d finally got it all out.

“Love me? Steve, you’re being insane. You don’t love me. We’re just wasting some time together to distract ourselves from our very sad reality.”

It’s odd, because there was no part of you that wasn’t thrilled about what he said. It was like music to your ears. But like all good things that come to you, you have to fight back against it, because you’re too busy looking ten miles ahead for all the things bound to go wrong.

He’s snorting back, completely unbothered by your harsh words. He seems to have ascended to some place where he’s above it all.

“You can keep telling yourself that but I don’t buy it. You can say it’s because of Dustin, or because we’re quarantined here. You know what you can even say it’s just because you like fucking me but I know what this is. I know how I feel and I know you feel the same.” It’s all whispers now. He’s edging forward like he’s trying to prevent scaring off you.

You think of all the things Steve does for you. The midnight calls every night, that he knows how you like your coffee, the fact that he always knows exactly what to say. You’re trying to find excuses or evidence that would suggest what he was saying was a lie, but you couldn’t find a single one.

“Stop trying to find a reason to talk yourself out of getting something that’ll make you happy.”

You’re realising that telling him you don’t feel the same might be a pointless endeavour. Not when it’s so clear that you don’t fool him one bit.

“Steve, even if I do feel the same, this conversation is useless. Things are too complicated right now.”

He’s pushing forward so he’s that bit closer to you now. “See. This is exactly what I’m talking about. For once in your life can you just be a little bit selfish.”

The words are taking siege on your firm resolve. You know what you should do is shut this down before it has the chance to ruin things even further. And you definitely shouldn’t be considering letting him stay here and holding you in your bed till morning for the first time. It’s all fleeting word scramble to you now because you know you can’t say no.

You nod weakly, no longer able to keep a clear focus on anything except his mouth.

“Good girl.”

He’s waging war on you now. Using all the things only he can against you. He pulls you down and cages you between him and bed before stealing hot fevered kisses upon your lips.

It’s different on a bed. It feels more intimate somehow.

For one, there’s more space to strip off layer by layer instead of removing vital parts for reasonable access. He can pull your top overhead without accidentally banging on the roof of a car.

For two, it feels safer to relinquish the paranoia of a time restraint.

He’s moving down your body at a glacial pace. Kissing the acres of skin; some completely unseen by him before. You guys carry on like this for some inconceivable length of time. It could've been minutes or hours but it was irrelevant now.

For the first time there was no barrier, no illusion that it was just a nothing to write off.

When his fingers push up to rub the well of damp between your legs, you had almost forgotten that you were going to have sex because it didn’t feel like you were rushing to the finish line. There was no feeling of shame, it was just all him.

“You’re so wet.” He groans into your neck. And you know you are.

You can feel the desperation clawing your throat, you want to scream, but it comes out all a broken whine.

The flex of his fingers feels punishing. It’s taking all your motor functions. All you can do is keen upward, trying to chase the hook of his ring and index finger, sunk deep within you. But every time you try to meet them he’s halting, trying to keep you in foreplay limbo for as long as possible. He seems to have grasped the new horizon of possibilities a bedroom allows you.

“Take it easy, baby. We’ve got all night.” He’s being mean, it’s hard not to feel like it was all the foreplay he was going to need, the way he seemed to relish in the shake of your legs in response.

You’re stuttering out a breath, trying to regain some kind of composure but it’s gone again with the push back in, battering against whatever spot was inside you that made the corners of your vision go fuzzy.

“Fuck!” You’re gasping, trying not to buck your hips up again, afraid he’ll stop the rhythmic thrusting. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck…”

It’s all but a broken off chant now. You don’t even recognise it’s your own voice, especially not now that he had pushed his head down to graze his teeth against your nipples. Your back is arching at an inhuman angle.

You’re right on the edge of falling completely over into the deep pools of blackness. You’re trying to pull his head up to kiss you.

“You close?”

You’re nodding frantically, closing the gap between you to kiss, moaning brokenly into his mouth. It doesn’t last long because you soon realise it’s useless for you to try and do both. You’re too lost in the unforgiving pace of his fingers. It feels like you could be sobbing slightly now, but if there were tears you couldn’t feel them.

“You’re doing so well baby, you feel so good around my fingers.” He’s murmuring, kissing around the edges of your neck. “You gonna cum for me?”

The scream is ripping through you, guttural. Almost animal. You can’t stop the violent clasp of your thighs around his wrist, clenching deep from within your walls, violently pulsing the release through your now boneless body. You’re all shattered flinches, waves of aftershocks crawling through your skin, yanking all sense of consciousness from you and leaving you with nothing but a welcome sense of calm.

You’re whimpering well past him removing his fingers, as he kisses the edges of your mouth. He’s wearing a smirk, pleased with himself to have finally convinced you to let him do this in your bed.

“That was a big one, huh?” He’s cooing.

You’ve gained just enough faculties again to shove him from where he leans above you. Insane orgasm or not, you can’t let him get too cocky.

“Shut up.” You groan.

“You got it in you to keep going?” He murmurs into your neck.

You absolutely do. Not really looking to give up the opportunity of your new sense of freedom and empty house. The universe would appear to have other plans though.

You’re pulled from the moment as fast as you guys were in it, with the sound of the front door slamming. You shove him off of you with a force, trying to collect yourself long enough to work out whose footsteps you could hear.

“Hey! Is Steve here? His cars out front! Is everything alright?” It’s Dustin shouting, you can hear he’s closer to the front door than your room at the end of the hallway. You will to whatever higher power that be that he checks the other rooms first.

You and Steve look at each other in abject horror and begin leaping around the room looking for the various discarded clothing items. The one good thing about the set up from before is that there was very little concern about being caught in the situation you are now.

There’s no way that Steve is going to be completely dressed by the time Dustin gets down the hall. You know that now. And even if you guys were, you look crazy. It wouldn’t take a genius to know what you’d been up to.

You don’t bother to try and find the clothes you’d been wearing on the ground, instead you pull a fresh set of clothes from drawers. You’re dressed just as you hear Dustin stomping down the hall.

“Go faster,” you hiss at Steve; only just now with his jeans on, still unbuttoned, no shirt still.

“Sorry, I’ll just break the time barrier for you, will I?” He mutters back just as frazzled as you.

He’s hopping from foot to foot, trying to pull socks on and you know it’s useless now because your door is opening to reveal your brother, already seething with rage.

“I fucking knew it!” He yells, storming back off down the hall.

You’re running after him, with little hope that he was going to be willing to hear you out. Steve is narrowly behind you pulling his shirt overhead, carrying his trainers too.

“Dustin; wait! Just let me explain.” You’re shrill, and candidly you were annoying even yourself with your panicked screeching.

Dustin’s pacing the sitting room now, a look of disgust painted all over his face. “Explain what? How you’re the worst big sister who’s ever lived?”

You feel like you’re being punched in the gut. All those years of doing everything for him, thrown to the wind over something this small.

“Hey! Don’t talk to her like that.” Steve cuts in. “Your sister’s done everything for you, your whole life. Now like it or lump it, I don’t care but don’t you dare act like she isn’t the best sister she possibly can be.”

The swell in your chest is quickly dashed away when Dustin’s marching forward to be almost nose to nose with Steve. You end up pushing a hand in the middle to wedge some space between them.

“I’m sorry Steve, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you fucking my sister!” Dustin screams. “Who does that, man? You’re supposed to be my friend.”

Steve’s running a hand through his hair, the stress obviously getting almost too much for him. You’re right there with him. Of all the catastrophic ways he could’ve found out or how could’ve reacted, this was the worst. By a mile.

“I’m not just fucking her, man. I love her.”

You spin back to look at him with your jaw permanently dropped. You’re worried your face might never go back.

You guys had danced around it earlier but hearing it put so bluntly was about all you could take today.

Dustin’s laughing in a cruel way, one you’ve never heard from your usually good natured brother. “Oh yeah; you ‘love’ her. Just like you ‘loved’ Nancy.”

Steve’s face is all kinds of wounded and you knew immediately that if there was a prayer of them ever working this out, you needed to get Steve out of the house sooner rather than later.

“Steve, you need to go.” You say. He looks hurt when he casts his eyes back to you, but raise your eyebrows at him hoping you can wordlessly say that it isn’t personal.

“I know you’re suffering, man, but lashing out like this isn’t the way. And once you’re ready to speak to me like a grown up, you’ll know where to find me.” Steve sighs, and kisses you on the cheek before making headway toward the door.

Dustin flips him off as he goes.

The way he looks at you, in your eerily quiet home, is enough to turn you inside out.

“Dustin,” you try gently. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been doing that behind your back– not with everything going on.”

He’s scoffing at you, resuming his angry pace. “Can’t you just be sorry you ever did it, without all that timing bullshit.”

You mull on it for a moment. “No, Dustin. I’ve not done anything wrong in that sense. You’re my little brother and I love you but you don’t get to call the shots on who I sleep with.”

This seems to dissuade his continual stomping. It disarms him in a way you hadn’t anticipated, and he’s meandering over to your couch to sit. You follow him, softly, hoping not to scare him off for what seems to be a brief moment of vulnerability.

“Dustin, do you maybe want to talk to me about something?” You’re using the same voice you used to when he was eight years old and had drawn on the walls. A gentle nudging for honesty.

He shakes his head, aggressively a no. Not looking up from his knees.

“No. I just don’t want you and Steve to be a thing. Can you just not be so selfish? What happens when you guys split up? He’ll go.” Dustin is bitter still. What he’s saying is from a place of fear but the anger he’s been using to deflect it, he obviously isn’t ready to let go.

The way he looks at you, tears flooding his eyes that you still find indistinguishable from when he was just a little baby, you know you can’t say no.

No matter how unreasonable. No matter what the cost. You have to do what you’ve always done and put your baby brother first.

“Whatever,” Erica muttered and stormed off, disappearing into the mall crowd.

Steve exhaled, shaking his head. He glanced at you, eyes softening and darkening at the same time. "Wanna help me in the back real quick?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Help you with what?”

He smirked, leaning closer. “Uh… important captain stuff.”

You let him lead you around the counter and through the swinging doors. The second the doors shut, Steve didn't hesitate. He pinned you against the wall, his hand slamming against the surface next to your head. He crowded into your space, his body warm and solid against yours.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

He leaned in, his lips finally meeting yours. It started slow, a deep, tasting press, but it quickly turned hungry. He groaned into the kiss, his tongue sliding past your lips to claim your mouth. His hands roamed down your sides, his fingers digging into your waist before sliding lower to cup your ass. He squeezed firmly, pulling you flush against him, and you let out a soft, breathy moan that he swallowed whole.

You pulled back just an inch, your breathing ragged. "Steve..."

Without another word, you swung him around so he was the one against the wall now, and you sank to your knees. Steve’s breath hitched, his back hitting the wall hard as he looked down at you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and raw desire.

"W-wait, here?" he gasped, his voice cracking. But his fingers immediately tangled in your hair, holding you there as you began to unbutton his uniform pants.

When you eased his pants down, he was so hard that he almost slapped against your cheek. He was thick and pulsing, radiating a heavy heat you could feel against your skin. A bead of pre-cum was already glistening at the tip, showing exactly how worked up he was.

As you took him into your mouth, Steve let out a low, gravelly sound that vibrated through his whole body. He went rigid, his knuckles turning white as he gripped your shoulders. You moved with a steady, rhythmic focus, looking up at him through your lashes. You used your tongue to tease the sensitive head, tasting the salty sweetness of his pre-cum.

"You're driving me crazy," he hissed, his eyes fluttering shut. "Don't stop... yeah, right there."

You picked up the pace, your hand gripping the base of him firmly. Steve was trembling now, his knees buckling as he leaned all his weight against the wall. He was so sensitive that every movement sent him closer to the edge.

"Slow down, slow down," he whispered, even though his hands were pressing your face closer. You didn't listen, sucking him deeper into your throat. Steve’s entire body went into a spasm, a loud, choked moan escaping his lips as he arched his back into the bricks.

Steve suddenly reached down and grabbed your shoulders, pulling you up from your knees until you were standing flush against him. You didn't stop; your hand stayed wrapped tightly around him, jerking him with a fast, slick rhythm. He crashed his lips onto yours, kissing you with a desperate, messy hunger, moaning directly into your mouth.

He was losing all control, his hips bucking into your hand. "I can't—I'm literally about to—"

THUD.

The door swung open. "Hey dingus! You aren't supposed to leave—"

Robin froze.

You scrambled back, your heart jumping into your throat. Steve’s eyes snapped open in pure terror. In a blind panic, he didn't even have time to pull his pants up; he frantically grabbed a stack of empty waffle cone boxes off the nearby table and held them awkwardly over his lap to cover himself.

"Robin!" he yelped, "I—we—it's not what it looks like! I dropped my... my keys! In my pants!"

Robin stood there, the stack of napkins in her hand trembling slightly. She looked at the boxes Steve was clutching to his crotch, then at you sitting on the floor, flushed and breathless.

"I'm leaving," Robin said flatly, her voice full of pure shock. "Im going back to the front. You have five minutes to get it together."

The doors closed. Steve groaned, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall as he finally pulled his pants up and buckled his belt. He reached for you, immediately pulling you into a tight hug and burying his face in your shoulder.

"I was just about to finish," he whined, his voice a low, ”Please tell me you're staying until my shift ends," he whispered, his voice small and completely embarrassed. "I can't face her alone. She's gonna annoy me for the next ten years." You laughed softly, reaching up to adjust his crooked sailor hat.

"I'm staying," you reminded him, your voice a low, teasing hum as you rubbed his arm. You leaned in closer, your lips brushing his ear. "I'll be sitting at our booth. Just keep thinking about the drive home and what I’m going to do to you the second we’re alone."