🫐🥝!

He existed naturally in the way he had become a part of the house itself like the way the kitchen light flickered above the stove your mother always nagged at your father to fix or that one warped floorboard outside your bedroom that always creaked.

Steve was just there. Mostly because of his emotionally negligent home life. He would always be draped over the couch with your brother with his stupid spiderman printed socked feet he'd get embarrassed about, kicked onto the coffee table. He would rummage through the cabinets for snacks he didn't ask for permission to eat or laugh way too loudly at midnight while your mother had yelled from upstairs for the boys to keep it down.

You grew up around the sound of his voice and the smell of his cologne that trailed through hallways after basketball games. Around the low rumble of his prized BMW pulling into the driveway to pick up your brother. His stupidly bright smile and the way he effortlessly moved through rooms had always irked you the most.

When you were little, Steve treated you in that affectionately dismissive way most young boys do with their best friend's siblings.

"Move, airhead," "Quit following us," "Tell your brother he still owes me five bucks!"

There had never been cruelty in his voice or irritation enough to hurt you. Sometimes when your brother got irritated with you or ignored you, Steve didn’t and instead gave you a sense of understanding.

At ten years old, you were sitting cross legged in the living room, watching the two of them play video games on your brother's Atari for hours. When Steve handed you a third controller after your brother complained you were annoying, you pretended your heart didn't skip a beat. Despite being terrible at every game, Steve let you play anyway.

At twelve years old, you had scraped your knee badly against asphalt when trying to skateboard down the Harrington's driveway after overhearing Steve mention he thought girls who skate were 'cool.' You remember sitting on the pavement blinking back tears while your brother had cackled and Steve crouched down in front of you with a sigh.

"Why are you always getting yourself hurt." He'd said, his hands gently pushing your sock down to your ankle. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

You had only shrugged out of embarrassment.

Even then, he had disappeared into his house before coming back with bandages and peroxide. The smell had been medicinal in the hot summer air and he'd sat cleaning the blood from your knee.

At fifteen years old, your crush had become something incurable. The year Steve had started driving. The year he started showing up on the driveway in his burgundy BMW with one hand lazily hooked over the steering wheel and his sunglasses hiding half his face while girls from school had prayed to get his attention. It'd also been the age silly jealousy had warped your heart.

You knew Steve Harrington was someone you'd never get close to touching. He belonged to everybody and that was the problem.

At sixteen years old, every girl in town had a story about him, but also forgave him too easily when he had reached that stage in his life where he'd been known as the charming, wealthy, party boy who knew his way around. Eventually, he'd calmed down despite having the certain cockiness to him you'd always known.

But there were fragile moments where the performance would slip.

Late nights when your brother had gone upstairs to watch TV, Steve would sink further into the couch with an exhausted look on his face. Sometimes your mother would hand him leftovers wrapped in foiled. He would just smile with gratitude and pull her in for a hug.

The nights he stayed over were your favorite.

One time you woke up at two in the morning for water. When you walked downstairs, you would find him knocked out on the couch with one arm thrown his face. He'd always been such a restless sleeper.

Looking back, maybe you had started loving him in those moments, not just a silly crush.

Deep down, you knew it was because you knew a version of him nobody else knew, a version that was just him and not King Steve.

You knew the way he got quieter when something bothered him, the way he tapped his fingers when anxious, and the way he hated going home more than he would ever admit out loud.

By your junior year of college, at twenty years old, you had gotten good at convincing yourself you were over Steve Harrington. Distance helped, especially when Purdue University was four hours from Hawkins.

Classes, new friends, late night walks across campus with music playing in your headphones, and boys who flirted with you had given you experiences that you almost forgot about a version of yourself that doodled in her notebook over a boy with big brown eyes.

Steve had become someone easier to manage when he had only existed mostly through rushed stories from your brother on phone calls.

Steve got promoted. Steve got into some fight at a bar and lost. Steve was seeing some girl. Steve bought a new car.

He couldn't touch your life anymore.

Until May.

Finals week had exhausted everyone by the time summer break finally arrived. Outside your dorm window, students drag bags down sidewalks, the sky gray and threatening rain. You can only hope the weather doesn't worsen.

The telephone begins to ring on your nightstand. Walking over and removing it from the hook, you wedge it between your shoulder.

"Hello?" You answer distracted, struggling to zip your duffel bag.

"Your brother's an asshole."

You freeze, stomach fluttering. His voice was still able to do that to you. "Well, hello to you to. You sound so surprised." You managed.

"I am," Steve replied. "He told me he forgot he promised to pick you up and he already made plans, which is now my problem somehow."

"Sooo, you're coming instead?"

"Yeah, unfortunately."

"You're such a gentleman," You croon, tossing your duffel bag aside. "Will you help me with my bags too?'

"You know I will." "I'm calling from this diners telephone box, had to take a bathroom break because the drive is so damn long."

"Tell me about it. Why do you think I wanted someone else to do the driving for me in the first place?"

"You sneaky little witch. Just using people aren’t you?" He comments, making you laugh. "Anyways, I'm like twenty minutes away. Try not to bring your whole dorm with you."

The line clicks dead before you can answer and place the phone back into it's rightful place.

Immediately, you hate yourself for checking your reflection in the mirror to check your hair. On instinct, you reach for your lip gloss and swipe it against your lips.

This was so ridiculous. You were twenty, not fourteen anymore, yet you were hyperaware of everything about you all because Steve Harrington was about to drive four hours alone with you.

By the time you have your bags ready and make your way outside after checking out your dorm, you spot the BMW parked against the pavement. Girls passing turned to look as Steve stepped out from the driver's seat as rain began to fall. Some things never changed did they?

Your stomach drops at the sight of him. He looked different, less boyishly pretty and now more manly. His shoulders broader beneath his dark blue crewneck and fitting his arms just right.

Steve uses one hand to push back his damp hair from his forehead and his eyes land on you, making you freeze. He smirks, calling out, "Hey! You coming?"

You roll your eyes, walking over. "You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago."

"Sorry, traffic backed up from the rain." He frowns and takes a quick glance at his watch. "If we go now we should be fine though."

He takes the largest bag from you, tossing it over his shoulder, before you can argue. Steve opens the trunk, tucking in the bag and reaching a hand out in gesture for you to hand him the rest.

"Your roommates going to miss you at all?" He asks, shutting the trunk and locking it with the keys.

"Mmm, yeah I think so. One of them cried."

He lets out a low whistle, "Damn. You breaking hearts at Purdue now? I thought you were sweet?"

"Shut up." You snort. "I doubt she'll send a postcard anyways. She only used me for homework answers in statistics."

"No worries, we'll have a better summer without people like that. Like old times." He grins in the familiar way you knew.

Steve opens the passenger door and flashes you a wink. "After you."

You just smile, sitting down and adjusting the seat to your height as he shuts the door behind you, jogging around the hood of the car before the rain could get you both anymore wet.

Steve slides into the driver's seat, starting the heater to warm up. He inserts the keys into the ignition, giving it a couple turns, and sighs. "You hungry?"

"Ummm, a little." You confess.

"There's leftover fries in the bag from the diner if you want some" He turns over the seat as he backs the car out of is spot, managing to grab the paper bag sitting behind. "They got kinda wet though."

You eye the soaking wet paper bag and scrunch your nose, "What the hell, Steven. You're disgusting."

"What! They're still good!"

"Soggy fries are good? Would you eat those?" You deadpan, raising a brow.

There's a pause of silence until, "...Nah. Maybe you're right." He coughs and clears his throat. "We'll grab some dinner in a couple hours in the next town. Promise."

You laugh despite yourself and turn your head to look outside the window, watching as the campus begins to empty out, students hugging goodbye and loading up cars.

Steve glances at your direction briefly as you begins to make a turn out of the campus, "You going to miss it?"

"Huh? Purdue?"

"Mhm."

You hum, pondering for a moment. Sure, you'd been homesick when you'd started, but overtime you'd found another place and friends to call home. Out the window, you watch the buildings blur past as you drive farther. Finally, you admit, "Yeah, more than I thought I would. I'll probably try and make plans for my friend Beth to come down to Hawkins."

"Do you like being away?" He asks, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel while the other tapped against his thigh. "From Hawkins, I mean."

Truthfully, no. You liked being able to ignore your feelings, but you didn't like not being able to communicate with loved ones mostly through mail and telephone.

"I like..." You stop to carefully consider your words. "being somewhere where nobody knows every single thing about me. So, no and yes."

"Yeah, that sounds nice. I don't blame you." Steve gives a faint smile.

The roads begin to stretch longer as buildings become fields then empty highways, Steve cautiously keeping distance from other cars.

You blow a puff of air, bored, reaching into the dashboard to search through Steve's collection of cassette tapes. Steve catches you from the corner of his eyes. He clicks his tongue, "Hey, you thief. What do you think you're doing?"

"Playing music?" You snip as if it's obvious. "It's too quiet in here that it's going to drive me insane."

"Is my own voice not enough for you?" He mockingly pouts but snatches the cassette of your choice out of your hand, inserting it into the player of the radio.

"You'll never be Bruce Springsteen, sorry to tell you."

"Are you still seeing that girl?" You ask, trying to sound casual.

Steve looked confused, "What girl?"

"The one Anthony mentioned. Blonde, brown eyes, in STEM..." You explain, listing of the traits your older brother had mentioned over the phone last Winter. You remember hooking up with some guy afterwards.

He huffs a laugh, "Oh. No."

"What do you mean no?" You press.

"That lasted like two months. It's been long done." He says casually as if it had been nothing. You truly thought he'd liked her, even if she'd been one of many girlfriends that wouldn't work out.

"What happened? I thought you liked her?"

He pursed his lips, "I mean, yeah she was nice."

Steve seemed almost reluctant, like there was more to the story than he wanted to give.

"Anddd?"

"And that's it." He sighs. "Look, I could give a thousand of excuses of why it didn't work but I can't besides saying I just wasn't feeling anything. Nice isn't enough and I didn't want to waste her time."

"Oh..." You say.

You'd be lying if you said you were disappointed at the fact his love life had once again failed. You're a horrible and selfish person, you think.

"Plus, I think I've made too much mistakes doing that in the past. It wouldn't be fair, y'know?"

"Growing up, Harrington?"

"Watch it," He scolds.

You stick your tongue out playfully before resuming your session of staring out the window in distraction of your nerve wracking thoughts and the fact Steve was sitting a foot away.

Shivering, the feel goosebumps rise on your arms and you rub your hands against them in hope to ease.

Steve seems notice and frowns, glimpsing at you before turning back to the road. "Are you still cold?"

"Nope."

"Liar," He chuckles. Turning the heater on with the dial, he reaches his arm behind his seat afterwards, grabbing hold of a folded up blanket and tosses it to you.

"Oh, no, no, Steve. You don't have--" You reassure, holding your hands up.

"I know, it's okay." He cuts you off. "Just give it back when you're done. We both know you're a thief."

"Yeah, yeah."

The droplets of ran pounds against the windshield, the dark clouds swirling in the sky as thunder erupts threateningly. It stirs fear in your chest, heart picking up its pace.

"Shit, it's getting bad." Steve points out. Trying to ease the mood, he jokes. "Think some force of nature is trying to kill us?"

"I don't know about me, but maybe just you. I hope the lightning picks you over me once we get out." You sass.

His mouth is gaped in shock. Finally, he says under his breath, "Psycho."

You try to focus on the music the next couple of minutes, but you can’t stand the silence between the two of you.

After years, you always want to know every single detail about him, to hear him talk about the special things his life and what he has going for him.

Every time you hope it’s something good. It’s all he’s ever deserved.

"How's work? Aren't you doing this whole coaching gig?"

"Don't forget sex ed teacher on the side. But, yeah, it's great so far." He seems to light up, happy you asked. "Really great."

He switches lanes before he continued, "For so long I was so confused and didn't know what I wanted, but now? I don't think I've been happier. Sure, my dad thinks the pay is shit, but at least I'm doing something with my life now."

“I think it’s good, Steve. You’re starting somewhere and I think it fits you perfectly.”

He’s shy then and goes quiet. You think the conversation is done with until:

"I- I really want to try college again. Get a degree in physical education. I know, it probably sounds stupid. I slacked so much in High School. I cared too much about the wrong things, now I'm paying for it."

Your heart breaks at his self deprecation. He’s always struggled with his self esteem underneath all that confidence he paraded around with. Deep down, he just wanted to be worth something in anothers eyes.

"It's not silly, not at all." You study him, staring at the slope of his nose down to the shadow of stubble along his jaw. "A lot of people lose their way too like you did, and you found your way back. You're trying and I think that's enough to be proud of, Stevie."

Steve gives you a quick look of shock, blood rushing to his cheeks.

"Thanks." He coughs before the corner of his mouth quirks up. "You're still holding on to that nickname? Jeez, you don't change."

"It reminds me of Fleetwood, it's cute!" You protest.

"Okay, then." He simply laughs.

"The more you hate it, the more I'm going to keep using it."

"Uh huh,"

Rain slammed against the windshield so violently that Steve had to lean forward, squinting his eyes to get a good look at the road. The wipers moved back and forth as the highway stretched ahead, the only thing visible being the headlights illuminating the road and the flashes of lightning in the sky.

Suddenly, the car swerves slightly, making you gasp. Before your brain can process, Steve's arm is bracing against your chest and pushing you back against the seat.

"Fucking hell," He curses, glaring daggers at the truck that zooms past. Steve removes his arm and asks, "You okay?"

Placing a hand over your chest, you nod. "Shit, yeah. It happened so quick, I wasn't expecting it."

Steve hums in agreement and directs his attention back to the road where water pools and the wind starts push hard enough against the BMW that your stomach hurts.

"Damn it," He mutters, directing the car to pull off to the next exit that definitely wasn't part of your plans. "We're not going to be able to make it back tonight. I'm not trying to have us soaring off a cliff when there's idiots who can't drive."

You sit up straighter, frowning, "What're we doing then if not going home?"

Steve rubs a hand across his jaw tiredly, "There should be a motel like ten minutes off this exit. We can grab food before we get a room. We'll just leave in the morning when this calms down."

Calm down, you think. Sharing a room with Steve Harrington sounds terrifying in theory, but what other choice did you have? This was the practical choice, you'd be stupid if you let your feelings get in the way of your safety.

"Unless you'd rather we soar off the cliff to our deaths?" Steve jokes in attempt to lighten the mood.

You'll be fine.

You wave a hand in dismissal and laugh, "Whatever. Yeah, the motel should be fine."

"And if we get murdered? We'll just haunt Anthony and tell him this was mostly his fault."

That was not comforting.

The motel, when you arrived after thirty minutes of driving in pouring rain and a quick fast food pick up, was old but comfortable looking enough that you were able to feel relieved.

The sign buzzed as streams of water poured off the roof. The parking lot was nearly empty except for Steve's BMW and an old truck. Inside, the lobby air smelled faintly like burnt coffee and mildew.

"I'm scared Steve," You whisper, eyeing your surroundings as Steve signed the check in receipt. "What if we get murdered like you said--"

"Okay, first of all, I was joking." Steve says, taking the room key from the old woman behind the desk, who didn't bother to look up from her crossword puzzle. "Second, you watch way too much movies. I think they're starting to rot your brain."

"Have you seen 'Psycho?' That could--"

"Relax!" Steve gives you an incredulous look as if he's unsure whether to laugh. He grabs the greasy paper bag from you. "Let's go to our room, eat, shower, and before you know it you'll feel fine. C'mon."

When you and Steve walk outside and up the rickety stairs to unlock your room, you’re met with the sight of a muted floral bedspread and a television sitting on the dresser. One bed.

"Shit, I asked for a two bed." Steve scoffs and tosses your duffel on the bed along with his overnight bag. Thankfully he came prepared based on weather before he left. "You want me to go ask for a new room?"

Not wanting to complain, you shake your head nervously, "No, this is fine."

Steve just nods, seating himself down at the edge of the bed with a long exhale. You stand still, unable to move from your spot. Maybe it was because there was no brother nearby, no parents, and no friends, but just the two of you in such a vulnerable space.

Steve yawns with a stretch, "You can go ahead and shower first."

You nod, practically running to the shower. The bathroom fills with steam as you turn the faucet, undressing and stepping inside.

You find yourself standing beneath the hot water longer necessary, letting the heat unknot the stiffness aching in your shoulders. Your thoughts felt loud. This is ridiculous, nothing is happening and is going to happen. Steve is Steve, your brother's best friend who you've spent majority of your life trying not to embarrass yourself around. You're going to go back in there and act normal. You'll be back on the road before you know it.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, the sound of the microwave beeps and you smell the delicious scent of fries and burgers. Steve turns his head, pulling both yours and his food out on to plates.

"You took forever. Were you swimming in there?" He says, handing you your plate before he goes to sit cross legged on the bed against the headboard.

"You're so dramatic, it was only thirty minutes." You join him and take a bite out of your burger.

"Thirty minutes too long," He quips, grabbing the remote and flipping through the television channels. "So, what are we in the mood for, Seinfeld or Beverly Hills? Take your pick."

"Seinfeld. I don't have the attention span for dramatics right now," You reply, stealing one of Steve's fries.

"Seinfeld it is," Steve muses and throws the remote away.

The tv plays on the next twenty minutes as the two of you eat, the episode plot being one of the character's apartments getting robbed, leading to an argument over who gets to move into a new apartment. You weren't paying attention much if you were being honest, more focused on the heat of his body next to you and trying not to seem obviously affected.

"Y'know..." Steve starts and you recognize his familiar tone of mischief. "this episode kind of reminds me of all the arguments you and Anthony have."

You turn to look at him, raising a brow. "Yeah because he's hardheaded."

"Must be a genetic thing." He muses, not turning his gaze away from the screen.

You gasp, smacking his arm. "Don't compare me to him! He's ten times worse than I'll ever be."

"Oh trust me, I believe you." He ponders for a moment before breaking into laughter. "Shit, remember when he jumped off the roof to backflip into my parent's pool?"

In fact, you do. It was one of your favorite embarrassing moments to blackmail your older brother with. He'd been bawling all the way to the emergency room while your mother laid it into him.

"Yes! He's was so stupid. I even told him it probably wasn't a good idea, but no, he insisted he'd look like those superheros from those comics you guys liked so much." You scoffed.

"Man, my mom was so pissed."

"Well, you technically encouraged him on, so I'd be too." He only laughs at your words, giving you a small nudge.

The conversation from there unraveled from one memory to another before you knew it as time passed. From middle school disasters of your brother getting into ridiculous fights, terrible haircuts you cried your eyes out over and threatened to never step outside again, and to Steve accidentally lighting fireworks too close to the garage one Fourth of July, the two of you laugh as you bond over the past.

Steve remembered everything which you couldn't decide was good or bad, especially since he remembered the most embarrassing moments like the time he and Anthony walked in on you kissing your James Spader poster in High School.

"You got so red that you yelled at us to get out," Steve cackled while laying on his side, hand rested under his chin, full attention now only on you.

"I was 15! That was traumatizing! How would you feel if someone walked in on you and found your old magazine collection under your bed."

"Shut up."

"Nope," You say, popping the p.

The both of you watch about three more episodes before trash is discarded in the can next to the bed and somewhere along the way the lamp on the nightstand is turned off, the room lit up only by the blue screen of the television.

"Anyone special in your life?" Steve randomly asks, sounding almost playful if you ignored the weird tone. "Only fair I ask you since you interrogated me earlier."

"Pft, no not really. Robin keeps trying to set me up with this guy though."

"Oh." There's a weird pause. "Are you gonna...see him or anything?"

You scrunch your nose and turn away from the TV. "Uhh I don't know? Why?"

Steve's teeth a clenched, body going rigid. He scoots away to give some space and now you know something is deeply wrong. "No reason just-- I don't know. Maybe you should let her."

"Steve, I don't even know the guy."

"So? If you like him then you like him" He shrugs, resting his weight by laying his palms flat on the bed.

Since when did he dictate what you do or don't do with your life and your romantic life at that.

You stand abruptly and cross your arms over your chest. “Why the hell are you so mad? I never even said I liked him.”

"Whatever." He scoffs.

"Why do you even care?"

"I don't"

"Then why are you acting weird!" You yell, wincing. You don't need the owner marching down here and banging at the door.

He doesn't answer, turning back to the television instead. You know he's just trying to avoid the confrontation of whatever was going on in that head of his. You hated how stubborn he could be.

Fine, he wants to act that way? You'll let him.

"I need air." You announce and start to head towards the door, hand already turning the knob.

The seems to alert him because he snaps his heads, face falling. "Wait- shit- no. I'm sorry."

“Leave me alone.” You snapped.

"I don't know what's up with me, seriously." He pleads. You can tell he's apologetic and not just saying mindless sorrys just to get you to shut up. "Please, I'm sorry. It's raining"

You want to be mad and leave him alone in the dark, probably go to the nearest vending machine and grab a snack, sit somewhere so the rain doesn't soak you.

But you don't have it in you.

"Fine."

"C'mere." Steve said quietly, making your stomach drop.

He gestures with his hand, sitting upright now, facial expression calm and giving you the opportunity to say no. Except, you don't want to.

Your body is moving before you can stop yourself, sitting yourself back on the bed, scooting closer to him and sitting on your knees, brushing against his own. The feeling of his leg against you is enough to stir excitement deep in your belly.

Neither of you speak, the only sound in the room being your breathing, the rain tapping against the window with the occasional crackle of lightning, and your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Was this actually happening or were you deluded?

“‘M sorry…”

“It’s…it’s okay, Stevie.” You say shakily.

“I just get…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, chewing his lip.

His fingers brush against your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek. You shiver at the contact. "What are you thinking?" He murmurs.

"That--" You swallowed. "that I don't know if I'm dreaming or not."

"I'm right here," He hums, his eyes gazing down at your lips. He nibbles at him bottom lip as if he were fighting temptation. "are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Here with me."

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and you nod, "Yeah...I am, Steve."

His lips slowly catch your own, molding together as you gasp against his, before slowly letting yourself melt into his warmth. Your hand catches against the front of his shirt as the kiss deepens.

It was warm and dizzying, so different and overwhelming compared to fantasies you'd imagined over the years.

You'd been completely wrong about Steve being a great kisser. He was momentous and no man you'd been with before could compare to the way his hands drifted down to your waist, drawing you closer onto his lap.

Steve rubs a hand up and down your spine, sneaking a hand under your top. His hands are warm against the coolness of your skin, his whole presence inviting.

His hand leaves and he pulls at the hem of your top. "Off." He orders, no questioning in his tone.

Inclined to listen, you throw your tank over your head, the air hitting your naked breasts and torso immediately.

You feel sheepish when Steve's hazel eyes unapologetically stare hard at your breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. A soft sound leaves his swollen lips as he brings his hands up to give an experimental squeeze.

When you let a whimper slip, unable to contain it, Steve smiles. "So fucking pretty. Are they sensitive, hm?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, wanting to play around a bit just to see what he'd do, so, you shake your head. "No."

"Really? Not even if I..." He mused and pinches your nipples, causing you to jolt. "do this?"

"Shit!" You're so wet by anything he does, even a little bit of touching your damn tits had your panties sticking to your pussy. "Want more...please."

"Yeah?" Steve peppers kisses against your jaw and makes his way down to your neck, chest, and ending at your sternum. "Gonna suck these pretty tits then."

You suck in a sharp breath when his lips wrap around your right bud while his hand teases the left, thumb rolling it in between his thumb and index. He gives a couple of suckles and flicks his tongue against your right, moaning. Steve could cum in his pants right here right now by simply doing this, nothing else.

You mewl, your fingers gliding into his brunette strands of hair and tugging them hard. Steve hisses at the pain but makes no move to stop you, giving your nipple a scolding bite before moving to your left one to give it the same treatment.

If you weren't so distracted, you'd be nonstop apologizing.

Steve moves his right hand, exploring down your navel into your pj shorts. They come off and you're left in just your panties. Giving one last harsh suck to your breast, he pulls off to stare you deep in the eyes, his pupils dilated, "You're so beautiful..." Steve traces the outline of your clothed pussy with his fingers, ghosting over your sensitive clit. You shiver and dig your nails into his shoulder. "prettiest girl I've ever seen."

"You're just saying that," You giggle, avoiding eye contact as he takes off your panties, a your wetness clinging to it before snapping.

His thick brows furrow and says sternly, "I'm not. You know why?"

"...Why?"

"Because," He starts, teasing his middle and ring finger against your hole before dipping them inside with an obscene wet sound. Your breath stutters at feeling of them beginning to move in and out of you with practiced skill. "besides you obviously being fucking gorgeous, you're also the same person who has the biggest heart I know."

"Th- that's-- fuh-- ckk-- you." You moan, eyes shutting closed. He spreads his fingers, scissoring your walls and stretching them wide.

"Not at all. You? You look at people with the kindest eyes and care about everybody, you always have. You remember the smallest details people tell you, you sit with them when they're hurting, you're funny without trying," He laughs, finding your sweet spot and prodding at it. "and you make every room warmer when you walk in. I mostly like how you cry over the silliest movies."

"I do all that...?" You slur.

"Mhm. Dunno how you see the beauty in everyone but miss it all in yourself."

His praise hits you like a truck and you can practically feel a heartbeat within your cunt, your walls squeezing tightly around his fingers, not wanting him to leave.

Needing more, you begin to lift your hips up and down, bouncing and steadying your weight by grabbing on to his shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s it. Ride my fingers justtt like that.” He coos, meeting every roll of your hips with a curl of his fingers against your walls.

Your lashes flutter against your cheeks and you let out a low whine. Cunt sucking in his fingers, you lift the weight of your body up and down, up and down, attempting to reach the peak of pleasure you so desperately longed for.

“Steve. Mfmh…feels so good.”

“What does honey? C’mon, tell me.” He hums, pressing wet kisses against the nape of your throat until he elicits a whimper out of you, confirming that he’s found that certain spot that turns you into mush.

“Your fingers,” You pant, grinding harder down on his hand. “so thick and so deep in me."

You let out a ragged whine at the pressure slowly building up deep in your lower belly.”

Steve groans, smacking your ass in response. “Love that you talk so fucking nasty.” He begins to speed up, the pads of his index and middle pressing deep inside you. You arch your back with a cry. “You close? I can feel it with how tight this pretty wet pussy is getting.”

You nod profusely, wrapping your arms around his neck and hiding your face in it with a moan. Your hips and thighs begin to ache, your movements beginning to slow.

“Yeah, mhm- but can’t- ” You said, grabbing Steve’s wrist pleadingly. “Steve…”

“You’re already tired, honey?” He clicks his tongue in faux sympathy, but nonetheless holds you down to force you still, thrusting his fingers up into you. “Well, that can’t do. Can’t leave my pretty girl hanging.”

"'m cumming, m' cumming, oh fuckkkk--" The second his thumb hits your clit, rubbing firm circles, your orgasm crashes over you like a dam and you cum with a broken moan, your words spilling out.

He hasn't even fucked you properly yet and you already feel dumbed out.

Steve’s fingers continue for a minute to help you ride it out before he pulls them out, slipping them into his mouth. "So good."

You lift your head from his shoulder, mouth dropping in shock as he sucks your arousal clean from him. The heat of embarrassment hits you and you feel inclined to look away from the dirty sight yet you can’t pull away.

His fingers leave his mouth with a pop and he moans in satisfaction. A dirty part of you secretly wishes he’d shove them in your mouth.

Steve shifts you off his lap and lays you down on your back oh so gently, kissing you in between words, “Trust me,” kiss. “I wanna get a real taste but,” kiss. “need to feel you around me real fucking bad.”

He pauses, pulling away to look at you, "Only if you want to though. I don't want to pressure you or anything--"

You pull him by the collar of his shirt for another kiss and he instantly smiles into it, tongue sliding against your bottom lip for permission. Parting your lips, his tongue slips inside, the wet muscle flicking against your own as it explores your mouth.

You both pull apart, the two of you breathing heavily. A string of saliva being the only thing connecting the two of you now.

"I want to." You say finally, staring up at the man you've yearned so long for, the man who'd always been so kind to you.

A grin tugs at Steve's lips and he sits back on his knees to pull his shirt off by the hem, revealing patches of hair on his chest leading down to the delicious happy trail down his soft tummy into his pants (he always complained he didn't have abs, but if anything you thought it was the hottest thing).

You note the thick bulge restrained by his jeans and suddenly you feel intimidated.

You'd heard the rumors before, rumors that made you pout in jealousy at one point in your life where you felt you could never know Steve in such a vulnerable way. You wouldn't believe yourself a year ago if you knew you'd be having sex with your older brother's best friend.

The metal of his belt clinks and he yanks the belt out of the loops and pulling down his jeans. After his boxers are off, your eyes widen at the sight of the thick hard cock slapping against his stomach.

Steve grunts, giving it a couple tugs. Like you suspected, the dark patches of hair trail down to the pubic hair tousled around his cock. It's long in length and incredibly girthy, the veins running up until the pink swollen head leaking with precum.

The thought of him fucking your throat and guiding you by your hair while praising you with sweet nothings while you gag, turns you on more than it should and you clench your thighs together.

He takes notice of your nerves and frowns, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" You say too quickly.

He shakes his head, "I wanna make this as comfortable for you as possible, so I need to know what's" He gently taps your forehead. "going on in that head of yours. Okay, honey?"

You're quiet, unsure whether it's such a miniscule thing to point out in the first place. Giving in, you mumble, "You're just...huge."

Steve blinks before he bursts into a fit of laughter, his eyes crinkling. You're absolutely mortified. "Don't laugh at me! You told me to tell you."

He stalls his laughter and is immediately crawling on top of you, brows furrowed in concern. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you, honey. I'm more so with..." His eyes flick down to his obvious erection. "the situation, I guess."

"...Is it even going to fit?"

He huffs a laugh, leaning in to give your forehead a quick kiss, "I'll make it, don't worry."

Shit.

"You trust me, honey?" He asks one more time.

Exhaling, you nod. "Yeah, yeah, I do."

Suddenly, his face drops and he curses, "Fuck, I don't have protection." He drags a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry--"

"It's okay," You smile. "I have an IUD, should be fine."

He pauses, processing the information before returning your smile. "Alright then, you're full of surprises aren't you?"

"I'd say so," You shrug.

Nudging your legs apart with his knee, he readjusts and rests his left arm beside your head and uses his free hand to wrap around his dick, guiding the swollen tip to your leaking entrance.

He slides it up and down your slit before dragging it up to your clit, slapping it firmly a couple times, sending a jolt of pleasure.

"Put it in!" You complained.

He taunts, "I thought good girls were patient?"

"I am," You pout, bucking your hips up. "But it doesn't mean I don't want you to fuck me sensele--"

You're unable to finish your sentence, words breaking into a high pitched moan at the feeling of his huge cock intruding, the hot skin of him filling you whole as he bottoms out.

"You were saying?"

"Just- just move, please."

Steve starts off slow, moving his hips back and thrusting forward with a couple shallow thrusts before he grinds against you deeper than his fingers had been able to reach.

Picking up the pace, he draws his cock out all the way to barely the tip and slamming back in to begin a series of devoted thrusts.

Mewling, you slide your hands to his back, nails scratching against the skin of his shoulder blades. You tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him as you shamelessly moan. (The both of you should be expecting a complaint from the motel owner later...)

He leans down to lick the base of your neck, tongue flat as he drags up to a stop and sucking multiple spots, marks blooming as proof of the passionate night that will soon become a memory.

You feel grief knowing this will be over in just a few minutes, but you won't worry about that now, you'll just make the most of it.

The bed creaks under your weight, the rhythm of him fucking into you relentless with the disgustingly filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin.

"So goddamn tight and wet," He breathes into your neck. "this all for me?"

"Yes, yes," You urge him on, bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts and he moans. "all for you, Steve- mmf fuck."

"Yeahhh?" You can feel him smile against your skin, giving a couple more kisses before pulling back to get a good look at you. "All mine?"

Word coils at your throat, unable to fully get anything out besides broken sobs.

"C'mon baby. Talk to me like the good girl I know you are. Need to hear how good you feel as I fuck this tight pussy."

"Love you," You drawl out with a whine, squeezing your eyes shut. "Love you so much, Steve."

Suddenly, his hips come to a stop and you're left in confusion until it hits you. Oh no.

Eyes snapping wide, your palm slaps against your mouth as you stare up at Steve.

He looks like he’s seen a ghost, eyes wide, hair tousled in a mess, and he’s so still you can’t tell if he’s currently present in the moment or debating on packing and leaving you stranded in the motel.

You need him to say something, anything. Anything to reassures you didn’t destroy everything.

Blinking back tears threatening to spill, you start, “Steve—“

"You love me?" He whispers.

He’s going to curse you out, call you disgusting and a perverted loser who’d been pathetically yearning for someone that knew he wasn’t her own.

Don’t leave. Please.

"I'm so, so, so sorry Steve. Please just forget I said anything, I didn't mean to--"

He shuts you up with his lips crashing against yours and his thrusts resuming, the wet slap of his balls mixed with your arousal against the fat of your ass.

You cry out in surprise, legs immediately wrapping around his waist as his cock drives hard and fast in to you.

His thrusts grow frantic at your words, his free hand sliding under your lower back to lift your hips high as he keeps your grip on your right thigh, driving his swelling cock deeper. He kisses you sloppily, swallowing your whimpers as he whines against your mouth.

His thrusts grow messy and his hips stutter. Breaking away from you, a groan rattles through his chest, "Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck-- I can't hold it--"

With every hit of the bulbous tip against your g-spot, you feel closer and closer to the edge.

"'M gonna cum, Steve!"

"Shh, I know, baby," His jaw is tight, attempting to restrain himself from finishing before you. "I got you, I got you. 'M close too...tell me where you want it, 'kay?"

"Shittt-- inside." You gasp.

He moans loudly at your words, eyes fluttering, that he almost came right there. "Ah, fuckkk. You sure?"

Instead of answering, you press the heels of your feet against the dip of his back, pushing him forward and deeper into you, profusely nodding.

He doesn't have to ask again and jackhammering his hips against you until finally the band deep inside you snaps and you cum around him with a high pitched whine, arching your back.

Ropes of cum fill you as he releases with a groan, stilling his hips deep inside you and grinding deep against you to ride both of your orgasms out.

"Fucking love you so much," He pants, kissing you from your cheeks, forehead, jaw, and finally planting several on your swollen lips. "love you, love you, love you..."

Your heart does a flip. Did he truly mean it? Your mind had barely begun to return back to it's fully conscious state after mind blowing sex.

Trembles coursing through your legs, they weakly fall from Steve's waist.

It takes a minute for Steve to gain enough energy to pull his cock out before breathlessly slumping the weight of his body next to you. He pulls you against his chest without hesitation, so naturally that you don't know how to move forward from here.

"Did you..." You finally say as his free hand rubs up and down your thigh soothingly. "did you mean what you said?"

He stiffens, "What do you mean?" He knows exactly what you mean.

"That..." You gulped.

"That I love you?"

"Mhm."

"Of course I meant it," He smiles when your finger tips graze against his face, dragging against his moles delicately. "meant every single word. You're everything, y'know?"

You stop your movements and blink.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He laughs awkwardly.

"Umm, like what?"

He groans, dragging a hand up his face. "Like- I don't know! Like you regret it or something."

"No, no, no," You shake your head, internally cursing at your own dumb silence for making him think otherwise. "that's not it, it's just that...it's just I'm having a hard time processing what just happened."

"Besides the obvious?" He raises a brow.

Immediately, you smack his chest and he just chuckles, grabbing your wrist and giving it a brief kiss.

"You know what I mean you big dummy." You roll your eyes before your tone grows serious, almost shy. “Just…did we do it because…?”

Finally understanding where you were going, his brows furrow sternly and he shakes his head, “Stop. Baby, I don’t want you thinking we had sex because of some storm or because we got stuck in a motel.”

Your pulse quickens. “Okay…”

“Like I said, it’s because I love you and have been for months now.”

His words hit you and you stop, thinking you misheard, “Wait. What? Months???”

“Ah…” Steve’s cheeks grow hot with blood and he’s no longer looking at you now, distracted with the ceiling fan spinning.

You’d assumed this was a very recent thing, not something that had been going on for the past year directly under your nose.

"Steve, when?"

"Um," He coughs. "around Christmas."

“Christmas???” You gasp loudly and he cringes. “That was like six months ago!”

“I’m aware…”

You can’t help the stupid smile that grows on your face and you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and snuggling your face into his chest deeper, looking up at him. "Aww, Stevie you had a crush on me? Is that why you got all like that a bit ago?" You then pause, furrowing your eyebrows. "Are you actually being serious? If you're messing with me I'll shave your head while you're asleep."

"You wouldn't."

"Mmm, I dunno."

"Brat." He smacks your ass and you squeal, kicking him in the leg, causing him to grunt. "And duh, I'm serious."

He seems to ponder, sentimental at the memory of snow falling and your family gathered together when he'd been invited to celebrate with like every year. "I realized when you and Anthony were making the stupid gingerbread houses. Man, you're so competitive. You begged me to be the judge of who made the better house and everything. When I said you, you were so happy over something so silly and I just...I don't know, I guess it hit me."

You remember. You'd layered your house in pastel blue and pink frosting with gumdrops sprinkled across. You insisted yours was the epitome of a perfect house compared to Anthony's absolute mess that had no theme nor color coordination. So, you'd look to Steve who'd been wearing that sweater of his he'd looked ridiculously good in, with big eyes and hands clasped together.

"I had no idea." You whisper, running a hand through his messy hair. "I honestly thought you didn't care, that I had some stupid little crush for years."

"Years?" He asks in genuine confusion.

"Don't tell me you didn't know."

"No, swear." He then laughs. "Wow, years?"

Now you feel embarrassed, regretting you even said anything in the first place. "Shut up, Steven."

He gives a half smirk and flicks your forehead, "It's okay, I'm not judging. Just took us some time, that's all."

"...Hmph."

Moments pass and it’s silent but comfortable, easy enough to ease into together as you sigh into his chest, hiding your face into it as he holds you close.

If you could, you’d melt together and become one with him.

“Fuck.” Steve curses. “He’s going to kill me.”

You freeze, realizing what he means. Not wanting to worry about the issue of your brother at hand, you scoff. “So?”

“So?” He says exasperated, hiding his face in your hair, voice miserable. “So, he might actually kill me. Do you realize that?”

“Maybe you deserve it.”

“Hush.”

With confessions and sex, you wonder what’s the next step in the both of yours complicated relationship you were sure wouldn’t be exposed to anyone outside the two of you anytime soon. Privacy seemed the best route, especially if wanting to avoid…potential conflict.

Sure, he confessed his love, but did he want to take this seriously?

“What are we exactly?” You blurt out.

He just stares out, mouth opening and closing and you immediately regret your words. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to answer that—“

“I want to be your boyfriend.” He says quickly, flushing afterwards. “Um— if you’ll let me. I meant it when I said I love you. This isn’t just messing around to me. Even if…a certain someone beats my ass.”

You don’t give a response for a couple seconds, leaving him holding his breath. Finally, you smile and lean up to kiss his lips then the tip of his nose in finality. “Is that a good enough answer?”

AUTHORS NOTE: sooo…maybe might write part 2 where anthony finds out and shit hits the fan? you can kinda tell i got lazy towards the end lol.

He existed naturally in the way he had become a part of the house itself like the way the kitchen light flickered above the stove your mother always nagged at your father to fix or that one warped floorboard outside your bedroom that always creaked.

Steve was just there. Mostly because of his emotionally negligent home life. He would always be draped over the couch with your brother with his stupid spiderman printed socked feet he'd get embarrassed about, kicked onto the coffee table. He would rummage through the cabinets for snacks he didn't ask for permission to eat or laugh way too loudly at midnight while your mother had yelled from upstairs for the boys to keep it down.

You grew up around the sound of his voice and the smell of his cologne that trailed through hallways after basketball games. Around the low rumble of his prized BMW pulling into the driveway to pick up your brother. His stupidly bright smile and the way he effortlessly moved through rooms had always irked you the most.

When you were little, Steve treated you in that affectionately dismissive way most young boys do with their best friend's siblings.

"Move, airhead," "Quit following us," "Tell your brother he still owes me five bucks!"

There had never been cruelty in his voice or irritation enough to hurt you. Sometimes when your brother got irritated with you or ignored you, Steve didn’t and instead gave you a sense of understanding.

At ten years old, you were sitting cross legged in the living room, watching the two of them play video games on your brother's Atari for hours. When Steve handed you a third controller after your brother complained you were annoying, you pretended your heart didn't skip a beat. Despite being terrible at every game, Steve let you play anyway.

At twelve years old, you had scraped your knee badly against asphalt when trying to skateboard down the Harrington's driveway after overhearing Steve mention he thought girls who skate were 'cool.' You remember sitting on the pavement blinking back tears while your brother had cackled and Steve crouched down in front of you with a sigh.

"Why are you always getting yourself hurt." He'd said, his hands gently pushing your sock down to your ankle. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

You had only shrugged out of embarrassment.

Even then, he had disappeared into his house before coming back with bandages and peroxide. The smell had been medicinal in the hot summer air and he'd sat cleaning the blood from your knee.

At fifteen years old, your crush had become something incurable. The year Steve had started driving. The year he started showing up on the driveway in his burgundy BMW with one hand lazily hooked over the steering wheel and his sunglasses hiding half his face while girls from school had prayed to get his attention. It'd also been the age silly jealousy had warped your heart.

You knew Steve Harrington was someone you'd never get close to touching. He belonged to everybody and that was the problem.

At sixteen years old, every girl in town had a story about him, but also forgave him too easily when he had reached that stage in his life where he'd been known as the charming, wealthy, party boy who knew his way around. Eventually, he'd calmed down despite having the certain cockiness to him you'd always known.

But there were fragile moments where the performance would slip.

Late nights when your brother had gone upstairs to watch TV, Steve would sink further into the couch with an exhausted look on his face. Sometimes your mother would hand him leftovers wrapped in foiled. He would just smile with gratitude and pull her in for a hug.

The nights he stayed over were your favorite.

One time you woke up at two in the morning for water. When you walked downstairs, you would find him knocked out on the couch with one arm thrown his face. He'd always been such a restless sleeper.

Looking back, maybe you had started loving him in those moments, not just a silly crush.

Deep down, you knew it was because you knew a version of him nobody else knew, a version that was just him and not King Steve.

You knew the way he got quieter when something bothered him, the way he tapped his fingers when anxious, and the way he hated going home more than he would ever admit out loud.

By your junior year of college, at twenty years old, you had gotten good at convincing yourself you were over Steve Harrington. Distance helped, especially when Purdue University was four hours from Hawkins.

Classes, new friends, late night walks across campus with music playing in your headphones, and boys who flirted with you had given you experiences that you almost forgot about a version of yourself that doodled in her notebook over a boy with big brown eyes.

Steve had become someone easier to manage when he had only existed mostly through rushed stories from your brother on phone calls.

Steve got promoted. Steve got into some fight at a bar and lost. Steve was seeing some girl. Steve bought a new car.

He couldn't touch your life anymore.

Until May.

Finals week had exhausted everyone by the time summer break finally arrived. Outside your dorm window, students drag bags down sidewalks, the sky gray and threatening rain. You can only hope the weather doesn't worsen.

The telephone begins to ring on your nightstand. Walking over and removing it from the hook, you wedge it between your shoulder.

"Hello?" You answer distracted, struggling to zip your duffel bag.

"Your brother's an asshole."

You freeze, stomach fluttering. His voice was still able to do that to you. "Well, hello to you to. You sound so surprised." You managed.

"I am," Steve replied. "He told me he forgot he promised to pick you up and he already made plans, which is now my problem somehow."

"Sooo, you're coming instead?"

"Yeah, unfortunately."

"You're such a gentleman," You croon, tossing your duffel bag aside. "Will you help me with my bags too?'

"You know I will." "I'm calling from this diners telephone box, had to take a bathroom break because the drive is so damn long."

"Tell me about it. Why do you think I wanted someone else to do the driving for me in the first place?"

"You sneaky little witch. Just using people aren’t you?" He comments, making you laugh. "Anyways, I'm like twenty minutes away. Try not to bring your whole dorm with you."

The line clicks dead before you can answer and place the phone back into it's rightful place.

Immediately, you hate yourself for checking your reflection in the mirror to check your hair. On instinct, you reach for your lip gloss and swipe it against your lips.

This was so ridiculous. You were twenty, not fourteen anymore, yet you were hyperaware of everything about you all because Steve Harrington was about to drive four hours alone with you.

By the time you have your bags ready and make your way outside after checking out your dorm, you spot the BMW parked against the pavement. Girls passing turned to look as Steve stepped out from the driver's seat as rain began to fall. Some things never changed did they?

Your stomach drops at the sight of him. He looked different, less boyishly pretty and now more manly. His shoulders broader beneath his dark blue crewneck and fitting his arms just right.

Steve uses one hand to push back his damp hair from his forehead and his eyes land on you, making you freeze. He smirks, calling out, "Hey! You coming?"

You roll your eyes, walking over. "You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago."

"Sorry, traffic backed up from the rain." He frowns and takes a quick glance at his watch. "If we go now we should be fine though."

He takes the largest bag from you, tossing it over his shoulder, before you can argue. Steve opens the trunk, tucking in the bag and reaching a hand out in gesture for you to hand him the rest.

"Your roommates going to miss you at all?" He asks, shutting the trunk and locking it with the keys.

"Mmm, yeah I think so. One of them cried."

He lets out a low whistle, "Damn. You breaking hearts at Purdue now? I thought you were sweet?"

"Shut up." You snort. "I doubt she'll send a postcard anyways. She only used me for homework answers in statistics."

"No worries, we'll have a better summer without people like that. Like old times." He grins in the familiar way you knew.

Steve opens the passenger door and flashes you a wink. "After you."

You just smile, sitting down and adjusting the seat to your height as he shuts the door behind you, jogging around the hood of the car before the rain could get you both anymore wet.

Steve slides into the driver's seat, starting the heater to warm up. He inserts the keys into the ignition, giving it a couple turns, and sighs. "You hungry?"

"Ummm, a little." You confess.

"There's leftover fries in the bag from the diner if you want some" He turns over the seat as he backs the car out of is spot, managing to grab the paper bag sitting behind. "They got kinda wet though."

You eye the soaking wet paper bag and scrunch your nose, "What the hell, Steven. You're disgusting."

"What! They're still good!"

"Soggy fries are good? Would you eat those?" You deadpan, raising a brow.

There's a pause of silence until, "...Nah. Maybe you're right." He coughs and clears his throat. "We'll grab some dinner in a couple hours in the next town. Promise."

You laugh despite yourself and turn your head to look outside the window, watching as the campus begins to empty out, students hugging goodbye and loading up cars.

Steve glances at your direction briefly as you begins to make a turn out of the campus, "You going to miss it?"

"Huh? Purdue?"

"Mhm."

You hum, pondering for a moment. Sure, you'd been homesick when you'd started, but overtime you'd found another place and friends to call home. Out the window, you watch the buildings blur past as you drive farther. Finally, you admit, "Yeah, more than I thought I would. I'll probably try and make plans for my friend Beth to come down to Hawkins."

"Do you like being away?" He asks, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel while the other tapped against his thigh. "From Hawkins, I mean."

Truthfully, no. You liked being able to ignore your feelings, but you didn't like not being able to communicate with loved ones mostly through mail and telephone.

"I like..." You stop to carefully consider your words. "being somewhere where nobody knows every single thing about me. So, no and yes."

"Yeah, that sounds nice. I don't blame you." Steve gives a faint smile.

The roads begin to stretch longer as buildings become fields then empty highways, Steve cautiously keeping distance from other cars.

You blow a puff of air, bored, reaching into the dashboard to search through Steve's collection of cassette tapes. Steve catches you from the corner of his eyes. He clicks his tongue, "Hey, you thief. What do you think you're doing?"

"Playing music?" You snip as if it's obvious. "It's too quiet in here that it's going to drive me insane."

"Is my own voice not enough for you?" He mockingly pouts but snatches the cassette of your choice out of your hand, inserting it into the player of the radio.

"You'll never be Bruce Springsteen, sorry to tell you."

"Are you still seeing that girl?" You ask, trying to sound casual.

Steve looked confused, "What girl?"

"The one Anthony mentioned. Blonde, brown eyes, in STEM..." You explain, listing of the traits your older brother had mentioned over the phone last Winter. You remember hooking up with some guy afterwards.

He huffs a laugh, "Oh. No."

"What do you mean no?" You press.

"That lasted like two months. It's been long done." He says casually as if it had been nothing. You truly thought he'd liked her, even if she'd been one of many girlfriends that wouldn't work out.

"What happened? I thought you liked her?"

He pursed his lips, "I mean, yeah she was nice."

Steve seemed almost reluctant, like there was more to the story than he wanted to give.

"Anddd?"

"And that's it." He sighs. "Look, I could give a thousand of excuses of why it didn't work but I can't besides saying I just wasn't feeling anything. Nice isn't enough and I didn't want to waste her time."

"Oh..." You say.

You'd be lying if you said you were disappointed at the fact his love life had once again failed. You're a horrible and selfish person, you think.

"Plus, I think I've made too much mistakes doing that in the past. It wouldn't be fair, y'know?"

"Growing up, Harrington?"

"Watch it," He scolds.

You stick your tongue out playfully before resuming your session of staring out the window in distraction of your nerve wracking thoughts and the fact Steve was sitting a foot away.

Shivering, the feel goosebumps rise on your arms and you rub your hands against them in hope to ease.

Steve seems notice and frowns, glimpsing at you before turning back to the road. "Are you still cold?"

"Nope."

"Liar," He chuckles. Turning the heater on with the dial, he reaches his arm behind his seat afterwards, grabbing hold of a folded up blanket and tosses it to you.

"Oh, no, no, Steve. You don't have--" You reassure, holding your hands up.

"I know, it's okay." He cuts you off. "Just give it back when you're done. We both know you're a thief."

"Yeah, yeah."

The droplets of ran pounds against the windshield, the dark clouds swirling in the sky as thunder erupts threateningly. It stirs fear in your chest, heart picking up its pace.

"Shit, it's getting bad." Steve points out. Trying to ease the mood, he jokes. "Think some force of nature is trying to kill us?"

"I don't know about me, but maybe just you. I hope the lightning picks you over me once we get out." You sass.

His mouth is gaped in shock. Finally, he says under his breath, "Psycho."

You try to focus on the music the next couple of minutes, but you can’t stand the silence between the two of you.

After years, you always want to know every single detail about him, to hear him talk about the special things his life and what he has going for him.

Every time you hope it’s something good. It’s all he’s ever deserved.

"How's work? Aren't you doing this whole coaching gig?"

"Don't forget sex ed teacher on the side. But, yeah, it's great so far." He seems to light up, happy you asked. "Really great."

He switches lanes before he continued, "For so long I was so confused and didn't know what I wanted, but now? I don't think I've been happier. Sure, my dad thinks the pay is shit, but at least I'm doing something with my life now."

“I think it’s good, Steve. You’re starting somewhere and I think it fits you perfectly.”

He’s shy then and goes quiet. You think the conversation is done with until:

"I- I really want to try college again. Get a degree in physical education. I know, it probably sounds stupid. I slacked so much in High School. I cared too much about the wrong things, now I'm paying for it."

Your heart breaks at his self deprecation. He’s always struggled with his self esteem underneath all that confidence he paraded around with. Deep down, he just wanted to be worth something in anothers eyes.

"It's not silly, not at all." You study him, staring at the slope of his nose down to the shadow of stubble along his jaw. "A lot of people lose their way too like you did, and you found your way back. You're trying and I think that's enough to be proud of, Stevie."

Steve gives you a quick look of shock, blood rushing to his cheeks.

"Thanks." He coughs before the corner of his mouth quirks up. "You're still holding on to that nickname? Jeez, you don't change."

"It reminds me of Fleetwood, it's cute!" You protest.

"Okay, then." He simply laughs.

"The more you hate it, the more I'm going to keep using it."

"Uh huh,"

Rain slammed against the windshield so violently that Steve had to lean forward, squinting his eyes to get a good look at the road. The wipers moved back and forth as the highway stretched ahead, the only thing visible being the headlights illuminating the road and the flashes of lightning in the sky.

Suddenly, the car swerves slightly, making you gasp. Before your brain can process, Steve's arm is bracing against your chest and pushing you back against the seat.

"Fucking hell," He curses, glaring daggers at the truck that zooms past. Steve removes his arm and asks, "You okay?"

Placing a hand over your chest, you nod. "Shit, yeah. It happened so quick, I wasn't expecting it."

Steve hums in agreement and directs his attention back to the road where water pools and the wind starts push hard enough against the BMW that your stomach hurts.

"Damn it," He mutters, directing the car to pull off to the next exit that definitely wasn't part of your plans. "We're not going to be able to make it back tonight. I'm not trying to have us soaring off a cliff when there's idiots who can't drive."

You sit up straighter, frowning, "What're we doing then if not going home?"

Steve rubs a hand across his jaw tiredly, "There should be a motel like ten minutes off this exit. We can grab food before we get a room. We'll just leave in the morning when this calms down."

Calm down, you think. Sharing a room with Steve Harrington sounds terrifying in theory, but what other choice did you have? This was the practical choice, you'd be stupid if you let your feelings get in the way of your safety.

"Unless you'd rather we soar off the cliff to our deaths?" Steve jokes in attempt to lighten the mood.

You'll be fine.

You wave a hand in dismissal and laugh, "Whatever. Yeah, the motel should be fine."

"And if we get murdered? We'll just haunt Anthony and tell him this was mostly his fault."

That was not comforting.

The motel, when you arrived after thirty minutes of driving in pouring rain and a quick fast food pick up, was old but comfortable looking enough that you were able to feel relieved.

The sign buzzed as streams of water poured off the roof. The parking lot was nearly empty except for Steve's BMW and an old truck. Inside, the lobby air smelled faintly like burnt coffee and mildew.

"I'm scared Steve," You whisper, eyeing your surroundings as Steve signed the check in receipt. "What if we get murdered like you said--"

"Okay, first of all, I was joking." Steve says, taking the room key from the old woman behind the desk, who didn't bother to look up from her crossword puzzle. "Second, you watch way too much movies. I think they're starting to rot your brain."

"Have you seen 'Psycho?' That could--"

"Relax!" Steve gives you an incredulous look as if he's unsure whether to laugh. He grabs the greasy paper bag from you. "Let's go to our room, eat, shower, and before you know it you'll feel fine. C'mon."

When you and Steve walk outside and up the rickety stairs to unlock your room, you’re met with the sight of a muted floral bedspread and a television sitting on the dresser. One bed.

"Shit, I asked for a two bed." Steve scoffs and tosses your duffel on the bed along with his overnight bag. Thankfully he came prepared based on weather before he left. "You want me to go ask for a new room?"

Not wanting to complain, you shake your head nervously, "No, this is fine."

Steve just nods, seating himself down at the edge of the bed with a long exhale. You stand still, unable to move from your spot. Maybe it was because there was no brother nearby, no parents, and no friends, but just the two of you in such a vulnerable space.

Steve yawns with a stretch, "You can go ahead and shower first."

You nod, practically running to the shower. The bathroom fills with steam as you turn the faucet, undressing and stepping inside.

You find yourself standing beneath the hot water longer necessary, letting the heat unknot the stiffness aching in your shoulders. Your thoughts felt loud. This is ridiculous, nothing is happening and is going to happen. Steve is Steve, your brother's best friend who you've spent majority of your life trying not to embarrass yourself around. You're going to go back in there and act normal. You'll be back on the road before you know it.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, the sound of the microwave beeps and you smell the delicious scent of fries and burgers. Steve turns his head, pulling both yours and his food out on to plates.

"You took forever. Were you swimming in there?" He says, handing you your plate before he goes to sit cross legged on the bed against the headboard.

"You're so dramatic, it was only thirty minutes." You join him and take a bite out of your burger.

"Thirty minutes too long," He quips, grabbing the remote and flipping through the television channels. "So, what are we in the mood for, Seinfeld or Beverly Hills? Take your pick."

"Seinfeld. I don't have the attention span for dramatics right now," You reply, stealing one of Steve's fries.

"Seinfeld it is," Steve muses and throws the remote away.

The tv plays on the next twenty minutes as the two of you eat, the episode plot being one of the character's apartments getting robbed, leading to an argument over who gets to move into a new apartment. You weren't paying attention much if you were being honest, more focused on the heat of his body next to you and trying not to seem obviously affected.

"Y'know..." Steve starts and you recognize his familiar tone of mischief. "this episode kind of reminds me of all the arguments you and Anthony have."

You turn to look at him, raising a brow. "Yeah because he's hardheaded."

"Must be a genetic thing." He muses, not turning his gaze away from the screen.

You gasp, smacking his arm. "Don't compare me to him! He's ten times worse than I'll ever be."

"Oh trust me, I believe you." He ponders for a moment before breaking into laughter. "Shit, remember when he jumped off the roof to backflip into my parent's pool?"

In fact, you do. It was one of your favorite embarrassing moments to blackmail your older brother with. He'd been bawling all the way to the emergency room while your mother laid it into him.

"Yes! He's was so stupid. I even told him it probably wasn't a good idea, but no, he insisted he'd look like those superheros from those comics you guys liked so much." You scoffed.

"Man, my mom was so pissed."

"Well, you technically encouraged him on, so I'd be too." He only laughs at your words, giving you a small nudge.

The conversation from there unraveled from one memory to another before you knew it as time passed. From middle school disasters of your brother getting into ridiculous fights, terrible haircuts you cried your eyes out over and threatened to never step outside again, and to Steve accidentally lighting fireworks too close to the garage one Fourth of July, the two of you laugh as you bond over the past.

Steve remembered everything which you couldn't decide was good or bad, especially since he remembered the most embarrassing moments like the time he and Anthony walked in on you kissing your James Spader poster in High School.

"You got so red that you yelled at us to get out," Steve cackled while laying on his side, hand rested under his chin, full attention now only on you.

"I was 15! That was traumatizing! How would you feel if someone walked in on you and found your old magazine collection under your bed."

"Shut up."

"Nope," You say, popping the p.

The both of you watch about three more episodes before trash is discarded in the can next to the bed and somewhere along the way the lamp on the nightstand is turned off, the room lit up only by the blue screen of the television.

"Anyone special in your life?" Steve randomly asks, sounding almost playful if you ignored the weird tone. "Only fair I ask you since you interrogated me earlier."

"Pft, no not really. Robin keeps trying to set me up with this guy though."

"Oh." There's a weird pause. "Are you gonna...see him or anything?"

You scrunch your nose and turn away from the TV. "Uhh I don't know? Why?"

Steve's teeth a clenched, body going rigid. He scoots away to give some space and now you know something is deeply wrong. "No reason just-- I don't know. Maybe you should let her."

"Steve, I don't even know the guy."

"So? If you like him then you like him" He shrugs, resting his weight by laying his palms flat on the bed.

Since when did he dictate what you do or don't do with your life and your romantic life at that.

You stand abruptly and cross your arms over your chest. “Why the hell are you so mad? I never even said I liked him.”

"Whatever." He scoffs.

"Why do you even care?"

"I don't"

"Then why are you acting weird!" You yell, wincing. You don't need the owner marching down here and banging at the door.

He doesn't answer, turning back to the television instead. You know he's just trying to avoid the confrontation of whatever was going on in that head of his. You hated how stubborn he could be.

Fine, he wants to act that way? You'll let him.

"I need air." You announce and start to head towards the door, hand already turning the knob.

The seems to alert him because he snaps his heads, face falling. "Wait- shit- no. I'm sorry."

“Leave me alone.” You snapped.

"I don't know what's up with me, seriously." He pleads. You can tell he's apologetic and not just saying mindless sorrys just to get you to shut up. "Please, I'm sorry. It's raining"

You want to be mad and leave him alone in the dark, probably go to the nearest vending machine and grab a snack, sit somewhere so the rain doesn't soak you.

But you don't have it in you.

"Fine."

"C'mere." Steve said quietly, making your stomach drop.

He gestures with his hand, sitting upright now, facial expression calm and giving you the opportunity to say no. Except, you don't want to.

Your body is moving before you can stop yourself, sitting yourself back on the bed, scooting closer to him and sitting on your knees, brushing against his own. The feeling of his leg against you is enough to stir excitement deep in your belly.

Neither of you speak, the only sound in the room being your breathing, the rain tapping against the window with the occasional crackle of lightning, and your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Was this actually happening or were you deluded?

“‘M sorry…”

“It’s…it’s okay, Stevie.” You say shakily.

“I just get…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, chewing his lip.

His fingers brush against your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek. You shiver at the contact. "What are you thinking?" He murmurs.

"That--" You swallowed. "that I don't know if I'm dreaming or not."

"I'm right here," He hums, his eyes gazing down at your lips. He nibbles at him bottom lip as if he were fighting temptation. "are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Here with me."

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and you nod, "Yeah...I am, Steve."

His lips slowly catch your own, molding together as you gasp against his, before slowly letting yourself melt into his warmth. Your hand catches against the front of his shirt as the kiss deepens.

It was warm and dizzying, so different and overwhelming compared to fantasies you'd imagined over the years.

You'd been completely wrong about Steve being a great kisser. He was momentous and no man you'd been with before could compare to the way his hands drifted down to your waist, drawing you closer onto his lap.

Steve rubs a hand up and down your spine, sneaking a hand under your top. His hands are warm against the coolness of your skin, his whole presence inviting.

His hand leaves and he pulls at the hem of your top. "Off." He orders, no questioning in his tone.

Inclined to listen, you throw your tank over your head, the air hitting your naked breasts and torso immediately.

You feel sheepish when Steve's hazel eyes unapologetically stare hard at your breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. A soft sound leaves his swollen lips as he brings his hands up to give an experimental squeeze.

When you let a whimper slip, unable to contain it, Steve smiles. "So fucking pretty. Are they sensitive, hm?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, wanting to play around a bit just to see what he'd do, so, you shake your head. "No."

"Really? Not even if I..." He mused and pinches your nipples, causing you to jolt. "do this?"

"Shit!" You're so wet by anything he does, even a little bit of touching your damn tits had your panties sticking to your pussy. "Want more...please."

"Yeah?" Steve peppers kisses against your jaw and makes his way down to your neck, chest, and ending at your sternum. "Gonna suck these pretty tits then."

You suck in a sharp breath when his lips wrap around your right bud while his hand teases the left, thumb rolling it in between his thumb and index. He gives a couple of suckles and flicks his tongue against your right, moaning. Steve could cum in his pants right here right now by simply doing this, nothing else.

You mewl, your fingers gliding into his brunette strands of hair and tugging them hard. Steve hisses at the pain but makes no move to stop you, giving your nipple a scolding bite before moving to your left one to give it the same treatment.

If you weren't so distracted, you'd be nonstop apologizing.

Steve moves his right hand, exploring down your navel into your pj shorts. They come off and you're left in just your panties. Giving one last harsh suck to your breast, he pulls off to stare you deep in the eyes, his pupils dilated, "You're so beautiful..." Steve traces the outline of your clothed pussy with his fingers, ghosting over your sensitive clit. You shiver and dig your nails into his shoulder. "prettiest girl I've ever seen."

"You're just saying that," You giggle, avoiding eye contact as he takes off your panties, a your wetness clinging to it before snapping.

His thick brows furrow and says sternly, "I'm not. You know why?"

"...Why?"

"Because," He starts, teasing his middle and ring finger against your hole before dipping them inside with an obscene wet sound. Your breath stutters at feeling of them beginning to move in and out of you with practiced skill. "besides you obviously being fucking gorgeous, you're also the same person who has the biggest heart I know."

"Th- that's-- fuh-- ckk-- you." You moan, eyes shutting closed. He spreads his fingers, scissoring your walls and stretching them wide.

"Not at all. You? You look at people with the kindest eyes and care about everybody, you always have. You remember the smallest details people tell you, you sit with them when they're hurting, you're funny without trying," He laughs, finding your sweet spot and prodding at it. "and you make every room warmer when you walk in. I mostly like how you cry over the silliest movies."

"I do all that...?" You slur.

"Mhm. Dunno how you see the beauty in everyone but miss it all in yourself."

His praise hits you like a truck and you can practically feel a heartbeat within your cunt, your walls squeezing tightly around his fingers, not wanting him to leave.

Needing more, you begin to lift your hips up and down, bouncing and steadying your weight by grabbing on to his shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s it. Ride my fingers justtt like that.” He coos, meeting every roll of your hips with a curl of his fingers against your walls.

Your lashes flutter against your cheeks and you let out a low whine. Cunt sucking in his fingers, you lift the weight of your body up and down, up and down, attempting to reach the peak of pleasure you so desperately longed for.

“Steve. Mfmh…feels so good.”

“What does honey? C’mon, tell me.” He hums, pressing wet kisses against the nape of your throat until he elicits a whimper out of you, confirming that he’s found that certain spot that turns you into mush.

“Your fingers,” You pant, grinding harder down on his hand. “so thick and so deep in me."

You let out a ragged whine at the pressure slowly building up deep in your lower belly.”

Steve groans, smacking your ass in response. “Love that you talk so fucking nasty.” He begins to speed up, the pads of his index and middle pressing deep inside you. You arch your back with a cry. “You close? I can feel it with how tight this pretty wet pussy is getting.”

You nod profusely, wrapping your arms around his neck and hiding your face in it with a moan. Your hips and thighs begin to ache, your movements beginning to slow.

“Yeah, mhm- but can’t- ” You said, grabbing Steve’s wrist pleadingly. “Steve…”

“You’re already tired, honey?” He clicks his tongue in faux sympathy, but nonetheless holds you down to force you still, thrusting his fingers up into you. “Well, that can’t do. Can’t leave my pretty girl hanging.”

"'m cumming, m' cumming, oh fuckkkk--" The second his thumb hits your clit, rubbing firm circles, your orgasm crashes over you like a dam and you cum with a broken moan, your words spilling out.

He hasn't even fucked you properly yet and you already feel dumbed out.

Steve’s fingers continue for a minute to help you ride it out before he pulls them out, slipping them into his mouth. "So good."

You lift your head from his shoulder, mouth dropping in shock as he sucks your arousal clean from him. The heat of embarrassment hits you and you feel inclined to look away from the dirty sight yet you can’t pull away.

His fingers leave his mouth with a pop and he moans in satisfaction. A dirty part of you secretly wishes he’d shove them in your mouth.

Steve shifts you off his lap and lays you down on your back oh so gently, kissing you in between words, “Trust me,” kiss. “I wanna get a real taste but,” kiss. “need to feel you around me real fucking bad.”

He pauses, pulling away to look at you, "Only if you want to though. I don't want to pressure you or anything--"

You pull him by the collar of his shirt for another kiss and he instantly smiles into it, tongue sliding against your bottom lip for permission. Parting your lips, his tongue slips inside, the wet muscle flicking against your own as it explores your mouth.

You both pull apart, the two of you breathing heavily. A string of saliva being the only thing connecting the two of you now.

"I want to." You say finally, staring up at the man you've yearned so long for, the man who'd always been so kind to you.

A grin tugs at Steve's lips and he sits back on his knees to pull his shirt off by the hem, revealing patches of hair on his chest leading down to the delicious happy trail down his soft tummy into his pants (he always complained he didn't have abs, but if anything you thought it was the hottest thing).

You note the thick bulge restrained by his jeans and suddenly you feel intimidated.

You'd heard the rumors before, rumors that made you pout in jealousy at one point in your life where you felt you could never know Steve in such a vulnerable way. You wouldn't believe yourself a year ago if you knew you'd be having sex with your older brother's best friend.

The metal of his belt clinks and he yanks the belt out of the loops and pulling down his jeans. After his boxers are off, your eyes widen at the sight of the thick hard cock slapping against his stomach.

Steve grunts, giving it a couple tugs. Like you suspected, the dark patches of hair trail down to the pubic hair tousled around his cock. It's long in length and incredibly girthy, the veins running up until the pink swollen head leaking with precum.

The thought of him fucking your throat and guiding you by your hair while praising you with sweet nothings while you gag, turns you on more than it should and you clench your thighs together.

He takes notice of your nerves and frowns, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" You say too quickly.

He shakes his head, "I wanna make this as comfortable for you as possible, so I need to know what's" He gently taps your forehead. "going on in that head of yours. Okay, honey?"

You're quiet, unsure whether it's such a miniscule thing to point out in the first place. Giving in, you mumble, "You're just...huge."

Steve blinks before he bursts into a fit of laughter, his eyes crinkling. You're absolutely mortified. "Don't laugh at me! You told me to tell you."

He stalls his laughter and is immediately crawling on top of you, brows furrowed in concern. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you, honey. I'm more so with..." His eyes flick down to his obvious erection. "the situation, I guess."

"...Is it even going to fit?"

He huffs a laugh, leaning in to give your forehead a quick kiss, "I'll make it, don't worry."

Shit.

"You trust me, honey?" He asks one more time.

Exhaling, you nod. "Yeah, yeah, I do."

Suddenly, his face drops and he curses, "Fuck, I don't have protection." He drags a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry--"

"It's okay," You smile. "I have an IUD, should be fine."

He pauses, processing the information before returning your smile. "Alright then, you're full of surprises aren't you?"

"I'd say so," You shrug.

Nudging your legs apart with his knee, he readjusts and rests his left arm beside your head and uses his free hand to wrap around his dick, guiding the swollen tip to your leaking entrance.

He slides it up and down your slit before dragging it up to your clit, slapping it firmly a couple times, sending a jolt of pleasure.

"Put it in!" You complained.

He taunts, "I thought good girls were patient?"

"I am," You pout, bucking your hips up. "But it doesn't mean I don't want you to fuck me sensele--"

You're unable to finish your sentence, words breaking into a high pitched moan at the feeling of his huge cock intruding, the hot skin of him filling you whole as he bottoms out.

"You were saying?"

"Just- just move, please."

Steve starts off slow, moving his hips back and thrusting forward with a couple shallow thrusts before he grinds against you deeper than his fingers had been able to reach.

Picking up the pace, he draws his cock out all the way to barely the tip and slamming back in to begin a series of devoted thrusts.

Mewling, you slide your hands to his back, nails scratching against the skin of his shoulder blades. You tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him as you shamelessly moan. (The both of you should be expecting a complaint from the motel owner later...)

He leans down to lick the base of your neck, tongue flat as he drags up to a stop and sucking multiple spots, marks blooming as proof of the passionate night that will soon become a memory.

You feel grief knowing this will be over in just a few minutes, but you won't worry about that now, you'll just make the most of it.

The bed creaks under your weight, the rhythm of him fucking into you relentless with the disgustingly filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin.

"So goddamn tight and wet," He breathes into your neck. "this all for me?"

"Yes, yes," You urge him on, bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts and he moans. "all for you, Steve- mmf fuck."

"Yeahhh?" You can feel him smile against your skin, giving a couple more kisses before pulling back to get a good look at you. "All mine?"

Word coils at your throat, unable to fully get anything out besides broken sobs.

"C'mon baby. Talk to me like the good girl I know you are. Need to hear how good you feel as I fuck this tight pussy."

"Love you," You drawl out with a whine, squeezing your eyes shut. "Love you so much, Steve."

Suddenly, his hips come to a stop and you're left in confusion until it hits you. Oh no.

Eyes snapping wide, your palm slaps against your mouth as you stare up at Steve.

He looks like he’s seen a ghost, eyes wide, hair tousled in a mess, and he’s so still you can’t tell if he’s currently present in the moment or debating on packing and leaving you stranded in the motel.

You need him to say something, anything. Anything to reassures you didn’t destroy everything.

Blinking back tears threatening to spill, you start, “Steve—“

"You love me?" He whispers.

He’s going to curse you out, call you disgusting and a perverted loser who’d been pathetically yearning for someone that knew he wasn’t her own.

Don’t leave. Please.

"I'm so, so, so sorry Steve. Please just forget I said anything, I didn't mean to--"

He shuts you up with his lips crashing against yours and his thrusts resuming, the wet slap of his balls mixed with your arousal against the fat of your ass.

You cry out in surprise, legs immediately wrapping around his waist as his cock drives hard and fast in to you.

His thrusts grow frantic at your words, his free hand sliding under your lower back to lift your hips high as he keeps your grip on your right thigh, driving his swelling cock deeper. He kisses you sloppily, swallowing your whimpers as he whines against your mouth.

His thrusts grow messy and his hips stutter. Breaking away from you, a groan rattles through his chest, "Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck-- I can't hold it--"

With every hit of the bulbous tip against your g-spot, you feel closer and closer to the edge.

"'M gonna cum, Steve!"

"Shh, I know, baby," His jaw is tight, attempting to restrain himself from finishing before you. "I got you, I got you. 'M close too...tell me where you want it, 'kay?"

"Shittt-- inside." You gasp.

He moans loudly at your words, eyes fluttering, that he almost came right there. "Ah, fuckkk. You sure?"

Instead of answering, you press the heels of your feet against the dip of his back, pushing him forward and deeper into you, profusely nodding.

He doesn't have to ask again and jackhammering his hips against you until finally the band deep inside you snaps and you cum around him with a high pitched whine, arching your back.

Ropes of cum fill you as he releases with a groan, stilling his hips deep inside you and grinding deep against you to ride both of your orgasms out.

"Fucking love you so much," He pants, kissing you from your cheeks, forehead, jaw, and finally planting several on your swollen lips. "love you, love you, love you..."

Your heart does a flip. Did he truly mean it? Your mind had barely begun to return back to it's fully conscious state after mind blowing sex.

Trembles coursing through your legs, they weakly fall from Steve's waist.

It takes a minute for Steve to gain enough energy to pull his cock out before breathlessly slumping the weight of his body next to you. He pulls you against his chest without hesitation, so naturally that you don't know how to move forward from here.

"Did you..." You finally say as his free hand rubs up and down your thigh soothingly. "did you mean what you said?"

He stiffens, "What do you mean?" He knows exactly what you mean.

"That..." You gulped.

"That I love you?"

"Mhm."

"Of course I meant it," He smiles when your finger tips graze against his face, dragging against his moles delicately. "meant every single word. You're everything, y'know?"

You stop your movements and blink.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He laughs awkwardly.

"Umm, like what?"

He groans, dragging a hand up his face. "Like- I don't know! Like you regret it or something."

"No, no, no," You shake your head, internally cursing at your own dumb silence for making him think otherwise. "that's not it, it's just that...it's just I'm having a hard time processing what just happened."

"Besides the obvious?" He raises a brow.

Immediately, you smack his chest and he just chuckles, grabbing your wrist and giving it a brief kiss.

"You know what I mean you big dummy." You roll your eyes before your tone grows serious, almost shy. “Just…did we do it because…?”

Finally understanding where you were going, his brows furrow sternly and he shakes his head, “Stop. Baby, I don’t want you thinking we had sex because of some storm or because we got stuck in a motel.”

Your pulse quickens. “Okay…”

“Like I said, it’s because I love you and have been for months now.”

His words hit you and you stop, thinking you misheard, “Wait. What? Months???”

“Ah…” Steve’s cheeks grow hot with blood and he’s no longer looking at you now, distracted with the ceiling fan spinning.

You’d assumed this was a very recent thing, not something that had been going on for the past year directly under your nose.

"Steve, when?"

"Um," He coughs. "around Christmas."

“Christmas???” You gasp loudly and he cringes. “That was like six months ago!”

“I’m aware…”

You can’t help the stupid smile that grows on your face and you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and snuggling your face into his chest deeper, looking up at him. "Aww, Stevie you had a crush on me? Is that why you got all like that a bit ago?" You then pause, furrowing your eyebrows. "Are you actually being serious? If you're messing with me I'll shave your head while you're asleep."

"You wouldn't."

"Mmm, I dunno."

"Brat." He smacks your ass and you squeal, kicking him in the leg, causing him to grunt. "And duh, I'm serious."

He seems to ponder, sentimental at the memory of snow falling and your family gathered together when he'd been invited to celebrate with like every year. "I realized when you and Anthony were making the stupid gingerbread houses. Man, you're so competitive. You begged me to be the judge of who made the better house and everything. When I said you, you were so happy over something so silly and I just...I don't know, I guess it hit me."

You remember. You'd layered your house in pastel blue and pink frosting with gumdrops sprinkled across. You insisted yours was the epitome of a perfect house compared to Anthony's absolute mess that had no theme nor color coordination. So, you'd look to Steve who'd been wearing that sweater of his he'd looked ridiculously good in, with big eyes and hands clasped together.

"I had no idea." You whisper, running a hand through his messy hair. "I honestly thought you didn't care, that I had some stupid little crush for years."

"Years?" He asks in genuine confusion.

"Don't tell me you didn't know."

"No, swear." He then laughs. "Wow, years?"

Now you feel embarrassed, regretting you even said anything in the first place. "Shut up, Steven."

He gives a half smirk and flicks your forehead, "It's okay, I'm not judging. Just took us some time, that's all."

"...Hmph."

Moments pass and it’s silent but comfortable, easy enough to ease into together as you sigh into his chest, hiding your face into it as he holds you close.

If you could, you’d melt together and become one with him.

“Fuck.” Steve curses. “He’s going to kill me.”

You freeze, realizing what he means. Not wanting to worry about the issue of your brother at hand, you scoff. “So?”

“So?” He says exasperated, hiding his face in your hair, voice miserable. “So, he might actually kill me. Do you realize that?”

“Maybe you deserve it.”

“Hush.”

With confessions and sex, you wonder what’s the next step in the both of yours complicated relationship you were sure wouldn’t be exposed to anyone outside the two of you anytime soon. Privacy seemed the best route, especially if wanting to avoid…potential conflict.

Sure, he confessed his love, but did he want to take this seriously?

“What are we exactly?” You blurt out.

He just stares out, mouth opening and closing and you immediately regret your words. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to answer that—“

“I want to be your boyfriend.” He says quickly, flushing afterwards. “Um— if you’ll let me. I meant it when I said I love you. This isn’t just messing around to me. Even if…a certain someone beats my ass.”

You don’t give a response for a couple seconds, leaving him holding his breath. Finally, you smile and lean up to kiss his lips then the tip of his nose in finality. “Is that a good enough answer?”

AUTHORS NOTE: sooo…maybe might write part 2 where anthony finds out and shit hits the fan? you can kinda tell i got lazy towards the end lol.

Twisting soft strands around his fingers. Scratching lightly against your scalp. Pushing hair back away from your face whenever it falls forward.

Steve likes touching you. This is not exactly new information.

What is new is the fact your voice suddenly cuts off halfway through a sentence.

Steve glances down.

You’re asleep.

Completely asleep.

Mouth slightly parted against his shoulder, breathing slow and even, one hand still loosely curled in the fabric of his t-shirt.

Steve blinks once.

“…seriously?”

You do not respond, mostly because you are unconscious.

Steve stares at you for another few seconds before looking down at his hand still buried in your hair.

Interesting.

The second time it happens, he starts suspecting a pattern.

You’re sitting between his legs on the floor of his bedroom while he half watches a movie over your shoulder and half messes with your hair mindlessly. You’d insisted you weren’t tired less than ten minutes earlier.

“You literally slept till eleven,” Steve reminds you while separating sections of your hair carefully.

“I know,” you mumble. “That’s why I’m not tired.”

“Hm.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You like me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Steve grins slightly to himself before dragging his nails lightly across your scalp again.

Your shoulders loosen immediately.

Another few minutes pass.

Then, nothing.

No response to his last comment. No movement either.

Steve leans slightly sideways to look at your face properly.

Dead asleep.

Again.

Still sitting upright between his legs.

Steve laughs so suddenly he nearly wakes you back up.

“Oh my god,” he mutters quietly.

By the fourth or fifth occurrence, it becomes less of a coincidence and more of a genuinely ridiculous amount of power for one person to hold.

Especially because Steve starts testing it.

Not maliciously.

Scientifically.

“You’re doing it on purpose now,” you mumble one afternoon, already sounding half asleep despite having argued thirty seconds earlier that you were “definitely awake.”

Steve, stretched out beside you on his bed, continues scratching softly through your hair with an expression of complete innocence.

“Doing what?”

“The hair thing.”

“What hair thing?”

“The…” You frown weakly. “The sleepy thing.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek hard trying not to laugh.

Because it really is absurd.

You could be fully awake, actively talking, even complaining about not being tired at all, and within ten minutes of Steve touching your hair for long enough you’re suddenly fighting for your life trying to keep your eyes open.

“You’re being dramatic,” he says.

You squint at him suspiciously through obvious exhaustion. “You’re evil.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re like…” Another yawn interrupts you completely. “Like a tranquiliser gun.”

Steve loses it completely at that.

You fall asleep less than five minutes later with your face squashed into his chest while he quietly laughs into your hair.

After that, it becomes sort of unavoidable.

Steve starts noticing all the tiny signs before you even realise you’re tired.

The slower blinking. The way your body gradually gets heavier against him. The increasingly delayed responses during conversations.

And every single time, without fail, the second his fingers slide into your hair properly, you melt.

On the couch.

In bed.

Once in the passenger seat of his car while he waited for Robin to come out of Family Video after locking up.

Another time at the Wheeler’s house with your head in his lap while everyone else argued loudly over a board game around you.

“You cannot be serious,” Dustin says, staring at your sleeping form in disbelief. “How does she keep doing that?”

Steve barely looks up from where he’s still lazily playing with your hair. “Doing what?”

“She was literally talking.”

“Yeah?”

“And now she’s unconscious.”

Steve shrugs like this is completely normal behaviour.

Robin narrows her eyes immediately from the opposite couch.

“Oh, this is definitely psychological.”

Steve scoffs. “What does that even mean?”

“She’s associated you with sleep now.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It absolutely is,” Robin says. “You Pavlov’d your girlfriend.”

“I did not Pavlov my girlfriend.”

“You basically turned yourself into a human melatonin gummy.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but his hand never stops moving gently through your hair.

Mostly because Robin’s not entirely wrong.

There’s something about the trust of it that affects him more than he expects. The fact you fall asleep so easily against him. The way your whole body relaxes the second he touches you softly enough.

Like some part of you recognises him as safe before you even consciously think about it.

That part gets to him a little if he thinks about it too long.

Which is why he tries not to.

Unfortunately for him, you make this extremely difficult one rainy afternoon a few weeks later.

You’re both curled together in his bed while thunder rumbles softly outside, Steve lazily tracing shapes against your scalp while you blink sleepily up at him.

“You know,” you mumble eventually, “I think my body’s accidentally been trained.”

Steve grins immediately. “Finally admitting it?”

“This is your fault.”

“My fault you’re always sleepy?”

“My fault for trusting you enough to fall asleep this much.”

The smile slips slightly from Steve’s face at that.

You notice immediately, even half asleep.

“What?”

Steve looks down at you quietly for a second before shrugging one shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“Steve.”

His fingers slow slightly in your hair.

“It’s just…” He huffs softly through his nose. “I dunno. Kinda nice, I guess.”

Your expression softens immediately.

Because there it is.

The actual thing sitting underneath all the teasing.

Steve likes being trusted.

Likes being needed in these tiny quiet ways that nobody else really notices.

The way you automatically reach for his hand crossing roads. The way you sleep better beside him. The way you unconsciously move closer every time you’re tired.

You shift upwards slightly against his chest until you can kiss him properly.

Steve kisses you back slowly, one hand still tangled gently in your hair.

“I genuinely think this is my favourite thing.”

Your lips twitch.

“Me falling asleep?”

“No.” Steve smiles faintly. “You trusting me enough to.”

Something warm twists painfully through your chest.

You kiss him again before you can think too hard about it.

Steve’s fingers slide slowly through your hair once more afterwards, scratching lightly against your scalp in that familiar absentminded rhythm.

Dangerous.

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know exactly what.”

Steve looks deeply unconvincing. “I’m just touching your hair.”

“You’re literally weaponising affection.”

Steve starts laughing quietly while you attempt to glare at him through increasingly heavy eyelids.

“You’re already falling asleep,” he says.

“No I’m not.”

“You just blinked for like six seconds.”

“That means nothing.”

Steve grins down at you, still gently combing his fingers through your hair.

“You’re done for, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to argue.

Then immediately yawn instead.

Steve looks so unbearably pleased with himself that you weakly shove at his chest in protest.

It does absolutely nothing.

Mostly because less than ten minutes later, you’re asleep against him again.

And Steve, unfortunately, looks far too happy about it.

part 2 here: [nap trap pt.2]

Steve bites back a smile immediately.

“Hey sleepyhead,” he murmurs.

Your eyes narrow weakly. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?”

“The smug thing.”

Steve looks deeply unconvincing. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You absolutely do.”

His grin only widens as his nails scrape lightly against your scalp again.

Your entire body softens against him on instinct.

That immediate reaction that’s become so familiar over the past few months, Steve barely notices himself doing it anymore. The tiny exhale you make every single time his hands slide properly into your hair. The way your shoulders loosen beneath his arm. The gradual heaviness of your body settling more fully against his side.

It’s honestly ridiculous how effective it is.

Robin still calls him “human melatonin.”

Dustin’s started referring to him exclusively as “the Sandman.”

And unfortunately for everyone involved, both accusations are pretty accurate.

Especially now.

Because Steve’s barely touched your hair for thirty seconds before your eyes start drifting shut again.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” you mumble.

“I’m literally just touching your hair.”

“No,” you say sleepily. “You’re weaponising affection.”

Steve laughs quietly under his breath.

The thing is, he genuinely can’t deny it anymore.

Not when he knows exactly what this does to you now.

Not when some embarrassingly soft part of him likes it far too much.

Likes the trust of it.

The way you’ll fall asleep practically anywhere if he’s touching you gently enough. How instinctively you seek him out when you’re tired. The fact your body relaxes around him before you even consciously realise it’s happening.

That part affects him more than he’d ever admit out loud.

Which is why, when you suddenly tilt your head slightly against his shoulder and mumble, “Can you do the thing again?” Steve nearly loses coherent thought completely.

He looks down at you.

“…the thing?”

Your eyes stay shut.

“The hair thing.”

Something painfully fond twists low in Steve’s chest.

Because usually this happens accidentally. One of you ends up sprawled against the other during a film, or tangled together in bed, or sitting on the floor listening to music while Steve’s hands wander absentmindedly into your hair without either of you thinking much about it.

This is different.

This is you asking for it.

Actively seeking him out for comfort.

Steve clears his throat once. “Uh. Yeah. Obviously.”

You make a sleepy little humming noise immediately, shifting closer until your leg hooks loosely over his beneath the blanket.

Clingy.

Half asleep.

Trusting him completely.

Steve’s heart genuinely doesn’t stand a chance.

His fingers slide properly into your hair this time, scratching softly against your scalp while rain taps steadily against the windows outside.

The reaction is immediate.

Your breathing deepens slightly. Your whole body melts more heavily into his side. One of your hands curls absentmindedly into the fabric of his hoodie like you need something to hold onto while you drift off.

Steve stares down at you for a second.

“…Jesus Christ,” he mutters quietly.

You crack one eye open. “What?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Says the man who accidentally Pavlov’d his girlfriend.”

Steve grins despite himself. “You almost started purring last week.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

Your face disappears briefly into his chest in protest while Steve laughs softly, fingers never stopping their slow rhythm through your hair.

The room settles comfortably quiet after that.

Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance while some awful commercial flickers silently across the television neither of you are really watching anymore.

Steve notices every stage of your exhaustion now.

The slower blinking.

The increasingly delayed responses.

The way your body gradually gets heavier against his side like gravity affects you more whenever he touches your hair for long enough.

“You’re falling asleep already,” he murmurs eventually.

“No I’m not.”

“You just stopped talking halfway through a sentence.”

“I was thinking.”

“Mhm.”

“I was.”

Steve smiles to himself as your words start blurring together slightly from tiredness.

“You’re so pleased with yourself about this,” you mumble.

“Can you blame me?”

“Yes.”

“Unfortunately for you,” Steve says quietly, “this might actually be my greatest achievement.”

That gets a soft laugh out of you.

It fades quickly into a yawn instead.

Steve feels something warm settle painfully beneath his ribs at the sound.

Because this is the thing nobody really sees about him. Not the babysitter jokes or the stupidity or the pretending not to care.

Just this.

How badly Steve likes being safe for somebody.

How naturally he settles into taking care of the people he loves. How much he quietly craves these tiny domestic moments nobody else would even notice.

You shift sleepily against him again until your face ends up tucked properly into the crook of his neck.

“Feels nice,” you murmur eventually.

Steve glances down. “What does?”

“Your hands.”

The words come out so drowsy and sincere they nearly ruin him on the spot.

You don’t even realise what you’re doing to him.

Or maybe you do.

Because your eyes blink open slightly afterwards, finding his face in the dim orange light.

“You okay?”

Steve huffs a quiet laugh through his nose.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Just think you might actually be trying to kill me.”

Your lips twitch sleepily. “Why?”

“Because you say stuff like that while lookin’ like this.”

“Like what?”

Steve gestures vaguely toward you.

Curled against his chest beneath a mountain of blankets. Sleep-heavy eyes. Hair completely messed up from his hands.

“…cute,” he finishes weakly.

You smile lazily at that.

Then immediately move even closer.

Which honestly feels a little unfair.

Steve’s fingers slow briefly in your hair as he watches your eyes drift shut again.

“You know,” you mumble eventually, voice already heavy with sleep, “I think this might genuinely be my favourite thing too.”

Something warm twists painfully through Steve’s chest.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nuzzle slightly against his throat. “Makes me feel safe.”

Oh, that one nearly takes him out completely.

Steve goes very still for a second before leaning down to press a slow kiss against your forehead.

His hand never leaves your hair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs quietly, pulling the blankets higher around your shoulders.

You make another sleepy little noise immediately, practically melting against him now.

Steve could probably stay exactly like this forever.

Especially when, less than five minutes later, your breathing finally evens out completely against his chest.

Dead asleep.

Again.

Steve looks down at you for a long moment before shaking his head quietly to himself, still combing gentle fingers through your hair.

“…this is definitely a superpower,” he murmurs.

You snore softly in response.

Steve grins so hard it almost hurts.

“Funny,” Steve murmurs, zero amusement in his eyes as he looks back at you, his fingers curling into your jacket like he was trying to ground himself. “But I’m serious, if you fall I—”

“—Steve,” you interrupted him before he could let the thought in, your hand reaching for his in an attempt to reassure him with skin against skin. “It’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna be—”

“No, no, no, guys—it’s not lining up.”

Your blood turns cold at those words. A horrible sense of foreboding creeps in. 

“What do you mean it’s not lining up?” Steve asks Lucas in a slightly panicked voice while you look up at the tower needle, at the rocky surface of the abyss above that was coming down. Your eyes focused on deep rifts that were emitting an eerie red glow that did not align with the needle.

“Look! The tower needle. It’s not lining up with the rift.”

“Shit!” Steve exclaims, his hand in yours tightening, his fear palpable as the abyss moved ever closer. 

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t concentrate on anything other than Steve’s hand in yours and trying to ignore that feeling deep in your gut that felt an awful lot like dread.

Because that if the abyss hit that needle—the tower was going right down with it.

Everything moved quickly after that. Dustin was frantic as he yelled down his walkie at Hopper. The others around you scramble to hold onto something, anything and Steve drops your hand so that he could grab you around the waist, pulling you against him as you all braced for impact.

You look up at him, seeing the fear in his eyes. “Steve, I love—”

“—don’t you dare say that, baby. Don’t you—”

“Watch out!”

The moment that the tower needle crashes into the rocky surface of the abyss, the whole tower moves.

The platform beneath you shakes violently. Everything feels uneven. Figures move around you as the others stumble, as they cling onto the railing like it was their very last hope.

And Steve—he slips backwards, letting you go so that he doesn’t pull you with him.

“Steve!” You cry out, your hand frantically trying to reach his but to no avail. He stumbles back before smacking into the railing on the other side of the platform.

You don’t think—your grip slips from the metal railing as you go to rush after him, to save him but—

The sound of metal groaning above you makes everyone look up. 

You felt as though you were frozen as you watched the needle bend—the sound seeming to reverberate through you. Shrill. Piercing.

You barely have time to comprehend what was about to happen before the needle finally snaps.

“Look out! Look out! Look out!”

You knew it was Steve’s voice but in your panic, you couldn’t think of anything else besides getting to the man that you loved.

Someone screams out your name. Once, twice. You were sure that it was Dustin. You were sure he was yelling at you to stop. That it was too late. But as the needle falls, as it crashes onto the railing besides Steve—everything else ceases to exist.

Because the railing snaps off and Steve stumbles back.

Your world tilts—everything feels as though it was moving in slow motion as you try to reach for Steve’s hand. There was a moment when your fingers brushed against his. When your skin touched his and for that moment—you almost believed that everything would be okay. But your hands were too clammy to hold on to him and he slipped right through your fingertips.

“Steve!” You cry out, your voice breaking along with everything else inside of you as you watch Steve Harrington—the man you loved, the guy who had only hours earlier promised that he’d marry you the second all of this was over—tumbles over the edge of the platform.

A sense of numbness swept over you. A numbness that creeps down to the tips of your fingers. A numbness that makes it hard to comprehend what had just happened. Because Steve Harrington could not be dead.

You move without really thinking. Someone yells your name again as you look over the edge, expecting to see Steve—expecting to see him hanging from the platform with one hand. But you only see darkness below. 

The moment you realise that no one—not even Steve Harrington—could survive that fall was the moment that the truth finally hits you—brutal and absolute.

Steve Harrington was dead and there was nothing you could do.

A scream rips from your throat, one that pulls at your vocal chords. One that feeds on the agony of seeing the love of your life being claimed by gravity. You barely feel the tears spilling down your cheeks, barely feel the hands that were grabbing you, pulling you away from the edge to stop you from joining Steve in death. 

You hear your name being called frantically and in your grief, it almost sounds like Steve. But you knew it wasn’t because he was dead. He had plummeted to the ground and he was dead. His body lay broken on the ground five hundred feet beneath you, his bones smashed to pieces, his skull caved in from the impact of the fall. The heart you had once fallen asleep listening to no longer beating and those big, hazel eyes of his unseeing.

It didn’t feel real.

It wasn’t real. 

It couldn’t be real—

You jolt, your body trembling as you wake. You felt cold. Everything felt cold. Your hands shook violently and a violent sob ripped through your body before you could stop it. The image of Steve falling replaying over and over again in your head—

“Baby, baby, baby—please—.”

You don’t even register the fact you had been thrashing violently in Steve’s arms until you heard his voice. Until his arms tightened around you, until he had grabbed your wrist to stop you from hurting him or yourself.

Steve.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

But he couldn’t be.

You had watched him fall over the platform edge. You had seen the sheer terror in his eyes right before he had fallen. The fear. The panic. The realisation that he was going to fall five hundred feet to his death. The realisation that he was leaving you behind, that the future you had planned together would never come to fruition.

“Y-you’re n-not re-real,” you cry out, your sobs that are so heavy that they shook your entire body. “Y-you’re de-dead—”

“—baby, I’m not dead,” Steve tells you, his voice breaking as he holds you, his arms around your waist tightening as he pulls you back against him, trying desperately to ground you. “Listen to my voice, I’m not—”

“—b-but I-I saw—”

“—I know baby,” Steve murmurs, pressing his lips to your temple as he pulls you close as though trying to fuse the two of you together. “I know what you saw and it’s not real, okay? I’m real. I’m here. I’m alive. Please believe me, please—”

But it was difficult to tell what was real and what was not when everything around you felt blurry, when your body felt as though it was still up on the platform watching him fall. You felt cold, you couldn’t stop shaking and despite knowing deep down it was just a dream—that Steve had never fallen from the radio station, that he had been pulled to safety by Jonathan—the grief you had felt was still all consuming. You felt it in every bone, every nerve, every cell in your body and all your boyfriend could do was hold you while you cried. 

It wasn’t the first time you had a nightmare about him falling from the tower and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“I got you,” Steve tells you. His own voice cracking as he struggles to control his own emotions at the sight of your distress before gently manoeuvring your body so that you could face him. “I got you, baby. I always got you, okay?”

It was when your eyes finally met his and you saw life in them—saw none of the terror and panic that you had seen right before he had fallen—that you started to focus back on reality.

Steve. Beside you. In bed. Warm.

Steve. Alive. Holding you. 

Steve. Alive.

“S-Steve?” You murmur out, your breathing uneven as your fingers unclench before they reach for him—for the coarse hair that covers his chest. Your fingers slide through the hair there so that you could feel his heart beating beneath your palm.

“Yeah. I’m here, baby,” he tells you in a thick voice, his arms like a vine around your waist as he pulls you flush against him. “Not going anyway. Okay?”

You nod, small sniffles escaping you now as you lean forward to bury your head into his chest. The thump, thump, thump of his heartbeat against your eardrum—the reminder that he was still here, that he was still alive—making the panic that had built up inside of you settle. It didn’t leave, the anxiety of losing Steve never truly left but it settled. Because he was here. He was alive.

“I’m sorry i-if I w-woke you up,” you say quietly, dreading to think of what you had done, what you had said whilst you had been dreaming. If you had screamed, if you had yelled out in terror as Steve had fallen from view—

“Don’t apologise,” Steve tells with a small shake of his head. “Please don’t—”

“—I just—y-you can tell m-me if it’s to-too much.”

There was a moment of silence and then—

“Sweet girl, you could never be too much,” he tells you in a voice that was somehow both firm and gentle. “I promise you. Never.”

You nod, blinking away the tears that still lingered before you look back at him.

“I just—I-I love you so fucking much and—almost losing you it—it—it just—”

“—hey, hey, hey,” Steve soothes you so lovingly and gently that you could burst. “I love you too, baby. But you didn’t lose me, yeah? Not going to leave my girl when I still need to put a ring on her finger.”

That pulls another laugh out of you and Steve’s beams at the sound of it.

“There she is,” he hums, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. “My love. My light. My future wife.”

Your face burns but you can’t help but feel warm inside at his words.

“Sap,” you murmur, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you look at him.

“I’m your sap,” he tells you, one his hands cradling the back of your head gently while the other rubs up and down your back—a motion that acts as a soothing balm to the deep ache in your chest. “And I’m here for as long as you want me.”

You let out a small laugh despite everything and Steve feels something tightening in his chest at the sound as you pull away enough to look up at him with eyes that were still glassy with tears.

“Is forever okay?” You ask him in a voice so quiet that Steve had to lean in to hear.

Steve smiles faintly, lifting one large hand to wipe away the tears that had spilled down your cheeks with his thumb. “Forever is more than okay,” he tells you sincerely before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. You melt into it. His lips against yours yet another remainder that he was alive. That he was real.

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MAY 28, 1981

Dear Steven, 

I just arrived at camp! Kinda just missed you the whole bus ride over. I already made some friends with some of my cabin mates though! It’s kinda cool here there’s a really big lake, I’m pretty sure you would have liked it. But then again, it’s like you said, GIRLS ONLY!!! Can’t wait to hear about what you’re up to without me, stinky gross boy :)

Love, yours truly

MAY 31, 1981

Dear dickhead,

I’m flattered that your first instinct when you arrived was to write to me. Am I really that irresistible? Kidding. Life literally sucks without you, I know you said to not hang with Tommy but I literally have no one else to talk to. I was thinking of joining the summer basketball program at school just to pass time. I just don’t like the thought of having games and you not being in the crowd, like what’s the point if you’re not there to see me! It’s a sign to get home ASAP dude, you’re leaving me out to dieeeeee!

Love, your AWESOME HANDSOME BESTFRIEND STEVE HARRINGTON

JUNE 3, 1981

Dear Stinky Stevie,

I totally think you should join the basketball program, it would be cool if you got yourself a spot on the varsity team too! It’s definitely better than moping around all summer. I ALSO THINK YOU NEED TO MAKE NEW FRIENDS!!!! STAY AWAY FROM THAT ASSHAT TOMMY!!! I don’t like how you act when you’re with him, his assholery is contagious. I’ll always be there to cheer you on, Steve, even if you can’t see me. I did an archery lesson today, got two bullseyes!! I think I’ll try fishing tomorrow. Miss you lots, dickhead!! Write back soon please :(

P.S. I had a dream you styled your hair different, I think you should experiment and surprise me when I get back

Love, yours truly

JUNE 6, 1981

Dear princess butthead,

Coach told me he wanted to put me on varsity when school starts, Tommy is real salty that I got a spot. We had a game last week, I could imagine you on the stands cheering me on. I kinda miss you dude. Also I don’t think I approve of you trying archery there… Just for my safety…  What kind of hair did I have in your dream??? What’s wrong with my current hair do you not like it :( It’s almost my birthday, what did you get me? Oh I know, you left me here to perish! Kidding. 2 months more til you come home, miss you.

Love, PRINCE CHARMING aka Steve the awesome

JUNE 9, 1981

Dear birthday boy,

I hope this one comes before or on your birthday, already kinda wrote it in advance! Happy Birthday Steve! I’m sorry I can’t be there with you to celebrate, but believe me when I say I’d give anything to teleport next to you. Mom and dad are probably gonna drop off my gift within the day, I hope you like it! Made it during one of our craft lessons here! I hope you had the best day today, I can’t believe you’re 16, dickhead! You’re the best person I know ;)

Love, yours truly 

JUNE 13, 1981

Dear princess, 

You really predicted that my dad would get me a car! He got me the 733i like I wanted!! She’s such a beaut, can’t wait for you to see it. Your family stopped by to drop some stuff off, your mom baked me my own cake too! And your brother and dad sang me happy birthday. I love your family, would be even better if you came home though. Your gift is awesome, by the way. How’d you even learn how to carve shit like this there??? I’m convinced they got you in like a military bootcamp.

P.S. Started doing something different with my hair, you better come home quick

P.P.S. You’re the best person I know too. 

Love, your Steve

JUNE 19, 1981

Dear Dweeben Harrington,

I’m trying to picture what hairstyle you got going on for yourself now! I bet it’s a bright red mohawk, totally your style. I’m glad you liked your gift! I thought of making it a tiger since that one time you said you felt like you could beat one in a fight… Which you still wouldn’t by the way, no matter how much you say otherwise! I’m learning how to play guitar here, now I want to get one when I get home. What does being 16 feel like?

Love, yours truly

JUNE 25, 1981

Dear princess stinkerton,

I would never get a mohawk, I’m offended you would even suggest that. I could totally beat a tiger in a fight though, especially now that basketball got me all toned up! Being 16 is pretty awesome, I basically feel like a grown up. Me and the guys have been going all over town in the beamer just doing random shit. You know parties just like seem to appear when you turn 16 like holyshit I’ve been to like 3 this week! 

P.S. Can’t wait to hear you play for me, I love listening to you

Love, King Steve

JULY 1, 1981

Dear dickhead,

King Steve?? That’s a new one, where’d that come from? You say you feel like a grownup every birthday, weirdo! Have you been drinking at these parties? Look at you, social butterfly!!! Or beetle more like it. Also don’t tell me that “the guys” includes Tommy Hagan. You know I think he’s such a bad influence on you! Please behave! I’ve learning a couple of Fleetwood Mac songs on the guitar, can’t wait to let you hear it :)

Love, yours truly

JULY 14, 1981

Dear Stinker,

It’s been a while since your last letter :( What have you been up to? Hope you didn’t forget about me. Camp has been fun but I’m looking forward to coming home in a few weeks! I’ve also been thinking about trying to get my license since a bunch of the girls here have theirs, I feel left out! Miss you lots, hope basketball has been treating you well. Behave!!!

Love, yours truly

AUGUST 3, 1981

Dear princess,

Hey, sorry it’s been a while. Got caught up with life stuff, basketball and all that shit. Can’t wait to see you next week. I doubt you’re sending me another, I wouldn’t send my ass one after ghosting you. Again, I’m so sorry I haven’t written in a while angel. What do you need your license for? You have me, I wouldn’t give you the chance to touch a steering wheel, I’ll be your personal driver! Basketball has been fun, coach got me up to team captain. I’ve been behaving, I swear! And yes, “the guys” includes Tommy, sorry. I’m working on it. I can’t wait to hear your voice, I miss you more than you can imagine.

P.S. Never ever think I would forget about you.

Love, Steve

⭒˚。⋆ 𖤐 ⋆。𖦹  ◡̈ . * ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ༘ ˚ ⋆ 𐙚

AUGUST 10, 1981

For the first time in his life, Steve Harrington awoke from his alarm without hitting snooze. He gets up with a start, stumbling out of bed and rushing towards the shower. He was finally going to see you today.

It’s been almost 3 months without you, a whole summer. He is definitely not letting you go to summer camp ever again. Not a day went by without him thinking about you. Every game, every party, and every hang out, he could only think about how everything would be so much more worth it if you were around.

Now, he didn’t have to think, you were here. The last time he saw you, you gave him a sign that maybe everything he’s felt for you all these years might not be so one sided.

Speeding out the shower, he almost trips over his own feet as he makes his way to the loveseat in his room where he laid out his carefully planned outfit that he set up three days ago. He wanted today to be perfect, he knows it isn’t technically a big day, but to him it is. He had the navy blue sweater that you gifted him last Christmas, and the pair of light wash jeans that you said made his butt look cute. He wasn’t sure if you were joking about the butt thing but he’ll take his chances.

This would probably be the first time Steve would be early to school. Already pulling into the school parking lot before most of the other cars were there. He didn’t know what time you would arrive, he just called your house last night only for your dad to answer him saying you had been knocked out since you arrived that afternoon. So he thought it best to let you have you beauty sleep and that it would be better if he didn’t drop by just yet.

-

The minutes ticked by and the school got more and more crowded. He deflates when he still hasn’t seen you after about 35 minutes. Tommy and his gang already spotted him and made their way towards his beamer. 

“Dude you’re so fucking early, what is up with that” Tommy laughs as he claps a hand over Steve’s shoulder. Steve huffs and nudges him with his elbow, “I’m waiting” he says not looking at Tommy, completely focused on all the incoming cars, looking for your dad’s. “Ah, right. Your little girlfriend’s coming back” he says rolling his eyes, now shifting his focus from Steve to the other boys talking animatedly around the car. “She’s not my girlfriend” Steve grumbles as he feels the tips of his ears heat up.

After 20 more minutes, Steve almost completely deflates and is openly pouting at your absence. “Dude she’s probably gonna skip out, let’s head in already” Tommy says exasperatedly at Steve nudging him with his foot. “Go in if you want, I’m waiting”, Steve insists, narrowing his eyes at him.

Tommy just rolls his eyes and continues talking to the other guys, eyeing and observing all the people coming into school.

Finally, Steve spots a familiar Ford country. He immediately straightens up from his position beside the beamer. He watches the door open and he felt his heart stutter. Then came you, and Steve almost ascends on the spot.

You were absolutely glowing. Steve has always known you were beautiful since he met you, he wasn’t sure if it’s because he hasn’t seen you for so long but everything about you right at this moment is overwhelming all his senses so much that he feels faint. 

Your hair was longer, skin a bit more tanned than usual, you had light freckles around your cheeks, and you just seemed so much brighter. You’ve definitely gone through more stages of puberty since he last saw you, you looked so much more mature than he remembered.

An annoying voice cuts through his inner monologue, “Shit, she got hot” Dave says while leaning on Steve’s beamer. All it took was a look from Steve to shut him up. He looks back to where you were, seeing you wave your dad goodbye, then finally turning around and spotting him. 

The smile on your face when you see him was earth shattering, you started jogging towards him, but that was all he needed to start sprinting across the school driveway towards you.

He feels his heartbeat in his ears as his legs move, seeing your form come closer and closer. He sees your smile shine even brighter up close and it makes every nerve in his body light up in anticipation.

When he reaches you, he wastes no time in picking you up in his arms. He hears you squeal his name as he spins you around. He feels your face buried in his neck, he can’t help the heat that spreads across his body.

Finally letting you down, his arms still around you, he looks down to see you eye to eye. Now all you can think about how much taller he’s gotten, and most especially his hair.

A shocked laugh escapes you as you reach up to touch his hair. “Oh my god, Stevie.” you say in disbelief. “Did I surprise you? Do you like it?” He says gently, nervous to hear your opinion. “I adore it, asshole. You look so pretty” you say still playing with his hair, then you look him right in the face and see the blush spread across his cheeks. That was enough for your own blush to appear onto yours as well. 

You swear you could feel his face inch closer before you two get startled by the ringing of the school bell. He loosens his grip on you to look at the school entrance, seeing some teachers already ushering students in. “Sorry I’m late, stinker” you say letting your hand rest on his shoulder.

“I really don’t care, I’m so tempted to just skip school today and just have you all to myself.” He says panting, he feels his heart still racing, though he can’t tell if it was because of the sprinting or if its the fact that it would be so easy to kiss you right where you two were. 

He knows it’s you, it’s always you.

He hears you laugh, “Careful, Stevie. Some people might think you’re selfish, maybe even a bad influence.” You smile at him, he feels his knees weaken. He can’t help but return your smile and counters, “I can’t not be selfish about you”. 

To his surprise, he watches a flush spread across your face and ears. He feels something lift in his chest when he realizes his words had an effect on you.

He laughs in disbelief as you shove his shoulder away from you and pinch his side. “When did you get so flirty, dickhead” you tease as you grab onto his sweater sleeve, “We’re going to class, Steve. Then, you’re buying me ice cream before eating dinner at my house” you add as you start dragging him towards the school entrance.

To outsiders it might seem like you were bossing him around, but to Steve? He was right where he wanted to be.

“Yes, ma’am” he smiles as he listens to you grumble about how horrific the weather was. 

-

Lunch finally rolls by, Steve spent his morning memorizing your schedule. He sighed when he saw that you were taking so many AP classes this year, only leaving you two to have 3 classes together. He’s gonna remember to call you a smart-ass when he sees you. 

He shuffles through the crowd of students to try and get to your classroom. Halfway through his pace a hand clamps onto his shoulder, he startles and turns around hoping to see you. To his dismay, it was Tommy along with some other people. “Now where is our King Steve headed? Lunch is that way” Tommy says as he gives Steve a confused look. Steve shrugs off his hand, “I was heading to-“ he starts, only to be cut off “I’m sure your babygirl can find her way to the cafeteria, hm?” Tommy says pulling his lips into a tight smile.

Steve narrows his eyes, and looks behind him to try at catch sight of you through the crowd. “Harrington”, he hears his name being called again, he feels conflicted seeing the group of people waiting for his word. He feels his ego inflate when he realizes that they were standing by just for him. 

He sighs and decides to head to the cafeteria first, it’s not like you asked him to come to you. It was just a thing he did. 

“Atta boy, make way! The King is hungry!” He hears boys from his group yell as they made their way down the hallway. He laughs at the attention, he feels his ego solidify even more. 

Before he could lose himself in their interactions, he feels a gentle hand take hold of his wrist. He glances behind him to find you, giving him a confused smile. He feels all the previous arrogance fade away. 

“What’s all the yelling for?” You ask, falling into step beside him. He leans down, “Nothing, they’re just being assholes” he mumbles into your ear. You giggle and he can’t help but feel giddy at the fact that you’re next to him. He loops his arm around your shoulders, shielding you from the crowd and guiding you into the cafeteria. 

-

Steve watches you scrunch your nose in distaste at the antics of his friends across the table. Unruly, disrespectful, and arrogant.

He feels uneasy seeing the way you scrutinize their behavior. You were an understanding person, so considerate and kind. So it really meant someone was quite off putting if you disliked them. He thought that if he just let you meet them, you would learn to eventually like them, or at least tolerate them.

But deep down he knew that it would be way out of the park. Yet, Steve was gonna try, because he can’t let go of the feeling of being idolized. He loved being worshipped like this.

He snakes his arm around you once again while you eat, leaning towards your face to ask, “Hey, you okay? Need anything? Do you want more juice?”. You startle but smile nonetheless. “I’m alright, Stevie. Can you finish my food for me though?” You whisper back, nudging your tray towards him. He can’t help but laugh, “Glad to see camp didn’t change your small ass appetite.” He says as he pinches your side. “Not my fault you have an appetite built for hibernation” you retort as you nudge his shoulder. 

Somebody clears their throat across the table, causing Steve to raise an eyebrow at whoever interrupted. “So, how was camp?” you glance confused realizing it was Carol Perkins talking to you. There was a weird lilt to her voice that Steve didn’t like.

If Steve didn’t like it, you definitely hated it.

“It was great Carol! Thank you for asking” you start genuinely, not really sure what she was planning. She grinned, “So what did you do over there? I’m not really educated on what girls like you do in their free time” she continues. You raise your eyebrows in shock, but a slow smile makes its way on your face. Steve sees this and quickly grabs your hand from under the table, he takes a warning glance towards Tommy and all he could do was shrug and geek over the interaction.

“Girls… like me?” You laugh lightly, gently squeezing Steve’s hand reassuring him you were fine. Steve knows you could have a temper on you, he’s been on the receiving end plenty of times. Then again, he knows you would never give anyone the satisfaction of knowing they got on your nerves.

“Yeah, like you” she says, slowly dragging her gaze sizing you up. You’re not sure why she’s coming at you like this, but you had a feeling that it was because your presence didn’t make her the only girl at the table anymore.

“You know, girls who are kinda loser-ish and stuff! No offense” she pouts.

Steve narrows his eyes at Carol, his grip on his fork getting tighter. He feels you brush your thumb over his knuckles. He spares a glance to the side of your face only to see you nodding along to whatever Carol was saying. 

“Oh! Yes! Thank you for clarifying that, Carol” you responded, but this time you obnoxiously matched her sickly sweet voice. “Well, for starters… probably just the opposite of what girls like you do.” you added, resting your chin on your hand as if being in thought. That made Carol’s eyebrow raise. 

“Girls like me?” she asks smiling, her boyfriend at her side glancing back and forth between you two like it was a ping pong match. 

“You know, girls who are kinda bitch-ish and stuff” you retort sincerely, smile being held back. You hear Steve snort next to you, Tommy snickers as Carol swats his arm shutting him up. Nudging Steve with your foot, trying to make him stop his fit. He takes the signal and clears his throat, “Does that clear things up, Perkins?” He adds.

“Yup, thanks” she says tightly, rolling her eyes she grabs her tray and gets up from the table. 

You shake your head in disbelief when your train of thought was broken by a mumble, “I really missed everything about you”, you turn your head to see Steve looking at you in that way he always did. You didn’t say anything back, all he gets in response is you lacing your fingers together with his.

That was more than enough for him to understand.

-

Weeks turn into months, day by day you start to notice how Steve was fading. He was still around, sure. But, something was different. The way he spoke, the way he walked, or the way he cared. It was always when his group of people were around, he got louder, bolder, more cocky, it became unsettling. 

Though, he would always change whenever it came to you. He would be softer, more gentle, less performative. Those moments were the ones that gave you hope. 

Until those moments started fading too.

He started cancelling plans, which would usually be no issue if he didn’t say that he was feeling under the weather. In reality, he was at Dave Graham’s basement getting drunk. He never used to lie to you, what changed?

He did.

It was the fourth month of his behavior when your heart started to waver. Not because your feelings were fading, you could never not love Steve. It just hurt that you had to watch him slip through your fingers.

Your mind couldn’t help but scatter, salvaging the moments that mattered. The way he would visit your house after school, when he was here he would be yours. The facade no longer present. He didn’t care what he did because there wasn’t an audience. The thought made you deflate, just thinking that he was like this since there were no eyes on him. 

He would lie in your bed, head in your lap. Sometimes speaking, sometimes listening, but most of the time just looking at you. He loved looking at you.

To Steve, he thought that it didn’t matter, the way he acted with his friends. You had the real him, it sucked that he had to perform for these people, but how else would he get them to worship him? 

He thought that you would understand. He pretended not to see the looks you gave him when his friends acted extra harsh. You would accept it, eventually. That’s what he kept telling himself. 

“You’ve been different” you said softly, Steve’s head was in your lap. It was a little bit past dinner, the two of you decided to watch a movie in your room. You felt his head move away from the screen, peering back to you. You could see some sleep in his eyes, you can’t help but smile, carding your fingers through his hair. “What do you mean?” He mumbles, eyes fluttering closed at your touch. 

“You know what I’m talking about” your words spike his anxiety. He clears his throat, now rolling his whole body to face you, he would sit up if his position wasn’t so comfortable. He frowns, “That’s not important” tracing shapes onto your pajama-clad thigh. Your smile falters but doesn’t leave your face, “It isn’t?” 

Just thinking about the possible disagreement from this conversation was making his head buzz. “Do you wanna to a party tonight? He blurts out nervously, he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes trained on a loose thread on your pajama bottoms. You frown, it was clear he was trying to change the subject.

“Where? Now?” You question, your fingers still making their rounds through his strands, you hear a hum from his chest at a particular tug. “In a while, at Turner’s. It’s not as big as you think.” still playing with the loose thread on your thigh, he finally looks up at you. You looked at him puzzled, calculating whether or not it would be a good idea.

“We don’t have to, I know you don’t really enjoy them-“ he started rambling, he slowly sat up from his position underneath you. “I’m down” you cut him off, surprise colors his features. “Really?” He checks, skeptical that you felt forced.

“Yeah, let me get ready.” You laugh as you get up from the bed, leaving Steve still dumbfounded. He smiles to himself once you close your bathroom door, he was nervous about how the night would go.

He knew that you and his friends might clash tonight, but in his head this was his way of making you tolerate them. He knows that it sounded messed up, but he just wants you to accept that he needed this.

-

Turner’s house was just a few blocks down from yours. Still, Steve chose to drive. He was in no rush, the car ran below the speed limit with the windows down. Watching you every now and then, hair moving gently with the breeze, he sees your eyes dart across the street taking in the night. 

You looked so beautiful.

The side of your face prickles from the weight of his gaze. “What?” You turn your head to him, smiling as he quickly turns back to the road. “Nothing. Just thinking” he says, shaking his head laughing. “That can’t be good” you tease, reaching out to brush a stray strand of his hair behind his ear.

His hand catches yours mid-action. You raise an eyebrow, you watch him lace your fingers together. That alone making your heart heat up in your chest, but you saw him blush as he glanced from the road, then back to you. He then looks you in the eyes, you see it then, the thing that remained unsaid between you two.

He was speaking to you through that look, he raises your intertwined hands and connects them to his lips. You feel the brush of them before he presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. You see his cheeks burn an even deeper color as he kept his eyes on you. All you can do is grin, “Eyes on the road” you say as you feel your body warm up. He laughs as he nods. 

To his surprise, he feels you lift your still intertwined hands too. He sneaks a glance towards you only to find your eyes already on him. You then mimic his earlier movement, you press your lips to the back of his hand. 

You watch him visibly melt on the spot.

“Stevie you just passed Turner’s house” you giggle as he still remained dazed. A switch went off in his brain as he frantically looks out his window to realize he already missed your destination. “Fuck” he grumbles but his smile doesn’t move.

-

The clock nears ten as you sat in a conversation pit next to Steve, surrounded by familiar unfamiliar people. People buzzed around, some tipsy, some sober.  Steve had one beer, his arm around your shoulders on the couch. He was speaking animatedly to some boys from the basketball team, you’re not sure if he’s noticed that you haven’t uttered a word in the past hour. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by jeering coming from the front of the house. “Got the goods! Where art thou King Steve!” An obnoxious voice yells into the living room, you come to realize that it was Tommy H. Following behind him was none other than Carol Perkins, whom upon seeing you narrows her eyes in distaste.

The feeling was mutual.

You feel Steve shift next to you, his arm around you lowering to give your arm a reassuring squeeze. Well, at least he remembered you were here. Conversations kept droning on as minutes turned into an hour. 

A call of your name snaps you out of your daze, you glance around to realize you were being spoken to by none other than Tommy Hagan himself. You feel Steve tense next to you. “Surprising to see you here, this isn’t your usual scene.” He sips on his red solo cup. You huff out a forced laugh, “Yeah, it really isn’t. But I’m down with whatever as long as I have good company” you respond, gesturing to Steve next to you, who is nervously smiling at this interaction.

Before Tommy could add on, a pitchy voice pipes up next to him, “So are you two like dating, fucking, or what?”. You hear somebody choke on their drink as the rest of the conversation died down around you. All attention now on your little exchange.

You raise an eyebrow, you take a peek at Steve’s reaction only to see him boring his eyes into Carol’s face. His arm no longer secure around your shoulders. You let out an awkward laugh, how the hell do you even respond to that. You open your mouth to retort but she beats you to it, “I’ll take that as a none of the above then, not surprised honestly! It’s alright though, I’m sure you’ll find someone in your own league.” Her venomous words masked in her sickeningly sweet voice.

“My own league?” You trail off, now sitting up straighter. You hear Steve clear his throat, as if trying to warn Carol not to go any further. “Oh come on, don’t act so oblivious! You must know you aren’t really part of our crowd!” She dares, she looks Steve in the eye. “You could be more compatible with… Oh my god, you would be great with Byers!” She lets out a fake gasp as if making a groundbreaking discovery. The boys around her snicker. 

“Not that bum.” You hear Tommy comment on the side, that made your skin prickle. “Don’t call him that.” You immediately defend, you look to Steve trying to get him to react. But all you see is him rubbing his eyes in desperation. You scoff, shrugging off his arm completely. He then looks up at you, alarmed, he can see that look in your face.

He knows. 

He knows you’re about to snap, but he still can’t seem to bring himself to say the words that matter. All he manages is, “Okay, cut it out.” Trying his best to still seem cool, even now when trying to defend you, he was performing for them. 

“Oh come on, we’re just looking out for you Steve! We wouldn’t want you to blunder your kingdom all for some average dud” she challenges. A surprised smile makes it onto your face, you immediately look to Steve just to see if he would do anything, at least say something.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Perkins. Get your girl in check, Tommy.” Is all he says.

That was it.

You scoff in disbelief as Steve looks at you apologetically. His eyes searching for your understanding. “I’m going home” you say carefully, grabbing your purse and leaving Steve in the living room. He drags a hand down his face and hisses in annoyance. “What the fuck is your problem, Carol?” He nearly yells at the curly headed brunette.

Shock makes an appearance on her face. “W- what?” She stutters looking around. “You know what, forget it. Tommy, when we say don’t let her tag along, we mean it.” He warns as he hastily makes his way out the door, ignoring the chorus of whoops around them.

Carol scoffs in disbelief, looking to Tommy as if to confirm, the way he didn’t meet her eyes answered her question.

You had made it out of the driveway when you hear heavy footsteps jogging behind you. “Angel, wait! Don’t mind them, they’re just being assholes” you hear Steve yell before he caught up with your pace. He grabs onto your wrist, forcing you to look at him. 

It takes you a moment to process what he was saying because you were in disbelief. This wasn’t your Steve, you wouldn’t have ever imagined him failing to defend you like he did just now. “Don’t listen to them? They’re all I hear, Steve! You say they’re just being assholes, but they’re your friends. That kind of makes you an asshole by association.” you finally say, feeling the heaviness in your chest, clenching your fists inside your hoodie pockets. 

Steve notices the tone of your voice, he feels his soul slowly tear when he realizes how far he’s going. But he can’t let go of his need for validation, his face hardens in defense. “Oh, so I’m an asshole now?” He scoffs, “Stop being so dramatic, they’re just saying bullshit!” He adds. He runs his hands through his hair, even when arguing you can’t help but appreciate how pretty he is, not that it matters right now.

“Just bullshit?” You repeat, your heart aches. He can’t make himself take it back anymore, this is who he is now. At least, that what he thinks. Maybe you’ll understand.

The burn in your chest matches the one in your eyes. “Bye, King Steve, hope your kingdom is what you dreamed of.” your voice is strained and gritty, it felt like the gravel beneath your feet was lodged in your throat. Hurt and confusion flashes in his eyes, but he lets nothing seep out but his pride. You spare no time, turning on your heel and making your way down the street. 

Before Steve could stop you, he was held back by Tommy. “Come on, man. Everyone’s waiting for you inside, your pet can wait” he jokes. Steve grimaces at Tommy’s words, “Don’t call her that” he says after shaking off Tommy’s grip on his arm. When he looks back he sees that you’re gone. “Whatever, dude” Tommy laughs as he playfully shoves Steve’s shoulder and heads back inside the house, yelling obscenities.

Staring at the spot where you once stood, all he could think was, “Shit” he verbalizes as he runs a hand through his hair. 

Tommy’s words echoes in his head.

Everybody’s waiting for you inside.

Steve Harrington then makes one of the worst decisions of his life. He sighs as he heads back into the house, preparing himself to perform for them once more.

-

It was a little after 12, Steve makes it back home. His house empty as per usual, he beelines to his room with the goal of calling you as soon as possible. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to call you late at night. You were usually awake studying, or doing one of your multiple hobbies. 

He dials your number and listens to it ring, his heart plummets when he realizes you aren’t picking up. He taps his fingers nervously on his bedside table, looking out the window seeing the clouds get darker. The line hits a dial tone and he feels anxiety bleed through his pores. He decides to leave a voicemail instead.

“Hey, I kinda took it too far at the party. You know how it is, I hope you understand. See you tomorrow” Is all he manages to say. Putting the phone down, he stares at his ceiling as he lies down. He feels an uneasy pit in his stomach, he just doesn’t know what it means. He starts to overthink the conversation, he knows he was being an absolute ass, he isn’t even sure why he took it that far either. 

You never liked saying goodbye, it was always “see you”. Yet tonight you said it, did he mess up? He looks to his side towards his alarm clock, it’s been thirty minutes since he left the voice mail.

You usually pick up or answer within ten. He starts replaying the whole conversation and he groans, he should’ve followed you. He just let you walk home? What the fuck was wrong with him.

He decides to leave another voicemail, palms sweating. “Hi. It’s me again, just checking in if you’re there, again, call me back when you can? Please? I’m sorry.” He puts down the phone, he feels pressure in his chest, he starts to contemplate whether or not he should head to your house.

His knee bounces relentlessly the next fifteen minutes, he finally decides to head over to your house instead. He hears thunder overhead as he speeds down to your neighborhood.

He nears your home, he could furrows his brows to see all the lights in your room were out. Usually you left your faint night light on to help you see if you woke up at night.

He kills his engine and makes it out of his car, trying his best to make little noise. He nears your porch only to see a figure hunched near your steps. He feels little droplets of rain start hitting his skin, he then realizes that the figure was you. 

He calls out your name softly, as if approaching an easily startled animal. You made no effort to acknowledge his presence. He repeats your name, now firmer. He sees your eyes move to glance at him, he could see they were just full of emotion. He feels his throat catch at the thought of him being the reason you were in this state.

You wipe your eyes with your sleeves, slowly getting up from your position. Now you stood on your steps, now standing a bit taller than him. “Baby, I-I’m so sorry” he starts, trying to keep the burning in his throat down, he hears your breath hitch at the nickname.

“For?” Your voice betrays you, trembling around the edges. “I should’nt have let them talk to you like that. But- I told them- I shut them up.” He stumbles over his words, you opened your mouth to retort but he continued, “I know I should’ve said more but you have to understand. I have to keep be- being level-headed around them. You know the truth, you know I care. That’s all that matters.” He argues. 

Even now when trying to beg for forgiveness, he’s still performing for them.

You shake your head in disbelief, “I do understand, that’s the problem. I’ll never not understand you. It’s all I’ve ever done.” Your voice breaks, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

He feels stray tears dart down his face at the sight of you, “Do you know why?” You tremble. Feeling the wind pick up, the droplets of rain getting heavier. 

You pause, sniffling your tears, “Because I love you, like it’s breathing.” You manage to blurt out. Steve feels the air knock out of his lungs, this was all he’s ever wanted to hear for years. His face lifts in realization, he watches you reach to the side of your porch, grabbing an umbrella and tossing it at him. 

He watches you in disbelief, he rushes his words, “I’ve always loved you, Baby- I’m so fucking crazy about you.” he hears his voice break with passion. More tears flow down his face, his breathing getting more desperate. He was so close to finally having you, but he had to make you pull away. Rain starts dampening his hair and clothes, masking his emotion. 

“You don’t act like it. You don’t do what you did to a friend, let alone the one you love” your voice cracking, before he could get any closer, you turned on your heel and tried to make your way back into your house. Thunder roaring above you both, it was like the heavens were fighting alongside you.

Steve stumbles trying to make his way to you, he steps onto your porch to reach out for you. Even in desperation he held your hand with such care, “Angel, I’m sorry. Please, just listen-“ he tried to reason, you could see his eyes get more flushed with each second.  

“Sorry enough to stop?” You interrupt, searching his eyes for an answer. His eyes cloud with conflict, he had to think about it. “B-baby, please” he hiccups, he was now on his knees begging. Yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to promise to change. 

That was all you needed to see.

You shake off his grip on your hand, ignoring the chants of petnames he was spewing. 

“That’s what I thought.” You shook your head and turned to look at him, your heart broke at how devastated he looked. “I can’t be around you, Steve” you mumble. 

“Angel” is all he could manage to say, his lip wobbling, tears getting fatter and collecting on his chin. You hesitantly bring your hands to cup the sides of his face, you watch his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a shudder. 

Just for a minute, you almost thought of accepting him. He was on his knees for you, borderline sobbing for you. But then you thought that if the right people were around, he would never even taken three steps to your porch.

You brush your thumbs to wipe away his tears, his eyes looking bigger when full of emotion. He peers up at you in anticipation, he could still feel the warmth in your actions. He thinks you two could get through this, just before he could plead once more, he felt your touch loosen around his cheeks. He sees the glint in your eyes that made his fight or flight instincts go off.

You weren’t going to stay.

“N-No, please!” His pleads synchronize with the thunder, the rain falling even harder now. 

“Grow up, Harrington” is all he hears before you leave him on your porch.

Steve isn’t sure how long he spent outside, he didn’t even know what to do at this point. The pain in his chest was unbearable, he literally feels like he could just die on the spot. 

He just managed to do the thing he could never fathom doing in his entire life.

He lost you.

⭒˚。⋆ 𖤐 ⋆。𖦹  ◡̈ . * ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ༘ ˚ ⋆ 𐙚

A/N: LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!! laughing thru tears right now, should i leave it at this or have part 3 steve redemption.... lmk....

likes and reblogs heavily appreciated!!

let me know what you guys think... hu... hu... hu...

MAY 28, 1981

Dear Steven, 

I just arrived at camp! Kinda just missed you the whole bus ride over. I already made some friends with some of my cabin mates though! It’s kinda cool here there’s a really big lake, I’m pretty sure you would have liked it. But then again, it’s like you said, GIRLS ONLY!!! Can’t wait to hear about what you’re up to without me, stinky gross boy :)

Love, yours truly

MAY 31, 1981

Dear dickhead,

I’m flattered that your first instinct when you arrived was to write to me. Am I really that irresistible? Kidding. Life literally sucks without you, I know you said to not hang with Tommy but I literally have no one else to talk to. I was thinking of joining the summer basketball program at school just to pass time. I just don’t like the thought of having games and you not being in the crowd, like what’s the point if you’re not there to see me! It’s a sign to get home ASAP dude, you’re leaving me out to dieeeeee!

Love, your AWESOME HANDSOME BESTFRIEND STEVE HARRINGTON

JUNE 3, 1981

Dear Stinky Stevie,

I totally think you should join the basketball program, it would be cool if you got yourself a spot on the varsity team too! It’s definitely better than moping around all summer. I ALSO THINK YOU NEED TO MAKE NEW FRIENDS!!!! STAY AWAY FROM THAT ASSHAT TOMMY!!! I don’t like how you act when you’re with him, his assholery is contagious. I’ll always be there to cheer you on, Steve, even if you can’t see me. I did an archery lesson today, got two bullseyes!! I think I’ll try fishing tomorrow. Miss you lots, dickhead!! Write back soon please :(

P.S. I had a dream you styled your hair different, I think you should experiment and surprise me when I get back

Love, yours truly

JUNE 6, 1981

Dear princess butthead,

Coach told me he wanted to put me on varsity when school starts, Tommy is real salty that I got a spot. We had a game last week, I could imagine you on the stands cheering me on. I kinda miss you dude. Also I don’t think I approve of you trying archery there… Just for my safety…  What kind of hair did I have in your dream??? What’s wrong with my current hair do you not like it :( It’s almost my birthday, what did you get me? Oh I know, you left me here to perish! Kidding. 2 months more til you come home, miss you.

Love, PRINCE CHARMING aka Steve the awesome

JUNE 9, 1981

Dear birthday boy,

I hope this one comes before or on your birthday, already kinda wrote it in advance! Happy Birthday Steve! I’m sorry I can’t be there with you to celebrate, but believe me when I say I’d give anything to teleport next to you. Mom and dad are probably gonna drop off my gift within the day, I hope you like it! Made it during one of our craft lessons here! I hope you had the best day today, I can’t believe you’re 16, dickhead! You’re the best person I know ;)

Love, yours truly 

JUNE 13, 1981

Dear princess, 

You really predicted that my dad would get me a car! He got me the 733i like I wanted!! She’s such a beaut, can’t wait for you to see it. Your family stopped by to drop some stuff off, your mom baked me my own cake too! And your brother and dad sang me happy birthday. I love your family, would be even better if you came home though. Your gift is awesome, by the way. How’d you even learn how to carve shit like this there??? I’m convinced they got you in like a military bootcamp.

P.S. Started doing something different with my hair, you better come home quick

P.P.S. You’re the best person I know too. 

Love, your Steve

JUNE 19, 1981

Dear Dweeben Harrington,

I’m trying to picture what hairstyle you got going on for yourself now! I bet it’s a bright red mohawk, totally your style. I’m glad you liked your gift! I thought of making it a tiger since that one time you said you felt like you could beat one in a fight… Which you still wouldn’t by the way, no matter how much you say otherwise! I’m learning how to play guitar here, now I want to get one when I get home. What does being 16 feel like?

Love, yours truly

JUNE 25, 1981

Dear princess stinkerton,

I would never get a mohawk, I’m offended you would even suggest that. I could totally beat a tiger in a fight though, especially now that basketball got me all toned up! Being 16 is pretty awesome, I basically feel like a grown up. Me and the guys have been going all over town in the beamer just doing random shit. You know parties just like seem to appear when you turn 16 like holyshit I’ve been to like 3 this week! 

P.S. Can’t wait to hear you play for me, I love listening to you

Love, King Steve

JULY 1, 1981

Dear dickhead,

King Steve?? That’s a new one, where’d that come from? You say you feel like a grownup every birthday, weirdo! Have you been drinking at these parties? Look at you, social butterfly!!! Or beetle more like it. Also don’t tell me that “the guys” includes Tommy Hagan. You know I think he’s such a bad influence on you! Please behave! I’ve learning a couple of Fleetwood Mac songs on the guitar, can’t wait to let you hear it :)

Love, yours truly

JULY 14, 1981

Dear Stinker,

It’s been a while since your last letter :( What have you been up to? Hope you didn’t forget about me. Camp has been fun but I’m looking forward to coming home in a few weeks! I’ve also been thinking about trying to get my license since a bunch of the girls here have theirs, I feel left out! Miss you lots, hope basketball has been treating you well. Behave!!!

Love, yours truly

AUGUST 3, 1981

Dear princess,

Hey, sorry it’s been a while. Got caught up with life stuff, basketball and all that shit. Can’t wait to see you next week. I doubt you’re sending me another, I wouldn’t send my ass one after ghosting you. Again, I’m so sorry I haven’t written in a while angel. What do you need your license for? You have me, I wouldn’t give you the chance to touch a steering wheel, I’ll be your personal driver! Basketball has been fun, coach got me up to team captain. I’ve been behaving, I swear! And yes, “the guys” includes Tommy, sorry. I’m working on it. I can’t wait to hear your voice, I miss you more than you can imagine.

P.S. Never ever think I would forget about you.

Love, Steve

⭒˚。⋆ 𖤐 ⋆。𖦹  ◡̈ . * ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ༘ ˚ ⋆ 𐙚

AUGUST 10, 1981

For the first time in his life, Steve Harrington awoke from his alarm without hitting snooze. He gets up with a start, stumbling out of bed and rushing towards the shower. He was finally going to see you today.

It’s been almost 3 months without you, a whole summer. He is definitely not letting you go to summer camp ever again. Not a day went by without him thinking about you. Every game, every party, and every hang out, he could only think about how everything would be so much more worth it if you were around.

Now, he didn’t have to think, you were here. The last time he saw you, you gave him a sign that maybe everything he’s felt for you all these years might not be so one sided.

Speeding out the shower, he almost trips over his own feet as he makes his way to the loveseat in his room where he laid out his carefully planned outfit that he set up three days ago. He wanted today to be perfect, he knows it isn’t technically a big day, but to him it is. He had the navy blue sweater that you gifted him last Christmas, and the pair of light wash jeans that you said made his butt look cute. He wasn’t sure if you were joking about the butt thing but he’ll take his chances.

This would probably be the first time Steve would be early to school. Already pulling into the school parking lot before most of the other cars were there. He didn’t know what time you would arrive, he just called your house last night only for your dad to answer him saying you had been knocked out since you arrived that afternoon. So he thought it best to let you have you beauty sleep and that it would be better if he didn’t drop by just yet.

-

The minutes ticked by and the school got more and more crowded. He deflates when he still hasn’t seen you after about 35 minutes. Tommy and his gang already spotted him and made their way towards his beamer. 

“Dude you’re so fucking early, what is up with that” Tommy laughs as he claps a hand over Steve’s shoulder. Steve huffs and nudges him with his elbow, “I’m waiting” he says not looking at Tommy, completely focused on all the incoming cars, looking for your dad’s. “Ah, right. Your little girlfriend’s coming back” he says rolling his eyes, now shifting his focus from Steve to the other boys talking animatedly around the car. “She’s not my girlfriend” Steve grumbles as he feels the tips of his ears heat up.

After 20 more minutes, Steve almost completely deflates and is openly pouting at your absence. “Dude she’s probably gonna skip out, let’s head in already” Tommy says exasperatedly at Steve nudging him with his foot. “Go in if you want, I’m waiting”, Steve insists, narrowing his eyes at him.

Tommy just rolls his eyes and continues talking to the other guys, eyeing and observing all the people coming into school.

Finally, Steve spots a familiar Ford country. He immediately straightens up from his position beside the beamer. He watches the door open and he felt his heart stutter. Then came you, and Steve almost ascends on the spot.

You were absolutely glowing. Steve has always known you were beautiful since he met you, he wasn’t sure if it’s because he hasn’t seen you for so long but everything about you right at this moment is overwhelming all his senses so much that he feels faint. 

Your hair was longer, skin a bit more tanned than usual, you had light freckles around your cheeks, and you just seemed so much brighter. You’ve definitely gone through more stages of puberty since he last saw you, you looked so much more mature than he remembered.

An annoying voice cuts through his inner monologue, “Shit, she got hot” Dave says while leaning on Steve’s beamer. All it took was a look from Steve to shut him up. He looks back to where you were, seeing you wave your dad goodbye, then finally turning around and spotting him. 

The smile on your face when you see him was earth shattering, you started jogging towards him, but that was all he needed to start sprinting across the school driveway towards you.

He feels his heartbeat in his ears as his legs move, seeing your form come closer and closer. He sees your smile shine even brighter up close and it makes every nerve in his body light up in anticipation.

When he reaches you, he wastes no time in picking you up in his arms. He hears you squeal his name as he spins you around. He feels your face buried in his neck, he can’t help the heat that spreads across his body.

Finally letting you down, his arms still around you, he looks down to see you eye to eye. Now all you can think about how much taller he’s gotten, and most especially his hair.

A shocked laugh escapes you as you reach up to touch his hair. “Oh my god, Stevie.” you say in disbelief. “Did I surprise you? Do you like it?” He says gently, nervous to hear your opinion. “I adore it, asshole. You look so pretty” you say still playing with his hair, then you look him right in the face and see the blush spread across his cheeks. That was enough for your own blush to appear onto yours as well. 

You swear you could feel his face inch closer before you two get startled by the ringing of the school bell. He loosens his grip on you to look at the school entrance, seeing some teachers already ushering students in. “Sorry I’m late, stinker” you say letting your hand rest on his shoulder.

“I really don’t care, I’m so tempted to just skip school today and just have you all to myself.” He says panting, he feels his heart still racing, though he can’t tell if it was because of the sprinting or if its the fact that it would be so easy to kiss you right where you two were. 

He knows it’s you, it’s always you.

He hears you laugh, “Careful, Stevie. Some people might think you’re selfish, maybe even a bad influence.” You smile at him, he feels his knees weaken. He can’t help but return your smile and counters, “I can’t not be selfish about you”. 

To his surprise, he watches a flush spread across your face and ears. He feels something lift in his chest when he realizes his words had an effect on you.

He laughs in disbelief as you shove his shoulder away from you and pinch his side. “When did you get so flirty, dickhead” you tease as you grab onto his sweater sleeve, “We’re going to class, Steve. Then, you’re buying me ice cream before eating dinner at my house” you add as you start dragging him towards the school entrance.

To outsiders it might seem like you were bossing him around, but to Steve? He was right where he wanted to be.

“Yes, ma’am” he smiles as he listens to you grumble about how horrific the weather was. 

-

Lunch finally rolls by, Steve spent his morning memorizing your schedule. He sighed when he saw that you were taking so many AP classes this year, only leaving you two to have 3 classes together. He’s gonna remember to call you a smart-ass when he sees you. 

He shuffles through the crowd of students to try and get to your classroom. Halfway through his pace a hand clamps onto his shoulder, he startles and turns around hoping to see you. To his dismay, it was Tommy along with some other people. “Now where is our King Steve headed? Lunch is that way” Tommy says as he gives Steve a confused look. Steve shrugs off his hand, “I was heading to-“ he starts, only to be cut off “I’m sure your babygirl can find her way to the cafeteria, hm?” Tommy says pulling his lips into a tight smile.

Steve narrows his eyes, and looks behind him to try at catch sight of you through the crowd. “Harrington”, he hears his name being called again, he feels conflicted seeing the group of people waiting for his word. He feels his ego inflate when he realizes that they were standing by just for him. 

He sighs and decides to head to the cafeteria first, it’s not like you asked him to come to you. It was just a thing he did. 

“Atta boy, make way! The King is hungry!” He hears boys from his group yell as they made their way down the hallway. He laughs at the attention, he feels his ego solidify even more. 

Before he could lose himself in their interactions, he feels a gentle hand take hold of his wrist. He glances behind him to find you, giving him a confused smile. He feels all the previous arrogance fade away. 

“What’s all the yelling for?” You ask, falling into step beside him. He leans down, “Nothing, they’re just being assholes” he mumbles into your ear. You giggle and he can’t help but feel giddy at the fact that you’re next to him. He loops his arm around your shoulders, shielding you from the crowd and guiding you into the cafeteria. 

-

Steve watches you scrunch your nose in distaste at the antics of his friends across the table. Unruly, disrespectful, and arrogant.

He feels uneasy seeing the way you scrutinize their behavior. You were an understanding person, so considerate and kind. So it really meant someone was quite off putting if you disliked them. He thought that if he just let you meet them, you would learn to eventually like them, or at least tolerate them.

But deep down he knew that it would be way out of the park. Yet, Steve was gonna try, because he can’t let go of the feeling of being idolized. He loved being worshipped like this.

He snakes his arm around you once again while you eat, leaning towards your face to ask, “Hey, you okay? Need anything? Do you want more juice?”. You startle but smile nonetheless. “I’m alright, Stevie. Can you finish my food for me though?” You whisper back, nudging your tray towards him. He can’t help but laugh, “Glad to see camp didn’t change your small ass appetite.” He says as he pinches your side. “Not my fault you have an appetite built for hibernation” you retort as you nudge his shoulder. 

Somebody clears their throat across the table, causing Steve to raise an eyebrow at whoever interrupted. “So, how was camp?” you glance confused realizing it was Carol Perkins talking to you. There was a weird lilt to her voice that Steve didn’t like.

If Steve didn’t like it, you definitely hated it.

“It was great Carol! Thank you for asking” you start genuinely, not really sure what she was planning. She grinned, “So what did you do over there? I’m not really educated on what girls like you do in their free time” she continues. You raise your eyebrows in shock, but a slow smile makes its way on your face. Steve sees this and quickly grabs your hand from under the table, he takes a warning glance towards Tommy and all he could do was shrug and geek over the interaction.

“Girls… like me?” You laugh lightly, gently squeezing Steve’s hand reassuring him you were fine. Steve knows you could have a temper on you, he’s been on the receiving end plenty of times. Then again, he knows you would never give anyone the satisfaction of knowing they got on your nerves.

“Yeah, like you” she says, slowly dragging her gaze sizing you up. You’re not sure why she’s coming at you like this, but you had a feeling that it was because your presence didn’t make her the only girl at the table anymore.

“You know, girls who are kinda loser-ish and stuff! No offense” she pouts.

Steve narrows his eyes at Carol, his grip on his fork getting tighter. He feels you brush your thumb over his knuckles. He spares a glance to the side of your face only to see you nodding along to whatever Carol was saying. 

“Oh! Yes! Thank you for clarifying that, Carol” you responded, but this time you obnoxiously matched her sickly sweet voice. “Well, for starters… probably just the opposite of what girls like you do.” you added, resting your chin on your hand as if being in thought. That made Carol’s eyebrow raise. 

“Girls like me?” she asks smiling, her boyfriend at her side glancing back and forth between you two like it was a ping pong match. 

“You know, girls who are kinda bitch-ish and stuff” you retort sincerely, smile being held back. You hear Steve snort next to you, Tommy snickers as Carol swats his arm shutting him up. Nudging Steve with your foot, trying to make him stop his fit. He takes the signal and clears his throat, “Does that clear things up, Perkins?” He adds.

“Yup, thanks” she says tightly, rolling her eyes she grabs her tray and gets up from the table. 

You shake your head in disbelief when your train of thought was broken by a mumble, “I really missed everything about you”, you turn your head to see Steve looking at you in that way he always did. You didn’t say anything back, all he gets in response is you lacing your fingers together with his.

That was more than enough for him to understand.

-

Weeks turn into months, day by day you start to notice how Steve was fading. He was still around, sure. But, something was different. The way he spoke, the way he walked, or the way he cared. It was always when his group of people were around, he got louder, bolder, more cocky, it became unsettling. 

Though, he would always change whenever it came to you. He would be softer, more gentle, less performative. Those moments were the ones that gave you hope. 

Until those moments started fading too.

He started cancelling plans, which would usually be no issue if he didn’t say that he was feeling under the weather. In reality, he was at Dave Graham’s basement getting drunk. He never used to lie to you, what changed?

He did.

It was the fourth month of his behavior when your heart started to waver. Not because your feelings were fading, you could never not love Steve. It just hurt that you had to watch him slip through your fingers.

Your mind couldn’t help but scatter, salvaging the moments that mattered. The way he would visit your house after school, when he was here he would be yours. The facade no longer present. He didn’t care what he did because there wasn’t an audience. The thought made you deflate, just thinking that he was like this since there were no eyes on him. 

He would lie in your bed, head in your lap. Sometimes speaking, sometimes listening, but most of the time just looking at you. He loved looking at you.

To Steve, he thought that it didn’t matter, the way he acted with his friends. You had the real him, it sucked that he had to perform for these people, but how else would he get them to worship him? 

He thought that you would understand. He pretended not to see the looks you gave him when his friends acted extra harsh. You would accept it, eventually. That’s what he kept telling himself. 

“You’ve been different” you said softly, Steve’s head was in your lap. It was a little bit past dinner, the two of you decided to watch a movie in your room. You felt his head move away from the screen, peering back to you. You could see some sleep in his eyes, you can’t help but smile, carding your fingers through his hair. “What do you mean?” He mumbles, eyes fluttering closed at your touch. 

“You know what I’m talking about” your words spike his anxiety. He clears his throat, now rolling his whole body to face you, he would sit up if his position wasn’t so comfortable. He frowns, “That’s not important” tracing shapes onto your pajama-clad thigh. Your smile falters but doesn’t leave your face, “It isn’t?” 

Just thinking about the possible disagreement from this conversation was making his head buzz. “Do you wanna to a party tonight? He blurts out nervously, he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes trained on a loose thread on your pajama bottoms. You frown, it was clear he was trying to change the subject.

“Where? Now?” You question, your fingers still making their rounds through his strands, you hear a hum from his chest at a particular tug. “In a while, at Turner’s. It’s not as big as you think.” still playing with the loose thread on your thigh, he finally looks up at you. You looked at him puzzled, calculating whether or not it would be a good idea.

“We don’t have to, I know you don’t really enjoy them-“ he started rambling, he slowly sat up from his position underneath you. “I’m down” you cut him off, surprise colors his features. “Really?” He checks, skeptical that you felt forced.

“Yeah, let me get ready.” You laugh as you get up from the bed, leaving Steve still dumbfounded. He smiles to himself once you close your bathroom door, he was nervous about how the night would go.

He knew that you and his friends might clash tonight, but in his head this was his way of making you tolerate them. He knows that it sounded messed up, but he just wants you to accept that he needed this.

-

Turner’s house was just a few blocks down from yours. Still, Steve chose to drive. He was in no rush, the car ran below the speed limit with the windows down. Watching you every now and then, hair moving gently with the breeze, he sees your eyes dart across the street taking in the night. 

You looked so beautiful.

The side of your face prickles from the weight of his gaze. “What?” You turn your head to him, smiling as he quickly turns back to the road. “Nothing. Just thinking” he says, shaking his head laughing. “That can’t be good” you tease, reaching out to brush a stray strand of his hair behind his ear.

His hand catches yours mid-action. You raise an eyebrow, you watch him lace your fingers together. That alone making your heart heat up in your chest, but you saw him blush as he glanced from the road, then back to you. He then looks you in the eyes, you see it then, the thing that remained unsaid between you two.

He was speaking to you through that look, he raises your intertwined hands and connects them to his lips. You feel the brush of them before he presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. You see his cheeks burn an even deeper color as he kept his eyes on you. All you can do is grin, “Eyes on the road” you say as you feel your body warm up. He laughs as he nods. 

To his surprise, he feels you lift your still intertwined hands too. He sneaks a glance towards you only to find your eyes already on him. You then mimic his earlier movement, you press your lips to the back of his hand. 

You watch him visibly melt on the spot.

“Stevie you just passed Turner’s house” you giggle as he still remained dazed. A switch went off in his brain as he frantically looks out his window to realize he already missed your destination. “Fuck” he grumbles but his smile doesn’t move.

-

The clock nears ten as you sat in a conversation pit next to Steve, surrounded by familiar unfamiliar people. People buzzed around, some tipsy, some sober.  Steve had one beer, his arm around your shoulders on the couch. He was speaking animatedly to some boys from the basketball team, you’re not sure if he’s noticed that you haven’t uttered a word in the past hour. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by jeering coming from the front of the house. “Got the goods! Where art thou King Steve!” An obnoxious voice yells into the living room, you come to realize that it was Tommy H. Following behind him was none other than Carol Perkins, whom upon seeing you narrows her eyes in distaste.

The feeling was mutual.

You feel Steve shift next to you, his arm around you lowering to give your arm a reassuring squeeze. Well, at least he remembered you were here. Conversations kept droning on as minutes turned into an hour. 

A call of your name snaps you out of your daze, you glance around to realize you were being spoken to by none other than Tommy Hagan himself. You feel Steve tense next to you. “Surprising to see you here, this isn’t your usual scene.” He sips on his red solo cup. You huff out a forced laugh, “Yeah, it really isn’t. But I’m down with whatever as long as I have good company” you respond, gesturing to Steve next to you, who is nervously smiling at this interaction.

Before Tommy could add on, a pitchy voice pipes up next to him, “So are you two like dating, fucking, or what?”. You hear somebody choke on their drink as the rest of the conversation died down around you. All attention now on your little exchange.

You raise an eyebrow, you take a peek at Steve’s reaction only to see him boring his eyes into Carol’s face. His arm no longer secure around your shoulders. You let out an awkward laugh, how the hell do you even respond to that. You open your mouth to retort but she beats you to it, “I’ll take that as a none of the above then, not surprised honestly! It’s alright though, I’m sure you’ll find someone in your own league.” Her venomous words masked in her sickeningly sweet voice.

“My own league?” You trail off, now sitting up straighter. You hear Steve clear his throat, as if trying to warn Carol not to go any further. “Oh come on, don’t act so oblivious! You must know you aren’t really part of our crowd!” She dares, she looks Steve in the eye. “You could be more compatible with… Oh my god, you would be great with Byers!” She lets out a fake gasp as if making a groundbreaking discovery. The boys around her snicker. 

“Not that bum.” You hear Tommy comment on the side, that made your skin prickle. “Don’t call him that.” You immediately defend, you look to Steve trying to get him to react. But all you see is him rubbing his eyes in desperation. You scoff, shrugging off his arm completely. He then looks up at you, alarmed, he can see that look in your face.

He knows. 

He knows you’re about to snap, but he still can’t seem to bring himself to say the words that matter. All he manages is, “Okay, cut it out.” Trying his best to still seem cool, even now when trying to defend you, he was performing for them. 

“Oh come on, we’re just looking out for you Steve! We wouldn’t want you to blunder your kingdom all for some average dud” she challenges. A surprised smile makes it onto your face, you immediately look to Steve just to see if he would do anything, at least say something.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Perkins. Get your girl in check, Tommy.” Is all he says.

That was it.

You scoff in disbelief as Steve looks at you apologetically. His eyes searching for your understanding. “I’m going home” you say carefully, grabbing your purse and leaving Steve in the living room. He drags a hand down his face and hisses in annoyance. “What the fuck is your problem, Carol?” He nearly yells at the curly headed brunette.

Shock makes an appearance on her face. “W- what?” She stutters looking around. “You know what, forget it. Tommy, when we say don’t let her tag along, we mean it.” He warns as he hastily makes his way out the door, ignoring the chorus of whoops around them.

Carol scoffs in disbelief, looking to Tommy as if to confirm, the way he didn’t meet her eyes answered her question.

You had made it out of the driveway when you hear heavy footsteps jogging behind you. “Angel, wait! Don’t mind them, they’re just being assholes” you hear Steve yell before he caught up with your pace. He grabs onto your wrist, forcing you to look at him. 

It takes you a moment to process what he was saying because you were in disbelief. This wasn’t your Steve, you wouldn’t have ever imagined him failing to defend you like he did just now. “Don’t listen to them? They’re all I hear, Steve! You say they’re just being assholes, but they’re your friends. That kind of makes you an asshole by association.” you finally say, feeling the heaviness in your chest, clenching your fists inside your hoodie pockets. 

Steve notices the tone of your voice, he feels his soul slowly tear when he realizes how far he’s going. But he can’t let go of his need for validation, his face hardens in defense. “Oh, so I’m an asshole now?” He scoffs, “Stop being so dramatic, they’re just saying bullshit!” He adds. He runs his hands through his hair, even when arguing you can’t help but appreciate how pretty he is, not that it matters right now.

“Just bullshit?” You repeat, your heart aches. He can’t make himself take it back anymore, this is who he is now. At least, that what he thinks. Maybe you’ll understand.

The burn in your chest matches the one in your eyes. “Bye, King Steve, hope your kingdom is what you dreamed of.” your voice is strained and gritty, it felt like the gravel beneath your feet was lodged in your throat. Hurt and confusion flashes in his eyes, but he lets nothing seep out but his pride. You spare no time, turning on your heel and making your way down the street. 

Before Steve could stop you, he was held back by Tommy. “Come on, man. Everyone’s waiting for you inside, your pet can wait” he jokes. Steve grimaces at Tommy’s words, “Don’t call her that” he says after shaking off Tommy’s grip on his arm. When he looks back he sees that you’re gone. “Whatever, dude” Tommy laughs as he playfully shoves Steve’s shoulder and heads back inside the house, yelling obscenities.

Staring at the spot where you once stood, all he could think was, “Shit” he verbalizes as he runs a hand through his hair. 

Tommy’s words echoes in his head.

Everybody’s waiting for you inside.

Steve Harrington then makes one of the worst decisions of his life. He sighs as he heads back into the house, preparing himself to perform for them once more.

-

It was a little after 12, Steve makes it back home. His house empty as per usual, he beelines to his room with the goal of calling you as soon as possible. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to call you late at night. You were usually awake studying, or doing one of your multiple hobbies. 

He dials your number and listens to it ring, his heart plummets when he realizes you aren’t picking up. He taps his fingers nervously on his bedside table, looking out the window seeing the clouds get darker. The line hits a dial tone and he feels anxiety bleed through his pores. He decides to leave a voicemail instead.

“Hey, I kinda took it too far at the party. You know how it is, I hope you understand. See you tomorrow” Is all he manages to say. Putting the phone down, he stares at his ceiling as he lies down. He feels an uneasy pit in his stomach, he just doesn’t know what it means. He starts to overthink the conversation, he knows he was being an absolute ass, he isn’t even sure why he took it that far either. 

You never liked saying goodbye, it was always “see you”. Yet tonight you said it, did he mess up? He looks to his side towards his alarm clock, it’s been thirty minutes since he left the voice mail.

You usually pick up or answer within ten. He starts replaying the whole conversation and he groans, he should’ve followed you. He just let you walk home? What the fuck was wrong with him.

He decides to leave another voicemail, palms sweating. “Hi. It’s me again, just checking in if you’re there, again, call me back when you can? Please? I’m sorry.” He puts down the phone, he feels pressure in his chest, he starts to contemplate whether or not he should head to your house.

His knee bounces relentlessly the next fifteen minutes, he finally decides to head over to your house instead. He hears thunder overhead as he speeds down to your neighborhood.

He nears your home, he could furrows his brows to see all the lights in your room were out. Usually you left your faint night light on to help you see if you woke up at night.

He kills his engine and makes it out of his car, trying his best to make little noise. He nears your porch only to see a figure hunched near your steps. He feels little droplets of rain start hitting his skin, he then realizes that the figure was you. 

He calls out your name softly, as if approaching an easily startled animal. You made no effort to acknowledge his presence. He repeats your name, now firmer. He sees your eyes move to glance at him, he could see they were just full of emotion. He feels his throat catch at the thought of him being the reason you were in this state.

You wipe your eyes with your sleeves, slowly getting up from your position. Now you stood on your steps, now standing a bit taller than him. “Baby, I-I’m so sorry” he starts, trying to keep the burning in his throat down, he hears your breath hitch at the nickname.

“For?” Your voice betrays you, trembling around the edges. “I should’nt have let them talk to you like that. But- I told them- I shut them up.” He stumbles over his words, you opened your mouth to retort but he continued, “I know I should’ve said more but you have to understand. I have to keep be- being level-headed around them. You know the truth, you know I care. That’s all that matters.” He argues. 

Even now when trying to beg for forgiveness, he’s still performing for them.

You shake your head in disbelief, “I do understand, that’s the problem. I’ll never not understand you. It’s all I’ve ever done.” Your voice breaks, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

He feels stray tears dart down his face at the sight of you, “Do you know why?” You tremble. Feeling the wind pick up, the droplets of rain getting heavier. 

You pause, sniffling your tears, “Because I love you, like it’s breathing.” You manage to blurt out. Steve feels the air knock out of his lungs, this was all he’s ever wanted to hear for years. His face lifts in realization, he watches you reach to the side of your porch, grabbing an umbrella and tossing it at him. 

He watches you in disbelief, he rushes his words, “I’ve always loved you, Baby- I’m so fucking crazy about you.” he hears his voice break with passion. More tears flow down his face, his breathing getting more desperate. He was so close to finally having you, but he had to make you pull away. Rain starts dampening his hair and clothes, masking his emotion. 

“You don’t act like it. You don’t do what you did to a friend, let alone the one you love” your voice cracking, before he could get any closer, you turned on your heel and tried to make your way back into your house. Thunder roaring above you both, it was like the heavens were fighting alongside you.

Steve stumbles trying to make his way to you, he steps onto your porch to reach out for you. Even in desperation he held your hand with such care, “Angel, I’m sorry. Please, just listen-“ he tried to reason, you could see his eyes get more flushed with each second.  

“Sorry enough to stop?” You interrupt, searching his eyes for an answer. His eyes cloud with conflict, he had to think about it. “B-baby, please” he hiccups, he was now on his knees begging. Yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to promise to change. 

That was all you needed to see.

You shake off his grip on your hand, ignoring the chants of petnames he was spewing. 

“That’s what I thought.” You shook your head and turned to look at him, your heart broke at how devastated he looked. “I can’t be around you, Steve” you mumble. 

“Angel” is all he could manage to say, his lip wobbling, tears getting fatter and collecting on his chin. You hesitantly bring your hands to cup the sides of his face, you watch his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a shudder. 

Just for a minute, you almost thought of accepting him. He was on his knees for you, borderline sobbing for you. But then you thought that if the right people were around, he would never even taken three steps to your porch.

You brush your thumbs to wipe away his tears, his eyes looking bigger when full of emotion. He peers up at you in anticipation, he could still feel the warmth in your actions. He thinks you two could get through this, just before he could plead once more, he felt your touch loosen around his cheeks. He sees the glint in your eyes that made his fight or flight instincts go off.

You weren’t going to stay.

“N-No, please!” His pleads synchronize with the thunder, the rain falling even harder now. 

“Grow up, Harrington” is all he hears before you leave him on your porch.

Steve isn’t sure how long he spent outside, he didn’t even know what to do at this point. The pain in his chest was unbearable, he literally feels like he could just die on the spot. 

He just managed to do the thing he could never fathom doing in his entire life.

He lost you.

⭒˚。⋆ 𖤐 ⋆。𖦹  ◡̈ . * ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ༘ ˚ ⋆ 𐙚

A/N: LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!! laughing thru tears right now, should i leave it at this or have part 3 steve redemption.... lmk....

likes and reblogs heavily appreciated!!

let me know what you guys think... hu... hu... hu...

Your relationship with Steve was new enough as is. 

Hell, you didn't even know what you were really doing here with these people who were trying to save the world anyways. The knowing, slightly suggestive looks that had flickered between everyone after Robin’s joke only solidified that feeling, making you want to shrink into the floorboards.

Steve instantly shot Robin a pointed, silencing look and genuinely asked, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He turned to you after, sensing you retreat further into the seat behind him. He placed a soft kiss to the side of your head and rubbed your arm lovingly hoping to ease you a bit..

But the damage was done.

That queasy feeling lodged itself somewhere deep in your chest and refused to leave.

It had been three days since then. Three days of Steve’s warm hand finding yours, of his comforting presence on your couch, of his soft kisses goodnight at your door. 

And three days of you quietly, systematically, building a wall.

Not intentionally. Never intentionally.

You still kissed him, still leaned into him when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, still loved him—god, you loved him—but everything stopped short. Kisses didn’t linger for more than three seconds. Hands didn’t wander. The moment it felt like it could lead somewhere, your chest tightened and you pulled away.

You were in his bed now, at his house, a rare moment of peace stolen in the midst of the ever-looming dread of whatever was happening in Hawkins. His arm was around you, a rerun of your favorite show playing and casting a blue glow over the room. He was tracing idle patterns on your shoulder with his thumb.

Your mind couldn’t help but wander.

Steve was your first real boyfriend. Your first everything. And you were… you were a virgin. It wasn’t a secret, not really. Steve knew. He’d never pushed, never made you feel anything less than adored.

You were both content with the slow and sweet pace you had set and just relished as much as you could in the dizzying newness of falling in love.

But now Robin’s comment had dragged the unspoken into the harsh light. 

You knew of his past, ‘King Steve.’

You also didn’t really care at the time, but now. Now, it made your own inexperience feel like a gaping chasm between you. What if you were terrible? What if he was bored?

And god was he actually that big?

Your breath hitched, a tiny, involuntary sound.

Steve’s thumb stilled. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, too quickly, nestling closer as if to prove it. You tilted your face up for a kiss, a peace offering to your own paranoid thoughts.

He met you halfway, his lips soft and familiar. It started like all your kisses did, sweet, a little hesitant on your part. But then Steve, maybe sensing your need for reassurance, deepened it slightly. His hand came up to cup your jaw, his tongue swiping gently against your lower lip.

A jolt of panic shot through you. You froze. Then you pulled back, breaking the kiss after only a few seconds, turning your face into his chest. 

You felt him go still. The hand on your jaw dropped. The arm around you tensed. The laugh track from the TV sounded cruel and mocking.

“Baby, can we talk about this?” Steve’s voice was low, carefully neutral.

“About what?” you mumbled into his t-shirt, playing dumb. Your heart was a frantic bird against your ribs.

“You know what. What Robin said. I know it got into your head. You’ve been acting weird ever since.”

“I’m not acting weird.” The protest was weak, even to your own ears.

Steve shifted, pulling back just enough so he could see your face. In the flickering light, his expression was painfully earnest, etched with a concern that made you want to cry. He nodded slowly. “Okay then.”

He leaned in and kissed you again. It was a test, and you both knew it. He poured everything into it—all the affection, the worry, the sheer Steve-ness of him. It was the kind of kiss that usually made your toes curl, that made the world shrink to just the two of you.

But still, after three seconds you pulled away.

A small, distressed noise escaped you, and you physically untangled yourself, pushing back against his chest.

“See,” Steve said, and the hurt in his voice was evident. He sat there, running a hand through his perfect hair, making it endearingly messy.

“You are being weird. You hardly want to touch me now, you pull away, and I just… fuck.” He let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want it to be like this. Not with everything going on. I mean, you heard them in there. Shit’s probably gonna hit the fan any day now. I don’t want things to be weird between you and me when it does.”

He looked at you, his brown eyes wide and vulnerable. “I love you, baby. You know that, right?”

“I know, Steve, I love you too,” you whispered, tears finally spilling over. “Robin just got in my head a bit. I’m… I’m scared.”

“Of me?” He looked horrified.

“No! Well, kind of. Not you, per se..” You swiped at your cheeks, frustrated. “Of um… of that.”

You gestured downwards.

Oh, Steve thought.

You could see it register in his brain but you continued anyway.

“You know I’ve never done this before. So it kind of freaked me out. Robin being right, that yo-you’re big. Too big. What if it doesn’t fit or what if—” The words tumbled out quickly before you could stop them.

“Oh,” he breathed. He reached for you slowly, stopping just short, giving you the space to pull away if you wanted. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay.”

You shook your head, voice barely there. “Sorry, I’m being stupid—”

“No, no you’re not stupid.” Steve interrupted your rambling firmly, “Firstly, Robin’s an idiot, who shouldn’t have said that. And second, we don't have to do anything. Ever. I mean that. If the idea of me... down there... is scary, we don't have to do anything about it until you're ready.

“But I am ready,” you whispered, the confession torn from you. “I want you. I'm just... intimidated. By the... logistics.”

A soft, genuine smile touched his lips.

“Logistics, huh,”  He squeezed your hand. "We can make it a little less intimidating. If you want.”

You blinked. “How?”

“Get you used to it. So it's not some big, scary uh, thing. It's just... a part of me.” His cheeks went faintly pink, but his gaze was steady on your eyes.

“You could... touch me. Just to see. No pressure or expectations. We don't even have to take our clothes all the way off. Just so you know what you're dealing with. So it's not so scary in your head.”

The offer was so vulnerable, so utterly Steve—turning his own body into a teaching tool to ease your fear—that your heart squeezed.

“Okay,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, his eyes soft. “Okay. You lead, alright? Whatever you want.”

With trembling fingers, you reached for the waistband of his sweatpants. He lifted his hips slightly to help you, his movements careful and non-threatening. You pushed the soft fabric down, your eyes widening as he sprang free.

Up close, the reality of him was even more…daunting. And Robin was 100% right. Steve was huge. Thick and heavy, already half-hard just from the intimacy of the moment. You stared, a mix of awe and that old fear swirling in your gut.

“You can touch it,” he murmured encouragingly, his voice a low rasp. “It's just skin. It's just me.”

Hesitantly, you wrapped your fingers around the base. He was warm, the skin surprisingly soft and velvety over the rigid core of him. You gave a tentative stroke, and he hissed in a sharp breath, his stomach muscles clenching.

“Sorry!” you yelped, pulling your hand back.

“Don't be sorry,” he gasped, a breathless laugh escaping him. “That's uh... that's the point. It's sensitive. It's okay. You're not gonna break it, I promise.” He guided your hand back, covering it with his own for a moment before letting go. “See? It's just a part of me. It reacts to you. That's all.”

Emboldened, you explored him, your touch growing surer. You learned the weight of him in your palm, the way the head swelled under your thumb, the way his breathing hitched when you traced a certain vein. The fear began to recede, replaced by a fascinated curiosity. 

And Steve was just as patient as he promised, letting you learn him and touch him so intimately.

“See?” he whispered after a few minutes, his voice strained. “Not so scary when it's just us, right?”

You shook your head, a real smile touching your lips for the first time in days. “No, not so scary.”

He leaned in and kissed you then, deep and slow and full of a promise that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with trust. When he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes were serious. “We can stop right here. This is already more than enough.”

You looked from his earnest face down to where your hand still rested on him, feeling the throbbing heat of him. The anxiety was a quiet hum now, the love, the want, now that was louder.

“I don't want to stop,” you said, and you meant it.

Steve shakes his head, reaching for his pants, “Baby—”

“Steve.” you cut him off sharply, the heat between your legs getting warmer. You needed this and you were ready. “Please. I’m sure.”

“Okay, if you’re completely sure,” Steve starts, but you interrupt again.

“I am.”

“Okay, alright,” Steve says, as if he's talking himself up now. He pulls your body closer to him and places a deep kiss on your lips.

Steve stayed true to his word. He talked you through everything making sure nothing was intimidating, his voice a low, soothing rasp in the quiet room.

“Just gonna take this off, okay?” he murmured, fingers at the hem of your shirt. You nodded, lifting your arms, and he peeled it away, his eyes drinking you in a way that made you feel beautiful, not exposed. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

His own clothes followed, and your breath caught. You’d seen him without a shirt before, but this was different. In the dim light, he was all lean muscle and smooth skin, broad and solid. Hot. A fresh flutter of anxiety arose.

Steve saw it. He just kissed your shoulder, his hand splaying over your stomach. “It’s just me,” he whispered. “We’ll go so slow, I promise. You set the pace, remember.”

You nodded, ready.

He touched you like you were made of spun glass, his hands and mouth mapping your body, learning what made you gasp and arch off the mattress. Steve used his fingers first, making sure to take extra care stretching you gently, watching your face intently for any sign of discomfort.

As comfortable with him as you might be now, that still didn’t take away from the fact that he was still going to have to put it in, and you needed to be prepped properly. So he fingered you expertly, making sure to work his way up to three fingers so that he knew you were ready to take him.

“You’re doing so good,” he praised, kissing your temple. “So perfect for me.”

Steve made you come on his hand and then in his mouth, making sure you were absolutely soaked before he settled between your legs. He was propped on his elbows, his face close to yours. The tip of him pressed against you, and you both froze.

“Okay?” he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck, anchoring yourself. You took a deep breath. “Okay.”

He began to push forward, an inch of impossible, burning fullness. You stiffened, a small gasp escaping, clenching instinctively.

He stopped immediately. “Too much?”

“Just uh… a lot,” you panted, then got worried. “You sure it'll fit?”

“It will, baby,” Steve assured you with a gentle kiss. “I know, I know, just breathe for me.”

He dropped his forehead against yours, his own breathing ragged. He didn’t move, letting you adjust and relax your muscles, peppering your face with soft kisses. “Tell me when.”

You focused on his eyes, on the love and patience shining there. You focused on the feeling of him, a stretch that was slowly growing. You shifted your hips, experimentally.

A groan ripped from Steve’s throat. “Fuck…”

“More,” you whispered. “Please, Steve.”

He obeyed, sinking another inch, then another, in a slow, relentless glide that stole the air from your lungs. The feeling of being filled, utterly and completely, was overwhelming.

He was so big, stretching you to a limit you couldn’t have imagined, but the burn was edged with a piercing pleasure that grew with every millimeter he sunk into you.

His large dick, forced your walls open, stretching you out for the first time nice and wide.

Steve bites his lip hard to keep himself from sinking into you too fast. Your squelching cunt makes it difficult to restrain himself, especially because it makes an obscene sound with every inch he pushes into you.

The whole time, your muscles can’t help but flutter and try to suck him deeper while also trying to reject his prominent bulge from splitting you open.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his body trembling with restraint. “You’re taking me so good. So perfect. All of it, baby, just like that.”

Steve must’ve spent at least twenty minutes just feeding you his dick slowly, all at your own, agonizingly slow pace. You could feel the veins and thick head that were just in your hands molding you to fit him inside.

At the halfway mark, you look up at him, with large teary eyes. “Steve.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Can you just put it all the way in?”

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah, I just want it over with. Please.”

“Alright, I can do that for you sweetheart. Take a deep breath for me, okay.”

You nod rapidly, not wanting to look and turning your head to the side. Steve takes that as an opportunity to latch on to your exposed neck, sucking hard to distract you from the stretch you were about to feel.

You count to three in your head, then inhale deeply. Before you can even finish taking a full breath, Steve sinks the rest of the way in.

“Mmph fuck.” you cry out at the pain, “God, Steve.”

“You okay, still with me?”

You didn’t really think you were. 

The first half felt like nothing in comparison to this half. Steve only seemed to get bigger as he got closer to his base and god did you feel it. His warm body now pressed to yours completely, feeling the shared and growing stickiness between you two.

You felt a little dizzy at the feeling. Steve stilled again, letting you feel the fullness and getting readjusted to his length.  “Look at that?” he whispered, his voice raw. “My girl taking me so well. See, nothing to be worried about. You were made for me, baby.”

He began to move then, with a rhythm that was gentle and painfully slow at first, then growing more confident as your body welcomed him, opening up, meeting his thrusts with tiny movements of your own. 

The earlier fear was gone, completely burned away by the heat he thrusted into your core. He was everywhere—his scent, his sweat, his whispered praises in your ear, the solid wall of his chest against yours.

“Steve,” you gasped, your fingers digging into the taut muscles of his back.

“I know, baby, I know,” he repeated, his rhythm faltering for a second as he fought for control. “You’re so tight, so perfect. Gonna make me lose it.”

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, arching into him. The coil of pleasure in your lower belly was winding tighter, a pressure building that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Not gonna stop,” he promised, his voice gravelly with strain. He shifted slightly, angling his hips, and the next thrust sent a shockwave of pure, white-hot pleasure through you. You cried out, your vision blurring at the edges.

“There?” he breathed, doing it again. “That the spot?”

You could only nod, words stolen by the sensation. He focused on that angle, his movements becoming more purposeful, driving you relentlessly towards the edge. His own breathing grew more ragged, his thrusts losing a fraction of their perfect control.

“Come for me,” he urged, his lips brushing your ear. “Let go. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

It was the permission you didn’t know you needed. Your body seized, a silent scream caught in your throat as pleasure radiated out from your core. Your walls clamped down on him in a series of frantic, fluttering pulses, milking him deeply.

The sensation was too much for Steve. With a ragged, broken groan of your name, he buried his face in your neck and followed you over, his own release pumping into you in hot, pulsing waves. His hips jerked through the last few, shallow thrusts before he stilled, collapsing heavily against you.

For a long time, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing mingling in the quiet room, the frantic beat of his heart against your chest slowly returning to normal. He was still inside you, softening now.

Finally, Steve stirred, pressing a soft, damp kiss to your shoulder before carefully pulling out. You winced at the sudden emptiness, a faint, oversensitive ache settling in. 

He immediately gathered you against him, tucking your head under his chin, his arms wrapping around you in a secure, possessive hold.

“You still doing okay?” he murmured.

You were more than okay. You were boneless, spent, a little sore and very cockdrunk, but utterly, completely at peace. 

You tilted your head back to look at him. In the dim light, his hair was a wreck, his face flushed, his lips swollen from kissing. He looked utterly debauched and more beautiful than you’d ever seen him. A soft, sated smile played on his lips.

“Better than okay,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Let me go get you cleaned up, I’ll be right back.”

He slipped from the bed, moving with grace. You watched him pad naked to the connected bathroom, the sight of his strong back and the easy confidence in his movements sending a warm, drowsy aftershock through you. You heard the soft rush of water in the sink.

He returned a moment later with a warm, damp washcloth. His expression was soft, focused entirely on you. “Just gonna make you more comfortable,” he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Steve was gentle, so incredibly gentle, as he wiped the cooling sweat and combined release from your stomach and thighs. He was methodical, folding the cloth to a clean section.

But then you saw his hand pause, his brows drawing together for a fraction of a second. His eyes flicked down to the cloth, then quickly back to your face, a mask of calm slipping over his features a little too fast.

He tried to subtly turn the cloth over, to hide the side he’d been using.

But you’d already seen it. A vivid smudge of red against the pale cloth.

Your breath caught. A cold spike of panic shot through the warm haze of your afterglow. Blood. You’d known it could happen, logically, but seeing it… it made everything feel suddenly real and intense. Not to mention taking someone that big for your first time. What if he accidentally ripped you apart?

“Steve—”

Steve saw the shift in your eyes and immediately dropped the cloth onto the nightstand and cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“Hey, look at me, baby,” he said, his voice low and firm, anchoring you. “It's okay. It's completely normal. It doesn't mean anything is wrong. It's just a little bit. It's okay.”

Steve searched your face, his gaze unwavering. “Does anything hurt more than it should? Are you okay?”

You relaxed a bit, shifting your gaze and trying to take a mental inventory. There was a deep, pleasant ache, a feeling of being thoroughly used in the best way, and a sting where he’d been. Sharp, but not too alarming. Just the evidence of his size and your obvious newness.

You shook your head. “No. No, I'm okay. A bit sore. Just… seeing it surprised me.”

He nodded, understanding. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead, a slow, lingering press of his lips. “I know. It's a lot. But you're okay. I've got you.”

He finished cleaning you up quickly, disposing of the cloth, then helped you sit up. “C'mon, let's get you to the bathroom. It'll help.”

Steve slid an arm around your waist, supporting your weight as you stood on wobbly legs, and walked you there. He waited just outside the door, giving you privacy but staying close enough that you could call out if you needed him. When you were done, he was there, helping dress you in PJs, which swallowed you whole, smelling like his soap and his skin.

Steve led you back to bed, which he’d already straightened, pulling back the covers. He guided you in, then climbed in beside you, immediately drawing you into his chest. 

You arranged your limbs around him, tucking your head under his chin, his arms a solid band around you.

Steve placed soft, sleepy loving kisses to you, and you felt your body getting more heavy with exhaustion, your mind drifting on the edge of sleep.

Just before you slipped under, a thought, clear and undeniable, floated to the surface of your drowsy mind. You nuzzled closer, your lips brushing the skin of his chest.

“Steve?” you whispered, your voice slurred with sleep.

“Hmm?” he hummed, already half-gone.

A sleepy, utterly genuine smile curved your lips against his skin. “You're fucking huge.”

A silent shudder of laughter went through him. You felt the grin spread across his face even though you couldn't see it. He tightened his arms around you, pressing a smiling kiss into your hair.

Because Steve never hesitates.

Never acts like affection is something shameful.

Love pours out of him, as naturally as body heat.

If your hands are cold, he interrupts himself halfway through a story just to catch your fingers and tuck them into his jacket pockets alongside his own, rubbing warmth back into your knuckles while continuing his sentence without missing a beat.

If you yawn during movie night, his arm is around your shoulders before the sound can finish leaving your mouth. “C’mere, sleepy girl,” he murmurs automatically, pulling you sideways against his chest.

If your shoelaces come untied in the middle of the sidewalk, he drops immediately to one knee with a distracted, “hang on, baby.”

Rainwater hisses along the curb while he reties the bow tighter this time, fingers quick and practiced, one hand steadying lightly against your ankle. His knuckles brush your skin through your sock and you have to stand there, holding your breath until your lungs ache with it, staring down at the concentration pulling his brows together.

Wondering what it must be like to love someone with your whole heart and not feel like it’s going to break you open.

He’s warm everywhere, your Steve. Warm hands, warm mouth. Warm stomach pressed against your back beneath blankets. He smells like laundry detergent and faint cedar cologne rubbed into the collar of his jackets. Sometimes vanilla chapstick, sometimes mint gum. Always Steve.

And the kisses are constant too.

Quick, thoughtless ones, born entirely from fondness.

The corner of your mouth while waiting for the microwave to beep. Your forehead when he passes behind you in the kitchen. Your shoulder while you lean over the sink brushing your teeth side by side. The back of your neck when he reaches around you for orange juice in the fridge, mumbling a sleepy, “morning, honey,” against your skin before kissing beneath your hairline.

Sometimes he just looks at you for a second. Expression softening imperceptibly, like some private thought crossed his mind, and then he leans over and kisses your cheek with this quiet little hum in his throat.

Like loving you tastes good.

And god, the neck kissing.

It’s terrible.

And right now, in the middle of a museum gallery so quiet you can hear shoes squeak against polished floors, he’s doing it again.

You’re trying to read the plaque beneath some enormous renaissance painting—something about divinity and grief, oil on canvas—but Steve is behind you, arms folded around your waist while he scans the museum brochure one-handed.

One of his hands has slipped beneath your cardigan, warm palm spread low across your stomach.

“Okay, so,” he murmurs near your ear, voice low enough that the sound vibrates through you, “there’s the Greek sculpture thing upstairs, or... there’s apparently a room with these like, tiny dollhouses?”

You wrinkle your nose. “That sounds horrifying.”

“Right?” His lips brush the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Like what if one of them’s haunted?”

Then his mouth finds the hinge of your jaw.

One lazy, distracted kiss.

His lips are soft, slightly chapped from the cold outside. Warm breath spills across your skin afterward, making your pulse jump beneath his mouth. He lingers there, nose nudging lightly against your neck while he keeps mumbling off different sections of the museum.

You feel the shape of his smile against your skin when he finds another ridiculous exhibit.

“Apparently there’s a room that’s just chairs.”

“That can’t be true.”

“No, I swear to god.”

Then his mouth drifts lower.

Open-mouthed kisses this time.

Slow enough that warmth blooms beneath every press of his lips. You feel the faint scrape of his teeth catch your skin playfully before he smooths over it with another softer kiss, his thumb stroking across your stomach.

Your entire body tightens around the feeling.

The worst part is knowing that he isn’t trying to fluster you.

Steve isn’t performing intimacy.

He just never second-guesses affection.

Unlike you.

For you, every touch feels catastrophic.

The second Steve touches you, awareness crashes through your body all at once—your pulse, your breathing, the weight of his hand, whether your hair smells okay, whether your stomach feels too soft beneath his palm, whether someone across the gallery can see this.

Whether you deserve to be loved this openly at all.

“....and Robin said there’s some painting of a guy eating his own son which honestly seems kinda—”

He stops, hand stilling against your stomach.

“Babe?”

You blink hard, staring at the plaque without reading a single word.

Steve leans back, concern creasing immediately between his brows.

“Hey,” his hand slides higher, rubbing gently over your ribs. “You okay?”

“Hm? Mhm.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Another lie.

Your skin still burns where he kissed you.

And underneath all the panic is something worse.

Fear and hunger, knotted so tightly you can’t separate them anymore.

Wanting him closer, wanting him to keep touching you forever. Wanting to crawl inside every warm, gentle thing he gives you and stay there.

Not knowing what you’d do if he ever stopped.

Because as terrifying as it is to be loved this softly, you think losing it might actually destroy you.

“You wanna sit down for a sec?” Steve asks quietly. “I think I still have that granola bar in my bag if you’re hungry.”

You almost laugh, because of course that’s where his mind goes.  

Care.

Always care.

“No, I’m okay,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “We can keep going. The uh, Greek sculpture thing sounds good.”

He watches you for a beat longer than comfortable, thumb rubbing against your hipbone through your jeans.

“Okay,” he says finally.

His hand slides up your arm, gently fixing the cardigan slipping off your shoulder. His fingers brush your neck in the process, absentmindedly smoothing your hair back into place too.

And then, because he’s Steve—because affection lives inside him so naturally he doesn’t know how to love except with his whole body—

He reaches down and interlaces your fingers with his.

Warmth immediately fills the spaces between your knuckles, his callused fingers curling around yours with steady, secure pressure.

He keeps holding your hand the entire walk toward the staircase, thumb stroking across your skin while he talks about haunted dollhouses and ugly marble babies and whether you think ancient Greek people had chest hair.

And isn’t it terrifying, how quickly your body has learned what safety feels like in someone else’s hands?

...

It isn’t just the touching.

You almost wish it was.

Because that would be easier to understand.

A touch can be explained away:

Steve’s just naturally affectionate. Steve likes physical contact.  

But it’s not just that.

It’s the way he loves you without condition. Without making you earn it first.

A few weeks into dating, he showed up at your apartment carrying a bouquet so enormous it nearly blocked his entire face.

When you opened the door, all you could see were flowers.

Soft cream roses crowded against pale pink delphiniums, petals curling delicately at the edges like silk ribbon. Deep burgundy dahlias bloomed low in the arrangement, velvety and dark as spilled wine, white baby’s breath drifting between everything like tiny bursts of snowfall.

And hidden right in the middle were your favorites.

Blue hydrangeas.

Dusty-blue petals clustered together like storm clouds at dusk, edges fading lavender where the light caught them.  

You had pointed them out exactly once while passing a florist downtown.

Three seconds, maybe.  

You remembered slowing briefly in front of the shop window because they looked beautiful beneath the warm yellow display lights. Rain had just started misting softly against the sidewalk and Steve had been halfway through ranting about some middle schooler trying to rent an R-rated horror movie with a fake ID. You’d smiled at his story before murmuring, almost absentmindedly, “Those are so pretty.”

That was it.

You hadn’t even thought he heard you.

But Steve Harrington has a habit of holding onto the tiniest details about you like they're something precious.

“Baby, I swear to god,” Steve was saying now as he stepped inside your apartment, nudging the door shut with his foot, “I had the craziest day today. This guy at work tried to return a tape completely melted.”

The bouquet landed in your arms before he shrugged off his jacket.

“Melted,” he repeated, horrified, running a hand through his hair. “Like, fully warped. Looked like somebody cooked that thing in a microwave.”

You stared down at the flowers.

The bouquet was heavy enough that you had to support it with both arms. Thick stems pressed cool and damp against your palms beneath layers of cream florist paper, the wrapping folded slightly unevenly around the flowers and tied together with rough twine that looked suspiciously hand-done.

Not florist-perfect, but Steve-perfect.

The flowers smelled dizzyingly alive: sweet rose perfume softened by rainwater and the cool, earthy scent of freshly cut stems.

“…um, Steve?”

“—and Keith asked me if I did that,” he huffed, toeing off his shoes. “I mean, can you believe that shit? What does he think I do at work all day, destroy tapes for fun?”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

You blinked at him slowly.

“What’s…” Your throat tightened strangely around the words. “What’s this for?”

He looked down at the bouquet like he’d genuinely forgotten he walked in carrying it.

“Uh…” His brows lifted slightly. “Flowers?”

He laughed softly after saying it, confused.

But you didn’t laugh.

Because your brain was already doing what it always did: rummaging frantically for conditions. For expectations and hidden meanings tucked beneath kindness.

Your heartbeat started creeping unpleasantly high in your throat.

Was it an anniversary?

Oh god.

Had you forgotten something?

Your stomach dropped, dates scrambling uselessly through your head too fast to follow. One month? Six weeks? Was there something couples were supposed to celebrate this early? Had Steve done something thoughtful and now you were standing there empty-handed like the worst girlfriend alive?

The cellophane crackled beneath your tightening grip.

“Did I…” You cleared your throat quietly. “Did I forget something?”

Steve’s forehead wrinkled.

“Huh?”

“The flowers.”

“What about ‘em?”

Your voice came out impossibly small. “Why’d you get these?”

“Uh, ‘cause I…” He huffed a tiny laugh through his nose, head tilting. “’Cause I wanted to?”

His confusion only made your chest tighten more.

“Is it our anniversary or something?”

His frown deepened. “What? No.”

“Then… why?”

Steve stared at you for a second, slightly open-mouthed now, the soft amusement on his face fading into gentle concern.

“Baby, they’re just flowers.”

You stared back helplessly.

“But why?” you asked again, quieter this time.

“Well, I…” He shrugged one shoulder slightly. “I saw them. And I thought about you.”

The apartment suddenly felt very quiet.

You looked back down at the bouquet in your arms.

The hydrangeas were even prettier up close, petals shifting between pale blue and soft lavender depending on how the light hit them. Tiny sprays of baby’s breath caught between larger blooms like stars scattered through clouds.

A single sunflower tucked near the back, drooping sideways because Steve probably had the bouquet strapped into the passenger's seat on the drive over.

Your throat burned.

“That’s it?” you asked quietly.

Steve let out a soft breath through his nose.

His socked feet whispered against the floor as he stepped closer, one hand rising to cup your cheek.

Big enough to hold the entire side of your face, his palm enveloped you in warmth. Your lashes fluttered at the feeling of his thumb sweeping beneath your eye, brushing over the apple of your cheek, soothing something there without even knowing what hurt.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s it. I saw ’em and thought you’d like them.” His mouth tugged into a small smile. “You stared at those flowers for like, ten minutes.”  

You huffed weakly. “It was not ten minutes.”

Steve’s smile widened, encouraged by the sound of your laugh.

“There was this whole wrapping station thing too,” he added, gesturing proudly toward the bouquet still overflowing from your arms. The cream paper rustled softly as he touched it, uneven folds bunching around the stems where the twine had already started slipping loose on one side. “The lady kept trying to help me but I told her I could handle it.”

He tipped his head, inspecting his own work. “Pretty good, right?”

You looked down again.

The wrapping really was crooked. One corner folded inward strangely while another flared too wide, baby’s breath poking free through gaps in the paper.  

It couldn’t have been more beautiful.

Steve’s grin turned sheepish, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, I think she stopped helping 'cause I was stressing her out.”

A quiet bubble of laughter escaped you, and the second it did, you noticed the way his face changed. Grin softening, eyes gone warm at the realization that he’d made you smile.  

That was the other unbearable thing about him.

How carefully he watches for your joy, waiting for the next chance to do it again.   

He really had done all this just because he wanted to.

No special occasions—he just saw something beautiful and immediately thought of you.

You blinked quickly, staring down at the velvety rose petals before he could notice the dangerous sting gathering behind your eyes.

Nobody had ever remembered little things about you before.

Not enough to act on them later.

Certainly not enough to drive across town carrying an absurdly oversized bouquet because of one passing comment you barely remembered making yourself.  

But Steve noticed everything.

The tea you always reach for when you’re sick. The songs you hum in the car without realizing. Which side of the bed you like to sleep on. Which sweatshirt you wear when you’re sad. The way you peel pepperoni slices off pizza before eating.  

The flowers you paused to admire for three seconds on a rainy sidewalk weeks ago.

Your fingers tightened carefully around the bouquet.

“Thank you,” you managed quietly.  

Steve smiled, stepping closer until the bouquet crushed lightly between your bodies, cellophane crinkling in the quiet of the apartment.

“Yeah. Anytime, baby,” he hummed, bending down to press his smile into the curve of your mouth, as natural as breathing.

...

You don’t know why you get like this.

Why your body reacts like it’s bracing for impact when all he’s doing is being gentle. Why his affection makes your chest ache the way it does.

Why your first instinct is always to freeze.

Body going stiff whenever Steve wraps himself around your back in grocery store checkout lines, chin hooked over your shoulder while he complains about magazine prices and rubs his thumb beneath the hem of your shirt.

Sometimes he brushes your hair behind your ear mid-conversation and keeps talking without even realizing he did it. Sometimes he reaches for your hand in his sleep, eyes still closed, finding you beneath the blankets when his body notices your absence before he does.

And you wonder why, in all those sweet, wonderful moments—when he kisses your forehead while waiting for the microwave to beep, when he pulls you against his chest during movies, when he drops to his knees on dirty pavement because he doesn't want you to trip over your laces, when he holds your face in both hands like it’s something precious—you feel this horrible urge to apologize afterward.

Sorry I’m difficult. Sorry you picked me. Sorry you don’t realize yet there are easier people to love.

Love had always arrived transactional before him.

Conditional.

Dependent on being easy enough, pretty enough, quiet enough, useful enough.

But Steve loves you without condition.

And being seen that intimately by someone so good—someone as warm and earnest and sincere as Steve Harrington—feels unbearable sometimes.

Maybe that’s why nights like this overwhelm you so badly.

A fancy dinner downtown stretches long past sunset, candlelight flickering gold across Steve’s face while he steals bites from your plate despite insisting twenty minutes ago he was “seriously so stuffed.”

Wine leaves his cheeks faintly pink by the time you leave the restaurant. His tie hangs loose, crooked around his throat, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows. Summer heat still clings to the sidewalks even this late at night, thick with blooming jasmine spilling from flower boxes outside storefronts. Somewhere farther downtown, music drifts through open bar doors, muffled bass and laughter carried through the warm air.

Steve's hand never leaves your lower back, fingers flexing gently against you whenever the crowd thickens, pulling you instinctively closer to his chest.

By the time you drift into the park, your heels are dangling from one hand and your body feels pleasantly heavy from the wine.

The grass is cool beneath your bare feet. Damp earth presses between your toes as you wander deeper along the meadow paths, fireflies blinking through the dark around you like floating embers.

Steve is halfway through retelling some ridiculous story his students had told him earlier that day, pausing every other sentence because he keeps getting distracted trying to kiss you.  

Grass stains smear across the knees of his expensive slacks when he finally pulls you down beside him into the field.

“Steve,” you protest weakly, glancing at his pants.

“What?” he asks innocently, tightening his hands around your waist.

“Those are gonna stain.”

“Mm.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, grin lazy. “Worth it.”

You lose track of time there.

Talking between kisses, lying shoulder-to-shoulder in the grass while Steve points out constellations he names wrong on purpose just to make you argue with him. His fingers comb slowly through your hair while your head rests against his shoulder, skin sticking together in the humid night air.

And by the time he gets you home, you’re half-floating.

Steve crowds you against the apartment door before the lock has even clicked shut.

Both hands on your waist, lips sealing over yours. The force of it nudges you softly into the door, his body fitting against yours as he grunts low into your mouth like he’s been holding himself back all night.

Sweet burgundy wine still lingers on his tongue when his lips part against yours.

He’s warm everywhere.

Warm hands sliding beneath your dress, warm mouth against your throat. Warm breath ghosting over newly exposed skin every time he pauses to look at you.

And he does pause, constantly.

Heavy-lidded hazel eyes drag across your face, your throat, the curve of your body beneath his hands, lips gone slack from that third glass of Merlot though his smile tells you he’s drunk on more than just the wine.

His palms skim along the back of your thighs while he kisses down your neck, the soft scrape of his stubble pulling a shaky breath in the shape of his name.

He smiles against your skin, feeling your fingers clutch tighter at his shoulders.

“C’mere,” he murmurs softly.

The bedroom lights stay low when he walks you backward toward the bed.

Blue comforter wrinkling beneath you when he eases you onto your back, following you down, kissing over every inch of exposed skin while your heartbeat stutters harder with each press of his mouth.

Broad palms smooth upward beneath your dress while his lips trail lower, the slow descent of it dizzying; his mouth dragging across your collarbone, the center of your chest, down your stomach, your ribs, each kiss separated by warm breaths and playful nips that make your muscles jump.

And when he kneels at the foot of the bed—nudging your legs apart carefully, lovingly, thumbs stroking slow circles into the soft skin inside your thighs as he settles himself in between—he lets out this quiet little sigh.

Like nowhere else on earth could possibly compare to this.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs against you, pressing the words directly into your skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your underwear while he glances up at you through heavy lashes, tongue darting briefly to wet his lower lip.

You reach for his hair quickly, panic flaring.

“Steve,” you whisper. “Wait.”

His hands still immediately where they rest on your hips. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow hard. “Nothing, I just...”

Your head spins pleasantly and horribly all at once from the wine and the heat and the sweet boy kneeling between your thighs looking at you like you hung the moon.

“I should shower first.”

His brows pull together. “Why?”

“Because,” you laugh weakly. “I’m sweaty.”

Steve smiles at that, like it’s the sweetest thing he’s heard all day.

He leans in even closer, nose brushing over your clothed mound before he presses a slow kiss there.

“Baby,” he murmurs against you, “I don’t care.”

“Steve...”

“I mean it.”

His hands glide upward along your waist, warm and heavy as velvet, fingertips grazing your ribs on the way up.

“I like you like this,” he says softly.

Then he takes in a breath.

A deep, deliberate pull through his nose, the warm drag of air against the damp fabric making your thighs twitch around him.

“You smell good,” he murmurs, kissing you there again. “Like summer.”

Your face burns, but Steve only smiles wider, already halfway gone.

“Just stay,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you. We can take a bath after, promise.”

He turns his head to the side, nose nudging affectionately along your inner thigh before he closes his lips around the sensitive skin there. The suction is soft at first, teasing warmth into you before the pressure deepens just enough to sting pleasantly.   

A new love bite starts to bloom, petal-soft and tender, like a flower kissed awake by rain. His mouth traces over it, soothing the flush of it back into softer color with gentle, unhurried pecks.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss over the bruise-tinted skin. “My perfect girl.”

To be loved this intensely feels like it could swallow you whole.

Like the warmth of it could burn straight through you.

You don’t even realize you’ve started crying until your breath catches sharply in your chest, a raw, jagged gasp tearing from your lungs.

Steve’s head snaps up instantly.

You jerk your face away in horror, both hands flying to cover your eyes before he can see.

God.

Oh god.

Not now.

Why now?

“Baby, are you—”

His voice cuts off the second your breath stutters again, louder this time.

The mattress jolts beneath you as he pushes upright, fast enough that the bed frame gives a small protesting creak.

“Hey, hey—what’s wrong?”

You can feel him at your side immediately, his quick, uneven breaths brushing against your hands where they're pressed tight to your face.

“Baby, what happened?”

His fingers curl around your wrists, firm but impossibly gentle.

Always gentle.

“Did I hurt you? Did I do something?”

“N-no,” you choke out immediately.

“Then what?” His voice starts to break slightly, turning sharp with worry. “What is it? Honey, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head helplessly, unable to form the words, unable to explain.

The lamp clicks on beside you. Warm amber light spills across everything at once: rumpled sheets and discarded clothes, Steve kneeling beside you, shirt open at the collar, belt buckle undone and tie hanging loose around his neck.  

The flowers from dinner are on the dresser.

Slightly uneven in their vase, waterline crooked, the hydrangeas beginning to open wider in the warmth of your apartment.

Embarrassment crashes over you like a wave.

Perfect.

A night he’d planned so carefully—reservations at the candlelit Italian place downtown, your favorite wine already waiting at your table, flowers arranged before you’d even walked through the door—

And now you’re crying halfway through sex because your brain can’t handle something as simple as being loved.

You turn your face away again instinctively, shoulders curling inward, but the tears don’t stop. They come harder, messy and humiliating, gasps of air ripping through your chest no matter how hard you try to swallow them down.

You feel Steve’s hand slide up your spine.

Slow, slow passes between your shoulder blades, fingertips pressing gently.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to hide, okay? You don’t have to hide from me.”

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, wiping at your face uselessly. “I-I don’t know w-why I’m—I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry—”  

“No, hey, don’t apologize, baby. Don’t say sorry.”

You resist him weakly when he tries to gather you in his arms.

You can’t look at him.

Can’t stand the thought of seeing the concern on his face after ruining this.

“I just—” You let out a shaky breath, voice cracking completely. “Fuck, I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Steve stills at that.

Then slowly, carefully, he takes your wrists fully in both hands.

You let him this time. Arms trembling the entire way down as he lowers your hands into his lap. You still refuse to meet his eyes, staring instead at the heavy rise and fall of his chest. His crisp white shirt is wrinkled, open at the collar, a faint pink bite mark just above his collarbone where you kissed him during the taxi ride home.  

His gaze presses into you, heavy and intent, trying to read what you can’t say.

“I need you to look at me,” he says quietly.

“I can’t.”

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. “You can.”

Another tear slips down your cheek. He catches it without hesitation, wiping it away with the pad of his thumb.

“Please,” he whispers, softer now. “Look at me.”

You finally do.

Steve’s hair is a mess, chestnut strands falling across his forehead where your fingers had been tangled moments ago.

His eyes—warm honey and green and amber all blurred together beneath the low light—are pained, tight with worry and unbearably expressive.

“There's nothing wrong with you,” he says, unshakably certain. “Nothing.”

His lips are swollen from kissing you, parted slightly with how hard he’s breathing.

It’s so painfully clear, how panicked he is.

Steve’s face never hides anything

It doesn’t know how to.

When he’s happy, it shows in the soft wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

When he’s worried, it gathers in his brows, in the tight set of his mouth.

And when he loves, it radiates from him so naturally it feels endless. Like sunlight.

You wonder what that must feel like.

To love someone without fear.

To offer tenderness without expectation, without the quiet dread that grows the more there is to lose.

He reaches up slowly, clearing tear-sticky strands away from your temples, thumb brushing beneath your eye. Still trying to read what hurts, the furrow in his brows asking without words.

You want to tell him.

For him, you’d try.

But the truth feels monstrous once it reaches your throat.

How do you explain that being loved by him feels unbearable sometimes?

That every touch lands somewhere deep inside you that still expects pain?

That he gives and gives and gives, asking for nothing in return, and yet some terrified part of you waits for the bill to come due?

How do you explain that it makes you feel broken, not knowing how to take something he gives so easily?

You part your lips, throat dry and aching.

Steve waits, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your wrists.

Patient.

Always so fucking patient with you.

“I just...” Your voice shakes. You stare at his mouth instead of his eyes, because it’s easier than being seen.

“...I just really love you.”

It rushes out so quickly.

And in a horrifyingly beautiful moment of clarity, you realize it’s the first time you’ve ever said it to anyone.

Ever.

Steve goes still. His brows soften, eyes drooping at the corners. His lips part soundlessly for a second.

“Oh,” he breathes.

You feel his hands twitch against yours, squeezing your fingers unconsciously.  

“I love you too,” he says, immediate and certain. “I... I love you so much it’s kind of insane.”

He watches you for a moment, thumb rubbing slow over your knuckles.

“Is that... is that why you're crying? 'Cause you love me a lot?”

A small, startled laugh breaks through your tears; it sounds so simple when he says it like that.   

It isn’t simple.

But maybe it also is.

So you nod, watching him visibly come back to himself, drawing out a shaky breath, shoulders dropping heavily like he’d been bracing too, just in a different way.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay. C’mere.”

This time you don’t hesitate.

You fold into him, feeling his arm wrap securely around your back, the other cradling the back of your head.

And what you always used to brace against—tonight, you sink into willingly.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into your hair.

You let your eyes slip shut, burying your face in the crook of his neck, fingers crinkling his shirt as you hold on tight.

“I love you,” you whisper again, the words pressed softly against his skin.

Thank you, you mean.

Thank you for being gentle with me. Thank you for waiting. Thank you for loving me like it’s easy.

Thank you.

But then high school happened. High school—where Steve had slipped into the popular crowd with ease while you remained in the shadows. Where Steve went to parties while you stayed home to do extra credit.

You slowly felt him slipping away from you. He stopped sneaking in through your bedroom window to watch R rated horror movies that he had stolen from his parents VHS collection, he stopped knocking on your door in the morning to take you to school and he didn’t come to the annual trip to the lake house the summer after freshman year, opting to stay home and throw a massive party instead.

You told yourself it was fine—that you were just growing apart but you’d eventually find your way back to each other.

But then in your sophomore year, he invited you to one of his parties and your friendship came crashing down over a game of truth or dare.

You had never seen the Harrington house look so messy.

The front yard was littered with beer bottles and red solo cups, there were several smashed glasses in the kitchen and you swore you even saw a couple rolls of toilet paper hanging from the chandelier in the foyer. 

All you could think as you sat on the couch in the basement, squeezed between Steve and a very intoxicated Carol was that you hoped for Steve’s sake that Elizabeth and Danny Harrington never saw their house in this state. You were pretty sure Steve would be grounded for life if they did.

You felt Steve shift beside you as he leaned back to take a long swig from his beer, eyes flickering over to you briefly before he looked away.

You weren’t entirely sure why Steve had invited you to his party, he had hardly said a word to you all evening and you felt like some pathetic lost puppy waiting for him to come back to you. You had a feeling that he had only invited you to alleviate some of the guilt he may have felt for ditching you last week to hang out with Tommy but you were beginning to wish that he hadn’t asked you at all. Parities were not at all your thing but you had wanted to try because it was Steve and your feelings for him made you do things you didn’t want to do sometimes. Especially when he looked so stupidly handsome in that green shirt of his.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” Steve asks you with a gentle nudge of your arm. The subtle contact sends a jolt through you and you have to force yourself to act natural as you turn to look at him.

“No, thank you, I’m—”

“—of course she doesn’t want a drink,” Carol slurs from beside you, leaning over you to talk to Steve. You shrink backwards against the couch, mostly to put a little distance between you and Carol and the smell of vodka coming from her that was almost overwhelming. “She hasn’t—” she hiccuped. “She hasn’t drank all—” she hiccuped again. “All night. She’s such a square.”

You don’t say anything but you feel your face grow hot in embarrassment as Carol talks about you like you weren’t sitting right next to her. The worst part was that Steve didn’t even stick up for you. You hate the fact you weren’t surprised by that. 

Your leg begins to bounce, you were trying to quickly think of an excuse to leave. Not that you really needed one, Steve didn’t seem particularly bothered by your presence.

“Steve, I need to—”

The sound of jeering cuts you off and the words quickly die on tongue as Tommy and a few more of Steve’s friends stumble down the basement stairs.

All you wanted to do was leave but Tommy was already squeezing himself between you and Carol and you had no choice but to move closer to Steve, your thigh pressed against his and his arm flush against yours.

The uncomfortableness you felt was churning horribly in your gut, your leg was still bouncing nervously and yet, Steve didn’t say anything. He didn’t even ask if you were okay, despite his legs lingering on your knee as it bounced anxiously.

“Who’s up for a game of truth or dare?” Tommy asks, one arm slung around Carol while the other nudges you with a gleeful smile. “Maybe it’ll get Little Miss Goody Two Shoes over here to loosen up a little.”

“Tommy, let’s not—” Steve begins but the laughter around the room cuts him off. He glances at you, as though he was trying to reassure himself that you were fine—that this was fine.

You watched as Steve’s friends dared each other to take a shot of hot sauce, to strip off their clothes and jump naked into Steve’s pool. Your stomach turned as you heard them ask each other the most intrusive questions about each other's sex life and at parts, even Steve laughed.

And then, it was your turn.

You shifted uncomfortably, Tommy’s elbow digging into your ribs as you looked to Steve for help. But he was too busy smiling over at one of the cheerleaders to even register your discomfort.

“Truth,” you say finally, figuring that it was the safest option. At least then they couldn’t dare you to skinny dip in the pool.

“Are you a virgin?” Carol asks you bluntly.

Your face warms, the answer is written on your face and all you wanted was for Steve to notice your discomfort, for him to help—

“I take that as a yes,” Carol mutters audibly as some of Steve’s friends laugh, making your face feel as though it was burning from shame. “Not surprised by that—”

“—Carol,” Steve says in a half arsed attempt to rein his friend in as you shift in your seat once again, your eyes flickering down to your lap as you avoid eye contact with everyone in the room.

“What?” Carol asks Steve as Tommy struggles to keep in his laughter beside you. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“—could you just—”

“—oh c’mon, Steve. We just wanna get to know her. S’only fair. You lost your v card last month so we were just curious about hers.”

Your entire body turns cold. Everything around you blurs, you feel a strange mix of feeling both too hot and too cold as you turn to look at Steve—who you find was already looking at you. Of course you were jealous, of course you were upset about Steve losing his virginity to someone who wasn’t you and of course it felt as though someone had twisted a knife in your gut at the mere thought of it. But it wasn’t just that—it was also the fact he hadn’t told you about it. It made that distance you had felt between you and Steve feel too loud to ignore. 

“Oh, are you jealous?” Tommy asks, nudging you as he takes note of the look on your face with glee. “You see that, Stevie? She’s jealous she didn’t get there first—”

“—dude,” Steve interrupts, the tips of his ears turning red as he looks away from you. “Don’t be a dick.”

Despite the fact that Steve had finally stood up for you, you couldn’t help but feel it was half hearted. Almost as though Steve’s heart wasn’t really in it, as though he was more concerned about what his friends would think of him than whether or not they were making you uncomfortable.

Tommy shrugs, the slight smirk tugging on his lips that told you he was absolutely not done being a dick.

“Fine. Whatever,” Tommy mutters with a quick glance your way that Steve doesn’t catch. “Your turn then, Steve.”

There was a brief pause where Steve didn’t say anything. You could feel his eyes on you and for a moment, you wondered if he was about to ask you if you wanted to leave, if he was finally going to put you before his stupid friends. But then Steve shifted beside and you knew that he had looked away.

“Dare,” he says.

You knew almost instantly that Tommy or Carol was going to give him a dare that would somehow upset you. Perhaps he’d dare Steve to make a move on that cheerleader right in front of you, maybe they’d even go upstairs and—

“I dare you to kiss the person sitting to your right,” Tommy says, a cruel smile tugging at his lips as he watches Steve’s expression shift. Because the person sitting to Steve’s right—was you.

The first thing that you registered in response to Tommy’s dare was the laughter from his and Steve’s friends, it was Carol’s small glance towards you and the way Steve had gone completely still beside you.

“No,” Steve says simply without even so much as a glance towards you. “Not her. No way.”

The way he said, the finality in his voice made something stir in your gut. Shame, embarrassment, humiliation—you weren’t sure. Perhaps it was a sick connotation of all three that was stirring in your stomach.

Not her, he had said. Like you were the very last person he would ever want to kiss, as though kissing you was in some way repulsive, even. The laughing didn’t help, Steve’s friends muttering to each other about your inexperience made it worse and all the while—Steve Harrington, your best friend since you were five years old, didn't say a damn thing.

And that was your breaking point.

You stand up from the couch, your legs feeling wobbly despite the fact you had only drank lemonade all evening. Your entire body felt hot from embarrassment but now also from the anger that was beginning to rear its ugly head. The anger you had felt towards Steve that you had quietly buried after months of him letting you down, months of cancelled plans, months of him putting his desire to be liked over his friendship with you. You suddenly felt so angry that your hands shook slightly and you knew you had to leave because you were seconds away from bursting into tears.

“Oh, look how upset she is Steve,” Carol cooes cruelly, gleefully watching you as Tommy tries (and fails) not to laugh. “She looks like she’s going to—”

“—fuck you, Carol,” you spat, white hot anger burning through you now as you turn to look at Steve a final time. You see the panic settle in his eyes as he half rises to his feet—before you walk away from him—walk away from him and his stupid friends, his stupid hair and his stupid handsome face.

You push through the sea of bodies that had congregated in Steve’s living room, not caring that someone had smashed one of Elizabeth’s priceless vases or the fact that there was a large stain in one of the rugs. All you cared about was getting out of Steve’s house and as far away from him as possible. 

You were almost successful. You were halfway down his driveway when the sound of Steve calling out your name as he stumbled after you reached your ears.

“Wait—” he calls out, almost frantic as he manages to catch up with you, his fingers slipping around your wrist in an effort to stop you from leaving. “Let me just—”

“—just what, Steve?” You snap, unable to keep the anger and hurt out of your voice as you turn to face him fully. You almost wish you hadn’t because the look on his face was so desperate that the thought of pulling away from him almost hurt.

“I just—I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve says quickly, his chest heaving as he looks back at you. In all the years he had known you, of all the years of friendship he had only seen you angry once before. That time you had spent all day making cupcakes for a bake sale just for Steve to accidentally drop an entire batch of the perfectly iced cakes. You had been so annoyed at him you didn’t talk to him for almost two days.

But that was nothing—nothing—compared to the look on your face as you stare at Steve and wait for him to explain himself.

“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, I just—”

“—oh my god, do you seriously think I’m pissed off about the dare?” You ask, unable to keep the anger out of your voice as you wrench your arm away from him.

Steve looks slightly hurt at the loss of contact and opens his mouth to respond but you’re quick to cut him off. “I don’t give a fuck about the dare, Steve. If the thought of kissing me grosses you out then it—it’s whatever.”

“But I—”

“—I’m pissed because—because you let your ‘friends’ treat me like shit and you didn’t say a damn thing about it!”

Steve looks stunned and that only makes the anger coursing through you grow hotter.

“I tried but they—”

“—well, you didn’t fucking try hard enough!” you exclaim angrily, your voice breaking as the first of your tears started to fall. You felt pathetic, humiliated as tears spilled down your cheeks but most of all—you were heartbroken that your best friend and the guy you were head over heels in love had become a stranger to you.

Something in Steve’s expression shifts at the sight of your tears. His face softens as he says your name and takes a tentative step closer but you step back. The dejected look on his face when he realises you had stepped away from him seemed to break something in you.

“I wasn’t thinking,” he tried to explain and you could almost feel his panic—the way he was looking at you, the way his fingers twitched as though he wanted to reach for you. “I didn’t think they’d go that far—”

“—but they did and you didn’t s-stop them,” you say, your bottom lip quivering slightly as you harshly wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your cardigan. 

“I’m so—”

You knew he was about to say sorry—you knew it by the look on his face and you knew that if he did, that you would want to forgive him. The way you had forgiven him for every other transgression over the past few months because he was your best friend and you loved him. 

And so, you had to stop him before you forgave him once more.

“—you’re a coward, Steve,” you say in a voice laced with anger, hurt and every emotion you had been bottling for the past few months while Steve Harrington quietly forgot about you. “You’re a coward and I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”

The silence that greeted your words was one of the loudest you had ever heard.

You weren’t even sure if you meant it but you couldn’t take it back now.

Steve looked as though his entire world had come crumbling down around him, as though your words had been a dagger that you had driven directly through his chest. You knew it would hurt him, you knew it would upset him and perhaps that was exactly why you had said it.

“Oh,” Steve says thickly, swallowing a lump that had risen in his throat as he looked back at you, his big, puppy dog-like eyes almost pleading with you to take back the words that had just left your lips. “I—I see.”

I see. That was all he had to say. After well over a decade of friendship, after years and years of always having your back, years of ‘I’ll always be here’ and seeing each other's worst and best days—it would all end over two little words.

You waited. You waited for Steve to argue with you, for him to beg for your forgiveness like he had the last time you were mad at him. But he didn’t say a damn thing. 

“See you around, Harrington,” you mutter, his surname feeling foreign on your tongue as turn around and walk away from him before you could burst into tears.

And the days that followed, Steve didn’t even try to talk to you.

And so, from a distance you watched as Steve Harrington morphed into King Steve. You watched him be a completely different person, watched as he continued to surround himself with people like Tommy and Carol. You heard the parties he threw next door when his parents were out of town that carried on until the early hours or had to be shut down by cops, you heard the way girls he slept with spoke about him and eventually you heard all about him and Nancy Wheeler.

You couldn’t deny that hearing about Steve’s life through rumours hurt. Nor could you deny that the ending of your friendship had devastated you in a way that you hadn’t been expecting and that watching Steve carry on as normal, seemingly completely unaffected by the end of a decade-long friendship, hurt just as much.

You had almost knocked on his door on his birthday but had stopped yourself. You told yourself not to dwell on the past, told yourself that things changed despite the fact your feelings for Steve never seemed to waver and the fact that you still loved him despite everything.

But that all changed one night in your senior year.

You were drifting in and out of sleep, the rain hammering down outside, smacking loud against your window kept rousing you. But it wasn’t until a particularly loud smack against the glass that you finally jolted awake.

You blink, rubbing your eyes sleepily as you glance towards the window to see if it was hailing.

But you nearly scream at the sight of a shadowy figure standing on the garage roof just outside your window.

You open your mouth to yell for your mom but when you realise it was Steve Harrington—drenched to the bone, rapping his knuckles harshly against the glass—all thoughts of yelling out leave you.

Instead, you don’t move. You barely even breathe. You were in some sort of state of shock at the sight of him at your bedroom window after all these years.

You manage to stand on legs that feel wobbly and unsure of themselves, walking cautiously over your carpet and towards the window.

And when you finally see his face clearly through the window pane—at the dark bruise covering his eye, the blood spatter over his face and look of quiet desperation in his eyes, you unlock your bedroom window without much thought.

Steve stumbles into your room, water dripping down from his hair and his clothes onto your carpet. But you’re too busy gasping at the state of his face to worry about that right now.

“H-hi,” he stammers out, his teeth chattering and his cheeks slightly pink from the cold.

Hi? Was that all he had to say after years of silence? After forgetting about you like it was easy? After he didn’t fight for you?

You had the urge to yell, to scream at him but the sight of his beaten face stops you.

“Steve, your face—”

“—that bad, huh?” Steve asks, trying to smile but instead wincing in pain.

“Sit down,” you tell him, watching as Steve’s eyes flicker around your room, taking in everything that had changed over the past almost two years—the colour of your walls, the posters you had hung up, the polaroids of you and Steve you had taken down. “I um, I’ll get something for your face.”

Steve nods, wincing again as he sits down carefully on the edge of your bed, trying not to completely soak your sheets with rain water as he does so.

You take a deep breath before you turn and leave your bedroom to grab the first aid kit from your family bathroom. You’re careful to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake your parents who would certainly have a few questions about why your former best friend is sitting on your bed with a bruised and battered face.

You walk quietly back into your bedroom with the first aid kit in your hand to find Steve hadn’t moved from the edge of your bed. But he was holding your stuffed teddy bear in his hands—the one he had won for you at Hawkins Fair when you were twelve years old, the one he had called ‘Little Stevie’ before handing it to you with a bright smile on his face. 

You close the door softly behind you and Steve glances up, carefully placing Little Stevie back down onto your bed.

“You still have him,” Steve murmurs quietly as you sink down onto the bed beside him.

Your face warms and you hope it isn’t noticeable as you open up the first aid kit.

Truthfully, you hadn’t thrown out anything that was connected to Steve Harrington. The polaroids were tucked away safely in your jewellery box and even that shell necklace he had made you when he was seven was in a memory box in your closet. You just couldn’t bring yourself to throw anything away after the end of your friendship but you also couldn’t look at them anymore without something inside of you breaking every time you looked around your room. Little Stevie was the only thing you hadn’t put away—because truthfully, you couldn’t sleep without it.

But you don’t tell Steve that. 

Instead, you let the silence surround the two of you as you pull out several small gauze pads and antiseptic. Steve lets you work silently as outside, the rain continues to fall, the wind howls and there’s a distant rumble of thunder.

You start first by pouring a small amount of antiseptic onto a gauze pad before you gently dab it over the small gash on his cheek. He winces and hisses in pain but he doesn’t pull away.

“What happened?” You ask him quietly a few minutes later, the cuts and blood wiped from his face as you carefully inspect the bruise around his eye.

The sight makes something tighten in your chest. Though you hadn’t talked to Steve in two years, of course you heard the arguments that happened next door. Usually after one of Steve’s parties had left the Harrington home in a state. Steve had never had the best relationship with his father as Danny Harrington expected only the best from his son and Steve had never been able to live up to that, even from a young age. But though they argued, you had never thought it would escalate to something physical.

“It—it wasn’t your dad, was it?”

“No,” Steve says quickly, too quickly which makes you look at him carefully, wondering whether or not he was lying for your sake. “Really. It wasn’t my dad. I swear. It—it was Billy Hargrove."

You blink. You hadn’t been expecting that. Sure, ever since Billy Hagrove had strolled into Hawkins High like had already owned the place he and Steve had sort of rivalry going on but you weren’t aware it was bad enough for Billy to do something like this. 

“But why—”

“—it’s a long story,” Steve says, jaw tight and looking away from you briefly. 

“That’s it?” You ask him, pulling away from him as you look from his face to the bloody gauzes that sat in your lap. “You come into my room after two years of ignoring me—”

Steve’s expression falters and he says your name but you shake your head, getting to your feet and causing the first aid kit to fall to the floor at your feet.

“—no Steve, it—it’s bullshit! Okay? Do you have any idea what it was like for me to watch you slowly decide to just not give a shit about me anymore?”

Steve swallows at the sound of anger in your voice. He knew it had been coming and he knew he deserved it but he didn’t know what to say. Because there was no excuse, he knew that he had hurt you in immeasurable ways and he knew he most likely did not deserve your forgiveness. But he wanted—needed—to try anyway.

“I know I—”

“—and now you show up years later with a busted face and expect me to—”

“—I thought Billy was going to kill me tonight.”

That shuts you up. Your eyes widen and you look at Steve with a horrified expression and in your stunned silence, Steve decides to keep talking.

“I had a moment where he was landing hit after hit after hit I thought—I thought ‘this is it’ and all I could—all I could think about was—it was you.”

You’re completely taken aback, you were so stunned that you almost forgot to be angry. Almost.

“All I could think about was how—how I never got to make things right with you and how much time I wasted caring about stupid shit like being popular. Caring too much about what other people thought of me when it really didn’t matter. When I already had someone who liked me for me. And instead I—I treated you terribly, I strung you along and I should never have done that. Not to you. You didn’t deserve it.”

Your eyes stung and you had to look away, not wanting Steve to see how close to tears you were. Because the truth was that you missed him. You missed so much that it was almost a physical ache in your chest. You missed the way Steve could make you laugh even when you really didn’t want to, the way he used to sometimes snort a little when he laughed really hard and the way you could be completely yourself around him.

Steve says your name again but you don’t look at him, instead you sniffle and look down at the first aid kit you had dropped, at the various medical supplies that were now scattered over your floor.

But before you could even think about picking them up, Steve is already doing it for you. You swallow, taking the opportunity to wipe your eyes as Steve bends down, carefully putting the gauze, the bandages and antiseptic bottle back into the box.

He snaps it shut, placing the kit onto bed beside him before he finally looks back at you.

“I’m really fucking sorry,” he tells you, the sincerity in his face making your throat tighten. “For everything. For being an idiot, for trying to be someone I’m not. For letting you down, for making you feel like I didn’t give a shit about you. I’m sorry for not standing up for you that night. I’m sorry I didn’t try and fix things after and I—I’m sorry for not saying all this sooner.”

You nod, your bottom lip trembling slightly as you look back at him, slowly sinking back down onto the bed beside him. “You really hurt me, Steve.”

Steve swallows at that, his eyes turning glassy as he looks back at you. “I know. I was—a colossal idiot. There’s no excuse for it. I hurt you and I wish I could take it all back but I can’t. All I’ve wanted to do these past few years is make things right with you but—but you were right, I was a coward. I was scared—terrifed—that you hated me or—”

“—I could never hate you,” you tell him.

Steve’s eyes soften and he looks back at you with a hopeful expression.

“Really?”

You nod, flexing your fingers against your bedsheet nervously as you look at him. “Really. I was hurt, upset and I was angry but I never hated you. I don’t think I could ever hate you. Not even for a second. I just—I was worried about you. I didn’t want you to become like Tommy or whoever else you were hanging out with because I know that’s not really you.”

“I was still an asshole,” Steve says thickly, the shame evident on his face as he looks down at his lap. “I still did things and said things that hurt people and I can’t take any of it back.”

“No,” you agree quietly. “You can’t.”

It’s quiet then between the two of you—the only sound is that of the thunder rumbling outside. There’s a flash of lightning outside your window but still, neither of you say anything.

“I’m sorry too,” you tell him quietly as you look down at your lap. “For saying I didn’t want to be your friend anymore. That—that wasn’t true I just—I knew I would forgive you straight away if I didn’t.”

Steve shakes his head, corners of his mouth twitching as he hesitantly lifts a hand to rest on your shoulder. His touch alone sends something hot and electric coursing through your body. “Please don’t be sorry,” he tells you. “I should have grovelled for forgiveness and I didn’t. I was—fuck—I was such an idiot that night. I didn’t have your back the way I should have done and I’ll never forgive myself for that. For upsetting you, for making you cry, for letting people talk about you like that.”

“You have no idea how much I think about that night and hate myself for what I did and what I didn’t do. How fucking stupid I feel for letting the best thing that has ever happened to me walk away without a fight.”

You turn to look at him, your expression softening slightly. “Steve—”

“—no, I mean it,” Steve insists, turning to face you fully now as he grabs one of your hands and squeezes it gently. Water drips down from his hair and onto your skin but you couldn’t care less as his touch warms something in you. “You are and I’m sorry it took me losing you and almost dying to realise that. I was just—I couldn’t admit it to myself. I was stupid. So stupid. And I think—I think I was scared to be honest with myself.”

Your brows furrow at that while your heart pounds against your chest. “Honest about what?” You ask him quietly.

Steve looks at you for a long moment before he reaches for your other hand. You let him take it as the look in his eyes keeps you rooted to the spot. 

“That I was starting to fall in love with you and I got scared.”

All the air leaves your lungs at that admission. Out of all the things you had expected Steve to say when he climbed in through your bedroom window, you had never in your wildest dreams expected him to say that.

“I was—shit—it’s so fucking stupid now that I think about it but I just—those feelings scared the shit out of me. I mean—you were my best friend and yet, I was always fucking thinking about you. And so, I did all stupid shit to try and forget about you and it never worked. I partied, I listened to Tommy when I fucking shouldn’t have, I messed around because I thought I’d get over you.”

“I even lost my fucking virginity while wishing it was you beneath me the entire time. Nothing worked—nothing ever worked and so I—I thought distance would help but it didn’t and I let you down. I made promises and didn’t keep them. I made you think you were unimportant to me when you were the most important person in my life.”

“Steve—”

“—and that night—the night when Tommy gave me that dare—I didn’t kiss you because I was grossed out by you. God no, far from it—of course I wanted to kiss you. But I didn’t wanna do it if it was just a dare.”

“Steve—”

“—I just—I wanted it to be real and not at a party, not in front of Tommy and Carol or any one of those other assholes and—”

“Steve!”

Steve shuts up almost instantly. His eyes were wide and his hands were still holding yours tightly as though he was trying to ground himself.

You look back at him—at the guy you had loved for longer than you could remember—and you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him anymore.

“You know—I never threw anything away,” you tell him quietly. “I just—I couldn’t bear to look at things that reminded me of you because it hurt too much. Because missing you was like—it was like a constant physical pain. Something I couldn’t get rid.”

“Really?” Steve asks quietly.

“Yeah,” you say. “I even kept the shell necklace.”

Steve blinks once, twice before he laughs and the sound brings you the sort of warmth that even fire couldn’t ever bring you. You felt it in every pore, every nerve, every cell in your body. It made you feel lighter, made the storm outside feel insignificant.

“Why would you keep that?” Steve asks, still laughing quietly to himself. “It was so heavy and—”

“—because you made it for me,” you say simply with a small smile. “And that—that meant it was important to me.”

Steve blinks. He looks back at you with an unreadable expression as his thumb drags itself across the skin of your hand and seems to steal the air from your lungs.

“I made you it because the shells reminded me of you,” Steve murmurs fondly, eyes seeming to shine as he looks back at you. “I thought the shells were pretty and—I thought you were pretty too. Prettier than the shells, obviously.”

Your face feels hot and it was near impossible to fight back the smile on your face now.

“You told me you were practising for art class,” you say quietly, head tilting to the side as you look back at him. 

Steve smiles a little before shaking his head. “I lied. I was trying really hard to impress you but seven year old me had no game.”

You laugh then and you see the way Steve’s eyes light up, the way he can’t help but smile when he hears your laugh, when he was finally the reason behind it again.

“You didn’t have to do anything to impress me Steve,” you tell him after a moment with a soft smile. “You already did.”

There was silence again and then—

“Do you mean—”

“—yeah,” you breathe out, unable to look away from him as you squeeze his hands a little tighter. “I—I’ve been in love with you for a really long fucking time, Steve.”

The moment that follows felt as though it lasted for a lifetime. Steve was looking at you, seeming to forget how to breathe and you begin to wonder if you had been too forward when one of Steve’s hands slips out of yours to gently cup your face.

“The feeling’s pretty fucking mututal,” he murmurs before his lips seal over yours in a kiss that took your breath away.

Everything seems to slow down around you. You were vaguely aware of the first aid kit clattering to the floor as you kiss him back with no hesitation. your fingers sliding into his still damp hair while his hands gently cradle the back of your head.

You’re already breathless, unable to think of the world that existed out of Steve Harrington’s lips against yours—no thoughts about the rain splattering against the window or of the lightning that flashed across the sky outside. Because everything seems so dull in comparison to Steve’s lips moving against yours, against his hands that you were holding you like you were something sacred. 

He was the first to pull away—catching his breath as his eyes couldn’t help but flicker down to your lips that were wet, swollen and so inviting that he already wanted to dive back in again.

But he also knew he had to earn your forgiveness first and that wouldn’t involve being twisted in the sheets together.

“Let me take you out tomorrow night,” Steve murmurs, his thumb gently wiping away a smear of his saliva from your lips and trying not to give in. “Make up for lost time, yeah?”

You smile a little as you consider his offer, your eyes flickering over the bruise on his face. “Let’s wait until the bruise fades first, yeah?”

“Oh,” Steve says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his face as he looks back at you. “Yeah um, totally I—”

“—but I wouldn’t be opposed to a movie night,” you say with a small smile. “If you were to come up to my bedroom window again with a few movies I probably wouldn’t say no.”

Steve blinks but then—he smiles and he looked so devastatingly handsome that it was difficult to not pull him in for another kiss.

“It’s a date,” he tells you, leaning in to press a gentle but firm kiss to your forehead. “Little Stevie can join us too.”

You laugh and Steve can’t help but join you—thanking his lucky stars that you had opened your window for him.

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Maybe it was different, because you weren’t someone that he threw away after a few weeks, surprisingly, he took it slowly, and it felt like a joke that everyone was in on but you at first, but then you saw how genuine he was being, it was gentler than you’d ever seen him.

He wasn’t straight up with you at the start, barging into your life unexpectedly and making you his girlfriend the day after, he took it at a steady pace that you both liked, that was normal. His normal was different for a while until you.

Dates were something that he brought forward to you, in an awkwardly manner at first.

His eyes flicked over you, trying to make himself aware of if it was the right time, if he was reading the situation well. “How do you feel about restaurants?” He asks, providing no other context at first.

An amused laugh left your mouth, closing your locker door and leaning against it. “Pretty good. I go often.”

He nodded, opening his mouth more to gasp for air than to speak. “With who?”

You squinted at him, trying to figure out where all these questions are coming from. “My friends.”

“Ah. Right, yeah, of course, of course.” He nodded, pulling another laugh from you. “So, would that be something you’re interested in going to with me?”

Your arms tightly hold your folders to your chest. “That sounds very sweet, Steve. Yes.”

He grinned down at you in a way that you’d never seen before. “Does Saturday sound good to you?”

For the sake of it, you decided to mess with him, purely for his reaction. “I’m sorry, Steve, I’ll be studying for the English exam then.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t huff or try bribe you into it, he simply nods. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m kidding.” You laughed. “Saturday sounds perfect.”

He shook his head, amused, brushing his thumb over your shoulder. “I’ll see you then, beautiful.”

Beautiful. You didn’t want to fall into it too quickly, but God, he was tempting.

The dates continued, one after the other, pretty much a weekly thing that you planned fairly. He would arrive in front of your house in his beamer a few minutes early, and you weren’t sure if that was to impress you and show you that he was capable, but it worked.

You weren’t the type to do this with boys, so it was all new to you. He started off with simple talk, asking you questions, not too personal, but things he couldn’t see by simply looking at you. It didn’t seem too awkward, at least not as awkward as you had seen before. There was the occasional long silence as you thought about what to say next, but he easily filled that in.

That’s the point you found out about Nancy, after a couple of dates, and you weren’t sure in the moment if you were going to regret asking him the question, but curiosity got to the best of you.

You were gently blowing over your food to cool it down, trying to get to know more about him. “So, you have lots of girls lining up for you, huh?” You joked, but you really wanted to know more, know what you were possibly competing against.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, glancing down at his fork, anywhere but into your eyes. “Yeah. Well, did. I’m not like that, not anymore.”

“Oh. Really?” You asked, chewing on your steak.

“It’s not the most fun life to live, I have no idea if that’s a shock or not. Probably not.” He said more to himself like he’s still trying to convince himself. “I came to a realisation.”

“When did you come to the realisation?” You asked, anything to keep the conversation steady.

His eyes slowly drifted to yours, looking unsure, like he could mess up at any moment and ruin weeks of effort and pace. “My last relationship. I guess it was a little longer than the others I had been in, so it was a little different.”

You’d heard about him and Nancy plenty of times, and you had an idea on how it had ended through friends of friends. It clearly wasn’t an easy break up for him.

“How did that change you?” You asked.

He sighed. “I mean, the breakup part wasn’t something I had experienced before in other relationships. It was definitely harsh. I just don’t want to be that person anymore, I want to take things slowly and I want to do it right.”

Hearing those words should’ve been the first obvious factor that it was about to go downhill, and anybody else would probably be sprinting out the doors. ‘I want to do it right’ blared louder than his other words, completely dulling down how it was a harsh breakup. It hadn’t been too long ago since they broke up, 4 months, and you weren’t sure if that was long enough to think through everything at all.

“That makes sense, I’m glad, Steve.” You said with a warm smile.

His lips twitched into a smile. “Just to let you know, I’m taking you very seriously.”

Those words felt foreign to you, because a boy that wasn’t very serious about relationships was telling you he was being serious about you.

“I’m taking you serious too.” You hummed, swallowing your steak.

That was the first mental strike, to him and to yourself, because bringing up past relationships on a date probably wasn’t the best idea. Up until that point, seeing him felt like hearing the first firework on New Year’s Day, refreshing, new, but he wasn’t so truthful with his words. He clearly liked to throw them about, whether that was purposely or cluelessly, it started to become very obvious.

The further your relationship went, the more people you met, and you were automatically expected to turn up to meet with his friends. It became normal to you, like you had always known Steve and his friends, and it was the confirmation that this was serious to him.

Although he was serious about you, you weren’t sure to what extent he was still emotionally wounded by Nancy. He couldn’t exactly get rid of her, because she was all around him, every time they passed by in the halls, in class, and unfortunately for you, hanging out with his friends.

The first time you had a proper interaction with Nancy, it had to have been one of the most uncomfortable experiences. She never said anything awful about you or anyone, and she didn’t make you feel unwelcomed, but knowing what you knew, you made it uncomfortable instead.

Conveniently, her locker was close by to yours, so she was always there, everything that you wanted to be always in front of you.

She brought her note pads close to her and shut her locker, walking over a few steps to you with a sweet smile. “Hey, we haven’t really talked as much as we should, especially as we have the same friend circle, so I thought I’d make sure you know that you can talk to me whenever.”

A slightly awkward laugh left your lips. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“There are a lot of us, so I know it’s a little all over the place.” She laughs.

“I guess to, yeah.” You nod.

The silence falls after that, and you’ve never wanted to bash your head against your locker more, but she carries on, and you couldn’t appreciate that more.

“We can walk in talk on the way to class, if you’d like.” She says, her voice sweet and warm.

“That sounds nice.” You say, more quietly, joining beside her.

You were glad that she was talkative, because all you could think about was how different you were to her. Then you started to overthink it too much, because if he liked people like Nancy, you were far off that.

It shouldn’t have been a shock to you that he was still lingering around her, because he was exactly who everyone said he is. That was another strike for you, for being so lovesick that you weren’t aware that he isn’t always going to be genuine with you just because he said so.

Watching him interact with her was the worst part, because she was so sweet, and you couldn’t deny it, even if it was frustrating. She was like cigarette smoke that clung to him, only it was his decision, not hers.

She was constantly in the foreground of your mind, and it wasn’t any different from Steve. It wouldn’t be the biggest surprise if she came before you, because Steve is Steve, and you couldn’t expect anything else from him.

Most people would think that it’s easy to have a boyfriend that has had many girlfriends, because he clearly wasn’t stuck on any of them if they were one after the other, short lasting, but they would be wrong. Maybe he had moved on from most girls, but not Nancy, never Nancy.

That’s when the tension got clearer anytime you had some alone time together. Words lingered from across the kitchen island, ready to burst out. The more he went on about something that you couldn’t care about, the more his voice started to get on your nerves.

“Steve.” You cut him off, and he paused.

“Yeah, what’s up? Am I talking too quickly?” He asks.

You shake your head, huffing. “No. I just want to talk, you’re not giving me any room to say anything.”

“I’m listening, I’m listening, baby.” He repeats, leaning back on his chair and pausing his conversation for you.

“Can this be serious talk? Let me know if it’s not the time and we can talk about it at another point.” You whisper, voice already cracking and you haven’t got on to talking about it yet.

“We can talk about whatever. I’m all ears.” He nods.

For a few seconds, you stare at him in silence, because the worry was already building up inside you, and if you spoke, you were afraid you would stumble over your words.

You glance down at your hands. “You’re serious about us, right?” You ask, unsure about your own question and everything leading up to this point.

“Of course. I’m very serious about you.” He says with a genuine smile, reaching over to place his hand on top of yours.

“I guess it hasn’t felt that way, which is why I asked.” You mumble, fingers trembling against his.

He shifts his chair closer to yours. “Why?”

It feels like the words are there, but every time you try to open your mouth, you freeze, nothing but a broken breath leaving your lips. You take a moment to settle, not really settle, because in something vulnerable like this, you couldn’t, but you pause before squeaking out. “Nancy.”

His movement on your hand stills, like hearing her name still causes him to react.

“What about her?” He asks nervously.

“She’s always around, she’s everywhere. That’s not the problem, and neither it she, but I feel like there’s something still there between you two. I feel like I’m stuck in the middle of something that I shouldn’t have gotten into.” You admit quietly, your eyes glassing over.

He lightly brushes his thumb over the palm of your hand. “There’s nothing between me and Nancy.”

“It feels like you two never broke up with how normal you are around each other.” You sigh.

He stops talking like his input will only make it worse.

“You’re around her a lot. I know you share the same friends, but you look at her the way I want you to look at me.” Your voice cracks, and you turn your head the other way.

Steve’s breathing shuddered, and he shook his head. “I’m serious about you, I promise.” He manages out.

“Those just feel like words to me now. They don’t feel real to me. It’s like you’re throwing them around to make me feel better.” You mumble, tracing patterns on the marble counter.

He sighs, loudly. It hit a spot. “What more could you possibly want me to say?”

The way his voice changed was something you never want to remember again, and the tears were welling up already. You kept your head turned from him, because showing him how much this has affected you won’t work on him. He’s definitely seen this before.

“I don’t know, show me? You’ve been off with her a lot.” You huff.

“With friends.” He adds.

You roll your eyes, staring blankly at the cupboards. “I’ve felt like I’ve been shoved to the side, like you’ve gotten my hopes up, only for me to be let down.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do, and you know it.” He shook his head with an amused laugh, and that only made this feel more heated.

“If I knew it, I wouldn’t be asking, I wouldn’t be feeling this way. I don’t want to have to beg for it, but I want you to be around me just as much as you’re around them, around her.” You whisper, defeated.

“Then you can join us, that’s fine.” He murmurs under his breath.

Nothing has felt more humiliating than this.

“How do you feel about Nancy?” You ask, turning to look at him, but he’s blurry with the tears filling up.

He closes his eyes, looking done with the conversation. “Me and Nancy are friends, that’s all there is to it.”

“Make it feel that way then.” You push your chair back.

“I do. Why are you not listening?” He asks, getting increasingly more frustrated.

“No, why aren’t you listening?” You repeat. “I feel like I’m apart of some massive joke that I’m not involved in. Steve, I just wanted to talk about how I’ve felt. I feel sick even thinking about how you could possibly still be in love with her, and I’m just something to pass time.”

“You’re not that to me though. You’re so much more.” He sighs.

“I can’t keep waking up with my heart aching, Steve. If I’m saying that it feels like you’re stuck on her even if you’re not, then maybe that’s something you can work on. If not, then this won’t work.” You shake your head, sliding your chair back fully and padding out of the kitchen, into the bedroom and closing the door behind you.

It feels emptier, quieter without his voice talking your ears off. Part of you feels bad for bringing it up at all, but she’s all around, basically burned into him, and you can’t deal with the endless possibilities. You rest your head on the pillows, curling your legs up to your chest.

To him, the conversation only highlighted his worry that he would lose you, the one thing that he never wanted out of this, the one thing he told you that wouldn’t happen. The ache in his chest was growing, and if he sat at the kitchen island any longer, he probably would’ve let it consume him.

The bedroom door pushes open, hesitantly, slowly, and he steps in, closing it behind him and slipping into bed behind you. His hand is gently on your side, checking if you’ll swat him away, which he would agree he deserves.

After a moment of rustling. “Hey, I’m sorry.” He whispers, pressing his lips to the back of your head. “I could’ve communicated that better.”

You hum, letting him know that you’re listening, but not speaking.

“Everything you said was completely okay for you to say, and I’m not angry that you told me about how you’ve felt. I just got a little frustrated because everything I said was completely true, and I’m willing to be open with you right now.” He says, brushing his thumb over your skin.

“Okay.” You whisper.

He nods, bringing you closer so that your back presses against his chest, completely enveloping you in his warmth. “Yes, my breakup with her wasn’t easy at all, I can fully admit that to you. We’ve been mature about it and talked like friends, and we will continue to be friends. We share the same friends, so it’s pretty hard to not be around her, and I respect that it’s not comfortable for you, and it’s not comfortable for me either, but I have to be mature about it.”

“I’m just worried that you’re going to shove me to the side.” You mumble.

His face completely drops, softer, and he gently grabs your jaw, turning you so that you’re looking at him. “No. Absolutely not. That’s not who I am or ever want to be.”

A quiet sigh leaves your lips. “It’s hard not to worry when she’s always around. I’m hyper aware that at any moment, you could just go back to her.”

His thumb brushes over your cheek and he shakes his head. “We didn’t work well together at all. It was just never really right, and it never felt right, if that makes sense.” He pauses, eyes flicking over you. “I’m dead set on you.”

“You’ve probably said that to loads of people.” You say with a small laugh, making light of the situation to make yourself feel better.

“No, actually. I haven’t. Shocker, I know.” He sighs. “I really, really like you, and I want this to continue further.”

“I want to continue further with you too, Steve.” You whisper.

“I’m glad. I’m so glad.” He says, relieved. “I’ve never taken something slowly with anyone, so believe it or not, but this is a very new experience for me too.”

You nod, turning around so that you’re fully facing him, and he slips his hands into your hair. “I’m sorry that I brought that up at all.”

“Please don’t be sorry. You wanted to tell me how you felt, and it’s completely understandable. I hope that what I said was clear enough. I’m sorry that you’ve felt this way, and I wish I was clear at the start.” He whispers. “I’m your boyfriend, and that’s a title I want to keep. This isn’t something I want to drop.”

Without a second though, you press your lips to his, gentle. It isn’t rushed or a clash of teeth like it usually is, but you take it slowly, feeling his lips against yours.

“I’m very happy to keep the girlfriend title.” You whisper against his lips, and he grins.

The initial worry died down, and you feel less tense about it all. Maybe you’d end up worrying again, but you felt more relieved knowing that he’s trying for himself and for you, and he’s pushing his old ways behind.