fic recs

You tapped your fingers against your thigh as you listened to Jason rant from the driver's seat. He'd had a shitty day and you'd been subjected to listening to him complain about it loudly the moment he picked you up from work.

“— and then I told him to get the fuck out of my face before I gave him something else to whine about. I mean, goddamn, how many times do I have to explain things to him before he fucking gets it. He's a dumbass. He's lucky I didn't kick his ass for ruining the whole afternoon.”

You nodded, throat already tight at his tone. You felt yourself thinking of an apology despite his anger not even being directed at you, this time.

“Sounds stressful, babe. I'm sorry your day has been so terrible,” you gave him a smile as you softened your voice. You didn't want to annoy him further and when he got like this anything was liable to send him over the edge.

Jason hummed, reaching forward and fiddling with the radio dial as he ignored your attempts to calm his irritation. You felt your anxiety rising as you prepared yourself to ask him to drive by Family Video so that you could drop off something for Dustin. He'd forgotten to grab his bag before he left for school that morning, and he'd called your house insisting you bring it by because he had to have it for later.

“Hey,” you started, fingers tightening in your jacket as you forced yourself to just ask it already. “Do you think we could stop by Family Video really quickly? I need to drop something off for Dustin. I promise to be quick.”

Jason sighed, turning his head and watching you with annoyed eyes.

“Seriously? Your brother isn't a baby anymore. You need to tell him you're done tending to him like this. He needs to get his shit together and if you keep coddling him he's going to grow up and be a little pussy.”

You bit your tongue at his words. You hated that he belittled Dustin this way, and you'd been sure to let him know this many times in the past. Which had ended in the way it always did: Jason furious that you would disagree with him and you in tears for the rest of the night.

So instead of telling him to shove his opinions up his ass, you stayed quiet, choosing to ignore him completely.

“I will be quick. It's something important, Jason, he really does need it. Please?” You fluttered your eyes at him, giving him a little smile as you tried to fake sweetness. This worked most of the time and you'd learned just when to use it.

“Fine, but we're not staying to hang out. In and out.”

You nodded, relieved that it hadn't turned into something more than this. It wouldn't take you long to reach the video store, everything in Hawkins was close together and Jason wasn't one to obey the speed limits anyways. That was another thing you'd had to get used to with him— reckless driving.

The familiar sign came into view and your stomach twisted. Hopefully Jason wouldn't say anything to upset Dustin, and vice versa. Things were already tense enough and you didn't think you could handle any more.

Part of you had hoped Jason would remain in the car. You only needed to run inside and hand your little brother his bag and then you'd leave. But the moment he'd put it in park, he reached down and loosened his seat belt and opened the door.

“Y-you don't have to get out if you don't want to. I won't be but a second,” you hoped you sounded casual instead of hopeful.

“Yeah right,” Jason laughed, slamming his door hard enough to make you flinch. “Doesn't Harrington work here? I'm not letting you go in by yourself so he can drool over you and shit.”

You couldn't help the blush that crept up your neck. Steve was Dustin's best friend, and the two of you were rather good friends. Jason had this crazy idea that Steve was after you and would get jealous anytime you were near him. You tried to explain to him that you were only friends, that Steve was practically family at this point, but Jason refused to listen.

“He doesn't drool over me, Jason,” you mumbled to him and he huffed in response, falling in step next to you and throwing his arm around your waist as you entered the store. Usually you liked being close to him, but right now he wasn't doing it out of love. He was doing it out of jealousy and ownership, and the truth of it made your cheeks redden in embarrassment.

“Welcome to Family Video,” Robin’s voice cut through the tension as you both stepped inside. “Oh, hey!” She smiled at you upon seeing you enter.

Her eyes drifted to Jason standing next to you and her smile fell slightly, but she nodded at him anyways. She turned to the back, peaking her head around the corner as she yelled for Dustin.

“Dustin, your sister is here!”

You laughed, Robin never failed to make you laugh. She was calming without even trying.

“Thanks, Robin.”

“Oh yeah, of course. He's back there somewhere. Him and Steve were searching for some movie Dustin wouldn't shut up about.”

Upon hearing Steve's name, Jason tensed beside you. His fingers tightened around your side, digging into your skin, painfully enough to make you flinch. Robin's eyes shot down to where his fingers pressed against you, but thankfully she said nothing.

Dustin's voice moved closer and you forced a smile onto your face again. His eyes lit up as he saw you and he bounced over to you, reaching for the bag you held out for him.

“Shit— Thanks! I owe you for this. I can't believe I forgot about it again.”

Jason rolled his eyes next to you.

“Maybe if you'd actually think you could remember something every once in a while.”

Your breath hitched, Dustin's eyes narrowed as he glared daggers at Jason now.

“What the hell did you just say to me, asshole?”

Jason stepped forward and you could practically feel the anger bubbling inside him. Your hand shot out, grabbing at his wrist to try and anchor him. You glanced at Dustin, eyes wide as you prayed he'd see just how desperate you were for him to drop it and say no more.

You were so caught up in trying to prevent them from fighting you failed to notice Steve had appeared behind Dustin, too.

“Hey,” his voice was calm, which somehow made things feel worse. “Don't talk to him like that.”

Of course Steve was standing up for Dustin. A pang of guilt hit you right in the chest as you stood there frozen. You wanted to defend him too, but you couldn't. You refused to start another argument.

“Whatever,” Jason laughed, running a hand down his face— something he always did when he was pissed.

“I don't know what it is about you Henderson’s. Your brother is a little punk and you,” he turned his attention to you now, eyes darker than usual. “You can be such a little bitch.”

The word bitch lingered around the now silent video store. The only sound being the low music playing through the speakers. You could feel panic rising, but nothing felt as heavy as the humiliation that settled around you. Jason had never called you something so vulgar in front of anyone before. Tears prickled your eyes and you tried to steady yourself.

Jason's hand tightened around your wrist—too tight—as he moved to turn you both towards the door, ready to leave and pull you out the door with him.

“Woah,” Dustin jumped forward, his face twisting in anger on your behalf. “What the fu—”

Steve moved fast, his hand shooting out and forcing Dustin to stop in his tracks. His eyes flickered from your face to Jason, and you held your breath.

“Hey, you don't get to talk to her like that, man. Show some respect.”

Jason let go, and your heart hammered in your chest. You didn't know what to do now, but you knew whatever was about to happen would not be good. Not for you, for Jason, and especially not for Steve. You didn't want Steve to get hurt, and when Jason felt cornered he reacted without thinking.

“N-no, it's fine! C'mon, Jason, we're gonna be late and I'm ready to go,” you tried to laugh, hoping that everyone would relax if they realized his words hadn't affected you.

“No, it's not fine. He shouldn't talk to you like that. You're his girlfriend and that's not okay,” Steve’s eyes found yours again and you could see just how much this was bothering him.

“That's right, Harrington. She is my girlfriend and how I talk to her is none of your goddamn business.”

“She's my sister and you will not disrespect her like that,” you'd never heard Dustin sound so angry before. He was practically shaking behind Steve's arm as he continued to hold him back.

Part of you was terrified for Dustin. He was your little brother, and you wanted to believe that Jason knew better than to actually hurt him, but another part of you wouldn't be surprised if he did.

“It's probably not my business but I don't tolerate assholes like you. I think you should go now. And don't bother showing back up here again.”

“Oh no, I can't come back to this shitty video store again. Whatever, Harrington. Fuck you both. Come on,” his hand found yours again but before he could pull you with him, Steve's fingers wrapped around your wrist lightly, barely there.

“She's not going with you, man,” Steve’s voice remained calm even now.

Jason's eyes found Steve's fingers around your wrist and he smirked.

“And you think you're going to stop her? Get your fingers off my fucking girlfriend or I'll beat your ass, Harrington.”

But Steve didn't move away. Instead, he stepped forward, tightening his hold on you enough to confirm he wasn't letting you walk out of the store with him.

“Listen, dickhead, you have ten seconds to walk out the door and get in your shitty little car and drive away before I call the police and have your ass arrested,” Robin spoke up from behind the counter, her hand already reaching for the phone on the wall.

“Ten, nine, eight…,” she trailed off, her eyes locking on Jason like she wanted to kill him. Jason looked around the room, and you could tell he was weighing his options. He was outnumbered and you knew he would rather die than have the police involved. He chuckled, shaking his head as he turned to glare at you.

“Seriously? You're going to do this to me?”

You said nothing, eyes falling to the ground because the weight of his gaze on you had your stomach aching.

“Fuck this bullshit,” Jason mumbled, shoving past you purposely, knocking his shoulders into your own as he stormed out the door. You stumbled, but Steve never let go of your wrist and steadied you quietly.

“I swear to God I'm going to kill that bastard,” Dustin fumed across from you, his eyes following Jason through the window as he slammed his door and sped away from the parking lot, not even sparing a second glance at the door.

“Hey… you okay?” Steve's voice pulled you back to the room and you blinked rapidly, trying to force the tears back so you didn't humiliate yourself further in front of everyone.

“Y-yeah, I'm fine. I didn't mean to cause issues—,” your voice wavered as you tried to calm yourself. “I was just trying to bring Dustin his things— I'm sorry.”

Steve's face softened as you stumbled over your words.

“Why are you sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for. The fact you even feel you should apologize proves he's the problem.”

Steve finally let go of your wrist, stepping back to give you space. Your eyes found Dustin's, and your heart broke at the look on his face.

“Are you okay, Dustin?”

He nodded once and walked towards you, wrapping you in a tight hug. Your arms wrapped around his back, letting him comfort you the same way you used to comfort him when he was little.

“You are never seeing him again. I'm serious. He's a terrible person and I won't let you be alone with him ever again.”

The idea of not seeing Jason again felt more relieving than disappointing, and you felt yourself relax for the first time in what felt like months.

“I won't see him anymore. I promise,” you whispered into his shoulder, feeling the anger slowly fade from him at your promise.

“You deserve better than that.”

You looked up, head turning to where Steve still stood nearby. Your eyes found his and you could see the anger simmering in him still. But unlike Jason, Steve seemed to have his anger under control instead of allowing it to control him.

“I know it really isn't my business but I'm going to say it anyway. That guy is a piece of shit and you deserve so much more than that. You're too much of a sweetheart to let someone that disgusting ruin you.”

A small blush settled in your cheeks at being called a sweetheart. The bell above the door rang out and everyone turned towards it to see who had entered.

Mike, Lucas and Will stood in the doorway, eyes flicking between the four of you as they took in the scene.

“What happened here?” Mike asked, eyes wide in curiosity.

“Nothing. Everything is fine,” Dustin answered quickly.

“Okay… Well, are you ready to go? We're gonna be late if we don't leave now.”

Dustin groaned, “Oh shit, I almost forgot.”

He glanced at you once, unsure whether he should leave or not considering everything that had just taken place. You smiled and stepped back.

“Go have fun with your friends. I'm fine,” you shoved him playfully with your arm.

“But how are you going to get home?”

Steve cleared his throat.

“I could take you home? I mean, if you want. No pressure.”

Dustin's eyes lit up, clearly pleased with the idea. He grinned at Steve, clapping him on the shoulder once before heading to the door to join his friends.

“Wonderful idea. I'll see you at home later then.” Dustin yelled over his shoulder, following behind the others as they pushed out the door.

“Let me grab my stuff and I can take you home. I'll just be a minute.”

You nodded, watching as Steve disappeared into the back of the store. Robin approached you slowly, offering you a small smile.

“Thanks for that. I— I was worried about what Jason was going to do. He gets really mad sometimes and just blacks out.”

Robin reached out, her hand squeezing your shoulder reassuringly.

“You didn't deserve that. I'm really sorry that you had to put up with him.”

Soft footsteps filled the room as Steve returned, his keys dangling from his hand and his jacket thrown over his shoulder. His eyes softened upon seeing Robin's hand on your shoulder, and he smiled at the two of you.

“You ready?” He asked, only moving when you nodded.

“I'll see you later,” he said his goodbyes to Robin as you headed towards the door and to his car.

He unlocked your door and held it open as you slid into the passenger seat. He closed the door gently before walking around the front and climbing into the driver's seat beside you. He didn't turn the radio on as he backed out, letting the silence sit between you comfortably.

“Are you cold?” He glanced over at you finally.

“I'm okay,” you whispered, eyes watching the houses pass by out the window as he drove.

You were only a few streets away from your house now, and you couldn't wait to climb into your bed and cry until you fell asleep. Today had been so horrible and you needed to let everything out in the safety of your bedroom before you could fully decompress.

Steve turned into your driveway and parked, but he made no attempt to turn off the engine.

“I hope I didn't overstep earlier but I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you or made you feel—”

You reached out, resting your hand against his arm as he gripped the gear stick.

“You didn't overstep. I'm grateful that you did that. I— I really appreciate it, Steve.”

Steve took a deep breath, his head falling back as if lost in thought. He looked nervous and you couldn't help but think how adorable he looked like this.

“Can I be honest?” He asked, turning his head just enough to catch your gaze. You nodded, wanting him to tell you whatever he was thinking.

“You really do deserve better than that, and I'm not just saying that because you're Dustin's sister. I'm saying that because—” he trailed off, eyes flicking out the window for a moment before finding yours again.

“I've liked you for a long time. Since we were stuck in Starcourt Mall in that Russian base and everything was falling apart. I'm not saying this to complicate things, but I had to tell you. After seeing the way he so easily disrespected you and how you were ready to laugh it off and downplay it to protect him, I just needed you to know.”

Steve's voice was low, and you could hear the uncertainty as he spoke. He was nervous and you could tell he was bracing himself for your reaction.

You didn't know what to think. Since when did Steve like you? You'd always assumed he treated you kindly because of Dustin, so this was completely unexpected.

“Steve—,” you started but he cut you off gently.

“You don't have to say anything, and please don't worry about hurting my feelings right now. You've been through enough shit today. I just— I thought if I told you then you'd realize you don't have to put up with assholes like Jason. You don't have to settle because there are good guys out there who don't want to dim your happiness and would never disrespect or hurt you.”

You couldn't help but smile. He was blushing and it was a rare thing to see Steve Harrington this flustered.

“Thank you,” you meant it. Steve was being so kind and it was almost overwhelming. He was so different from what you were used to from Jason.

“I'm not sure what happens now but I'm not letting Jason back into my life. I'm done with him and will never settle for someone like that ever again.”

You couldn't help the slow smirk pulling at your lips.

“And for the record, I was totally crushing on you way before Starcourt Mall. You're a little late to the party, Harrington. You were still caught up on Nancy to notice how much I liked you.”

You laughed as he groaned at the mention of his pining after Nancy. He threw his head back, dramatic as ever.

“Oh God, don't remind me of that time of my life. It was embarrassing enough to live through it. Please let's not talk about it.”

You giggled, the aching in your chest easing up for the first time all day. You sat there laughing together, parked in your driveway for what felt like hours as you talked and joked around. It was so easy, comfortable and most importantly Jason never crossed your mind.

everyone is back at the wsqk radio station, and the faint static noise still comes from the equipment that was never turned off since the failure of the crawl. the group is a mix of exhaustion and fragile relief but the stress of what happened to holly still confuses everyone.

where did she go?

what is above the upside down?

your hand finds steve's, fingers intertwining and you feel his warm palm, calloused, against yours which keeps you calm in the tense environment.

lucas glances your way, with his chest still bandaged from the tunnel fight, and offers a small nod. he is wheeling max around the station, a place she has never been in before while the red-head looks around weakly, her eyes still glassy from the hospital meds vickie given her.

as some of the group disappear down the corridor, you tug steve's hand gently, leading him in the opposite direction toward one of the empty office rooms.

the station's layout is a maze of cluttered desks and faded posters, but this room is quieter, tucked away from the main lounge where the others are gathering.

"nance, i'll be right back," you call out over your shoulder, your voice steady despite the instability happening inside of your mind, nearly nervous about the next conversation that was needed with steve.

nancy looks up from where she's siting with jonathan on a couch, her eyes meeting yours with understanding.

"take your time," she says softly, and most the group nods.

yes, there was no time to chat about things other than vecna and whatever happened to holly. however, there was nobody who was going to tell you to postpone this needed conversation with steve.

before moving, you see hopper clapping jonathan once on the back and dustin standing up with a dry erase marker to already chat about the upside down's layout.

everyone knows this moment is yours, so they left you and steve be.

you push open the door, the hinges creak softly, and you step inside. the room is sparse with a dusty desk, a couple of chairs, and a window overlooking the hawkins daylight. you let steve step in before you close the door behind you.

afterwards, you lean against the door for a second, listening to the muffled voices from the lounge starting up with dustin's voice mainly outlining the next moves against vecna, with hopper's input.

they're distracted now.

you turn to face steve, your heart pounding so hard it echoes in your ears. he's standing there, just a few feet away, with his brown eyes locked on yours with a softness that steals your breath.

it's the way he's always looked at you... like you're the only thing in the world that matters, like he could stare forever and never get tired. now there's something deeper, a tenderness laced with wonder, with his gaze flicking down to your belly and back up full of unspoken questions, and a love so deeply rooted that it makes your chest ache.

tears prick at your eyes immediately as you stutter, "steve, I-i'm so sorry," you whisper, the words tumbling out in a rush, "i should've told you sooner. i wanted to, i swear, but—"

steve steps closer, his hands finding your waist gently, pulling you into him.

"hey, hey," he murmurs, voice low and soothing, "why? what happened?"

you swallow hard, leaning into his warmth.

"because of… you know. vecna. everything's been falling apart again, and i didn't want to add more chaos. i thought if i waited until it was over—"

steve nods slowly, his thumb brushing your cheek as he cuts you off from your sentence, "yeah but vecna's gonna be defeated soon, love. we're gonna end this. you could've told me earlier."

"i know," you say and your voice is trembling, "but i was scared. I was scared everyone would reject the baby because the timing's all wrong. we're so young, steve... you're 21, i'm 20. it's not perfect."

your man's expression softens even more, if that's possible, and he shakes his head, "i know we're young, but it happened, and i would've accepted it right away with no questions." his hands slide lower, palms splaying gently over your small bump, caressing it through the fabric of your slightly oversized green shirt.

the touch is reverent, careful, like he's afraid he'll wake from a dream, "this is the both of us created into one. not even someone like vecna could've taken his happy moment away from me."

you lean into him, with your own hands resting on his arms, feeling the steady beat of his pulse, "i had a doctor's appointment last week," you say softly, the words feeling intimate in the quiet room, "today makes 15 weeks. I have one more week until I hit four months."

steve looks down, his eyes tracing the gentle curve where your belly presses against the shirt, almost poking through. a small smirk tugs at his lips as something clicks.

"wait… so we conceived in july... was it... was it during that moment we had in the car after dustin's birthday party?"

you nearly laugh, the sound bubbling up through the tears, "hey! don't think about that right now!"

steve grins now, that boyish smirk you fell for years ago, his eyes sparkling with mischief and memory, "come on, that sundress you wore? the blue one that matched your skin so perfectly? you looked so sexy—i couldn't resist."

"well, look where that got us," you say, placing your hands on top of his, pressing them firmer against your belly.

the baby flutters faintly, as if sensing the moment which makes you both freeze, sharing a wide-eyed glance.

steve laughs then, a real, warm sound that fills the room, but it's cut short by a tear slipping down his cheek.

he kisses your forehead, lingering there, his lips soft against your skin.

you pull back slightly, wiping the tear away with your thumb.

"how did you know? before… before i could tell you?"

he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing, "in the upside down… i nearly did something stupid... you're gonna kill me, but i tried to play a hero again while crossing into th-this melting stairwell to save nancy and jonathan. dustin... he freaked out, and pulled me back and in order to stop me, he… he spilled it. he said i couldn't die because you're pregnant with my kid."

you sigh, a mix of frustration and ache settling in your chest, "why do you always have to play hero, steve? every time—"

"they were about to drown in that goo," he says quietly, with his eyes pleading for some sort of forgiveness, "i had to try."

you sigh again, "I know, but it scares me."

"hey," he whispers and one of his hands leaves your belly to cup your face, "don't stress it. i'm okay now." steve's voice drops lower too, full of love that wraps around you like a blanket, "i want you to stay calm... for you and the baby."

you nod, but the words keep coming from steve, "i promise to stay safe," he says firmly, "and keep you safe. both of you."

"yeah... but i'm anxious, steve," you admit, "not just about vecna... its just that i don't want to be useless or sidelined in this whole thing. remember 18 months ago? i was right there handling guns, bombs, and fighting in the upside down and I was the only one who did damage to vecna before he nearly killed max. now… i don't want to be dumbed down to just another person in the group because I happen to be pregnant."

he nods, understanding flickering in his eyes, "well, you're not useless. never that.... but there have to be precautions for the baby, love."

"i know," you say, "but i can still be involved—in the planning, at least?"

"deal," he agrees and pulls you closer so your small belly touches his lower stomach, "we compromise. you help plan, i make sure you're safe."

you smile, before resting your head across his chest. for a few second after, a wave of silence comes before steve's face crumples, and tears spilling freely from his eyes.

he steps back slightly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"what's wrong?" you look up and ask, panic rising as you try to pull him back into you.

he shakes his head, smiling through the tears, "nothing. i'm happy. i'm so fucking happy." his voice breaks, "ever since I found out about you I just... I just keep thinking about the failed relationship with my parents and just everything else that went wrong in my life due to my stupid decisions. i thought i'd never have a family or any sense of stability. i felt like a loser after high school since I did not go to college, and I got cut off from parents. i thought vecna was it for me. maybe if i played hero, proved i wasn't 'king steve' anymore, it'd mean something."

he pauses, before he turns and his eyes were locked on yours once again, "but now… i realize i don't need that. i got what i always wanted, which was a greater love with you."

tears stream down your face now too, your heart swelling until it hurts, "steve…"

you pull him into a hug, arms wrapping tight around his neck (while being mindful of your arm injury) as he buries his face in your shoulder, with his body shaking with quiet sobs.

"i promise," he whispers against your skin, "i'll be a good dad. the best dad I can be while being the greatest partner to you.... forever."

you hold him as the world outside seems to fade in your mind to nothing.

minutes pass in that embrace, until you both pull back, wiping each other's tears.

turning around and before opening the door, steve pauses.

"do you know the gender of the baby?"

you shake your head, smiling softly.

"not yet. but i've been reading about cravings and stuff. all the signs point to a girl since I like sweet things, and with my irregular morning sickness patterns."

steve's face lights up, a fresh tear glistening.

"a girl." he breathes it like a prayer, then takes your hand, "come on. we'll talk more later... let's go join them."

you nod, letting him lead you out of the office hand in hand with his thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles. the hallway feels narrower but the muffled voices from the main lounge grow clearer as you approach.

everyone is already gathered around the radio booth window sitting on the couches, where dustin has turned the glass into a makeshift whiteboard with black dry-erase marker.

there’s a free spot on the sagging couch beside murray, who’s perched with his arms crossed and his eyes curious behind his glasses. steve guides you there first, letting you sink into the cushions before he hops up to sit on the backrest, with his right leg dangling beside you.

the man's knee was close to your left shoulder protectively, and steve's right hand immediately finds your upper back, rubbing slow, soothing lines between your shoulder blade. you lean into the touch without thinking, drawing a deep breath to settle the flutter of nerves in your chest.

murray scoots over an inch to give you room, offering a small, knowing nod which gives silent praise for the conversation you just had, maybe, or just acknowledgment that you’re holding it together.

you return a tiny smile, then turn your attention to dustin.

he’s in full lecture mode with his cap pushed back and a marker squeaking against the glass as he redraws the diagram he’s apparently already explained once.

“okay, okay, catch-up for steve and y/n,” dustin says, glancing over his shoulder at you both, “so basically... this bottom circle you see here? that’s hawkins.” he taps the lower loop he’s drawn on the window, “we always assumed the upside down was just some pocket dimension brenner accidentally tore open, right? but it’s not.... it’s a bridge.... more specifically, an interdimensional bridge that rips through space and time.”

your eyes widen, with your mind doing a double take on if you've heard that correctly.

you feel steve’s hand still on your back for a second and you turn your head just enough to meet his gaze... he’s staring at you, brown eyes comically round, mouth slightly agape. you know that look since it’s the same one he gave you in the office when the pieces clicked about july.

you’re both thinking the same thing about what his mentee said.

dustin catches it and grins, pointing at you two with the marker, “see guys? they’re surprised too.”

you shake your head slowly, pushing yourself up from the couch with one hand on steve's knee and the other subtly supporting your lower back. the movement is a little slower than usual, your small bump making balance just a touch trickier.

“dustin,” you say, voice steady as you admit your truth, “i had that theory since last year.”

the room goes quiet.

“wait... what?” hopper blurts, his gaze on joyce breaking as you spoke those last words.

“you did?” dustin’s voice pitches up, open marker frozen mid-air.

you step closer to the window, close enough to see the faint smudges from previous drawings.

“yeah. you know my whole thing with marvel and x-men comics?” you glance around and you see robin's smirk, steve’s lips twitch, and even kali gives a tiny nod.

robin mutters, “nerd,” under her breath, and you shoot her a playful glare before continuing, “i always figured that the upside down wasn’t a separate dimension exactly.... more like the ‘space between.’ i told steve a while ago shortly after what had happened to max and eddie...I said that it wouldn’t surprise me if the upside down was just connective tissue between universes... like... a multiverse bridge, but i thought i was living too much in the fantasy.”

you shrug, a little embarrassed now that every eye is on you. so, you walk a step backwards, feeling steve’s hand on your lower back again as you stand there.

murray beside him gives a low, appreciative hum towards you, with eyebrows raised in clear respect.

dustin looks almost offended that he didn’t know, like his smart brain could not have detected that sooner, “you had this puzzle piece the whole time and didn’t say anything?”

“i thought it sounded insane,” you admit and your voice gets softer, “i didn’t have proof... just comic-book logic.”

mr. clarke clears his throat from the corner, smiling fondly, “comic-book logic has been right more than once in this town, ms. l/n.”

dustin recovers quickly, excitement bubbling over again.

“okay, well—you’re right, but keep in mind the upside down is wildly unstable, held together by exotic matter we found dead center above the lab.” he circles a smaller ring in the middle of the bridge shape he’s drawn, right over where hawkins lab would sit, “in theoretical physics, they call this type of bridge a—”

“wormhole,” you, erica, and mr. clarke say in unison.

the three of you glance at each other and erica smirks, mr. clarke gives an approving nod, and you can’t help the small and proud smile that tugs at your lips.

“yes,” dustin says, a little deflated but grinning anyway, “and this wormhole connects hawkins to here…” he draws a second circle on the opposite side of the bridge, “…another world i’ve coined the abyss.”

robin tilts her head, “any particular reason for the dramatic name?”

mr. clarke answers before dustin can, “a realm of chaos and evil.”

robin blinks, “i’m sorry?”

“d&d,” half the room choruses... lucas, mike, erica, will, and even steve mutters it under his breath.

hopper pinches the bridge of his nose, “jesus christ.”

“wow,” murray mutters beside you and steve, loud enough for only you two to hear. steve huffs a quiet laugh, with his fingers resuming their gentle path up and down your spine.

dustin barrels on, “i believe the abyss is the true home of the demogorgons, the vines, the mind flayer—all the nasty shit we’ve been fighting. it’s where, years ago, you banished henry.” he points at eleven, who sits beside erica with her arms wrapped around herself.

eleven’s voice is quiet as she says, “brenner made me find henry.”

she says it almost defensively, like she’s afraid someone will blame her for everything. your heart twists, knowing they would never do that.

with eleven, you’ve felt protective of her since the moment you met her (with max) at your jcpenny job almost two years ago... you were protective, since this girl had to carry the weight of the world since she was born.

while only five years older than her, you still hate that she’s fifteen and still the center of every plan.

it might be the maternal instinct that you didn’t even know you had, yet. all of it flares hot in your chest since you just want her safe, happy, and free to be a teenager after this is over. you want her to have a real home with more school dances, college, maybe.

anything similar to the life you and steve are only just starting to dream about for yourselves... and now for the tiny life inside you.

“and when you made remote contact with the abyss,” dustin continues, turning back to the window, “the bridge formed. ever since, henry and his monsters have been using it to cross right back into hawkins.”

he caps the marker with finality and steps back, letting everyone absorb the drawing.

the room is silent for a long beat.

you sink back onto the couch slowly, with the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders, yet steve’s hand never leaves your back, with thumb tracing the same comforting pattern.

you take a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. the exhale is loud, which makes multiple heads turn towards your direction at once. all you notice is nancy’s worried eyes, robin’s furrowed brow, hopper’s concern, and even eleven glancing over with quiet sympathy.

you realize how loud that sigh must have been and crack a small, tired smile, lifting one hand in reassurance, “I'm okay... this is just… overwhelming.”

steve leans down a little, “you sure?”

you nod, reaching back to squeeze his knee, “yeah.... just processing.”

dustin caps the marker again, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he can’t contain the energy inside of his mind and mouth at once, “we kicked vecna’s ass last year. well... eleven with her powers and y/n with that damn flamethrower in particular... but he just fled across this bridge and back into the abyss to lick his wounds.”

“what a pussy!” erica calls from the center couch, arms crossed, with her voice dripping with twelve-year-old disdain.

a surprised smirk tugs at your lips before you can stop it while steve’s hand pauses mid-circle on your back, then resumes, his quiet huff of laughter vibrating against your shoulder.

even hopper’s mouth twitches at the out-of-pocket callout.

joyce, sitting forward on the edge of the center couch, frowns softly, “so all this time… vecna’s been hiding in the sky?”

“that explains why every crawl led to a dead end,” nancy says, arms folded tight, eyes on the diagram like she’s memorizing it.

eleven nods beside erica, “and why i can’t find him in the bath.”

“and why holly came from the sky,” jonathan adds quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

hopper’s jaw tightens, almost locked, “yeah, but why is he taking kids up there?” he is angry, the kind of anger that comes from imagining something unspeakable happening to a child... especially one he’s come to care about like family.

the room stills and max's soft breathing is suddenly the loudest sound.

will steps forward, “for the same reason he took me.” his voice is steady, but you can hear the light tremor underneath, “the minds of children are weaker, right? more easily molded and controlled. so he channels his thoughts and powers through me to amplify his abilities… and he’s going to do the same to those kids.”

hopper turns fully toward him, “amplify his abilities? to do what?”

you feel the words rise in your throat before you can stop them, “to create an incursion.”

every head swivels toward you. steve’s hand stills again on your back as you lean forward slightly, with your elbows on your knees while the small weight of your belly shifts with the movement.

“or in the comics… crashing one world into another.”

hopper stares, “are you serious?”

“she is,” max says from her wheelchair near the door, voice flat but certain, “holly… she said henry told the kids they would help him draw the worlds together.”

your eyes widen as you sit up straighter, ignoring the twinge in your lower back, “i didn’t understand what it meant at the time,” max continues, “but hearing y/n and dustin—”

“he wants to move the abyss,” mike cuts in, voice rising with realization, “and crash it here into hawkins.”

“no—not crash!” will corrects sharply, surging forward.

he moves around the couch, snatches the marker from dustin’s hand and starts drawing frantic lines on the window with arrows from the abyss circle pushing toward hawkins, “merge! henry wasn’t licking his wounds in the abyss... he was making rifts! he is weakening the abyss like he weakened hawkins. so when the abyss and hawkins collide, they become one.”

the marker squeaks loud in the sudden silence.

steve finally speaks, his voice a little hoarse... he’s been quiet since the office, mind clearly split between the end of the world and the beginning of a family.

he shifts beside you, “okay, uh… how long would this take? to move worlds? like-” he smacks his hands together sharply, the clap echoing, “or is this gonna take some time?”

mike exhales hard, running a hand through his hair.

“well this better take some time, because if this is all correct we have to get two thousand feet into the air, find our way into the abyss, free holly and the kids, and kill vecna before our worlds collide.”

lucas, leaning around max, shakes, “and if my theory is right… he’s gonna move the worlds tonight.”

the room seems to shrink since joyce’s hand tightens around herself, nancy’s eyes flick to the windows behind her like she’s already searching the sky and eleven’s nose starts to bleed again, just a thin trickle she wipes away without comment.

robin mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “fan-fucking-tastic.”

you feel steve’s fingers resume their path up your spine, slower.

two thousand feet into the air. tonight.

your free hand drifts to your belly, settling over the small curve hidden beneath your green shirt. it has been fifteen weeks and your child is a life barely the size of a peach, with their heart beating steady inside you while the world prepares to end above everyone’s heads.

soon, the group starts talking at once with hopper barking questions and plans. dustin is already theorizing entry points and Nancy starts pulling out maps... but you stay quiet since this is not just hawkins and not just holly and the kids in your mind.

this is future you and steve only just dared to name.

anyways, hopper takes charge and thinks about a plan. one involving another kidnap. he stands by the window and holds the dry erase marker, “we kidnap a chopper from the base, fly straight up the wormhole, drop in hot, grab the kids, take out vecna. simple.”

dustin throws his hands up, “this rotor's are like 40 feet wide," he argues, gesturing wildly at the diagram, "it's too big, it is not gonna fit."

robin, standing beside mike with her arms crossed, catches your eye at the exact moment dustin says “too big.” since her mouth twitches with immaturity.

she flicks her gaze to steve perched beside you on the couch back, then back to you, that familiar devilish spark lighting up her face.

“steve hears that all the time from a certain individual,” she calls out, her voice cutting through the argument, “yet he goes in anyway. don’t you, steve?”

you smack a hand to your forehead, muttering, “robin?” in mock offense, but the smirk tugging at your lips betrays you.

steve scoffs at robin, almost offended, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

murray, sandwiched between you and the armrest, lets out a low, appreciative chuckle, “okay, that was funny.”

you elbow him lightly, still grinning despite the embarrassment. everyone in the room knows exactly what robin’s implying... especially now that the pregnancy news is out.

there’s no hiding the evidence of what you and steve do in your private time anymore.

hopper pinches the bridge of his nose, “everybody shut up.” his voice booms, “look—if somebody else has some magic bean that i don’t know about, i’m all ears. if not, it’s a risk we have to take. we fly, or we die.”

“we fly,” murray drawls, dragging the word out like he’s tasting it.

“well i guess we die,” dustin snaps back.

“we’re not gonna die if we commit to a plan!” hopper waves a hand, frustration felt deep in the lines of his face. at the time voices rise again mostly between dustin and hopper. it’s all noise, overlapping with everyone grasping at the same thin strands of hope.

you feel something twisting in your stomach... a cold, tight knot that has nothing to do with the baby and everything to do with a little girl lost in that red-black sky.

holly’s out there, trapped, and every raised voice feels like time slipping away.

before you could overthink, you feel a gentle poke on your shoulder.

you turn your head and steve’s looking around with his brow furrowed deep in thought, and his lips pressed together like he’s chewing on an idea. your man's eyes flick to you, hesitant, almost like he’s waiting for permission to speak up about a plan.

your eyebrows lift and a tiny, fond giggle bubbles up despite everything. you lean back just enough so only he can hear and whisper, “steve, you’re smart. if you have a magic bean plan, say something.”

steve's mouth quirks and he’s moving, hopping down from the couch back in one fluid motion.

“we don’t need a magic bean to climb,” he says from behind you, voice steady but not loud enough to cut through the arguing.

no one hears him since hopper’s gesturing again, and dustin’s talking over him.

steve tries again, louder, “we don’t need a magic bean!”

the room snaps to attention and all eyes turn to him. he lifts both hands in a small, apologetic gesture.

“sorry… we just… we don’t need it.” he steps forward, closer to the table, confidence growing as he speaks, “we’ve got a beanstalk right here.”

ten minutes later, the lounge empties slowly since everyone follows steve into the adjoining storage room where he talks about the correct plan to get into the abyss. he sounds smart, and it makes you smile as voices overlap in agreement.

as the conversation flows more roles get assigned, and the plan steve laid out is starting to take shape.

max is going to help with eleven and kali, erica and mr. clarke will be at the MAC-Z monitoring, and everyone else is pointed out and posted to go into the abyss.

one by one, everyone finds their place. joyce and murray will handle transport and extraction. hopper, nancy, lucas, jonathan, mike, dustin, robin, steve... they’ll climb the tower, cross into the abyss, and end this.

what shocks you is when silence falls when the assignments are done since you’re still standing behind nancy while beside robin with your hand resting low on your belly, feeling oddly outside of everything.

the knot that’s lived in your stomach since holly vanished tightens further.

“guys,” you say, voice quieter than you mean it to be. you step one stop forward, standing between nancy and robin.

everyone turns to you, “where… where am i in all of this? you never said my name for a role?”

the question hangs and you hate how small it sounds since nobody wants to speak up.

“i feel quiet,” you admit and the words are scraping out, “and lost right now.”

lucas starts, “well... um... you can come with us on the—”

“no!”

the refusal comes from nearly every adult at once and in sync. it comes from robin, nancy, hopper, joyce, murray, vickie, and loudest of all, steve.

meanwhile the chorus of it hits you like a wall, almost offensively.

you try to swallow the sting, but pregnancy hormones are cruel and efficient which makes your tears prick instantly, almost embarrassing in your mind.

that mind twists their protectiveness into something uglier... that you’re not needed and you’re fragile now.

useless.

“y/n,” nancy says softly, stepping closer and turning while reading the hurt on your face.

you lift your chin, “i am the only non-superpowered person in this room who has fought vecna 1v1 without getting cursed or broken into pieces. no offense, but i stood in that attic with a shotgun and a molotov and helped burn him. i’ve earned my place in this fight!”

“yes,” hopper says carefully, “but you’re pregnant.”

the word lands like a verdict.

you laugh, but it’s bitter, “yeah. sure. if thats the reason then I'll stay because i guess i’m just dumbed down to the pregnant woman who can’t do anything anymore.”

you know you’re not being fair.... you know it the second the words leave your mouth.

even max... in her wheelchair... has a crucial role in the fight and you’re being relegated to what? caretaker?

you turn before anyone can answer, bolting out of the room. your vision blurs with angry tears as steve calls your name. your man's footsteps are quick behind you, but you duck into the small staff bathroom down the hall, slam, and lock the door.

immediately as knocks come at the bathroom door, you sink onto the closed toilet lid with your elbows on knees, face in your hands, and finally let the sobs come.

it is quiet, choking, the kind that shake your whole body. you hate crying like this since you hate feeling benched and you hate that part of you knows they’re right and the rest of you feels erased.

“y/n?” steve’s voice is soft through the door, worried, “baby, please open up.”

“just leave me alone,” you manage.

there’s a pause for a minute..... then the lock clicks anyway.

you look up, indignant since you did not stand up to unlock the door.

when the door opens, you see steve before you see eleven behind him, with her hand lowered as she silently mumbles a “sorry,”

steve slips inside and shuts the door behind him, locking it again manually this time. he crouches in front of you immediately, hands gentle on your knees.

“hey hey,” he says, “look at me.”

you do, reluctantly. your face is a mess with tear-streaked mascara running down. he doesn’t care about your looks, since he cups your cheeks as his thumbs brush the wetness away.

“i’m not okay,” you whisper.

“i know.” he pulls you forward into his chest, arms wrapping around you tight. you resist for half a second, then fold with your face pressed to his shoulder, fresh tears soaking his shirt.

“look, please don't think that this is about you not being capable,” he murmurs into your hair, “this is about everyone, especially me, not surviving if something happened to you or the baby. i can’t—and I won’t risk that.”

you cling to him, the fight leaking out with every sob.

“i don’t want to be useless, steve.”

“you’re not. you’re never useless.” he pulls back just enough to look at you, “you’re carrying our kid. you’re keeping them safe just by breathing. that’s not nothing.”

before you could speak further, there’s a soft knock and nancy’s voice filters through.

“lovebirds? y/n, please come out. we do have a plan for you.”

you sniff, wiping your face.

“it’s not a pity role, is it?”

nancy opens the door slowly, and steve nods permission for her to fully open it.

“no. in fact, i thought of it the second you told me about the baby in the hospital.”

she gestures for you to follow her and curiosity overrides the hurt enough for you to stand. steve keeps your hand in his as you trail nancy to the smaller armory room down the hall.

after ten steps, steve lets go of your hand, and walks away leaving you with nancy as she leads you in the armory room. robin and vickie are there with robin halfway into camo pants and a long-sleeve, as vickie helps her lace boots.

nancy kneels by a black duffel bag and pulls out your sawed-off shotgun from last year... the one you wielded in the creel house attic like it was an extension of your arm.

then she hands you the flamethrower pack, fuel canister still half-full, nozzle scorched black from when you lit vecna up.

your breath catches since you take the shotgun when she offers it. the weight is familiar.

“you’re staying here,” nancy says, her voice steady but so kind, “since you’re guarding max.”

you open your mouth to protest, but she keeps going.

“yes, i know that’s not what you want... but we can’t risk you... or the baby two thousand feet up and in another dimension. if vecna sends anything back here for max again... demodogs, or bats even... everyone trusts you the most to handle it. you’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.”

robin finishes zipping her jacket, steps over, and bumps your shoulder.

“plus, someone’s gotta keep max from getting too bored. you’re the only one who can match her sarcasm.”

you look down at the shotgun in your hands, then at the flamethrower. it’s not the front line, and it’s not the abyss.... but it’s not nothing.

“that’s my first motherly sacrifice for this baby, huh? not being able to jump into a physical fight?” you say, half-joking, voice still wobbly.

nancy smiles, stepping close and resting both hands gently on your small bump, “yeah... and it won’t be the last.”

“y/n... i can’t believe you’re someone’s mother,” vickie says, awed.

“that’s not even shocking, honestly,” robin adds, pulling her own hair back with a blue hairclip, “you and steve have been the group parents for years... and that is skipping the girl-talk details you’ve shared…” she winks, “and now look at you. one beautiful young mama who’s growing her baby while still helping save the world.”

she wraps you in a tight hug, and her camo rough against your body.

you hug back hard, breathing her vanilla scent in. when you pull away, you walk back to the main room together.

steve is there, freshly changed into dark green cargo pants, with a dark shirt, a darker jacket, and that old black backwards cap with a few strands of hair escaping around the edges.

the whole look is… unfairly hot.

your hormones hit like a bus since heat floods you from chest to toes, and you have to bite your lip to keep from staring at steve too obviously.

however, some logic kicks in when you see him fumbling with a grey pistol, trying to load the magazine and clearly having no idea what he’s doing.

you jog over, laughing despite everything.

“hey, hey.” you catch his arm, “you haven’t shot a real gun before, have you?”

steve gives a sheepish grin, “well, not all of us are as cool as you... but I've shot... like… bb guns.... flare guns.... and duck hunt.”

you snort, taking the pistol and sliding the magazine in smoothly, racking the slide with practiced ease, “we’ll get you a shotgun. less finesse required.”

he watches you, eyes soft, then leans in and kisses you... slow like he’s memorizing the feel of you before he leaves.

you pull back just enough to rest your forehead against his.

“also steve... just an fyi,” you say, bright and sarcastic, “if you go up there, play hero, and die… i will revive you and then kill you again myself.”

“and i’ll join in,” robin calls from across the room, slinging a flare gun holster over her shoulder.

steve chuckles, but his eyes are serious, “i won’t die. i promise.”

he drops to one knee suddenly, pressing a soft kiss to your belly through the green shirt.

“your dad’s coming back,” he whispers against the fabric, “both of us are.”

you roll your eyes playfully at him, but your throat tightens when he stands, squeezes your hand once more, then heads over to dustin to finish gearing up.

you walk to max, settling into the chair beside her wheelchair with your sawed off shotgun across your lap, and a flamethrower tank propped nearby.

yes, you are on guard duty as an armed babysitter, or the hundredth time.

it’s not the abyss, but it’s something.

an hour passes by and the station feels too big and too empty now that everyone’s gone. the lounge lights are dimmed to conserve power, casting long shadows across the mismatched furniture but the only noises are the occasional crackle of static from the walkie on the coffee table.

you’re stretched out on the sagging black leather couch, one arm draped protectively over your small bump, and the other hanging off the edge near the sawed-off shotgun propped against the side table. your leg bounces restlessly, heel tapping an anxious rhythm against the floor.

you’re trying to rest with doctor’s orders, and steve’s pleading eyes before he left... but sleep won’t come, and it shouldn't at this exact time.

every time you close your eyes you see the tower, the rift, the red sky, and you see steve’s face when he promised he’d come back. you need him to come back more than anyone else up there, and you need him safe and whole and walking through that door so you can stop feeling like your heart is being squeezed in a fist.

vickie paces the length of the room for the hundredth time, with her nurse shoes scuffing softly against the worn floor. the girl's hands twist together, then release, then twist again. the motion is making your own nerves fray faster.

so, you close your eyes for a couple of minutes and nearly slip into darkness.

“y/n.”

max’s voice cuts through the quiet and you open your eyes and turn your head. she’s parked her wheelchair at the end of the couch, facing you, red braided hair catching the faint glow from the exit sign.

“i know you don’t want to be here right now,” she says, a smirk tugging at her lips, “but i’m not sure if sleeping is a good option.”

you huff a tired laugh, pushing yourself up on one elbow, “sorry, ms. legs, pregnancy is tiring.”

max snorts, “tell me about it... i’ve been in casts for months and i’m still exhausted.”

there’s a beat of comfortable quiet as you sit up fully, swinging your legs off the couch, and rub at your eyes.

“you know,” max says softer, “i missed you a lot.”

you blink at her, “you missed me? but you were… in the trance.”

“yeah,” she shrugs, looking down at her hands for a second, “but i was still trapped in that cave in henry's mind, just wishing to be back here.... I mean... you were the third person i missed the most.”

you scoff, half offended, half fond, “third?”

max’s smirk returns full force, “lucas first, obviously. eleven second. you third. don’t take it personally.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now, “well, who am i to think i rank above lucas and eleven.”

max’s grin widens, genuine and bright, the kind you haven’t seen from her in too long.

unfortunately vickie’s voice breaks the moment, “ughhh, okay what is taking them so long?” she’s pacing again, faster this time, arms wrapped around herself.

you like vickie... she’s sweet, funny, and matches robin’s energy in a way that makes your best friend light up... but right now her spiraling is not helping.

“i don’t know,” max answers dryly, “maybe something to do with the fact that it’s a five-hundred-foot tower and they’re trying to cross into another dimension.”

vickie stops, cheeks flushing, “right. yeah. sorry.”

“if something’s wrong, they’ll contact us, vick,” you say, trying to sound calm even though your own leg has started bouncing again.

“yeah, no, yeah,” vickie nods too fast, “i mean—unless they’re already dead!”

“don’t put that out there,” you groan, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes.

“okay—i’m sorry!” vickie winces, “i’m stressed and stress gives me the munchies, so um—” she looks between you and max, “do you guys want anything?”

you drop your hands, “anything that does not have peanut butter, nor soy, please.”

max shakes her head, “i’m good.”

vickie nods and hurries off toward the small kitchenette area, clearly grateful for something to do.

you watch her go, then turn back to max... just in time to see her eyes roll back, whites showing, body going rigid in the chair. your heart lurches before remembering that this is the plan for her.

kali and eleven are linking with her through the void, using her connection to vecna’s memories to guide the team. however, seeing max with her face slack and her head tilting back still sends ice down your spine.

you’re on your feet in an instant, shotgun snatched from the table, while racking the slide with a sharp metallic cha-chunk (lol).

adrenaline floods your system, sharpening your senses to the hum of the lights, to the distant clatter of vickie rummaging in the kitchen, and the soft rise and fall of max’s chest proving she’s still breathing.

you start pacing around the station slowly with deliberate loops around the lounge, eyes scanning every object, every doorway, every window.

the flamethrower tank is propped near the couch... you keep it in your peripheral as you move on guard duty so you won’t fall asleep.

unfortunately, you walk around for thirty minutes in suffocating silence.

you’ve migrated to the kitchenette, pacing in slow circles with an apple in hand, biting into it more for something to do than actual hunger. the crisp snap of each bite echoes too loud in the empty station since vickie opted to stay quiet around an unconscious max.

your shotgun leans against the counter within arm’s reach, a constant reminder of your role tonight since you were prohibited to go into the abyss.

however, nothing happens here in the station. there is no growls from the shadows and no bats snaking through cracked windows. there is only static from the radio waiting for a check-in that hasn’t come.

you press a hand to your belly, feeling the faint flutter there like the baby knows you’re on edge.

“they’re okay,” you whisper to the quiet room, more for yourself than anyone else, “they have to be.”

vickie’s still making a path on the floor in the lounge, muttering numbers under her breath about how long it should take to climb, how long to cross, how long to fight. max sits motionless in her trance, head tilted back slightly, eyes pure white.

you take another bite of the apple, juice running down your chin. once you walk to the opposite side of the building, vickie suddenly bolts to you with her face pale as a blanket sheet.

“y/n.. there are vans outside. military vans.... lots of them coming!”

your stomach drops and the apple slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud as you run to the window three strides, peering through the blinds and floodlights sweep the parking lot.

“fuck,” you breathe, “the fucking military!”

this wasn’t the plan.

you were ready for demodogs, for bats, for vines of vecna's arms bursting through the walls. it is the supernatural you can fight since you have grown to learn how to survive the supernatural.

humans with guns and orders, you cannot survive now.

a year ago you would’ve grabbed the shotgun, taken a stand, rained hell on anyone trying to intrude on your plans but now your mind drifts instinctively to your belly... now there’s another being to consider.

“we need to hide now,” you say to vickie, urgently.

thankfully, there’s an emergency hideout spot robin showed everyone earlier. it is a false panel behind a tall bookshelf in the storage room. small, cramped, but concealed.

vickie’s already moving, wheeling max’s chair as gently and quickly as she can. max’s body is limp in the trance, with her head lolling as you ditch the shotgun since it is too noisy, and too bulky. you decide to prop it behind the counter where it won’t be immediately seen then you sprint ahead, flinging the bookshelf open with a grunt.

the false wall yawns behind it, a narrow crawlspace barely big enough for three. you help vickie maneuver max inside first, wheelchair and all... it’s tight, but it fits. afterwards vickie and you go through before the shelf is pulled shut behind you with the hidden latch.

as you sat silently, the smell of dust and old paper hit your olfactory nerves. you sit behind vickie with max’s wheelchair taking up most of the space in front of you. your knees are drawn up, one hand braced against the wall, the other resting protectively over your bump.

outside, the front door splinters with a sharp crack with boots thundering across the floor. there are muffled commands along the lines of “clear,” “check the back,” and “secure the radios."

looking down, you can see flashlight beams sweep under the bookshelf crack, painting thin lines of light across your shoes.

you hold your breath as vickie’s hand finds yours in the dim light and squeezes hard as you squeeze back.

five minutes drag on then max gasps loudly with her body jerking forward when she snaps out of the trance. at that, your heart plummets and your eyes wide at vickie.

the bookshelf wrenches open almost immediately and light floods in. you squint, raising a hand against the glare.

a woman stands there with short-cropped blonde hair, sharp features, and military fatigues. she doesn’t point a gun, all she does is lookdown at the three of you with a calm, almost amused expression.

“hi there,” she says, voice smooth.

behind her, soldiers move in.

one reaches for you with his grip on your upper arm surprisingly gentle, but firm. you stand slowly, legs shaky, and quietly ask, “can you loosen it a little? I can't run.”

he does, fractionally.

they march you out to one of the vans parked in the lot. the night air is cold, biting through your green shirt.

you’re helped up into the back as max lifted in her chair while vickie climbs in beside her.

you sit on the bench seat, pulling the seatbelt across yourself out of habit.

the woman with short hair... dr. kay, you overhear someone call her... pauses at the open door, eyes scanning the three of you.

however, gaze lingers on you longest.

you swallow, nervous as she looks at the way the seatbelt crosses your body, which pulls the fabric of your shirt over the unmistakable swell of your belly.

something shifts in dr.kay's expression.

calculation, maybe, or an idea forming.

suddenly, she scoffs softly almost to herself, muttering “never mind” under her breath, like she’s dismissing whatever thought just crossed her mind about you and your pregnant stomach.

she turns away, slamming the doors shut and the van lurches into motion a second later, with the tires crunching over gravel.

you sit in the dark between max and vickie, with your heart hammering and one hand cradling your stomach since you were supposed to fight monsters tonight.

instead, you’re being taken straight into the MAC-Z full of people who’ve been hunting your family for years and you have a gut feeling that are about to get much worse before they ever get better.

and you were right.

the vans slow to a halt at the fortified gate with engines idling low and menacing. your hands won’t stop shaking since through the small tinted window you can see soldiers fanning out, rifles raised, floodlights cutting harsh white beams across the asphalt.

they’re setting up an ambush and waiting for the others to come stumbling out of the gate, exhausted and victorious by defeating vecna, only to be taken.

you feel sick, and even so helpless.

when the doors fly open., you know that means the group arrived back into the real world. you’re pulled out into the cold night air seeing the military swarm your friends. vickie on one side of you, with max ad her wheelchair in-front of you. your legs feel like water, but you stay upright, eyes widened in horror as steve and robin are slammed against the side of a truck almost immediately.

steve’s head knocks hard against the metal and he grunts, struggling. robin swears loudly, kicking out and terrified at the amount of loud men yelling at her.

your heart seizes and you take half a step forward, panic clawing up your throat, but vickie’s hand clamps around your wrist, pulling you back.

“don’t,” she whispers, voice trembling.

you watch in horror as robin pleads for the men to calm down. what happened? is vecna dead? where are all of the kids?

max yelps beside you, “what is she doing?”

at first you think she means dr. kay, the woman with the short blonde hair striding forward like she owns the night.

suddenly, mike’s voice cracks through the chaos with desperate yelling.

when mike runs towards the gate, you turn your head and see eleven standing in the upside down... alone.

she is standing in the fading red slash of the rift, small against the exploding black sky behind her. debris whips around her in violent spirals. there are chunks of metal, rock, ash, and everything the collapsing abyss is spitting out as it dies.

when el doesn’t move, and she stands there in tears, you realize that she’s not coming through. mike is fighting a soldier tooth and nail, screaming her name while trying to free her from sacrificing, “el! el, no! el!”

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

el, don’t.

the wind howls harder as the explosion of the abyss reaches her. the sky in the upside down itself is tearing apart and everyone is screaming now with hopper roaring, nancy’s voice breaking, joyce sobbing mike’s name as he almost breaks free to run towards el.

you can’t move as tears spill hot down your cheeks, freezing in the night air. everything you ever wished for her... safety, peace, a real life... slips away in front of you.

steve’s face across the lot mirrors yours. it is helpless, terrified, eyes wide in horror. the wind becomes a hurricane as the blast wave hits eleven full force.

for one impossible second she’s silhouetted against the firestorm and you close your eyes and turn away, before you could see her fully go.

the screams, mike’s most of all, tell you everything as the wind hits everyone hard. the roaring continues and you kneel on your knees, covering your ears and eyes and anything that can take you away from here.

there is only silence once mike stop screaming. at that moment, you open your eyes to see that the gate is gone... just a destroyed building where the rift had been.

everyone stares at the empty space, frozen in horror as to what had happened.

steve is still with his chest heaving, with his face streaked with dirt.

as if he noticed your presence in that moment, he turns his head and looks past the soldiers, past the trucks, and his eyes land on you.

steve's eyes widen. he hadn’t known you were here and captured by the military. he jerks against the soldier holding him, shouting your name, but the man keeps a hold on him to stay put.

you can’t hear steve calling for you over the ringing in your ears, but you see his mouth form the shape.

you sink slowly on the cold ground, with one hand on your belly, the other pressed to your mouth to hold in the sound that wants to come out.

eleven is gone and she closed the gate.

she ended everything, and she paid the price so the rest of you could live.

part four will be out in a few days

masterlist

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-

“Excuse me? Can you recommend a good horror movie? I’m pretty lost here and a little indecisive.”

Steve saw the bird's nest of light brown hair first, clipped up and styled upon the top of the girl's head. Bangles of bracelets knock against the counter of the Family Video. Steve noticed her eyes, shy smile—eh, cute. He thought for a moment.

“Well, what kind of night are you looking for?” Steve turned on the hollow charm he had learned over years of practice.

“I don’t know, what are the options?” She giggles, leaning against the counter. Steve’s practically pulled in with opportunity.

“Well,” Steve drags out, “if you want something yucky and gross, The Fly will have you grossed out and screaming. If you want something a little cuter, Gremlins is also a good choice.”

Steve spews out his minimal knowledge, learned from working here for the past few months; most of it he’s copied from Robin's rants to customers. And Eddie insists on needing to “know” the classics. He points to the cute plush of a tiny gremlin, forcing out the most charming smile he can, “See, cute.”

The girl smiles, she’s amused, at least. Steve takes it for now. She messed with her bangle bracelets, letting them clack against her nails. “Well, my boyfriend's sick on the couch right now so I don’t want him running to the toilet every few minutes.”

Steve leans back, the charm in his face drops, and his smile no longer reaches his eyes.

One more point for Robin.

Steve Harrington's journey to a date has led him down some scary, embarrassing, and borderline dangerous paths. What once used to be an easy feat has turned into a horrible and way overtracked challenge. The “you suck” sign had honestly started to plague his nightmares at night. Somehow the word “my boyfriend” followed by a giggle or smile had become a real-life trigger word for Steve.

So Steve felt his pride crumble for the 3rd time this week as he checked out Gremlins for the pretty girl with the bangle bracelet—who has a boyfriend.

“It’s just getting sad at this point, Harrington,” Eddie smirks from aside from him, leaning far back in a chair behind the counter. The Shining plays behind him as he fidgets with the homemade pins on his Family Video vest. “Your fall from the throne has just been, woof…”

“It’s not that bad, I mean, if she were single then I would have had that!” Steve defends himself. A stressed-out hand runs through his hair.

Then the jingle of the bell on the entry door echoes through his ears, Steve slaps on a smile and turns around to greet the incoming customer. “Welcome to—“

“Drop the script, dingus, I’m just here to clock in.” Robin waved him off as she sped-walked into the back, obviously reluctant to be at work today.

Eddie jumps up from his seat, “thank god, that means—“ he checks his watch, breaking out in a sing-song voice, “I am free!”

Steve flips him the bird as he walks around the counter and heads to the door like a bull out of the gates.

Eddie's back hits the door, “Good luck, Harrington. I mean it, one day… one day.”

Steve plucks a pencil from a cup next to the register, promptly chucking it at the curly-headed boy. Eddie smiles and laughs when it hits his shoulder before he’s out the door and on the way home, or to the bar, or band practice. Steve couldn't keep track anymore, spending all his time in the VHS-covered hellhole. Even if he could score a date from any living-breathing woman that walks through those doors, he’d probably never have the time. Steve is practically halfway to store manager at this point.

“How bad has it been? How many marks are on the board?” Robin says, shrugging her sickly green vest on. It was noon yet, and she looked as if she had just woken up, which was probably true.

“Ya’ don’t gotta mark anything!” Steve protested.

Yet, Robin still pulled the whiteboard from under the desk. As she marks another tally under “you suck” it’s like a deep cut on his skin. It almost physically burned him.

Robins tsks Steve, shaking her head and letting her already messy hair fall in her face. “It’s tragic, truly.”

“It’s not. You guys are just so focused on my love life it’s honestly getting obsessive,” he grumbles, slipping into his chair. “I’d like to see you or Eddie try and pick someone here instead of teasing me for my failures.”

Robin laughs, “Well, as you should know, my so-called best friend, my mind is occupied. And well, Eddie's options are pretty slim—I mean, how many people come in here wearing black handkerchiefs?”

“Excuses…” Steve mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes.

The door bells jingle again, and Steve pops his head up in an instant. His eyes find the body that walked in and his breath hitches. Thank god for his stubborn nature, truly.

Maybe it’s the lighting, the way the sun is shining on your face, outlining your body like you were a goddamn angel. Walking in with strides of confidence and a smile that men used to go to war for. Your eyes find him, and instead of anywhere else you walk towards him. To hopefully ask him a question that doesn’t end with “for my boyfriend.”

You're only a few steps from the counter when your eyes shift and they light up, “Hey, Robin!” You’re holding two VHSs in your hands, dropping them on the counter to the left of him as Robin greets you. “I meant to drop these off yesterday, hopefully I’m in no trouble.”

“Never.” Robin smiled at you, taking the film from your hand. “How ya been? Did you enjoy Blue Velvet for what? The 3rd time now?”

“I can’t help it. I’m in a seriously committed relationship with David lynch.” You say.

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with Kyle Maclachlan." Robin teases, her head cocking to the side knowingly. Her words pull a hearty giggle from you.

“Shhhh…” you shush her, a lighthearted joke between two seemingly close friends, except Robin is his best friend and you have never been mentioned before. To Steve’s very unfortunate knowledge. “Well, anyways, I gotta run but I’ll be back, yeah?”

“Oh, you know I await you every week!” Robin dramatically declares as you're backing up to leave already.

“I'm truly touched. Be still my heart!” You laugh, clutching your chest before slipping out the door.

Already gone. Away from Steve’s grasp and Robin had completely stomped on any chance he had to turn on that charm. Her title as wing-women had been officially revoked, as if it wasn’t a few weeks ago when Robin out loud cackled behind a shelf after a badly worded flirt from Steve. Either way, not even an introduction to possibly the most beautiful women who walked through those doors.

“Steve. You’re drooling.”

Steve snaps out of his gaze, seeing Robin gives him that knowing smirk she loves so much.

“Who was that?” Steve asks, wiping his chin just in case.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Robin teased with a dramatic head shake, walking away from him to put away the two VHS tapes you had just dropped off.

Steve stumbled around the corner to follow after, only seeming a tiny bit desperate. Pathetic and desperate had been his defining traits recently, why not own it?

“Yes, yes, I really would.” He affirms, despite that obvious teasing manner. Steve didn’t care, he just needed a name and a relationship status.

Robin turns to him, pushing a tape to his chest, “Put this away and maybe I’ll tell you.”

The Elephant Man, it read, Steve found the ‘el’s’ on the shelf (where Robin could not reach.) and set in there. Shooting Robin a look, eyebrows twitched up, “Is she single?”

“Yes, Harrington.” She says and Steve's heart leaps in hope. “But, you have no chance.”

“What? Wha- why? Why not?” Steve stumbles over his words, trying to keep Robin's attention when she turns around to actually do her job.

“Because she’s cool.”

“I’m cool.”

Then, Robin laughs. A genuine laugh. As if what Steve had just said was the funniest joke to ever be thought of. “Stop laughing, I am!”

“King Steve, you are high school cool. She is real-life cool.” Robin says, and Steve should honestly be offended.

“That’s just rude.”

Robin shakes her head, donning a light-hearted smile, and goes to the back to bring out the new releases.

-

Steve had to stay late for his shift on Wednesday, someone had thrown up their lunch in the men’s restrooms and Robin had called nose goes with the job as an excuse for it being the men’s.

Steve had a permanent scrunched-up face, convinced the smell of vomit was lingering on his clothes. More than ready get the hell home and in a shower.

It’s only when he’s shrugged off his vest, put back the mop and bucket, holding back a gag from the lingering smell. When Steve hears that familiar voice, the one he shamefully hasn’t stopped thinking about. His full body stops, hearing you and Robin talking from the front of the store.

In the most cool, calm and so not overly eager fashion, Steve is at the front in only a few strides. Playing is so, so cool. Biting back a giddy smile when he sees your smile from your conversation with Robin.

Steve has noticed that you existed with a thin-lipped smile and overjoyed eyes, or you just really enjoyed talking to Robin. Either way, it charmed Steve and knocked him off his feet in a way he’s never experienced. It was borderline shocking, his pull towards you came from curiosity. You were a stranger to him but he needed more.

Steve crashed into the counter, almost pathetically bumping Robin’s hips away from you. So much for not being overly eager. But the smile on Steve’s face was infectious, unrelenting.

“Hey, need any help?” Steve says, as if you weren’t in full conversation with Robin already. Who in fact did work there.

You cover your mouth to giggle, and Steve is hypnotized instantly. Your smile reaches your eyes as they turn into crescents.

“She’s already helped, and you're off the clock. So scram!” Robin comments, looking between him and you.

“Are you sure she doesn’t need any extra assistance?” Steve says, it’s stupid and not even remotely smooth. Coming out more as an overbearing coworker than a flirt.

“I’m all taken care of, thank you—“ you say, peering at his nametag, “Steve?”

“Don’t wear it out.”

Steve can’t feel Robin's gaze on him, the second-hand embarrassment hitting her harder than Steve could comprehend. Who is currently immune to his own pathetic flirts, too busy amused by the giggle it pulls from you. If only you’d stop covering your face with your hand.

You bid Robin goodbye, excusing yourself for an appointment you were already late to. Steve was a gentleman, he wasn’t going to hold you with more definitely not over-eager conversing.

(If that’s what you wanna call it.)

Right before you leave, turning your back to press against the glass Family Video door. You brought your hands up to do the slightest finger wave at the two, a sly grin on your lip as you said, “Goodbye Buckley.” Then your voice almost drops an octave, dripping like honey, “bye Steven.”

Steve’s brain short-circuits for so many reasons. The proper name, the grin, the way you spoke like you had a hold of him. As if you knew you already had him wrapped around your finger. Steve's knees went weak.

“You’re drooling again, dingus.”

-

Approximately 2 hours into Steve’s Thursday night shift he had decided the first thing he was going to do after closing was to look up a good masseuse. Still, that didn’t stop him from his frantic checking of the door at every person who walked through it. Hoping to see you.

And with every nerd and old dude that walked in, his dreams got smaller.

The bells jingle. Steve tears his eyes away from the inventory list he was told to update, his hair wiping in his face as the speed in which he glances over it. A mother and father with a pair of toddler twins trailing in front as they race to the kids’ section.

“Holy shit, Harrington, you’re gonna give yourself whiplash. Expecting Jesus to walk through those doors.” Eddie teases, in his usual chair, feet propped up against the counter as he lazily watches another random movie showing.

Steve opens his mouth to excuse his behavior, but instead, Robin beats him to it. “Close enough. Steve has a new crush.”

Eddie shoots him a wide-eyed look, one that Steve doesn’t even want to know what torturous tease comes next.

“Barely. I don’t even know her name.”

Robin walks up to the two boys after restocking the foreign film section, “Well, you won’t figure out your true love's name tonight. So spare your neck pain”

Steve's eyebrows furrow, “What?”

“She comes in every Sunday and Wednesday, dingus. You’ll have to wait.” Robin tells him.

And suddenly Steve wants to pound his head on the desk until another concussion arises. Maybe he’d be close to brain-dead and wouldn’t even worry about finding love at that point. Because of course the universe would put the hottest girl in Hawkins and give her a movie schedule that completely avoids his work schedule.

“Those are my usual off days…” Steve whines, utterly hopelessly.

“Once again, tragic.” Eddie sighs.

Steve shoots a glare, and Eddie returns with a cheeky grin. God, Steve just wants to wipe that off his face.

Maybe it was fate, Steve thinks—hopeful as ever, that whatever caused you issues last Sunday that made you come in on a Monday. Or the vomit on Thursday. That maybe those issues were a sign from the universe to bring you in his direction. Just maybe…

Eddie groans, "Alright, Buckley. What’s her name?”

“Huh?”

“I’m tired of the hairringtons sighing and groaning from his pathetic loneliness,” Eddie says, pushing his wheeled chair over to the computer. “We are gonna get a profile on this girl so maybe he has some action in getting a date.”

Once those syllables of your name left Robin's mouth, Steve spoke them under his tongue, testing out the way it sounded when it left his. He sounded borderline whipped, gazing off in the distance whispering your name.

Eddie's finger made quick work of the customer files, finding your name. Steve was hovering over his shoulder in an instant.

A hum left Eddie’s mouth as he went through your rental history, it was extensive from what Steve would see. “Eraserhead, Possession, Carrie, Labryinth…”

“What? What does that mean?” Steve impatiently asked. Out of the three, Eddie was by far the most cultured when it came to movies. His ability to read people and recommend niche movies based on how a person dressed or walked was impressive, and it made up for his horrid work ethic.

Eddie was silent, studying the movie titles.

“Eddie.” Steve tries to get his attention again.

A dry laugh leaves him, “You’re hopeless, Harrington.”

Steve ignores the way Robin snickers from afar, “You can tell that based on a movie list?”

“She watches movies like Suspiria and Nosferatu, this girl is not your type and probably would eat you if you tried to turn up that king Steve charm.”

Defeat hit him like a freight train, his shoulder slumped. “Really?”

“I mean, if she’s as hot as you make her out to be I might even make a move with this movie list…” Eddie says, Going back to check your history. Steve throws another pencil at his back, and it falls to the ground going unnoticed.

The clock ticks above Steve, impossibly slow. He truly was hopeful.

Eddie makes an abrupt sound, a ha-zah even. Catching both Steve and Robin's attention. Steve awaits whatever information Eddie found as Robin leans over the other side of the counter, curious.

“Well, Harrington.” Eddie's smooth voice echoes through, mouse still clicking at the screen. “We may have hit the jackpot.

“Tell me.” Steve springs from his seat to check the screen. Eddie meets him halfway, rotating his chair to face him.

“Well, based on her past rentals of Grease, Valley Girl, and The Great Gatsby. Our girl is a romantic—“

“Don’t say our.”

“Already being possessive, wow,” Robin says.

Steve opens his mouth to bite back, but he’s interrupted.

“And our possible saving grace, drum roll please….” Eddie announced like a dramatic performance. Always over the top.

On cue, Robin rapidly drums her hands on the counter. An echo through the store, and despite Steve’s stolen attention he still spares a glance around the store in hopes no one was in earshot of the ruckus his coworkers were making.

“In the last 6 months, she had rented and returned Pretty in Pink 10 times. Which is…. Honestly, a little unhealthy but we all have our vices, who am I to judge?”

Steve tries to come up with an answer to his problem with this information, completely lost. Even more so when Eddie and Robin share a knowing look. “Oh, Steve Harrington, you are so in there.”

He smiles, hopeful, and grateful that the intensive negative teasing from his two friends had suddenly turned positive. That at least someone believed in him and his slowly dying charm. “That’s great! Uh, what does that mean?”

“Well, obviously a few points just got docked for never seeing Pretty in Pink, which is honestly criminal.” Eddie starts on his rant.

“Get to the point, Munson.” Steve snaps.

Suddenly, Robin is behind Steve, holding up a VHS she had quickly grabbed from a few shelves away. “Ta-da!” she announces, holding the tape next to his face.

Steve’s still sincerely lost, even more so when a further knowing look grows on Eddie as his eyes glance from Steve's face to the cover of the VHS.

“I’m lost, what is this?” Steve snatched the VHS from Robin's hands. Looking at the cover.

Robin pointed finger hovering on the man on the far right of the cover, “That is Andrew McCarthy, and the majority of the reason people watch that movie is for him—to my disagreement—yet, he has a specific appeal.”

Eddie pushes himself closer to Steve, the wheels rolling over the floor's carpet, “the same appeal our dear Steve The Hair Harrington shares.”

Slowly the cogs in Steve's head turn and grind against each other, connecting the dots that his coworkers were laying out for him. “So you are saying… I’m in?”

“We are saying, you have a chance.”

-

It was Sunday.

Approximately 10 minutes before getting off last night, Steve had begged Keith to let him work today. Offered to cover his shift or whatever part-time teenager he had hired since Robin was not budging on getting the day off. Insistent on seeing what trick Steve Harrington pulls to try and knock your panties off, or just ask you out. Depending on how well this goes.

Finally, Keith let up, agreeing and grateful in the end since a new shitty space adventure movie shipment had come in that day and he’d been wanting to sit down and watch that.

So Steve woke up that morning, put on his best pair of pants, and cleaned up his old and worn pair of Nikes. Spent 20 more minutes on his hair routine. Showed up maybe an hour early to work and waited, that familiar strain in his neck already arising.

Steve had talked to Eddie, and he never thought he would say this, about advice. You obviously liked movies and had a similar taste to his (and thank god Eddie was on a masc kick recently or Steve would have lost you to the metal head before he could even think of a pick up line.) So Steve sat and listened to Eddie go through the options to recommend to you, since Robin had informed him that Sunday was your movie rental day.

So Steve studied over the titles, the summaries, and any fun facts we had to convince you to just listen to him. Kept them top of mind while pacing around the store like a stir crazy maniac.

“Hey dingus, are ya trying to make a track in the carpet?” Robin asked, watching Steve walk between the 4-foot radius he had mesmerized. “I think if she walks into you doing that, she is more likely to run for the hills than fall head over heels.”

Steve flipped Robin the bird, huffing and puffing like a dramatic child. Finding his place back behind the counter, Steve went to fix his hair for the 10th time.

“You got it bad, Harrington.” Robin shakes her head in pity. “If you’re gonna waste energy pacing around, can you at least pace the entire store and maybe put some tapes back?”

Steve almost whined, to protest something about greeting customers. But then Robin shoved a box of put-backs in his face and he knew he wasn’t winning. Reluctantly clutching the cardboard in his hands, a pathetic frown on his face, he started to drag his feet around the aisles of the store.

Somewhere between the G’s and I’s of the action/adventure section, Steve’s dragging feet slowed even more, his fingers dragged on the spines of the VHSs. He thought of you, of your pretty smile and defining confidence. What you did with your day before and after visiting the store, how you knew Robin, if you went to Hawkins, and how he could have missed you?

It was a mystery Steve was determined to figure out. Like some sort of prayer, he heard the shuffle of feet on the carpet next to him. It was you, perusing the aisles with a slight pout to your lip. Steve must have missed the sound of the doorbell.

Your neck slowly twitched in his direction, shamefully Steve’s gaze flinched away, just in case that drool problem kicked in like Robin keeps commenting on. Not too eager. Right, right. Stew kept his eyes upwards.

“Steve?” Your voice called out, and he was a second too long to turn to you before you continued with an edge of humor, “Is that exit sign super interesting?”

God, that smile. Steve could barely breathe. To hell with trying to actually converse.

“What, um no! Well, uh, I mean the fluorescents... Super interesting…” Steve choked out, he might as well have had his foot in his mouth as well.

“Oh, I'm sure.” You teased, “totally not looking for the closest exit route from me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” the words left his mouth before he could think, instantly looking to see if it landed, or if you thought he was creepy—running for the hills, all that.

Instead, Steve was gifted with a shy smile, he focused on the way the edges of your lips curved up, the way they met your eyes, and practically sparkled. Your eye faltered from his for a moment, just to look back at him once again—a certain curiosity, amusement, maybe adoration if Steve would allow himself to think such things—had crept up your gaze towards him.

You bit your lip, “You’re cute, Steve Harrington?”

He always passed out, “yeah?”

“Very,” you nodded. “But can Cute find me a good movie to watch this week?”

Steve's brain scrambled, too giddy with a smile to think, “of course.”

He looked back at what letter he was on, what genre. Trying to rack his brain on the inventory, new releases. Fuck, Eddie gave him options for if this came up, Steve had practically studied for this moment.

“Follow me?” He offers you.

You just nod, and he sets off. You close behind him, catching glances at his perfectly curled brown hair, which looked soft, you thought.

(Off to the side, Robin almost broke her neck, back, and the chair leaning backwards to watch you trail behind Steve with stairs in your eyes. A knowing, and proud grin on her face.)

Steve found the ‘W’s and plucked a movie from the shelf, placing it in your hands. His finger lingered on your palms for a moment, warm and soft. The feeling shot up his arm and buzzed in his chest.

You scanned the front, flipping it over to inspect what Steve recommended. “The Witches Of Eastwick… I like Cher… Susan Sarandon… hmm.” You hummed, before clicking your mouth to look back at him. “Maybe pretty privilege didn’t get you the job.”

You winked at him, and Steve’s nervous laughter that followed was uncontrollable. You had him down bad, absolutely whipped.

Steve remembered something suddenly, taking a few steps to grab a tape he had set aside for you. Just in case. “Oh, and this one.”

“The Princess Bride?” You read, scanning over the cover. “Do you take me for a romcom girl, Steve Harrington?”

“Just a feeling.” He breathed.

You looked at the two choices in hand, a smile creeping on your lips. You looked satisfied. “I’ll take both, thank you.”

“I’ll check you out then.” Steve started towards the register.

“Getting rid of me already?”

Steve almost fell face-first with the way he halted, stumbling on his feet to come back to you, and as far as he could from the register. “Wha— no, never—“

“I’m kidding, Steve.” You laughed, “I’m ready.”

“Right. Yes.”

Steve slipped behind the counter as you rounded the corner to the front of the register. Steve was beaming with success, but not enough to practically shove Robin out of the way.

“Move. I gotta check out this very beautiful customer I oh-so graciously helped out.” Steve said, more bark than he intended. Not missing the way your hand covered up the heat rising to your face.

“Whoa!” Robin held her hands up in surrender, shuffling out of the way, “Well, excuse me, dingus.”

“Dingus?” You asked.

“Let’s not.” Steve smiled at you.

“Aye, aye.” You saluted, setting the tapes on the counter. Then quietly under your breath, “dingus.”

Steve pretended not to hear you while biting back a grin, despite the annoyance of that stupid nickname he was just overjoyed to pass the customer service talk with you.

You watched him intently as he bagged up your movies and handed them to you, his finger brushing against yours again and that familiar buzz of warmth found his chest.

You got him a confused look, eyebrows furrowed, “What’s the charge?”

“No charge.” Steve beamed at you. “It's on the house, employee discount.”

“Oh, thank you.” You smiled, a shot straight to Steve's heart. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, in that case.” You reach over behind the register to grab a notepad, plucking a pen while you're at it. “Since you so graciously paid for me,” you scribbled down those ten glorious numbers, Steve's eyes practically sparkled. Sliding it across the counter and in front of him. “Give me a call if you're free and you can watch them with me.”

Steve takes it from your hands, holding it as if it were glass. Rereading the numbers a few times in his head, to not forget, just in case. Because god forbid he lose this now.

“If you want.” You add, a little shy now.

Steve perks up, “I will— I mean, of course, of course I’d want to.”

“Great.” You nod, “See you soon, hopefully.”

“Of course,” Steve repeats himself, overly giddy, nodding like his life depends on it.

You waved that flirtatious finger wave, a sweet smile covered your face and then your back turned and you were gone. Steve's eyes lingered on you from behind the glass window, watching you walk off and into your car. In a not-so-creepy way, hopefully.

Steve's heart beams with hope. Not even believing himself to find a girl he was actually interested in. It sounded hollow and shitty, but it was true. After Nancy, his decline in social status and charm, this stupid competition to pick up a girl at work had started just offhand. A silly joke, a hollow thing to keep him distracted.

But Jesus Christ, Steve Harrington had never been more excited to see a girl before in his life.

Robin decides that she doesn’t need to see the rest and finally leaves to take her break. She has watched you pine for each other for months and is so close to telling you both so she doesn’t have to sit back and watch you be awkward anymore. 

This time, you’re going to be very obvious with your intentions and just come right out and ask him to go on a date with you. Clearly the flirting isn’t getting to him so you’re going to have to get to the point. It’s funny because Steve seems like the kind of guy who would know when a girl likes him but he clearly has no idea.

You don’t even really want the ice cream but you feel like you should order something before asking him the question you have no idea why you’ve been so nervous to ask. You’ve asked people out before so you don’t understand why this is so hard.

He begins to scoop the ice cream in a waffle cup as you watch. It really shouldn’t but the uniform is doing something for you. There’s something about it that you find attractive and you’ve even heard your friends talking about him so it’s clearly not just you.

Once it’s all scooped, he weighs it and tells you your total. You grab some bills from your wallet and hand him exact change before putting what’s left in your hand in his tip jar like always.

“How's your shift going?” Your work lives are so different. The boutique where you work seems to be a lot more chaotic than Scoops Ahoy. He’ll get the occasional rude customer, but it’s not nearly as bad as what you have to deal with. He actually loves hearing your work stories. You always tell them in a way that makes him feel like he’s there. 

“A woman yelled at one of my girls because she wouldn't honor her expired coupons.” 

“How expired were they?” 

“Let’s just say that they were from before we were born.” 

“And she really thought they would work?” People’s audacity will never fail to surprise him. Too many customers are self centered and demand special treatment when they’re the ones who are in the wrong. 

“She tried to convince me that I should honor them because she knows the manager. I told her that I was the manager and then I kicked her out. Anyway, how was your day?” That doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. You don’t take anyone’s shit, especially when it comes to your employees. He admires that you stick up for them when people are being difficult. 

“Good. Not as eventful as yours but it’s better now that you’re here.” 

“You flatter me, Stevie. So, are you doing anything tonight?” The question catches you both off guard even though you’re the one who asked it. And Steve doesn’t even care why you’re asking because he’s free. He’s so available that it’s actually sad. Hanging out with you is much more interesting than whatever else he was going to do tonight.

“No, I’m free. What did you have in mind?” The two of you have hung out a couple times before but there’s something about the way you’ve phrased your question that makes the whole thing feel different. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner or something, maybe like a date?” You're starting to feel sick as you take a bite, the ice cream weighing heavily on your tongue. You swallow it so nothing looks off but the confidence you’ve been wearing like a mask is slipping rapidly and now you’re scared that you’re actually showing your real self. 

“Are you asking me out?” He’s smiling now and you readjust your mask, matching his expression as you take another bite of ice cream. This is going so much better than you hoped and now you feel silly for doubting your friends who hyped you up.

“I am, yeah.”

“Yeah. I’d love to.” He’s full-on grinning now, not quite believing what’s happening. He didn’t think this would happen and was scared to make a move. He’s not surprised in the slightest that you were the one to do it because you’ve always the more confident one between the two of you. 

“I get off at six and I can meet you here after.” 

“Sounds good. Can’t wait.” Steve watches you leave the store and as soon as you’re gone, he heads to the back, searching for Robin’s board and when he finds it, he puts a tally under the “you rule” column before heading back out to serve some more customers.

The rest of the day drags on as you repeatedly look at the clock, counting down the minutes until six. Right on the dot, you’re clocking out and hurrying across the way where Steve is waiting for you. He’s dressed in a yellow long sleeve shirt and jeans, uniform in hand. 

He smiles widely when you approach him and you mimic it. You walk side by side to the parking lot and you don’t know when you started holding hands but he squeezes yours and you squeeze back as you step out into the cold Indiana air. 

You unlock your bike from the rack right by the front doors and Steve takes it without a word, rolling it towards his car that’s parked closer to the back of the lot. Everything just feels so easy and right and you can’t believe that you were so nervous to ask him out in the first place. You haven’t even gone on your date yet, but you have a really good feeling about this. 

You both were so scared that your feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated and that your friendship would be ruined. Well, it has been, but in a completely different way. You don’t know where it will lead you, but you’re both willing to try. 

Steve gets your bike into the trunk and you’re still so impressed by how easy he makes the job look. He’s taken you home a few times since it’s gotten colder because he doesn’t like the idea of you riding your bike in the cold. And all of those car rides have brought you closer as you’ve gotten to know each other. 

When he closes it, you both linger there, tension rising as you step closer to each other as the wind picks up. He wordlessly pulls you to his chest and you lean against it as his arms move up and down your back in an attempt to bring you warmth. 

You stay like that for a while and when you finally pull back, Steve’s already looking at you. You watch his eyes flick to your lips and you do the same to him. There have been so many times you’ve wanted to kiss him but have refrained because you didn’t want to scare him off. But tonight, you’re not holding back.

You’re both leaning in until your lips meet. It’s deep, both of you pouring out everything you’ve felt for each other the past few months. You’re smiling into it and his hands move up to your neck, pushing your head back so he has more access. 

Your arms wrap around his waist, pulling him even closer to you. This is everything you both have dreamed of and more. And when you pull away, Steve chases your lips, both of you giggling into your next kiss. Neither of you are able to keep it together, teeth clinking as you try to make it work but you just can’t.

You’re laughing now and neither of you think you’ve ever experienced so much joy before. You’re no longer carrying the weight of your feelings and now that they’re out in the open and reciprocated, you both feel so much lighter. 

“I think I love you,” he says and your smile matches his once again, both of you grinning widely.

“I think I love you too,” you reply and he goes in for another kiss before he opens the passenger door for you, stealing one more kiss then heading to his side of the car. You spend the rest of the night driving around aimlessly, the tape you made for him playing through the stereo and his hand on your thigh. And when he finally takes you home, you share one more kiss and an “I love you” before you head inside, smiling to yourself when you unlock your front door, counting down the seconds until you’ll see him again when he picks you up in the morning.

taglist: @kinokomoonshine @misshale21 @imnotevenhereatall @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes@robinbuckleywife @littlemissholy @n0t-even-try1ng-2 @crybabyddl @micheledawn1975 @strangerthingsmamareblogs @the-witty-pen-name @bad-wolf1991 @tremendousdinosaurkoala

You knew it was stupid, but you were head over heels for Steve Harrington. The Steve Harrington on top of it, your heart just refused to pick someone who would actually have chances with.

But one day, Carol and Tommy noticed you looking at Steve, and snickered. “Forget it, Rags. He’s never going to like you. I mean, just look at yourself, you’ll never be beautiful enough for him.”

Beautiful. The word echoed in your mind a few times, and that day after school, you dug up all your savings and travelled downtown — everyone would stare at you after the weekend with their mouths wide open.

—

And that was exactly what happened. As soon as you stepped in through the school doors with your brand new curly hair, red heeled boots reaching over your knees and a skirt going just shy over the length that would be acceptable in principal’s eyes. Chewing a gum in your mouth, your face painted with fresh makeup you had woken up two hours earlier than usual for. Boys stared, their girlfriends scowling at them for looking at you.

Carol and Tommy looked you up and down too as you approached them, and you could swear you saw attraction in Tommy’s eyes, which Carol seemed to notice too as she slapped the back of Tommy’s head. You smirked, walking past them, right towards Steve.

“Wow,” he breathed out, before frowning, observing your face.

You grinned. “Do you like it?”

He blinked. “I… I didn’t know you’re into this kind of style.”

You shrugged. “My friend gave me a gift card for a stylist on my birthday and I thought to use it yesterday. She made me realise that this will show off my true potential.”

He nodded slowly. “Uh, yeah. At least she made you look different, and good for you if it’s what you want.”

It wasn’t anywhere near the kind of reaction you expected to get from him, the kind where he’d stare at you mouth open, completely in love from the moment you stepped in front of him.

But before you could say anything else, Carol appeared in front of you with some of her girlfriends. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but everyone can see through the act. Cut it off.”

You popped the bubblegum once in front of your face. “If I remember correctly, you weren’t such a diva a few years ago.”

She scowled. “I’ve always been popular,” she seethed. “You, on the other hand, are trying to pretend. Everyone can see it from miles away and nothing has changed, people are just feeling awkward seeing you dressed like a slut.”

You grinned. “Your boyfriend drooled after me, though.”

“He did not—!”

“Ladies!” a voice interrupted and Mr. Clarke emerged through Carol’s gang. He blinked, staring at you for a moment and choking out your name.

“Yes, Mr. Clarke?” you asked with a sweet smile, batting your eyelashes, and he frowned, clearly confused before he cleared his throat.

“There isn’t… a fight starting here, is there?” he asked, looking between you and Carol, and she scowled.

“No, I won’t waste my time on this wannabe popular girl.”

You huffed. “Well, I won’t waste my time on this bitch either.”

Carol’s scowl deepened, but she spun on her heels and walked away anyway, her girlfriends reluctantly following.

—

Weeks went by, and your and Carol’s feud had been building for a while. But nevertheless, and to Carol’s disappointment, you actually gained popularity, people wanted to sit with you, hang out with you, preferred you over Carol who was seen as a bully beside being popular — and it didn’t take long before you were invited to your first house party at Steve’s, the kind where only the cool people were invited to. Drunk teenagers making out all around the house wasn’t your cup of tea, but you still agreed — fame and popularity kind of obligated you to attend.

“Hey, Rags—” Tommy called out, offering you a drink before he chuckled at your glare. “Sorry, Sexy. Is that better?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d prefer if you called me by my actual name.”

He hummed, his eyes travelling along your body and you held in the want to hide yourself from his eyes. “Well, no offence but your actual name associates to the old you.”

“Your girlfriend is waiting for you somewhere,” you tried to hint, hoping he’d just go away, but he pouted.

“Oh, what Carol doesn’t know, can’t hurt her,” he muttered, before leaning closer to you. “Besides, right now you look much sexier she has ever—”

“Back off,” Steve’s voice suddenly growled from beside you, which made Tommy sigh and lean back.

“We had something going on here,” Tommy cocked his head towards the living room. “Do you mind?”

Steve crossed his arms. “I don’t think she consented.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, looking at you. “You did when you decided you want to be one of us, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

You shook your head, putting the drink he had put into your hand down. Tommy’s lazy smile immediately turned into scowl. “I guess Carol was right, you’re only pretending to be one of us,” he grumbled, before disappearing to the crowd.

Steve sighed, taking your hand. “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

He led you to the garage — very romantic — and pulled out a stool that was leaning against the wall for you, before grabbing one for himself. “They’re right in one thing.”

You scoffed. “They’re not right in anything.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. “You’re trying to be something you’re not to get attention and admiration. But now you’ve noticed the downsides and don’t know how to get out without trapping yourself. Rumours already fly, and you’re afraid you’re making them worse if you backpedal.”

You looked down, knowing that no amount of denying it would convince him. He had caught you, saw right through you, everything was ruined. You stared at your hands, the bright pink glitter nail polish you had put on for this party. None of it was you but you knew how to pull the ropes, making people fall to the act — but then you weren’t able to go far enough to make people actually believe you.

“I knew that… if I… you would never see me if…” you stammered, tears starting to fall into your cheeks. “I know it’s stupid but—”

Steve sighed, grabbing your hand gently to stop you from talking. “Do you think I never saw you before?”

You raised your head to look at him, your lips parting. “Huh?”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “You’re the nice, innocent, shy girl. And me, a bad boy who’s supposed to be popular was head over heels for you. I knew you liked me and I wanted to tell you I liked you too, but… dating someone like you could have made you a huge target for bullying.”

“Please don’t try to comfort me by claiming that,” you choked out before you pulled your hand off his grip to wipe your tears, staining your hand with mascara. “Great.”

Steve leaned back, grabbing a bag of tissues from one of the drawers and handed it to you. “Yeah. I understand why you don’t believe me. I’ve kinda been an asshole, not doing enough to stop Carol and Tommy from harassing you.”

You wiped your eyes in silence, listening to the faint sound of music behind the door. Steve sighed again, standing up. “C’mon. Let’s go on a ride, you need to get away from here.”

Your eyes snapped at him again. “But this is your house—”

He laughed. “They won’t do anything some money and fresh paint won’t fix, if even that. They know Dad would sue the crap out of each of them if they burned down the house, they wouldn’t dare.” He waved the car keys in front of you, smirking. “You can’t tell me you aren’t tempted.”

You blinked at the car keys, then at him, before a reluctant smile broke into your face and you stood up. “Okay.”

He opened the passenger side door to you. “It’s a date, by the way.”

You felt yourself blushing and bit your lip, which made him grin wider. Even when you looked like that, like your face was in progress to melt off by the amount of makeup rolling down your cheeks, you still felt more beautiful than you had felt during these few previous weeks, but this time just as you are.

hopper's trapped down there, eleven's out of reach, and now vecna's got holly? it's all too much. your mind races with worst-case scenarios about the vines creeping through the cracks in reality again, pulling more people in, or worse, dustin getting caught in the crossfire with those bullies from the basketball team again.

dustin is only four years younger than you, but you've taken him under your wing like a little brother. protecting him feels like your job, especially with everything falling apart in hawkins.

jonathan sits in front of you in the van, fiddling with the headphones connected to the generator and radar setup. he's quiet mostly, but every now and then, he shoots a glance at steve, who's been trading snarky back and forth with him since you all piled into the van. their arguments are stupid... something about routes or music or whatever... but you don't have the energy to notice that it is deeper rooted.

your focus is on dustin, who's finally back after vanishing for what felt like hours and "who knows what" doesn't even cover it since he could have been anywhere, doing anything reckless, knowing how he has been acting for the last few months since eddie's passing.

up front, dustin shifts uncomfortably, wiping at his split lip with the back of his hand.

"holly? why holly?" he asks, his voice muffled through the swelling. you've just filled him in on the chaos he missed about vecna and the other demos snatching her, the lights flickering like crazy all around, and the whole town is on edge still (that last part never changed).

steve glances at him, eyes narrowing as he navigates the dark road, "well, maybe eleven could contact us, but it's a bit difficult to contact her now that we've lost our connection to the upside down," he counters, his tone sharp. he's been on edge all night, and you can see the worry placed into his features, and the way his hair is messy and oily over his forehead from running his hands through it too many times.

you roll your eyes from your spot behind jonathan, with the back of the van doors letting in a chill that matches the knot in your stomach.

"okay, for the future when the lights go from really bright to very dim… it means the generator is surging and you have to turn everything off. immediately," dustin suggests, trying to sound authoritative despite his battered state.

jonathan turns slightly, giving you a confused look over his shoulder. you hold your hands up in a shrug, mouthing "i don't know," as steve jumps back in, "wow. great. thank you, i'll remember that for next time it happens," steve says sarcastically, his voice dripping with frustration. he continues, "or, maybe, this is a suggestion. you could be where you are supposed to be."

you can't take it anymore, since their frustrated behavior has no room for the mess that the crawl has started, again, "steve, could you be quiet? he clearly got his ass beat and—"

"i did not get my ass beat by anyone, y/n," dustin interrupts, turning his head gingerly to glare at you.

"oh sure you didn't, but i don't need to hear steve whining again for the fifth time tonight so could we please—" you start, but steve cuts you off, "whining? i'm not whining. i'm trying to keep this kid from getting himself killed because he can't stop running off like some lone wolf hero!" steve snaps, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to meet yours.

the van swerves slightly as he gestures with one hand, and you feel a surge of irritation bubble up.

how dare he act like you're not worried about dustin too?

you've been the one patching dustin up after every scrape, listening to his rants, covering for him when he and lucas sneak out for these crawl missions.

"oh, please, steve. like you're any better? mr. 'i'll handle it myself' harrington, charging into every fight without a plan. dustin's just grieving, okay? he's been acting out because he's hurting over… you know," you retort, careful not to say eddie's name.

eddie's loss still hangs heavy, a raw wound for all of you, but especially for dustin. he's been reckless lately, picking fights, disappearing... it's all a mask for the pain.

steve's jaw tightens, and he shoots back, "grieving? that's your excuse? he's gonna get himself killed if he keeps this up! mourning doesn't mean you go poking around dangerous places alone. i've been there, y/n... i know what it's like to lose someone... but you don't see me ditching the group!"

"don't you dare lecture me about loss," you fire back, leaning forward, "dustins's behavior is because he's trying to cope, and yelling at him in here isn't helping. maybe if you weren't so busy playing the big brother with the big ego, you'd see he's just a kid dealing with shit none of us signed up for!"

jonathan, who's been silently enduring the escalating volume of static with the headphones clamped over his ears, finally snaps.

he yanks them off, the radar beeping faintly in the background.

"god, would you two shut up? you're arguing like you're dustin's parents or something. which you might as well be, considering you stare at each other with twinkles in your eyes when the other's not watching. let me listen for signal, please?"

dustin nods from the passenger seat, a smirk cracking through his swollen face despite the pain, "yeah, seriously. it's obvious."

you feel heat rush to your upper body, and you quickly avert your gaze, staring out the open doors at the passing shadows.

"i don't look at steve differently than how i look at everything else. yuck," you mutter, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.

it's a lie, of course.

you've had feelings for steve for longer than you'd admit... those warm brown eyes, the way he protects everyone without hesitation, the rare smiles that light up his face. unfortunately, you keep it buried deep in your mind. dustin's asked you about it a few times, teasing, but you've always brushed it off. now is not the time to start relationships, which is a cope to distract from the fact that deep down, you know steve still holds a torch for nancy and he associates himself with that awful night barb died. nancy's moved on, but steve? he's stuck in that what-if loop.

everyone else sees it won't happen, but telling him feels like shattering something fragile in his mind.

steve chuckles dryly from the front, glancing back briefly.

"exactly, and for the record… i'm not yuck." his eyes meet yours in the dim light, and there's something unreadable there... maybe hurt, maybe amusement. you hold his gaze for a beat too long, your expression blank to hide the flutter in your chest.

shaking it off, you scoot forward, perching behind dustin's seat.

"anyways, dustin. i know it was andy and his goons who beat you. and um--- besides, i know veronica, chance's sister. i could talk to her if—"

"don't you dare—" dustin pleads, whipping around too fast and wincing at the pain.

"yeah, don't do that," steve adds, rolling his eyes as he turns a corner, "since dustin just had to poke the bear one too many times with andy."

dustin groans, slumping back, "i didn't poke anything! they started it, okay? i was just… standing up for myself."

"standing up for yourself by mouthing off to the biggest assholes in hawkins? smart move, henderson," steve retorts, accelerating slightly as the road straightens.

you glance at jonathan, who's put the headphones back on but is clearly still listening. the older byer brother's words echo in your mind... twinkles in your eyes? what the fuck? is it really that obvious?

you've caught yourself watching steve when he's not looking... the way he ruffles dustin's hair, or stands tall against threats, or even just drives with that focused intensity but admitting it? hell no... not when the world's ending again.

the van falls into a tense silence for a moment, broken only by the rumble of tires on asphalt. you lean back against the side, the metal cool against your skin, and watch the darkness outside from the back window.

hopper's down there, fighting god knows what, and here you are, babysitting a beat-up teen while harboring unspoken feelings for the guy driving.

inside the upside-down church, the inside of your throat tastes like rust and wet ash from the crash from hitting... whatever that wall is... into the upside down.

blue lightning forks across the sky outside, illuminating the stained-glass windows that somehow still cling to their frames even though the colors have bled into sickly purples and blacks.

every breath fogs in front of your face even though it shouldn’t be this cold. everything here is wrong, always wrong, and tonight it feels like the wrongness has crawled under your ribs and made a home among your soul.

you stand by the window with your arms wrapped around yourself, fingers digging into the sleeves of your navy blue windbreaker jacket like that’s seen a lot.

the thunder rolls again, high, and you watch the vines outside twitch like they’re listening to your breathing.

ten minutes earlier you’d been holding the walkie with both hands, voice steady even though your heart was hammering so hard you thought it might crack a rib.

“meet us at roane cemetery church, please,” you’d said, the words coming out softer than you meant because eleven’s voice on the other end had sounded so small.

hopper had grunted something affirmative before static swallowed them both, and then the line went dead. you’d stared at the walkie for a long second after, like if el was your little sister in every way that mattered.

she used to crawl through that stupid tunnel under the trailer park just to sit on your couch and eat eggos while you taught her which curse words were acceptable in public and which ones would get her grounded for a month by hopper and joyce. jane would fall asleep with her head on your shoulder during movie nights, trusting you in a way that still makes your throat tight if you think about it too long.

you were her second true friend, besides max, and now she’s on the other side of this hell dimension with hopper and no backup, and you’re stuck here, useless.

inside the building, nancy is pacing like a caged animal... the woman's boots echo against the broken tiles as she scoffs at a suggestion jonathan made.

“working on a solution?” she goes off, “i mean, if hopper has a solution to get through this and get to holly, he should... he should share it with us!”

you don’t say anything but you nod, because holly wheeler is ten years old and vecna has her and every second feels like it could be closer to her death.

steve leans against a bench that’s half-covered in black vines, arms crossed, hair falling into his eyes, “i just say we ignore the old man,” he says, quieter than usual, “we keep moving, look for a door or something.”

you shake your head without meaning to and jonathan scoffs.

“yeah… and um… just curious,” he says, sarcasm orient, “this door of yours, is it soft? like a peanut butter bopper?”

steve’s head snaps up, “you got something to say, byers, why don’t you just say it?”

you take one step closer, already exhausted.

here we go again.

jonathan’s voice goes colder, “i’m just saying maybe you shouldn’t be making the calls from now on.”

you open your mouth to tell them both to knock it off when Nancy steps between them.

“it was not just his call,” she says sharply, “it was mine. because it is my sister we are talking about.” she stresses the word sister, “and… i agree with steve.”

she gestures toward him without looking. in a way, it sounds like she is trying to piss jonathan off on purpose, since he might be hiding something. steve’s eyebrows shoot up in a smug "you see?" expression that lasts half a second before it melts into something surprised and grateful.

your stomach drops straight through the floor.

nancy keeps going, strict and certain, “okay, we can’t just sit here. i don’t know about a door but this wall can’t go on forever. there has to be a way around it.”

the door bangs open so hard it rebounds off the wall. dustin stumbles in, curls plastered to his forehead with sweat and ash, eyes wide.

“there isn’t!” he yells, “this wall… is a circle.”

the argument shifts into frantic theories about the upside down being a closed loop, voices overlapping, hands gesturing.

you stop listening. something inside you just… unplugs.

you drift away from the group like you’re on a tether that finally snapped. your boots carry you back to the window, fingers brushing the sill where the wood has rotted into something soft pulp.

outside, the blue storm flashes again and the vines shiver and thunder growls so deep it vibrates in your teeth and gums.

nancy agreeing with steve shouldn’t feel like a death sentence for you, but it does. it’s the same twist you saw in jonathan’s face when she defended steve... like someone reached into his chest and reminded him he’s feeling like a second choice. he catches your eye across the room and you both share the same pathetic half-second sympathy smile before looking away.

you stare harder out the window so no one sees your face.

you’re a foster kid.... always have been and aged out at eighteen with a duffel bag and a social worker’s handshake. luckily, the henderson's were your caretakers for a while, they still are in a way... which is why you treat dustin like your brother.

nancy has a mom who packs her lunches and a dad who taught her to shoot and a little sister who still believes in santa. steve loved her once... maybe still does... you don't know... and you can’t compete with that kind of history. you can’t even compete with the ghost of it. you’ve got tunnel eggos for eleven and borrowed couches and a heart that learned too early how to fold itself small so it wouldn’t get left behind again. you're like eleven with your upbringing, except you didn't come from a lab, you were fostered due to a father who died in vietnam and a mother who got taken by cancer.

hawkins is literally on fire outside this church and you’re standing here wondering if the reason steve will never look at you the way he used to look at nancy is because you’re broken in ways that can’t be fixed with bat nails and molotovs.

another crack of thunder hits, and the stained glass rattles in its frame before your name is called.

“y/n.”

nancy’s voice, softer now, pulls you back. you didn’t hear her walk up to you as you look to your left.

you turn halfway and she’s standing a few feet away, arms hugged around her middle like she’s cold too. steve is right behind her, brow creased with worry, and dustin lingers by the altar watching steve watch you with that particular dustin look that says he knows way too much.

“are you okay?” steve asks. his voice is low, careful, the same tone he used the night you found him bleeding in the junkyard and he pretended it didn’t hurt.

you swallow and the lie sits ready on your tongue the way it always does.

“yeah,” you say, forcing a shrug, “don’t worry about me.”

it comes out flatter than you meant and steve’s eyes narrow like he hears the crack underneath the words. dustin tilts his head, giving steve a look you can’t quite read, something urgent and knowing.

nancy glances between you two, then steps closer, voice gentle.

“we need you with us, okay? all of us.”

you nod, but it feels like moving through water. steve hasn’t looked away from you yet and the weight of it is unbearable. you wonder if he can see the foster-kid static that’s always vibrating under your skin, the part that waits for the other shoe to drop, for people to realize you’re not worth keeping.

outside, lightning splits the sky again, painting everything in electric blue and the vines move like they’re excited.

you turn back to the window so they won’t see whatever is on your face. your reflection stares back with tired eyes, and ash smudged on one cheek, with a mouth set in a line that’s trying too hard to look brave.

you wonder how long you can keep pretending you’re fine when the whole world is ending and the boy you love is standing three feet away agreeing with his ex about saving the day while you disappear into the wallpaper like always.

the thunder answers for you, again after seven seconds.

you wander through the outskirts of the upside down, and the air is full of spores that dance like fireflies in the blue and (sometimes) red twilight. the wall looms beside you on your left... which is a barrier of... who knows what... stretching endlessly in a circle that traps your group in this nightmare.

dustin had confirmed the circle earlier, thanks to algebra, and now the group has split up to search for any weakness and any gap that might shatter the illusion of inescapability so you guys can save holly wheeler.

steve walks beside you, with his bag slung over one shoulder while holding a flashlight. the black base of the flashlight is dull in comparison to the blue light surrounding you. dustin, nancy, and jonathan went off in the opposite direction.

the silence between the both of you is extreme and broken only by the distant rumble of thunder and the occasional slither of vines shifting like whispers.

he glances at you every few steps, his brow furrowed matching that hair of his, but you keep your eyes fixed ahead, scanning the wall for cracks that aren't even there.

your mind is a storm, replaying nancy's words from the church and her defense of steve, the way she aligned with him so effortlessly and quickly too.

it stings, a fresh wound on top of the old ones.

"hey," steve says finally, his voice is tentative, like he's testing the waters with you, "you see anything? well personally i don't know... it looks pretty solid over here, still."

you don't respond as you just shake your head slightly with your black boots crunching over brittle debris. the upside down presses in, its cold seeping through your jacket, but it's not the monsters or the void that makes you anxious... it's the ache in your chest, the one that's been building since you first realized your feelings for steve weren't just friendship or a shared interest and hobby in protecting dustin.

as the both of you reach his car again, steve stops before turning to face you fully, "y/n, you've been quiet since the church. what's going on?... are you okay?"

you shake your head again, more firmly this time with lips pressed into a thin line. the words stick in your throat, tangled with fear and resentment as you look everywhere but athis eyes.

steve does not like that silent answer. he steps closer, concern etching deeper lines on his face, "is it this place? i get it... it's only your second time down here. the first was… rough. with eddie and all."

the mention of eddie twists something inside you, a reminder of loss, but you mumble words to steve that are barely audible over the wind howling through the dead trees, "it's not that."

steve pauses, searching your eyes. then, gently, he reaches out, his fingers brushing toward a stray strand of hair that's fallen across your forehead, caught in the damp air.

you flinch back instinctively, your hand shooting up to swat his away. "don't do that," you snap, sharper and louderthan you intend, the words echo off the wall to the left like an announcement.

steve pulls back, hands raised in surrender, eyes wide, "whoa, sorry. i didn't mean... wait what's your problem?" he asks, fear spreading in his features before it turned into a sort of frustration creeping into his tone, though there's hurt underneath it.

"my problem?" you echo, your voice rising despite the danger of drawing attention. you barely yell... ever... but the dam breaks now, emotions flooding out in a torrent, "stop flirting with me, steve. stop speaking so softly, like i'm something special, when you know damn well you still love nancy."

mr. harrington reels back like you've slapped him, mouth opening and closing in shock.

the blue lightning flashes overhead, casting harsh shadows across his features, "what? I don't... y/n, that's not—"

"you're full of shit," you cut him off, scoffing as you turn away, resuming your futile scan of the wall. your heart pounds, a mix of anger and vulnerability making your hands tremble.

steve runs to you and grabs your arm gently but firmly, pulling you back to face him, "hey, no. you don't get to drop that and walk away. where's this coming from? you've been acting weird, and now this?"

you wrench free, but the fight's draining out, replaced by honesty, "because i caught feelings for you, okay? i wish i never did. it's unrequited, and it hurts, steve. watching you trying with nancy, knowing i'll never measure up."

steve stops you there, his hands moving to your shoulders, holding you in place with a grip that's steady but not forceful. his eyes lock onto yours, intense and pleading, "it's not unrequited."

the words ring in your ears, stunning you into silence.

you shake your head, confusion mixing with hope.

"how? how is it not?"

steve exhales shakily, his thumbs brushing your collarbones in a way that sends unwelcome shivers down your spine, "it's complicated. i like you, y/n... more than nancy, more than i thought possible... but yeah, it's messy. we're in a life-or-death shitshow every day, and seeing her constantly… it doesn't help me move on from the idea that maybe, in some alternate world, things could've worked with her... but that's all it is now... an idea."

you scoff, pulling back slightly but not breaking his hold, "what about the six kids? the dream you had with her? the perfect life in that winnebago?"

steve doesn't let go of you since he instead steps closer and his arms wrap around you in an almost-hug, pinning you gently against him to keep you from bolting.

the wall is behind you, like a background, as hischest rises and falls against yours, warm in the chill.

"dreams come and go," he says softly, his voice breaking the tension like a confession, "and sometimes, not all dreams come true. look, i've been holding onto that vision because it was safe, you know? after everything with barb, the demogorgons, vecna... it was this stupid anchor to try and get life back to normal.... but it's fading. every day, it's you i think about. the way you handle dustin like he's your own brother, and how you taught el about the real world without judging her. you're tough, y/n, but kind in ways that sneak up on a guy. i've been falling for you slowly, watching you fight through all this crap without losing yourself."

steve's words pour out in a speech laced with vulnerability you've rarely seen from him, "i'm moving on from nancy, i swear. it's not instant... god, i wish it was... but it's happening. seeing her defend me back there? it stirred up old shit, yeah, but it also made me realize how over it really is. you're the one who gets me now, who sees through the king steve bullshit.... but yes I get it... it's not fair to you, dragging you into my mess. that's why i wasn't gonna say anything until i was sure my feelings for her were gone completely.... until i could give you all of me, without the ghosts of my past wishing that the upside down never existed."

the guy pauses, with his forehead resting lightly against yours, breath mingling in the space between, "i'm sorry. for making you feel like second best. you deserve better than waiting around."

you nod, the anger ebbing into a defeated ache that settles deep in your bones. tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back, feeling exposed under the upside down's merciless blue and grey gaze.

"yeah," you whisper, "i shouldn't have to wait."

steve agrees, his voice thick with regret, "you shouldn't.... and i hate that i'm asking you to, even indirectly. but once this is over... once we get holly back, seal this hellhole for good... i'll treat you right. the way you deserve. no more complications, no more holding back."

the promise hangs there, realistic in its imperfection. it's not a fairytale ending since the world's still crumbling in kawkins and hearts don't heal overnight. it seems fair to you since it is an acknowledgment of your worth, and a vow from him to do better without forcing you to settle.

you lean into him slightly, somewhat hurt yet hopeful.

then, as if the upside down universe concedes a moment of grace, steve tilts his head, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that's soft and urgent all at once.

it's a spark in the darkness, warm as the thunder rumbles behind you, turning the place red momentarily.

your hands find his jacket, pulling him closer.

unfortunately, it shatters too soon.

"y/n! steve! we found something!" dustin's voice yells from afar.

steve pulls away, his eyes lingering on yours with a mix of apology and promise.

you lightly smile, before turning toward the sound of dustin, hoping that whatever the hell he found... was something worth breaking you and steve's moment.

And that was the hardest part - not the exhaustion (though that was pretty bad), not the endless rounds of paperwork or the incessant dealing of kids in the ER who had stuck a variety of objects up their noses - but the way the job carved hours out of your life that you couldn't get back. You had sworn last year, when Vecna had opened the gates and Chrissy, Eddie, and all the other kids had died, that you were going to spend as much time as possible with your loved ones. Just in case anything happened.

But listening to Robin's sarcastic commentary over milkshakes at the diner, Steve's easy grin when you swung by the radio station after work - all of it had become rare, stolen moments instead of everyday comforts. You told yourself it was worth it, that helping people and being prepared if Vecna came back was worth it - that it mattered more than anything else. But sometimes, walking out of Hawkins General in the dead of night with your uniform wrinkled and eyes burning, you wondered how much longer you could keep choosing the hospital over everyone else in your life.

Inside Hawkins General, there were two faces you saw more than anyone else these days.

Max, still lying motionless in her hospital bed, machines humming in a steady rhythm around her. And Lucas, who, as faithful as ever, never seemed to leave her side. He was there in the mornings when you started your shift, and still there at night when you dragged yourself around the ward for one last check.

Sometimes you caught yourself thinking that you saw Lucas more than you saw Robin or Steve - more than anyone else from the little gang of hoodlums you had adopted, really. His quiet presence had become part of the rhythm of the ward, a constant reminder of how much had changed, and how much was still hanging in the balance.

...

You were taking a rare break. The hospital had settled into a quiet calm in the last hour, and you were sure that nothing too catastrophic would happen if you took ten minutes off your feet. You were almost surprised as how dark the sky was out of the window as you walked into the break room, and then surprised even more when you saw it was 8pm. You had been here for twelve hours, yet it felt like seconds.

The smell of stale coffee and tea wafted familiarly into your nose as you turned up the cranky old radio in the corner of the room and flopped into a hard plastic chair. You rubbed your eyes tiredly, trying to suppress a loud yawn - and failing. You were missing Steve more than ever today. The two of you had been missing one another for days - making you think more than ever that you should just fuck it and move in together.

The faint crackle of WSQK's radio station - the one that every radio in Hawkins was tuned into, now, soothed you. You could imagine Steve and Robin arguing miles away on the other side over which record to play next. Robin, as usual, would probably win.

The slow song - something Bruce Springsteen - ground to a natural halt, and you waited half-heartedly for the next song to appear, when a crackle sounded over the air waves, and a smooth voice you knew all too well spoke out of the radio.

"Uh, hey - is this thing working?' Steve's voice spoke, a few decibels too loud, followed by another crackling. "Oh - it's working now."

Steve cleared his throat, and you pressed your fingers over your mouth to suppress a giggle. This was why Robin never, never, let Steve on the airways.

"This one's for a very specific nurse," Steve said, quieter now, and it felt as though he was across the table speaking to you. "She's probably listening right now because I know she keeps the radio on as much as possible - she says it feels like I'm in the room with her, which - honestly, adorable."

One of the older nurses sat next to you elbowed you with a teasing smirk.

Steve continued, "She's been working double shifts again, and someone should tell her she's doing too much. Preferably someone handsome. Luckily, I'm more than happy to fill that role. So, hey, you - stop skipping lunch. Drink actual water... And come home in one piece, okay?"

A laugh escaped him, a type of carefree one that only existed nowadays when he was talking to you. You buried your face in your hands, a smile plastered across your face.

"Also - I love you. That's all - hey! -"

There was a pause, then another voice broke in, dry and amused.

"Harrington, you're not supposed to hijack the mic. This is Robin, by the way, your delightful and actual radio host. Harrington thinks he's running his own talk show now, but don't worry - I'll keep him in check. Here's your next song!"

You laughed softly to yourself, shaking your head at their antics. The break room was still the same - too bright fluorescent lights, the strong smell of bleach, exhaustion pressing down - but for a moment, as you thought of Steve, it felt lighter.

.........................

They never locked the WSQK headquarters, which, if they asked you, you would say was a massive lapse in security-related-judgement. However, it did mean it was remarkably easy to sneak in after-hours without terrifying Robin by banging on the metal front door.

Robin and Steve were mid-broadcast when you pushed the door of the studio open quietly with a little wave. They were both wearing the battered, oversized headphones that made them look like adorable, small-headed dinguses. Steve glanced over, did a double take, and immediately lit up.

Robin hit the mic button.

"Okay, Hawkins, you're getting five minutes of blissful, uninterrupted music because our sound effects guy here needs to ... check something in the booth," Robin winked at you and you blew and air kiss in response.

Steve pulled off his headphones and darted off his spin chair so fast that he sent it careening into the far wall, like a child who had just learnt that wheels exist.

"You came," he whispered with a grin, taking you by the hand and pulling you out the booth to the little office beyond.

"You called me out on live radio," you countered with a sly smile.

"Yeah, well, whenever I ask you to take care of yourself in private, you pretend you don't hear me."

He wasn't exactly wrong.

You stepped into the narrow office behind and him and tugged the door close behind you. Robin had said last week that if she saw one more round of 'unfortunate PDA' from the both of you she would 'projectile vomit'.

"You look tired," he murmured, brushing his thumb over the dark circles.

"And you look smug," you replied with a grin.

"Sue me for missing you," he held up his hands.

You snorted. "You literally saw me last night."

"Tragic. I suffered terribly."

He pressed a kiss to your neck where your scrubs met skin, another to your forehead, then finally leant back against the desk so he could look you in the face.

"Did you eat?" He asked suspiciously.

"Yes," you lied - poorly.

Steve narrowed his eyes. "You suck at that. I'm going to start sending Sinclair in with a packed lunch for you."

You laughed, then let out a tired yawn. "Your shoutout helped today. More than you think."

"I meant every word," he said quietly. "You're doing so much, and I can't do a damn thing to help except say stupid things on the radio and hope you're listening."

You cupped his jaw, tracing your fingers over the stubble that he kept insisting was "intentional".

"It wasn't stupid," you replied. "Got me here, didn't it?"

He grinned then, bright and boyish, the way he had when you two had first met in high school, and you felt the age-old swoop of your stomach as you looked at him.

"Come here," he said, pulling you towards him needily.

The kiss was slow, tired, grateful - the type of kiss you shared more often than not recently, the way two people kiss when they're surviving something together, even if it wasn't monsters and the Upside Down anymore.

Outside the office, the soft melody of music continued to play. Inside, it was just the two of you, for the first time in days. After a moment, Steve pulled back, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"Stay till my shift ends?" he asked.

"Only if you let me nap on the couch."

"Wow," he deadpanned. "Our romance is alive and well, I see."

You kissed him again, quick and certain.

"Thanks for the shoutout, babe," you murmured again.

He wrapped his around you, chin settling on your shoulder as your breathing synced up.

"Always," his voice rumbled into your neck. "If you're listening, I'm talking to you. That's the deal."

........................

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! <3

Find my Masterlist for Stranger Things here! xoxo

He gave you that lopsided grin, the one that always sat just shy of confident when it was directed at you. “Hey. Dropping these off before Henderson scratches them. I swear he puts the tapes in the VCR with the same enthusiasm he has for summoning demodogs.” He lifted a paper bag full of rentals and offered it out.

You stepped aside to let him in, taking the bag but not before his fingers brushed yours. The contact sent a flick of warmth up your arm, not the dramatic kind that makes people gasp in books, but the kind that catches quietly under your ribs. You weren’t sure if he noticed, but his hand pulled away a little quicker than necessary.

Dustin shouted something from the back room, loud enough to rattle the vents. Steve huffed a laugh and nudged the door closed behind him as he walked into the living room. He kicked his shoes off like he’d done it a thousand times, because he had. This place had become familiar to him. You’d become familiar to him. And somehow that knowledge warmed you more than the afternoon sun slanting across the carpet.

He flopped onto the couch, elbows over the back, letting his head fall back dramatically. “I swear, every time I pick something up from Family Video, Kline shows up to yell about our shelving. Every time. Like I chose the shelving. Like I personally installed the shelving.” He peeked at you through the fall of his hair, the grin returning. “Anyway. I figured you might need something new to watch, unless Dustin has you trapped in one of his weird sci-fi marathons.”

You settled on the other end of the couch, cross-legged, the tapes set between you. “It’s not that weird,” you said softly, though the smile gave you away. “And you survived the marathons, too.”

“Barely.” He let out a dramatic sigh, then let the act falter as he turned to face you fully. His knee brushed yours in a way that felt almost accidental but never quite was when it came from him. He always hovered near you—not close enough to overwhelm, but close enough that you felt seen. You’d gotten used to it. Maybe too used to it.

There was something different in his face today, something you couldn’t place. Not nerves exactly, but something halfway between steady and uncertain. His gaze lingered on you longer than normal before shifting to the tapes in your lap. “You find anything good?”

Your fingers drifted over the covers without thinking. “Trying to. He mixed everything up again. I’m pretty sure one of these cases has two different movies shoved in it.”

“Classic Henderson,” Steve murmured, but he didn’t seem focused on the tapes anymore. His eyes had softened in a way that made your pulse stumble. He looked like he was about to say something—something real, something heavy enough that he hesitated. “Hey, I was actually gonna—”

Dustin barreled into the hallway, a crash of sound and limbs. “Steve! You’re here! Good, because I figured out what was wrong with the antenna, and you have to see it, it’s so sick—”

Steve deflated in an instant, head dropping back against the couch. The moment snapped like it had never been there at all. Dustin launched himself into the room, completely oblivious, waving a broken piece of metal dangerously close to Steve’s face.

Steve sat up with a tight smile, rubbing his hands over his jeans like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. You felt the shift, that soft invisible thread between you pulled taut before disappearing entirely. He shot you a glance—quick, almost apologetic—before catching whatever Dustin was waving at him. “Okay, okay, dude, relax before you impale me. What’d you do now?”

Dustin launched into an enthusiastic explanation, words tumbling over each other. Steve tried to look interested. Mostly, he looked like a man who’d been shoved out of a doorway he’d just worked up the courage to walk through.

You sat quietly beside him, listening to your brother ramble, but your attention kept drifting back to Steve. It was in the set of his shoulders, the unfinished words still lingering behind his eyes. He’d been trying to tell you something. And whatever it was, he wasn’t done trying.

You weren’t sure what would happen when he finally managed to get you alone long enough to say it. But for the first time in a long time, the thought didn’t scare you. It sent that same gentle warmth rising in your chest—the kind you didn’t quite know how to name yet, but couldn’t ignore anymore.

---

The ride home from the Wheelers’ had always been a cramped, loud, chaotic experience, mostly because Dustin treated the back seat like a moving laboratory. Tonight was no different—he’d tossed a backpack stuffed with papers, wires, and half-built gadgets across the seat before climbing in, muttering about how he needed to reorganize everything “for efficiency.” Steve had glanced at you in the driveway with a weary, amused smile that told you he already regretted offering the ride, but he’d unlocked the car anyway. He always did.

You slid into the passenger seat and buckled in while Dustin slammed the back door shut with enough force to make Steve wince. Once everyone was settled, Steve started the car, the headlights cutting through the warm, late-evening haze that hovered over the quiet street. The windows were cracked just enough to let in the summer air, and you rested your hands in your lap, feeling that comfortable, familiar tension settle between you and Steve—the kind that was never unpleasant, only warm and awkward in a way you’d grown used to.

He glanced over as he pulled away from the curb. “So. Did you guys have fun or did you suffer through another round of Wheeler Monopoly hell?”

The question was casual, but the look he slid you was not. It lingered, soft at the corners, a little nervous in the middle. You felt the weight of it press lightly beneath your ribs. “It wasn’t that bad,” you said quietly. “Dustin tried to cheat four times.”

“Hey!” Dustin snapped from the back seat. “Three times. The fourth doesn’t count because the rulebook didn’t specify—”

“It absolutely specified, dude,” Steve said, shaking his head. “It’s a published game. There are rules. You can’t just invent your own stock market mid-round.”

“I was innovating,” Dustin insisted, already rummaging for something in his bag.

Steve exhaled through a laugh and shot another glance your way. He always did that—threw his jokes toward the air, but aimed his eyes at you, as if checking whether you were smiling. And you were, even if you looked down to hide it.

The road curved toward your neighborhood, streetlamps drifting past in golden streaks. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Steve tap his fingers nervously on the wheel, like he was working himself up to something. His shoulders were tight, his jaw flexing softly the way it did when he was trying to gather courage without drawing attention.

After a moment of silence, he tried again. “Listen, I—” He cleared his throat. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Actually, not tell you, more like… ask you? Or maybe—”

Dustin leaned forward between the seats so suddenly that both you and Steve flinched. “Okay, so imagine this,” he said, breathless with excitement, waving a notebook near Steve’s face. “If I rewire the antenna and get the gain up by just, like, one decibel—”

“Dude, hold on,” Steve said, swatting the notebook away gently. He tried to keep his voice even, but you could hear the frustration simmering underneath. “I’m talking.”

“You weren’t saying anything important yet.”

“I was literally in the middle of talking!”

“To me,” Dustin corrected smugly. “You weren’t saying anything interesting to me.”

Steve inhaled slowly through his nose, gripping the wheel like it might keep him grounded. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing, because you could see the exact moment he abandoned his almost-confession and resigned himself to Dustin’s rambling.

“Just… go back to whatever you were doing back there,” Steve muttered.

“You mean saving science? Already on it.” Dustin retreated to the back seat and immediately started scribbling again.

Steve let out a long, slow breath, the kind he usually saved for demobat stories or Customer Service Nightmares at Family Video. He didn’t look at you yet. You didn’t look at him either. The interrupted moment hung between you, fragile and obvious.

When he finally risked a side glance, the faintest smile tugged at his mouth—a mix of embarrassment and something softer. “Anyway,” he said quietly, “I was just gonna ask if you, uh… had a good time tonight.”

He’d changed his wording at the last second. You heard it. You wondered if he knew you heard it. “I did,” you murmured, letting your gaze settle on him. “It was nice.”

That small smile of his grew a little, warming the dim car. He was about to say something else—you saw the breath he pulled in, the shift of his shoulders—but Dustin cut him off again. “Steve, turn left! You missed the shortcut!”

“It’s literally two minutes longer,” Steve snapped. “Two minutes! We’re talking blocks, man, not a cross-country trip.” You stifled another laugh. Steve shot you an exhausted, pleading look before turning onto the familiar street. When he parked outside your house, he put the car in park but didn’t immediately shut off the engine. His fingers tapped the wheel again, a restless rhythm. “Hey,” he tried once more, turning slightly in his seat. “I wanted to—”

“Steve, can you help me carry my stuff!?” Dustin bellowed as he launched himself out of the back seat, already grabbing for the door to your house. “I need both hands and probably yours too!”

Steve sagged back against his seat like someone had deflated him. He dragged a hand down his face, muttering something that sounded like a plea for mercy.

You reached for the door handle, hesitating for just a heartbeat. “You can tell me whatever it was later,” you said, voice soft enough that only he would hear.

His eyes found yours again. Whatever he’d been trying to say was still there, simmering just under the surface. A slow smile curved onto his lips, small but genuine. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Later.”

You stepped out of the car, the warm summer air brushing your face. Dustin yelled your name from the porch. Steve groaned, climbed out of the driver’s side, and shot you one last look before going to help your brother.

It wasn’t the confession he’d wanted to give you. But it was coming—you could feel it. And judging by the way he watched you walk toward the house, he wasn’t giving up yet.

---

Family Video was quiet in that late-afternoon way that made the fluorescent lights buzz louder than any customer ever could. The aisles were empty, the return bin was half-full, and Steve was leaning over the counter like a man whose soul had been wrestled out of his body. He kept folding and unfolding the same tape return slip, eyes unfocused, jaw set in that defeated angle that Robin recognized instantly. She flicked a pen cap at his shoulder. “Okay, what’s with the tragic slouch? Did someone rent all the good horror movies again, or are you just being dramatic for attention?”

Steve didn’t look up. He just made a noise that could’ve meant many things: frustration, embarrassment, existential collapse. Robin sighed, circled around the counter, and planted herself across from him with the posture of someone preparing for an interrogation. “Talk,” she demanded, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

He swatted her hand away. “Stop. I’m not a dog.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered. “Now spill it. Your energy today is… weird. And not the usual ‘I’m pretty but tired’ weird. This is ‘something happened and I’m repressing it like a coward’ weird.”

Steve groaned, then let his forehead drop onto the counter with an audible thunk. “I tried to talk to her again.”

Robin perked up instantly. “Oh! Finally! Great! So what’d you say? Did you ask her out? Did you actually form a full sentence? Did you—”

“I didn’t get that far,” he mumbled into the countertop. “Dustin wouldn’t shut up.”

Robin blinked once. “Like… interrupting you?”

“Like climbing over the front seat of my car with a notebook to show me a sketch of an antenna while I was trying to confess my feelings.” Steve lifted his head, eyes hollow with dramatic suffering. “It was like being attacked by a hyperactive raccoon.”

Robin snorted so hard she almost choked. “God, that’s beautiful. Horrible. Hilarious. But mostly horrible.”

“Thank you for your support,” he said dryly.

“Oh, I’m supporting you,” she assured, tapping the counter rhythmically. “Just not your terrible strategy. You need to stop trying to talk to her when Dustin is within a three-mile radius. He’s like a tiny tornado with opinions.”

Steve pushed his hair back with both hands. “I know, I know. I just thought maybe he’d… I don’t know, fall asleep? Or get distracted? Or explode?”

“He’s Dustin,” Robin reminded him, eyebrows raised. “He gets more energized as the day goes on. By midnight he’s seconds away from achieving orbital lift.”

Steve sighed again and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed tight. “I just… I’m not good at this stuff, okay? She’s not like those other girls I used to date. I don’t want to rush it or freak her out.”

“That’s sweet,” Robin said. “But also incredibly stupid.”

He glared at her. “How is that stupid?”

“Because you’re overthinking it, dingus,” she said, flicking his forehead as punishment. “She already likes you.”

Steve froze, blinking. “She—she does?”

“Oh my god.” Robin pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “You’re helpless. You’re actually helpless.”

“That’s not an answer!” he hissed.

Robin dropped her hands and stared him down, speaking slowly for maximum effect. “She. Likes. You.”

Steve stared back, a flush creeping up the side of his neck. “You don’t know that.”

“I absolutely do.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You get all flustered and stupid around her, and she gets all quiet and wide-eyed around you. It’s like watching two baby deer try to merge onto a highway.”

Steve let out a despairing noise. “I can’t believe you compared me to a deer.”

“Oh, you’re both deer,” she insisted. “Deer in love. Pathetic. Adorable. Infuriatingly slow.”

He ran a hand over his face again, groaning. “I just… I want it to be the right moment. And every time it almost is—”

“Dustin blows it,” Robin finished. “Because that kid has zero awareness of anything except science and snacks.”

Steve laughed, but it was tired around the edges. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Robin planted her hands on her hips like she was about to deliver a lecture. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to ask her out. Soon. Not ‘eventually’ or ‘when the universe aligns.’ Soon. Before Dustin adopts you into his personal schedule for the week.”

“I’m working on it,” he insisted.

“No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re waiting for signs and moments and dramatic lighting. What you need to do is open your mouth and say, ‘Hey, I like you. Want to go out?’”

Steve looked deeply scandalized. “That’s—no, that’s too blunt. I can’t just say it like that.”

“Well, you definitely can’t say it while Henderson is crawling on the car seat like a feral goblin.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

Robin leaned her elbows against the counter, eyeing him closely. “Be honest. Are you scared because she’s quiet?”

He hesitated before nodding once. “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. She’s been through… a lot. We all have, but she… you know.”

Robin softened. “Yeah. I get it. But trust me, she’s not scared of you. She’s scared of… saying the wrong thing. Or being too much. Or not enough. You two speak in the same dialect.”

Steve’s breath stalled at that, chest tightening with something warm and nervous. “So… what do I do?”

“What I’ve been telling you from the start.” Robin shrugged, smirking. “Ask her out, dingus.”

The bell above the door chimed as a customer wandered in, and Robin gave Steve one last pointed look before heading into the aisle to help. Steve stayed behind the counter, resting both palms flat on its surface, grounding himself. He took a deep breath and whispered to no one, “Okay. Ask her out. I can do that. I can do that.”

But even as he said it, he already knew one thing for sure: if Dustin showed up again, this plan didn’t stand a chance. And somehow, that made him smile anyway.

---

The Henderson garage always smelled faintly like dust, motor oil, and whatever science experiment Dustin had last abandoned on the workbench. That afternoon, the air was warm enough that the open door let in a slow spill of sunlight, brightening the cluttered space in strips. You stood beside one of the folding tables, sorting through the mess of screws and wires Dustin had dumped out “for easier access,” which, in reality, only made everything harder to find.

Steve hovered nearby with a half-hearted attempt at organization. He picked up tools, put them down, nudged wires into a neater line, and occasionally wiped his palms on his jeans like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. You noticed the way he kept drifting closer, every few seconds glancing at the house as if waiting for an opening that hadn’t come yet.

Dustin had barreled inside moments earlier shouting something about a “crucial component” and promising to return quickly. Experience had taught you that “quickly” usually meant at least fifteen minutes. The sudden silence left the garage feeling strangely private, a pocket of quiet neither of you were used to sharing without your brother’s voice filling it.

Steve leaned a hip against the table, crossing his arms loosely. “You’d think for someone so obsessed with organization, he’d, I don’t know… actually organize things.”

A soft laugh slipped out of you before you could hide it. “He says he has a system.”

“Yeah, well, his system is ‘pile everything in the same place and pray.’”

You didn’t mean to meet his eyes, but when you did, the warmth there caught you off guard. He smiled—not the big, charming grin he saved for customers or jokes, but the smaller one he used when it was just you. Something quieter, something that made your stomach tug downward and your breath lift higher at the same time.

For a moment you thought he might look away. Instead he took a step closer, letting his fingers trail lightly over the table until they stopped near yours. He didn’t touch you, but the space between you shrank until it was impossible not to feel the gravity of him. “Hey,” he said softly, more serious now, “can I ask you something?”

Your pulse jumped. He didn’t try to hide the nerves this time—his voice was careful, his eyes steady but uncertain, like he was testing thin ice. You tucked a loose screw back into the tray just to have something to do, but you nodded. “Yeah. What is it?”

Steve drew in a slow breath, shoulders rising, then dropping. He shifted so he was standing directly across from you now, close enough that you felt his warmth even through the small distance. “I’ve been… trying to find the right moment to say this. Probably overthinking it. Definitely overthinking it,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But every time I try, something happens, and then I lose the nerve, and—”

He stopped, hands falling to his sides. His gaze flicked to your lips before returning to your eyes, almost apologetically, like the glance had slipped out by accident. “I really like—”

He didn’t get the rest out because Dustin slammed the back door open so hard it ricocheted off the wall with a loud crack. “Found it!” he shouted triumphantly.

Steve jolted back like someone had yanked him by the collar. You startled, the sound hitting you like a small explosion in the otherwise quiet garage.

Dustin sprinted inside with a fistful of random parts, not noticing the way Steve took two hasty steps backward or the way your breath had caught halfway up your throat. He launched straight into an explanation, words tumbling over each other at impossible speed.

“Okay, okay, okay, so remember last week when the signal strength dropped? I swear it wasn’t my fault, but I triple-checked, and it turns out the grounding was off by like a millimeter, but I fixed it, and then I realized if we attach this—this right here—” He shoved the piece of metal inches from Steve’s face. Steve blinked rapidly, stunned, trapped in the whirlwind of Dustin’s enthusiasm. “—then the whole thing works even better! Isn’t that awesome?”

“Yeah,” Steve croaked, the word paper-thin. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, buddy. That’s—uh. Great.”

Dustin looked between the two of you, oblivious to the tension he’d vaporized. “Come on, we have to test it. Steve, you hold the end with the clamp. And don’t drop it this time.”

You watched as Dustin pulled Steve by the wrist toward the other table. Steve threw you a look over his shoulder—a silent, desperate I was so close—before letting himself be dragged into whatever experiment Dustin was constructing.

You swallowed, grounding yourself against the table as the adrenaline slowly ebbed. You replayed the moment in your mind, the warmth in his voice, the way he’d leaned in like he was finally ready to say the thing he’d been dancing around for weeks.

You didn’t need the rest to know what he’d meant. And even though the confession had shattered midair, it left a soft, glowing heat in your chest that didn’t disappear.

Steve shot you another look while Dustin explained the next step, his expression full of apology and frustration and wanting. He wasn’t done trying. And now, for the first time, you knew that for certain. Even if Dustin was determined to make it the longest confession in history.

---

The Wheelers’ basement was the kind of cramped, mismatched space that should’ve felt chaotic, yet somehow always managed to settle into its own kind of rhythm. Blankets draped over the back of the couch, half-finished board games littered the coffee table, and a small mountain of snacks threatened to avalanche off the folding card table by the wall. The worn carpet muffled footsteps, and the single lamp cast the whole room in a warm amber glow that made everyone look a little softer, a little more like themselves.

Mike sat cross-legged near the TV, fiddling with the dials like he was performing surgery. Will had his sketchpad propped on his knee, quietly drawing as he waited. Lucas and Max were arguing over whose movie pick was superior—which mostly meant Max was calling Lucas boring and Lucas insisting she had no taste. Eleven sat beside Max, combing her fingers through a bowl of M&M’s in strict color order. Nancy leaned against the far wall, arms crossed as she offered periodic commentary, half amused and half exhausted by the group’s indecision.

Robin stood behind the couch drumming her fingers along the backrest, eyes drifting toward you with the kind of knowing smirk that made you want to hide under a blanket. She’d been watching Steve all night like she was tracking wildlife behavior for a nature documentary.

And Steve—Steve had claimed the floor beside you the moment everyone settled. He hadn’t even pretended to consider another spot. He’d just dropped down next to you, close enough that your knees brushed whenever either of you shifted. Every now and then you felt the light press of his shoulder barely grazing yours, the warmth of him almost magnetic. He looked relaxed, but you’d known him long enough to recognize the tension coiled beneath the easy slouch. He wasn’t just sitting near you; he was waiting.

The chaos around you built into its usual storm of voices, and you let yourself sink into the noise until it felt like background static. You were comfortable like this—surrounded by people you trusted, tucked into a corner where nothing demanded too much of you. Steve must’ve sensed the way your shoulders unknotted, because he leaned in slightly, voice pitched softer than the rest. “Hey,” he murmured, letting the word drift just for you. “You holding up with all these maniacs fighting about cinema like it’s life or death?”

You smiled, looking down at your hands for a moment. “I’ve witnessed worse. Dustin tried to convince me Star Wars counts as a Thanksgiving movie.”

Steve snorted, head tipping just a little closer. “He tried that on me too. Henderson logic is a dangerous thing.”

The way he said it—soft and amused, with that small, private grin—made your cheeks warm. You felt it before you could control it, and you ducked your head slightly, pretending to focus on Max and Lucas arguing in the middle of the room. Max pointed her movie case at Lucas like a weapon. “This is a classic. You have no taste.”

Lucas folded his arms. “You say that about everything you like.”

“That’s because I’m right.”

Robin leaned closer to Nancy and muttered, “I’m taking bets on when this turns into a wrestling match.”

Steve laughed under his breath, then looked back at you. The basement noise faded as his attention settled directly on you, the air shifting in that fluttery way it always did when he got close. His knee nudged yours—gentle, deliberate. You looked up, and the moment your eyes met, something tender flickered across his face.

He angled toward you fully now, ignoring the group entirely. “Hey,” he said again, quieter this time, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to—”

“Oh my god.” Dustin’s voice ricocheted down the stairs like a missile.

Steve closed his eyes, shoulders slumping in a despair that bordered on spiritual defeat. You startled just slightly as Dustin burst into the basement carrying two bags of popcorn and a bowl of something that was probably too sticky to be allowed near the carpet.

“I got snacks!” Dustin declared triumphantly. “Mike, move over! Will, stop drawing sad trees! Everyone, I have news!”

Robin groaned. “Here we go.”

Nancy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do we want to know?”

Dustin ignored everyone and marched directly toward you and Steve. “Okay, so, you’re all gonna think this is genius, because it is,” he announced, setting the popcorn in the middle of the floor like it was an offering to the gods. “I mixed extra sugar into the caramel corn so we can stay awake through Lucas’ boring movie pick.”

Lucas sputtered. “It’s not boring!”

Max kicked him lightly. “It’s very boring.”

Steve tried to inhale, tried to restart the thing he’d been about to say, but Dustin plopped down between the two of you before he could get a syllable out, wedging himself with a full-body flop. Steve’s head snapped toward the ceiling like he was pleading for divine help.

“Dude,” Steve said weakly, “I—I was literally talking—”

“Great, you can finish later,” Dustin chirped while shoving popcorn into Steve’s hands. “Right now we need someone to test if the caramel-to-corn ratio is perfect.”

Robin snickered from behind the couch. “That’s the face of a man in agony.” Steve shot her a death glare. Robin only winked.

You sat very still, aware of how drastically the moment had shifted. Steve’s knee no longer brushed yours. His shoulder was no longer angled toward you. His expression, however, still carried that raw, half-exposed something he’d tried so hard to reveal before the interruption.

He looked at you again, a brief, fragile glance over Dustin’s head—apology, longing, frustration, all tangled together. You smiled gently, a small reassurance even if the moment was lost. His chest eased, just a bit.

Dustin, oblivious, leaned back between you both. “Okay! So. Who’s ready for a triple-feature?!”

Mike groaned loud enough to shake dust from the ceiling. Eleven offered a polite but confused nod. Will kept drawing. Nancy debated walking out. Lucas and Max started another argument. Robin leaned over the couch, whispering something at Steve that made him mutter a threat with no real bite.

And you sat there, tucked between your friends and your brother, with Steve only inches away behind an accidental Dustin-shaped barricade.

Another moment ruined.

Another truth postponed.

But Steve caught your eye again, a small promise resting quietly behind the frustration. He wasn’t giving up. Not yet. Not at all.

And you found yourself hoping—maybe for the first time—that Dustin might eventually take a snack break long enough for everything to finally fall into place.

---

A Saturday afternoon at your place was usually a safe bet for quiet, especially when Dustin wasn’t home. He’d taken off earlier with Lucas and Mike, something about a “high-stakes campaign planning session,” which meant you finally had a few hours where the house wasn’t vibrating with teenage enthusiasm. Steve had stopped by under the guise of “checking on that toolbox he left in the garage,” even though you both knew he’d left it on purpose the last time he was here.

You were sitting beside him on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, a gentle buzz of nerves threading through your chest. He was closer than usual—not subtle about it, either. His knee brushed yours whenever he shifted, and he kept glancing over with this determined little crease between his brows. You could tell he’d spent all morning psyching himself up to try again.

He cleared his throat and leaned toward you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he needed to keep them steady. “So I’ve been thinking,” he started, voice softer than the TV hum filling the room. “There’s something I’ve, uh… wanted to ask you. For a while.”

Your breath caught, your pulse fluttering. You met his eyes, and the look there—hesitant, hopeful, warm—made the room feel smaller. You felt him gather courage, felt something inside you answer it without needing words.

His knee bumped yours again, this time deliberate. “I just— when it’s us, like this… I feel—”

The front door slammed open so hard the hinges squealed. “There you are!” Max’s voice echoed down the hallway.

Steve’s shoulders sagged with the kind of dramatic despair that would’ve been funny if your heart hadn’t been thumping so hard a moment before. You both sat up straighter as Max stormed in, Eleven close behind her, both flushed from the walk and carrying enough urgency to power the whole house.

“Okay,” Max announced breathlessly, hands on her hips, “we need a ride.”

Eleven nodded with solemn intensity. “Very important.”

Steve blinked. “Why… why do you need a ride?”

“Because Robin said it was a good idea,” Max said, as if that answered everything.

You frowned. “Where is Robin?”

A beat later, Robin burst in through the still-open door, out of breath and dramatically pointing at the girls like an indictment. “They asked me first. But I don’t drive. And I told them that. Repeatedly.”

Eleven stepped forward with wide, pleading eyes. “Mall?”

Steve groaned into his hands. “Right now?”

Max crossed her arms, fully annoyed. “Yes, right now. We need new tape for Eleven’s headphones, a book I have to return, and Robin wants pretzels. Also, I’m bored.”

Robin raised a finger. “The pretzels are a necessary part of this trip. Not optional.”

Steve exhaled, long and pained, rubbing his face like fate had personally wronged him. You watched him, and even though frustration drew tight lines around his mouth, you saw the faint flicker of something else—desperation. Not for escape, but for the moment he’d been trying so hard to build. He’d almost done it this time. He had been right there, the words practically in the air between you when the cavalry burst in.

Max stepped closer. “Can you take us?”

You opened your mouth, but Steve sat up quickly, eyes wide. “Wait, she doesn’t have to. I can—”

“Nope,” Max interrupted. “We saw your car on the street. There’s a giant metal pipe sticking out the window and it looks like someone attacked your backseat with a screwdriver.”

Steve blanched. “That was Dustin’s… whatever. I told him not to—”

Eleven nodded solemnly. “It is broken.”

“It’s not broken,” Steve protested weakly, then looked at you with a kind of pleading horror. “Please don’t let them make you drive them. You don’t have to—”

Robin clapped her hands together. “You’re literally the only one here with a functioning car and a valid license.”

Max added, “also the only one we trust with directions.”

Eleven finished with, “Please? Please, please?”

Their combined staring was intense enough to melt steel. You sighed softly, looking at Steve with an apologetic tilt of your head. “It’s okay. I can take them.”

Steve’s mouth opened like he wanted to protest again, but something gentler ran through his expression. He softened, sitting back a little like he didn’t want to push. “Only if you want to,” he said quietly, voice low enough for just you.

“I don’t mind,” you said, even though part of you did—not the drive itself, but the interruption, the way the moment had slipped through your fingers again just when it felt like it might finally settle.

Max grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the door. “Yes! Thank you.”

Robin followed, muttering about soft pretzels and cinnamon sugar. Eleven smiled at you like you were the solution to every problem she’d ever had. You moved toward the doorway, keys in hand, but paused when you felt a gentle touch on your wrist. Steve had stepped after you, stopping you with light fingers that traced warmth across your skin. “Hey,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours with that same earnest something from earlier, “when you get back… can we finish that conversation?”

The question hit you softly, settling under your ribs in a place already warm for him. You nodded. “Yeah. We can.”

A slow, relieved smile spread across his face, not the charming one he used to flirt or joke, but something smaller, realer—something just for you.

Robin’s voice echoed from outside. “Let’s go, I’m starving!”

You stepped away from Steve and toward the chaos gathering around your car, but you looked back once. He stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, trying and failing to hide the way he was smiling. This time, you knew the moment wouldn’t slip away forever. It was waiting for you. So was he.

---

The mall on a Saturday was a maze of sound — laughter echoing off tile, music thumping faintly from different stores, the squeak of sneakers on polished floors, the chatter of people weaving around one another like they were all part of some vast busy hive. The second you stepped inside with Max, Eleven, and Robin, it felt like stepping into a warm wave of noise and movement. Max immediately scanned the storefronts like a general surveying a battlefield, Eleven stayed close to your side with quiet determination, and Robin pointed at the pretzel shop with the single-minded hunger of someone who had already been thinking about it for hours.

The girls moved quickly, practically dragging you along, their energy sweeping you forward before you even realized you were fully inside. The light overhead was bright, reflecting off the glossy floor, and you adjusted to it slowly, breathing in the smell of cinnamon sugar and perfume samples drifting from the nearby department store. Even with the crowd, the moment felt surprisingly calm—nothing like the monster-hunting days, nothing like the chaos of Dustin’s science experiments or the loud clusters of voices in the Wheeler basement. Just… the mall. Just a typical weekend afternoon.

Max took the lead, weaving down the walkway toward the bookstore. “This won’t take long,” she promised, even though her tone strongly suggested she planned to browse. “I just need to drop off the return, maybe look at the new releases, maybe check the comics—"

Robin groaned dramatically. “I’m going to starve before the pretzels. And then who’s gonna explain to Steve that you let me die of hunger in a suburban mall? He’ll never forgive you.”

Eleven blinked up at you. “She needs pretzels first,” she said with the same seriousness she used when discussing mind flayers.

You smiled because you knew it was hopeless to try changing their priorities. “Okay. Pretzels first, then the bookstore.”

Robin fist-pumped like she’d just won a war. “Yes. Justice prevails.”

You led the way toward the food court, letting the steady hum of conversation settle around you. Eleven walked close enough that her sleeve brushed yours every few steps, her eyes darting between the crowds with a watchfulness that came from experience, not fear. Max strode ahead, confident and unbothered, her ponytail swinging behind her with each purposeful movement.

When you reached the pretzel stand, Robin stepped forward eagerly. “Four pretzels,” she told the teenager behind the counter. “One cinnamon, one butter, one salted, and one mystery pick for Eleven.”

The kid blinked, confused. “Mystery pick?”

Robin waved broadly. “Dealer’s choice. Make it fun.” Max rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Eleven seemed excited by the idea, gaze fixed on the warming racks with awe.

You helped gather napkins and drinks while everyone else debated who got which pretzel, though Eleven’s mystery pretzel was so coated in cheese that Robin declared it a masterpiece of culinary chaos. You all found an empty table near the railing overlooking the lower floor, and the four of you sat down, the air filled with warmth and chatter that felt strangely comforting.

Max took a bite of her pretzel before pointing it at you. “So what were you and Steve talking about before we barged in?”

Robin inhaled sharply and kicked Max lightly under the table. “We don’t ask those questions.”

“But I just did,” Max said, completely unapologetic. “I’m curious.”

Eleven tilted her head. “You and Steve were sitting very close.”

Heat crept up the back of your neck, and you tried to hide it by taking a long sip of your drink. “We were just talking,” you said softly, though you felt the weight of the truth under your ribs. You were almost talking about something else—something bigger—and that weight felt warm in a way that wasn’t unpleasant at all.

Max watched you knowingly, like she was piecing together a puzzle she’d already solved. “Uh-huh. Sure. Talking.”

Robin sighed with the posture of someone carrying too much knowledge. “We’re not interrogating her. We’re here for snacks, not emotional espionage.”

You wanted to thank her, but before you could, Eleven leaned in with genuine curiosity. “Do you like him?”

Your breath caught, and the world seemed to soften—not collapse, not tighten, just… soften. The noise of the mall blurred into a distant hum, and your hands stilled around the napkin you were folding subconsciously.

Max kicked her under the table. “El! You can’t just ask!”

Eleven frowned. “Why not? If she likes him, she should say.” Robin groaned but didn’t disagree.

You set the napkin down slowly, heart thumping against your ribs in that quiet, fluttery way it always did whenever Steve said your name a little too gently or leaned just a little too close. “I… I don’t know,” you said, though that wasn’t the truth. You knew. You just weren’t used to saying it out loud. “Maybe.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Maybe yes?”

You exhaled, looking down at your hands. “Maybe… yes.”

Robin slapped her palms on the table and grinned like she’d been waiting for this revelation for months. “Finally. Emotional progress. Steve is going to combust when he hears that.”

You stared at her. “Robin!”

“What? He’s still alive. Mostly. Probably pacing in your living room right now practicing a speech.”

Eleven smiled brightly, lifting her pretzel. “I am happy,” she said, content and certain.

Max leaned back in her chair with smug satisfaction. “Called it.”

Despite the embarrassing warmth on your face, you felt something untangle inside you—something quiet, hopeful, and strangely steady. Saying it aloud didn’t feel as terrifying as you’d expected. If anything, it felt like you’d opened a small door that had been waiting for too long.

Robin nudged your foot under the table. “Finish your pretzel,” she said playfully. “We should get back soon. Wouldn’t want to keep loverboy waiting.”

You groaned, but a smile tugged at your lips anyway.

And across the mall, beyond the noise and the shining floors and the crowds moving in every direction, you found yourself thinking not about monsters or interruptions or whatever chaos awaited at home—but about Steve.

And the conversation he’d asked to finish.

---

Dustin had invited Lucas, Mike, and Will over with the promise of “the most important campaign decision of their lives,” which meant the basement was already cluttered with graph paper, dice, snack wrappers, and an unnecessary number of pencils. They were mid-argument about whether the party should take the mountain pass or the hidden forest trail when Steve wandered down the stairs, hands shoved in his pockets, pacing with a restless energy that immediately caught Dustin’s attention.

“Why are you down here?” Dustin asked, squinting at him suspiciously from behind his Dungeon Master screen. “Aren’t you supposed to be home? Or at work? Or not pacing around my basement like you’re trying to burn a hole into the carpet?”

Steve ignored him, and that alone was weird enough that Mike, Lucas, and Will exchanged glances. Steve never ignored Dustin. Not unless something had gone very, very wrong.

Steve raked a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. He crossed the room, turned around, crossed it again, muttering under his breath. “She said we’d talk later. Later. Which could mean anything. What if something happens? What if she changes her mind? What if—”

Will’s pencil rolled off the table as he slowly lowered it. Mike froze mid-chew with a pretzel rod sticking out of his mouth. Lucas leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. Dustin set his pencil down slowly, staring at Steve with an expression that drew gradually from confusion into dawning horror. “Why do you look like you’re waiting for the apocalypse?”

Steve stopped pacing. “I mean—it might be. For me.”

Mike slapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh. Lucas elbowed him hard. Will quietly slid his chair just a few inches farther away from the table.

Dustin rose from his seat like someone being pulled upward by invisible strings. His voice dropped to a deadly calm. “Steve. What did you do.”

Steve swallowed. “Okay, so don’t freak out—”

Instant freak-out. Dustin threw his hands up. “Why would you say that? Why would you say that unless there is something to freak out about?”

Will stood. Mike stood. Lucas stood. It was like watching prey animals rise together, ready to bolt.

Steve ran both hands down his face and groaned. “I didn’t do anything. I tried to do something. But, like… the universe hates me. Every time I get close, someone interrupts. Mostly you. Actually, almost always you.”

Dustin blinked twice. “Interrupts what?”

Steve held up a finger like he was about to explain something complicated. “Okay. Just listen. I wanted to talk to her—”

Will paled. Lucas’s eyes widened. Mike mouthed oh no under his breath.

“—because I really like—”

“No.” Dustin cut him off, both hands raised like he was physically blocking the words. “No. No, no, no. You’re not—you can’t—that’s my sister!” He said it like it was a curse, a prophecy, and a threat rolled into one.

Steve exhaled, bracing himself. “Yeah. I know. Believe me, I know. But I—”

Mike took a step toward the stairs. Lucas followed. Will whispered, “should we… leave?”

Mike nodded slowly. “We should leave.”

But Dustin wasn’t paying attention to anything except the tidal wave of emotion crashing over him. He advanced on Steve like a general ready to declare war. “You can’t like her!” Dustin yelled, jabbing a finger into Steve’s chest. “She’s my sister! There are rules!”

Steve threw up his hands. “What rules?”

“The unwritten ones!”

Lucas tugged Will toward the stairs. “Back away slowly.”

“Already doing that,” Will whispered, clutching his sketchbook to his chest.

Mike didn’t even whisper. “Steve, this is gonna be bad. Good luck,” he said before sprinting up the stairs and abandoning him entirely.

Dustin kept going, and Steve kept retreating until his back hit the wall. “You can’t—you can’t just date her! What if you break up? What if things get weird? What if she gets hurt? What if you hurt her? I can't—I can’t be stuck in the middle of that!” Steve opened his mouth to respond, but Dustin didn’t give him a chance. “And I swear—I swear— if you ever hurt her, I will kill you.”

Steve blinked. “Dustin, you can’t even reach my neck.”

“I’ll use a ladder!”

Steve threw his hands up. “Oh my god—listen! I would never hurt her. Ever. I like her. I’ve liked her. For a long time. Okay? That’s why I’m freaking out. That’s why I’m pacing. Because I’m terrified. Not of you—”

“Oh really?” Dustin snapped, crossing his arms.

“—but of her.”

Dustin paused. “Her?”

Steve nodded emphatically. “Yes! Do you remember the demogorgon? Because I do. I watched your sister take a baseball bat with nails in it and swing so hard the thing went flying. I have nightmares about that moment sometimes. She was feral.”

Dustin hesitated. “…okay, yeah, that was cool.”

“It was terrifying!”

“Also cool,” Dustin corrected, but the fire behind his words had dimmed. He stopped pacing, shoulders dropping slightly as the panic drained from his face. “She really was awesome that day.”

Steve softened, his voice calmer now. “I like her because she’s… her. And she deserves someone who actually pays attention. Someone who cares about her, and wants to make her feel safe, and doesn’t push her to be someone she’s not. I’m trying to be that person. But every time I try to tell her how I feel, you interrupt and drag me to test an antenna or fix a wire or—”

“That was important,” Dustin muttered weakly.

“It really wasn’t!”

Dustin went quiet. He looked at Steve, really looked at him, as if seeing him differently for the first time. The frantic defensiveness slowly melted into something begrudging, conflicted, but not outright hostile. After a long silence, Dustin let out a tired breath. “You really like her.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. I really do.”

“And you’re not gonna screw it up.”

Steve shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”

Dustin pressed his lips together, thinking hard, weighing his loyalty to you against his loyalty to Steve. Eventually he let out a groan loud enough to shake dust from the ceiling. “Fine! Fine. But I swear, Harrington, if you hurt her—”

“I know,” Steve said quickly. “Ladder. Got it.”

Dustin pointed at him one last time. “And my point still stands!”

“Which point?”

“That she’s scarier than I’ll ever be.”

Steve actually laughed, shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. “Yeah. She is.”

Dustin huffed, then turned toward the stairs. “I need a snack. And time to emotionally process this.”

From the top of the stairs, Mike’s voice drifted back down. “Is it safe to come back?”

“No!” Dustin shouted, slamming the door behind him.

And Steve let out a long, relieved breath—because the hardest part was over. Now all he had to do was actually talk to you.

---

You returned home before sunset, the sky outside tinted gold and pink as the heat of the day finally began to fade. The girls piled out of your car with arms full of pretzels, shopping bags, and the chaotic energy of teenagers loose in a mall. Max jogged ahead toward the front door, Eleven lingered close to you with a quiet smile, and Robin walked backward while lecturing both of them about “the importance of proper snack distribution in a household ecosystem.”

But the moment you stepped inside, the energy shifted. Something hung in the air—not tension, exactly, but a strange, anticipatory stillness. The lights in the living room were on. The TV was off. Steve was perched on the edge of the couch like he’d been waiting for hours and didn’t know what to do with his hands, his posture, or his entire existence.

Dustin stood beside him, arms crossed, nodding solemnly like he had just finished delivering a very long speech. All three girls froze mid-step.

Steve shot to his feet the second he saw you. “Hey. You’re back.”

You blinked, half smiling. “Yeah. We—"

“You,” Dustin interrupted loudly, pointing at Steve with one hand and at you with the other, “need to talk. Now. Immediately. Right now.”

You stared at him. “Dustin?”

Dustin nodded with the seriousness of a courtroom judge. “I’ve… reflected.” He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “And I have decided that I am granting you two permission to have a conversation without interruptions.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Oh god. He found out, didn’t he.”

Max elbowed Eleven and whispered, “told you.”

Steve’s face turned the shade of someone who had been emotionally waterboarded all afternoon. “Reflected,” he muttered. “He screamed at me for twenty minutes.”

Dustin glared at him. “Emotional reflection is loud sometimes.”

Robin snorted. Max barely held in a laugh. Eleven leaned close and whispered, “he must’ve been very loud.”

Dustin cleared his throat theatrically and stepped forward like he was taking center stage. “Anyway,” he said, arms spreading with dramatic flair, “I am officially leaving the premises. As are the rest of you.” He pointed toward the door like a tiny general evacuating troops. “Go. All of you. Get out. I need this to happen so my sister stops looking at Steve like a kicked puppy and Steve stops pacing grooves into our floor.”

Your face went hot. “Dustin!”

“What?” he said. “It’s embarrassing. For both of you. Fix it.”

Steve groaned into his hands.

Max shrugged and headed for the hallway. “Come on. Let’s leave the awkward adults alone.”

Eleven nodded gravely. “Important moment.”

Robin gave Steve a long, slow, knowing smirk. “Don’t choke, dingus.”

And just like that, the girls disappeared down the hall. Dustin lingered one more second, squinting at Steve like a overprotective watchdog. “Remember,” he warned, “I will absolutely end you if—”

“I know!” Steve snapped. “Ladder. Got it.”

“Good.” Dustin huffed, then looked at you, softened, and squeezed your arm gently. “He’s nervous. Be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” you murmured.

Steve made a strangled noise. Dustin pointed at him one more time, then marched off after the others. And then there was silence. The house felt suddenly huge. The space between you and Steve felt even bigger. He let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at you with a dozen emotions flickering across his face—fear, hope, determination, affection. “So,” he said, voice rough but warm, “we… finally have a minute.”

You stepped farther into the room, closing the door behind you. “We do.”

He didn’t sit. He didn’t pace. He stayed exactly where he was, like moving even a step might break whatever fragile, shimmering moment had finally landed in his hands. “Look,” he started, letting his arms fall to his sides, “I’ve been trying to tell you something for—actually, I don’t even know how long anymore. Weeks? Months? A while. And I kept messing it up. Or people kept messing it up. Mostly Henderson.”

You breathed out a soft laugh. “He does that.”

“He does,” Steve agreed. Then his expression shifted—softer now, more sure. “But I’m glad he’s not here right now. Because I… I don’t want to keep dancing around this.”

You looked up at him, and the way he stared back made your chest tighten with something warm and heavy and sweet.

He took a steady breath. “I like you,” he said simply, without theatrics or stumbling, every word shaped with sincerity. “I really, really like you. More than I meant to. More than I planned to. Definitely more than I told Dustin when he cornered me today.”

You blinked, startled. “He cornered you?”

“Oh yeah. Full interrogation mode. I thought he was gonna map out my emotional failings on a chalkboard.” He shook his head, then took another step toward you, closing the distance until he was right in front of you—close enough to feel the quiet warmth radiating between you.

Your breath caught.

Steve swallowed, voice dropping softer. “And I know you’re… you. You get quiet. And nervous. And sometimes I can’t tell what you’re thinking. But I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes. The same way I probably look at you. And I just—I needed you to know. Even if it freaked you out. Even if it scared me to say it.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, skipping unevenly as you tried to gather your voice. “It doesn’t freak me out.”

He smiled—small, startled, almost relieved. “No?”

You shook your head, letting your eyes meet his without dropping away this time. “I… like you too.”

The warmth that spread across his face was immediate—bright, soft, disbelieving in a way that made something inside you loosen and settle all at once. He let out a breath he had clearly been holding for far too long, his shoulders dropping as tension melted from them.

He reached for your hand slowly, giving you room to pull back. You didn’t. His fingers brushed yours, then curled around them gently—warm and steady, not asking for anything more than the space you chose to give. “I was really scared you’d say no,” he admitted quietly.

“I was scared you’d get tired of trying,” you whispered.

He laughed under his breath—a soft, breathless sound—and shook his head. “Not a chance.”

The moment stretched comfortably, a soft glow settling between you both like something that had been waiting a long time to finally land. Then, from down the hall, “is it safe yet!?” Dustin shouted.

Steve groaned, squeezing your hand. “He’s going to make this so complicated.”

You smiled—full, warm, a little shy but no longer afraid of the feeling settling inside your chest. “We’ll handle him.”

Steve grinned. “Yeah. We will.”

And this time, nothing interrupted the moment you shared—warm hands, quiet breath, and the certainty that this was only the beginning.

everything taglist: @clxt-lamb1 @person-005

The Demogorgan had only been dragging you for a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. You were hitting everything. There was going to be bruises all over your body but the friction burn hurt the most.

You cried out, begging. Begging for the creature to let you go, begging that maybe Hopper would be nearby. Maybe a soldier. Just anybody.

But the Demogorgan didn’t stop. It jerked you forward again, it’s claws hooked under your ankle, your body scraping over another patch of dead, bumpy, broken ground.

And then you saw a wall.

Not a regular wall such as a brick or stone wall, no, it looked like a fleshy membrane wall. The wall was made up of all those branch worm things on the floor.

You guys were heading towards it.

“No, no, no—“ You tried twisting, kicking, punching but the Demogorgan just didn’t notice or simply didn’t care.

The membrane shivered, then split open.

You screamed again, raw and panicked, as you were dragged through. It felt weird. It was cold and slimey. Suffocating.

Your heart slammed against your ribs when you felt the air change. You weren’t in the Upside Down anymore. You were in a forest. It wasn’t cold or dead, it was warm and the trees were a bright green. There was grass and you could see the rays of sunshine shining through the gaps of the tree branches.

The Demogorgan didn’t slow down. It dragged you deeper and deeper into the forest, its claws digging harder into your ankle.

“Help!” you screamed, your throat becoming raw. “Anyone! Please—!”

A branch snapped.

Not under you.

Behind you.

The creature paused for a second, its head tilting.

A gunshot then exploded from somewhere in the trees.

The Demogorgan recoiled, screeching, it’s tight grip on your ankle finally slipping. You felt the claws drag against your skin as they came loose and your body hit the ground with a thud.

“Hey! Over here!”

A man’s voice. He sounded scared and desperate.

Another shot rang out. The Demogorgan screeched, it’s petaled shaped flaps opening to show off it’s sharp teeth.

You staggered onto your elbows, not being able to walk on your throbbing ankle. You tried your best to crawl away but your arms were shaking too much.

“Stay down!” The voice yelled again.

You saw a man run to you, dropping to his knees besides you. He looked pretty young but his outfit was… interesting. He was wearing a brown suit with a matching brown hat. Glasses hung loosely on his nose as he asked you if you could walk.

“N-no.”

He nods, “It’s okay. I got you.” His eyes locked on yours for just a second, long enough for you to feel safety for the first time since this terror has started.

The Demogorgan lunged.

The man shoved you behind him, holding his gun up and emptying it on the Demogorgan.

The creature drops to the floor, snarling in pain. It tries to get up, trying to crawl to the two of you to inflict one last act of pain.

Fortunately, the man shoots it one last time, the creature screeching before becoming still. He walks up to it, kicking it to make sure it was dead.

“Are you okay?” He looks back at you, still on the floor.

Your mouth is agape, looking back and forth between the Demogorgan and your savior.

He slowly approaches you, lowering his gun.

“Hey.” He says softly, like he’s trying not to spook you. “Look at me. You’re alright.”

You swallow hard. “You… killed it.”

He gives a short, shakey laugh, pushing his glasses up. “Almost didn’t. Creepy fuck moves faster than you think.”

You muster a smile. You try to get up once again, but ultimately fail.

“Hey— hey, take it easy.” He helps you up, putting your arm around his shoulders so you can walk. “We should go before anything else smells this mess.”

Your chest tightens. “There’s more?”

He nods. “All over this forest. You should be careful, stay away from here.”

The two of you walk for a bit. Well, limp. The forest was beautiful. Flowers and green everywhere. It smelled amazing and you could actually breathe through both of your nostrils because of how much nature was around you.

“Hey, uhm… so who are you?” You manage, grunting as he helps you go up a bridge.

“Henry. Henry Whatsit.”

-

“I’m losing him… stop… STOP!” Jonathan shouts.

Steve slams on the brakes, almost lurching forward. He watches anxiously as Jonathan desperately tries to find Hopper’s frequency.

A second goes by.

And then another.

And then—

“I found him.” Jonathan breathes, relief washing over his face.

Steve drops back in his seat, exhaling the breath he didn’t even realize he’d been choking on.

The radio then explodes with Robin’s voice.

“Steve! Jonathan! Helloooooo??? Anyone there? Major problem. Major, major!”

Jonathan grabs the walkie. “Robin, slow down— what’s going on?”

“Will had his goosies and saw a demogorgan coming after Hopper and nowthedemogorganisheadingtowardsthewheelershouseitsafternancysfamilyandelevenandy/nwentwithnancy.”

Steve stiffens, stomach flipping. He snatches the walkie from Jonathan, “What? What? What do you mean—“

Jonathan snatches it back.

“Hey dude, what the heck?” Steve snatches it once again.

Jonathan tries to snatch it but Steve has a firm grip on it, the two of them rocking back and forth as they fight over who can have the walkie talkie. They are mid tug of war when it suddenly crackles so loudly they both freeze.

Static.

Steve finally lets go, throwing his hands up. “See what you did?”

Jonathan makes a face at Steve, but decides not to respond. He hits the walkie a few times, trying to get it to work. After a few more tries, he gives up, tossing it in the back somewhere.

“Let’s just head back…” He finally mutters.

“No, let’s go to the Wheelers.”

“Are you insane, dude? I think they have it under control, Eleven is with them.”

Steve puts his lips into a thin line, slowly nodding. “Alright.”

He’s worried about you. You weren’t really the action type. Yeah, you could fuck a Demogorgan up with the right weapons but you preferred to stay behind the scenes. Steve appreciated the fact you were like that, never truly feeling like you were in danger. But hearing Robin’s jamble of words, hearing you where at the Wheelers house with a Demogorgan there? It freaked him the fuck out.

“Can we at least drive by? Make sure they’re okay?” He pleads, staring at Jonathan expectantly. Honestly, whether Jonathan said yes or no, at the end of the day Steve was the one driving.

Jonathan breathes out of his nose, he rubs the bridge of his nose. “Okay.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate a moment, turning the key.

The engine sputters, stopping.

Nothing.

He tries again, harder this time, like somehow force alone will make the van turn on.

It sputters once again and then stops.

Jonathan’s eyebrows slowly rise, “Don’t tell me…”

Steve slams his palm against the wheel. “Are you kidding me? Now? Now? God damnit!”

“Push harder!”

“I am!” Steve snaps, twisting the key again. The van wheezes, but doesn’t turn on. It lets out the weakest sputter Steve has ever heard.

Steve looks at Jonathan. Jonathan looks at Steve.

Jonathan sighs, defeated. “Let me try.”

Before Steve could respond, Jonathan was already latching onto the key and twisting as hard as he could. Nothing happens. Steve wanted to let out a “I told you so” but decided not to, instead getting out and slamming the door behind him. He starts waving his arms in the air like a desperate maniac, in hopes that a car will stop for him.

Jonathan watches Steve make a fool out of himself, trying his best not to laugh as Steve was nearly having a breakdown. A part of him felt empathy for the poor dude, the other not worried because he knew you could handle yourself. He knew Nancy could protect you. And he know Eleven could protect you both.

Not too long goes by when a car finally pulls alongside of the road, agreeing to give Steve a jumpstart.

It’s a woman. Steve couldn’t remember her name, but he remembered who she was related to.

A few years back when Steve worked at Scoops Ahoy with Robin, he was desperately hitting on every woman that came in there. He only received rejection after rejection and excuse after excuse.

One day, while he was on his break, he decided to go next door to get a snack. As he was eating his pretzel, a woman tapped him on his back. She asked him on a date and he agreed, only to not show up.

This happened a few more times until he thinks she finally realized her worth and stopped bothering him.

And this girl standing five feet away from him, elbows crossed and eyes narrowed?

Her sister.

He shuffles nervously, stuffing a hand inside his pocket. He pulls out a Bopper, grin on his face. “Bopper? While we wait?”

She doesn’t look amused. Scoffing and sending a quick eye roll his way before getting back into her car.

Steve’s grin turns into a grimace, mentally scolding himself as he ripped open the wrapper.

Whatever. I wanted it anyways…

“Steve! STEVE!! Y/N is gone!” Jonathan jumps out of the car, breathless, eyes wide with panic. He’s holding the walkie talkie. Steve straightens instantly, the just opened Bopper slipping from his fingers and hitting the dirt.

“Steve—“ Jonathan gulps, his hand shaking as he holds up the walkie talkie. “Y/N is gone—“

For a moment everything around Steve just cuts out. No cars passing, no pissed off sister glaring at the scene, no light breeze— just ringing.

“W-what?” His voice cracks under the weight of his words, almost childlike. “No. No… what do you mean she’s gone? Like, like she ran?”

Jonathan shakes his head, swallowing. “Taken, Steve. The Demogorgan took her.”

Steve’s heart basically falls out his ass. He takes one shaky step back, then another, and another, like the ground is rolling under him. He can barely breathe. His hands go to his hair, gripping tightly, pulling. He feels like he’s going to throw up. Or pass out. Both.

Jonathan steps forward, trying to offer some comfort but Steve jerks away. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

“Steve—“

“No!” Steve snaps, voice cracking. “You don’t get it. She’s out there— with that thing. And we’re just sitting here with a dead van and, and—“ His breath stutters again. “She’s out there, scared and alone.”

He swallows, hard. His eyes are wet, but he refuses to blink. Refuses to look vulnerable. “We’re going. Now. I don’t care if I have to run barefoot, Jonathan— man, we need to find her.”

Jonathan nods, already turning back to the van. “Let’s go.”

But Steve doesn’t move right away.

He freezes. Blinking a few times and rubbing them in disbelief.

“Henderson?”

A beat up Dustin Henderson walks up slowly, bike rolling next to him as his face looked like a punching bag.

“What the shit, man!”

-

Henry helps you down into a fallen log, steadying you with a hand on your back. The forest around you is calm, making you feel safe but still anxious on how you would get back. Where even is this place? What is this place?

What about your baby?

It’s probably the size of a single bean but still. What if all this caused them damage? You read somewhere that babies can feel what the mother is feeling.

Henry crouches in front of you, putting his hat down besides him. He inspects your ankle, cringing.

“You’re lucky it didn’t rip off your foot. Or your leg.” he says lightly, taking your shoe off.

He wasn’t wrong, your ankle looked gnarly. You couldn’t tell where the cut started and where it ended with all the dried blood.

How much blood did a mother have to lose for the baby to be in danger?

He pulls out a small cloth. It looks old, a little frayed around the ages but clean. He looks at you for permission and you nod, flinching as it stings intensely from the cloth.

“Sorry,” He says, though his voice doesn’t sound entirely apologetic. “I need to see if—“

His words die as a scream slices through the trees, almost blood curdling.

Your heart jumps into your throat, already trying to stand to your feet. Oh no, no, no. Not another Demogorgan. Please not.

Henry stands immediately, too fast, too smooth, and picks up his hat.

You’re telling me you hear a scream and the first thing you think of is “huh im gonna put on my hat!”?

Henry was for sure an interesting guy.

He hears something before you do. His head cocks slightly, almost animal like.

And then it pops out, once again, the second time you’re seeing this dumb creature. But this time, it was carrying a little girl?

Your stomach dropped. This felt like a nightmare looping back on itself.

Struggling to get up, you’re ready to dip— let this Henry guy figure it out alone. He seemed to be really experienced with Demogorgans, he can handle this on his own while you head off your own way, figuring out a way to get back home. Until the little girl on the creatures shoulder looked up and your heart stopped.

Holly Wheeler.

“And for the lady…” He starts, digging through the truck before he hops back out. He holds up a large container of cheese puffs.

Huh?

“I didn’t ask for those…?” Your statement sounds more of a question.

“Oooouuu!! Cheese puffs!” Steve exclaims, reaching a hand out to grab them. Murray slaps his hand, “They’re not for you. Y/N, I strongly suggest you take these.”

Realization finally hits you, the two of you sharing a look before you snatch them. You say a quick thank you before running inside.

You place the container on the counter, looking back to make sure nobody was coming inside before shoving your hand inside to go hunting.

Almost immediately, your hand feels a plastic box. You check one more time to make sure everybody was still outside before pulling it out.

Unopened, it came with two sticks and a long list of instructions. Pee on it, wait ten minutes, then come check on it.

One line = Not pregnant.

Two lines = Pregnant.

You stare at the box like it might explode.

Your heart is thumping so loudly you’re sure someone could hear it through the walls.

A month since you and Steve crossed that line you’d spent weeks pretending you hadn’t crossed. And now the evidence sat in that box, in form of a thin plastic test.

You set the test on the counter.

Maybe you’re just stressed? Maybe that’s why you’re late? Maybe it’ll come tomorrow? Or tonight?

In the distance, you hear Murray’s voice through the cracked window. Probably teasing Steve about something. It makes your stomach clench. Will he be happy? Sad? Mad? Will he just leave you?

You shove the box in your pocket, not bothering to clean up the cheesy, powdery snack. You make your way to the bathroom, softly closing the door behind you. You face the mirror.

Please be negative.

Please, please, please, please, please.

You peel the cardboard open like it’s sacred, eyes darting towards the door every few seconds. You pick one of the sticks up. It feels heavy in your hands, too real.

Taking a deep breathe in and holding it for a few seconds, you finally let go and open the toilet seat.

After you’re done, you put it on the bathroom counter upside down. The bathroom feels too quiet, too small, too restricting.

You sunk down, back against the door as you brought your knees up to your chest. You were shaking, a million thoughts running through your head.

Ten minutes suddenly feels like a lifetime.

A knock rattles the bathroom door.

Your heart launches in your throat. You launch up, hiding the test.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice comes through, soft and concerned. “You okay in there? You kinda just ran off.”

You swallow hard.

“Uh— I-I’m fine.” Your voice cracks. “I just needed to use the bathroom!”

“Are you crying?” Steve’s voice is closer now, even more concerned.

You can’t tell him.

Not yet.

“I’m fine.” You barely managed to say.

It’s quiet. You can tell he knows you’re lying. He could always read you like a book.

“Are you sure?” He says, this time his hand was on the doorknob.

“Y-yes!” You say, quickly putting your weight against the door so he couldn’t come in.

He hesitates, letting go. “Okay. I’ll be right out here, okay?” He speaks softly. “Take your time.”

His footsteps fade, but your pulse doesn’t.

You grab the test from where you hid it, putting it back on the counter.

Six more minutes.

You pace once.

Twice.

Your nerves buzz under your skin like electricity.

A slow, dreadful six minutes go by. Slowly, very slowly, you flip it over.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Just look.

Just get it over with.

Just—

Your eyes snap open and the world stops.

Two lines.

Two pink, undeniable lines.

You blink a few times, rubbing your eyes to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on you.

Nope.

Maybe if you shake it?

Nope, still nothing. Just the same two lines.

The air rushes out of your lungs all at once. You stumble back, hitting the wall as the test drops.

Two lines.

Holy fuck you’re pregnant.

A tear slips down your cheek before you even notice it, then another, and another.

Steve.

What are you going to tell Steve? What about the group? Nancy? Robin? Joyce? Hopper? The kids? Dustin—

Another knock interrupts your thoughts, “Y/N?”

That wasn’t Steve.

“There’s a crawl tonight. We need you.” Nancy says, knocking again.

Shit.

-

The lights flicker on, “So, all in all, signs point to another successful crawl.”

There’s an awkward silence.

Nancy frowns, crossing her arms. “Is there a problem?”

Jonathan looks at the trio sitting by the table: Robin, Steve, and Y/N before looking back at his girlfriend.

“Uhm…” He hesitates, “No, no, I mean, I think it’s all good.

Steve talks, “Yeah, yeah, it’s good. It’s really good… it’s just uhm..”

“Zone G1 is not that exciting or Venca-y.” Robin interrupts him. “What does it have? A Circuit City, a couple of houses, and a Big Buy?”

Nancy looks offended. “Doesn’t matter. We stick to the plan and…”

Her voice keeps moving, focused and filled with words you’ve already heard what is it, 30 something times before— “pattern”, “radius”, “30 miles only”, “dont mess this up”, “more than enough time”, “staying focused”.

But it all turns into static in your ears.

Your eyes stay locked in your lap. The image of the two lines popping in your head.

Your stomach churns and all of the sudden, before you know it, you are running to the nearest trashcan and throwing up.

“Woah- woah- hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.” You hear his voice. Steve’s hand, wrapping around your hair to hold it back. The other hand rubbing up and down your back.

You hear feet shuffling, getting closer and closer. “Nervous?” Robin speaks, handing you napkins.

You wipe your mouth, still trembling, the sour taste still lingering on your tongue.

“Thanks,” you mutter, embarrassed. Everyone is staring now. Jonathan was in a different spot now, closer to offer help but not close enough to see the waste. Nancy was in the same spot, blinking like she’s mentally calculating twenty different explanations for what just happened. Robin is looking away, trying not to gag and Steve, he looks like a kicked puppy. Eyes wide as saucers as he scans you to make sure you’re okay.

“You okay?” He speaks, his hand hovering near your shoulder like he’s scared to touch you. “Is it because of the shitty plan?”

“It is not shitty!” Nancy snaps, eyebrows furrowed but then they soften when she looks back at you. “Is it?”

“N-no… It’s just those dang cheese puffs. I ate too many.”

Your excuse hangs in the air as everyone exchanges looks.

Robin squints at you. “Okay but like… you’ve eaten way more disgusting things than that before. Remember those nachos Dustin made?”

“You’re gonna make me puke again…”

“Robin.” Steve hisses, glaring at her.

“What? I’m just saying—“

“I’m fine.” You cut in quickly, forcing a small smile. “Really I’m fine.”

Nancy’s brows pinch. “You barely ate any of those,” She says carefully, suspicious.

Jonathan shoots her a look.

Nancy rolls her eyes but lays off. She wasn’t annoyed at you or because of you. She was annoyed that everybody was so oblivious. Obviously, something was going on with you.

And she was going to find out.

-

“Where’s Henderson?” Steve asks over the radio.

I look over to Mike, he shrugs.

“Anyone heard from Inspector Gadget?” Hopper asks, in full gear. He was standing next to Joyce, waiting for Dustin.

When it comes to Crawls, Steve and Dustin are in charge of keeping in touch with Hopper while he’s in the Upside Down. Steve drives, Dustin listens to the frequency. They carefully follow Hopper by his frequency, ensuring he’s safe. Sometimes you tag along, riding next to Steve or laying in the back of the van.

Everybody shakes their heads. I sigh, talking into the walkie talkie, “He’s not here.”

“Well, how am I supposed to drive and listen?”

Will immediately cuts in, hopeful. “I can do it! Right, mom?”

Joyce immediately frowns, “No.”

“But— but I know how to! I helped Dustin put togeth—“

“No! You’re not going, it’s too dangerous.” Joyce quickly dismisses her son. “Jonathan, you can do it?”

Will’s face falls. He looks at Jonathan, eyes pleading to at least try to change her mind. He doesn’t though.

“Yeah… I think I can.” He mutters.

“You think? Or you know? I can’t die out there.” Hopper asks.

Jonathan swallows, nodding before answering. “Yes. Yes I can.”

You talk into the walkie talkie, “Jonathan is gonna help you.”

A groan erupts from the other side, “Really?”

You roll your eyes, not bothering to respond. Steve and Jonathan don’t like each other. They haven’t for a while. It all started when Jonathan was taking pictures of Nancy, Steve’s girlfriend at the time. Steve broke Jonathans camera, Nancy got closer to Jonathan, and well you know the story. Although Steve was very much over Nancy Wheeler, he still held a grudge against Jonathan.

You feel a hand tap your shoulder lightly and it makes you jump. It’s Jonathan.

“Uh… Y/N?” He asks quietly, “Do you know where Nancy went? I want to say goodbye before I go.”

You look around the room quickly, confused. Nancy had been the one leading the plan, but now… she’s nowhere in sight.

“C’mon kid. We gotta go.” Hopper says, rushing him.

“I’ll find her so she can say bye over the talkie. I promise.” You say. You wish everybody a safe journey before asking Robin if she’s seen Nancy.

“Uhm…” Robin thinks for a moment. “I think she went to the bathroom?”

Your throat tightens. You can’t speak.

What if she finds the pregnancy test?

You buried it deep, deep, in the trash in a rush because of the crawl. But what if it wasn’t deep, deep? What if it was poking out and she saw it? What if she went through the trashcan? What if I didn’t hide it? What if it was just sitting on the counter?

You take off running to the bathroom, not a word to Robin. You begin knocking like a crazy woman.

“Mike! Hold on—“

“It’s Y/N.”

She stays quiet.

She knows.

She definitely knows.

Can the ground just open up and swallow you whole?

The door opens, and she stares at you. A sympathetic look on her face. That’s all it took for you to burst into tears.

Nancy’s face softens instantly. She doesn’t hesitate, softly grabbing your shoulders and pulling you inside. She closes the door.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay. It’s okay Y/N.” She whispers, even though neither of you believed that.

You’re already shaking your head, tears flooding down your cheeks. “Nance— I— I didn’t want anyone to know, I swear— Steve doesn’t know and now he’s gone—“

Your breath hitches, your words collapsing into a sob.

Nancy grabs the rag hanging off the hook, dabbing your tears away. “Hey, hey. Look, it’s okay. You’re not alone.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Y/N… we all would’ve helped you and supported you. We love you.”

Her gentle words make you cry even more, heart beating fast. “Please don’t tell anyone. Please.”

She nods. “I won’t.”

“I just— what am I supposed to do? I can’t have a baby. Not now— with Vecna out there? With the quarantine? I can’t— I can’t—“

Then the lights start flickering.

The both of you freeze, staring at the lightbulb in the bathroom.

The lights die all at once.

Nancy’s grip tightens around your wrist. She says your name, barely above a whisper. You nod even though she can’t see you, your pulse pounding violently.

Then—

A scream.

Nancy reacts first, yanking the door open. You stumble out with her.

Will Byers is on his back, his mom behind him and comforting him. She’s whispering sweet nothings as he’s shaking violently, sweat forming on his forehead. The only source of light coming from Robin’s flashlight.

“I saw it.”

Joyce furrows her brows, “Saw what?”

“The Demogorgan.” Will says, a shiver going down his spine.

Joyce looks even more confused.

“It’s coming. It’s coming for them.” He sobs.

Joyce grabs his face, “For who? Who’s them?”

Will slowly turns, still shaking. His eyes land on Nancy.

Nancy goes pale instantly.

-

The car rattles as Nancy speeds down the road, knuckles white around the wheel. Eleven is sitting in the passenger seat, her hoodie on so she doesn’t get spotted. You’re in the back, curled forward, hands shaking around your belt.

The Demogorgan was going after the Wheelers.

Nancy keeps glancing at you through the mirror. Every time you catch her, she looks away. She’s trying not to panic, you can tell.

Turning onto the Wheelers house street, you can see the lights flickering in the house.

Eleven suddenly sits up straighter.

“It’s here.”

Nancy pulls into the side of the house, slamming on the brakes. You all rush out, Nancy holding a shotgun and you holding Steve’s bat.

Eleven swings open the door with her powers. You all walk in, making sure to be quiet but fast.

The house is eerily silent.

“Mom?” Nancy chokes out. She’s shaking. She’s trying her best not to, but she can’t even hold the gun right. You touch her shoulder softly causing her to jump. You give her your best, “It’s going to be okay look”.

It seems like she didn’t really appreciate that because instead of smiling or saying a thank you, she looks grossed out and scared all in one.

What the hell did you do to this bitc—

Nancy shoves you out of the way, landing to your knees. You can barely process what happened before a shot is sent and your ears are ringing.

You fall onto your back, blood turning into ice when you hear that all too familiar growl.

That tall, impossibly tall, figure steps out of the shadows and pushes Nancy away.

You scream, grabbing the nailed bat. You swing at the creature, only hitting it once before it slapped the bat away. Eleven shouts, using her force to push the Demogorgan away. She rushes to you, trying to help you up. Nancy is near the doorway, her arm is cut up pretty bad from the claws. She still tries her best to load the gun anyways.

She holds the gun up, aiming.

It’s quiet once again.

Too quiet.

Then there’s a crash above your head and before you know it, the creature has you by your leg.

You claw at the floor, nails scraping the wood.

Nancy grabs your arm, trying to pull you back, “ELEVEN!! STOP IT!”

The monster yanks and the force sends Nancy on her back.

Your body is dragged across the floor, you’re trying everything you can to get out. Clawing at anything.

The last thing you hear is Nancy sobbing your name.

-

Hawkins, Indiana. Beginning of Spring Break, 1985.

“Knock, knock.” The prepubescent voice of your younger brother rings through your room, interrupting the scribble of your pencil on your notepad.

Dustin stood in your doorway, wearing a cartoonish tactical vest and socks pulled up high, a closed fist hovering on the wooden frame from where he’d just startled you back to reality.

“Hey,” you gently whispered, a croak in your voice from not using your vocal cords for a few hours. Dustin smiled at you while you went to sit up. “What's up, hon?”

“I'm going out with some friends. Mom's asleep, so I thought I'd let you know .” his curly head tuts down the hall to your mother's room.

You sit up straighter, quicker. Eyebrows furrowed suddenly, “What? I thought we were going to watch Golden Girls tonight?”

“Well…” Dustin's voice rises at least 7 octaves, stepping a foot into your room. “We were, buuuuuut– that new cafe opened across town and everyone wants to go, and Steve offered to drive and–”

The utter betrayal of your younger brother washed over you in waves, “Are you ditching me for milkshakes, Dustin Henderson?”

“What! NO!”

You shoot a glare towards him. Dustin's head drops to the carpet below his feet.

“Yes…”

“I'll remember this, dusty. The great golden girl betrayal of spring break 85.” You huff, rising to your feet to put your notepad and pens on your desk.

Dustin sighs, he flops down, grabbing a throw pillow placed haphazardly on your bed and pulling it close to him. He looks over as you arrange stuff on your desk, obviously working on your next art project.

Dustin Henderson has looked up to his sister from the moment he was conscious, literally and physically. He had always seen you as the epitome of cool. You always gave the best advice to get him through the social confines of elementary, middle, and soon-to-be high school. You taught him to be kind and to care. To have good taste in movies. To be stubborn enough to get his way when it mattered, to never back down. You were everything he had ever wanted to be.

Maybe until this very moment.

Dustin sighs dramatically. “You know,” he picks at the tassels on your pillow, “it’s the first night of spring break, and it's your senior year… you don't have any plans or like senior-stuff to be doing?”

“Senior stuff?”

“I don't know,” Dustin stutters. “I'm not a senior, but I'm pretty sure there's senior stuff to do.”

“Right.. Right…” you sarcastically mock, turning to see Dustin sprawled across your newly washed bedding. At least his shoes were off to the side and not mucking up your white duvet. You squint at him, suspicious to your bones, "What are you getting at here?”

Dustin's eyes travel towards the ceiling, avoiding eye contact as he speaks slowly. “Well, you know, it's a Friday night and like– the weather is perfect, and a lot's going on in town and… you’re in your bedroom.. Drawing and wanting to hang out with your 14-year-old brother…”

“Whoa! Okay, and what's wrong with that, mister suddenly popular?” you say, hand to your chest, slightly offended at whatever Dustin was trying to insinuate.

“Nothing!” Dustin defends, sitting up against your headboard, crushing multiple stuffed animals behind his back. You want to protest, but are currently too blinded by the complete attack coming from your once-loser brother. “Don’t you just want to go out and hang out with your… friends.”

You face drops, “Why’d you say friends like that, Dustin?”

His tone goes stone cold, along with his horrible poker face. Slightly shaking his head, "I didn't. I actually said it very normally.”

“I have friends, Dustin!”

“I never said you didn't! I actually just insinuated that you do!”

“Well, if I wanted to hang out with my friends, which I do in fact have, I would! But I don't want to tonight.” You rush over your words.

Suddenly, Dustin snaps his fingers. You notice the look on his face, and you can practically see the light bulb above his head, “You know what? You can just go with me tonight!”

You roll your eyes, settling on the bed beside Dustin, your voice a little calmer now—less defensive. “I don't know how fun hanging out with a bunch of 14-year-olds will be for me.”

“You like hanging out with me,” Dustin frowns.

You cock your head at him, “You know that's different."

“Steve Harrington will be there…” Dustin mentions.

“Ok?” you say, a little too much attitude in your voice than intended.

“He’s in your class.”

You nod, “yes, but that does not mean we are friends–” scoffing, “he probably doesn't know I exist.”

“Yes, he does,” Dustin responds too quickly, almost interrupting you. You sneer at him suspiciously, almost as if to ask him what he meant by that. “You know, because of me. I mention you sometimes.”

On cue, you hear the honk of who you can assume was Harrington outside your house waiting to pick up Dustin and his friends for milkshakes.

You pat his back, ushering him up. “Be safe, bro.”

Dustin starts to walk out of your room feeling positively defeated by what he thought would be a constructive conversation with his big sister, but you just follow him out happily.

“Offer still stands,” Dustin grabs his stuff and heads for the door.

You smile at him, oh-so tooth-rottingly sweet Dustin. You pat his shoulder off of invisible dust or dirt, “thank you, but I think I'm better off than hanging out with Steve-the Hair-Harrington and your gang.”

“He’s not that bad.” Dustin throws out, and your face is already scrunched up in hesitancy. “He knows he was a dick during high school, and he's a lot… kinder now.”

“Kinder?” you ask. Dustin opens the door, and you see the faint outline of Steve's face behind his car's windshield in the slowly darkening afternoon light. “That thing?”

Dustin giggles, “he's fun.”

“Right..” you laugh, “have fun, be safe. And I'm going to watch Golden Girls and spoil all of it when you get back.”

Dustin starts to descend the creaky wooden porch stairs, looking back to yell, “You can’t spoil shit, it's a sitcom!”

“Watch the language!” you shout, despite the smile on your face.

Dustin's hand wraps around the handle of Steve's car, waving goodbye to his sister before placing himself in the front seat. His head whipped over to Steve, waiting for a greeting—but no dice. Steve's eyes stared forward at Dustin's front porch, more specifically, where you stood.

It wasn't a new idea in his brain to get you and Steve to hang out. After the past few years of having Steve in his life, he has grown more and more into an elderly brother figure. Dustin has thought about it on multiple occasions. Before, it was rare to be with Steve if it didn't involve alien monsters or conspiring against evil dimensions, so not many chances to try and get his slowly social-declining yet awesome sister to chop it up with fastly social-declining yet newly awesome Steve Harrington.

“Steve.”

“Hm?” he had finally snapped out of it, now noticing you had gone inside the house, and now they were just wasting gas and time in his driveway. “Are we going to go, or are you going to keep longingly staring at my sister?”

“Whoa, I am not doing that.” Steve defends, putting the car in gear and reversing out of the driveway, “just making sure she gets inside all right.”

“Yeah, all those 3 feet. A lot could happen.” Dustin mocks, “She's into all those dramatic romance novels; she might like the yearning gaze you just tried to give her from our driveway.”

“Whatever, man. I barely know her now.” Steve waves off, eyes focused on the road.

“I tried to convince her to tag alone tonight,” Dustin mentions for no real reason…

Then Steve responds pretty quickly, and Dustin smiles to himself knowingly. Staring out at the Hawkins streets.

“Yeah? What did she say?” Steve said. Curious as he can be without distracting himself from the road.

“She said she's too good to hang out with Steve-the Hair-Harrington.”

Steve almost swerves a little, “No, she didn't."

“It was close enough.”

Steve scoffs at him before turning into Lucas' driveway.

Dustin then spent the remainder of the night thinking up a plan, weighing out the odds, mysteriously glaring at Steve as Dustin's brain went haywire, and enjoying his chocolate milkshake.

It puzzles Dustin why you were so put off by Steve now. He knew for a fact you used to run around with him and some of his old crusades in at least late middle school, maybe as a freshman. Dustin saw it in the old photos you still had littered around your room, noticing at least one or two with the familiar head of hair. Dustin would notice Nancy too in some.

Dustin also knew you’d grown to be a recluse after junior year, specifically, brushed it off as school getting too busy–extracurriculars. Whatever. And he wasn't going to lie to himself and say it wasn't depressing watching his admirably social sister seemingly cave in on her own isolation.

He had to do something.

So when Dustin came home that night, careful not to wake his worrisome mother. He saw the couch empty except for some messily thrown blankets draped around. Noticing a small note taped to the table.

Ran out of ice cream

went to the 24 hour store

Be back soon incase you get back before me :)

Scribbled out in your cursive handwriting. Right. Dustin thinks to himself. Your car was gone from the driveway when Steve dropped him off.

This was the time, the only time. As he suspects you’ll be a house rat for the entirety of spring break, if Dustin has anything to do with it.

Slipping off his shoes, Dustin tiptoed down the hallway and passed your creaky door, eyes watchful of your window, expecting to see the headlights of your car at any moment. Dustin looked around curiously, not like he hadn't been in here more than a million times. With or without you. Yet, some places still were not all that familiar to him.

Dustin turned the knob of your closet door, pulling the metal string to illuminate the small area. Looking around, a plethora of muted-toned clothes. A lot of it covered the floor, almost completely covering the carpet. Shoes sat on the floor, badly organized. Next to a box of old Barbies, multiple canvases of art, finished and unfinished. Next to a few stacked boxes with your younger handwriting scribbled onto the labels.

Dustin's eyes darted to the one labeled ‘middle school.’

His head whipped back to look out the window again, before falling to his knees to rummage through the box. He found old photos, report cards, arcade tickets, and doodles. Dustin's eyes almost popped out of his head when he found multiple letters addressed to boys in your class. Dustin didn't recognize a lot of them until.

Steve.

Steve Harrington.

Wrote sloppily, and addressed but not stamped, and–even better–with a corny heart doodled next to it.

You were a boldface liar, and Dustin Henderson struck a jackpot.

—

Steve Harrington was a fucking pathetic idiot.

Whichever and whatever vulgar term you wanted to use towards the man was probably it. It fit better than his broken-in and worn-out Nikes that paced pavement below a hill to the Henderson house, a letter addressed to him weighing heavy in his back pocket.

Full honesty, he wasn't sure what he was reading when his eyes paced through the page. I mean, hell—it was dated from around middle school, and well, you two hadn't spoken much since then. To Steve's full fault, as he's realizing now. Even more so, Steve wasn't sure why he was even here, pacing back and forth with his hair tussled from running his fingers across his temple thrice per minute.

Why would you send this? It was from so long ago, and yeah, Steve was lonely enough that even a naive middle school love confession made his heart lurch from his chest. It was still nothing but that. A silly love confession from middle school, before anyone even had a grasp on what love actually felt like.

(yet, it felt like you hit the mark pretty close for being 13)

Steve Harrington slapped himself on the cheek to bring himself back down to reality, or maybe as punishment.

Because, of course, Steve-The Hair-Harrington, previously self-centered playboy turned lonely fallen angel babysitter, would only bring himself to speak to you when it meant to reconfirm that anyone could actually care for him.

One leg after another with high knees, Steve waltzes up your driveway and straight to the door, following a frantic knock. His leg bounced with anxiety. God, what the hell was he fucking doing? He can save himself, pretend he never received it, turn around, and spare the–

Steve heard the heavy footsteps towards the front door, and he knew that wouldn't work. Fuck.

Pleasebeyoupleasebyoupleasebeyou

The door swung open, and Steve hadn't realized how much his chest had been heaving. Yet, once Steve had to drop his chin to greet a curly-haired and gummy-smiled kid, he finally felt like he could catch his breath.

“Hey, Henderson!” Steve greeted, trying to sound as cheery as he possibly could. And not second to a panic attack. He may have sold it too far.

“Sup, looking for my sister?”

Steve smiled, brain in autopilot, “Yeah—wait, how do you know that?”

Dustin shrugged his shoulders, playing innocent, but he always had such a bad poker face. Steve thought about prying, but decided to take it as a gift to hopefully not get questioned back by a 15-year-old on why exactly he was looking for you.

“Do ya—do you know where she might be? She home?” Steve asked, looking over Dustin's tiny shoulder into the living room.

“I think she left for the diner across town. The new one. She just left, you can probably catch up to her.” Dustin said.

“Across town!–"Steve cut himself off, lowering his voice. “Thank you, Dustin. Thank you.”

Steve gave Dustin a friendly pat on his shoulder before turning heel and barreling down your driveway and straight to his car, keys fumbling in hand.

—

“Thank you, Pat,” you say warmly, grabbing the glass of pink goodness from her aging hands. A golden wedding band adorned her ring finger.

“How have you been, sweets? Any new news in my favorite Henderson's life? Any boys?” she asked you, propping her elbows up to speak to you.

You laugh, “Did Dustin cause that much trouble a few nights ago?”

“I'm teasing!” she waves off, a sweet smile still decorating her face.

“Right,” you giggled, "graduating soon, so that's pretty much it.”

“No boys?”

“No boys.” you grimace.

Pat leaves you be, off to help another customer in need of dairy goodness. You slurp your drink up with ease, kicking your feet as they dangle off the red stool.

No boys. Sigh. When did you get so pathetic? You lived and breathed getting into college and hanging out with your brother now. You were a social plague. Even hanging out with Steve–who arguably had fallen off harder than you had—felt like an impossible task. No boys. No friends. No life.

It's not like you were unhappy; you'd call it content. It didn't matter, though, you'd be off to college soon enough.

You heard the bells wrapped around the front entrance jingle behind you, sipping at your straw some more. Your hips swivel with the stool, body bored and searching for some stimulus. Yeah, you might as well head home soon. You got your sweet release, and time was up.

Except you make the mistake of turning around to check the door first, eyes accidentally landing on a certain someone. Stood in the doorway, eyes wild like he was already looking for you. The way his eyes are locked on you makes you think he definitely was. You wince. At both the idea and the strong, determined stare down coming from one Steve Harrington.

And Steve swears the world stops. After everything he knows now, or he's just searching for something that is realistically probably long gone by now. Grasping at straws like usual. He sees you and thinks of the kiss from 7th grade, a drum in his head while the diner mutes around him

Before he can even take his leap of faith towards you, another voice calls him. And the image of you fades away and is replaced by the feeling of a jerk on his shoulder.

Steve sees the lettermen first, then Steve’s last name, which leaves the kids' mouths with a heavy layer of teasing. It makes Steve want to fold himself small, find a hole, and die in it. His eyes were wide and weary, forcing out the best smile he could to not further damage his image. Wow, was he always this shallow?

“Hey, buddy!” Steve says, dragging out a nervous laugh along with his words. “Haven’t seen you in a while?”

Steve didn't actually recognize who he was talking to. He’s a kid, blonde hair, names Chad or Jason, who stayed on the bench for the Hawkins basketball team.

(Steve scoffs like he wasn’t kicked off the team for lack of the right priorities. What his coach said, at least.)

“Could say the same for you, Harrington, it's like seeing a ghost,” the boy laughs as if the statement doesn't hit him heavily in his gut. Right. A ghost.

Steve's too busy to care, though, trying to search for your gaze again without seeming like a total dickhead. No assholery–New Year's resolution. Or something.

“Right, right, you know how finals are.” Steve lies, he hadn't given finals more than a thought until realizing he was gonna flunk them anyway.

Meanwhile, you bite your lip. Trying to keep your head down so that the man with the gravity-defying hair doesn't gravitate towards you. You almost laugh at yourself. Why would he? Just because you're in the same social class, suddenly? He was still King Steve, at least just in his head, no way he'd want to talk to you on a random Monday.

Right?

You look back once more, just to double-check.

A large breath of relief leads you when you notice his back is facing you. Tussled brown hair, that same bomber coat that hugs his waist, tight light wash jeans, papers sticking out of his pockets, and worn down Nikes.

Wait.

What the hell?

You lean forward. Squinting your eyes. From anyone else's perspective, it looks like you're breaking your neck to check out Steve Harrington's ass. No. No, you absolutely recognize that floral envelope peaking out of his pocket. You had picked it up at a gift shop in Minnesota, a family trip, the first one the family took when Dustin had grown conscious enough to be able to remember it.

Leaning farther, almost falling face-first into the tile as you peer closer. Slowly, your brain recognizes the handwriting. The puppy-dog stickers on it. The doodled hearts in glitter pen.

No fucking way.

“Honey?”

You have to grab the sides of the stool in hopes of not toppling over, cold hands grasping onto rusty metal to hold yourself steady. Meanwhile, your mind was spinning, spinning faster than how you felt on the school's roundabout in elementary. Along with the overwhelming feeling of puke stinging your lungs and settling heavily in your stomach.

“Honey? Are you alright?” Pat asks you, eyes wide with concern. Her hand, the ring shining, grasping around your now-empty glass.

“Yes,” you stutter. “Um–”

Your head whips back again, towards him. You feel dizzy. Steve's staring right at you, waving off the kid—quite rudely, might you add—and ending the high school meetup. Turning away, hoping it would make him disappear, or at least remove the memory of whatever information he got from that letter out of his deformed brain. You rustle around in your pocket, pull out a few dollars, and place them on the counter in front of a growingly concerned pat.

“Thank you, see you soon. Uh, keep the change or just put it on my tab.” Your words rush out of your mouth, almost slurring together as you grab your bag and stumble out of your seat.

The very edge of your foot gets caught on the stool's metal footrest, resulting in you positively falling back like a goddamn domino.

Instead of cold diner tile, your back meets a strong forearm. Your eyes dare follow it up and see the mess of hair you were trying to run from. You were going to hurl, and Steve Harrington was going to be your puke victim.

He gazes at you, as if to say hello. No actual words leave his mouth. Steve's eyes are teddy bear brown. You think about the roundabout again. You feel even dizzier, thinking about how Steve was the one usually on the other side of spinning you. Innocent wide smile, high-pitched laughter. When you thought the freckles and moles on his skin looked like constellations, and that was enough reason in your 8-year-old brain to become friends with him.

Huh, must have blocked that out until now.

Goddamn your Adidas shoes, half a size too big that you spent an entire semester saving up for. Stupid. Stupid.

You shoot up before he can speak, not realizing how warm his touch was when it feels like you've gone dead cold the moment your back disconnects. You try not to focus on that thought too long, eyes locked in on the door. Your escape. From shame. Embarrassment. Death, even.

You're already trying to slide past him while you speak, “Sorry, thanks for catching me, I can be such a clutz,” you laugh, to seem like a normal and totally functioning human, but it dies halfway out of your mouth. “I'm late picking up Dustin, see ya!”

Your voice fades out as you walk farther away from Steve and towards the door. Steve was frozen and utterly stunned in place, soles of his feet practically glued to the floor. Like a lost and confused child in the middle of a store, adorably clueless.

“But Dustin's at the house though–” Steve attempted to yell out, but the words faded to nothing when your figure was already gone from his sight and the door's bell ringing in his ear.

Steve got pretty comfortable with things hitting him so far in the chest that he doesn't know how to think anymore. But that was always with beatings or information that led him to believe the world was ending.

Not girls and love letters.

So why in the hell would you send a middle school artifact to him and then almost faceplant trying to avoid talking about it? Was this some sick joke?

Steve drove home, mind dazed and somehow more confused than before his attempt at speaking to you.

—

Dustin sat in a living room chair, petting the family cat like a fucking evil scientist. And you could probably read through the context clues, knowing your brother, if you could think through your oncoming panic attack when you got home.

You missed it when he asked you if anything happened while you were out, because of course, he knew.

And you missed his concerned tone when he asked what was wrong as your heavy breathing grew more evident, followed by a slam of your bedroom door.

But Dustin was your brother; he knew when you'd be okay, and he knew when not to pry.

Yet, Dustin swears that if this is a result of Steve, then he was going to resurrect Dart and sic him on Harrington.

—

Your hands and fingers move quicker than your brain, maybe even quicker than the way your chest rose and fell in anxiety. Throwing countless pieces of clothes and miscellaneous garments over your shoulder, further dirtying your closet that was 4 months overdue for a cleaning. Searching through old boxes of things that had collected dust from better and younger days. Until it landed on one of the many memory boxes.

Being a sentimental bastard has its perks and downs; you could look back on the good times. Not ever being able to let go of it, even if the very same memories and moments plagued you at night, made you yearn, made you cry. It was all the same, and you'd never be able to stomach throwing anything away.

You think you could stomach it now, after seeing it somehow materialize in Steve's grasp. Knowing he read something he was never meant to see, even you knew that the second you signed it in middle school. Everyone journals differently, for fuck sakes—it wasn’t even stamped!

Finding every love-sick letter besides his, feeling utterly defeated and beyond confused. Your hands still find some old photos. It's a photo of Nancy's 14th birthday party. You, Nance, Barbara, and Carol. All lined up with toothy grins over a sparkling birthday cake. Before the plague of high school took them, and death.

Another Polaroid from when you were 9. The Harrington household had an inground pool, and Steve convinced his parents to have a party for your birthday at his house, since it was summer and all you wanted to do was swim. Steve had his arm slung around your shoulder and long, brown, and soaking wet hair stuck to his forehead. You were both adorably innocent back then, still best friends. You remember your mom taking that photo; you were oh-so reluctant, but Steve had to pull you in with a camera-ready smile before you could even think.

You hadn't even realized your breathing had fallen back into a steady, normal pace.

It was just you in your closet, surrounded by memories now, and the world suddenly didn't exist outside of it.

Until a knock at the door.

You waited a few moments, hoping that Dustin or your mom would grab it. Too sentimental to function at the moment. No footsteps yet. You think, It's Monday. Right. Moms at work. Still, Dustin can get it.

A beat. More knocking.

No footsteps.

“God damnit,” you lazily put the photos and old memorabilia down, vowing to tidy up later. Pulling yourself to your feet and brushing your pants off of any dust, socks sliding across the carpet to the front door.

You unhook the latch with no thought, pulling the door open. Immediately almost met with a knock to the face, the suddenly all too familiar face mid-attempt at a third knock.

Steve smiles, like he didn't drive you to an anxiety fit moments before this.

(and had also unintentionally calmed you down from it as well.)

And he barely gets a “hey” past those pretty lips before you could slam the door in his face.

Steve Harrington had been nothing but a complete asshole the last few years; you had enough reason to be the same towards him now and hope he could at least commit to how he started high school and finish it by completely forgetting you exist in his world.

—

Steve reread your letter 4 more times that night.

Although you might not have even meant for him to see this, Steve's entire world was being held together within those lines.

He just needed to know if it was real.

—

You made tea under the dim light of the kitchen stove; it was close to 1 am now. Mesmerized by the liquid swirling in your cup. Hot metal held between your fingertips as the teabag bobbed up and down.

You heard footsteps behind you, cursing to yourself if it was mom. She worries too much, and if she knew you were up this late, you know she'd have a million and one questions ready to throw at you.

Except it was just your brother with tussled curls and old pjs on.

“Why are you still up?” you nod at him, sipping at your cup. The liquid was hot, burning your tongue. You let it hurt. It goes down smoothly after that.

“Working on a new campaign,” he responds.

“You should get to bed soon, it's getting late, bubs.” You motion to the ticking clock.

12:51

“It's spring break,” Dustin says plainly.

You scoff, offering him a piece of your elderly sibling's advice. “Trust me, wait till summer. Your sleep schedule will be all messed up right when it's time to go back.”

Dustin snorts at your response, padding over to the fridge to grab a midnight snack. A beat of comfortable silence between you two. Not noticing Dustin's eyes glancing over to you, scanning, reading.

“So….” he drags out, “I saw Steve's car here earlier, did he need me?”

You freeze, knuckling white around your mug. If you spend any time in the school gym, it might have cracked under your grasp.

Pursing your lips, shaking your head. Almost to convince yourself of some lie. “No, no, just um, I dropped my wallet at the diner today, and Steve came across it so he was just dropping it off.”

Dustin didn't like this new trend of his sister lying to him. Which, to be fair, Dustin's calling the kettle black here. Not like he's said it out loud yet, or like you've asked.

“Oh, okay,” he says, pretending to be convinced. “Like I told you, kinder.”

You just hum, “right,” and take another go at sipping your tea.

“I'm gonna head to bed, you too,” you finish.

“Hey, do you think you can pick me up from Mike's house tomorrow?” Dustin asks you, just above a whisper.

You fake thinking about it for a moment, “maybe.”

Dustin shoots you his best ‘puppy dog in the rain’ look.

You crack. A smile tugging at your lip, “Sure thing, as long as you go to bed. Like, now.”

“Aye, aye.” Dustin salutes and marches down the hall to his bedroom before you.

—

You’d only made it halfway through your Golden Girls episode before the ring of your house's landline interrupted you, one custody call from the Wheeler household.

You prided yourself on being a good older sister, a cool and calm older sister. You have and always will do anything for Dustin, especially if it means keeping your mom's stress levels down enough so she doesn’t suffer from a stroke.

But for fuck sake, you’re missing your girls right now.

Tapping your foot on the front porch of the Wheelers’ household, checking your watch over once more. Has it only been 8 minutes? Felt closer to 20 since Karen told you that Dustin would be up in a moment.

Honestly, you contemplated sitting in your car. Your legs were starting to sway from just standing here. Waiting. That little shit, maybe you should just leave. He can walk home.

The screech of tires makes you turn around to catch sight of a familiar Beamer.

Was your life a joke? Honestly? Had god not gotten enough laughs from you yet?

Dustin could walk.

You almost tripped over yourself racing down the steps of the Wheeler entryway, b-lining to your car.

Steve called out your name, you ignored it, hoping that would make it go away. Disappear from your line of sight the same way that the letter did from your closet. Then you heard your name again. Damn.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” He asked, fastly approaching you.

“Picking up Dustin. What are you doing besides stalking me?” You respond, not looking at him. You don’t think you could even if you wanted to.

“What?” Steve asks, “Dustin just called me to pick him up.”

Your hands that previously stayed busy fumbling with your car keys froze still. Eyebrows furrowed tight, your mind raced. Slowly, you turned to look at Steve, and he looked dead serious. You swallowed hard, “Dustin called you?”

“Uh, yeah.” He responds like it’s obvious. And you don’t appreciate the attitude.

Steve's eyes watch you; they flicker up and down. “And uh, hey, can we talk?”

You fake a smile, praying Dustin walks out those doors soon. “What would we ever need to talk about?”

“What you sent me.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about, Harrington.” You replied, crossing your arms and pressing your back against your car door.

That’s it. Play innocent until he thinks he’s crazy. Easy enough.

Then Steve’s hands slip behind him, tugging an envelope out of his back pocket and showing it off to you like you hadn’t been panicking about it the past few days.

Play it cool, Henderson. Dustin didn’t get his horrible poker face from you.

“You didn’t send me this?” Steve squints at you. He flipped the paper over with just his pointer and index finger.

“No.”

“You sure?”

You scoff, “Yes, I'm sure, Harrington. Why on earth would I send you a love letter?”

A beat.

“I didn’t say it was a love letter.”

Steve stares you down for too many seconds.

“You know what? You can take Dustin home, thank you.” You say, a way of bidding Steve goodbye. An end to this conversation before it even really started. You hope he gets the memo when you open your car door.

But Steve Harrington has always been a little dense. Maybe it was all the beatings he’s gone through.

“I just want to know if it’s real.”

You laugh. You let out a real, god-honest laugh. Looking at Steve, up and down, and once more again. His shoulders are more tense these days, hair longer and more unruly. No self-absorbed swagger. His crown fell, and Steve showed it on his face. Yet, you can’t help but laugh.

“Was it real?” You echo, “Steve, it was from middle school, I don’t know you anymore.”

“No, no, no.” Steve starts, “You did. If you meant anything in this, you knew me. You still do.”

This was too amusing; you couldn’t contain the laughter. This was ridiculous. Steve Harrington had gone downright insane. You point at him square in the chest, “You are a stranger. You come to my house to pick my brother up for whatever you two do, which I’m thankful you’ve been so nice to him, but I do not know you anymore, Steve Harrington.”

Stranger and his full name, laced with venom, in the same sentence—coming from you felt worse than any punch he’s received. And that’s saying something. He blinks once, twice. In a daze, in disbelief. He wasn’t even sure anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Steve starts with his plea of apology.

“Oh my god.” You groan, ready to make another attempt to get in your driver's seat.

“No, I’m serious. I’m sorry. I’m really, really, fucking sorry.” Steve lightly hits your car with every apology to emphasize his point. If he dents your car, you swear to god you’d be sending him a bill. “I’ve been an asshole. I am an asshole. I’m sorry, I’m trying.”

“Asshole? Woooow.” You mock, eye rolling.

“I know! I know, okay? It’s bad, I know.”

You scoff, “bad? Do you even know what bad is? Really? Bad is pretending I don’t exist for the past 3 years and then stalking me around town after you found some old letter I wrote when I had a silly crush on you. And for what? To reconfirm this insecurity in your black hole of a heart that someone actually could like you? That bad? Has the loneliness gotten to you so much that all you can do is hang out with middle schoolers and pathetically reconnect with your childhood best friend you left behind for the soulless popular club?”

Yep. Much worse than any punch.

Steve swallowed down any pride he had left in him. Nodding, “yeah, you still know me.”

“Pretty on the mark?”

Steve just nods, his eyes don’t falter from your face despite it all. And you hadn't noticed how close he’d gotten, hand planted on the roof of your car, inches from your body. His face is only a few more inches from your face.

(a few meters away from behind a window, that’s in front of a curtain, barely drawn to catch your interaction with Steve. Mike says, “Do you think they’re gonna kiss?”

“No, I’ve never seen her look angrier.” Will corrects.

And the four pairs of eyes were still focused on the interaction.)

“I honestly thought I was sparing you, but I see that I’m just an asshole,” Steve says, pushing off your car and away from you. The air around you felt different, your brain too frazzled to put a word to it.

“Sparing me?” You quip, “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Steve stood a few feet away, looking defeated, the letter still in his grasp. “You care. You do the right thing. You see the beauty in everyone, you— you,” Steve laughs. Mostly at himself. “You are the beauty that you see in people.”

“I couldn’t swallow the idea that—“ Steve had given up, he’s shooting himself in the foot right now. “The fact that all that would get washed away if you started to follow me down the social path I chose. It just wasn’t you.”

By the end of the sentence, you were left stunned, mouth agape and speechless. By then, Steve had walked himself backwards to his car by then. “I’m sorry.”

The same way he showed up, he was gone. In only a moment.

You want to think that it’s not that deep. It’s just the high school social scene, the real world was a lot scarier. You avoided it, and it sucked, but you knew it wasn’t the end of the world. You could comfortably swallow all the hurt that came your way and live on.

But Steve. Something shook him up badly. High School had lifted him up and then knocked him down as quickly as a freight train. It’s done some damage that you couldn’t even perceive yet.

You didn’t realize your lip quiver slightly. Did Steve Harrington really care back then? Did he still actually see you? Did it all just get covered up by disposable girls, basketball, nights out, and bad grades? Was the boy who made you understand the very concept of caring and seeing beauty in people not completely lost to the facade?

The slightest movement in the corner of your eye made you whip your head over and back to reality.

For a split second, you saw a few teenage boys head dunk behind a window.

Your jaw clenched, “DUSTIN, GET IN THE CAR!”

The swing of the front door couldn’t have come quicker.

—

On the drive home, Dustin’s eyes bounced from yours to the road every millisecond. Your foot seemed planted on the gas and unrelenting, and for the fact he’s never seen you this worked up.

With one leg bouncing in anxiety. He was ready to tuck and roll at and any moment

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