go for it

A word you never thought you’d use for the face and hair of Hawkins High’s sports programs circa 1981 to 1985.  A jock who used to push kids in lockers, break their camera’s, the kind to stand girls up who would just turn around and beg him to do it again. The popular guy who always seemed to get what he wanted, someone you thought would have his future laid out for him on a road paved of gold. So when you had your first day at The Squawk almost three months ago, and found him not only working the sound board for WSQK’s very own ‘Rockin Robin’ aka your favorite trumpet player to skip band practice with, but that they were also best friends. Like inseparable best friends, finishing each other's sentences kind of best friends, you weren’t sure how many chapters you missed after leaving for college four years ago. 

Steve Harrington was an anomaly, and he was wearing that damn brown bomber jacket again.

It was your favorite of what seemed to be his early winter collection that had started to appear in the form of thick sweaters and fitted jackets once the sun began disappearing after four pm. Another thing you hated almost as much as not being able to put your chipped polished finger on him anymore, was that now, the word favorite is in your vocabulary when it comes to the guy who never even looked your way despite sharing the same homeroom all four years of high school. 

This particular jacket though? It was your kryptonite. The soft suede wraps around his broad shoulders like butter, tapering just enough at the bottom to give the illusion of a loose fit, like it’s tailored special just for him. Its rich earthy brown color brings out the gold flecks in his hazel eyes that you swear changed colors with the season, or maybe it was because Nancy Wheeler finally stopped coming around. 

You’d overheard a conversation between him and Robin a few weeks ago after noticing an extra broody-ness about his presence that she had finally left Hawkins to attend Emerson in Massachusetts. It was all you were able to catch without being caught eavesdropping on your way to map out the next few weeks DJ schedules in Jimmy’s abandoned office. An office you were only supposed to be an assistant too, but now somehow managed to end up being the one to do the job it was made for. It was becoming a full time one too, keeping the station running since its operating hours are no longer the allotted time slots given by the military. Which still seemed like a fresh nightmare for most of the people that decided to stay when the fences finally disappeared.

“Morning!” You greet them, stretching your neck enough to peek out of the open office door, making your presence known since your ever changing schedule keeps you at the station at random times.

Today you’d gotten here at 3am to fill the late night dead air with your own curated mix, something you do whenever Steve or Keith couldn’t. It was easy money, you didn’t even have to talk, just make sure to queue the ads you’ve been having to fight tooth and nail to get in order to keep the lights on. 

“Good Morning!” Robin waves stretching her neck to meet your gaze with her signature toothy grin that lights up the whole room. Her blonde hair is extra frizzy from the snow starting to fall outside, the cold kissing her cheeks with roses. 

All you get is Steve’s back as he continues his path to the studio, giving you a quick flick of his wrist in acknowledgment. It was 50/50 depending on the day, or even his shift if he’d stay mute or give you a short ‘Morning’. Either way, it didn’t matter because he still cared enough to pretend that he likes his coffee black in front of you. A secret that you’ve always kept close after catching him put cream and an absurd amount of sugar in his whenever he thought you weren’t looking– on multiple occasions.

”I put your coffees in there already, three creams and two sugars for Robin, and don’t worry Steve, I left yours black just how you like it.”

Your lips twist at the slight tense of his shoulders.

”Thanks boss!” Robin sings, skipping to catch up with her best friend’s long strides.

”I’m not your boss!” You call back, brows furrowing ñ at the nickname she’s been determined to make stick. They weren’t paying you a radio manager’s wage. 

“Could’ve fooled me!” Her raspy voice carries across the room, before both her and Steve’s go muffled behind the soundproof door.

5 minutes till showtime.

You can see them through the glass that encases them from the cracked window in your office. Steve looks like he’s rambling about something to her, big hands gesturing wildly before they push back his thick mane of chestnut hair, the blonde tips it used to have, long forgotten. It is his personal tell that he’s stressed, besides a thumb flick to the nose which follows shortly after. Robin’s face softens, not meeting his chaotic energy as he takes off his jacket, revealing the cream mock turtle neck sweater underneath it. You can’t hear what she’s saying, but whatever it is makes his shoulders slump, nodding in response with another card of his hair. Relaxing.

It’s unexpected when his eyes shoot across the room, meeting your gaze for the first time in a few days. Averting your stare as quickly as you can, your cheeks feel like they're being raked over coals, they burn hot as you try and refocus on the spread sheet laying on the desk. Quietly vowing to leave the station before they break for lunch as your escape plan. This way you can lock yourself in your dark apartment and sleep off the exhausting seven hours before suffering the kind of embarrassment that radiates from your fingertips and all ten of your toes.

—-

Thursday Early Morning

5:13am. The bright green numbers on your dash feel like an assault as the tires of your Oldsmobile crunch against the snow and gravel leading up the path to The Squawk. From inside, the constant vigil of the studio lights fades into a soft glow, filtering through the glass front entrance doors to cut through the last bit of night and bounce off the shimmering snowflakes that somehow continue to fall.  It’s been four days of this now, the sky alternating between flurries and heavy snowfall. It’s starting to feel like it might never stop, like the universe seems determined to deliver a white Christmas during the one year you and the rest of this town can’t seem to find the spirit. 

Your jaw stretches with a yawn as you try to will the caffeine to hit your bloodstream faster. You pull up beside what should be Keith’s Thunderbird and rub the remainder of sleep from your eyes blinking at Steve’s BMW parked next to the WSQK van.  A newfound anxiety flutters beneath your ribcage, at the memory of how his eyes caught you– like you were intruding on something personal, a secret only meant for his best friend’s ears. Everything with Steve Harrington has felt like a secret lately. An unsolvable puzzle with a missing piece always just out of reach. There’s a determination to find it. With slightly shaking hands, you arm yourself with a travel mug of homemade coffee and a deep breath to collect your courage before heading inside.

He probably won’t even say hi anyway, if you’re lucky he’ll just wave from the studio, maybe, and then you’ll both ignore each other until he leaves without saying goodbye.

Frank Sinatra’s ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin’ spills from the speakers in the studio, the door propped open allowing the soft trumpets and piano to fill the normally quiet space. He plays a lot of Sinatra on his overnights, a taste you’ve assumed he acquired from Robin, but part of you can’t be too sure anymore. 

Christmas lights that weren’t there the night before are draped around the DJ booth, with even more hanging half hazardly above the soundboard. They twinkle in red, green, and gold, warming the room in a comforting glow. It’s not until you round the corner that you see Steve on a step stool stringing more around the common area, a small pile of multi-colored shimmering garland on the table beside him with tiny Santas and snowmen hanging off the tinsel.

Steve Harrington is decorating for Christmas. 

“You’re not Keith.” You say, finding your voice, trying to break the usual awkwardness between the two of you with some kind of joke. Butterflies waking up in the pit of your gut when you hear it. 

A laugh.

It’s so quiet that if you didn’t see the slight shake of his shoulders, you’d probably miss it. An unfamiliar desperate need to make him do it again tugs at your heart.

”Defintely not Keith.” He huffs, but you can hear the slight smile in his voice. You’d almost forgotten what he really sounds like.

His Nike covered feet step down from the stool, leaving the string of lights to dangle half way on their journey across the room. Turning around, he runs one of his big hands through his messier than usual hair, those familiar hazel eyes catching yours for the second time in one week. A record breaking streak.

He’s wearing dark washed jeans, they fit him snug like all of them do. A navy WSQK sweater stretches over his chest, the letters faded and peeling because Jimmy cheaped out on the printing company.You’re willing to bet Steve’s got three more washes till they're all completely gone. The sleeves are pushed up revealing his permanently sunkissed skin despite the warm weather hiding on the other side of the earth, and they’re dotted with more freckles than you can count. 

“He asked me to cover his shift last minute, something about a pet ferret?” His face twists in the kind of judgment that has an uncontrollable giggle slip past your lips.

The gold in his eyes seems to sparkle at the sound, the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting a smile that he doesn’t let win. 

“That explains the smell of his jacket sometimes.” Scrunching up your nose at the memory of the last time you saw Keith, Steve can’t seem to fight his grin off this time, pearly whites gleaming behind plush pink lips.

It threatens to steal the breath from your lungs, teeth digging into your bottom lip with cheeks that start to feel like the surface of the missing sun, warming your skin with something that has you looking away. Suddenly, you have a new understanding for all those girls in high school. 

“I hope you don’t mind, me uh - decorating and stuff.” He scratches the back of his neck, like talking this long to someone that’s not his best friend is hard for him, or maybe it’s just because it’s you. “Robin was complaining about how she’s not feeling very festive this year, and it’s her and vi- it’s her first Christmas dating someone so I was thinking maybe this might help.”

It almost makes you mad at how sweet of a gesture it is, and how it feels like you’ll never quite figure him out. Every time you think you’re close, he sheds another layer. Throwing off your scent.

”Not at all, honestly, I haven’t been feeling very ‘jolly’ myself.” You laugh weakly, finally meeting his softened gaze, making his shoulders relax as if there were a world where you’d actually be mad. “This job has been…a lot.”

You don’t go into anymore detail about how none of this was what you signed up for, or how your home doesn’t feel very much like one anymore, like your childhood was some figment of your imagination the military erased. You’re not sure he’d even want to hear any of it anyway. No need to test the boundaries of this new progression between you and the former king of Hawkins, anyway. 

“Well, if it means anything coming from me, I think you’re doing a great job, all things considered.” He answers with a casual shrug, like he didn’t just shatter all the assumptions you thought he had of you in one sentence.

”It- It does mean something, thanks, Steve.” It feels weird saying his name out loud, despite how many times it’s crossed your mind over the past few months. 

Pink powders the apples of his cheeks, and now it’s his turn to look away.

”Decorate all you want. I’ve got this, like, 4 foot tall Christmas tree I had in my dorm in college that I can dig out and bring into the station tomorrow.” You add, returning to the safety of the original conversation, and you can tell he’s thankful for it.

”Cool.” He grins, shoving his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels a little bit.

”Cool.” 

The two of you stand there, not really sure where to go from here until the music cuts off and Steve remembers the job he’s actually supposed to be doing.

”Oh shit!” He gasps, eyes looking like a deer caught in headlights. “I gotta flip the record, I’m sorry, I swear I don’t let it go silent like this normally.”

You want to tell him that you know, because his overnights are some of your favorites to listen to. But you decide it's another secret best kept to yourself instead.

”It’s fine, I’m sure the four people listening will forgive you.” Rolling your eyes playfully, you catch the small grin you get in return as he jogs to the studio room. “I’m gonna go do my job too.”

Grabbing the stack of ad proposals next to his garland, you wave them in your hand, before making your way to Jimmy’s office, the kind of smile that makes your cheeks hurt tugging up the corners of your lips when you’re sure he can’t see it.

—-

Saturday

“Secret Santa!” Robin exclaims from the doorway of Jimmy’s office, bright blue eyes staring at you with the kind of excitement that threatens to be contagious. “We need to do a Secret Santa!”

”There’s like six of us who work here.” Steve speaks up from behind her, a half eaten sandwich dwarfed in his big hand, leaning against the studio room looking far too cool in a maroon sweater and dark washed jeans.

”Okay and? That’s an even number. You couldn’t ask for a more perfect scenario actually.” She gives him a tight lipped sarcastic smirk, before bringing her attention back to you,rolling up the sleeves on her white turtle neck she’s layered with a black The Smith’s shirt on top of. “Here me out -“

”We can do it.” You say simply, closing the radio tower instruction manual that was starting to give you a headache. 

“Wait, really?” She gasps with a smile so big it shows all her teeth, practically vibrating when you nod your head yes. “Oh my god this is so exciting, I’ll get everything together, you don’t have to lift a finger. Let's say a ten dollar budget, nothing too crazy.” 

“Ten dollars?! I don’t like anyone around here enough to spend ten dollars on.” Steve scoffs, shoving the rest of his sandwich in his mouth before crossing his arms.

”Are you kidding me? You don’t like me enough to spend ten dollars on? Her?” Robin points at you, and the urge to hide is the most tempting idea you’ve ever had, especially when Steve’s eyes meet yours from across the room with something you can’t decipher. ”Dustin, Mike? Literally you just hate Keith.”

”Dustin and Mike hardly count. They are here like two hours a week but fine! You win.” He surrenders, throwing his arms up before running an annoyed hand through his hair. His plan to help her feel more festive worked a little too well. 

“I always do!” She sings, throwing a wink at you before sauntering back to the chair and mic that feel like they are made for her to deliver Hawkin’s favorite segment of the day, nudging Steve playfully on her way. ”Hurry up dingus, we’re back on in three minutes.”

”You had to walk around me, I’m already here.” He huffs, kicking off the corner and back into the studio room closing the sound proof door behind them.

You can’t seem to fight the smile that twists at the corners of your mouth as you grab your weekly planner from under the pile of work orders that you’ve been deluding yourself into thinking you can find the fixes in the manual. 

The faint sounds of Billie Holiday’s ‘I Thought About You’ catches in your ears, something shifting in the air as the heat from an unfamiliar stare warms against your skin, sending goosebumps pebbling, begging for your attention. You haven’t risked even a glance through the window of your office since the day that Steve caught you, but something was daring you to do it again.

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting when you look up but it isn’t his eyes already locked on you, holding your gaze after they meet letting you know it’s not a mistake. Butterflies stretch their wings wide as you work up the courage not to look away first. The grip on your pen tightening, teeth digging into your bottom lip watching the slight shimmer of gold around the darkness of his pupils. He studies your face like he’s looking for the answer to something hidden inside of the contours of it, and you think this must be the way you look when he catches you staring.

It’s Robin that unknowingly interrupts whatever was going on, tearing his attention away with a bob of his Adam’s apple and a shake of his head. Saying something that looks a lot like the word ‘sorry’ before switching out the sound effect 8-track for the one she clearly wanted. In the hour it takes for you to wrap up and reach the end of your day, neither of you dare to look up again, and it’s you who leaves with a quick flick of your wrist, not saying a word this time. 

What was that? 

—-

Two weeks before Christmas 

You stare at the name on the small piece of paper you’d grabbed from Robin’s Santa hat on your way out the door. The white wisps of your breath filling the freezing space of your car, too stunned to even be bothered to turn it on. You read it a few more times just to be sure that too many overnights weren’t making you delirious, but there it was, clear as day in Robin’s signature bubble writing. 

Steve

His name plays on a loop as you finally kick on the engine to your car, it finds its way in every thought, sneaking past your efforts to shut it out. ‘Steve’ lingers in the cold breaths you take on your way to the front door of the small apartment you’d rented while your parents house gets rebuilt. It warms against your skin like the hot water from the shower that rinses off yet another long day at the station, following you to bed and curling around you under your covers, meeting you again in your dreams.

—-

 Tuesday

You climb up the short ladder that leads you to the hatch door, pushing up, you give it a good shove, the rusted hinges squeaking as it flings open. The clearest night sky you’ve seen in what feels like weeks shimmers brightly above you. Suddenly it didn’t matter that it was twenty degrees, not when it looked like this. Tightening your scarf and zipping up your coat as far as it will go, you finish your climb up onto the roof.

The cold greets you with a sharp sting, sending a shiver straight to your bones.Too focused on closing the door to keep the heat trapped inside the station you don't notice you aren’t the only one admiring the view. It shuts with a loud thud at the same time someone clears their throat behind you. Jumping at the sound, you turn around with a startled scream just begging to escape and echo through the darkness until your wide eyes meet Steve’s panicked ones.

”Hey! It’s just me! It’s cool, you’re cool, we’re cool.” His hushed words come out with urgency to stop it from happening, a nervous hand running through his already wind swept hair after it seems to work.

Cool seems to be Steve’s favorite word when it comes to you. You weren’t entirely sure how you felt about that. 

”Jesus Christ, Harrington.” You gasp with a hand on your chest, your quick huffs of breath embarrassingly visible in the cold air. 

”Sorry! How was I supposed to know anyone else would come up here?” He exclaims, a slight agitation to his voice that doesn’t last long before asking “Are you okay?”

Your gaze lands on his Nike’s first, wandering up the light wash denim that covers his legs, accentuating parts of him that you’ve been trying not to think about. Tonight he wears a dark brown leather jacket that tapers at the waist just like your favorite one does. While his lack of scarf seems like a choice, it has the moles that cluster around his neck in their own constellations battling for your attention with the ones above him. 

“Yeah, I’m good. No scarf?! Aren’t you col -“ You lose your train of thought when your eyes catch the glowing ember at the end of a half smoked cigarette tucked between two long fingers. “Wait, are you up here smoking?”

His eyebrows furrow together like he’s confused, until realization dawns on him smoothing the wrinkles on his forehead.

”Yeah,” He shrugs, flicking the ash before taking another drag. “I used to in high school, well, mostly at parties when I was drunk trying to look cool. But I don’t know, I picked it back up recently, I don’t smoke all the time, mostly over nights when I’m stressed or bored.” 

“What are you now?” The question comes out before you can even filter and mark it as inappropriate, the look on his face burning your cheeks only adding to your immediate regret.

But then he does the last thing you expect, he answers it — honestly.

“Stressed.” Wind whips his hair around some more before he shrugs in a squeak of leather adding, “and a little bored.”

There’s storm clouds in his stare as he looks at you with an intensity you can feel tingling at your fingertips. Underneath it lives a nervousness that tries to hide in the dark pools of his eyes from letting you perceive him, gauging your reaction by taking another drag.

”I come up here when I’m stressed too.” You say with ease despite the wild thumping of your heart in your ears, taking a few steps closer, your boots crunch against the frozen brick.

“To my spot?” His words come out around white clouds of smoke, a small smile twisting up the corners of his lips.

”Excuse me? Your spot? I’ve never even seen you up here.” Scoffing, you dig your hands deep in your pockets, shuffling closer with chattering teeth you desperately try to hide.

As if on instinct, Steve positions his body to block you from the wind, cinnamon and amber from his cologne tickling at your nose. He was closer than you’ve ever been to him, close enough to have your palms sweat, for your softened gaze to trace the purple bags under his eyes. The pale pink of a healed scar you don’t remember from high school shows its imperfect end from the edge of his beige sweater’s collar, only to hide from you again when he lifts his cigarette towards you in an offering. 

“I’m pretty sneaky. Stealthy, if you will.”  He winks, cold bitten cheeks pushing up at the snort you give him in response.

Your fingers brush with his accepting the nicotine with a spark you blame on the emanating voltage from the tower. 

“What about you?” He asks quietly, his eyes wandering over the details of your face like he was really looking at you for the first time. Maybe he was. 

Despite yourself, you can’t help but wonder if he likes what he’s found.

”Stressed, maybe a dash of depression, maybe.” If you admit to it out loud, that might make it true, but it’s his honesty that pulls out your own.

He nods his head in response, mimicking your previous stance, shoving his cold hands in his pockets. He kicks at the small patch of ice, brows furrowing as he thinks about what he wants to say. The pad of your thumb brushes against the butt of his cigarette still a little wet from his lips, there’s an intimacy there when yours wraps around it, cheeks hollowing as you take a drag. Inhaling him. 

“Honestly, this time of year. It’s never been my favorite.” His gaze is piercing when they meet your eyes again.“The only time I really liked it was when I had a girlfriend and that was like once.”

”Nancy Wheeler.” You hum, biting at your bottom lip wondering if it was a mistake to say her name out loud.

”Yeah,” he sighs, watching you take another drag, eyes lingering just a little on your mouth when you hand it back to him. “But honestly, I’m starting to realize a big part of that was because I didn’t have to spend it alone.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask confused because he’s Steve Harrington, the boy who’s always had it all. “What about your parents?”

”They’re never home — hell, they were gone when the quarantine happened.” There’s a bitterness in his dry laugh, taking one last hit before tossing the cigarette to the ground, snuffing it out with the toe of his sneaker. “They couldn’t get back in, but I think they preferred it that way, part of me thinks I did too.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You don’t know what else to say, but it also doesn’t feel like he's looking for much more than that either, giving you just a peek into the closed blinds of his soul. 

The bare trees rustle and snap in the silence between you. It’s not an uncomfortable one, but one that lets you sit with the weight inside of it. Steve Harrington, the king of Hawkins, the boy who everyone adored school but always returned to a shell of a home. You can feel the wall rebuild itself around him after revealing more of his hand despite the way both you subconsciously shuffle closer to chase each other's body heat. Steve looks up at the sky, but your eyes stay trained on him. Maybe you were seeing him for the first time too. 

The moon shines bright above, casting shadows on his sharp features, revealing the slight dusting of a five o’clock shadow that covers his jaw you didn’t notice before. Steve Harrington had grown up into a man. You aren’t sure how you missed it until tonight, under a blanket of stars no one’s seen in weeks. What else haven’t you seen?

His gaze finds yours again, the wind making his hair go wild. He holds it like he did in the studio room the other day, and you swear he moves even closer, the toe of his shoe tapping against yours. You can smell the leather of his coat, the tobacco clinging to the fabrics of his sweater mixing with the spice of his cologne in a way that shouldn’t smell as good as it does. A playful smirk teases at the corners of his mouth.

”You’re always looking at me like you’re trying to figure me out.” There’s something delicate about the way he stares at you, tugging at the bundle of nerves twisting in the pit of your stomach. Loosening the knots.                                                                                                                                                                                    

“Is there something wrong with that?” You hum quietly.

”N-no.” He smiles with something timid behind it, weary even. “Just no one’s ever reall-“ He’s cut off by the crackle of the walkie talkie you didn’t know he had clipped to his back pocket 

“Radio silence again dingus!” Robin’s voice comes through the small speaker, “Trying to make moves here and you aren’t helping.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Steve roll his eyes any harder, a loud irritated breath escaping through his nose like a bull. He mouths sorry before bringing the walkie talkies to his lips, pressing harsh on the red button.

”I’m doing you a favor tonight if you remember, watch the tone.” He turns it off after, leaving her no room to respond, determined to get the last word.

”Another day of catching you not doing your job.” You tease with a wink, getting your own eye roll but this one comes with a smile.

”I keep getting distracted by my boss.” He wiggles his eyebrows, starting to back away towards the hatch door. 

Was Steve Harrington flirting with you?

 ”Ugh! Not you too.” You groan, crossing your arms watching him open the rusted metal with ease.

”If the shoe fits.” He shrugs, “Don’t stay out here too long, can’t have you getting sick, the station would probably burn down or something like that.”

”You and Robin ran it just fine.” You argue, with a grin that refuses to go away.

“Yeah, sure.” Steve snorts, climbing down the first few steps of the ladder stopping when all you can see is his shoulders up, “but seriously, it’s cold. I mean it.”

”Okay, Dad.” 

He visibly grimaces at the nickname.

”Yeah, pretty awful isn’t it?” You arch a brow, laughing at his glare for falling into your trap. “I’ll come back in a few minutes, promise.”

He lingers for a few seconds more looking torn, like he wasn’t ready to leave yet, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish he could stay too. But he does the selfless thing you’ve noticed he always does, closing the hatch behind him with one last look catching your small wave goodbye.

—-

Friday

Robin is a ball of energy at seven in the morning, completely consumed by whatever she’s ranting to Steve about when they burst in through the front door together. You watch with an amused smirk from your spot on the lime green couch in the common area, a cup of fresh coffee you brewed for the three of you warm in your hand. She’s so distracted that she doesn’t notice you, but Steve does, almost as if he was searching for you first. The blue hidden in the gold and moss of his eyes are like sunbursts when they find your gaze. His smile is small, but it’s just for you and it’s enough for the butterflies you’ve managed to snuff out all morning with distractions to wake back up. Hiding your smile in your mug, you watch as he nods his head giving Robin a ‘yeah,’ like he’s listening, but something tells you he had stopped a while ago.

Once they get inside the soundproof room Steve peels off the same leather jacket he wore on the roof. Robin follows suit tossing her long navy blue tench coat to the side, lips still moving a mile a minute. He runs two big hands through his hair, the little bit of flurries that had stuck to the ends melting on his fingertips before pushing up the sleeves of his WSQK sweater. And just as you suspected the K at the end of it had already peeled off since last week.

Robin’s lime green polished hands fly all over the place making the people on her ‘Beam me up, this place sucks’ sweater look like they’re actually running. Crossing his arms as he leans against the door frame, Steve seems distracted, but you can tell he’s still actively trying to focus. He’s shaved since the last time you saw him, and the bags that had kissed lavender under his eyes on the rooftop were gone. Maybe that meant he’d finally gotten some sleep. 

His best friend grabs her coffee mid sentence, holding out a finger to give her a minute as she drinks what has to be at least half the cup. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip watching Steve grab his own. Suddenly you wish you’d have gone into Jimmy’s office for this moment as a new fear that maybe something that seemed like a cute idea in the middle of night actually makes you look like a weird stalker. The intrusive thought eats away at your confidence as he takes the first gulp and looks confused peering down in his cup before taking another just to be sure. 

Steve’s eyes lock on yours through the glass, something inside them shifting just like the air between you on the rooftop. A secret revealed that paints his cheeks red, a small gesture that you don’t know has never made him feel more seen as he takes another sip of his coffee made the way he actually likes it today.

—-

“Hey boss, I’m running out for lunch, but Dustin’s got the news report covered while I’m gone.” Robin pokes her head in Jimmy’s office where you’d been for the past hour lost in balancing the books.

”Not your booosssss,” You sing with an annoyed smirk, giving your eyes a break to look up at her. “Isn’t he in school?”

”Winter break!” She grins, shoving her arms into her coat like she’s in a rush, “I’ll be back in like thirty, maybe forty minutes tops!”

She’s gone in a blur of blue and blond before you have a chance to respond, and as if on cue Dustin comes strolling in not even two minutes after her departure. He waves at you with a wide grin, green braces gleaming against the low light. The ends of his long tan trench coat are stained wet, dripping on the checkered floor. Duck boots squeaking against the linoleum. He must’ve rode his bike here like a lunatic.

”Hiya boss!” He greets, turning around to face you walking backwards to the studio room completely oblivious to the angry Steve yelling behind the soundproof glass watching him drip water and salt everywhere.

”Henderson!” You groan, burying your face in your hands before resting it on your desk.

”It’s a compliment!” He argues, getting you to look back up only to see that Steve is now standing behind him with his hands firmly planted on his hips.

”Are you kidding me asshole? Look at the floors.” He huffs, with the kind of outrage a parent would have with their kid. 

“It’s just water, it’ll dry.” Dustin rolls his eyes, pushing past Steve to start setting up but not before adding. “Or you can make yourself useful and mop it up.”

”How about I kick your teeth in, instead?”

“Not the first time you’ve threatened that.” The teenager raises his eyebrows at him, looking unimpressed, letting you know they’re always empty. Of course Harrington is all bark and no bite.

Another endearing quality, unfortunately.

“Yeah, and one day it just might happen if you don’t watch your sass dickhead.” 

It takes every ounce of will power not to snort at the sight in front of you, smiling like the Cheshire Cat at all the ways you’re going to schedule them together this summer. 

If it ever comes. 

“I’ll let you know if I need, I don’t know — like, a car crash sound, or maybe a police siren, but otherwise quiet on set. I have a job to do.” Dustin closes the door to the studio before Steve even has a chance to get the last word in, something you’ve come to find as the clear indicator of who the winner is in these little spats between all of them.

Steve still flips him off through the glass, grumbling to himself about getting the mop so someone doesn’t slip and break their necks. Dustin gives you a thumbs up from behind the sound board switching the ON AIR sign ‘Red’. He taps the sheets of paper you assume is the ‘news’ loudly on the desk to add his own effects as he kicks it off with the weather. Which is snow… always more damn snow. 

You groan, rubbing your temples at the thought of having to clean off your car every day for another week and all the shoveling, so much damn shoveling.

”God, I miss summer.” You mumble, exhaling a defeated breath through your nose grabbing the calculator to finish where you’d left off.

You don’t get very far though, the familiar sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway breaking your concentration. Heat warms your cheeks instantly, teeth digging into your bottom lip daring to look up and meet the hazel eyes you swear have changed colors again. Something new — brighter, something that feels more like Steve.

”H-hey.” He waves awkwardly, giving you a closed lip smile riddled with the kind of nerves that tighten in your chest too. 

”H-hi.” It comes out quieter than you intend, your voice cracking making you try to clear the nerves out of your throat too. 

Steve digs his hands into his pockets, leaning on the door frame with a shyness you’d never expect from him. It’s got a stubbornness about it like he’s worked himself up to do this and is vowing to see it through.

“How’s your uh, how’s your day going?” A hand that can’t help itself comes out of his pocket running through his hair. 

“It’s going,” you sigh, a little defeated tossing your calculator to the side. Suddenly the weight of the last few months makes itself known in the muscles of your shoulders, while your bed starts to sound a little too welcoming for it to only be half way through your shift. “What about y-you? How’s your day going?”

“Not too bad, I passed out on the couch and slept for like 12 hours yesterday. So I’d say feeling pretty good all things considered.” Another card of his hair.

Your eyes catch Dustin watching you both with an amused curiosity. 

“On the couch?! Rest in peace to your back.” You smile trying to crack a joke that somehow works, earning you the twitch of his lips that you were looking for.

”It’s been through worse.” He laughs softly, looking down at his feet before meeting your gaze from under his thick lashes with a shy teasing grin. “Did you switch up the coffee this morning or something? It was better than usual.”

The giggle that bubbles out of you makes Steve’s full pink lips stretch wide over his teeth that look even more brilliant in the daytime. It cracks at the awkwardness that's tried to settle between you.

”I guess you’re not as stealthy as you think you are huh?” You wink, giddy feet bouncing under the desk.

”Apparently not.” He narrows his eyes playfully, “it needed maybe one more packet of sugar though, but hey, who’s counting.”

”Steve, I put in three already.” You scoff with a smile so wide it hurts, heart skipping a beat when his grows like it can’t contain itself either. “Why did you even pretend to like your coffee black in the first place? Such a weird thing to lie about.”

“I don’t know!” He whines, embarrassment flushing his cheeks as he runs his hands down his face, “It’s like I did it once, because you know, you’re pret — “ 

Steve clears his throat catching the words that almost slipped from his mouth, but you catch them, heart thumping wildly at the idea of how that sentence almost ended. 

”I hadn’t seen you since high school, so I wanted to come off more like an adult? I don’t know, it was dumb and honestly, I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that you caught me lying or that you let me keep up with it for so long.” He groans, huffing out a laugh scratching the back of his neck.

”Don’t worry, it was pretty amusing, dare I say my favorite part of the morning. You always looked so nervous, like you were about to be caught robbing a bank or something.” You try to hide your laugh behind the back of your hand, when you earn another one of his glares.

”Ha, ha, ha.” He rolls his eyes, but the twitch at the corner of his lips gives him away.

”Steve!” Dustin’s voice interrupts you, making his shoulders tense, jaw clicking with instant annoyance.

”What Henderson? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a conversation?” He snaps turning around to face the high schooler, broad shoulders blocking him from your view.

”I’m sorry to interrupt your flirting to ask you to do your job.” Dustin responds with a taunting smile that you don’t need to see to know is there.

“You’re really pushing me today, you little shit. I’ll be there in a minute, just give me a second.” This time Steve runs both hands though his hair before turning around to face you again, the thumb flick you were expecting hitting his nose.

”What is this, the third time now in the past few weeks?” You can’t help yourself, or the teasing smirk that spreads across your face, lashes fluttering a little too much, but the greens in his eyes sparkle because of it.

”Like I said the last time, I keep getting distracted by my boss.” He laughs at your scowl about the nickname, walking backwards towards a very impatient Dustin, like he doesn’t want to stop looking at you until he absolutely has to. 

This time you didn’t have to wonder, Steve Harrington was flirting with you.

————-

Five days before Christmas

Monday

When Dustin said to expect snow this week you didn’t realize that he meant a blizzard. Of course it’s a fucking blizzard.

Your tires spin in the foot of snow that’s already fallen since it started this morning. The smoke from your exhaust comes out in huge plumes, over working your engine until you finally give up and take your foot off the gas. You curse the day you decided to go with the cheaper car that lacked the four wheel drive needed to leave the station tonight. And god, you really wanted to crawl into your bed.

“You’re gonna flood your engine!” 

It’s muffled, but the sound of Steve’s voice is unmistakeable, the timbre of it etching into the corners of your mind lately. Cutting off your engine, you look through the fogged up passenger window to see him and Robin standing at the front entrance of the station, the low yellow light almost turning them into shadows. Robin waves excitedly with mitten covered hands like she didn’t just see you less than ten minutes ago, an oversized crocheted beanie threatening to swallow her eyes. Steve on the other hand, he looks almost as stressed as you feel with only that damn leather coat protecting him from the winter storm quite literally raging around him, Nike’s still on his feet.

Leaning over your console, you start to crank open the window, the glass sticking from the frost, groaning like it might shatter before it gives way to snow fluttering into your car. Maybe this wasn’t your best idea.

”I’m stuck!” You yell over the howling wind jutting your bottom lip out for dramatic effect despite stating the obvious. 

”Steve can drive you home!” Robin volunteers without hesitating to ask him if that's okay, but he doesn’t even flinch at the idea.

”Oh — oh no that’s okay, I live on the other side of town, maybe you guys can just help dig me out?” You suggest instead, heart rate kicking up at the thought of being inside Steve’s car.

You’ve heard a lot of stories about that BMW, most against your will.

”You’re just going to get stuck again trying to get out of here, I’ve got four wheel drive. It’s fine, I can drive you.” He waves you off, taking his first steps towards you and into the storm. He walks past his BMW parked on the other side of the WSQK van that blocked some of the snowdrifts, protecting his car from suffering the same fate. 

”How will I get to work in the morning if I don’t try and get my car out of here now?” You counter, with the kind of nerves that only seem to get worse every time he’s around. 

His steps crunch softly in the snow stopping at your half opened window bending down with a hand on the roof to meet your eyes. Robin follows close behind, tilting her head to the side to listen, a smirk twisting up the corners of her lips.

“I’ll pick you up, you’ll need help digging out your car anyway.” He shrugs like he wasn’t offering to completely inconvenience himself for the next 24 hours for solely your benefit. 

“Steve - I can’t, I- “

”Seriously it’s fine! Steve loooves doing stuff like this, it’s like a hobbie, a kink if you will.” Robin interjects, a little too pushy for you not to narrow your eyes at her. “He’s got like a white knight complex or something.”

“Okay, Robin.” Steve snaps, glaring at her from over his shoulder. ”Also, how is enjoying being helpful to my friends a kink? What the hell is wrong with you?” scoffing incrediously, he turns his back almost completely to you.

“I’m just saying!” She shrugs winking at you like you’re in on the joke, but all you can focus on is Steve insinuating that you’re his friend and why that word has a sting to it. 

Running an irritated hand through his hair, he mouths something to her you can’t hear before turning to meet your gaze again with a softness inside his eyes that doesn’t match the tone he just had. It’s the same way he looked at you under the stars that night. 

“We’ve got two options here, and they are either accept my help now, or after you make me throw out my back attempting to dig out your car in a blizzard that will inevitably still get stuck half way down the hill.” The teasing grin on his pink lips disarms you with the kind of charm only he knows how to have, the kind you remember from high school. “I’ll do whichever one you want, honey, so you tell me.” 

Honey.

The word wraps around you gooey and sweet, covering your insides in sugar, warming your bones, leaving you no choice.

”Fine!” It comes out in a playful huff, the edges of your mouth threatening to curl as you pull your keys out of the ignition. You meet his eyes from under your lashes, giving him one last chance to change his mind. “If you’re really okay with this.”

He nods, those perfect teeth of his tugging his full bottom lip between them, cheeks dusting a pretty shade of pink that’s not just from the cold.

”Oh, trust me, he is!” Robin interrupts, and you watch in real time the way the gold sparkling inside his eyes turn black before they roll in the back of his head.

“Keep running that mouth Buckley, and you’re going to get real familiar with the walk home.” He groans with another hand through his hair, the constant snow fall making the ends wet.

”Empty threats.” She scoffs, completely unphased just like Dustin. “Now let's go before we all get stuck too. No offense to you guys but I don’t want to have a sleep over at The Squawk with Keith.” 

She says his name like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth, and Steve’s face twists in disgust like he can taste it too.

“Couldn’t agree more’.” You add, amused by another display of the two of them sharing the same brain.

Leaning over to crank your window back up, you meet Steve’s gaze from up close, something swirling inside it that you can’t figure out making your heart thump a few beats quicker. He holds you there till you’re sealed inside, leaving the storm muffled just like his voice.

“I‘ll go warm up the car.” 

———-

You never thought you’d be sitting shotgun in Steve’s BMW, or that it would relax every bone in your aching body, loosening the stress knots that have made a permanent home in your shoulder blades. It’s the way the cinnamon and amber fill the small space with the musk of his cologne, and how they mix with the deep tanned leather of the seat underneath you. The heat that blows from the vents only seems to intensify it along with the man next to you. It feels like you’re surrounded by him, encased by him. 

He drives slowly down the winding road that leads into town, the tires crunch as it compacts the thick snow underneath them. It falls from the sky like it’s angry, wind sweeping the wet flakes against his headlights. His wipers squeak working overtime to keep visibility. The full moon hidden behind the deep purple clouds fights to shine its way through the storm, casting a deep lavender glow along the banks. Illuminating the snow that hangs heavy on the edges of the trees that line the bare woods surrounding you. Frank Sinatra’s ‘You Go To My Head’ plays softly from his speakers with a light crackle from years of playing his music way too loud joy riding with Tommy and Carol. 

Steve readjusts slightly in his seat to shift gears, and you catch a whiff of tobacco still clinging to the fabric of his sweater underneath his coat. Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you have to fight the urge to lean forward and inhale.  

“Okay, so — secret Santa. We were thinking of having it at the Wheeler’s, since their basement is practically like our second apartment anyway, on top of the fact that it’s way easier to get to than The Squawk.” Robin breaks the silence, leaning forward resting her elbows on the backs of either of your headrests. 

You don’t miss the way Steve’s grip on the steering wheel tightens enough to show the white’s of his knuckles at the name, or the anxious pit that forms in your gut at the idea of being the new face in a group of friends that are tied together by something you can’t even begin to comprehend. 

“Hey! Sit down, are you kidding me?” He scolds, glaring at her from the rearview mirror.

”Sorry, Dad.” She huffs, raising her hands in defense, flopping herself back into her seat. Your lips twitch at the familiar nickname.

”And put your seat belt on too. Jesus, I’m driving in a freaking blizzard Robin.” He only takes his hand off the steering wheel just long enough to run it through his hair.  Robin sticks her tongue out at his reflection, but you still hear the click of her seatbelt before she continues.

“Anyway, I’m thinking around 8 o'clock Christmas Eve. You can make Keith work the overnight shift since you’re the boss and all.” She grins wide when you toss her your own glare from over your shoulder.

”What if Keith wants it off?” You counter with teasing revenge.

It’s Steve that snorts next to you, bringing your attention to the curve of his lips, doing good to keep his eyes on the road.

”Keith was banned from secret Santa, per our agreement, so therefore he has to work and you have to go.” He argues siding with his best friend daring to meet your gaze before adding a little quieter. “Besides, I want you to go.”

Your stomach flips at his admission, cheeks warming enough they could fog the window next to you if you were just a few inches closer. Biting down on your bottom lip, you try to fight off the shy smile that wants to take over your face. Nervous hands pulling at the sleeves of your coat.

”I guess I’ll see what I can do.” You try to play along with a roll of your eyes and a bad attempt at an even voice, but you can tell Robin sees right through it. The heat of her stare threatens to burn a hole in the back of your head daring you to meet it.

”Perfect, then it’s decided.” She finally says, something mischievous dancing around in her tone. “Hey dingus, drop me off at our place first, I forgot I gotta wake up early to help my Mom with something.” 

It sounds casual, the way she lays the trap, but you know exactly what she’s doing and you’re almost positive Steve does too. Especially by the way he stares her down through the rear view mirror before clearing his throat.

“Sounds good.” He nods with a small smile that almost seems nervous, glancing at you from the corner of his eye to gauge a reaction you don’t give despite the wild thumping of your heart in your chest.

Robin Buckley was a menace.

Of course it doesn’t take much longer for Steve to pull into the small parking lot of what you assume is their apartment complex. It’s one of the two in Hawkins, and yours of course is on the exact opposite side of town. Guilt consumes you with the realization of how far out of his way he’s going to not only drive you home, but to also pick you up first thing in the morning as the never ending storm clouds continue to dump what seems like another foot of snow on top of you.

Robin jumps out of the car before it even fully comes to a stop.

”Drive safe, and I’ll see you on Christmas Eve!” She smiles, sticking her head in one last time, throwing Steve a wink that makes him scoff and wave her off.

”Bye. Close the damn door before the snow ruins the leather.” He scolds, trying to dismiss her very obvious ulterior motives, mouthing ‘go’ until she finally obliges. 

The wind outside isn’t loud enough to drown out her cackle after she shuts the door, and despite his annoyance he still doesn’t drive away till he sees her disappear safely into their apartment. Adding yet another quality to the long list of things Steve does that you unexpectedly find extremely endearing. 

“I’m sorry — I don’t know why she’s being so, so - she’s being weird.” He stammers nervously, slowly pulling out and back into the snow storm that’s only seemed to get worse.

”I think that’s just Robin’s general demeanor.” You say casually, like your palms weren’t sweating. 

“That is also true.” He laughs quietly, shifting gears when his tires slide, turning a corner.

“Are you seriously sure this is okay Steve? We're still not that far from the station. It’s getting bad, I can just stay there.”  

As if to prove your point, the wind kicks up, smacking loudly on the side of his car.

”You’re not sleeping at the station.” He responds seriously, shifting again before slowly hitting the gas getting back on the main road. “I would not have offered it if I didn’t want to.”

”Technically Robin offered.”

”We’re basically the same person, so.” He shrugs, a toothy grin spreading across his face that only seems to be more handsome draped in shadows and moonlight. 

Frank Sinatra’s ‘If I Had You’ fills the quiet space between you, the strings and his deep melodic voice turning the snow outside into something magical instead of treacherous. 

“You really like Sinatra don’t you?” The question makes him do a double take, a reveal that warms both your cheeks and sends butterflies soaring deep in your gut giving your cards away about listening to his overnights.

‘I could show the world how to smile. I could be glad all the while. I could change the grey skies blue, if I had you.’ 

”Checking up on me I see.” He grins, shifting again only this time the side of his hand grazes your thigh, the slightest touch sending your body buzzing.

”I mean, I’ve got to keep tabs. I’ve caught you slipping, what? Four times now?” You tease, doing your best to hide your grin. 

”Three. And all of them were your fault.” He corrects, sly eyes finding yours over the console making you giggle.

”Sounds like a deflection to me, Steve.” You sigh, relaxing even more in your seat meeting him from under your lashes. “I just never pegged you for a Frank Sinatra kind of guy.”

He huffs out a laugh, running a big hand through his hair that almost looks like a messy kind of bed head after the amount of times he’s done it throughout the day. 

“I wasn’t until Robin started judging my love for Eddie Money like it was the worst thing she’s ever heard in her life. Which is crazy cause —”

”He makes hits!” You agree, with the kind of excitement that makes a smile stretch so big across his face that it splits in two. 

”Thank you! Yes, he makes hits. But, she disagrees and decided to dedicate the first two months we worked at the station ‘expanding’ my music taste. I tried hiding the fact that I liked Frank outta spite, but apparently you aren’t the only one who listens to my overnights.” He glances over holding your stare for just long enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“You really aren’t stealthy, Steve.” You giggle before adding, “I bet she knows you’re smoking again too.”

”You’re probably right.” He groans at the possibility.

”I hear that a lot.” 

Steve snorts, flipping his blinker on to turn down the road that leads to your side of town, shifting again his knuckles brush against you for the second time sending goosebumps pebbling across your skin. 

“I was so surprised the first time I heard you play ‘My Way’, but honestly Harrington, it kinda suits you. I like it.” Your cheeks warm at your own compliment, something about saying it in his moonlit car has it feeling bigger than intended.

He stays quiet for a moment, letting the song fill the space between you charged with the new feelings that sit on the edge of both of your tongues.

’And I could leave the old days behind. Leave all my pals, I’d never mind. And I could start my life anew, if I had you.’

”Yeah?” He asks quietly, with a kind of soft vulnerability wrapped around the word that’s unmistakable.

“Mmhmm.” You whisper matching his tone turning shy, heart thumping wildly in your chest. “It’s hard not too.”

You aren’t talking about Sinatra anymore, and you think you both know it.

His gaze feels heavy as it crawls over the details of your face in the silence that follows, trying to figure out what’s going on inside your head. You hope whatever he’s looking for is hidden, just like the feelings that are starting to bloom despite how much you’ve tried not to water them. 

“What was it like?” 

The question you’ve been too scared to ask since you’ve been home slips out without warning, nervous fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater that poke out from your coat. 

“Lockdown?” He clears his throat, straightening his posture holding the steering wheel with a harsh grip.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.” You try to take it back watching the way all the muscles in his body seem to tense at the memory. 

”No, no, it’s fine.” He responds with a small smile reading you like a book from the corner of his eye. “I don’t mind, just, uh, I wasn't expecting it.”

”Sorry, I have a bad habit of just blurting out whatever pops into my mind.” You laugh nervously, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Oh, I know, I remember your conversational skills on the roof.” He teases, the whites of his teeth shining against the dashboard lights.

“Now look at us because of my lack of conversational skills.” Smirking, you dare to look over at him again, your eyes tracing the moles that dot his profile. 

Steve was always handsome, but was he always this handsome?

“Fast friends.” He chuckles softly, meeting your gaze briefly before focusing back on the road. 

There’s that word again. You guess it’s better than ‘cool.’

The snow falls so heavily outside you aren’t entirely sure how he’s even able to see through it anymore.

”Lockdown was like being trapped in a never ending loop of the worst day of your life.” He says with a low voice, his handsome features going dark at the memory.

Shifting gears again, his Beamer slowly trudges up the kind of hill that you know would have been your car's demise if you had even made it out of the station's parking lot. He leaves his hand to rest on the stick shift this time, the tips of his fingers press softly into your thigh, he doesn’t move them. 

“But at least I had a real excuse for once as to why my life turned out the way it did.” There’s a layer of self hatred sewn into what he’s saying, it’s hard to miss in the way it diminishes the light in his eyes. 

”What do you mean by that?” You whisper, too nervous to talk at full volume, but you lean your thigh further into his touch, keeping him connected to you. The rev of his struggling engine bleeds through the conversation, and you wonder if his car will even make it back.

”I mean look at me.” He laughs, like it’s obvious. 

“I am looking at you Steve.” 

You almost tell him that it’s all you seem to be doing lately.

”My Dad’s a lawyer with his own firm, and I’m a sound guy at a radio station who peaked in high school that can’t seem to get it together enough to leave.” He scoffs like you must need a reminder, running that nervous hand through his hair again, knee starting to bounce. 

“That’s not what I see.” It comes out soft just like your gaze, fingers flexing in your lap fighting the urge to wrap around his.

”Yeah?” His voice cracks a little, but he keeps his focus on the disappearing road. “What do you see?”

’I could be a king, dear, uncrowned. Humble or poor, rich or renowned. There’s nothing I couldn’t do, if I had you.’

“Someone that loves his friends so deeply that he constantly puts his needs last. You’re selfless almost to a fault Steve, and sometimes I have to fight the urge to yell at you to take care of yourself when I see how bad the bags under your eyes get some days.” 

He chuckles dryly, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he blinks back tears that threaten to spill like he’s never heard these things about himself before. A storm raging inside of him just like the one outside.

”I see a guy who’s so kind, he’d sacrifice his own happiness for anyone that he loves. And I think that’s exactly why you’re still here. I wouldn’t call that being a failure. Not by a long shot.” 

That’s when you do it, you wrap your fingers around his and squeeze, he does it back with zero hesitation, like he was waiting for you. Keeping you there.

”I think about it all the time you know?” He whispers, the pad of his thumb brushing against your knuckles, butterflies multiplying deep in your gut.

”What?”

”Leaving.”

Frank Sinatra’s deep baritone fills the quiet that falls between you when he turns on your road, letting the weight of his confession hold the space there. A deep longing inside of it to see what lies past where the twenty feet tall fences were. 

“Why haven’t you?” The question feels loaded when it leaves your mouth, and the way his thumb stutters tells you it is.

”I just need to know they’re safe — that they get out of here first. Especially Dustin, that little shit gets under my skin but I love him like he's my kid.” He answers the question with the most selfless kind of reason you should’ve expected. Something else lingering inside of it that he doesn’t want to unpack just yet. “After everything, I just can’t, I can’t. Not yet. Part of me feels like maybe I’ll always live here.”

He pulls into your complex like he’s done it a thousand times before, wheels spinning in the snow before his car propels forward into the first spot, only letting go of your fingers to put the car in park.

”That doesn’t mean you can’t explore what’s past Hawkins, Steve.” You whisper, turning in your seat to face him, already missing the warmth of his hand. “You’re not stuck, even if you stay, you can always see what else is out there, one place at a time, one trip at a time. Bit by bit. The world is big, and it’s not going anywhere.”

His eyes shine, glassy and shimmering under the street lamp above his car. They tell you everything he can’t bring his mouth to speak, your hands flexing in your lap fighting the urge to grab onto him again. Shadows make the moles and freckles that dot his skin look like the last flick of a paint brush, the final touches to a painting and you realize — yes, Steve has always been this handsome, you just didn’t see it before. 

You see it now though.

“Thanks for taking me home.” You smile a little shy, the heaviness of the conversation hanging in the air. 

“Any time, honey.” His full lips twist into something sweet, the new nickname making your body come alive. “Want me to walk you to your door?”

He glances around your well lit parking lot like something could be lurking in the shadows, it feels silly to you, but the expression that furrows deep in the V of his brows tells you that it’s anything but to him.

“I’m already scared you’re not gonna get out of here as it is. I’m just right there.” You point to the door of your apartment, the one conveniently closest to where he’s parked and his shoulders visibly relax. You knew he was going to watch you till you got inside anyway.

”I’ll pick you up around 8?” He asks, his eyes glancing down at your hands that fidget like he missed your touch too.

The bold red numbers on his dash read: 9:38PM. Suddenly tomorrow feels like a million years away. 

“That sounds good.” It comes out in a whisper, your mind frantically searching for anything to say to keep him here even if just for a few minutes more. But it’s all static.

”I’ll see you tomorrow morning then.” He smiles, leaning back into the headrest.

”I’ll make you coffee for your troubles — with four sugars, don’t worry.” You tease, trying to ignore the nervous crack in your voice, but your joke lands earning you a snort in response and it only pushes your cheeks up higher.

“Better make it five.” Steve winks, white teeth gleaming against the dashboard lights at the eye roll he gets.

”Whatever Harrington, it's your body, your diabetes." You shrug, not expecting the genuine full belly laugh you get, quickly doing your best to try and memorize the bass and timbre of it in case you don’t hear it again.

You take one last look at him, committing this moment to memory. His eyes do the same as they trace over every curve and dip of your face, it makes you squirm a little in your seat. Your fingers grab the door handle at the same time he clears his throat leaning back into the leather. He flicks his thumb across his nose, before that big hand of his wraps around the stick shift, signaling that it’s really time to go.

”Please drive safely.” You beg, stepping out of the car and into the snow, remembering all those times he peeled out of the station’s dirt road.

”I will, I will. Don’t worry.” He waves you off with a smirk, “I’ll be thinking about that coffee the whole way home.”

He’s not talking about the coffee. 

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, the wet snow flakes that stick to your cheeks melting from the heat emanating off of them. Shutting the door, you wave at him one last time before trudging up to your apartment, feeling the warmth of his stare on you the whole way. He waits until your keys are in your door before you hear the squeal of his gear shifting, his tires spinning loudly just like yours did at the station. It makes you turn around, and you watch him try to back out again just to get himself even more stuck in the snow that just continues to pile around him. He tugs at his hair trying one more time, finally giving up when smoke starts to come up from the burning rubber of his tires. His eyes meet yours through his windshield, apologetic and nervous, the wind kicking up a notch to add salt to the wound.

”You’re gonna flood your engine!” You tease with a grin, getting the shine of his teeth you were looking for. Bright like the sunshine you missed so much, they break through the storm clouds that threaten to hide his face. 

Steve Harrington was snowed in at your apartment.

—- 

You never thought your place was that small for a studio until Steve was standing in the middle of it, broad shoulders and long legs taking up so much space. His eyes are curious as they absorb his new surroundings, mouth slightly agape unzipping his leather jacket looking around like he’s being let in on a big secret. Nerves twist tight in your gut at the general clutter scattered around your room that doubles as a common area, especially the pair of underwear hanging half hazardly from your laundry basket.

”Sorry for the - the um, mess. I wasn’t expecting anyone, obviously.” You stutter, peeling off your coat in a rush. 

Hanging up your puffer by the front door, you scurry past him to try and clean up what you can, starting with the black lace but the deepening red in his cheeks tells you that it's too late.

”You're fine, seriously. You’re cute — I mean.” He clears his throat like it's closing up, scratching the back of his neck, “It's a cute, cute apartment.”  

You can’t stop the twist of your lips no matter how hard you try, giggling a soft thank you as you speed clean around him. He stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself either, both of you lost in uncharted territory. 

“Here, I’ll take your coat.” You huff throwing away the last of the wrappers you’ve collected, taking a deep breath at the realization that you’re being a bad host. “You can sit on the couch, and get comfortable.” 

Steve looks like a deer in headlights when you walk over to him with an open hand.                     

”Is it okay if I use your bathroom real quick?” There’s a shyness in the way that he asks, slipping his wet leather coat into your grasp, that nervous hand pushing his hair back.

There’s a brief moment of panic as you try and remember the way you left it, but since you weren’t running late today, you’re nintey nine percent sure it’s safe.

”Yeah of course, it’s on the right around the corner, not the left, that's just a closet.” 

He nods, patting himself down like maybe he’s forgetting something before turning around and disappearing into the bathroom with a soft click of the door. A shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding slips out from between your lips as you hang up his coat. The musk of his cologne hits your nose along with the relaxing hint of amber inside of it, and this time, you give in, inhaling a little more.

You take one last look around your apartment for anything else you might’ve missed before grabbing an extra blanket from the closet you warned him about. Your heart thumps a little quicker hearing the muffled sound of the water running in the sink as the reality of Steve Harrington having to sleep on your couch just a few feet from your bed settles in.

You grab the extra pillow you usually cuddle with from its hiding place under your comforter, laying everything out for him on one side of the loveseat.  Staring down at the short piece of furniture, there's a part of you that wonders if he’s even going to fit on it, at least comfortably. Another wave of guilt hits you like a tsunami as you start to think maybe you should be the one to sleep on the couch instead.

The sound of the bathroom door opening stops you from being able to fret about it too much as he emerges from around the corner. His hazel eyes find yours instantly, the gold in them looking warm like honey. A toothy grin cracks his handsome face in two calming the anxiety that had begun tightening uncomfortably in your chest. The sleeves of his brown sweater are pushed up, and the windswept mess on the top of his head had obviously been tamed in his absence. A mental image of him fixing his hair in your small bathroom mirror has the corners of your mouth curling up. It feels like something to check off a bucket list. 

“I like the pink rugs you have in there.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb taking two long strides to the middle of the room, his gaze wandering the posters on your wall like he's trying to piece you together.

“Thanks, I bought them when I first moved back to brighten it up a little.” You sigh with a shrug, looking down before adding “this one too.”

You point to the fuzzy burnt orange throw carpet under both your sock covered feet, a proud smile pulling up your cheeks meeting his eyes from under your lashes.

”I’ve got the last little bit of my favorite summer candle. I usually light it when it snows like this. If you wanna get really crazy, we can even pretend it’s June.” The wiggle of your eyebrows earns you the kind of laugh from him that threatens to become your favorite sound. 

“What does summer smell like to you?” He questions with a soft stare, teeth tugging at his full bottom lip. The warm light from your floor lamp casting shadows across his sharp features. 

”It smells like the beach on the sunniest day of the year — salt water, sunshine, with the smallest amount of sweetness and dare I say a dash of clean linen.” You sigh at the thought of it, side stepping him to light it from where it sits on your kitchen island. 

“Take me away to cocamo or whatever the song says.” Steve huffs, finally flopping down on your couch. A low groan rumbles from his chest as his body molds into the cushions. This time he runs both hands through his hair.

“I’m just gonna change into something more comfortable really quick.” It comes out in a rush, your nerves from before jumbling the words on the tip of your tongue.

”Take your time,” He waves you off with a yawn, “do you care if I use your phone to call Robin while you’re doing that? I don’t want her thinking I’m in a ditch somewhere.”

“Go for it.” You smile, grabbing your softest pajama pants and an oversized shirt doing your best not to over think it, or the fact that you have nothing for him to sleep in.

Disappearing around the corner, you have to ward off the mental image of what Steve sprawled out across your couch in his boxers would look like.

—-

His voice sounds faint on the other side of the door and even though he's speaking in a hushed tone you can still tell he’s annoyed by whatever his best friend is saying on the other end. Judging by the way she was acting in the car, you can only imagine in the privacy of a call.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, probably the same way he did, messing with your appearance. Your mind wanders, replaying the night and how pushy Robin was all of the sudden, and it makes you wonder if she knows something you don’t. Maybe you weren’t the only one figuring out what that flutter in your stomach actually means.

Clearing your throat loudly, you give him a subtle warning of your return, fingers wrapping around the doorknob for ten extra seconds longer before finally coming out.

”You are not basically Dave Hull, you don’t host a match making show, please shut up— I gotta go, seriously? Can it— bye!”

He hangs up, running an irritated hand down his face mumbling something to himself before turning around. His eyes go wide, crimson staining his cheeks clearly oblivious to all the warnings you tried to give him.   

“Sounds like she was super worried.” You tease trying your best to hide your smile and ignore the way his gaze wanders your softer edges, the hardened shell at work hung up with your coat. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He snorts with an annoyed groan, “she was just being —“

”Robin.” You finish with a giggle, dragging your feet lazily to your bed, as a guilty conscience has you sizing up the couch again.

”I forget that you understand.” He laughs dryly flopping back down where he was sitting before you changed, thighs spreading wide as he head lulls against the cushions.

”Steve, I really don’t think that couch is going to be big enough for you.” Crossing your arms, you try to think of any kind of comfortable position he could possibly sleep in without his legs hanging over the arm rest. Or worse, propped up in mid air. 

“I think you should take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

”No, nope, absolutely not.” He sits up, squaring his broad shoulders in stubborn finality. 

“Seriously, I re-“

“I mean it, I'm fine, I could sleep standing up if I’m tired enough.” Steve grabs the blanket you laid out for him, leaning back and stretching out with one leg on the arm rest and the other on the floor.   

“See? Comfy.” 

He drapes the quilted comforter over himself to really drive his point home. It doesn’t look comfortable at all, but it’s obvious he’s not going to back down. 

You narrow your eyes at him, staring just long enough to get a laugh before he shoos you away to a bed that’s been calling your name since the station. This time you don’t have it in you to argue, taking one last look at him letting him win after he whispers a final ‘I’m fine, go to bed.”

———

The wind howls loudly outside, noisy gusts blowing against your windows sending in a chill that bleeds through the cracks of the poorly sealed glass. Another harsh blast against your apartment building has the flimsy foundations shake, and despite the thickness of your comforter goosebumps pebble across your skin, teeth threatening to chatter. Glancing over at your alarm clock, bright red numbers flash a harsh 12:34AM at you.

It was the sound of Steve’s light snoring that lulled you to sleep about an hour ago, but now it’s his constant shuffling and re adjusting on the couch that pulls you out of it. A long huff escapes through his nose after turning for what feels like the hundredth time, and you don’t have to see him to know he’s running a hand through his hair.

The wind kicks up again, blowing out the dim flame of your dying candle on the kitchen island, the soft yellow glow disappearing turning the room a deep blue. A shiver runs up your spine at the same time the springs of the couch squeak as he tries to readjust again.

”Steve, just get in the bed.” 

The shuffling stops, both of you holding your breath.

”It doesn’t have to be weird, you’re clearly uncomfortable.” You sit up rubbing the sleep from your eyes finding him in the kind of position that was sure to give him back problems for the next week. 

The internal battle he’s having with himself is evident on his face, and it lasts long enough for the uncomfortable weight of regret to start settling in your chest. Nerves digging your canines into the skin on the side of your thumb. 

“Fuck it.” He huffs under his breath sitting up, grabbing the pillow you gave him that had been rolled up to help support his neck in the pretzel of a position he had put himself in. 

Your shoulders relax for a split second until the realization of what this means quickens the beating of your heart. Chewing your bottom lip, you lift the comforter in a silent invitation doing your best to keep up with the ruse that this wasn’t a big deal, even if it feels like the exact opposite.

Steve stops at the side of your full size bed, running those long fingers through the already messy main on the top of his head. Purple shadows kiss the bags under his weary eyes as he takes in the small space next to you before they meet your gaze.

”Are you sure? I- I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He asks with a sleepy rasp in his voice that makes your chest swell.

”I’ve actually never been more sure of anything in my life, if you can believe it.” You give him a lazy reassuring grin, “besides, I’m cold and I’m willing to bet you’re like a human furnace.”

He lets out a soft laugh at the reveal of your ulterior motive, the stress in his shoulders softening as he runs a hand over his face before nodding tossing his pillow down next to yours.

”As long as it’s mutually beneficial.” Steve smiles a little shy climbing under the covers, his weight making the mattress dip in the middle daring you to come closer. 

The bed squeaks underneath him as he adjusts, your metal bed frame smacking against the wall. He settles on his side facing you with a hand tucked under his pillow. You mimic the way he lays, nerves coming out in the form of fidgeting feet, your toes brushing against his under the covers. He’s so close that you can see the smattering of freckles at the corners of his eyes, and every mole that dots along his neck. Amber and tobacco hit your nose, warming you just like the heat that radiates off his body, eyes glowing a golden evergreen in the deep blue light of your apartment.

God he was close, so close.

His gaze traces the lines of your face and you swear they linger on your lips. Even if just for a fleeting moment, catching your breath in the back of your throat.

“Bet you regret offering to take me home now huh?” You tease in a whisper, the tip of your toe catching on his shin. 

“Nah,” he scoffs with a soft grin,“I do however regret not wearing my boots, I wasn't even thinking, rookie mistake.” 

Your giggle makes his full pink lips stretch wide over perfect white teeth. Butterflies flutter in a kaleidoscope of color when he catches your feet with his own.

“I’ll help you,” you hum, as your hand not tucked away finds a new home in the space between you. “Don’t worry.”

There’s a moment of silence while his fingers follow yours, resting close enough for the tips of them to brush. His thick eyebrows marry in the middle of his forehead, thinking hard about whatever he’s wanting to say next.

“Sorry if that was a little much in the car earlier, I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you.” He looks up at you from under his lashes, insecurities swirling in the depths of his irises.

“Don’t be,” your voice comes out quiet, swallowing your apprehension as your index finger hooks with his, “I like seeing that side of you.”

His finger flexes at your response, squeezing.

“Yeah?” He questions with the kind of disbelief that cracks open your heart.

“Mmhmm.” You murmur, holding his gaze, toes digging into the top of his foot, silently saying I like you.

You don’t know when it happened, but staring at him in the incandescent light of your room. You’re sure of it now. 

Steve scoots closer, the heat of his breath fanning against your lips. Drawn to him like a magnet, you do the same, the tip of your nose brushing with his. Cinnamon from the Big Red he always chews invades your senses like the left over cologne clinging to his clothes. Another gust of wind smacks against your windows, sending a chill up your spine. Steve’s lips quirk on one side.

“Want to test out your furnace theory?” He breathes, a nervous crack in his voice, as he takes the leap of no return, first. 

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, all you can muster is a shy nod, your legs wrapping tighter around his. Something greedy warms every inch of your skin like it’s a need to have him as close as possible, and here he is offering it to you like it’s all he wants too. 

His big hand finds your hip before sliding to the small of your back, his palm flattening along your spine tugging you to him. It doesn’t take much to close whatever space that was left between you, legs tangling together with bodies pressed so close that you can feel every ridge and dip of him. You look up from under your lashes just to find him already staring down at you, and even with the heavy weight of his mind evident under his eyes, he’s somehow more handsome than he was an hour ago. 

Your palms flatten along his chest, the unbuttoned collar of his sweater revealing the top of a thick patch of hair that hides underneath the cotton. It makes your thighs press into his, your cheeks burning but if he notices he doesn’t show it. The pad of his thumb presses softly running along the dip of your spine, soothing your stiff muscles while his eyes trace over the contours of your face. There’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel like he can see everything that you’re trying to hide, and when his gaze lingers on your lips you’re sure he can. 

The hand he kept tucked under his pillow outstretches with his arm, sliding under your head to pull the rest of you in. Tucking you under his chin, you bury your face into the side of his neck, thankful for the hiding place. His skin feels just as sunkissed as it looks, and it takes everything inside of you not to nuzzle deeper into him searching for more. 

“Is this okay?” He whispers against the crown of your head, soft fingers running up and down the length of your back. 

“Mmhmm.” You mumble against his throat instead of ‘can I live here?’ curling your fists into his sweater to pull yourself closer.

For the first time all winter, you’re thankful for the snow. 

“Are you okay?” Your question comes out in a murmur, lips ghosting against his skin as you attempt to look up at him failing miserably nosing the sensitive spot behind his ear. 

”Am I — am I okay?” He snorts incredulously, pulling you close enough to feel impossible, turning his head just enough for your cheeks to brush, the heat of his breath pebbling goosebumps along the side of your neck. “Never been better, honey.”

Honey. You want to change your name to honey. Get lost in the gold of it hidden in his eyes.

All you would have to do is lift your chin up slightly, and your lips could be pressed to his. The thought of them being so close quickens your heart beat, breath hitching as the tip of his nose nudges against the side of your cheek. Testing the boundaries like the realization dawned on him too. The sound of your heavy breathing mixes with the howling of the wind outside, filling the quiet space of your apartment, neither one of you daring to speak. His chest rises and falls under your palm, his own heart matching yours, skipping a beat at the tilt of your chin. 

His fingers slide down your spine, fiddling with the hem of your shirt until he feels the slight nod of your head giving him permission. Electricity sparks goosebumps along the soft skin of your lower back the moment the tips of them touch you, a low hum escaping the back of your throat. You swear you feel his lips curve up against your cheek at the sound. Your bodies move together, seeking friction you’re not ready to give into yet, heavy breathes hot against each other's necks. 

Your hands trail down his chest, a greedy need to touch more of him taking over all logical thought. They reach the bottom of his sweater at the same time your nose presses harder into his cheek when the blunt end of his nails drag softly down the dip of your spine. Your fingers slip under the hem, the pads of them meeting the rough hair of his happy trail. His body tenses, the movements of his hand coming to halt. You immediately feel the loss when he pulls it out, long fingers grabbing a hold of your wrist. 

“Hey.” He whispers against your ear, his voice laced with something soft and scared.

You work up the courage to push past the bitter taste of rejection sneaking up on you to pull your head back just enough to meet the heavy gaze of his eyes, eclipsed dark with want, fear sparkling in the depths of them. The tips of your noses brush, and your fingers itch to smooth the lines in the middle of his forehead from the furrow of his brows despite the way your heart drops to the pit of your gut. 

Maybe you read this all wrong. 

“There’s — There’s stuff you don’t know about me.” He starts, the hand on your wrist letting you go so he can thread his fingers with yours, easing some of the anxiety that had started to build. “Things happened to me — happened to a lot of us during that time.” 

You press your forehead to his, the pad of your thumb rubbing softly over his knuckles, silently encouraging him to continue. His face twists like he’s in pain, shame shadowing his handsome features, breaking your heart before he even has a chance to finish. 

”These things, they left their mark on me. It’s — it’s a lot to explain, not really pillow talk.” huffing out a nervous laugh, he swallows avoiding your gaze, he moves his focus to your tangled hands instead before continuing, “my stomach and umm parts of my chest — I’ve got a lot of scars is what I’m trying to tell you pretty fucking badly. A lot of them, and I haven’t really shown them to anyone before. Well anyone —“

”New?” You finish, squeezing your legs around his calf a little tighter remembering the one you saw wrapped around his neck. 

Tears that you don’t let fall sting the corners of your eyes. Seeing him vulnerable like this, leaving himself bare to trust you to help pick the pieces back up has a sharp pain tightening in your chest. A vengeful rage boiling under the surface at the idea of whatever it was that caused him so much pain. The urge to apologize to him eats at you but you keep it to yourself knowing that’s the last thing he would want. Steve Harrington hated pity.  

”Yeah,” He breathes a slight sigh of relief, his eyes finally meeting yours with a worry he can’t seem to shake swimming deep in the pools of them.

”Steve.” His name comes out gentle, a softness about it that has his nose nudging against yours. “You only have to share with me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You run the tip of your nose along the length of his, breathing him in. 

“I don’t need to see them yet, or ever if that’s what you want, I just — I just really want to touch you.”

Your eyes close, hiding from his gaze that searches for you. 

“I want that too, honey. God more than anything.” He whispers against the corner of your mouth, the silk of his lips waking up every nerve ending in your body.

He lets go of your hand, fingers lazily crawling up your hip before returning to their home on the small of your back. A shiver runs up your spine at how good it feels to be touched by him again, only a few minutes passing but they felt like a lifetime. 

You meet Steve’s stare, an intensity burning in his eyes that wasn’t there before. The kind that gives you the courage to slip your hand back up the bottom of his sweater. Tentative nails raking through his rough happy trail. The feeling of your touch sends a shudder through his body, like it’s been denied this kind of intimacy for a long time. A low groan catching in the back of his throat pressing his forehead harder against yours.

Your touch grows bolder, more curious as your fingers dare to crawl further up. The pads of them are met with uneven skin, evidence of large almost teeth-like shaped gashes lining the sides of his ribs. Despite pinching his eyes closed, he leans further into your touch. Your teeth dig into the fat of your bottom lip, holding in the cry that wants to slip out.

What happened to you?

The blunt ends of your nails find the softer patch of hair on his chest, your hips meeting his on their own accord. Steve tilts his head up, his mouth hovering just above yours as his hands spread wide across the small of your back. He pulls you to him like there’s somehow more space between you even though there isn’t. Your top lip brushes just slightly against his full bottom one, while your fingers dance slowly down the other side of his ribcage. The bumps of identical scars kissing the pads of them again. 

His nose presses into your cheek, a shaky breath tickling against your skin. The blunt end of his nails digging crescent moons into the soft skin of your back when you go over a deeper indentation.

“So handsome.” You whisper, lips ticking just under the shell of his ear as you glide your fingers over the same spot again.

He breathes out a shy laugh, nuzzling deeper into you leaving a whisper of a kiss at the hinge of your jaw. His mouth is so close to where you want it most, a fluttering tickling deep in your gut at the feel of them dragging along your skin. 

“So beautiful.” His voice comes out low against the sensitive spot in the crook of your neck. Its baritone has your body curving soaking in the warmth of him through your palms because touching Steve feels like bathing in sunshine. 

The need for more is insatiable, and he lets you take as much as you want. Your hands wander the broad expanses of his chest, tracing the dips and curves of the pinched skin of his scars until your eyelids grow too heavy to keep open. The soft caresses of his fingers against the sore muscles of your back lulling you to the deepest sleep you’ve had in what feels like months but not before you hear a quiet whispered ‘sweet dreams, honey.’

——-

Part Two ✨

“I’m gonna turn any minute now.” You place your hands on his cheeks, making sure he was listening to your every word. “And I don’t want my last memory to be crossing back into our home knowing I won’t make it five steps before the virus kills me. Okay? So, you’re gonna go through the gate and you’re not ever gonna look back. Please. Don’t come back for me.”

“I can’t-” He cries and you bring his forehead down to touch yours, nodding.

“I know.” You whisper, leaning forward to leave a feather-light kiss on his lips.

His eyes are still closed when you lean back, studying him one last time.

“Which is why I’m sorry.”

Steve’s eyes snap open just in time to watch your hands find his chest and shove him as hard as you can, his body ripping through the gate faster than he can experience.

His back hits solid concrete, making him groan. It takes a second for him to blink away the dots in his vision, slowly sitting up. He can see your figure clearly, your sad eyes, the smile gracing your lips.

And then the gate starts to sew itself shut.

Your words are stuck on a never-ending loop, the bittersweet memory of your voice floating past his ears every morning he awoke since he lost you. It replays because his subconscious wants to torture him, remind him of everything he could have done but never did.

If he had just opened his eyes... If he had opened his eyes, you wouldn’t be trapped in the Upside Down. If he had opened his eyes, Jonathan Byers would still be alive.

The ceiling he stared at never crushed him like he wanted it to every time he blinked into to the realisation he was a failure. He couldn’t do anything right. Everyone around him would be better off if the murky grey ceiling caved in and buried him under its rubble.

And yet even with all his silent prayers, the building stayed steady, and he was forced to push himself out of bed and face the reality. He messed up, twice. And now everyone else had to pay for it.

Just as he pulled a shirt over his head, a drone of voices could be heard from the living room. He cracks open his door, Hopper’s rough words echoing loud.

“They’re forcing us to leave.”

Steve sobered up fast, quickly and quietly descending the staircase and rounding the corner to a view of, well, everyone. Hopper must have called everyone in for a meeting. Everyone but him.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, ignoring the looks from the Party. They always greeted him with such pity now, sorrow lacing their features like he was a kicked puppy that needed cheering up.

“Just in time.” Hopper greets, running a hand down his face. “The military are expanding the quarantine.”

“When?” Steve crossed his arms, frowning.

“Tomorrow morning.” Hopper sighs and Steve’s heart sinks. “Unfortunately for us, we’re close to the danger zone already. They want us packed up by tonight or…”

“Or?” Nancy prompts. Steve notices the worn expression she tries to mask, another shot at his chest. Losing Jonathan was sucking away her life force. And he did that to her.

“Or they’re removing us with force.” He says grimly, a few scattered mutters filling the silence. “They’ve tried keeping the monsters at bay but it’s a losing battle. I tried arguing, but they’re not looking for opinions. They’re doing a full sweep of the danger zone borders and moving everyone out. Our hands are tied.”

“What if we hide?” Dustin suggests, nodding wildly. His friends nod too, but with less conviction.

“Not that easy.” Hopper tightens his lips. “Our last search attempts for food have been failures. We won’t have enough rations to keep going even if we found a way to avoid the quarantine. The infestation is beyond our control without those gates. We’ll have to… give up.”

His eyes wander down to the map displayed on the table in front of him, staring at the crossed out circles of missed opportunities. The watergates, as the young boy had dubbed. And the pattern you found even when all hope felt lost.

“But we can’t find those gates if we’re not… here.” Dustin deflates as gravity pulls him back down to the suggestion in Hopper’s words. “We won’t find Y/n if we’re not here.”

“We can’t find her anyway.” Robin mutters, folding her arms tighter against her chest. Steve sends a curious look her way, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. He understands why she must be so bitter, losing her best friend like that- her only friend, as she had reminded him before. But he didn’t expect her to be this cold, even if it’s taking longer to find you than anticipated.

“I’m going to give the search one more shot.” Hopper announces, running a hand down his face. He clearly hadn’t slept, tone too low, his body slumping against the table as he fought against exhaustion. “If there are no rations left for us, we’ll have to pack up and leave with the rest of them. I can lead the search if no one wants to-”

“I’ll do it.” Steve steps forward, surprised expressions adorning everyone’s faces. Steve hadn’t left the house since they lost Jonathan, and he had made no suggestion until now that he was ready to do that.

“Kid-” Hopper begins with a sigh, but Steve shakes his head.

“It’s supposed to be my turn anyway.” She shrugs, ignoring his bubbling fits of anxiety growing in his chest. “No point sending too many people out in case it is a lost cause.”

“You can’t go alone.” He responds, brows furrowed. He knew better than to argue with him when they were running out of time. “That’s the rule.”

Steve mentally sighs. Who would want to go with him? The last time he led a mission, he fucked it all up.

“I’ll go.”

He grits his teeth. Great.

Billy emerges from the shadowed corner he had watched from, smirking at Steve as he approaches the table.

“I’ve been out there more than anyone, I know how to get into the stores undetected.” He practically boasts. Steve wanted to groan, a sickly feeling in his stomach when Hopper agrees without reservation. Does he know what Billy did to them last year?

“That’s settled then. You two head off when you’re ready. I think… I think I’m gonna head back up and keep searching.” The last part was mumbled under his breath as Hopper leaves the table and trudges back up the stairs. Steve stares almost mournfully after him. He was in so much pain and, even so, he would never show it.

Like father, like daughter.

“Ready when you are, buttercup.” Billy grins, folding his arms.

Steve bit his tongue, glancing over at a punchable face if he ever saw one. “Sure.”

He starts searching for a bag when a hand is thrust into his view, the very object hanging from their fingers.

“Take mine.” Nancy offers, and he takes it with a timid smile.

Since the mission, Nancy has barely uttered 5 words to him. Well, 7 now, which Steve thinks he should be grateful for. After all, if it had been Nancy searching for Jonathan, if it had been you caught in the crossfires of shapeshifters because Nancy wasn’t focused, would he have ever talked to her again?

“Thanks.” He says, and she walks away without so much as a second glance, heading for the staircase. She’s been more adamant on spending time with Will than he has been lately.

“Good luck.” Dustin calls when he reaches the door, Billy behind him.

“Don’t need it.” Billy responds, and Dustin purses his lips.

“Wasn’t talking to you.” He mutters and Billy frowns.

“What did you say?” He growls.

“I said, break a leg!” Dustin throws two thumbs up, grinning.

“And an arm.” Max whispers, and Lucas stifles his giggles.

“Whatever.” Billy swings open the door and steps out without so much as a goodbye. Although, Steve wondered who he’d be needing to pay his farewells too. The only person who seems to have ever shown interest in his care was, well, you.

“I’ll see you later.” Steve smiles at Dustin, the boy throwing out a salute that made him smile.

Even if Steve was stuck with his worst enemy, at least he felt like he was finally contributing something. Something Dustin could be proud of.

Maybe even something that could help find you.

This was a terrible idea.

They were an hour into their search and had been attacked twice. Once by a stray demodog, another by an infected – or rather, a demoperson as Dustin reminded them at every opportunity. Steve thought calling them infected felt more humane, even if a little on-the-nose. After all, they weren’t born like that.

On both attacks, it was made painstakingly clear that Billy didn’t care if Steve lived or died.

“What the hell, man?” Steve pants, planting his boot on the demodog’s back as he pulled his bat free from its flesh.

Billy was leant against a tree, arms folded as he watched with an amused grin. He had stayed that way even when Steve was struggling against the surprise attack. The demodogs were becoming more frequent, which could only mean a pack was nearby.

“You couldn’t have helped?!” Steve stresses, glaring at him.

Billy only shrugs, looping his shotgun back onto his shoulder. “We only shoot for emergencies, right? Don’t wanna alert the whole freak town that we’re here.”

“Right.” Steve grits his teeth, adjusting his backpack. “You always have an excuse, huh?”

“It’s called having a brain, pretty boy.” Billy smirks, nodding to his left. “This way should be clear. It’ll lead us straight past the Radio Shack and to the General Store. We didn’t make it this far last time so maybe we’ll get lucky.”

He doesn’t wait for Steve’s approval, gripping the strap of the shotgun and heading back down the road. Steve considered letting him go by himself, see how amusing he finds it when no one is helping him. But then he remembered he wasn’t an asshole, so he takes a breath and follows him.

When Steve saw the Radio Shack building, his whole body felt like it was in fight or flight. It looked so similar.

It was like he was still in the Upside Down, the vines coiling around the structure like a bad memory. It was tainted, his memory. Because as he looked at something that should feel terrifying, something that should make his heart beat out of his chest and wash a wave of dread over his head, he was utterly fixated by the idea that you could be in there, on the other side, waiting for him to find you.

“Harrington.” Billy snaps him out of his trance. Steve shakes his head. He felt like he was going crazy.

But what if he wasn’t? What if he was right? If he squinted his eyes, he could just force the image of someone walking around in there, a shadow that looked like yours. Maybe...

“She won’t be there.”

Steve pauses. He looks beside him but Billy isn’t standing there. He was stood just outside of the building, looking in.

“What?” Steve frowns. He doesn’t think he’s seen him look so… forlorn.

“Y/n.” He says softly, meeting Steve’s eyes and walking away from the store. “She would have answered the radio calls by now.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s dead.” Steve replies, shoulders tensing.

“Didn’t say that.” He shrugs, tilting his head. “But none of us really know. Apart from you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re the last one to see her before you’re conveniently safe on the other side.” He clicks his tongue. “I overheard Hopper talking to the Byers mom when you got back. He said you were muttering something the entire way home. Something about monsters.”

“Probably.” Steve shrugs, swallowing his nerves. “It wasn’t easy getting to the motel. We almost didn’t make it.”

“Almost.” Billy scoffs, chuckling darkly. “Tell me, Harrington… Why didn’t Y/n cross the gate with you?”

Steve shakes his head. “I-”

“You just said you almost didn’t make it. So did she almost not make it?”

“We got separated.” He says, gripping his bat tightly. “I watched the gate close before she made it through. She’s alive.”

Billy narrows his eyes, assessing the way Steve is trying not to react to his empty suggestions. He isn’t giving up on his story, and even Billy can tell Steve truly believes you’re still alive.

“Look, if you’re done being an asshole, how about we find some food so our friends don’t starve to death.”

“Your friends.” Billy corrects. “And don’t think everyone is buying your little story. I know you’re hiding something from us.”

“Just forget it, man.” Steve was turning around now, clenching his jaw.

“Oh come on, you really expect me to believe you passed through the gate without making sure she was there first? You always had that fake chivalry act going for you, don’t tell me you gave it up just to save your own ass.” Billy sneers, walking closer to him. “No wonder everyone’s been avoiding you lately, you couldn’t even bring back the one person they give a shit about-”

“Shut up!” Steve yells at him, a white-knuckled grip on his bloodied bat, “I don’t need you reminding me of how I messed up, okay?! I relive that moment every fucking day of my life and it hurts every single time!”

Billy seems surprised for once, eyes drifting to the left. He follows his gaze, startled by his own hand holding his weapon as if ready for a strike. He unclenches his jaw, letting his arm rest back down by his side and backing away, choosing not to comment on his sudden display of intended violence.

“Does the chief know you’re in love with his daughter?”

He pauses for a moment, wondering if he should answer. He bites his tongue. It was none of his fucking business.

When they finally arrive at their destination, Steve had never seen the General Store so empty in his life.

It was usually filled with everything you could possibly want. Well, as much as a small town in Indiana could use, anyway. From food, to tools, to craft supplies, the place was always packed to the brim and seemingly never ran out of stock. But this time, it was cleaned out.

A few stray boxes of cardboard littered the floor, the shelves bare of any supplies they desperately needed. They’re usual strike of bad luck was a lightning bolt to their last chance of saving Hawkins.

“I’m gonna check the back.” Billy announces, charging to the back door. Steve didn’t bother going with him; he already knew he wouldn’t find anything.

He remembers the Upside Down in this moment. The concerning lack of any hunger or thirst never crossing your minds as you wandered from place to place, chasing a ghost that never existed. When he had left, it had all come crashing down on him like a wave of sickness, restricting him to his bed until he didn’t feel weak anymore. Physically, at least.

He wondered how you were right now. Were you scared? Were you safe? Had the virus continued spreading? He hated he couldn’t see or hear you, that you weren’t here to satisfy his anxiety. He even hated that he needed you so much, the girl he couldn’t stand a year ago and now the girl he couldn’t stand to lose.

Goosebumps start to line his skin, prickling at his arms. It was probably a breeze of cold air, but Steve had remembered Joyce’s tales of feeling her son’s presence when he was on the other side. He kept imagining it was you beside him, letting him know you were okay.

Steve looks out of the window, heart leaping into his throat as he catches his reflection. It wasn’t his. A pale face, hollow and scorched at the sides, glared back at him, a tilted head of curiousness. When Steve blinks, he sees himself again, startled brown eyes and a messy mane of hair, nothing like the man he saw before.

“Nothin’ out back.” Billy’s voice drones back into the room, a hand running through his mane of hair. “You find anything?”

“Uh…” Steve takes another glance at the window, wondering if he could catch sight of the ghost haunting him. But with his own face staring back, he had to assume his sleepless nights had caught up with him. “No. Nothing.”

“Fuck.” Billy kicks an empty packet with his boot. “I knew this would’ve been the first place to be emptied.”

Steve takes another look around. He takes note of the shelves, moving closer. Dust was settled on the surfaces, drawing lines around bare shapes of cleaner wood and metal. He runs his finger across the lighter spaces, nothing clinging to his skin.

“Only recently…” He mutters, but Billy picks up on it in the stark silence.

“You saying someone got here before us? Like right before us?”

“Look around. The place is spotless. The shelves might be dusty but there’s a clean space where stuff has been taken. It can’t have been more than a few days since someone else was here.”

“Huh.” Billy raises an eyebrow. “I guess we’re not the only ones camping out in the apocalypse.”

A shatter of glass echoed from outside the building, startling them into their fighting stances. Steve’s bat was clenched in his fists as soon as the peaceful silence was broken, and the shotgun had slid into Billy’s arms once the glass hit the floor. They both stared out of the murky windows, an intense concentration on their faces.

“We hit nightfall.” Steve grits his teeth, risking a look to Billy. The boy’s expression was that of the same, eyebrows furrowed. They shouldn’t have been here this long.

“Well, shit.” Billy starts backing up to the doors, eyes glued to the darkening sky. “I guess we better find camp for the night. Preferably somewhere I’m not gonna get eaten.”

“The library.” Steve sniffs, adjusting his posture to face his companion. “It’s the only building left with a solid structure. I say we barricade ourselves in for the night and move out as soon as we can.”

“Nice to see you can use your brain, Harrington.” Billy says, gently opening the door with his shoulder and peering out. “We’re clear.”

As they leave the store, Steve feels like someone is watching them, his eyes constantly glancing back to the Radio Shack until it was far out of sight, an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something didn’t feel right but, then again, it hadn’t felt right for a long time.

Before they had even reached the library on steady footing, a clash of lightning burns the night sky into a crimson red, thunder rolling through the dark clouds. Their quiet footsteps splashed into puddles of rain, wet soaking their clothes as a storm started to roll in. The change in weather was a curse and a blessing; it restricted their safety of escape, but heightened their chances of evading monsters. After all, how could they stalk their prey when every sense was overwhelmed by the fury of mother nature?

For once, Steve felt like he made the right call. The library was still standing tall, vines slithered up the sides but weren’t quite strong enough to break the stone. The inside was empty, a few bookcases fallen and pages scattered, no sign of life in sight.

“I’ll take first watch.” Steve says, propping himself up against the desk, bat laid across his lap.

Billy didn’t object, setting down his gear and adjusting the dusty chair pillows they had pulled from the study hall into a makeshift bed behind the counter. He didn’t utter a word when he laid down, and Steve’s head fell back against the wood. As it did, he noticed something etched into the side of the wood from the corner of his eye, twisting his body to glance at it. ‘Save us’, it said. He gulped. Considering how empty the place was, it seems like it was too late for whoever wrote that message.

His eyes return to staring down the double doors like the cabinets they had dragged over wouldn’t hold. They didn’t last time he was in this position. And this time he wasn’t sure there was a single closet he could hide himself in. He just had to make sure he kept his eyes open. If he kept his eyes open, nothing bad could happen.

He sat there staring at the doors for hours, fingers mindlessly tapping against the handle of his bat until Billy’s rough voice called out behind him, alerting him that his shift was over. Steve’s eyes were heavy before he had even swapped places with him, head resting against the firm fabric on the floor. He wasn’t sure he would sleep, but his body overpowered his mind, pulling his subconscious elsewhere...

“Hey, we can get out through the window. Wasn’t rocket science, but I’m still a genius.”

He turns back to look at you over his shoulder, smiling. You’re currently near the far corner, your back facing him. You don’t seem to have heard him, breathing in odd intervals as you stare down at your hands.

“Y/n.” He tries again, louder. Your head twitches. Steve releases the latch on the window, fear flooding his entire body. He slowly steps away from the window, his eyes permanently glued to the back of your head, feeling like he couldn’t breathe.

Trying again, his voice cracks under the pressure of speaking your name like it would warp the vicious reality he was living in.

“Y/n?”

You snap your head to him, and the colour drains from his face.

“No…”

He lost you.

The world bled to grey as tears start trailing from his eyes, staring into yours. Except, they weren’t yours. They were darker, soulless. Black blood was dripping from your chin, staining your lips.

“Don’t do this.” He begs, unable to find the force to speak louder than a whisper. “Y/n, please. It’s not- I can’t hurt you. You know I can’t hurt you. Y/n...”

You snarled at him this time, your mannerisms unnerving. It wasn’t you anymore...

You suddenly lunge at him and he instinctively dives for his bag, rolling away from your attack in the last second. He unzips it, staring down. He couldn’t do this.

Snarls and hisses spit from your mouth as you scramble up from the floor, blinking rapidly as you search in the dark.

Click.

Your whole body snaps to him in one sharp movement. With a shaking hand, he stares directly into your eyes.

“Y/n, please.” He sobs, “Please, you have to be in there.”

Not even the mournful pressure against his chest felt as heavy as the gun in his hand, tears rolling down his face.

“It’s me.” He tries again, hoping his voice could break you free from the virus. “It’s me. Steve. Remember?”

He should have known hope was never his friend. A voice completely alien to you rips out a screech from your throat, and hell comes to bludgeon him with the worst it had to offer.

Steve watches in horror as the skin starts peeling from your face, tearing it into pieces like a flower and its petals. Like a demogorgon.

It was too late. You weren’t coming back to him.

You run at him, sharp teeth bared, mind forever gone.

Steve’s eyes shut and he pulls the trigger, a sob echoing past his lips when the sound of your body hitting the floor fills the basement with regret. He doesn’t dare open his eyes, holding his breath.

His hands are shaking, heartbeat bursting into his eardrums. Steve starts to realise it’s a dream, that he had already lived this moment, that none of it had ever been real. It’s not real…

Even with his nerves on fire, he lowers the gun, hands feeling lighter the longer he remembers this never happened. He can open his eyes. He can force the image of your smiling face into his dream. He can make this nightmare disappear.

He opens his eyes.

And stares into the milky white pupils of a scorched face.

“Find her”

Steve jolts himself awake, blinking against the sudden light blaring through the windows. His heart was thumping out of his chest, the image of the ghost’s eyes burned into his brain. But it wasn’t the dream that startled him out of his sleep.

He hears Billy yelling, his instinct reaching for the bat at his side before it suddenly swoops out of view and a figure blocks his exit. When he turns his head to the looming shadow, his breath hitches, leaning back against the desk.

He wasn’t particularly fond of being greeted with a spear to his face.

It was held by someone in a mask, a brief flashback to his time in the tunnels suddenly thrown into his mind. The air, the kids had expressed. That was before any of them knew it wasn’t toxic. He took a quick glance to his side, noting the person currently pointing a matching spear at Billy, too, his shotgun kicked far out of his reach.

It was two against two. They could take them.

The door from the study opens and two more people walk out, discussing something under their breaths. His heart drops, jaw clenched in silent desperation. Fuck. He should have known nothing was ever easy.

When the others get closer, a new reason for his despair came to light, eyebrows furrowed when one of the voices droned on and on about their ‘key observation’.

He recognised that voice.

“Holy shit.” They laugh, pulling off their mask. Steve feels his stomach twist. “As I live and breathe, is that you, Harrington?”

Steve blinks. “Tommy?”

Lo and behold, Tommy Hagan stood in front of Steve with that bastard smile on his face and a dim light in his eyes. His hair had grown out to now brush against his shoulders, a faint smudge of dirt outlining where his goggles had been resting against his face. His clothes weren’t unusual to his high school attire, but it was covered in grime and faint smudges of blood. It was very clear that he had, much to Steve’s silent disappointment, survived the apocalypse. And he wasn’t alone.

“Wait, did you say Harrington?” The person beside him questions, head recoiling. It was a girl’s voice, sweet enough but hoarse around the edges, as if she hadn’t been drinking enough water. She turns her head to Steve before pausing. “You said he died.”

“He did!” Tommy exclaims, but the girl simply extends her arm in his direction as evidence that he was, in fact, not dead. “Okay, so I thought he died. Not my fault I got bad intel.”

The girl sighs, ready to argue.

“Oh my god, who cares if he’s dead or not, what the hell are we gonna do?” Another female voice, this time it sounded a little more mature. She currently had her spear pointed at Billy’s chest, the boy’s face twisting with some sort of humiliation at the realisation a girl had managed to disarm him. “And for fuck’s sake, put your mask back on, do you want to get ill?!”

“The air’s safe.” Steve finds himself speaking, all heads turning to him. “I mean, it’s not natural at all but it doesn’t make you sick. Getting bit makes you sick, is what I mean. If you’re, uh, talking about getting infected and stuff.”

“Are we really going to stand here all day?” She turns to the last person in the room, ignoring Steve and waiting for an answer.

This person had their spear hovering in front of Steve’s face, the pole shaking slightly as if they had never done this before. He doesn’t suppose they would have; they were just regular teens in a small town before the apocalypse started. Everyone had to adapt.

“I say we just spear them and get the hell out of here.” Tommy suggests and the girl beside him gasps. Steve, however, wasn’t so surprised. “What?”

“We can’t kill them. We’ve never killed anyone.”

“Fine, let’s just knock them out.”

“Shut up, Tommy, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” The other girl chimes in, and Steve could almost laugh. Even in an end of world situation, nobody wanted to be around Tommy H.

“I don’t-” Tommy huffs, shaking his head. “Who the hell saved you from a demon attack, huh?”

“And who got you new clothes when you shit yourself from the demon attack?” She retorts, the last words Steve manages to catch before they’re in a full blown argument.

“Hey!”

The person in front of him finally spoke, lowering their spear and stepping back. A male voice had ordered from behind the mask and, as he turned to his friends, Steve noticed a few stray curls peaking out from the collar of his jacket.

“No one is killing anyone, and we’re definitely not leaving them here.” He says, and the others seem to listen. He was their leader, Steve realised, and his word seemed to be final. The boy turns to him, tilting his head. “Are you serious about the air? It’s not lethal?”

“I wouldn’t be alive if it was.” Steve replies, and the boy sighs. He nods to the others, and they all lower their weapons.

“Sorry about this, we thought you were here to steal our stuff.” The boy apologises.

“I’m guessing you’re the ones that raided the store.” Steve says, accepting the hand extended to him and pulls himself back onto his feet.

“We gotta eat.” Tommy states, turning his head and widening his eyes. “Woah, Billy-boy! I almost didn’t recognise you, what with the whole being beaten by a girl thing.”

“Shut it.” Billy snaps, and the girl in question laughs.

“If it helps, you didn’t make it easy.” She offers before reaching behind her head to untie her mask, letting it fall into her hand and pushing her goggles to her head. “I’m Heather, by the way. I think we’ve met.”

Billy’s eyebrow raises, but he simply nods, walking over to retrieve his shotgun before any more of his dignity left.

“That’s Chrissy.” Heather introduces the other girl, her mask and goggles also secured around her neck now. Steve thinks he saw her in school before, but she was definitely younger, her wide eyes holding an innocence Steve hadn’t had for a long time.

The boy beside him also strips himself of his face coverings, resting the goggles in his messy mane of curled brown hair and smirking at the surprised look on Steve’s face. He throws his spear into his other hand, extending his free glove as an introduction that Steve most certainly didn’t need.

“And I’m Eddie.” He grins, relishing the reveal. “Although, you already knew that. Right, King Steve?”

Chapter Twenty One: Friends Or Foes, Part II coming soon...

[A/N: *once again in an aloneinthehellfire fic, eddie munson enters the arena*]

taglist: @sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose .

@palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 .

@iliveonteaandbooks . @innercreationflower . @newyorkangelbaby . @totally-bogus-timelady . @pansexualhoor .

Your finger taps relentlessly against the cool surface, hoping to distract yourself with the rhythmic movement.

It had only been a few days since you woke up, but rest didn’t soften the building panic. You almost felt sick. It was like your mind was racing, steering itself off the tracks to tumble across the grassy hills of your restlessness until you were nothing but a pile of unfixable damages.

You still can’t remember how you ended up here.

You can’t even remember what happened before here.

You only knew your name, that you were a person who was living a blurred misshapen life. And you knew what what you had been told. Not that words from a stranger’s lips would be trusted on your ear.

“Do you remember anything?”

You simply shake your head, the heart rate monitor rising. The hands attached to your wrists were fidgeting, twisting the sheet covering your body. You may not remember anything, but even you knew this wasn’t normal.

“No need to feel alarmed. That is perfectly normal.” His voice was weirdly soothing, his unwavering eyes making you blink horridly. How did he so easily see through you? “Your memory will slowly come back to you, I promise.”

“Why am I here?” You find the courage to ask after a length of silence, biting the inside of your cheek.

“We found you.” Brenner states, turning around to a mirror. A fake mirror, you realise. And he was smiling at whoever stood behind it. “And at the right time, too. If we hadn’t shown up when we did… well, to put it simply, you may not have survived.”

You took in a quick breath, so light it didn’t make a sound past your lips.

“Survived?”

There was that boy again, returning to your mind in a flash of blurry images. Survived. Survived? The word held such strong resonance. It disappeared as quickly as it came, so sudden you almost felt lonely in its absence. Whoever this boy was, he was important. You were forgetting something- someone- important.

“You were laying in the middle of the woods, not far from here. Do you remember how you got there?”

You try to muster up a memory, closing your eyes. All you saw was a faint red shadow of your flesh against the beaming lights.

“No.”

“That’s okay.” You open your eyes to Brenner’s smile, his hand resting gently on the bed beside your arm, careful not to force the proximity between you and a stranger, yet close enough for you to feel comforted. “We’ll figure everything out, in time. For now, you should rest, take a few days to gather up your energy. We’re here to provide you with whatever you need.”

We? You wonder, but too many questions lay dormant on your tongue. So, rather, you settle for one that required the least amount of effort to sound.

“Why?”

Brenner stands from the bedside chair, looking down at you with that same kind expression. You can’t tell if it’s forced, or if his generosity was genuine.

“There is a horrible war happening outside. We all need to stick together, do we not?”

You were told you had collapsed in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, and rescued by Brenner. Or, rather, a mysterious team. We, he had said. You don’t recall seeing anyone else here for the past few days. Brenner had saved you. And you were grateful, of course. But you had this consistent twist in your gut any time he turned his back on you, a brief moment of panic before it subdued.

You were allowed to wander freely in this place, not that wandering would take you anywhere different. All the walls and floors were grey, bright strips of bulbs almost making the light shade blinding. You always felt a sense of familiarity as you walked down the halls, peering through glass windows into bare rooms. It was as if you had done this before.

Brenner told you it was a bunker, hidden from the surface currently crawling with monsters. That much you do remember. The terrifying screeches, the traumatic swipe of sharp claws, even the dull throbbing pain in your ankle reminding you of a misfortune you could never truly forget.

Yet, still, everything was a blurred mess.

In time, Brenner kept saying. You wanted to believe him, but whatever happened to you was enough to damage your memories. What if he was something to do with whatever happened to you?

You shouldn’t trust him. He’s a stranger, regardless of what he has done to help. Not once has he ever revealed how he ended up here, or had access to such a huge underground fortress. Hopper would be so disappointed to know you trusted so freely.

…

Hopper.

“I just want you to know that… I love you, dad.”

“I love you so much, kiddo. We’re getting you out of there. You hear me? Even if I have to tear a gate open myself, I am getting you out of there-”

Your chair scrapes against the floor as you leap away from the table, rushing to the door.

The room you wanted was down the left hallway and the third door to the right, a room filled with machines and radio systems. Brenner had shown you it when you were able to walk confidently, telling you it was his responsibility to keep in touch with the outside world. And that was what he was doing as you burst in, his hands quick to slip the headphones down to his neck.

“I remembered something.” You say, breathing heavy.

Brenner only nods, turning back to switch the radio off with a key at the control panel and pocket it in his white coat, gesturing for you to leave.

He never let you stay in that room for too long. You weren’t yet sure why.

“What do you remember?” He asks as he settles into an old armchair, opposite from the couch you sat on.

Only one room in the entire bunker was furnished with items other than metal frames, a cosier living quarter you spent most evenings in. He had a bookcase down here, some board games. You think he may have prepared for an apocalypse. Or maybe it’s been longer since it begun than you thought.

“Hopper.” You say, looking to your hands. “I mean, my-my dad. I remember my dad.”

You glance up to catch something flash across his eyes, completely gone in an instant as if it never happened. Despite his nonchalant reaction, you sense he’s holding something back.

“Do you… know him?” You risk the question, though you already know what the answer will be.

“I can’t say that I do.” He says curiously, leaning forward. “What about him did you remember?”

“Just a conversation.” You shake your eyes, scrunching your face. “He sounded muffled. Or… static. Like a radio.”

“Hm.”

“And- and he said something about getting me out. Something about a gate…”

“Okay.” He says after a while, “This is good. This is progress. You’re slowly getting your memory back. May I ask, what brought on this memory?”

You take a breath. I was figuring out whether I should trust you. The truth didn’t feel like it would be received well. He obviously wants you to trust him, but you also need him to trust you, especially seeing as you barely remember who you are.

“I… I was just thinking.” You decide, nodding. You hold eye contact. Liars never look you in the eye, Hopper used to say.

“Thinking.” He repeats, mostly to himself. Brenner’s eyes flash to yours with a smile. “Keep thinking. Think as much as you can. Perhaps we can try some exercises, see if anything triggers a memory. If you were happy to do so, of course.”

“Yeah.” You nod eagerly, shifting in your seat. Anything to return you back to your life.

“Good. That’s settled.” Brenner pats his legs and stands up, already walking to the door without so much as a second glance. “I need to finish up a few things but I shall be back soon.”

“Can you-” You stop almost as instantly as you start, biting your lip.

“Ask away, Y/n.” He cocks his head, hand still hovering above the doorknob, curious.

“Can you send out a message?” You ask, straightening your posture. “With the radio, I mean. If- if I was right and Hopper was speaking to me through a radio, maybe we can reach him.”

There’s a moment of silence, long enough to have you question if you overstepped. But then he smiles again, nodding with eyes of kindness that looked a little too forced.

“I will see what I can do.”

Once he shuts the door behind him, you sink further into the couch, wrapping your arms around your body.

“I am getting you out of there.”

Where was there? Why did it sound dangerous, almost forbidden?

You try and reclaim the memory, searching and focusing and thinking until it began to hurt. You press your fingertips against your forehead, breathing to relax. The act of the touch above your eyebrows was calming, like it was used to the comforting nature of it.

You hoped Hopper was okay. And you hoped the others you have surely forgotten were safe, like you.

“Will?”

Steve taps on the door at the end of the corridor, feeling like the walls were watching him as he stood there, holding his breath to hear the younger boy’s small voice.

“Come in.” He sniffles, and Steve takes a deep breath. It was time for him to stop hiding.

“Hey.” He smiles as he walks in.

Will wasn’t sat on the bed like he had expected. Instead, he was on the ground, sheets upon sheets of paper scattered around him, a pencil in his hand.

“What’re you drawing?” Steve questions, walking over to him. As he moves closer, he sees the papers are blank.

The boy barely blinks. He just looks down at the floor, gripping the pencil tight, never drawing. Steve feels a shiver run down his spine, but he chooses to ignore it, just this once.

“The guys are missing you.” He says, lowering himself to sit cross legged beside him. Will only continues to stare at the paper. “They’re, uh, playing DnE.”

“DnD” He responds quietly and Steve smiles. He took the bait.

“Yeah, DnD.” He gently nudges him. “See? I need you, buddy, I can’t keep up with them.”

A corner of Will’s lips lifts to what could be a hint of a smile before it fades again, a dark look in his eye as he stares at a creative’s nothingness.

“I just want to draw.”

Steve frowns, but he doesn’t say anything. He only nods, placing a hand on his shoulder, knowing a losing battle when he sees one. “If you need anything, just ask. Okay?”

“Thanks, Steve.” Will finally looks at him, smiling.

The sword that had been pressed against his chest finally plunges with one small smile, making Steve feel like he was bleeding out. He didn’t deserve this kindness. It was his fault Will was feeling this way.

“Yeah.”

With that, he stands and leaves, pressing his back against the door once he gently closes it. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

Except, it isn’t.

Steve retreats to the staircase faster than he should have, gripping onto the banister with the remaining force of his strength. It should be different. It wasn’t meant to be like this.

When he was on the final step, he clocked the sudden merge of the Party sat at the only available window in the house, a viewpoint usually used to ensure the area was safe. They could only be sat there for one reason; the others had finally returned.

Both adults were situated upstairs, alongside the youngest Byers, while the Party and Steve were crowded around the corner window. Which meant four people were still left unaccounted for.

Steve peers through the glass at the giant metal gate surrounding his house. When he had arrived back on the surface, he found that Hopper and Billy had been building his home into some kind of fortress, a large barb-wired gate blocking the monsters from approaching. Not that many had appeared in this area of Hawkins thanks to the military’s bare minimum efforts to drive them away.

Now, he watches as figures approach it in the dark, not a single flashlight among them. They had to adjust to the night now, just in case light beckoned over their worst nightmares. Steve remembers you were the first to suggest this to him within the first few days of the apocalypse. He should never have taken your warnings for granted.

Billy was the first to appear, leading the way with a gun held dangerously in his grip as he scopes out the area, just in case. He’s the one to open the gate, signal that they were in the clear.

Next to run out of the shadows was Robin, her hair scruffy from a late night chop after one too many complaints her hair was always getting in the way. She was different to how you and Steve left her. Colder, somehow. Steve has been avoiding her since his return, afraid of what she must think of him to leave her best friend behind.

Then comes Nancy, lowering her shotgun to slip through the small gap in the gate, never opened wide enough in case something tries to follow. Her hair was tied back, a sunken expression. Steve figured their mission to find more food was unsuccessful. But that wasn’t the reason she was so forlorn.

The only person left was Jonathan. The boy was usually the last in, running up behind and helping Billy lock the gate, looping a comforting arm around Nancy as he and Robin continued whatever conversation they had been using as a stress relief for the way back.

Nancy locks the gate, signalling for Billy to head inside. She stands there for a moment after, staring out into the dark.

Jonathan wasn’t returning this time.

He hadn’t been for over a week.

June 1st (Day 60 of the apocalypse)

The task was simple: get to Weathertop and use the ‘Cerebro’ Dustin built to break through the static of the Upside Down. But was it ever really that simple?

“Steve, maybe we should stop.” Nancy suggests, taking in a deep breath.

It was one thing to climb to the highest point in Hawkins, it was another to do it after fighting for your life against a pack of demodogs. Steve should have paid more attention, but how much worse could this get?

“We’re almost there.” He dismisses, charging forward. He hears Robin’s murmur of protest, but he remains unbothered. They needed to send out a signal. He had to before one of those wretched things lurking in the dark destroyed his only hope to find you.

His calves burned as he climbed the unusual incline of Weathertop, driven by his poorly handled guilt. The sooner he got you home, the sooner he would feel relieved of his deceit to the others.

The sooner he could hold you and never let you go again.

Dustin’s radio monster, at least that what Steve viewed it as in the best possible sense, was swaying slightly precariously in the sudden sweep of wind, enough to have him rush to it despite his aching muscles. It felt like the sky was closing in on him, a divine entity set on there never being a happy ending. Good thing he didn’t believe in that sort of thing.

Steve rummages through his bag, pulling out the heavy weight of a brand new radio. You still had his, wherever you were. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t know if that was true until he could hear your voice blare through the microphone.

Holding the radio in his hand, he starts messing around with the display Dustin had set up, following the rules meticulously crafted into his mind with ease that even surprised himself. All that was left was the frequency.

He holds out his hand, looking beside him at where Nancy stood patiently, barely panting from the rushed walk.

“What?” She frowns slightly, or Steve thinks she does. The night time was creeping too quickly on them.

“The paper.” He states, squinting at her when she continues to look at him in confusion, “With the number thingies?”

“Oh, uh..” She starts patting down her pockets, muttering under her breath about its possible whereabouts.

Steve couldn’t believe it. Nancy knew how important this was, not only to him but to everyone eager to get you home safely. She was never unprepared, and yet the time Steve needed her most, she’s scattered.

He blinks. Nancy was never like that.

As she turns to root through her satchel, Steve’s eyes narrow. He looks further down the hill to where three shadows stood beside eachother; Jonathan, Robin…

And Nancy.

Steve immediately swings his bat, knocking the imposter onto the ground with one sharp blow to the chin, catching it by surprise. When it shifts back to its original form, a sight that made his skin crawl, he realises he should have listened to the real Nancy.

“Shapeshifters!” He yells to his friends as more start to trail out of the shadows. He’s never seen so many in one place. They didn’t seem like they would travel in packs, unusual for a creature so independent. Which only meant one thing.

It was an ambush.

Everything else happened too quickly. He remembers dropping the radio and rushing down the hill, driving his bat into the heads of ashy figures and dodging sharp black claws swiping menacingly at his face. They managed to take out one each, but it still left so many more.

“Steve!” Robin cries out, but he doesn’t get the chance to even glance at her.

The moment his feet left the ground was when he realised he was being targeted. A shapeshifter had wrapped its claws around his neck and slammed him into the grassy hill, knocking the oxygen from his lungs. And then it wouldn’t let him breathe.

He was suffocating. It was scarily similar to the feeling he had in an enclosed space, the same cold hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing until he could only close his eyes and plead it would disappear. And it would, eventually. But nothing like how the crushing feeling had been obliterated by just one touch of your hand.

Steve imagined it in that moment where his vision started to blur, blackening at the edges. He had memorised your touch for so long it almost felt like you were there, helping him breathe.

He wouldn’t feel it again unless he survived.

With his summoned siege of strength, he draws up his knees and plants his shoes against its chest, driving it away with a swift kick. The deadly grip loosened from his throat and he began to suck in painful breaths, crawling away.

Just as he raises himself on his knees, his eyes look up to meet the haunting gaze of what he thought he could escape. It was dressed eerily like him, wore a face identical to his, and it held a knife. The very same he bore on his hip.

He watched himself grin, something so unnatural to the boy he constantly viewed in the mirror. He swore his heartbeat stopped as soon as it dug its heel into the ground and charged at him.

“Steve!” Nancy shouts, but what else could he do? He wasn’t fast enough to stop this.

His eyes fly shut once the dagger is closer than comfort, awaiting the painful stretch of metal into his flesh. Unfortunately for someone else, he didn’t have to.

A pained gasp hits the air like a sobering thought, stilling his aching body. It didn’t belong to him. It belonged to Jonathan.

Nancy starts to scream as blood pours from his mouth, his legs losing their power and stumbling him back into a hoard of shapeshifters. Steve watches as they grab at him, pulling at his clothes. They throw a hand over his mouth and drag him away, looking satisfied in their assault.

Steve can barely hear Nancy’s guttural cries as she wrestles against Robin’s tight grip, the other girl trying to pull her back so she doesn’t go running to her demise. He simply gets himself off the ground, runs to them, and guides them in the other direction, the only sound his unusually steady heartbeat flooding his eardrums. Maybe it was the shock, piercing the sound so he couldn’t hear his ex-girlfriend’s screams.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to admit he was the reason they lost Jonathan Byers.

Chapter Twenty, coming soon...

[A/N: I'm away for a week now to go present my work at a really fancy event so we're gonna have to wait just as long for the next part ugh. Thank you all so much for your constant support, ily]

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Don’t forget me.

Don’t forget me.

Don’t forget-

“Steve?”

Steve runs his hands down his face, straightening back up from where he had been hunched over the table, eyes bleeding onto the map from the intensity of his stare. He takes a glance to his right, the young boy he called a friend stood anxiously in the doorway.

“We’re, uh…” Dustin shifts on his feet, sneakers barely crossing the barrier of the door frame. “We’re all worried about you. You’ve been up here for hours.”

Steve blinks, turning to the window to be met with his reflection against the pitch black sky. The darkness outside was no match for the circles under his eyes. When was the last time he slept?

“And you look like shit.” Dustin comments, a hint of a smirk twitching his lips when Steve looks back at him, attempting a smile. He hadn’t managed one of those for a while now.

“Thanks, buddy.” He drawled off sarcastically with enough conviction to earn himself a toothy grin. “I just got distracted, I’ll be down in a minute.”

Dustin seemed wary but satisfied with that answer, giving him a nod before he disappears down the staircase. When he heard the last echo of descending footsteps fade, Steve returned to the map and placed his head in his hands, frowning.

Not one gate had opened since he left the Upside Down.

He and Hopper had been waiting for one to appear for weeks now. Five weeks. And three days. 38 days of sitting in what little patience remained, hoping and praying for once in their lives that a gate to a supernatural dimension would open in Hawkins just long enough for them to find you and bring you home. Just like you wanted.

“Don’t come back for me.”

Your voice had been haunting him for weeks, reminding him of the bitter lies that spewed from his mouth every day since.

He told Hopper and the others that you wanted them to find you, that you were very much alive. Maybe they’d be thankful he had spared them the tormenting truth, though Steve very much doubted it.

The worst part was that they believed him. They had hope. Every single one of those people currently sat downstairs positioning their next mission into the apocalyptic ruins of Hawkins will, and do, believe anything he says. Because they trust him.

All but one, however.

El had doubts. Steve saw it on her face any time she pulled the fabric away from her eyes and shook her head at the others, wiping her bloody nose with a suspicious look sent his way. She had been searching for you in ‘the void’ Dustin so ominously named.

At first, she agreed with Steve; “Maybe because the gates are closed, you can’t find a connection.”

But each day her wary eyes grew sharper, almost seeing right through him the longer it took to find you. And if anyone was going to call out his lies, it would be the girl with a superpowered mind.

What happens then? El tells their friends of his deception and he would have to watch each one of their faces drop into utter disbelief, disappointment.

Even if he does find you- no, when he finds you- would he be able to live knowing he had betrayed the people he loved?

Another 20 minutes passed him by before he begrudgingly left the solace of his own torture, entering a brand new means for internal torment. Steve wasn’t sure if he could handle normality in this head-space he’s cornered himself into. Although, with this particular group of people, nothing would ever be normal.

“Woah, hey, you can’t cast fireball!” Mike crosses his arms in objection, brows furrowed.

“Why not? You want them gone? I give you a ball of fire.” Lucas counters, leaning across the table with a pointed stare.

“We are in an enclosed space.” Dustin offers, surrendering under the glare he was shot.

“I. Cast. Fireball.” Lucas throws his hand down on the table and Mike groans.

“Fine. Fine. You cast fireball and…” He gives a dramatic pause, clicking his teeth. “Oh, wow, look at that. You all burned up because of how small the room is. You failed.”

“What?!” Lucas stresses and Dustin shakes his head.

“You burnt to a crisp.” Mike enunciates. “You died.”

“Fire and small spaces, dude.” Dustin sighs, burying his face in his hands.

“Great, so we lost the campaign?” Lucas pouts at his friends. “Now what do we do?”

“How about you join the real world and pretend like you aren’t losers?” Max’s voice calls from across the room and they all turn around to face her. She smirks. “Just a suggestion.”

The boys were sat around the large wooden table in the corner of the room, the surface covered in dice and figurines. They start packing up, ignoring Max’s giggles from the other side of the room. She was sat in an armchair braiding El’s hair, who sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her, staring down at an old picture book found from the forgotten bookcases scattered across the house.

Steve still wasn’t used to the sight, entering a room in his own home and it not being completely devoid of life.

Since Hopper found Steve practically in a pool of his own blood and tears in the motel 6 basement, their town had only gotten worse. Beasts from hell were terrorising what little population remained, vines were growing with no source and crushing the buildings that made Hawkins so historic in nature. The military had quarantined the area, at least that’s what Steve heard. Anyone who hadn’t managed to escape were trapped, it seemed, and Steve was just thankful he wasn’t a lost soul out on his own.

He still remembers the ride to the ‘safe house’. Steve beside Hopper in his nostalgic jeep, sat bruised and bloody with a forlorn attitude. He watched the father’s grip tighten on the wheel every so often, resisting his urge for tears. When it was finally revealed where the others had been living over the three weeks you were stuck in the Upside Down, Steve had his doubts.

The Harrington household was the best option for them to set up base of operations in Hawkins. It was big, it was empty, and it was just far enough out from the centre of town to be safer from the monsters still crawling around on the surface. Someone had fixed the garage door, the windows had been covered completely in either wood or fabric. But no matter how much they changed, Steve would never be able to forget it was his childhood home. One he assumed he would reside in until the day he died, even against all his efforts.

That possibility was looking more and more likely.

The usual parlour of the house was now ‘communications’. Dustin and Mike had set up a radio system, not unlike their equipment from the AV Club, and had a running list of all the stations still playing something other than nauseating static. Every now and then a brief interruption of a person’s call for help would come blaring through and Hopper would take a team to go rescue them. Unfortunately, no new residents ever found safety in the Harrington home.

The lounge Steve would spend most his evenings sinking into the couch was now filled with D&D boards, comic books, and many blankets. It was a space for the kids to hang out, and it was probably the only room Steve found himself smiling in. If he could find the energy to smile, that is. Even if they couldn’t remove the kids from the dangers of the forbidden world, they could at least try to let them be kids. Play fights, campaigns, board games. Steve sometimes would peer into the room and wish he was 13 again. Part of him knew his younger self would have no chance dealing with the apocalypse, much unlike the younger friends who had more tenacity than he ever could.

Upstairs had four bedrooms, but none of them were designated to any particular person or group. The kids generally preferred sleeping in the lounge unless instructed otherwise. And with everything happening on the other side of the boarded windows, there was never any time to sleep longer than 4 hours at most. Everyone had different sleeping times and shifts, meaning if a bed was free, it was yours.

Steve, however, had been using one of the bedrooms to study the maps Hopper had brought. It was just another guest room before he had dragged in a desk and shifted the bed over to the corner. His own room was too big for one person, he realised. And with how selfish he had been lately, he didn’t want to feel guilty for anything else. The adults usually slept in there, and Steve made no attempt to question their sleeping arrangements. It wasn’t any of his business.

And lastly, there was his father’s study. Hopper had been using it for the exact same reasons Steve had redecorated the guest room; to find you. He spent most of his time cooped up in there, only ever leaving to announce a new plan or to walk out on a new mission. It makes Steve’s stomach lurch anytime he thinks about how miserable the father must be.

A father who was doing everything in his power to get you back, taking the operation seriously. All the while Steve was simply barrelling head first into gut feelings, almost ruining everything.

The first week Steve was back was the busiest. He and Hopper had made detailed plans, taking care and consideration into their next actions. The beginning was fine, Steve almost felt at ease knowing he was doing something. But he grew tired of the wait.

After that week, he started to lose his mind. He found himself running all over town looking for another way back to the place he had so longed to escape, praying for another gate, and trying every signal point in Hawkins for even just a glimmer of communication to reach you. Hopper almost had to physically restrain him when things got messy, telling him to pull himself back into reality before something bad happened. He should have listened.

“See? I told you he’d be here.” Dustin grins as he spots Steve stood in the doorway, an array of eyes shifting to him.

“You missed a wild campaign.” Lucas states and Mike throws a look, shaking his head in silent disappointment.

“Oh, yeah. I was on the edge of my seat.” Max mocks, “Thought I was gonna have to come rescue Lucas from invisible fireballs.”

“Why do you hate me?” Lucas asks bluntly, and Steve clears his throat before anything can escalate further.

“Where’s Will?” He suddenly realises the loss of a head count, frowning at the spare chair pulled up to the table.

“He… he hasn’t come out of that room.” Mike’s face falls, shifting on his feet. “He hasn’t really spoken much. Not since...”

A moment of silence plagued the room. Nobody really spoke about what happened a few days ago, a mission gone horribly wrong. The task was simple: get to Weathertop and use the ‘Cerebro’ Dustin built to break through the static of the Upside Down. Yet, it was far from simple in the end. It left a thick lump in Steve’s throat to even think about it. They had all become somewhat experts on ignoring the reality, Steve especially.

He couldn’t imagine how Will must be feeling.

“I, uh… I’ll go speak to him.” Steve says, surprising himself. “Just in case he needs anything.”

Dustin squinted his eyes ever-so-slightly, gazing right through Steve’s attempt at misdirection, knowing his older friend was nervous about socialising after the week they had. Yet, he didn’t comment on the matter. He just shrugged and mumbled something about bringing Will food later, fiddling with the small wizard statue on the table.

Satisfied with the silence, Steve takes his leave.

Not before clocking El’s eyes as he headed back out the room. It sent a chill down his spine to see her face like that, a red stain on the cuff of her jumper explaining all he needed to know. She was watching him. Studying him. He wondered if she was sharing her disbelief to the others, or if she was waiting for the right moment.

No, Steve thinks, leaving the room and turning to face the stairs, stop being so paranoid.

He was fiddling with the sleeves of his jumper when he made it to the top of the staircase, staring down the corridor to where Will was currently residing, holding his breath. He wasn’t sure what he should say, if he could say anything at all. The lump in his throat was building into a boulder, a telling sign that he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

A quiet speech of his name being called from behind him made him retreat from the original plan. He would be grateful for the interruption if door number two wasn’t another fear he needed to face.

As he approaches the study, he can just make out the figure through the three inch gap of an open door, pushing it further ajar.

“Did you want to speak to me?” Steve peers his head through, praying he had misheard.

“Yeah, come in.”

The man was leant back in his chair with a weary expression, running a hand down his face. If anyone was looking worse than Steve, it was Hopper. The father had barely eaten or slept for weeks, his every hour dedicated to locating his daughter and bringing her home. It made Steve’s stomach twist whenever he thinks about how his words were torturing him. Hopper only knew what Steve had told him; you were healthy and alive, waiting for a saviour. Two of those were lies, and the other unknown, but Steve had said them anyway in a moment of agony and recklessness, and now… now it had gone too far to take it back. The longer it took them to find what Steve had promised, the more damage it had procured to Hopper’s health, mentally and physically.

Staring at the thinning chief of police, Steve waits in bated breath for some kind of lecture. He had been expecting this for days now.

“Have you spoken to Will?” He questions and Steve is surprised, blinking through his answers.

“Uh… no. No, I- I haven’t yet. I was just on my way to-”

“It’s not your fault, Steve.”

A hitch in his throat was louder than anticipated in this quiet room, causing him to cough it away like it had simply been a mis-breathe of air. Hopper sent him a knowing look, leaning forward as Steve finally takes a seat.

“None of us could have seen the shapeshifters coming.” Hopper sighs, running a hand down his face. “It looks like more and more are appearing.”

Steve scrunches his face, trying to remove the bloody image from his mind. “Have you spoken to the military? Are they actually doing anything?”

“Well,” Hopper leans back again, clicking his jaw, “I’ve got word that they’re slowly minimising the quarantine. Which, unfortunately, could mean two very different things. They’re either killing these monsters, or they’re driving them directly into the town centre.”

“So, just as useless as ever, then.” Steve grumbles, met with a tired nod.

“I know how you feel, kid.” He says, glancing back down at the map with a mournful expression. “I… I want to find her just as bad as you do. She-”

His voice catches and Steve looks up to see him quickly wipe a tear away, sniffing with the intent of driving it away.

“She needs me. Us. And… and it’s killing me to know she’s waiting in that god awful place while I try and hunt down gates that don’t exist.”

Another jolt of guilt to his gut, and Steve grips the arms of the chair. “I’m sorry. For not… for not bringing her back. She- she was right there. I-I could have-”

“You did everything you could, Steve. Don’t ever think that you didn’t.” Hopper’s gaze is unwavering, ensuring Steve heard him loud and clear.

Steve knew better than to argue. Instead, he meekly nods and pulls in his lips, looking anywhere but at the familial reminder of what he lost.

“I just hope she’s okay.”

Beep…

...beep…

…...beep…

The repetitive imitation of a heartbeat was the moment that drove you to consciousness, irritated by the relentless noise against your growing migraine.

Beep… beep…

Two more tick by by the time you feel a twitch in your fingers, your whole body feeling sore and numb all at the same time. You’re trying to drag your eyes open, blinded by a piercing blur of light to your pupils.

Everything was white. The walls, the beam of a lightbulb, the sheets covering your body. It took 5 more heartbeats to realise you were laying in a bed.

You suck in a struggled gasp of air, becoming all too aware of the needle sat below the skin of your wrist.

Why were you here? How did you get in this bed? What happened?

You don’t remember anything at all.

“Help.” You say. Or, rather, you try. Your voice was so hoarse, the word didn’t even sound from your lips.

You try and move your body, but it starts to become clear that it wasn’t ready to be moved. How long had you been asleep?

Some memory starts to form back into your mind, one of a boy. Standing in front of a boy. And he was behind a wall. Why were you stood there? How was he behind a wall? The gap was closing, and some shadows were behind you. What were they? What happened-

“Steve.” You gasp, blinking back to reality. This time, the word echoed perfectly into the dull white room.

You didn’t recall learning the name, nor could you make sense of the blurry face that came with it, wisps of brunette hair. But you can remember standing in front of him, you can remember the feeling of guilt and heartache overcoming you. The rest was a mere mirage.

A tear rolls down your cheek, unbeknownst to you. Whatever the memory was, your body reacted to it like it was better to be forgotten.

The monitor beside you starts to beep quicker, a noticeable thump in your chest matching its rhythm. Was this… were you in a hospital?

As you try and shift your body one more time, you spot the object in the corner of the ceiling abruptly move to face your direction. With your eyesight returned to normal against the bright lights, you can just see a security camera pointed at you, a red light blinking ever so small.

A sudden click of a door merely a few feet from your bed catches your attention, a wave of panic flooding your body. This didn’t feel like a hospital.

This wasn’t a hospital.

And yet, the person who walked into the room was wearing a white coat, looking clean and kind as they came to your side, smiling.

“Where… where am I?” You struggle to speak, swallowing nothing. “Who are… you?”

“Y/n, you don’t need to be afraid.” A male voice soothed, pulling up a chair and reaching to a bedside table you hadn’t even noticed, picking up a plastic cup. “You’re safe here.”

He brings the cup to your lips and you can only take a sip of the water before its taken away from you and set back at your side. Your throat started to soothe, and you took care to practice the detail of this man’s face. You didn’t recognise him. He was an older man with white hair and a few cosy wrinkles, looking sympathetically at you with a stare that instantly pacified.

As your lips move to form a question, he beats you to the punch, introducing a name you’re sure you’ll never forget.

“My name is Dr Martin Brenner.” He smiles, tilting his head. “We have so much to talk about.”

Beep…

...beep…

......beep…

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The radio had cut out a while ago, leaving a long strand of frustrating static in the air. You couldn’t find yourself to care about that right now. Something wants you here. Why?

As it turns out, you weren’t the only one wondering.

“This monster is running around making gates, and following you? Why you?” Steve had attempted to reclaim the radio signal once it had blared incomprehensible static, but he had no such luck. Instead, he turned back to you, feeling sick at the haunted look on your face.

“I don’t know.” You say quietly, staring down at the damp map lying on the rocky floor in front of you.

“It doesn’t make sense.” Steve states, squinting at the small building your finger currently rested on.

“I’m aware of that.” You sigh, rubbing your temple.

“But you still think you’re the pattern we can’t quite figure out?”

“I don’t know, Steve!” You suddenly snap before the colour drains from your face. You didn't mean to do that. “Sorry. It’s just… it’s too specific to only be a coincidence. I just don’t know why.”

Steve slowly nods, cautious of the way you were tucking your hands into your sleeves, obviously trying to hide their uncontrollable shaking.

“Is it to do with the virus?” He asks, the question tasting like poison on his tongue.

The virus is almost covering you now, creeping up your jaw. You couldn’t hide it if you tried, and Steve had already seen it. Already the venom was influencing you more than you had expected.

“I don’t think so.” You shake your head, mindlessly flexing your fingers.

“Then what’s different?” He looks at you with a soft frown, a look you’ve seen more in the past few days. “If not the virus, what else could it possibly want with you?”

You start to shrug, conditioned to feel like you were in the dark. Since finding the others in the lab, it had become increasingly clear that you were an outsider to their heroic group. You weren’t there when El was first discovered, completely unaware that the small girl adopted into your family was a superhero in her own right. You didn’t fight a demogorgon, or protect the kids from danger, and you especially didn’t save the world.

But this wasn’t about them anymore. This was about you. Your connection. And with all you’ve been through in the last month, you’re the only one who could solve this mystery.

Your breath catches in your throat and Steve finds your eyes, questioning.

“The dust…”

The giant shadow of a monster you had seen before was looming over what used to be the police station. It didn’t have eyes, nor even a face, but you knew it was looking directly at you.

And you felt paralysed.

You watched as it held out an arm… or was it a leg? Whichever, it pointed at you, something fluttered around its shape. Some kind of dust. Black dust.

Everything in you told you to run, but you couldn’t move even if you wanted to. The dust approached closer, slithering along the ground like vines. And you stared, heart jumping into your throat…

Wisps of wind trailed past your ears, unheard from the heartbeat thrumming against your eardrums until it became louder. It wasn’t just wind… it was voices. Incomprehensible murmurs swirling around you.

Until it wasn’t so incomprehensible any more.

“Tell her”

“Dust?” Steve frowns, tensing his shoulders. “You mean the Mind Flayer?”

“That night the shapeshifter separated us.” You start nodding, absent-mindedly moving closer to him. “I remember escaping the arcade and then…”

“Then?” He prompts, a hushed tone to both of your voices despite the privacy of the rocky ledge.

“I saw the Mind Flayer.” You say and he feels a chill run down his spine. “It- I couldn’t move. And these, like, scary images were in my head before I had this really intense nightmare. The next thing I knew, you were there and I wasn’t stuck anymore.”

“You were in some kind of trance. It took me a while to get you out of it.” He recalls, nodding slowly. Even the memory made his stomach clench. “What did you see? The images?”

“Hawkins.” You lower your eyes, slumping back against the hard rock, “It was… it was like it was on fire. Nothing looked the same. There was this giant gap and-and so many monsters. People… bodies.”

“An apocalypse.” Steve finishes for you and you nod your head, eyes squeezed shut.

“If we don't stop whatever it is opening these gates, Hawkins is going to burn.”

Your words struck a chill down his spine, the fear in your eyes evident even as you try and avoid looking towards him. There was a scared determination in the way you started down at the map. It was almost as if Steve could feel the waves in your brain radiating with an idea.

That's cute, Steve thought as you bit your lip in concentration. Adoring you felt better than the dread of an apocalypse.

“I'm going to the motel.”

Steve’s head almost snapped off his neck in the miniscule amount of time it took him to react, staring at you like you were crazy. You are crazy.

“Are you crazy?!”

He expected some sort of retort, or an ounce of an amused grin on your lips. But you only nodded.

“We know this thing is there. If I can catch it, kill it, whatever, I can save whoever is left. This is my chance to stop it.”

You were being reasonable, offering a calm take on the situation with a decision you were ready to face. Steve, on the other hand, took your proclamation as an act of war.

“If you think for one second I’m gonna let you get yourself killed, you’re outta your mind.” He says with a stern face, prompting your brows to scrunch together.

“Funny, I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” You shot back and he shakes head in disbelief.

“Y/n, this isn’t just some fun little holiday where you can do whatever you want. You’re gonna walk into a literal death trap!” He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but the panic was already settling in and taking control.

“There is something there that’s been following me, following us! Don’t you want to figure it out? End all of this?!”

“Whatever it is has been managing to rip a gap between worlds with its mind! It’s mind, Y/n!” He stressed, expressing himself with his hands, “I don’t want to be on the receiving end of that and neither do you!”

“What does it matter? I’m dead either way!”

You can see him pale in front of you, sucking in a breath.

“Don’t say that.” He whispers out, a quiver in his bottom lip and you hate yourself. Why did you have to hurt the people you loved?

“It’s true, Steve. I’m already out of time.” You tilt your head, a clash of lightning above illuminating the veins that slithered along your jaw. “I want to find whatever it is poisoning our town and I want to destroy it before…”

“Before what? It spreads to other towns?” He frowns, running a hand through his hair. “It’s made it pretty clear it only wants Hawkins-”

“Before it gets you.” You finish, staring up at him. If you looked in his eyes any longer, you would see your reflection, a reminder of what he was scared to lose, but that you were willing to sacrifice.

“We know there’s a pattern. And now we know it’s me. And… and I don’t know why, but it wants me. This virus is barely hours away from reaching my brain and honestly now is the perfect time to finally figure all this shit out and face it.”

“And if you get killed?” His voice cracks and you bite your lip, pretending like you didn’t know the answer when all you could think about for the past three weeks was the inevitable.

“Like I said,” You gulp, forcing yourself to hold eye contact. “I’m already out of time.”

“What about your dad? Robin? All of those little shitheads who clearly adore you-”

“They don’t need me, Steve.”

“I do.”

“No you don’t.” You shake your head, tears pooling in your eyes. “You’ve been doing this shit long before I was ever in the picture. If anything, I’ve just ruined it-”

“Why do you do that?” He cuts you off, flickering between your eyes with a look of concern. “Act like you aren’t someone important, when you most definitely are.”

“Steve-”

“No, I wouldn’t have survived this thing without you here. Neither of us would have survived...”

When his voice trails off, you watch him scrunch his face and take a deep breath. He walks away from you, running a hand through his hair. He was thinking, struggling to make a decision. But he always did, and it was always the right one.

“You’re not going to listen to a word I say, are you?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder. You silently shake your head, seeing no reason to prolong this fight. “Fine.”

“Fine?” You repeat, unsure you heard him right.

“I can’t stop you.” He shrugs, sniffing back the emotions lingering at the back of his throat. If he couldn’t convince you, he would just have to make sure you knew you weren’t alone. “But I can help.”

“Wait, no-”

“What? You want me to just sit around on this rock wondering if my girlfriend’s gonna make it back alive or if that’s the last time I’ll ever see her?” Steve lets out a breathy laugh, clicking his tongue. “No, I’m going with you. We do this together or there’s no point doing it at all.”

A flash of surprise hits your face as Steve breathes heavy, not giving you another second to try and convince him to let you go. You had to understand that he couldn’t. He couldn’t let you go. No matter how many times he lived through that scenario in his head, replaying the scene as if you disappearing would leave his heart intact, he just couldn’t do it. Steve knew it was foolish to expect a different ending, but surely he was allowed to have hope.

Was it hope?

Or was it something he refused to see for what it truly was?

A delusion.

“If this thing is really opening the gates, why don’t we, like, make it open another one?”

Steve’s question hangs in the air when he shakes the thought away, realising the obvious answer before the last word even left his lips.

The ground coughed out a soft crunch beneath your footsteps, trailing beside Steve through the twisted crops of Merril’s farm. Even in the Upside Down, the field didn’t differ visually from the real thing. You remember when the crops started to degrade, Merrill grumbling about his neighbour poisoning them. The dispute had been entertaining to you. But now you knew the truth, it didn’t seem so funny anymore.

“Shit.” You curse under your breath as you trip over a vine, managing to regain your balance.

“What’s wrong?” Steve is by your side at an instant, brown eyes laced with worry scanning you.

“Nothing, just tripped.” You dismiss, frowning at the vine behind you. A shudder rolls down your back when you think you can see it moving, but the clash of lightning above was probably playing tricks with the light.

As you go to take another step, your vision blurs. You try and blink it away, rubbing at your eyes. There’s an unsettling rush of heat beneath your skin, scorching your nerves. It should be cause for panic. But you’ve been through this before. Your only fear was knowing you weren’t hiding it anymore.

“Woah, woah, woah.” Steve quickly grabs onto your shoulders and you blink as he catches you before gravity took you victim. You didn’t even realise you were falling. “Hey, you okay?”

No. Steve already knew that. How could you possibly be okay when the virus was slowly closing in on you?

“Just… give me a minute.” You catch your breath, trying every technique to stabilise your heart rate as you fall into a squatted position. You hated that this thing was slowing you down, and you hated being out in the open like this, knowing that because of you, the both of you were going to be in more danger than necessary.

Steve stands by your side, slowly sliding the bag from his shoulder to fish out his bat, hand wavering over the metal weapon resting below. No. That was for emergencies. This was just his paranoia setting in.

“Nice day, huh?” Steve offers when the silence became unbearable, making you laugh. He smiles. He loved making you laugh.

“I’ve seen worse.” You reply, standing back up and taking another breath, slow and easy. “Okay, I think I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“M-hm.” You nod, a small smile gracing your face as you adjusted your bag and found rhythm between your footsteps once again.

It was getting scarier, the time between your virus lapses decreasing more and more. You weren’t ready to turn into one of those things. No one could be.

How would I stop myself from killing?

Your eyes drift over to the boy next to you, his admirable determination guiding you both through the farm like it was his life’s mission.

What if you took his life?

You snap your head away, focusing on your breaths. One breath in. Hold. One breath out.

Will I have to watch myself murder innocent people?

One breath in. One breath out. One breath in-

“Y/n?”

Sometimes the dim light of the Upside Down was a blessing. The low exposure shielded you from seeing the way he looked at you; with concern, sadness, pity. You found it hard to be so vulnerable like this. You didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. You barely allowed yourself to be perceived unless it was for all the wrong reasons.

It was a stupid stupid habit to bear such hatred towards yourself for feeling. But this is how you been for years now. You weren’t sure how to be any other way.

“You’re suspiciously quiet.” Steve comments, attempting to lighten the dreary mood. “Not that I’m complaining. Finally, some peace.”

“Rude.” You reply almost instantly, unable to resist the smile pulling at your lips.

Steve hated how dark it was in the Upside Down. Without much light, he was unable to study your features in times like this, to watch the joy return to your eyes after weeks of torment.

But even in the dark, he knew exactly how much hurt you were hiding beneath that worn-out mask of yours.

“Seriously. What’s on your mind?” Steve asks you as he scrunches his face in disgust as the tip of his shoe brushes against the pile of inedible black mush that once was a pumpkin.

“Other than monsters, the apocalypse, and my general state of being?” You smirk at him, but he already sensed your hesitancy.

“Yeah, the important stuff.” He shrugs with a chuckle.

I’m scared if you don’t run away, I might hurt you.

You shake your head free of intruding thoughts, focusing on the ones that sparked unusual butterflies in your stomach.

“What? You want me to just sit around on this rock wondering if my girlfriend’s gonna make it back alive or if that’s the last time I’ll ever see her?” Steve lets out a breathy laugh, clicking his tongue. “No, I’m going with you. We do this together or there’s no point doing it at all.”

“Um, you said something earlier. Back at the quarry.” You force yourself to keep walking, trying to hide the smile in your voice.

“Like what?” He blinks innocently. A jolt of anxiety rushes through your brain.

Oh god, what if he didn’t mean it? He could have just gotten confused, or caught up in the intensity of it all and you were about to embarrass yourself for ever thinking differently.

As painful as it is, that option was probably the best one. Maybe then it’ll make it easier when the virus destroys you.

“You, um… you called me your… girlfriend.” You almost cringe trying to finish what you started.

Steve almost trips, looking like a deer in headlights.

“Oh. That.” Steve lets out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I, uh… you know, it was just, uh…”

“Heat of the moment?” You offer quietly and he clears his throat.

“Yeah, right. Heat of the moment.”

“Yeah, of course. That’s- that’s what I thought it was.” You shake your head, wanting to move on from this subject as quickly as you could. “Just wanted to be sure.”

“Would it… would it be so bad if it wasn’t just the, uh, heat of the moment?” Steve suddenly asks.

You go quiet. Too quiet. And Steve clicks his tongue.

“Oh.”

“No, I didn’t mean-” You scrunch your eyes shut, footsteps slowing to a complete stop. “It just doesn’t feel right to say it.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Of course it does. Nothing has ever felt more right in my entire life, you want to scream, seal it in stained ink. But you had to look at the reality. You were going to die. You just wanted to make it as emotionally painless as you could.

“We’re not… we aren’t meant to be together, Steve.” You lie straight through your teeth, avoiding his eyes.

Steve scoffs, a hand on his hips as he looks at you in disbelief. “Yes, we are.”

“No. We’re not.” You say with a little more conviction, shaking your head. “This. Us. It’s not… how do we even know it’s real?”

When you avoided his eyes for a little too long, his hands find your face, cupping your cheeks to gently tilt your head to look at him. You just softly take them away, but he never lets go of your hands.

“If the gates hadn’t opened that day in detention… we never would have even looked at each other again.” You say, sadness coating your voice.

“But it did happen. And I’m looking at you right now. We got through it. Together.”

“We survived together. We- we relied on each other because we literally had no one else to.” You frown, shrugging it away as if your own words weren’t hurting you. “We went through literal hell and that’s what we bonded over. We don’t- How can you say this is real when we’ve been faking it all since day one? Let’s just be honest, it’s not gonna go any further so let’s save us both some time-”

“You’re doing it again.” He interrupts, his gaze on you unwavering.

“I’m not doing anything-”

“You’re pretending like you don’t care.”

You don’t respond.

“I care. A lot. Probably too much for it to just be a- a survival bond or whatever you said. And it’s definitely not fake.” He lets out a soft laugh, heart racing faster. “Actually… I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt something so real with someone before. It’s like- like breathing. You know? I can’t breathe without your stupid cute little face in my head or your annoying voice making me feel calm, or-or even this right here, your delusional belief that someone can’t possibly be in love with you which makes me want to just shake it out of you because it’s true, Y/n. It’s real. I’m in love with you, okay?”

Your mouth parts in silence, just looking at him, stunned. You were only trying to convince some excuses, to try and make it easier when it all inevitably ends. But you hadn’t really taken into account how much you both felt. And now everything was going to be so much harder.

“So, uh, yeah.” He clears his throat, releasing you from his hold and shrugging. “Just accept it.”

You both stand there for a moment, reliving his words. I’m in love with you. Steve doesn’t regret it, but he starts to feel nervous the longer you don’t say something.

“Can you… can you promise me something?”

Steve holds his breath. He knows what you’re going to ask. And he knows that no matter how many times he runs through that scenario in his head, he never pulls the trigger. He won’t take your-

“Don’t forget me.”

It wasn’t the promise he was expecting, brows furrowing with the intention of your words. He just wants to hold you, yell at you until you understood he couldn’t leave you behind, he wouldn’t let the virus take you. He’d find a cure, make one if he had to.

But he didn’t have time to figure out where to start because he was suddenly very aware you were both out in the open. And something was rustling the leaves, watching.

He quickly raises his bat, eyes focused. He can just make out a shadow, making him squint. Probably just another demodog, nothing he hadn’t dealt with before.

Except it’s taller. Almost… human?

And then he sees the glowing eyes, the gaping mouth. It was the screaming monster from the Radio Shack.

“Steve?” You frown once you catch it too, looking at him, waiting for his call.

“Once it screams, we run. Every monster and their mother is gonna hear it, and we need to get out of the open, fast.” He hisses between his teeth as he watches the creature weave its way through the trees, drawing closer.

“And lead them all straight to the motel?” You whisper back at him, and his face pales. There goes that plan.

“Shit.”

“What about that house?” You suddenly ask, tilting your head to your left. “The huge one on that hill? It’s the opposite direction from the motel and the closest thing-”

“Oh, god, no.” Steve breathes out, shaking his head with determination. “Remember what Robin called it? You do not enter a house called the murder house. Especially when you’re being chased by murderous flesh-eating monsters!”

“It’s pretty much our only choice right now.” You stress, the small hairs on your arm prickling the closer the creature gets. “We run through, slip out the back, and tail it to the motel before it’s-”

If Steve had any objections, you never heard them. All you heard was the terrifying scream rippling from the unhinged jaw of a ghostly woman.

“Run, run!” You yell, already feeling the effects of an ear-splitting pitch.

Steve immediately grabs your hand and you run, blindly trusting the boy you had assumed your enemy for 4 years of your life.

He wasn’t sure if you’d both be able to get inside in time, fully away of the hoard of monsters emerging from the shadows and chasing you down. It was a risky bet, this house. But you were right. It was the only option.

If Steve wasn’t so adamant on moving fast, he might have felt the soft tug of your arm as your body struggles to keep up, the stretch of the hill proving the laws of physics were never your friend. As long as your hand was in his, you were going to be fine.

The harsh creak of rotten floorboards as Steve barrelled into the room echoed menacingly in his ear. He quickly dropped your hand, pulling you behind him and making haste of tugging a tall and heavy cabinet down so it blocked the entrance. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it would give you both enough time to slip out unnoticed.

“That should keep them back, we gotta-”

Steve expected to find your hand as he reached back for you, but the space was bare. He spins around, stomach lurching when he finds you’re already sat against the wall, looking worse every second.

“No.” He drops to his knees and cups your head in his hands when you struggle to keep it up, swallowing his anxiety, “No, hey, sweetheart, hey. Look at me.”

Your weary eyes meet his and his breath hitches. The black veins were now creeping up your cheeks, spreading quicker in the past few hours than they ever had before.

A sudden chorus of thumping snapped his attention, the barricade against the front door almost shattering under the weight of its attackers. It wouldn’t hold much longer. He knew you weren’t in any state to run to the motel, and he had to think fast.

Steve loops his arm around you and pulls you to your feet, muttering a string of apologies as you wince. His eyes catch the bleeding moonlight from above, enticing an idea.

It felt like your whole body was on fire, any movement contracting your muscles to pain until you could nearly faint. But you had to try, you had to move. For him.

He could sense your determination as he moved you both up the staircase, your legs wobbling but making it to the top in a timely fashion. His admiration would have to come later. Right now, he needed you both safe.

The hallway was long and dusty, Steve’s eyes barely adjusting to the darkness. He’s unsure where to go next, a lengthy display of doors scattered either side of him as he helps you walk further into the house. Maybe there was another-

A giant crash echoed out in splintered waves, dread flooding his body.

They were here.

Picking the closest door, he drags you both inside and takes care to shut it as quietly as possible, knowing one loud sound could be the end. His nerves were on high alert, struggling to make the life-saving decisions his friends usually expected from him. But the stakes were different this time. There was no one to bail him out if he makes the wrong move, no Nancy or Jonathan to come save the day. It was just him, protecting you.

The door had apparently led to a bedroom, his eyes scanning for a chair or a dresser to block- No. No. That would just make more noise- But what if they got in?

Hide. You need to hide.

Pulling you close to him, he spots a large closet on the other side of the bedroom. That would have to do.

It omitted a soft creak, making him grimace. He carefully lowers you down, noting how you were forcing yourself to breathe in even intervals. You were fighting it as best as you could, and that was all he could ask for.

As he joins you, he manoeuvres you so you were situated between his legs, knowing this would be the only way to ensure you both fit in the small space. His bat is digging into his side as his arms are wrapped around you, his back pressed against the side of the closet as he watches the bedroom door through the crack of light, holding his breath.

He couldn’t hear anything, but that was the scary part. He had hoped to hear the creatures crash through the ground floor and somehow be tricked back outside, relieving his mind with the knowledge he made the right decision.

The space was becoming all too small, even with the door cracked open. And that’s when the fear came creeping in.

What if a demogorgon found you?

What if it tracks your scent, follows the trail up the staircase, opens the third door on the left?

What if it stalks into the room and starts listening closely, hearing his quickened breaths of panic?

What if the last thing Steve saw was the thing ripping open the closet doors, a set of giant claws caging you in, knowing there was no escape?

What if you both died in here?

He exhales a long breath, fading back into reality when he feels something gently squeeze his hand. Your hand. You had intertwined your fingers with his, head laying back against hisshoulder, sensing his anxiety.

Steve had known he was claustrophobic for a while now. As a little kid, he remembers when he and his friends would play in the woods, a hollowed tree trunk on the ground marking the final destination of their adventure. That was the first time he felt fear, he thinks, curled up halfway through the tight space as his shirt was caught on protruding bark. He remembers his friends laughing and leaving to go find his parents when it became all too serious, assuming they had abandoned him there.

The tunnels were far worse than his 7 year old self’s nightmares. When the demodogs came barrelling towards them, his sudden realisation that he would be dragged back into those tunnels and left for dead, he had never felt so hopeless. He couldn’t even fight, not really. He could only attempt to shield Dustin with his body, and pray they made his death quick.

He never really knew how to get himself out of these situations. His parents had enticed him out with harsh words and false promises, eventually dragging him out by his arms when his mind couldn’t stop imagining the tree collapsing in on him. The demodogs hadn’t attacked in the end, sparing them with pure luck and giving him no time to reflect on his darker thoughts, the kids needing him more than he needed closure from himself.

But one single touch of your hand changed everything. No words, no rush. Just a reminder he was still here. And you were here with him.

He felt your body tense the moment the floorboards out on the hallway creak, just quiet enough to let him know the creature was trying to be silent. Something was looking for you.

The virus had taken its toll on you, the past few minutes of your life flashing by in a blur. You don’t even remember climbing into the closet, waiting in suspenseful agony for a sign that the coast was clear. But all of a sudden, you had finally returned to reality, feeling Steve’s erratic heartbeat on your back.

You almost flinched when you heard something bang against the bedroom door. It was sudden, ricocheting an echo of vibration through the floor. And then it was complete and utter silence.

You must have been shaking because Steve holds you closer, forcing you to take a few quiet breaths. You’d be okay. It will be okay.

Another sharp crash blares out, but it’s further this time. Whatever it was outside of that door was leaving, finally. But that didn’t stop you both from sitting there for a little while longer, afraid to move from the safety of the wooden walls.

It was you who made the first move to leave, shifting in his arms and pointing to the door. You had caught your breath now, shaking away the virus’ side effects with strength Steve could only respect.

Steve pushes the closet door open and you are finally back on your feet, offering a hand to pull him up with you.

“That was close.” He breathes out with a nervous chuckle, running a hand through his hair. He retrieves his bat from the wardrobe and turns around to see you’re stood still with a guilty expression on your face.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper out, shaking your head. “We could’ve- it’s my fault.”

“What? No.” He crosses the room and pulls you into a hug, one you definitely needed. “No, it’s not your fault. None of this is.”

After a moment, he pulls away, sucking in a breath. “Now let’s get the hell out of here because this place is giving me the creeps.”

You nodded to his words, shivering as you observed the room you stood in. It looked like a master bedroom, possibly decorated for a couple to reside in. Everything was either covered in dust or cobwebs, a pang of sadness hitting your chest.

You knew the rumours of this place; a man going crazy and killing his entire family, their ghosts now haunting the place ready to collect more victims. But right now, you didn’t feel haunted.

A family had died here, the home clearly decorated with care and love from the people who never got a chance to live in it. And it has just been left like this, to wither and rot away.

Steve poked his head out of the door and listened out, making sure you weren’t just walking into a trap. He did the same as he leaned over the banister, clocking the wide open front door, now adorned in malicious claw marks.

“Fastest route?” He asks as you join him at the back of the house, squinting into the horizon.

There were only two options; along the road and out in the open, or through the woods with little to no light. You tried to think back to when you originally thought of the plan, retracing your steps.

“I’m thinking, uh…” Your voice suddenly cuts off and you turn to stare at him, a hint of a smirk on your lips. Steve frowns. “Do I remember you calling me sweetheart earlier?”

Heat rushes to Steve’s cheeks. “What? No. That would be weird. I don’t have a pet name for you. Or any name, actually. Other than your actual name. Maybe ‘asshole’. Not- not sweetheart- right, we’re cutting through the woods this way.”

He marches off before he becomes any more of a mess than he already is, hearing your laughter as it trails behind him.

“So… where the hell is this mysterious gate maker gonna be?”

You were both stood in the parking lot of Motel 6, eyes scanning each room as if a source of light would illuminate the monster you were hunting. If your theory was right, and it was all originating from here… how long has it been right under your noses?

“Maybe it’s like the gates.” You offer, shrugging. “What did Dustin say? In the heart, or something. The middle.”

“I hope not.” Steve states and you turn to where he was suggesting.

The heart of the hotel wouldn’t be one of the rooms, nor the office. And you had a suspicion Steve had thought correctly.

The basement.

Staring down at those two daunting metal doors, you feel your skin prickle. You take a glance over your shoulder, frowning.

In all three weeks you’ve been down here, you’ve never encountered a single monster at the motel. It had been a last minute resort for safety, ensuring you weren’t followed, picking room 303 as if it mattered. You were pretty good at sneaking around the place, but you never realised how truly odd it was that no monster ever followed you.

Maybe that answer was waiting for you behind those basement doors.

“Wait,” Steve gently places a hand on your waist as you move towards it, staring down with brown eyes of deep concern. “Are we sure we really wanna do this?”

“There isn’t another choice.” You say, yet you were still hesitant as you walked up to the doors, forcing each step you took.

No locks, no obstacles. Just a pair of metallic blocks on hinges. That felt worse somehow.

“If I had a nickel for every time I had to go down into a cellar to look for a monster…” Steve sighs to himself, catching your curious look. “Uh, I’d only have, like, two. But still. That’s two more than I should have.”

You can only nod in agreement, your breath caught in your throat.

Are we sure we really wanna do this?

The unsatisfying creak of metal echoes across the parking lot, Steve letting out a low whistle as he stares down into darkness.

“I’m sure this won’t be creepy at all.” He comments, taking the first step down before you had the chance. You’ve noticed that about him, always the first to enter an unknown room. A protector.

Light bleeds through a small window on the other side of the cellar. There was more space than you were expecting, but the strangest part was the fact there was nothing in here. Like it had never been used to store anything.

“It’s empty.” You announce, stood dumbfounded in the middle of the room.

“Maybe the landlord kicked it out.” Steve shrugs, silently relieved. He catches your fallen expression and places a hand on your shoulder. “Look, we’ll find another way.”

And then the basement doors swing shut, the sound rattling through the dark cellar at an alarming pitch.

“Shit!”

Steve drops his bat and rushes back up the steps to push against the metal doors. Nothing. He drives his shoulder into it. It doesn’t budge.

“How is it locked?!” He grunts, giving it one last try before backing away, shaking his head. “There wasn’t any lock on it!”

Your stomach drops.

You both freeze, turning once again to the singular door at the end of the hallway, a snarl vibrating through the wood of it.

The door you had walked through swung itself closed with a loud bang.

Spinning around with no intention of being here any longer, you reach out and pull the handle towards you.

It didn’t budge.

You grab the other handle in your spare hand and pull harder, the doors rattling under your force, but never opening.

“Billy!” You yell, but he’s already pushing against the doors, eyes wide. “It’s locked! How is it locked?!”

“Shit!” He hisses, turning to ram his shoulder against it for extra strength, but he couldn’t keep it up forever.

It was all happening again.

You had just walked into another trap.

“It’s here.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Steve is on high alert, frantically looking around the basement. But it’s still empty.

“Nothing is here, Y/n.” He frowns.

“Not on this side.” You gasp when something suddenly echoes in your ear. You look at Steve, startled, but he doesn’t share the same expression.

“What?”

“You didn’t hear that?”

“Hear what?”

You start moving around, trying to find a spot to make the incomprehensible whispers clearer. Steve’s heart is pounding louder.

“It’s that voice again.” You mutter to yourself.

“Voice? Y/n, you’re scaring me.” Steve manages to catch you for a split second, and you meet his eyes. His face drops.

The veins were creeping up your face, laying just beneath your eyes. He places a hand on your forehead. You’re burning up.

“Y/n, you don’t look so good.”

“It has to be here.” You shake your head out of his hold, stepping back. “The map- it has to be here!”

And then you hear it again, the voice. Except, this time, it’s so much clearer.

“Tell her”

You suddenly stop, letting out a gasp and Steve’s anxiety is sky-rocketing. You were both trapped inside this basement with something he couldn’t see.

He tries the doors again, thumping his fist against it like it would dislodge something. Nothing. Glancing over his shoulder, he clocks the window. Maybe…

Steve sprints over, dropping the bag off his shoulder and onto the floor beside him as he fumbles around for some kind of latch. Something rattles and he smiles. Bingo.

“Hey, we can get out through the window. Wasn’t rocket science, but I’m still a genius.”

He turns back to look at you over his shoulder, smiling. You’re currently near the far corner, your back facing him. You don’t seem to have heard him, breathing in odd intervals as you stare down at your hands.

“Y/n.” He tries again, louder. Your head twitches. Steve releases the latch on the window, fear flooding his entire body.

That same familiar feeling starts twisting in his gut, the same he always had when something is really really wrong. He never ignored it, never wanted to, because it was always right. But he didn’t want to believe it this time.

He slowly steps away from the window, his eyes permanently glued to the back of your head, feeling like he couldn’t breathe.

Trying again, his voice cracks under the pressure of speaking your name like it would warp the vicious reality he was living in.

“Y/n?”

You snap your head to him, and the colour drains from his face.

“No…”

He lost you.

The world bled to grey as tears start trailing from his eyes, staring into yours. Except, they weren’t yours. They were darker, soulless. Black blood was dripping from your chin, staining your lips.

Lips he had once kissed.

Lips he would never kiss again.

“Don’t do this.” He begs, unable to find the force to speak louder than a whisper. “Y/n, please. It’s not- I can’t hurt you. You know I can’t hurt you. Y/n...”

You snarled at him this time, your mannerisms unnerving. It wasn’t you anymore.

His eyes slowly drift to his bat, making him clench his jaw. It was closer to you than it was to him. He wouldn’t be able to reach it in time.

But he knew he wasn’t completely defenceless. He just wasn’t sure if he had the strength to use it.

You suddenly lunge at him and he instinctively dives for his bag, rolling away from your attack in the last second. He unzips it, staring down. He couldn’t do this.

Snarls and hisses spit from your mouth as you scramble up from the floor, blinking rapidly as you search in the dark.

Click.

Your whole body snaps to him in one sharp movement.

With a shaking hand, he stares directly into your eyes.

“Y/n, please.” He sobs, “Please, you have to be in there.”

Not even the mournful pressure against his chest felt as heavy as the gun in his hand, tears rolling down his face.

It was your idea to take a pistol from the cabin, knowing you couldn’t use it unless it was in moments of emergency, afraid the rippling sound of the bullet would alert every monster in the town. You both swore you’d never have to use it.

And here he was, pointing it directly at your head.

“Steve?” Your small voice prickles his hearing and he moves his gaze from your hands to your eyes, darting between the pupils in silent study. “If I… if it-”

“No.” He immediately shakes his head and you could almost sob. For what felt like days, you’ve been trying to have this conversation with him, but he always shuts it down, pretending like it wasn’t needed.

“You need to listen-”

“I am not killing you.” He says with conviction, and he feels your fingers slip out of his reach. “That’s not happening, Y/n, you can’t expect me to-”

“And what then?” You cry, standing taller, making his head crane to look up at you as you wrap your arms around your torso. “You’re just gonna watch me turn into a monster and let me stay that way?!”

“This isn’t just some sort of favour you’re asking for!” He frowns, shaking his head. “You want me to kill you. To end your life!”

He knew this was coming. You knew this was coming. You’ve been trying to warn him for weeks now, pleading to him. And he never listened. He never wanted to.

Three weeks ago, Steve would have shot you in that school hallway if you had turned after the bite, the memory bitter but his heart still intact.

Three weeks later, Steve would rather shoot himself then live with the memory of putting a bullet between the eyes of the girl he was in love with.

It can’t end like this. It can’t.

“It’s me.” He tries again, hoping his voice could break you free from the virus. “It’s me. Steve. Remember?”

He should have known hope was never his friend.

A voice completely alien to you rips out a screech from your throat, and hell comes to bludgeon him with the worst it had to offer.

Steve watches in horror as the skin starts peeling from your face, tearing it into pieces like a flower and its petals.

Like a demogorgon.

It was too late. You weren’t coming back to him.

You run at him, sharp teeth bared, mind forever gone.

Steve’s eyes shut…

… and he pulls the trigger.

“STEVE!”

Your throat was sore from relentless screaming, sobbing with your entire chest.

Steve had rushed over to the window just after you heard that voice. You had turned your back on him, distracted by what you thought was a shadow hiding in the walls.

You heard him call your name. But when you turned around…

His eyes were rolled back, stood deathly still.

“Steve! Wake up!” You keep trying to shake him out of his trance, watching as a trail of red bleeds from his nose. “No! No, wake up! Steve!”

More and more whispers echo around you, building up until all you heard were the same repeated words.

“What do you want?!” You scream into the dark, cheeks stained with relentless tears. Steve was dying, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

In a desperate attempt for help, you crouch down by the window and start rifling through his bag, batting the gun to the side to grab the radio.

“Hello?! Is anyone there?! Please!!”

You cry out in frustration when all that responds is the piercing static.

“That won’t help you.”

The radio slips from your hand in shock, clattering against the concrete as your wide eyes fixate on the image in the corner.

Something was forming from the shadows, pulling together pieces of the dark like it was dust. Your body floods with ice. The basement had never been dark. You were just surrounded by the same black dust that haunted every single nightmare.

Your shaking hands swipe the bat from the ground and grip it tight, shielding Steve’s body with your own. You hear his breaths become shallower.

“You were never meant to find me.” It spoke in a dark voice, fading in and out like a weak connection.

A gasp slips from your mouth when the particles build its final form. A silhouette of a man, featureless yet distinctive. Of all the creations you had envisioned, you didn’t expect the monster to be so… human.

A man.

“What do you want?!” You yell at it, raising the bat like it would scare it away.

“I tried time and time again to get you to understand.” He spoke, drifting closer to you. “I gave you the future. Visions. A simple task.”

Something like a sob escapes Steve’s lips and you whip your head to him, feeling completely and utterly helpless. You weren’t going to defeat the monster like you said you would. And now you were going to watch him die, knowing you were the only reason he was down here with you.

“It was the only way to make sure you listened.”

You turn back to the monster, a scowl twisting onto your face.

“Let him go.” You warn, but you knew your threat was meaningless.

“You have no power here.” He states, and you could almost feel the shadow smiling at you with malicious intent. “I make the rules.”

Goosebumps return to their path along your skin, trailing up your arms and prickling at your neck, making you shiver.

“I will let him go… Once you carry out one important task.” He nods, closer once again. You shift your body protectively in front of Steve, holding your breath.

“What…” You blink away tears, feeling suffocated by his presence.

You understood why the other monsters were so afraid of the dark.

Your arms didn’t feel attached to your body when they suddenly start to lower themselves, a shadowed hand reaching for your face.

“Bring me the girl.”

You frown, shaking your head. Girl?

As if he heard your thoughts, he leans close to you, speaking one word.

“Eleven.”

“El?” You gasp, and he steps away from you, observing. “Why- what do you want with her?”

“Bring her to me, and I will let him go.” The figure doesn’t answer your question, tilting its head. “Once you leave this place, you’ll find her, and you’ll bring her to me. That is all I want.”

“And if I don’t?” You raise your chin, regaining the feeling in your arms.

He slowly raises his hand, pointing it to the boy behind you. At first, nothing happened. And then you watch in despair as Steve’s body starts to slowly lift from the ground, a strained yell of pain.

“Stop!” You beg, and the shadow obeys, Steve’s feet touching the ground.

One little action and it was so simple it was terrifying. If you don’t bring El to him, he’ll kill Steve.

This monster knew you. It had been following you around since the dust you encountered, observing the things that made you tick, the things you loved, hated, needed. He knew exactly what would make you listen to him.

He was the Voice that had been haunting you for weeks.

You look back at Steve, almost crying out when you notice he’s lost more blood in the time you’ve taken to decide. You couldn’t do that to El.

But you also couldn’t watch Steve die.

“Fine.” You sob, nodding. “Just let him go.”

“You’ll know where to find me”

And then the shadow is thrown back into the darkness, hitting a wall and sinking back into it, dispersing the dust in scattered patterns on the surface.

Steve gasps behind you, and you spin around to catch him as he stumbles forward.

“Steve!” You cry in relief, wrapping your arms around him as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Y/n?” He sounds surprised, almost sad, observing every little detail of you as if he couldn’t decide if you were real. “Wait, you’re… what happened?”

“I-”

You try to reply when a loud hum starts building behind you, your attention needed elsewhere.

The middle of the wall starts to burn away, splitting apart and blackening at the edges. The humming only became louder, a dark red hue casting your shadows.

The Voice was creating a gate. For you. To pawn your sister’s life for Steve’s. Once you stepped through it, you’d be signing a death warrant.

If you stepped through it.

“What the fuck is happening…” Steve blinks at the gate, aware of the tightened grip your hand had on his.

In his vision, he had shot you. He had committed the most unspeakable act he had time and time again refused. The worst part of it, was he thought it was real. He made that decision.

But it was all a lie, and you were here, holding his hand with a look on your face he couldn’t decipher.

“You have to go.” You say to him, your words hazy to his ears. He still wasn’t entirely sure he was back in reality, struggling to make sense of the walls around him. “Steve, listen to me. You have to go.”

“No.” He shakes his head, trying to focus. “What about… what about you?”

A booming chorus of thumps against metal suddenly arose from the basement doors. Your stomach dropped.

The creatures weren’t afraid of the dark anymore.

When the gate had spread into a human-sized portal, you start pushing Steve towards it. His sneakers were just touching the edge before he realised what was happening.

“Hey, hey! No!” He stops, and you’re not strong enough to overpower him.

“Steve, you have to go! They’re gonna break through any minute!” You cry, watching the ever-growing dents in the metal above the staircase. “Please, you have to go!”

“I’m not leaving you, Y/n!”

“It’s already too late.” You sob, wiping away your tears. Tears that felt hot, burning against your skin.

The skin littered with black veins.

“I’m gonna turn any minute now.” You place your hands on his cheeks, making sure he was listening to your every word. “And I don’t want my last memory to be crossing back into our home knowing I won’t make it 5 steps before the virus kills me. Okay? So, you’re gonna go through the gate and you’re not ever gonna look back. Please. Don’t come back for me.”

“I can’t-” He cries and you bring his forehead down to rest on yours, nodding.

“I know.” You whisper, leaning forward to leave a feather-light kiss on his lips.

His eyes are still closed when you pull back, studying him one last time.

“Which is why I’m sorry.”

Steve’s eyes snap open just in time to watch your hands find his chest and shove him as hard as you can, his body ripping through the gate faster than he can experience.

His back hits solid concrete, making him groan. It takes a second for him to blink away the dots in his vision, slowly sitting up. He can see your figure clearly, your sad eyes, the smile gracing your lips.

And then the gate starts to sew itself shut.

Steve scrambles to his feet, tugging at the dangling pieces of membrane to try and stop the process.

“Y/n!” He yells at you, the unwelcome fear striking his nerves when he hears a loud crash from the other side.

Judging by the look on your face, it was exactly what he thought it was.

“No! No! Y/n!”

The gate is getting smaller, but his screams are only getting louder, fingers desperately trying to pry it open like a set of doors. But it was useless.

He can just make out a rush of silhouettes, your retreating form.

And then he was clawing at a concrete wall, body shaking with the intensity of his tears.

“No, no, no, no!” He yells in rage, his fingers scraped and bloodied.

For the last three weeks, all he wanted was to be on the other side. And now he was here, without you, it felt worse than hell.

He barely heard the creak of metal doors open behind him, or even saw his shadow suddenly cast onto the space he lost you forever.

Steve didn’t notice anything until a voice calls out behind him, causing him to turn and squint against the beaming light.

“Steve?” Hopper frowns, squinting. “Steve.”

He rushes down those steps and drops the flashlight, both hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“Hey, kid, you alright?” He asks, but Steve can barely speak. “Kid, look at me.”

Steve looked at him, a torn and broken version of the boy Hopper had seen last. He can feel Hopper’s hands tighten, a look of horror clouding his eyes.

“Where’s Y/n?”

Don’t forget me, you had said to him. A bittersweet promise of a memory.

Steve wasn’t ready to make you a memory.

“She’s still back there.” He finally said, swallowing the bitter lie that was about to coat his tongue. “We got separated.”

He lowered his eyes, unable to look at him, trying to ignore the guilt eating away at his chest. It was cruel, to lie to a father so desperate to get his daughter back. But he was afraid the truth would show you were like your father in more ways than one.

Steve needed to do this. No matter the consequences.

“She wants us to find her.” He finally says, nodding. “She wants us to bring her back.”

To be continued...

[A/N: GOH will return for yet another installment! I'm separating the story into parts so I can trick my stupid brain that only gives me writers block into thinking it's only a short story. I honestly plan for this to last forever. Or at least until I run out of ideas lmao.]

taglist:

@toomanyfandomsimfanvergent . @sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose .

@palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 .

Now he scoffs, looking up at you, placing his hands on his hips. Bitchy. “You really don’t believe me?”

“I absolutely do not.”

“Huh.” He stares at you, narrows his eyes at the back of your head. “Give me a chance, won’t ya?”

“A chance?”

“Let me try it on you.”

You whip around, hurling an empty VHS box at him, which he somehow dodges in the nick of time. “No way!”

“What? Don’t wanna be proven wrong?”

“You ever think that maybe I don’t want you to touch me?”

He laughs, much to your shock.

“Steve,” you sigh. “Get a grip.”

It’s silent for a while. You go back to inputting returns and Steve moves around, replacing them. Then he comes back to the check out desk, leaning on it with his forearms. Crowds your space, makes you back up, your cheeks heating up.

“My paycheck.”

You falter. “What about it?”

“I’ll give you my entire paycheck if I can’t make you cum in twenty or less.”

Your eyes roll, but he can see right through you.

“Are you making fifteen dollars more than me an hour or something?”

“I got overtime twice last week!” he defends. “Should be a couple hundred.”

You lick your lips, eyes moving back to the computer as if you’re interested in it more than him. “And if you do? You want my paycheck?”

“When I do, then you’ll let me have another hour with you.”

“To do what? Torture me?”

Steve just smiles.

You narrow your eyes. “Where would this even happen?”

“Uh, on break?” he says, like you’re dense. “Put up a ‘be back in twenty’ sign. Or maybe I should just close up shop?”

The entire thing is so scandalous that it has your face burning up, almost suffocatingly. And he won’t stop looking at you with those dumb puppy dog eyes. A little pout tugging his lips downward.

“You’re gonna beg me?” you snark.

“Couple hundred would go a long way, wouldn’t it?”

You’re so sure you can win at this. Even if he’s good, twenty minutes isn’t that long. And that’s how you end up on his lap on the dilapidated couch in the back room, a “be back in twenty :)” sign slapped onto the front door. Your pants are off and in a heap on the floor below you, underwear still on - you made Steve swear he’d work around them.

No cock, either. “This isn’t just an excuse to get your dick wet, is it?”

Hands thrown up in surrender, he’d said, “Fine, fine. Fingers only:”

“You’re gonna be so broke,” you insist, but it’s already getting difficult. He’s hard underneath you and apparently neither of you will bring it up. Steve looks so pleased with himself, and the confidence makes your stomach flip.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” His eyes are glinting, full of mischief. “You’re gonna be spending an hour in the Harrington Torture Chamber.”

You laugh boisterously. “And what’s that entail?”

He glares playfully, hands moving up your thighs, settling where they meet your ass. “You’ll just have to see.”

His fingers glide underneath the material, hands first grabbing your ass. You gasp a little as he kneads. “You let me know when to start.”

You twist around to look at the clock behind you. 5:37 pm. Jesus, you’re doing this before it’s even dark out. You look back at him, annoyingly handsome below you, little highlights playing in his curls.

“Now seems fine,” you finally say.

Steve looks over your shoulder. “What do you say we stop at an even six o’clock?”

“Now, Steve.”

There’s really no fanfare. He doesn’t take much time with you, moving his hands around to the front to cup your cunt over your underwear. His thumb finds your clit immediately and you let out an embarrassingly easy whine.

“Right there?” he coos. “Always been good at findin’ it.”

“Bullshit,” you breathe, resting your hands on his shoulders. “Prob- you probably just found out about the clit.”

“Y’know, you better learn to use that mouth for somethin’ a little better than insulting me.”

You’re incredibly, incredibly thankful his fingers weren’t inside of you when he said that. You clench down, pleasure coursing from your stomach to your clit while he rubs gentle circles into it.

“That shut you up,” he muses. “Like being told what to do, huh?”

“Fuck off.”

His thumb presses a little harder. Still delicious - more so, in fact. You bite your cheek hard and stare at his forehead. His eyes are too intense for you.

“Can’t even look at me,” he tsks. “This is a lot for you, huh? It’s only been two minutes.”

You’re thankful for the reminder. You push your thoughts away, starting to think of the new releases coming up, the new cash reconciliation process. But it only works for about three minutes, until Steve gets bored with your non-reaction and slips his fingers under your underwear.

“Jesus,” he moans, “you’re so wet.” He licks his lips. “This all for me? Or are you wet from when Keith came in earlier?”

“Shut up!”

“It’s gotta be one of them, huh?” he presses, rubbing bigger, stronger circles into your clit while his other fingers press into your entrance just a bit. You gasp and clench again, and Steve smirks. “It was Keith, wasn’t it? Can’t wait to tell our friends how horny you get for him.”

“Not Keith,” you pant.

“Oh, then me?”

“Shut up!”

“No way.” His middle finger rubs against your hole. “This is too easy, babe. Got twelve minutes left with you and you’re already creamin’.”

You choose to ignore him, taking deep breaths, squeezing his shoulders. When you least expect it, Steve slides his finger inside of you.

“O-oh -!”

“Feels good, doesn’t it.” Looks at you like he’s really pitying you. “I give you another two minutes.”

“Just - I - just -“ You feel insane, so hot from his attention, pleasure building wickedly fast in your lower stomach. “I need - give me a break.”

“Uh-uh,” he says, wrapping his free arm tight around you and fucking his finger nice and slow in and out of you. Your jaw clenches, squirming to get away from the pleasure, but his arm keeps you planted in place. “Didn’t say twenty minutes with breaks, did I? Not gonna let you cheat.”

Steve’s fingers working in tandem, your mind begins fogging over. You continue squirming - away from or towards him, you’re not exactly sure.

“Didn’t think you’d last this long,” he mumbles. “You’re easy, though.”

“It’s too much,” you whine. Six minutes left. He doesn’t even seem phased.

“I know,” he coos. “Overwhelming, huh? Can’t act like a big girl now, can you?”

You hate the way that’s fueled your fire. Desperate to hold on, you lean forward, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Fingernails dig into his skin through his shirt and vest and he smiles at your reaction.

“Go ahead and hide, baby, but I better see your face when you cum.”

You take a shaky breath and bite down onto his shoulder. Steve groans, fingers picking up their pace, and now you’re really, truly fucked.

You try to think of anything else. Car payment. Potholes on Main Street. Library fines. Keith.

But Steve’s whispering in your ear, saccharine, his voice a velvety deep tenor that makes your chest vibrate. “There we go, good girl. You’re gonna cum so hard for me, huh? You’re so easy. Give it up so good, don’t you? Just for a few extra bucks? Or did you really want played with? Starting to think it’s the latter, babe.”

“Steve,” you cry, thighs shaking and clenching. Steve surely has no feeling in his hand but he keeps up his work, anyway. Three minutes to go.

“Uh-huh, I know, so hard, isn’t it? Just love being fucked on my fingers so much. When I get that extra hour I’m gonna see how many you can take. You’re so tight, gonna take a whole fist to get you ready for my cock.”

You’re seriously shocked. And you’re so desperate for it that your clit tenses up, ready to burst, ready for your vision to go black and for you to moan embarrassingly loud right on Steve’s lap. You reach down for his wrist, gripping it tight, shaking your head and scrunching your face.

“Go on,” he praises, smiling wide, working just a little faster. “Cum for me, give it up, pretty girl.”

You squeal and bury your head into Steve’s shoulder again while you cum, your hips grinding against his hand, making it drip. Steve laughs, moves his arm so he’s rubbing your back instead of pinning you down. “Oh, that felt so good, didn’t it? Feels so good being bitched out on my lap, huh?”

And that’s it. You cum again. Clenching down, shouting into his skin, teeth piercing it open. Steve gasps and groans, lets you ride his hand until your hips still and you’re panting, jaw unclenching from his flesh.

“billy really wiped the floor with you, harrington,” your soft voice startles him, those liquid honey eyes lift to regard you darkly.

you approach him slowly, leaning your back against the lockers opposite him. only a few feet separates your bodies.

“he doesn’t play fair,” he grunts, ignoring you as he begins to untie his sneakers.

“or maybe you aren’t as good as you think you are.” you fire back, watching in utter amusement as his jaw muscles tighten.

“i’m not in the mood.”

his sour tone only causes you to giggle, snapping the gum between your teeth. the sound echoed through the empty locker room as he kicked his nike’s off. before he grips the collar of his sweat soaked shirt, tugging the material over his head.

“aww, can’t take the heat, stevie?” you tease.

he moves quicker than you were prepared for, caging you in against the row of lockers. his nose brushes against yours as you feel his hot breath fan over your lips.

“you don’t know when to stop, do you?” his tone is harsh as he lifts one of his large hands to wrap around the base of your throat.

“it’s just so easy to rile you up, harrington,” you smile sweetly up at him, fluttering your lashes.

you try to ignore the growing heat between your legs, maintaining your composure. but the moment his hand tightens around your throat— you know you’re done for.

“god, you’re such a brat.”

your body reacts without any warning, thighs pressing together as a needy whimper leaves your lips.

“oh you like that, huh?” he chuckles, his other hand trailing down your side, slipping beneath the waistband of your gym shorts. “you like when i’m a little mean, honey?”

any other comment dies in your throat as he finds your swollen bud, the pad of his thumb brushes over it in small circles.

“no,” you whine.

“then why are you so wet, baby?” his tone is dripping with condescension, as his middle finger slips inside your tight heat.

your walls instantly suck him in, chest heaving as his lips trail across your jaw. the air around you has suddenly grown warmer, the scent of sweat and his aftershave engulfing your senses.

“steve,” you cry out and he adds another finger, curling them up to brush against your sweet spot.

“that’s it, honey.” he hums, his thumb pressing firmly onto your clit. “let me hear you.”

you reach your hands up to tangle them into his dark, thick hair. guiding his mouth to yours as you press them together harshly. he groans into your mouth as he increases the speed of his fingers.

and you swear he must be able to hear how loud your heart is beating against your rib cage.

“gonna cum, pretty baby?” he asks, despite knowing the answer already. as your walls continue to constrict around his fingers like a vice.

“please, please, please.” you beg, no longer caring that it’s steve harrington you’re begging to make you come.

but then everything stops.

the pressure that was building in your abdomen suddenly fizzles out, tears of pleasure turn to ones of frustration. you instantly miss the heat that was radiating from his chest, as he removes himself from you.

steve chuckles darkly, honey eyes watching in utter delight at your discouraged expression.

“maybe that’ll teach you not to tease me,” he warns, slipping his sticky fingers past his plump lips before turning on his heel.

leaving you exasperated as he heads for the showers.

The buzzer above your head rings violently in an attempt to alert the staff that somebody has come in, and a mop of beautifully styled hair attached to an equally beautiful man comes into view as you edge closer to the rental counter.

"Hey, Stevie," Eddie grins, loud and unabashed, "you got that new one with Meg Ryan in it? Heard she cums at a dinner table and lady luck over here is desperate to see it." 

He's sniggering as you pull away from him and smack at his arm hard enough that he lets out an indignant yelp. Your face is burning hot with embarrassment as the boy's eyes dart back and forth between you both, confusion etched on his face.

He - Stevie, apparently - raises an eyebrow at you both, taking in the disheveled and most likely chaotic scene in front of him, "You mean 'When Harry Met Sally'?"

"Majorly concerning you know what movie it is from the description of 'Meg Ryan cums at a dinner table'," you quip, mouth running away from you before you can even stop it. Your face somehow burns even hotter, Steve crossing his arms over his chest with a small smirk.

He's in a preppy little striped polo shirt under his green embroidered work vest, and god his arms are bulging. His skin is tanned golden, a product of the heat of an Indiana summer, freckles and beauty marks prominent on his face, trailing down his neck and dipping below the collar. 

You stare for a beat too long. Taking in the man in front of you, who looks very sure of himself. 

Eddie knows you all too well, Steve is absolutely your type, which makes your first encounter all the more mortifying. 

"It's my job to know all the new releases, honey." Steve's smile grows smug, and it's breathtaking how attractive you find it, "You're both shit out of luck, it's been on rent all week. Romantic night in, is it?" 

Eddie scoffs from beside you, and it takes everything in you to not be offended by how quickly the noise escapes him, "Yeah, she wishes. She's not my type at all, Harrington. Annoying, clingy, pisses too lo-"

"God, shut the fuck up," you're mortified, covering your face with your hands, "I've been in town less than a day, are you trying to get me ousted?"

Steve looks all too amused by the encounter, struggling to hold back a chuckle. His pretty eyes never leave you as he speaks, "Munson's deflecting, I already know you rejected him and he's taking it like a dagger to the heart." 

Eddie points an accusatory finger, "Take it back, fucker. I've never been turned down in my life." 

Steve quirks a brow at him, then turns his attention back to you. You squirm under his strong gaze, "Is that true, doll? I feel like he's lying." 

"I'm not getting involved in this dick swinging contest," you hold your hands up, trying in vain to ignore the silly little pet name that really does it for you, backing away from the counter slightly, "what are we even here for, Eddie?"

"I was just making sure me and Stevie here were still on for drinks tonight." Eddie glances at Steve, who looks as confused as you feel, “You wanna join us?"

You shoot him an incredulous look, "This feels like a set up."

Eddie smirks, "Why's that? Can't three pals all go out for a drink together? I want my two best friends to get to know each other."

You narrow your eyes playfully, glancing at Steve who seems to have gotten with the program, all signs of confusion gone from his face, "I'm not sure I trust you." You huff, turning to Steve and nodding back at Eddie, "What if he's just setting us up so he can bail and I'm stuck with you all alone, Stevie?"

Eddie feigns offense, "Now why would I do that? Besides, even if I did, you're a big girl. I'm sure you could bully Steve into leaving you alone."

You smirk back at him, "Fine. But if you and Steve start getting all lovey-dovey, I'm bailing and leaving you to pay the tab."

Steve barks out a laugh, "Don’t worry about me, I can behave myself. Same can’t be said for Munson, he takes one look at the Harrington ass and loses all inhibitions.” 

“It is beautifully round.” Eddie admits in defeat, hand clinging to his own flat ass, a ridiculously deep frown etched onto his features.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face and stays firmly put as you exit the video store, every nerve in your body buzzing when Steve winks in your direction when you depart.

The black lace bodysuit you wear clings to your curves nicely, the nip of your waist accentuated by your mom jeans. Eddie had even wolf whistled when he saw you, which was his nerdy way of saying you looked really fucking good.

As you pull up to the strip, Eddie slows down to a stop outside what looks like a dive bar, "I'm gonna drop you off here and go 'round back to park up the van, 'kay sweetheart? Steve's already in there."

Your eyes narrow, "I don't trust you, Munson. This feels like a set up."

Eddie holds his hands up, "It's not, I promise. I just need to go park the van and-" he trails off, sighs and rolls his eyes, "I have to go make a deal super quick. Don't want you there for that, this guy is sketchy."

You huff out a sigh, understanding him completely, Eddie really was a good guy who wouldn't put you in harms way. He knew leaving you with Steve momentarily was safer than taking you with him to a deal, and you trusted his judgment. 

"Okay," you agree eventually, making to hop out of the van, "but I swear, Eddie, if you don't come back, I'm gonna be pissed. You'd better be dead." 

Eddie holds up his hand in a scouts honor as if he was ever in the scouts in he first place, and you roll your eyes as you shove the creaky van door open and jump out.

"I'll be back soon, kiss Steve for me, will you?" Eddie jokes, grinning maniacally.

You stick up the finger and slam the door shut deliberately, making the walk around the side of the van before he can say anything in return.

As you make your way inside the bar, your mind races. Nerves and excitement are almost getting the best of you. Steve was just so cute, Eddie knew exactly what he was doing by introducing you both. 

The place is surprisingly cosy, pool tables dimly lit by orange colored lights. It’s reminiscent of a bar from back home, all hard wood and walls covered in various pieces of movie and alcohol paraphernalia. There are people scattered here and there, in booths and at the bandits, playing games of darts and billiards.

Steve's sat at the bar on an old vintage barstool, side on to you. He's dressed in a tight black t-shirt, washed out Levi jeans clung to his muscular legs and a pair of Adidas trainers with green stripes on his feet. He looked relaxed, floppy hair falling into his eyes. 

You were a goner already. 

As you approach the bar, Steve must sense your presence, as he looks up with a grin, "Hey! Where's Eddie?"

"Parking up the van," you smile, taking the stool next to him and jumping up onto it, trying to ignore the way your tits bounce very obviously with the motion, "I wouldn't bother ordering him a drink yet, though. He's, uh, occupied."

Steve's mouth opens in an understanding 'ah'. It was no secret how Eddie made money, and you were sure Steve had to be used to this by now.

The bartender comes over and you order some fancy cocktail on the menu that consists of Coke, dark rum and cherry liqueur. It comes with a Maraschino cherry on top, and you can't hide the excitement on your face as you take your first sip.

Steve watches you with an amused grin, "You look like you're enjoying that drink."

"Oh, I absolutely am," you reply all too quickly, "a day of Eddie's shenanigans are enough to warrant a good drink." 

Steve leans in closer to you, his eyes flickering over your body none too subtly, the charm ramping up with every sip of his Bud, "I think we’ve spoken far too much about Eddie for now. Tell me a little about yourself, honey."

Honey. There's that damn nickname again, enough to make you melt in a puddle off your barstool. There was no denying that Harrington knew what he was doing.

You shrug, going for nonchalant as you lock eyes, "Nothing to tell, really. I work in a little coffee shop during the day, and at night I guess I'm still trying to figure things out."

Steve nods in understanding, "What kind of things?"

You take another sip of your drink, relishing in the way it buzzes through your body, "Where I fit in the world, I guess. What I wanna do with my life in the long term. I’ve been in a rut for a while."

"I get that. Working in a video store in my mid twenties wasn’t really the plan set out for me, either." Steve responds with a furrowed brow, brutally honest, "Has Eddie told you much about me?" 

You consider, "Not really. Just that you're a ladies man and you’re forever swiping the ‘hottest babes in Hawkins’ out from under him, but you know Eddie, he's a bit. Theatrical." 

Steve chuckles, a flush on his freckled cheeks, as he leans in closer to you, "Between you and me, he's not wrong. Just haven't found the one to settle down with yet." 

At the close proximity, you can really take in Steve. He's all tanned skin covered in gorgeous beauty marks, a strong neck with prominent veins, muscular arms but clearly on the softer side like he didn't take it too serious. He was like a Greek statue, his nose like it was carved from the same stone. 

You flush, taking another - albeit larger - sip of your drink, swirling the ice in the glass, "So, do you pick up all the chicks in Family Video?" 

Steve smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "You recommend a chick flick to a girl and it's like a moth to a flame." 

You do laugh at that, rolling your eyes fondly and nudging his shoulder with your own, "That's how you knew what movie Eddie meant! Romcoms are your strong suit for flirting purposes?" 

Steve's hazel eyes run over your face softly, his soft, pink lips jutted out slightly, "Would it have worked on you, if Eddie wasn't there?" 

Your breath catches in your throat, caught off guard by Steve's question, if only momentarily. "Yeah, I think so. Y'know, if it was actually the movie I was looking for and not an excuse for Eddie to mortify me." 

Steve grins, big and wide at that. Your faces are so close together that if he leaned forward just a smidge more you could rub noses. At this distance, you find yourself being drawn into his orbit, nudging closer to him subconsciously.

"Guess Eddie's bailed on us, huh?" Steve chuckles, moving back a bit and looking at the clock above the bar, the time ticking past an hour with no sign of Eddie coming back, "Or maybe it was his plan all along?"

"He's a schemer." You hum, watching curiously as Steve flags down the bartender and orders you both another drink. You try not to panic about the lack of cash in your back pocket, hoping the drinks weren't too expensive.

As your conversation dies down, your eyes are drawn back to his neck. It's covered in an array of moles and freckles, and you find yourself becoming almost mesmerized by it as he swigs from his beer bottle.

His neck is strong and muscular, tendons protruding as he gulps down the warm beer. The dusting of week old stubble adds to the masculinity of it all. It's a beautiful feature, one that you can't help but stare at with hazy eyes, and the markings scattered across his skin just make it more attractive.

Without even realizing it, your hand lifts, drawn to the smooth skin on the right hand side. You trace your fingertips along a particular set of the moles, shaped like carved out fang bites, feeling the texture against the pads of your fingers.

Steve looks at you, his darkened eyes filled with curiosity and something else entirely. You can't help but blush as you realize what you've been doing, only to find your fingers continue to roam across the skin anyway.

"Is my neck really that fascinating?" He teases, a slight chuckle falling from his lips.

You laugh lightly, trying to play it cool as your fingertips slip from the stubble roughened skin, dancing across the open collar of his shirt playfully before falling back to your glass, "Maybe it's just a bit distracting."

Steve smirks, that look in his eyes causing your heart to rabbit in your chest, "You know, I could get used to having your hands on me."

The huskiness in his voice catches you off guard, and you subtly clench your thighs together, aware of the fluttering in your gut as he leans in closer. 

You roll your eyes playfully, trying to cover your blush by raising your cocktail glass to your lips, "You're such a flirt." 

Steve only shifts closer at that, his shoulder bumping yours gently, "And what if I am?" He asks, lips so close to your ear that you can feel his hot breath dampen the skin, "You're the one with your hands all over me, honey." 

Your breath catches in your throat, a hot spike of heady need and want coursing through your body. It's a momentary slip, one that Steve no doubt catches immediately, "I never said I wasn't enjoying it."

Your voice is barely above a whisper, Steve's close proximity somehow narrowing further as his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, "Trust me, honey. I know you're enjoying it, you've had those pretty thighs of yours clamped together for a moment now. Gotta relieve that ache, huh?"

You shiver visibly, goosebumps rising across your neck and down your arms, jolts of electricity coursing through your body. As if Steve can sense it, he lets his own - unfairly, painfully large, veiny - hand run over your thigh, just above the knee. He traces the curve of your thigh through your jeans, barely touching but it's enough to make you ache for more.

Two seconds or five minutes later, who knows, he pulls away from your ear. You gawk, unsubtle, as he takes a long sip of his drink as if nothing ever happened. He smacks his lips together, those hazel eyes landing on yours again, a playful smile on his lips, "Where were we again?" 

You try to play it cool, but your body is reacting to Steve, still reeling from the feeling of his touch all over you, "Uh. Um," you start, making yourself busy by tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "we were talking about our favorite movies, I think?"

Steve's face kind of screws up into a fake 'ah-hah!' as you blindly (and wrongly) fill in the blanks for him, seemingly completely unfazed by what just happened, "Right! You said your favorite of all time was Dirty Dancing, right?"

He’s making it up right before your eyes, playing along.  And it’s painfully unfortunate that he’s right without even trying, guessing your favorite movie right out the gate. It makes your brain go a little fuzzy. 

You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. Even as Steve's own godforsaken hand continues to rest casually on your leg, his thumb running circles over your inner thigh, just above the knee, "Yeah, absolutely. Patrick Swayze, he's just swoonworthy."

You say it so casually, as if Steve himself didn't look like Swayze. More James Dalton than Johnny Castle, though. The hair, the tight black shirt, the jeans hugged perfectly to the swell of his ass and the curve of his muscular thighs. You had a type, clearly.

"Don't tell anyone, but Roadhouse is my favorite movie of all time." Steve grins, as if reading your thoughts from across the way, "Patrick Swayze, huh? Your type buff guys with a soft side?" 

"I would've thought me sticking around on this ‘date’ with you was enough of a giveaway on that front." You giggle, finally finding the courage to tip the last of your drink to your lips, swallowing it down in one fluid motion. You feel Steve's fingers dig into the meat of your leg, feel his eyes on you as you pretend not to notice.

You know you should move his hand away, but you can't bring yourself to do it. The feeling of his touch more intoxicating than the rum-filled drink you'd found yourself nursing, the hot feeling in your gut growing and growing the higher Steve's hand goes.  

"And here I was, thinking it was just my natural charm keeping you stuck in that seat." Steve says with a chuckle, running circles around your inner thigh like it's not making your insides squirm.

You roll your eyes, unable to hide your tipsy smile. There's just something about Steve, something so naturally charming that draws you in - he's confident without it being too much, and the way a stormy look swarms in his hazel eyes doesn't help with the physical pull you feel towards him.

The more he touches you, the more he looks at you, the more distracted you are by him. The alcohol coursing through your veins does nothing but amplify the warmth spreading through your body at his heavy petting.

He's beautiful, and you're blissfully comfortable in his presence, comfortable enough that the lull in conversation isn't even awkward. You look at each other through heavy lids, find yourself smacking your glossed lips together prettily, leaning your chin on your palm, elbow on the bar.

Finally, you speak, "So, do you always put these moves on your customers like this? Or am I special?" You drawl, teasing.

Steve leans in, his hand skating higher up your thigh, so close to the warm heat between your legs that you squirm a little, "Only the ones who make the moves first. You started this, remember?" 

Your heart rate kicks up a little more, and for a moment you forget where you are. All you can think about is Steve's wandering hand, the bedroom eyes he's giving you like he wants to devour you in public. You want nothing more than for him to pull you in for a kiss, to lose your inhibition and get lost in the heat of the moment. 

Somebody across the room begins hollering, crashing you back to reality, and it's a sobering reminder that there are dozens of people in this bar, who can see exactly what's happening right now. You clear your throat, shuffling back on your barstool a little, regretfully.

Steve's face falls, the flirty smirk gone in an instant, his hand dropping back down to your knee. You want to throw a tantrum like a little kid, tell him that it's not him, that you want it. Want whatever he's offering, just not here.

"We should maybe call it a night?" You offer, nodding towards the door, "I've probably gotta catch the bus back home, I know it leaves soon, so..."

You trail off and Steve nods, the disappointed look still on his face but a charming smirk gracing it once again, "Of course, I'll walk you over to the stop." 

Steve pays the tab like it's nothing, throwing bills and a nice tip on the bar for the guy who served you. As you leave the bar and walk out into the cool night air, it hits you fast just how much the drinks have gone to your head. 

"Hey, you okay?" Steve asks gently, a strong arm snaking around your waist. "My apartment isn't far from here, we can walk back there and sober up a bit? I can drive you home in a few hours." 

If it weren't for the fact you knew Steve, Eddie knew Steve, and he was known for being a decent guy despite his reputation, you'd have shot it down in a heartbeat. But, the opportunity to be in his presence a little longer was something you didn't want to give up.

And, honestly, you didn’t know which bus would get you back anywhere close to the trailer park, not knowing Hawkins from Adam. This was easily the safest option. 

You look up at him, snuggling into him on instinct, "Are you sure? I don't mind catching the bus, Steve. I'm a big girl, I can look after myself."

Steve beams at that, teeth shining as he looks down at you, his eyes fixed on yours, "You might be able to, but I wanna look after you tonight. And besides, I don't think either of us are ready for this to be over yet."

You hide your small laugh into his shoulder, unable to ignore the strong smell of cedarwood and bergamot wafting from his shirt, intoxicating in its own right. The giddy feeling that erupts in you is almost juvenile.

You walk down the streets quietly, taking in the pretty sunset that dims the strip in pretty pinks and oranges. There's a comfortable tension between you both, like you're both attempting to play it cool but the attraction is too strong to stop you from pulling into each other. He never once takes his hand off your waist, and that's a revelation all on its own.

Finally, you reach Steve's apartment, a cozy little bottom floor space. It's minimalistic, like a typical guy's apartment, but it feels homely. Smells like fresh laundry and the same aftershave you'd been smelling the entire walk over. 

Steve looks regretful as he untangles himself from you, throwing his keys down on a table at the front door, "Take a seat, honey. I'll go get you something to drink." 

It's all open planned, the entryway leading straight into the living room, where a simple leather sofa and matching lazy boy sit. You throw yourself down ungracefully on the sofa, tucking yourself into the corner with a leg pulled up under your opposite thigh. 

There's two pictures on a sideboard, one of Steve and Eddie with two women you don't recognize at what looked like an outdoor gig, amongst a crowd of concertgoers. Another with the Hellfire kids, who you wouldn't know if it weren't for Eddie. The lack of family pictures are telling, though you don't dwell on it.

"Lemonade okay?" Steve asks, a pitcher in hand and a few small cups in the other, "I mean, I do have whiskey and beer if you wanna keep the party going?" 

"Lemonade's great." Your voice is fond, unable to keep the smile off your face as Steve sets them down on the coffee table in front of you, looking so domestic it makes you ache.

Your eyes trail over the broad expanse of his back, his strong shoulders in that same tight tee, the way his moles and freckles even continue past the neckline. You wonder if he's covered completely, that same dull throb between your legs returning even as you sober up.

"Stop staring, you'll give me a complex." Steve drawls, not turning to look at you as he pours the cool lemonade into the glasses. You flush warm, averting your eyes. 

He throws himself down onto the sofa right next to you, body also tilted so that you're facing each other, though your legs touch, burning hot through layers of starchy denim.

"I'm sure plenty of girls have been caught staring at you over the years, Harrington." You counter eventually, mouth dry.

"None that looked quite as hungry for it as you do right now." Steve quips, that same flirty smirk on his lips as he hands you your drink, "I didn't say I didn't like it, though." 

Heat creeps up your neck, the need to take a drink intensifying. You do just that, sipping from the glass in your hand. 

Steve's a real handful, and the longer you spend in his presence, the less you know how to handle it. Your body reacting and taking over for your brain, any playful retorts dying in your throat.

"So," Steve starts, no doubt sensing your awkwardness, "tell me. How did you meet Eddie?" 

You pause for a moment, caught off guard by the question, "How did I meet Eddie?" You laugh a little, flippant, "Before he came to Hawkins to live with Wayne, he lived in my town. He came home last Christmas break and we met at a friend's party."

Steve raises an eyebrow, "A friend's party?"

You smile. "It's not a crazy story, just a guy we both knew at different times. We just clicked I guess, we have similar interests and he just has this way of making you feel comfortable and safe. I can see why you're friends, you're so alike in that way."

It's Steve’s turn to blush, a flush of pink spreading over his nose and cheeks cutely, "What a compliment. That's cool though, so you didn't know each other before he moved?" 

You shake your head, "Nah, he's a little older so we missed each other. But, our friend - Carter, told me this hilarious story about how he got kicked out of middle school that I've got to tell you..." 

You trail off, telling the story that Steve genuinely laughs at, this booming, goofy thing that is just so goddamn endearing. 

Steve listens intently, like he's genuinely interested. His gaze locked on yours, like he's trying to memorize every single thing you're saying. You don't miss his fond looks as you talk with your hands, gesturing wildly as you tell the story. 

And then, without warning, he leans in with a strong hand on the side of your neck, fingertips sliding into your hair. 

He gives you enough time to pull back, a moment to say no that you choose not to take. His lips brush yours, soft and tender at first until you're melting into his touch, deepening the kiss with a surge of your body. 

His hand almost engulfs your neck, thumb running gently over your trachea as your chest rolls into his, desperate to get closer. The light smacking sounds of wet lips making you light headed, your hand coming out to tug at the material of Steve's shirt to steady yourself.

Steve's tongue slithers out to swipe your bottom lip and you're a goner, climbing ungracefully into his lap, knocking him back against the sofa. He lets out a startled huff, both hands coming out to bracket your waist when you allow him entry into your mouth. 

It's raw, messy and a little bit gross. Steve tastes like beer and a tang of the lemonade he'd been sipping, a hint of something else under there, a heady cinnamon. It's intoxicating, more than the drinks you'd nursed in the bar, and you find your hips rolling down into his on instinct, desperate to show him how much you wanted him.

He grunts, hands rocking you and helping you along. He's not hard yet, not at all, but the way he's moving your body is clear enough that he's into it as your tongues slip back and forth. He pulls back a little, the kiss becoming light and you let him guide you.

"Sorry, I just," Steve looks up at you with wild eyes, hair fanned out around his face where he lies back against the sofa, "I couldn't help it. You're so kissable, y'know that?"

“Don’t say sorry,” you scold playfully, smirking down at him, “you have my permission to do what you want. Anything you want.”

His hand wanders over your breast teasingly, light touches that you can barely feel through the layers of bra and shirt over your taut nipple, enough to have you arching into the touch in a silent plea for more.

Steve chuckles, deep and mischievous, clearly enjoying how your body melts under the simplest of grazes. It’s clear as day that he doesn’t give one singular fuck as to how desperate you are, pleased and satisfied taking his time with you.

Your hands entangle in his thick chestnut hair, tugging roughly at the root until Steve is moaning, hand faltering to skate down your stomach. Landing on the button of your jeans, but not moving. 

“Steve.” You groan, impatient, “Don’t frustrate me or I’ll do it myself. Please?”

Steve tsk’s, his pearly whites gleaming in the low light as he smirks at your desperation, “You don’t like it slow?” 

You roll your eyes, tugging his hair again, using it as reins to grind down into him, the heat of your cunt enough to have him grunting quietly. “Slow is boring. Slow means careful. I don’t want you to be careful with me, Steve. Show me how desperate you can be, show me how desperate you are for me.” 

Steve’s eyes flash so dark they’re near black, the sweetness still lurking vanishing in an instant. He gives you one last squeeze to your ass before he’s using both hands to practically rip the button of your jeans, fingers slipping into the tight denim and beneath the satin of your panties. 

“I’ll show you, you impatient brat,” he grunts, fingertips sliding between your folds and his eyes roll back at the feeling, “like fucking velvet, honey. You’re so wet, how long you been like this for me?”

“Somewhere between entering the bar and you touching my thigh.” You breathe, crying out when his pointer and middle finger slide into you at once, a blissful stretch that takes your goddamn breath away. 

“So easy for it.” Steve coos, and it would be offensive if it weren’t for the way he looks at you with honey swirled irises, soft at the edges despite the bite of his words. 

The hand not preoccupied with your cunt grips for your throat, thumb pressing into your pulse point as Steve surges forward to capture your lips once again. It’s rough, intimate, the graze of Steve’s stubble rubbing your chin raw as he bullies his tongue into your mouth. 

Your brain short circuits, his tongue reducing you to a bumbling, sobbing mess as you grind down into his palm, clit catching and rubbing against the dry skin in the most painfully beautiful way. 

The air is thick with sexual tension, thicker than the strands of hair you pull and tug at, thicker than the outline of his cock that you can feel digging into the fat of your inner thigh. 

“That’s it,” Steve mumbles against your lips, the pads of his fingertips rubbing against that little bump on your frontal wall that has your hips jumping forward of their own accord, “don’t hold back, honey. Let me hear you fall apart for me.”

It’s domineering. He’s fully in control and you’re letting him as you rut against the palm of his hand, sweat coating your brow as you fuck your hips against him, desperate to reach the edge. 

The plushness of his lips kiss down your jaw, to your throat where he latches on and sucks his mark into your skin. Sure to be a beautiful purple bloom in the morning, a temporary reminder that he was there. You want to beg for more. 

So you do. 

“Mark me like I’m yours.” You cry, whimper, even. Your body runs hot, goosebumps erupting on your skin as your impending orgasm starts to build. 

You swear you feel the smirk against your flushed throat. Steve latches onto you again, this time lower down, wider. You pull his hair, sighing contentedly as he suckles, nibbles at your tender flesh to produce yet another mark. 

His hips jump up against yours, a momentary slip that makes you want to plead for his cock, your brain so fuzzy with the need to rut and fuck that you’re about to give up the orgasm you’re so close to getting. 

“You’re clenching so tight around my fingers, baby,” Steve moans, kissing soothingly over the thumping ache of a bruise he’s left on your neck, “you gonna cum for me?” 

The white hot flashes of want and hunger you feel prickle up your back only intensify with his words, the end in sight as you ride against the palm of his hand feverishly, your clit sliding beautifully over the flesh. 

Your orgasm rips through you like a fucking knife to the stomach, your fingers gripping and pulling Steve’s hair so tightly that his head snaps back with the sheer force. You sob wetly, riding his fingers with jerky hips as he fucks you through it, eyes bleary but focused enough to see the hungry way he looks at you falling apart for him, soaking your panties and his fingers in the process. 

“You needed that one, huh?” Steve coos, mocking you lightheartedly as his fingers deftly slip from inside of you. You try your best to ignore the way it makes you feel empty. 

You nod dumbly after a moment, the whooshing in your ears beginning to fade out. You collapse into his chest with a small, contented sigh.

It takes only a mere few seconds for you to get with the program once more, kissing tenderly at Steve’s mole flecked neck, burying in to nip with your teeth hesitantly. Your hips move like they have a mind of their own, grinding down into the incredibly prominent bulge that rests hard against his zipper.

He grunts, hips thrusting up into yours as you move in some sort of slow, aching rhythm. His wide hands practically engulf your waist, fingertips digging into soft, supple flesh to help you rock your tired body against his own. 

It feels so fucking good, your body reacting to his in a way that was genuinely concerning, the primal need to fuck and have him inside of you taking over any kind of inhibition you previously had. He feels big, thick and hot nestled between your folds through two layers of rough denim, and the desperation ramps up.

You whine, pathetic into his salty, sweat damp skin, “Need more. Need you inside me, Steve.”

Steve groans like he’s in pain, hips jerking up involuntarily like they have a mind of their own, knocking you both out of the rhythm, “You sound so pretty when you beg. I’ll take care of you, honey. Knock you dumb just like you need.”

The sound you make is so pathetic that you instantly bury your face tighter into his skin, fingernails biting at the back of his neck. Steve’s hands are under your ass in a second, gripping to your thighs as he flips you onto your back on the sofa, muscular thighs spreading your legs impossibly wide as he buries between them.

“You need these off.” He grunts, pulling at the baggy denim of your jeans with rough fingers. You barely have the coherency to lift your ass up to help him wriggle you out of the offending material, body practically limp after the bone melting orgasm he just gave you with practiced ease.

“This too?” He asks gently, reaching for your top. You nod, lifting yourself up so he can slip it over your head, leaving you in only your bra and panties. 

You don’t wait for him to ask before you’re unclasping your bra, pulling that off so that your tits are bared too. They look great, your best feature if you did say so yourself, so it wasn’t exactly a difficult decision to make. 

He marvels at you for a second too long, taking in the sight of your body laid out below him, and those stormy eyes of his look deeper yet again – he looks hungry. Instead of it making you self conscious, it only spurs you on.

You wrap your legs around his torso, thick thighs pulling him in until he’s losing his balance and having to lean one arm out against the arm of the sofa to brace himself over you. The gold of his chain dangles close to your mouth, cooling the plumpness of your bottom lip with every gentle sway. 

“Down, girl,” Steve scolds, though that cocky smirk still graces his features and makes him look so painfully hot it makes your pussy flutter, “I gotta go get a condom.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “And risk ruining the moment? You’re clean, right?”

Steve nods, that cock-sure confidence faltering for a second, “Are you?”

You nod, biting at your bottom lip, “Haven’t done this for a while, big boy. You think you have the restraint to pull out in time?” 

Steve shudders visibly at your question, a heady whimper escaping his lips, “I can try my best, but no promises, honey. I felt how tight and soaked you were around my fingers, if you feel too good I’m not responsible for the consequences.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though it cuts off into a moan when Steve lifts himself up and away from your body for long enough to stretch his arms behind his neck, pulling his shirt off from the back of his head with one fluid movement. 

He’s a marvel. The moles and beauty marks extend the entire way down his torso, even below his belt line, arms sculpted beautifully and his tummy muscular yet still soft. He’s everything, your belly flutters looking at this fucking perfect man sat between your spread thighs like some sort of Greek marble statue.

“Holy. Wow.” Your mouth is dry, your hands having a mind of their own yet again – just like in the bar – and coming out to touch and squeeze the flesh of his torso. Steve smirks, like he knows what you’re so hung up about, arching into your touch. 

He allows you the seconds of indulgence before it’s back to business, his fingers making light work of his belt and jeans as he regrettably departs his space between your naked legs to push the material down his legs and away from your bodies. 

His dick is so heavy that even though it’s fully hard, it doesn’t slap against his tummy, hanging slightly forward with its own weight. He’s big. Alarmingly big. And did you mention thick? Really thick.

God. He was going to be a stretch.

Steve grins sheepishly, settling back between your legs hesitantly. He makes to speak, but you stop him in his tracks; 

“You’ve not gotta be gentle,” you reassure, reminding him of your words before he dipped his hands into your panties just minutes ago, “fuck me like you mean it.”

Steve groans, burying his face into your neck as he lines himself up with your cunt and pushes in with one fluid motion. It knocks the breath out of the both of you for a moment, and you whimper pitifully at the gorgeous, burning ache of him stretching you out to fit him perfectly. 

“Holy shit,” He breathes, panting into your neck, “so fucking tight for me, honey.” 

You preen at Steve’s words, arching into his torso and somehow pushing him in even deeper. He had no idea just how much it stroked your ego to hear those words, no idea that it turned your insides into goo to know you were doing so good for him before it even started.

He rolls his hips into yours, the wet heat of your cunt gripping him, and you pant like an animal in heat when the subtle movement causes the coarse hair nestled in his mons to catch onto your sensitive clit. 

Your hips wriggle a little after a moment, a sign to let him know it’s okay to move, and Steve takes that subtle movement and runs with it — pulling out only to slam back in again, knocking your body up the couch.

It’s maddening. Your body runs hot with want and desperation, insides molding to the shape of his – quite frankly, annoyingly big - dick with each thrust, driving you absolutely insane in the process. The cut head rubs against that damn spot each time, and you know he’s going to tip you over for a second time all too soon.

“Fuck.” You cry, hands coming up to bury in his mane of hair once again and tug him down, “Fucking — how does it feel to be Gods favorite?”

Steve grins, mischievous and lust bitten around the edges as he sinks into your cunt with a quickening pace, “Stroke my ego baby, I love it.”

“Don’t get cocky, Stevie. Or I’ll just shut my mouth.”

The grin turns salacious, a large hand coming out to wrap along the expanse of your throat, just resting and not pushing, thumb caressing the side of your neck soothingly, “Don’t you wanna be good for me, honey? Or are you bratting so that I’ll give you what you really crave?” 

You whimper involuntarily, and that's all the confirmation Steve needs to really drive into you. Your back arches so that your torsos flush together, and he snakes a hand beneath the curve to grip onto your waist from below. 

“Oh my God!” You moan, body jolting at the change of angle. You’re turned into a babbling mess, fingernails digging into each of Steve’s biceps as he fucks you deep, rough enough to leave a mind numbing sting that you swear you feel in your damn throat. 

He’s looking at you with this wild expression, eyes wide like he’s drinking you in, watching each emotion he evokes from you with his body, “That’s it, taking me so fucking good. You like being fucked like a whore, honey?”

You nod, knocked dumb, mouth hung open like a pliant slut, a constant steady stream of whines and shuddering gasps falling from parted lips with each deep slide of his cock inside of you.

“You trust me?” He whispers, lips hovering just mere centimeters from your own, and you nod again, going cross eyed. 

A drop of saliva hangs from Steve’s pursed lips, sliding down into your open mouth and onto your tongue. You cry out, pathetic and desperate as you swallow down the spit like it’s cool water on a hot summers day. 

Steve shudders against you, hips slamming into you as his thrusts become erratic. You pray his apartment is somewhat soundproof, for all you can hear is the wet slap of skin on skin mixed with dirty moaning and pitiful cries.

“You’re perfect,” Steve mutters, sloppily kissing your lips before moving back to your jaw, worrying the flesh between his teeth like he can’t help it, “a fucking dream, honey. See how you’re ruining me?” 

You don’t get a chance to reply before he’s dropping your body back onto the sofa, his thumb swiping over your clit in a desperate attempt to get you there before he does.

It’s all too much. Your body runs hot, static surging up your back, hot in your gut as he works you over. You have to clench your eyes shut, painfully aware of his sculpted body gleaming with sweat, the swivel of his hips as his cock buries deep into you. 

Your second orgasm hits you just as hard as your first, your legs shaking and cunt clenching sporadically as it washes over you like a fiery inferno, gasps and wet cries of Steve’s name and other incoherent nonsense spewing from your lips. 

“Oh shit, holy fuck, baby you feel so – so good, god I’m gonna cum,” Steve shallowly fucks into you, jerky and desperate, “where do you want me to– fuck!” 

You open your eyes within enough time to see Steve pull out of you, sloppily tugging at his cock two, three times before he’s spilling all over your stomach. Hot spurts of it cover you from your belly button the whole way to your chest, and you swear you’ve never seen a man cum so much in your damn life.

It’s so hot. Being branded by ropes of cooling semen, sparking over finger bitten skin and bruises made by warm and heavy lips. 

There’s a long second afterwards, where Steve sags heavily against the couch as his dick softens, both of you panting and trying to catch a breath. 

“I’ll be right back,” Steve’s voice shocks you out of the contented post-orgasm haze, his hand squeezing your inner thigh gently as he gets up from where he’s perched, off in search of what you don’t know.

He reappears with a wet washcloth, and it’s all very domesticated as he wipes you down gently with the cool towel, fingers gentle against your sore skin in a stark contrast to just moments earlier.

You’re both completely naked still. This should be strange, but it doesn’t feel that way. Steve makes you feel painfully at ease and that’s something your orgasm fogged brain can’t comprehend or bear to think about right now.

“This might be a bit presumptuous, but,” Steve hums, inspecting your body to make sure he’s cleaned you down good enough for his liking, smirking as you squirm under his gaze, “do you wanna stay the night? It’s really late and, uh, well I don’t wanna kick you out after that. It was a bit intense.”

Your eyes are bleary. Fuck. He’s going to ruin you for anybody else.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Your voice is soft, quiet as you rise from the soiled sofa to sit up properly, “You’ll need to call Eddie, let him know I’m okay.”

“I think he knows you’re all good,” Steve grins sheepishly, helping you to your feet and tugging you close as soon as you’re up, “I might’ve called him when I was in the kitchen earlier, let him know you were here to sober up.” 

You roll your eyes with a small smile, leaning into him with a heavy sigh, “You better have a comfy bed.”

“The comfiest.” Steve confirms, dragging you gently towards the door, “I also have a really big shower, and really good water pressure, so…” 

“Oh my God, I’m never leaving.” You mumble into his chest, giggling playfully when he lifts you up ever so slightly with his muscular arms and knocks the bedroom door shut behind you. 

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors. 

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it. 

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look. 

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’. 

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare. 

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.” 

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?” 

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare. 

“Really? You?” 

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance. 

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?” 

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over. 

“You can let go now princess.” 

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing. 

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume. 

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up. 

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.” 

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac. 

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!” 

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips. 

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?” 

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again. 

“Are you immediate start?” 

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-” 

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.” 

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.” 

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you. 

********************

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it. 

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this. 

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations. 

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.” 

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.” 

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time. 

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad. 

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place. 

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that? 

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand. 

Oh I'm not falling for that again. 

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed. 

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.” 

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.” 

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here. 

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms. 

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him. 

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.” 

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away. 

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.” 

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing. 

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie. 

********************

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie. 

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?” 

“Any appointments with Eddie?” 

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?” 

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back. 

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm. 

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?” 

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.” 

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement. 

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!” 

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back. 

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!” 

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind. 

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand. 

“Hey, how you getting on?” 

“I'm good, just bored.” 

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?” 

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers. 

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.” 

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe. 

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown. 

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.” 

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.” 

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.” 

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Right, let's just play nice. 

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing. 

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light. 

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.” 

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you. 

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?” 

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” 

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo. 

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing. 

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.” 

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step. 

********************

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people. 

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots. 

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were. 

“Morning Eddie.” 

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words. 

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him. 

“I'll be nice if you will.” 

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee. 

“I'm sorry Eddie.” 

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Are you sorry…?” 

“What for?” 

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away. 

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop. 

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, how do you know?” 

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client. 

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again. 

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move. 

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first. 

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?” 

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.” 

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.” 

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.” 

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement. 

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?” 

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.” 

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?” 

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.” 

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process. 

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word. 

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you. 

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson. 

“So, questions. Can I go first?” 

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin. 

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?” 

“23.” 

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.” 

Act younger is more like it. 

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.” 

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling. 

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?” 

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow. 

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.” 

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink. 

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.” 

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask. 

“How did you start working here?” 

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.” 

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look. 

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.” 

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen. 

“What band is that?” 

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt. 

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.” 

“Oh, what do you play?” 

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.” 

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?” 

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away. 

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red. 

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply. 

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.” 

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing. 

“Your turn princess.” 

“I don't want to play anymore.” 

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.” 

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?” 

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.” 

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.” 

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused. 

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you. 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.” 

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip. 

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.” 

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.” 

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second. 

“Eddie what do I owe-” 

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

********************

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him. 

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line. 

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap. 

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it Miss?” 

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?” 

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him. 

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.” 

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer. 

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear. 

“What you up to, princess?” 

“Fuck!” 

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. 

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look. 

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass. 

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!” 

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal. 

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.” 

Pouting, you hit him on the arm. 

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-” 

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands. 

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home. 

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you. 

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing. 

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door. 

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it. 

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.” 

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest. 

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away. 

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself. 

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?” 

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.” 

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist. 

“For your modesty. Come with me.” 

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried. 

“What's going-” 

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?” 

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods. 

“Not a problem.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth. 

“I'll be right back.” 

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin. 

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar. 

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.” 

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.” 

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal. 

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.” 

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you. 

“Eddie, we're still working I-” 

“It's one beer. It's alright.” 

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?” 

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug. 

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.” 

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier. 

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.” 

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?” 

“Come on, don't make me say it.” 

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.” 

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty. 

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull. 

“And I'm the Easter bunny.” 

Giggling, you take another sip of beer. 

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.” 

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I promise.” 

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough. 

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?” 

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar. 

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.” 

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes. 

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.” 

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings. 

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.” 

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it. 

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.” 

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.” 

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.” 

“We can keep it professional.” 

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. 

“Professional? You?” 

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.” 

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words. 

“You're really confident.” 

“You haven't seen what I can do.” 

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.” 

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.” 

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need. 

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?” 

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?” 

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind. 

“Final rule. No kissing.” 

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?” 

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.” 

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out. 

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness. 

You shake it.

********************

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it. 

Those theories are put to bed on day three. 

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?” 

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes. 

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely. 

“Maybe.” 

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. 

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.” 

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands. 

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.” 

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards. 

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision. 

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?” 

“Hey princess.” 

“Come on up.” 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy. 

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles. 

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?” 

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table. 

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.” 

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.” 

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt. 

“Yeah, you know who they are?” 

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.” 

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.” 

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.” 

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve. 

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. 

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms. 

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him. 

 “Come on then, sit down.” 

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed. 

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?” 

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?” 

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?” 

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes. 

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more. 

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Porn, sweetheart.” 

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.” 

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him. 

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-” 

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.” 

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.” 

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?” 

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.” 

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.” 

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm. 

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop. 

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whisper. 

“You comfortable?” 

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.” 

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine. 

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed. 

“Now just chill sweetheart.” 

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck. 

“Fuck, that's really nice.” 

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed. 

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word. 

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe. 

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!” 

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment. 

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.” 

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck. 

“I- I haven't decided yet.” 

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core. 

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him. 

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?” 

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words. 

 “N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.” 

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.” 

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. 

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point. 

“Really?” 

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back. 

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand. 

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more. 

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass. 

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you. 

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“Holy hell!” 

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach. 

“Eddie, please.” 

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit. 

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest. 

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?” 

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel. 

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more. 

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?” 

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple. 

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess. 

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison. 

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control. 

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-” 

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him. 

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent. 

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-” 

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up. 

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...” 

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.” 

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief. 

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again. 

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.” 

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.” 

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.” 

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting. 

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

It seemed to take an age before you heard his car pull into the driveway, brakes squeaking slightly because the rent on the apartment came before any repairs to the BMW now. It’s why you’d poured a whisky for him, neat and no ice, no water, just the way Steve liked it. You considered dinner, home cooked and waiting on the kitchen table but something else took hold in your thoughts.

You could order pizza later.

So Steve came in the door with his shoulders slumped and his keys rattling from his fingertips, his green work vest already discarded and probably balled up in the backseat of his car. That frown was there, the one you’d wanted to soothe away all day for him, creasing at his brows, turning down the corners of his soft and pretty lips.

He thawed when he saw you, barefoot and in an old sweater that was too big for you, legs naked and your skin still warm from the shower you’d taken your time in. Steve held out a hand, groaning in delight when you stepped to him, all soft smiles and softer sweater, allowing him to pull you into his chest. His noises were doing things, rough sighs and low moans that made you think with what was between your legs, his purrs vibrating from his chest to yours as he curled his arms around your lower back.

It was easy to return the affection, pushed onto your tiptoes as you carded your hands into the hair at the nape of his neck, the smell of his cologne that you watched him spray that morning barely clinging to his skin. You nosed at his throat anyway, everything about him smelling like home and when Steve let out a low grunt at your adoration, you used one hand to pull at his jaw, bringing his lips to yours.

It was more than an average kiss ‘hello’. In fact, it made his brows shoot upwards and his breath hitch, the arm still around your waist faltering before he caught up with the pace you had set and tucked you in tighter to his body. He let you lead, eyes fluttering shut as he sighed softer than he had all day, letting you steal the noise and keep it for yourself.

Steve fell pliant for you, pretty lips giving in to yours as you kissed him slow, needy, lazy. Your tongue traced the seam of his mouth, teasing, testing, his breath ragged when he opened for you, trying to catch up. You pulled away then, pleased with the rosy cheeks and blown out pupils that stared back at you.

“Go sit down,” you told him, voice soft, quiet. There was a spell cast, not to be broken, not until Steve did too. “I’ll be through in a second.”

If Steve knew what you were up to, he didn’t say. No questions asked, the boy blinked and stumbled into the doorframe before righting himself, heading for the sofa. You’d long switched the television off, the lamp by the armchair dimmed low, the candles you liked to collect all lit and scattered across the coffee table and the fireplace mantle.

You returned with his whisky, the glass glinting amber in the candle light, your smile too coy. Steve raised his brows as you handed him his drink, his gaze too caught on your bare legs. He reached out for you, warm palm travelling up the back of your thigh, wide enough to curl around it and bring you between his knees.

Exactly where you planned to end up.

“What have I done to deserve this, huh?” He asked, whisky on one hand as he leant his chin on the soft of your stomach, eyes wide and dark as he looked up at you.

You scoffed, soft and light, your hands carding through his hair. You pushed it from his forehead, nails scratching at his scalp, beaming when he closed his eyes like he couldn’t help it, lashes fluttering against the tops of his cheeks. “What? Bring you a drink?”

Steve hummed, distracted. “Was thinkin’ more along the lines of deserving you.”

Love sick, that’s what you felt. An awfully sticky thing that glued itself to your heart at his words. You didn’t know what to say, especially not when he was looking at you like that again, all brown sugar eyes, honeyed and soft. So you bent instead, nose bumping his before you stole another kiss, gentler than before, lingering and as sweet as him.

You let him take one sip of his whisky before you dragged his shirt from his body, hair wild as you pulled it over his head, cheeks flushed and eyes surprised.

“What—?”

You didn’t respond, merely dropping to your knees instead and popping the button on his Levi’s. Steve swore, a dirty, throaty sound that made your stomach flip because you knew that he knew where this was going.

“Baby,” he groaned. “Fuck. You don’t have to do that—”

The sound of his zipped caught in the air, the rest of the evening quiet. The closed curtains and the flicker of the candle light made the small living room feel even tinier, a warm bubble where you could hear every little noise Steve made for you. His hand travelled up your forearm, fingers curling at your elbow and squeezing. Steve looked half gone already, lip parted and shiny from your previous kisses and you knew he’d taste like cedar and smoke now.

“What if I wanna?” You told him, pouring, just a little. Because what man could resist a pretty thing like you on your knees, lips soft and begging? You pushed yourself up, leaning into the space between his hips, your mouth skimming along his jawline, tongue licking into the corner of his mouth all sweet. It was barely a kiss, but it was somehow dirtier. “What if I told you I wanna make you feel better? That I’ve been thinking about your cock in my mouth all day?”

Steve groaned, falling into you, head on your shoulder, teeth biting down on the junction of your neck. “Fuck— baby. Baby, y’cant, you can’t just say shit like that.”

You grinned, amusement hidden from him as Steve continued to mouth at your throat, nose nudging down the collar of your sweater so he could kiss more skin. “I can’t?” You asked.

“Gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind,” he mumbled. He lifted his head then, cheeks pink and eyes looking heavy lidded, pupils black and too big. He looked delirious on you. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed heavily, tongue licking at his lips. “You really been thinking about that?”

You nodded, making your eyes a little too wide, too innocent, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and it was a cheap shot, an easy target— but fuck, it worked every time. Steve’s hand slid to your ass, lifting your sweater out of his way and squeezing a plump cheek, only your underwear to be found underneath.

“So can I?” You whispered, mouth parted, brushing against his. You shared your breath with him, nose pushed to his warm cheek, hands coasting over his thighs as you prepared to tug down those too tight jeans.

Steve sounded too breathy when he answered but he still played your game, too far gone or not. He was watching your mouth when he spoke, transfixed by the pink gloss there, the way he could see your tongue between them. “Can you what, honey?”

You smirked.

Steve knew what you were asking. He just wanted to hear you say it again.

“Can I suck your cock?”

You heard it then, the hitch in his throat, the too harsh exhale. Steve looked at you like you were everything, like you’d hung each star and you were ever wet dream all at once. Lips pressed together to deal in his moan, his filthy words, he nodded, hair falling into dark eyes. And when he trusted his voice, albeit rougher and lower than before, he spoke.

“Yeah, honey, go ‘head.” He lifted his hips when you tapped them, jeans and boxers shoved down just enough for his cock to spring free, already hard and hitting his stomach. “You’re so— you’re so fucking sweet, y’know that?”

You smiled, all coy, faux shyness as you leaned your cheek onto his thigh, denim and coarse hair against your skin. Steve gasped when you wrapped a small hand around him, fingers barely meeting around his girth and you stroked once, twice. “I am?”

You didn’t give him a chance to answer before your tongue followed, a lazy, wide lick from the base of him to his tip, already dark pink and slick for you. Steve’s hips canted up, head thrown back against the cushions and you adored the way you got to watch his jaw tense, neck straining as he calmed himself down.

“God,” he blew out a breath, eyes trained on the ceiling because if he looked down and saw the way you were kissing a line up his cock, he’d fucking lose it. “Yeah, baby. The sweetest, Jesus Christ.”

You took it easy on him then, easing him into it until his shoulders sagged and his head tipped back up, his pretty face more flushed than ever but Steve watched you as you took him into your mouth, his jaw unhinged as you sucked the tip of him, licking over his head.

His hand found the back of your head, holding but not pushing and he groaned something fierce when you scratched at his bare thighs, nails dragging over the muscle there. “Tha’ s’it,” Steve moaned, unabashed, totally gone. “Keep suckin’ me, honey, yeah— please. Can you take more, huh? Take a little more for me, please, baby.”

You didn’t need to be asked, begging or not, but it certainly made it all that sweeter. Steve’s hand was cupping your jaw, thumb stroking over the corner of your mouth as you widened it, tongue licking out over his cock as you took more of it into your mouth, inch by inch until he was touching the back of your throat. It made the boy go a little wild, gasping and panting, curses mixed in with praise that was filthy enough to make your own toes curl.

“Holy shit, jus’ like that, yeah,” Steve was slurring, words meshed together in a quick mumble, his breathes too heavy for him to care. “You feel me in your throat? You’re so fuckin’ good for me, babe, Christ— yeah, yeah, lemme see your tongue, yeah. Stick it out for me, honey, oh shit—”

You did as asked, pulling back with wet eyes and warm cheeks, your lips shiny from your efforts. You kept a hand around Steve’s cock, slowly pumping him as you stuck your tongue out flat. You knew what he wanted, it was why his cheeks were so pink, the tips of his ears too. Something he found too vulgar to ask for, always scared you’d shy away from it.

You never did.

You tapped the head of his cock against your tongue, the wet slapping sounds nothing but pure filth, your own breathy noises too much for him. Steve could barely keep it together, eyes screwing shut as he bucked upwards, swearing and groaning something awful as he watched his cock slide over your tongue. You let him move, hips thrusting as you held him to your mouth, parted lips slipping over his shaft, and warm tongue tracing the throbbing vein down the length of it.

“M’gonna come,” Steve gasped and he was shaking his head, hips pressing back down into the safety of the couch and he sounded overwhelmed, eyes glassy. “Fuck, no, no, no— I—”

“No?” You pouted, understanding. Pulling away, you leaned up again, wet lips sliding over Steve’s and he kissed you feverishly, tongue licking into your mouth to search for your own. He groaned, whining when you squeezed a hand around his cock. “Too much? You don’t wanna come yet, huh?”

Steve shook his head, hair falling into his eyes and his chest was heaving, his hands curling around your sides and he was pulling at your sweater, lifting it from your frame. “No, no— shit, not yet, please.”

You let him strip you, sweater discarded by his own shirt and your bare chest only made him swear a little more, eyes on your tits, your peaked nipples and suddenly he wanted nothing more than his cock between them. He felt drunk, delirious, suddenly too happy to care about how quickly he came.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he told you with a very serious expression. His hands travelled up, palms cupping your breasts, thumbs flicking over each nipple with careful precision. “M’gonna die and it’s gonna be because of you and your mouth and those tits and—” Steve choked on a laugh when you did, lashes fluttering as you took his cock back in your hand. “—and m’gonna be a very, very happy man.”

Grinning, you rolled your eyes at his declaration, as dramatic as they were. He was as hard as steel in your grip, his hips rolling up into your touch and didn’t want to wait much longer, his poor cheeks bright red with the exertion of holding back. So you gave him a kiss, light and sweet, too sweet for the current situation but it made Steve all the more wild. You were murmuring low and soft to him, holding his cock to your tits as you stroked him, words whispered between cute little pecks at his lips, his warm cheeks.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“You wanna come, handsome?”

“Mhmm.” A whine more than a word. “Please.”

“Where do you wanna come?”

A swear, guttural and hoarse. A twitch of his dick at the thought of his options. “Fuck, I— uh, I dunno.”

“Here?” You asked him sweetly, pushing his length between your breasts, rubbing your own nipple so he could watch it harden again. “All over here? Paint me nice ‘n pretty?”

Steve couldn’t form words now, which was exactly what you’d wanted.

Your mouth made its way to his ear, voice dropping lower than before. “My mouth?” You whispered. “D’you wanna come in my mouth, Stevie?”

A jerk of his hips, a whine and a grunt as his cock kicked up once more. He was so fucking close. Steve let his forehead fall to your shoulder, too hot and too helpless and too fucking desperate. He clung to you, hands wrapping around your bare waist and he didn’t know what he wanted more. He could sit back and watch you drop back down to your knees, pushing your pretty tits together as he jerked himself onto them, knowing he could watch the way he dripped down your body.

Or he could get you to open your mouth, pink tongue back out and waiting, you doe eyed and watching him. He always got dirty with that, asking you in the sweetest voice to let him see it all in your mouth, asking you to swallow it like a good girl before showing him your clean tongue after.

If Steve didn’t choose he was going to fucking explode.

So he tugged at your waist, gasping as he wrenched himself from you, falling back into the sofa. He took his aching cock in his own hand, pumping it once before squeezing tightly, willing away the need to come right there and then. He patted his knee, his eyes glassy and hooded as he looked at you.

“C’mere, baby, come sit.”

You did as told, happily, easily, willingly. Your own chest was thundering, excitement itching at your too warm skin because whatever Steve wanted you’d give him. Your thighs were slick, underwear sticking to your folds in the most obscene way because Steve’s sounds were too much to cope with without being touched too. He looked a riot, the prettiest kind. His hair mussed and cheeks flushed, lips pink and slick from your kisses, his eyes a little wild.

He helped you onto his lap, legs spread over his knees and his dick standing hard and to attention between you both. You waited patiently for his instructions, to hear what he wanted from you and Steve let his head fall back onto the cushions once more as he watched you from hooded lids. His jaw was flexing with each stroke he gave himself, hazy gaze roaming over your tits, your stomach and then lower.

And then—

“Lemme see you, baby?”

Your stomach flipped. A sweet voice, a prettily asked question, some filthy words. You smiled at Steve, lips twisting to hide your absolute glee because you knew what wanted, what he wanted to do and you were more than happy to give it to him.

You didn’t say anything as you hooked your fingers into the crotch of your underwear, gasping a little at how wet they actually were. You tugged them aside, white cotton stretched over your skin as you held the material away from yourself. With your spread thighs, you let Steve have the filthiest view, all glistening skin, a swollen clit between wet folds. You didn’t look down, you didn’t have to. You could hear the slick, fast sounds of Steve fucking his own fist, his frantic, hitched breaths.

“That’s it, yeah,” he sounded gone, drunk. “So good—”

Instead you watched him watch you, his eyes set on your pussy, gaze on fire as he enjoyed the show and when you swept your fingers over the centre of your folds, Steve swore, his free hand on your thigh clutching you tighter.

“Dirty girl,” he murmured, his teeth catching his bottom lip. He was close, you knew he was. “Such a pretty pussy, Jesus Christ, can’t believe I was gonna come without gettin’ to see her.”

You hummed, all delight and amusement. You cocked a brow even though Steve was still staring at your spread legs. “I’m dirty?” You cooed. “You’re the one who’s gonna come all over my cu—”

And he did.

Steve came with your name on his tongue, making it sound like the dirtiest, holiest thing you’d ever heard. He was gasping, choked sounds leaving his pretty lips as he fucked his fist, come spilling over his knuckles and onto your folds, leaving you and your underwear even stickier than before. His head fell back onto the sofa as he caught his breath, an impossible thing with his heaving chest but you curled into him almost immediately.

You let go of your stretched out underwear, your own breath hitching when you felt the warm, stickiness cling to your cunt. Steve pulled at you as you moved closer, your hands soothing over his jaw and cheeks, thumbs rubbing over his flushed skin as he kissed you, head lifting lazily, moaning at your touch, your lips, the feel of your bare stomach pressing his half hard cock to his own.

He was sticky with it all, with sweat, his own release, your affection and touch.

It was too much and entirely not enough, not of you.

Steve’s lips clicked as he pulled them away from your own, albeit grudgingly. You tasted sweet, like strawberry lipgloss and him. He was still panting when he spoke, his messy hand held away from you as he took your chin in his other. His thumb pulled at your bottom lip, swollen from all your efforts and he watched the way it popped back into place, making you smile.

You watched Steve’s body disappear beneath the surface, pulling him closer to the devil himself and leaving you stood there. Staring. Still.

Move, Y/n.

Your hands shake as you slowly pull yourself out of a debilitating trance, taking in a deep breath.

MOVE.

Grabbing your knife from where it was fastened to your jean leg, you realise thinking would get you nowhere. Thinking would drown him. So, you don’t think. You just dive.

Your form may not have been perfect, but your despair glided you through that water with determination, greeting you in a warm atmosphere. You adjust your eyes in the water, forcing yourself to withstand the unusual feeling of looking around underwater. And then you see him.

Something like a giant leech had curled around him, holding him there in the middle of the water as he desperately struggled against it. You ensure the grip on your knife is tight, letting your shock subside and kicking your legs behind you.

You didn’t anticipate the difficulty of swiping your blade under the water, missing the first time. You watch in desperation as Steve’s fight becomes a little less noticeable, air escaping his lungs in menacing bubbles. You were running out of time.

With as much force as you could muster, you jab the blade into the monster’s flesh, relentless as you refused to admit defeat.

Air almost escapes your mouth in rejoice when it finally cuts through and you attempt to pull it down, slicing as far as you can into its body before it finally uncurls from him and swims away fast, taking your knife with it in a fury of hazy particles. But you didn’t care about that. It could take whatever it wanted. Just not Steve.

You wait for the cloud of air from the creature’s quick departure to reveal him, hoping he’d swim towards you with that athletic ability and you could escape this nightmare.

But he wasn’t swimming toward you.

He was sinking.

You had never been a strong swimmer. Not even in the short distance races your swimming teacher would force you to take, the faint laugh of your little sister echoing in the air as you thrash about in ridiculous form.

And yet, now, not even an eight foot leech in deep water could stop you from swimming further down into the quarry and wrapping your arms around Steve’s torso, forcing more power into your legs than you ever thought possible. You refused to give up on him so easily.

As you tug him towards you, awkward in practice, your eyes catch the gate blaring up through the vast darkness. It was already closing.

You wouldn’t be able to make it in time.

So, with a heavy heart, you tighten your grip and you swim up to the surface, ignoring the mass of body weight attempting to pull you both back down.

When you break through the water everything is suddenly easier. You’re blinking away droplets of water, manoeuvring yourself to find land, Steve’s terrifyingly still body now floating behind you.

You’re not giving up yet.

Extending your arm over his chest, your hook your hand just below his armpit and use your other to wade through the water, legs kicking ferociously below you. You ignored the tears blurring your vision, the setting fear the longer you don’t hear Steve take a harsh breath of air.

You can feel it ripple across the water behind you, returning for its prey. It strikes a shot of nerves throughout your body, heart temporarily stopping when you imagine its close, ready to pull you back into the depths of death and take your last breath.

The cool and rough texture against your fingertips almost made you scream in relief, hand desperately searching for a groove to pull yourself up. It was harder to drag another body with you, making the nearly impossible decision to let him go, just for a moment.

Your breaths are heavy as your knees hit the stone with malice, surely leaving bruises scattered across your skin and bone. Your hands are quick to find him again, looping under both his arms as the looming presence of a predator approaches you at a sickening pace.

With no hesitation, you tug Steve back. And it was your greatest accomplishment.

The haste to pull him flush against your chest came just in time for the creature to break through the water and reveal its ringed mass of teeth, snapping at the bare air just in front of you. You stumble back, still holding onto him as you watch the horrid thing dive back into the water, relishing in the relief it couldn’t survive on land. However, even as it disappeared, you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

Everything in that moment felt like a movie scene you would refuse to watch.

“Steve?” You lay him gently against the ground, careful to not let his head hit any rocks as you crawl around him, brows pinched together as every inch of you shook. “Steve?!”

Shaking fingers scramble to find a pulse, pressing against his neck, his wrist, before you fall against him completely with your ear to his chest. Your teeth were chattering too loud from the debilitating anxiety to know if you heard it, a sob catching in your throat.

“Shit, no!” Your throat cracks under the pressure of a building scream, putting one hand above the other against his chest and straddling him for leverage, tears streaming down your face.

Hopper wouldn’t let you leave the house by yourself until he was sure you could act under pressure in an emergency. Self-defence, wilderness skills, CPR. He ingrained every possible technique into your brain and you never appreciated it until right now, knowing it was your last hope to bring him back to you. He had to come back to you.

12 compressions in, and nothing was changing.

“Come on, wake up!” You cry. 2 more compressions. “Wake up, you asshole!”

1 more and you’re tilting his head back, pinching his nose and filling your lungs with air. 2 pumps of breath. Still nothing.

You practically swallow your tears, resuming the compressions as you felt every possible emotion you could. 3 compressions.

There was fear. Fear that this was the end for him, his eyelids sewn shut, lips turning a shade of purple. 2 compressions. It wasn’t your Steve right now, and you hated the fear that this would be your last memory of him. You wouldn’t see his brown eyes look at you with adoration you never imagined you’d bathe in, those golden flecks casting you in his warmth. 2 compressions. Your last kiss of his lips would be from the desperation of getting the oxygen back into his lungs, haunting your mouth with the ghost of him.

And there was anger. Angry at him for making you do this. 3 compressions. Furious that he wasn’t hearing your begging cries for life, feeling the hatred in each push of your hands the more time slipped between them. 2 compressions.

Despair. You were clinging onto hope, desperation running down your cheeks. 3 more compressions. 2 more breaths.

“Don’t you dare do this to me!” You scream at him, scared the force of your arms would crack his bones. “You’re the one that said we weren’t giving up! You wanted me to keep going! But I can’t- I can’t do this without you!”

4 compressions.

“I’m not ready to let you go!” You sob, muscles aching. You ignored their cry for relief. You’d ignore it forever if it meant there was still hope.

3 compressions.

And a strong gasp for air.

It came in short breaths, spluttering water from his lips as he twists his body to breathe. Steve feels his vision fading in, blinking against the black spots following his gaze. It took him a moment to understand the burning in his lungs as he inhales sharp gusts of air, shivering against the cold stone beneath his back. He was no longer in the water.

The last he remembered was the suffocating pressure of a sea monster coiling around him, your scream of despair when he watches your face suddenly disappear behind a wall of water.

That’s when he notices the shifting pressure from his legs, bringing his head forward to a sight he’d never get sick of seeing.

“Oh my god.” You cry with a relieved smile, not giving him a single chance to question the tear stains on your cheeks as you wrap your arms around his neck and lay on him.

He doesn’t object, his hands finding solace against your back as he lets his head hit the ground again, shutting his eyes. The shiver of your muscles below his fingertips has him pulling you impossibly closer, suddenly recognising your damp clothes.

“Did you… dive in?” Steve asks with a small voice, feeling like he was only asking a stupid question.

Your body is shaking against him, hands balling his shirt into your fists and he realises you aren’t cold. You’re crying.

“I thought I lost you.”

Your voice is barely a whisper as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, shattering his heart into a million little pieces. It finally dawns on him. He didn’t just get pulled below the water. He drowned. And you managed to save him.

Steve isn’t sure what to say, what he even could say. He’s never had to bring someone back from the dead. And, judging by the way you clung desperately to him, neither had you.

His lips form the words he chooses to say when realisation rushes a wave of dread through his body, striking his chest with a pang of fear. He had dove down there for the gate.

“We missed the gate.” He says aloud, crushing the pit in his stomach with the gravity of the situation.

“It was closing when I got to you.” You shift against him and he can see you at last, red and glassy eyes dawning guilt into his, “You… we wouldn’t have made it.”

His head shakes. He should have known something was down there. He should have checked, studied it harder, done something. But, no. He ruined it all. Again.

You watch as something washes over features, condemning them to a dark and miserable expression.

“It’s not your fault.” You tell him, holding his gaze. Steve’s face scrunches in consideration. “Neither of us could have seen that coming.”

“It can’t, uh…” Steve gestures to the rock below you and you quickly shake your head.

“Pretty sure it’s stuck in the water.”

“Holy shit.” He breathes out, leaning back with you still led against his chest, finding comfort in his heartbeat thrumming below your fingertips. “Who the hell decided that thing was a good idea?”

“I told you. Scary fish.” You repeat your words from earlier, the humour lost on your hoarse voice.

“I’m never swimming again.” Steve says staring at the red sky. He hoped he had seen the last of it, but he was never that lucky.

You move against him and he props himself on his elbow just in time to see you pull away, sat on the rocky surface with a fallen expression. You tilt your head so he can no longer see your face, making him frown.

“What’s wrong?” He ignores the ache of his muscles as he sits up, already aching to be close to you again.

“That was our last chance.” Your voice is thick with tears, your hand furiously wiping at your face before you let out a sad laugh, looking down at your damp clothes. “I can’t do anything right.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve clears his throat, chest aching. How long would it take him to recover? That didn’t matter now.

“I froze, Steve.” You turn to look at him, brows pinched with guilt. “You got dragged under, and I just- I just stood there. If I had just done the right thing and dived in as soon as you disappeared, I could have distracted it long enough to-”

You bury your face in your hands, shaking your head. Steve lets out a long breath, eyes fixated on your shrinking form.

“Distracted it?” He repeats with strain and your head whips up, eyes widening, caught. “Y/n… you were never coming with me through the gate, were you?”

You can only stare at him, face twisting in regret and deceit. The honest truth was that he was right. It was never the plan. Never your plan.

If you had an answer, Steve never heard it. Voices began blaring out through the radio discarded on the rock behind you, desperate to know if you made it out. He felt sick, knowing you only had bad news. Knowing you were never going to make it out.

One last sorrowful look and you tear your eyes away to grab the radio, taking a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“It’s Y/n. Over.” You respond, watching as Steve props himself against the rocky ledge you had only just promised a life to him on, guilt tearing you apart at the seams.

“Y/n! Thank god! Are you guys out?! Over.” Dustin blurts in a high-pitched voice and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Uh… no. We didn’t- we didn’t make it. The gate closed. Over.” You forced the words from your lips, leaning back and studying the shadow gliding below the water on the other side of the quarry.

Steve was rolling his shoulders, coughing every now and then as he tried to recover as quickly as he possibly could. He expected the quarry creature wasn’t going to be the last thing wanting to take a bite out of him today.

“Shit. It’s- it’s okay. We’ll find another pattern. There has to be another gate, and we’ll find it. Over.”

His head raises when you don’t respond to the young boy, your lips tight from conflict. You’re fighting back tears, staring at the sky like a miracle could fall from it. Steve had never seen you look so defeated, and it was more terrifying than anything the Upside Down could throw at him.

“Y/n? Over.”

Your hand shakes as you lift the radio once again, expectation weighing heavy on your heart.

“Can I, um…” You gulp, closing your eyes. “Is my dad there? Over.”

It took ten seconds from a response, a much deeper voice blaring through when the static disappears.

“I’m right here, kid.”

A sob escapes you before you can stop it, making Steve tense from the sheer despair of it.

“Dad.” You begin, curling up with the radio like a child would their favourite teddy bear, tears falling without conviction, uncontrollable. “I’m so sorry.”

“What- sorry for what?”

“For everything.” You cry with shaky breaths. “I know I wasn’t the daughter you deserved. And- and I know I blamed you for so many things. But I never meant it. And I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t you ever apologise, okay? You are more than I deserve.”

You have to muffle your cries then, radio shaking in your trembling hands. Steve doesn’t say anything, but his own tears start silently falling. It was clear as day. You had given up, and he could no longer do anything about it.

“If, I… if I don’t get the chance to see you again…” You swallow your sobs, letting your head fall back and staring at the white streaks of lightning above you. “I just want you to know that… I love you, dad.”

Hopper doesn’t respond for a minute and, when he does, his voice sounds different, sadder and muffled like he had been holding back his crying too. “I love you so much, kiddo. We’re getting you out of there. You hear me? Even if I have to tear a gate open myself, I am getting you out of there. Both of you.”

Like his words had suddenly brought a light of inspiration back to you, you finally meet Steve’s eyes, wiping away your tears. There was one last thing you had to do before you could truly give up.

“What order did the gates open?” You ask your father, straightening your back. “The watergates? Over.”

“What?” He sounds surprised and cuts out for a second. “Let me grab my map. Over.”

Steve is frowning. What were you doing?

“Alright, got it.” Hopper returns, clearing his throat from the thick of emotions. “It started at Lover’s Lake. Then it went as follows: Loch Nora, the community pool, the pond by Denfield, Lake Jordan, the quarry. Why? What are you thinking, kid? Over.”

“If the gates all opened in the water…” You whisper to yourself, trying to figure it out.

And then you remember the map Hopper had showed you the night before you got trapped down here, the one you had hunted down with Steve so you could both mark off the places you searched as well as the dangerous routes through the town.

You suddenly pounce to your bag, rifling through it in haste. You mutter curses when you only pull out spare clothes and scraps of material.

“What do you need?” Steve suddenly asks, his own bag now perched on his lap and open wide.

“The map.”

He digs around until he feels the familiar texture of the paper against his fingertips, tugging it out and holding it out.

You take it from him and start spreading it out, ignoring the small patches of water that seeped through from the puddle you both made with your wet clothes. You let your finger trace across the locations Hopper had read out to you, sucking in a breath.

You immediately hold down the radio again, “All of them are circling Hawkins. Whatever’s doing this is sectioning off Hawkins from everywhere else, it’s...”

“Trapping us in.” Hopper responds and Steve suddenly feels very frightened. Making it out of the Upside Down was no longer his biggest problem when there was literally no escape for anyone else.

“Can you figure out what the middle point is? Maybe… maybe it could be the point of origin, wherever this thing is working from. A hive mind. Over.”

“Okay, hold on. Over.”

You both wait in silence. At some point in the exchange, Steve had found his way back down beside you, shoulder pressed against yours as you both stare down at the radio you held between you.

“Got it.” Hopper comes back and you hear faint rustling of the map as he takes a closer look. “Alright looks like somewhere on Cornwallis… the exact point is just a bare patch of land but if I expand it slightly… there’s a building that fits the pattern…”

You wait for his answer, brows furrowed in anticipation.

“It’s that stupid little motel. Motel 6.”

Both of your eyes flash towards eachother, widening.

“Why the hell would that shithole be important?” Hopper asks, seemingly to himself or someone around him. Your mouth feels dry. “Shit, we’ll check it out but doesn’t look promising, kid. Good theory, though. Over.”

“It’s empty. You won’t find anything there.” You finally respond, voice monotone from shock.

“How do you know?”

“Because Steve and I have been using it as a base point for the last three weeks.” You gulp, and Steve’s frown is deep set onto his features, staring at nothing.

“Shit.” Hopper spits, cutting into radio silence for a moment before returning with a sigh. “I hate to say it… but that's not a coincidence anymore, kid."

“So… the gates open when someone makes a connection to this… Upside Down?” You ponder and Hopper hums a response. “Is El making these connections now?”

“She’s mostly been resting. It’s taken a lot out of her. As far as I know, she’s only trying to close the gate, not communicate with whatever hell is behind it.”

“And if she’s not doing it…” You scrunch your face. You felt tired, and achy. You really weren’t sure what your brain was trying to tell you until it finally clicked, staring down at the outline of your high school building. You then follow that trail of red markings, all the way back to the lab. “It has to be someone else.”

“Huh?” Steve raises a brow and you tap the map.

“It’s random because… because someone could literally just be walking around.” You start, still staring back at confused expressions. “You said that this Upside Down was literally a flipped version of Hawkins, right? All these places that gates have been opening… we went to them. Here. The high school. Then down here, Cornwallis near Steve’s house. The trailer park, the cabin, the arcade-”

“All the places we went.” Steve realises and you nod, sharing in his look of horror. “All the places we got attacked.”

“What’re you saying?” Hopper straightens, glancing between you both. “That the gates are following you?”

“No, not necessarily.” You furrow your brows, trying to make sense of it. “I’m just saying that Steve and I were travelling around Hawkins. We didn’t have a set route, in fact we were detouring so much I started to doubt we’d ever make it here, but what I’m trying to say is that our path to the lab was random. Could someone… could someone also be walking around just as randomly in the Upside Down?”

You remembered the conversation in the lab bunker before, assuming the pattern was no pattern at all. But that was a lie.

It hit the same places you had on the surface, leading you back to the mothergate in the lab. The creature from your nightmares, setting off the alarm. Something had pretended to be El, luring you down and then closing off any and every exit, leaving you and Steve trapped down here for what could have been forever. Until now. Circling the only place you and Steve had found sanctuary.

It all comes crashing in, goosebumps trailing along your skin.

The pattern wasn’t where the gates were appearing.

“The pattern’s me.”

Chapter Seventeen: Don't Forget Me (coming soon)

It wasn’t news to you, in fact it’s all you’ve been thinking about since the day the gate exploded, leaving you and Steve stranded in a foreign world shaped like your home. The thought of it creeps in whenever you’re still, imagining how horrible it would be if it happened without warning.

And then those terrifying images play out like a slide-show. You turning, attacking, regretting. You hate that you’re imagining all the ways you could possible turn on the boy you cared about, but you can’t help it. This virus did everything it could to make you feel like a monster.

Steve can tell your symptoms are getting worse. You’re trying your best to hide them, force them away, but every so often you’ll slip up and expose the intensity of it, snapping at him or stumbling to a stop to blink away the black spots in your vision. He could just go on, find the gate himself and escape before it was too late. But he wasn’t leaving you down here.

After Max’s radio message this morning, you had both immediately set off, determined for this to be the last trip across the Upside Down forever. You just hoped you had decrypted the pattern correctly and weren’t just leading you both out here for nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Once your soft footsteps turn to crunches above the gravel, you know you’ve arrived.

Sattler’s Quarry was located on the edge of town, buried behind a thick expanse of woods behind the lab. It wasn’t a particularly unpopular place, but since it was owned land people generally tried to stay away from it. That was until Will Byers’ body was found just before he miraculously showed up alive a week later, making it a honeypot for insensitive teens. Since so many kids were visiting, the owner, Frank, decided it best to just drain the quarry to avoid anymore mishaps with government cover-ups and reckless teens alike.

While it didn’t make the cut for the ‘bodies of water’ criteria, you figured it should count for its past.

“Um, so where is this gate meant to be if there’s no water?” Steve questions, squinting towards his surroundings. Somehow everything was darker around the quarry, making it near impossible to spot anything dangerous. And there was always something dangerous.

“They said it always appears at the heart.” You reply, keeping your focus on the ground so you don’t accidentally walk off a cliff in an anti-climactic end to your life.

“What kind of cryptic bullshit is that?”

“I think they just mean the middle.” You gently nudge his arm, spotting the edge of the quarry and he nods, sighing.

“Okay… let’s find the middle.”

You lead him to the edge, focused on your footing to ensure it was solid ground. Everything seemed normal until a crackle of lightning above you shed a spotlight, glinting below. You both freeze, staring down.

“Holy shit.” Steve breathes, and you can only nod in agreement.

You had never seen the quarry so full with water even before they drained it, but there it was, rising up to what would be half full. You can just spot the smaller rock ledge you and Robin would sit at during the summer, imagining the quarry could have been a swimming spot if it weren’t so small. Now you didn’t really have to imagine.

“I didn’t even know the Upside Down had natural water.” You say, feeling a sudden pang of fear. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“When was the last time you drank water?”

“Uh…” He frowns at first, thinking it through. And then he widens his eyes, staring back at you.

Neither of you have had food or water for three weeks. And worse yet, neither of you had noticed.

“How is that possible?” Steve questions and you shake your head. “I don’t even… are you hungry?”

“No.” You let out a breath, looking around you. “How could we have forgotten something like that?”

“Been too busy fighting and running.” Steve shrugs and you tighten your lips. “Come on, we’ll freak out about this later, let’s get a closer look at this water.”

You point out the ledge you had spotted earlier and soon enough, you had both quickly descended down until you were both peering over the edge, close enough to the water to see your reflections shining back at you.

“The water seems pretty clear.” Steve nods, hands on his hips as he looks across the massive body of water.

You frown. “How can you tell? Everything’s so dark down here.”

“Yeah I can’t see shit, I was lying.” Steve peers back down at it, crouching and running his hand through the water. It was strange, knowing now that he hadn’t touched water in weeks and yet, he still remained completely satisfied. “Dustin said the gate should glow red when it opens… do you think we’ll be able to see it from up here?”

“I don’t know.” You say, shifting on your feet. Steve looks up at you, noting your uneasy nature.

“Hey, they’ll let us know when the gate opens on their radar thingy.” He assures, standing back up.

“That’s not…” You glance back at the water before turning around, opting to face anywhere but there. “I don’t like water.”

“You don’t like water?” Steve repeats and you nod, thinning your lips. “Wait, like, you’re scared of it?”

“Not the water specifically. Just like...” You explain, wafting your hand through the air. “The stuff in the water.”

“Like what?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and you look shocked. “What? I’ve been swimming all my life, I have no idea what you’re on about.”

Your mouth gapes, feeling exasperated as you look between him and the water. “There’s- it could… Scary fish.”

“Scary fish?” He tries to hide his smirk and you bat his arm.“It’s the quarry, okay? Nothing was even in here before it got drained or some shit, nothing is gonna be here now, okay? Can you swim?”

“Yeah, I can swim.” You nod, looking down with a shudder. “But it’s much nicer in a pool with ceramic tiles staring back at me. Not whatever endless void of death I’m looking at right now.”

“That’s the positive spirit.” He chuckles and you grimace. “Okay, okay, look, I’m not asking you to jump in there alone, okay? We’ll do it together.”

When silence washes over, you turn to see him holding out his pinkie. You smirk, looping your own around it.

“Thought you said this was childish.”

“It grew on me.” He shrugs, smiling down at you. When he realises he’s just staring, he clears his throat, stepping back. “So, uh… what now?”

“We wait, I guess.” You say, lowering yourself onto a smaller ledge etched into the rocky surface, digging your elbows into your knees as you lean forward with your head in your hands, trying not to think about what could be lurking in the deep.

Steve joins you after a moment, his knee brushing against yours as he stretches out. He thinks how strange it was you were both so comfortable with contact that it was simply second-nature, your arm pressed against his to the point he could feel your warmth even through the thick fabric of your jackets. When the apocalypse started, neither of you could sit so close, the space between you speaking volumes.

“Do you think the military have it sorted?”

Steve’s question was a surprise, making you straighten up to meet his eyes inquisitively.

“I mean, it’s been three weeks. They must have done something.” He theorises and you shrug, not giving it much thought.

“Maybe.” You say, pursing your lips. “They didn’t have much luck before but, like you said, it’s been three weeks. The worst of it would probably mean they move us out of Hawkins, maybe to California or something.”

Something sparked hope then in Steve’s chest. Us. Not ‘them’, or ‘you’, us. Steve was always afraid to speculate about the future after the Upside Down, fully aware of the inevitable possibility you won’t have one. But there you were, including yourself in the narrative like it was meant to be.

You twist your face when you noticing him smiling, making you laugh. “You’re making that face again.”

“I can’t help it.” He chuckles and you smile back at him, nudging his shoulder playfully. “You wanna hear something funny?”

“I can’t deal with another one of your ‘knock, knock’ jokes right now.” You groan and he laughs, shaking his head.

“No, it’s not that.” He scrunches his face in thought, letting his eyes drift to the water then back to you, studying you like it was his last moment he ever could. “I, uh… do you remember anything about middle school?”

You raise your eyebrow, smirking. “Uh… a little, I guess. Why, do you?”

“It’s probably the only thing I can remember.” He sighs, leaning back until the rock edge dug into shoulder. “It was the last time I felt like a kid.”

“What’s so funny about it?” You remind him and he clicks his tongue, nodding.

“I, um…” Steve looks nervous, staring at his shoes. It made your stomach flutter, feel giddy. “I actually had the biggest crush on this girl back then. I… I don’t think I hid it that well either.”

You slowly nod, looking at your hands. “Nancy?”

“No.” He says and you back to him, frowning. “It… it was you.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“I- I thought you knew.” He laughs and you shake your head, looking bewildered. “Literally everyone else did. Even Robin was teasing me about it.”

“You throw so many parties that the school practically lives at your house, you’re always ranting about getting a basketball scholarship, and weirdly enough I am fully aware of the crush you had in middle school that you completely ruined but it’s so mind-blowing I can’t even repeat it.”

His mind is taken back to his very first official meeting with Robin, the way she had rambled at him the entire car ride as he drove around searching for you. She knew so much about him and, since you were close, he figured you would have known all about his middle school crush too. How wrong he was.

“I didn’t know.” You say, smiling in disbelief. “Seriously? Me?”

“Yeah.” He laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair. “I know we didn’t really hang out that much, but whenever you were around… I don’t know, you just seemed so… cool. And fun. You would always make the best jokes, you never let anyone tell you what to do. You were so different from my other friends, I just… I just had a massive crush on you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ask, your wide eyes staring up at him, waiting for an answer.

“I…” He lets out a breath, shrugging. “I don’t know. Maybe I figured you wouldn’t want to be with a guy like me. I mean, the people you were friends with were nothing like me. And we never really saw eachother that much… I just ran out of time.”

“Ran out of time?”

“Well, you know.” He says, smirking. “The whole sworn enemies thing we had going on for some reason.”

Steve meant it as a joke, but your breath hitches and you shift in your spot, eyes darting away from him in a flash of hurt.

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean-” He tries, but you shake your head.

“It’s okay.” You dismiss, leaning forward. It wasn’t okay, though. It was a subject you’ve been avoiding ever since you found out Steve lost a lot of his childhood memories to deliberate punches and infuriating concussions.

But maybe you needed to stop avoiding the truth. The secret was only keeping a barrier between you, one you had cherished a long time ago but… everything was different now. It was time.

“I know you don’t remember.” You say quietly, watching how the red sky reflects against the water, making it crimson in its wake. “And that’s okay. I mean, it was a long time ago, but… but part of me wishes you did.”

Because I hate to be the one to remind you, you thought, knowing that once Steve caught a glimpse of the person he was in the past, it would eat him up inside.

“Do you remember Dan Shelter?” You ask, looking up at him. He frowns in confusion, unsure where this was heading, but he nods regardless. “The summer before freshman year, he asked me out on a date, wanted to take me to a movie or something. And I said yes.”

Steve watches how you keep your fingers busy, mindlessly twisting around a loose thread at the bottom of the jacket you were wearing, avoiding his eyes completely. He couldn’t remember a single detail of what you were talking about and yet he knows he and Dan would hang out almost all the time in the beginning years of high school.

“What happened?” He asks, feeling like he was holding his breath for far too long, afraid of the ending.

“Nothing.” You shrug, finally looking at him. “He stood me up. Part of me figured he would. He didn’t really seem that into it when he asked, I was just… I was so happy for a minute knowing someone had picked me, you know? The weird police girl. But I waited outside the theatre for an hour that day until my dad eventually picked me up and took me home.”

“I don’t…”

“I know.” You nod, sending him a reassuring smile. “But, I, um… I did see him again. At the arcade. I was there with Robin, actually. Yeah, we, uh, we managed to escape our parents for the day and just spent all our money playing stupid games. It was fun. And then I spot Dan trying to beat some high score and I felt so embarrassed at first. But then I thought, why the hell am I the one embarrassed? He was the jerk, not me.”

“So I went over.” You continue, returning to fiddle with the hem of your jacket. “I asked him up front, why didn’t he show up for our date? But, as it turns out, he wasn’t alone. Tommy and some others showed up, teasing, asking him if I was telling the truth. And he just… he laughed. Told me I was ‘freaky’, that I had been stalking him.”

“Why would he do that?” Steve shakes his head and you tighten your lips.

“Because that’s how guys like that became likeable.” You say bitterly, “It only got worse after that. They all started calling me names, laughing in my face. Robin told me to leave, and I should’ve, but I wasn’t going to stand there and take it. I told Dan he was a liar, that he wishes a girl would care enough to stalk him. And then someone else stepped forward.”

You take a deep breath, meeting Steve’s eyes. “He said it was all true. And that I… I had done it to him. That I was some crazy stalker obsessed with boys to the point where I had tried to throw myself at him. And even though they were false accusations, obviously everybody believed him over me.”

“Who…” He asks before he notices how your face twists, turning away from him once again. His stomach churns.

“You said that.” You say quietly, and his heart sinks. He ruined your life, and it wasn’t even an interaction he bothered to remember. “I didn’t even know why, either. I just remember after that, Tommy and Carol starting spreading the rumours, even attaching a whole story to it about us at Lover’s Lake and me going all crazy because you didn’t like me back or some shit. Everyone started calling it-”

“The date.” Steve finishes and you whip your head toward him, eyebrows furrowed. Nancy had told him all he needed to know, and he had chosen not to believe it could be true. But it was, and he hated himself for it.

“Yeah.” You nod, biting your lip. “I… I didn’t really make many friends after that. ‘The date’. They all assumed I was trying to use them to get to boys, that I was some kind of freak. After a while I just gave up trying to convince anyone any different. I already had enough to deal with, I just…. I stopped caring.”

“I can’t believe I forgot about that.” Steve says and you start to shake your head.

“No, you’ve- you’ve been through a lot, I don’t-”

“It doesn’t change what I did.” He interrupts, looking at you with determination. “Back then, I- I was so obsessed with everyone liking me, with fitting in with, god, Tommy and Dan… I would say literally anything to make me their friend. I did say literally anything.”

You watch as Steve’s face scrunches in disgust, burying it in his hands and mumbling into them. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“It was a long time ago, now.” You try and he runs his hands through his hair, straightening back up.

“I am so so sorry, Y/n.” He says with such conviction you knew it was true. You just never thought you’d hear those words ever leave King Steve’s lips. And you were partially right. Because the boy sat beside you, holding your hand and begging for your forgiveness, wasn’t King Steve anymore.

“I forgive you.” You give him a small smile, squeezing his hand.

“Really?” He frowns. Something heavy in his chest was lifting. Three small words that held heavy significance were giving him a peace he was unfamiliar with. After last year, he had assumed he was on the path to forgiveness for his old self, knowing he would have years to redeem. He figured as long as he proved himself, he wouldn’t need to hear those little words. But he did. He really did.

“Steve.” You raise your eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “I literally just made out with you in a cheap motel bathroom yesterday.”

A smile stretches onto his face, a rouge tint hitting his cheeks. “You mean you don’t do that with all the boys you’re stuck in the Upside Down with?”

“Only the ones I’ve forgiven.” You shrug and he dramatically holds his hand to his heart, making you laugh.

After a moment, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you closer, resting his head against yours as you smile against his touch.

“Thank you. For forgiving me.” He mumbles into your hair and you pull away, looking up at him with such adoration, he felt the tips of his ears turn pink under your gaze.

Your hand reaches up to brush your fingers against his cheek, holding your breath. He brings himself closer and your eyes flutter shut, feeling his lips brush against yours until you commit fully, your hands slipping around his neck like he would slip away.

The kiss wasn’t the same as it was the first time. There wasn’t any hesitation or urgency. It was just simply sweet, all of your senses consumed by Steve and Steve only. His heart found its rhythm with yours, everything else washing away into a stream of his happiness.

And, when you pull away, he’s still chasing your lips, eyes closed and cheeks red. It was the second time he has ever kissed you, and he already craved a million more.

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“Look.”

He opens his eyes to find your worried ones staring back, tilting your head to the water. He turns his gaze over to the quarry, his eyebrows furrowing.

A red glow was starting to blare through, casting the quarry in a scarlet hue. It was beaming from the middle, just as you said it would, like a living, breathing heart.

You both slowly stand, moving closer to the edge with heavy chests. This was finally it. This was the escape.

“Guys, the gate just showed.” Lucas’ voice blares out into the dark from the ground beside you. You reach down to grab the radio and hold it to your lips.

“We see it.”

“You have around 5 minutes to get through before it shuts off for good.”

“It’s all we need.” Steve nods, looking at you. “I’m gonna dive down a little, just enough to get a look and see if it’s big enough.”

He pulls off his jacket, knowing it would only weigh him down in the long run. Letting it fall beside him, he moves to the edge until he feels your hand on his arm, making him turn back to your worried gaze.

“Be careful.” You say and he smiles at you, giving you a smile salute before finally diving down in perfect form.

The water engulfs him like a warm blanket, shocking his senses as he prepared for the cold. But it didn’t feel any different from his swimming pool at home, his legs kicking out and driving him further down the quarry. He followed the red light, his eyes adjusting to the gate that lay at the bottom. It looked like some sort of thick membrane was blocking his view to the other side, but he took that as a positive. It meant nothing was bleeding out into the other side.

After about twenty seconds of you shifting on your feet, Steve resurfaced just a few metres away, presumably directly above the gate. Once he spotted where he had left you, he grins.

“We’re good.” He calls out, shaking water droplets from his hair and extending his arm as an invitation. “No pressure, but… it’s now or never.”

You nod, taking a deep breath. No pressure. You were just going to dive into this suspicious body of water in hopes of breaking through a gate that lay at the very bottom of the quarry. And you had limited time to do it. No pressure at all.

You dump your bag and your jacket, neither of which you would need on the surface. Hopper would surely be heading to Sattler’s Quarry now to take you both far away from here. Home.

As you ready yourself to jump, you look up to ensure you’d be swimming in the right direction when your eye catches something on the other side of the quarry, making you squint into the darkness. Your heart jumps.

The red glow from the gate was making the water a little clearer, making everything look scarily like blood. But that wasn’t really the terrifying part.

A dark shape was moving in the water.

And it was heading directly for Steve.

“Get out of the water.” You say, completely numb. He frowns at you, and finally your voice rises. “Steve, get out right now!”

Swivelling his head around, he’s confused at your outburst and trying to find what you were staring at. And then he sees it, something big. He wasn’t alone in the water.

“Shit.” He breathes out, immediately starting to swim towards you.

There is a big distance between you and where he started in the middle, your voice almost alien to yourself as you continuously cried out.

“Steve! Come on, just a little more!” You keep shouting, hoping your words would somehow bring him to you faster. It’s gaining on him, but he’s so close.

You’re reaching over the edge, arms held out ready to pull him out. You can almost brush your fingertips against his. Just a few more arm strokes towards you until the water would splash your face and he’d be in your arms-

The water shifts directly behind him.

And then he’s gone.

You’re just left alone, screaming into the darkness.

“STEVE!”

Chapter Sixteen: The Pattern ->

Three weeks ago, you had followed El through the mothergate, a silent promise to find your sister when she was nowhere to be found. You had fought your way through the Upside Down, slaying monsters, collecting scars and bruises.

And three weeks later, you find out it was all for nothing. El didn’t need to be found.

She was never missing.

A voice that undoubtedly belonged to her was telling you all of this through the radio gripped tightly in your hand, feeling like your mind was drifting in and out of consciousness. You had been tricked so easily. A shapeshifter- a mirage. It knew exactly what buttons it needed to push, the nuclear code that led to your heart, your guilt. And now, three weeks later, you were sat on the floor of the Radio Shack in the darker version of your home, beside a boy that didn’t deserve this. Steve didn’t deserve your foolishness.

Maybe he was right, back in that arcade mere days before freshman year. You could only ever ruin people.

“Y/n.” Steve reaches out to take your hand, gently rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. You look up at him, frowning.

Rather than speak, you silently hand him the radio and slip away, resting your back against the very wall he had broken down on earlier.

“Hello? Anyone there? Over.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re-” Steve pauses, eyes widening. “Henderson?”

“Son of a bitch!” Dustin responds in a gleeful tone, striking a smile on his face. “I knew you weren’t dead! Over.”

“Yeah, man, all safe and sound down here.” Steve risks a glance over to you, but your eyes are focused somewhere else, glazed. “Wait, how the hell is this possible right now?”

There’s a long pause and he thinks the radio must have lost contact until Dustin’s disapproving tone drops in.

“You didn’t say over. Over.”

If Steve wasn’t so happy right now, he’d find a way to reach through that phone and tackle him. “Whatever. Over.”

“Okay so basically I have been playing around with the idea of creating my own ham radio. That’s a big radio for longer distances by the way. Over.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, get to the point. Over.”

“Well, we weren’t sure if it was gonna reach down to you. Cerebro, that is. Like in X-Men? When Professor X needs to locate other mutants- Ow! What the hell Mike?- Oh, right, yeah. Anyway, I recorded a message on this thing maybe two weeks ago and we’ve been broadcasting it ever since. Pretty sweet, right? Over.”

“Pretty, uh, pretty sweet, man.” Steve praises, running a hand through his hair as his concern centres on you. “Any chance you’ve built a portal back to the real Hawkins?… Over.”

The static blares into the silence again and Steve tightens his lips. You finally meet his eyes, offering a small smile with all the willpower you could muster. He really can’t imagine how you out of everyone must be feeling right now. He understands it, at least. Being strong enough to sacrifice and protect, but too unprepared to deal with the consequences.

“Hey, Mike here.” Mike speaks and Steve returns his attention, taking a deep breath to recentre. “So, it’s a long shot, but… we might have a way to get you both out of there.”

You’re beside him in a flash, gently taking the radio into your own hands with determination. “Seriously.”

“The gates haven’t completely disappeared.” Mike explains, a faint sound of rustling in the background. “They’ve just been opening and closing one at a time. Hopper has been trying to track them down but they haven’t stayed open long enough to catch ‘em.”

“There’s no pattern?” You ask, scrunching your face. The last thing you want to do is run around Hawkins hoping a gate would appear, especially not with the demons lurking down here.

“Actually, yeah. They’ve opened at Lake Jordan, Lover’s Lake, even the community pool.”

“So it’s water-based?”

“Exactly. Except the thing is, we’ve ran out of water-based gates- what? - I’m not saying that, it’s stupid- No- I… ugh, fine. - The watergates hit every lake and pond. We’ve pretty much ran out of water so, we have no idea where it’s gonna hit next. - What now? - No, go away, I already said your stupid name. - Beca-”

You assume the boys are continuing their fight as you let out a breath, brows scrunched together.

“Great.” Steve mutters, shaking his head. “Now we have to figure out where the next gate is gonna be and, I’ll be honest, I’m not great at hide and seek. Not the hide, and especially not the seek.”

Something clatters in the distance and you both turn, on high alert.

“Sorry, Mike again. Dustin was… Dustin.” He returns, panting slightly. “We’re gonna keep working on it but at least we found you now. Hopper should be back soon and I know you’ll probably have a lot to talk about.”

The static blares out, feeling heavy in your hand as Steve slowly stretches from his crouch to peer over the top of the shelves. Nothing was in here with you, thankfully. But he can just make out a shadow outside, growing bigger and bigger…

“Hello? Guys?”

Steve’s head whips to the radio, stomach plummeting. “Shit, turn it-”

The shrill sound of glass shattering makes him duck down in an instant, something breathing in heavy and uneven intervals, crashing between the shelves and hurtling towards you.

You scramble to shut off the radio, cutting off the cries from the kids and shoving it into Steve’s bag. You could deal with it later when you weren’t dead.

Steve swoops up the backpack and holds a finger to his lips, the other hand pointing down the aisle furthest to your left. You both keep low, eyes on the ground to avoid stepping on anything that could announce your location to whatever was hunting you. And, just as you follow Steve around the corner, you both hear it searching the aisle beside you, grateful to have made the right decision.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t as slow as the other things you’ve battled and, much like everything else, you figured it depended on hearing. You and Steve weren’t amateurs in this game of prey and predator, especially since finding literally everything down here wanted to eat you. Escaping was your speciality, and right now you feared it was the only option.

As you take slow and silent steps, crouched on the opposite aisle, you can just make out its dark black shape stalking between the shelves.

You don’t feel like you can breathe, hands balled into fists as you use your peripheral vision to guide you towards Steve, eyes never leaving the shadowed figure. You’re scared that if you look away, it would immediately find you when you were distracted.

That was a crucial mistake.

Your next footstep landed directly on a musty wrapper, a sharp sound of a crinkle echoing out when you accidentally crush it with your boot.

Steve’s eyes go wide, head snapping back to you as your blood ran cold, a fearful gaze meeting his. Fuck.

You anxiously look back between the shelves.

Pale white eyes are staring directly at you, unwavering as terror slices through your spine.

And then it screams.

Its wail is ear-piercing, inflicting pain on you both as you tumble over, trying to cover your ears to muffle out its sound. You couldn’t run if you wanted, feeling completely paralysed by the high-pitched drone of this creature’s cry.

Steve feels something damp against his palms as he groans against the relentless stabbing against every nerve in his brain. Whatever this thing was, its screech was damaging you both beyond repair. He needed to get you both out. He needed to stop it before there was no coming back.

In a split second decision, Steve bears the pain long enough to prop himself up on one knee and use his free leg to kick as hard as he can against the shelves, boot shaking the frame. The display topples over, landing with a heavy thump against the creature and cutting off its cry.

Steve sighs in relief, blinking back into the blissful silence. His headache was booming as he clicks his jaw, desperate to relieve the stress on his eardrums. He turns back to you, noticing how you’ve brought both hands in front of you, staring down at the red dye with a tired concentration.

There were trickles of blood coming from your ears and down your nose, the aftermath of the screech. And, judging by how wet his upper lip felt, he knew his own face matched.

He sees the body beneath the shelves start to twitch, trying to regain consciousness below the rubble of trinkets.

“We have to go.” He tries saying, his own voice muffled by his ears.

You don’t hear him and he groans, steadying himself by gripping onto the fallen wooden frame and pushing himself to his feet. The world span as he wrapped an arm around you, pointing to the exit.

Steve wasn’t sure if you would both make it to safety stumbling away from the crime scene, and that thought stayed with him even when you were both out of view of the Radio Shack. It lingered, like the thought always did whenever you both set out for your search.

Mostly, he was just afraid he was going to lose you at any second.

Never before was Steve so relieved to be stood in the murky Motel 6 bathroom, staring at his worn expression. Every time you both make it back here, he can’t believe he’s still alive.

He had torn up an old t-shirt you had found rummaging through what would have been the Byers house, the fabric easily wiping away the larger chunks of dried blood on his face. How many new creatures did that make now? 10? 11? He lost track too many fights ago.

Feeling much better, he takes the moments to simply breathe, flexing his fingers against the ceramic sink. This was a lot harder than he thought. Mentally. Physically. He couldn’t be more grateful he wasn’t doing this alone.

His head snaps up, suddenly aware of the ghost of your presence.

“Hey,” He peers around the door, walking out. “Bathroom’s free if you…”

Steve stops. You never even made it to the bed, back against the front door, eyes drooping.

“Shit. Hold on.” He rushes over to you, grabbing your face in his hands. He knows you were slightly closer to the blasted scream, but not far enough to be affected any worse than he was. But you looked physically weak, your attempted speech slurring as you have to blink yourself back into consciousness.

Steve helps you to your feet, guiding you towards the bathroom to sit you at the toilet so he can tear another rag from the tee, constant glances of worry being sent your way.

By the time his hands found your face again, you were wide awake, frowning around you. You didn’t even recollect making it to the motel.

One hand cups your chin as the other gently wipes away the blood from your upper lip. You try to protest, claim you could do this yourself, but Steve wasn’t taking objections. He tilts your head to the side, swiping away the trickle of blood from your ear down to your neck…

He pauses, breath hitching. Your eyes squeeze shut.

Black veins were creeping up out of your collar, slithering along your throat and stopping just below your chin, marking you cursed. Steve should have known your ail wasn’t from the monster you just encountered.

“It’s okay.” You say, trying to meet his eyes.

“None of this is fucking okay.” He says, but it comes out as a whisper despite the endless echo of screams raging through his mind. He tries to go back to finishing up on your nose when you gently lower his hand, holding it between both of yours.

“Steve.”

“I thought we had more time.” He admits, a sad laugh falling in a broken sob, trying to hold it together.

“Maybe we do.” You try, smiling up at him. But your eyes were telling a different story.

Steve had been noticing it but never acknowledging it for as long as you’ve been trying to hide it. The breathless exhale of excursion any time you had to face a beast. The way you’ve only been able to hit two locations before your body screams for rest, muttering excuses to get back to the motel. And that smile you always gave him, slowly losing its shine like a lost star plummeting from the sky. He ignored it all because some part of him was stupid enough to think it wasn’t going to end like this.

“This isn’t fair.” A single tear rolls down his cheek and your breath hitches. “You don’t… you don’t deserve this.”

For a moment, you don’t speak, mouth opening and closing with words scratched away before they could hit the air.

“Do you remember the day this all started?” You suddenly ask, looking up at him. His brows are furrowed, nodding his head. “I remember… I remember being sat in that chair dreading ever leaving it. I, uh, I thought detention was going to save me from facing my problems. That’s why I was in there in the first place. I found an opportunity and I exploited it enough to bide myself some more time before I had to realise what a shitty human being I was.”

“You’re not a shitty human-”

“But I was.” You shrug, pushing the hair away from your face. “I was so selfish. And arrogant. And before those screams echoed out, before Holloway disappeared, before you even walked into the room, I was realising that I had ruined myself. I was so adamant on proving I didn’t need anybody that I was completely and utterly alone.”

“And then,” You look up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And then the freaking apocalypse started and as awful and wrong as it sounds… it’s starting to feel like it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Because I found reasons not to be selfish anymore, and- and to realise I didn’t have to alienate people just because I was afraid they were going to leave.”

Your hands start to intertwine themselves with Steve’s.

“Even though that thing bit me… I’m perfectly happy knowing that I was becoming the person I always should have been. You made me not want to be a shitty person anymore.”

His hands squeeze yours, his body leaning forward to rest your foreheads against eachother. Tears start to escape your eyes in silent paths, feeling completely and utterly comforted by the boy you once called an enemy.

“I was starting to wonder when you’d say something nice about me.” Steve eventually quips and you laugh, pulling away from him.

“Don’t get used to it, Harrington.” You chuckle, your hand involuntarily reaching up and brushing away the hairs that fell in the path of his eyes. You notice a look in his eye you had never caught before, smiling. “What’s that look for?”

He flickers between your eyes, softened and sad, his thumb reaching up to brush against your cheek. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but your heart starts to race. You’ve grown used to a pit in your stomach since being down here, a dread. But this was different. Butterflies. And the way Steve was looking at you sent them soaring.

Steve leans in closer, glancing down at your lips. Every nerve in your body was alight, the incomprehensible tension building when you don’t pull away to the moment he finally speaks, words feather-light like you were the only one who deserved to hear them.

“I’m not ready for you to leave me.”

The first touch of his lips against yours was tentative, a feather-light connection that sent shivers down both your spines. It was a sweet and slow, the world around you fading away as if you and he were the only two souls in existence.

The kiss deepened once Steve realised this wasn’t a dream, pulling you impossibly closer with his hands cupping your cheeks, a mixture of passion and vulnerability woven into the embrace. Only the sound of your heartbeats could remind you time wasn’t truly standing still.

When you finally pulled away, both of your eyes still remained closed, trying to live in the moment as long as you could before reality could pull you back into its cold embrace. Steve wanted to stay here for as long as it could, holding you. He would willingly bend time to relive this moment over and over until it was the sweetest broken record.

“We, uh…” You start in a whisper, chest rising and falling in desperation for his lips to fall against yours once again. But you couldn’t fall back into it from fear of never leaving it again. “We should probably get some rest.”

“Yeah.” He whispers back, barely a breath away from you with a hand resting on your cheek. “I, uh… I’ll take first watch.”

It took his manual control of every muscle in his body to step away from you and not pull you back into him once more, choosing to leave the room before he imploded. He exhaled a long breath, a hand running through his hair as he smiled against the warmth of his flushed face. Part of him still couldn’t believe this was reality. Perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps it truly was in his greatest dreams.

You leave the bathroom a few seconds later, hiding a smile behind your hair as you lay on the bed. You watch as he settles himself on the ground, back against the bed frame and preparing for a long night of staring at the door.

You felt light-headed in the most wonderful way, giddy. It was almost impossible to have a rush of these emotions fluttering in your chest, but it was there, acting as a safety blanket around your heart. But once you close your eyes, its like they’re being snatched away from you as the fear comes rolling in.

The virus was almost at your brain and soon, you would be nothing but a mindless monster hell-bent for the thirst of blood. And no matter how many times you convinced Steve you were okay with it, never once had you managed to convince yourself.

“Steve?”

Your small voice was a surprise, calling out to him in the darkness. He twists himself to find your form, resting his arm on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah?”

“Can you…” You pause, striking his curiosity with your hesitancy. “Nevermind.”

“Tell me.” He says softly, propping one of his legs up as he shifted on the floor.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

It took all of five seconds for Steve to abandon his post and walk around the bed, propping his bat against it as he lowered himself next to you. He felt nervous, unsure of what you truly meant by your request.

And then you roll over, slotting into him perfectly as he automatically wraps his arms around you, holding you.

Steve was the first to wake up, blinking up at the ceiling before mentally punishing himself for falling asleep in the first place. He was meant to take the shift tonight.

Gently shifting out of your embrace, he moves to the small mirror in the bathroom and pushes his hair back, taking a deep breath. And then he remembers, a smile spreading across his face with a small yet noticeable dimple denting his right cheek.

And then the reality hits, blinking him out of his own happiness. He promised himself he would get you out of here, back home.

He grabs the forgotten radio after rooting through his backpack, switching it back on and spewing out tiny curses under his breath. Shit, would this even reach them anymore? How would he even contact them? What if that was your only chance to-

“This is Echo Base, come in Falcon. Over.”

The familiar recorded message almost brought a tear to his eye as he brings it to his lips.

“Hey, it’s Steve. Anyone there?”

Static blares through and then the message starts again. Another muttered curse.

“It’s Steve. We’re here. Over?”

He waits all of five seconds before the static cuts out again, this time answering his call with a voice he never wanted to hear ever again.

“Well if it isn’t Harrington. We all thought you were roadkill.”

A shot of anger festers in his chest. Billy.

“Where the hell are the others?” Steve asks through gritted teeth, not in the mood for Billy’s antics.

“Busy.”

“Great.” Steve mutters to himself, taking a deep breath and reminding himself he only needed to get through this one conversation. “We, uh, we got cut off last time. We were trying to find out how to get the hell out of here.”

“Yeah, I can probably help you with that.”

“So?”

“So, I’ll give some instructions.” A pause. “Only gonna tell ‘em to Y/n, though.”

Steve’s blood boiled.

“Tell me what?” You showed up, looking sleepy but mostly confused.

You were using your fingers to brush through your hair, a hazy smile on your face as you met Steve’s eyes. His shoulders relaxed, admiring how he could feel this deeply about you even barely 3 minutes out of consciousness.

“Uh,” Steve clears his throat, holding out the radio. “Billy wants to speak to you.”

You roll your eyes, taking it from him and making him chuckle at how uninterested you seemed.

“I’m here.” You say, waiting for the response.

“Hey, princess.”

Steve wrinkles his nose in disgust and you pinch the bridge of yours, shaking your head.

“I told you not to call me that.” You sigh, leaning against the door frame. “What have you got for me?”

“Damn, I don’t think I can say when there’s kids around- ugh, fucking hell, fine. Take it.” He scoffs. “Later, princess.”

“Later, princess.” Steve mocks under his breath, looking back in the mirror. He catches your smirk in the reflection.

“Hi, it’s Max. Sorry about that.” Max cuts in and you find yourself smiling. “We’re currently on shifts so the boys aren’t here but Dustin did leave a message. He wanted us to tell you that they’ve been tracking some kind of signature using… shit, I don’t know, fancy technology or whatever. It can detect when another is gonna appear except it uses some kind of tracking in the water? Does that make sense to you? They know the gates appear at the heart of the bodies of water… okay, this makes literally no sense, I’m gonna kill him.”

Steve frowns. Heart of the bodies of water? They had already ran out of lakes in Hawkins, ponds were few and far between, there was no other possible options-

You gasp and he looks at you inquisitively while you bring the radio closer.

“I know where the next gate will be.”

Chapter Fifteen: Sattler's Quarry ->

The monsters that ran rampant in the reflected city were no less indications of the animal kingdom, with hierarchies and reproduction ruling above all else. The vines that slithered across the buildings were practically the beating heart of this place, growing like ivy and connecting every part of the Upside Down to its neighbour. And that bleeding red sky owned its own clouds, forming shapes and burning brighter when the lightning shines through, illuminating the land in its crimson light.

No one should notice these things about the Upside Down. Yet again, no one had to look for that beauty before, hoping it would protect their sanity. They weren’t trapped here.

“Y/n!”

Your head ducks, heels digging into the dirt as you spin around, arm whipping out to slash the beast’s belly with one sharp swipe of your blade. Its screech pierced your ears, yet you remain composed, driving your boot into its back and watching it crash into a pile of dust, its death commemorated in ashes.

So many new monsters had been discovered since coming down here, this one in particular attacking in surprise. It never truly died since it was simply a created shape, only dissipating when struck across the stomach. You and Steve dubbed them ‘dustwalkers’ after the pile of ash they become when struck down. Usually, neither of you would resort to naming the creatures, but with so many different ones surfacing, you became reliant on knowing what you were up against.

“Jesus, that was close. What were you thinking?”

Wiping the hair from your face, you turn in time to see Steve’s frown walking towards you. His hair had gotten messy since being down here, pieces falling down towards his face. But it still managed to look perfect, sculpted in recognition of the man below.

“I got distracted.” You shrug, wiping the blade on your jeans as he collected his bat from the ground. You hadn’t even noticed he’d dropped it.

“Distracted?” He looks at you in disbelief, running a hand through his hair out of frustration. “Y/n, that’s the fourth time you’ve done that.”

“Huh.” You frown, depositing the dagger into your makeshift belt. You were getting distracted a lot more lately. Sometimes it felt like you weren’t even in control of your attention being pulled elsewhere. If anything, the ever-growing dark veins stretching across your skin could be the culprit.

Steve watches your eyes drift away from him again and he sighs, slotting the bat into his backpack and closing the space between you, his hands resting gently on either side of your head so he can bring you to look at him.

“I’m fine, Steve.” You say as he searches your face for any sign of the virus.

It had been… hell, neither of you know how long it has been. Days? Weeks? The virus hadn’t affected you yet, much to his relief. But it had been growing since the lab blew up and left you stranded, winding up your leg and spreading with no sign of slowing down. The last Steve had seen of it, it was already wrapping around your torso, leading to a conversation he never wanted to have again.

“It’s okay.” You brush it off, snatching the shirt you had found from off the ground and tugging it over your head.

“Fuck, Y/n.” Steve runs a hand down his face, still sat in shock.

Every so often, new clothes were needed. The old ones would keep getting destroyed or covered in blood, not to mention the exercise the Upside Down was putting you through made everything sweaty. You both made sure to loot wardrobes and drawers whenever possible, and this time Steve caught a glimpse of something he shouldn’t have.

“How long has it been like that?”

You turn to his hushed whisper, his eyes still gazing on you, not out of lust but out of fear. Neither of you knew how this virus worked, how long it would take. The only thing you could be certain of is that once the veins reach your brain, it will all be over. Part of you had hoped it would never grow, but the universe has never been on your side.

“I don’t know.” You admit, crouching down to meet his eyes. He reaches his hands out to tangle his fingers between yours, releasing a breath.

“Steve?” Your small voice prickles his hearing and he moves his gaze from your hands to your eyes, darting between the pupils in silent study. “If I… if it-”

“No.” He immediately shakes his head and you could almost sob. For what felt like days, you’ve been trying to have this conversation with him, but he always shuts it down, pretending like it wasn’t needed.

“You need to listen-”

“I am not killing you.” He says with conviction, and he feels your fingers slip out of his reach. “That’s not happening, Y/n, you can’t expect me to-”

“And what then?” You cry, standing taller, making his head crane to look up at you as you wrap your arms around your torso. “You’re just gonna watch me turn into a monster and let me stay that way?!”

“This isn’t just some sort of favour you’re asking for!” He frowns, shaking his head. “You want me to kill you. To end your life!”

Your lips part but words never leave them, any anger in your expression diminishing to that same pure look of guilt he’d never grow accustomed to.

“You’re right.” You say, and then you return to the clothes, tugging back on your boots.

You stopped updating him after that, keeping yourself completely covered with the clothes you had managed to scavenge from the houses you passed. Steve convinced himself you were just doing it to remain warm, especially in this eerily cold climate. He didn’t want to imagine you were hiding something from him.

“Steve.” You say softly, reaching up and placing your hand over his. His eyes finally settle back on yours, speaking louder than his lips ever could. “I am fine, I promise. Just a little tired.”

With a sigh, he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. It wasn’t an unusual show of affection. In fact, with the threat of danger being an all-time high, you both relied on touch to bring you out of the darkness and remind you why you were fighting in the first place. But it was nothing more than that, just two people surviving together. At least, that’s what you’ve convinced yourselves.

“Come on.” He finally whispers, pulling away from you and you already miss the warmth of his palm on your cheek.

The two of you were currently stood outside of The Hawkins Post building, mentally marking off yet another destination on the map when you’re out of the open. Every single place you’ve been, you’ve searched, fought, defended, and escaped without any victory of your mission. And each time, you felt your heart break just a little more.

It had been days since the gate home was destroyed, and you still hadn’t found El.

You had already searched the south, starting at Hopper’s cabin and slowly working your way up. The trailer park had been the worst, a whole sea of monsters chasing you through a maze of mobile homes. You weren’t sure why that place was so infested. You were just lucky you both made it out alive.

Motel 6 was what you and Steve had to call home for the moment. It resided just outside of Hawkins’ centre, close enough to travel to and far enough to not have any unwelcome visitors. It wasn’t a homely place at all, the Upside Down’s effects only adding to the misery. The beds were uncomfortable, mould growing in places you couldn’t tell were the before or after effect of an evil alternate dimension. But it was free of monsters, and that was the real luxury down here.

“Should we try the police station or the Radio Shack next?” Steve asks, hands on his hips. He had scanned the area as well as he could, paying special attention to the shadows. It all seemed clear for the moment. For the moment. That was the most important part to note down here.

When you don’t respond, he turns back to see you still staring up at the Post like you had been before. Without the threat of the dustwalker attacking him, he could see the indents between your brows, that gnaw of your lip when you were struggling to hold your emotions. You seem to feel his eyes on you because you drag your eyes away and offer a sad smile, brushing the hair out of your face.

“Let’s just head back to the motel.” You say, a hand on his shoulder as you walk past him. His hand is on your waist before you can go anywhere, bringing you back to him. “Steve-”

“What’s wrong?” He frowns and you can only shake your head. “We’ve barely searched three buildings today, we’re so close-”

“No, we’re not.” You let out a breathy laugh, wearing the same dark circles under your eyes that Steve bore on is. “We’re both tired, and there’s been so many more creatures here today, we should just head back.”

Steve hates seeing you like this, hollowing yourself into a corner of guilt the longer it takes to find your sister. You’ve been pretending like you’re okay, obviously not wanting to burden him with the heavy weight of emotions tearing your walls down each time you fight through another monster just to find the building empty. He can’t give up on this, and neither can you.

“One more.” Steve says and you look surprised, his hand still poised on your hip. “We go to one more building, we check it, we leave. Okay?”

You study him meticulously, making his skin feel hot under your gaze. His touch was set ablaze by your stare more often than not, that soft look in your eyes that melted him completely. He wasn’t sure what is was about being down here, the threat of death, or the dread of loneliness perhaps, but everything was even more clear than before.

Steve was falling for you. Hard. And he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pick himself back up after this one.

“One more.” You finally agree and his breath relieves him in silent doses, missing the warmth of your gaze when you step away from him and head North.

The Radio Shack had certainly seen better days. The vines had managed to build pressure on the sign, it now hanging loosely above. One gust of wind and you were sure it would crash into a pile of dust.

Steve leans against the window, a hand pressed against his forehead to block out any light. It looked empty, but that was never a guarantee.

“On three?” Steve props his shoulder against the door, bat at the ready. You give a swift nod, retrieving your blade. “One. Two.”

The third count was represented through a hard shove on the front door, ringing a small bell above his head as you rush in, prepared in a stance as you duck your head through the small aisles. You would never get used to that feeling of fearful anticipation, just waiting for something to pounce.

“Clear?” Steve asks from the other side of the store, surely reflecting your own technique.

“Clear.” You respond, relaxing your shoulders with an exhale.

Of course she wasn’t going to be here. You already knew that, like you’ve known it the past 9 times you’ve been battling guards for reward.

"...thssacobsever..."

An icy feeling creeps up your spine when you hear something whisper at you. You remained calm, lowering your head. It was all in your mind. This has been happening since the black veins had reached your chest, debilitating you with some mere hushed voices that didn’t belong to you. And it was your symptom to bear; Steve didn’t know, and you weren’t going to.

Steve is frozen still, eyes still fixated on the back wall where one of the radios started spurting something. What the hell was that?

He looks over to where you’re scanning some shelves, his eyes wide. The noise was hard to ignore, and yet you’re not reacting at all.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?” You raise your head from behind a shelf and notice he’s pointing to the back wall, frowning.

“You heard that, too, right?” Steve watches your face harden into recognition and you hesitantly nod.

Something like static echoes once again and you’re both practically flying to the back of the store, eyes darting between rows and rows of radios, walkies, any kind of device that could be picking up frequencies from the other side.

And then you both hear it from the third radio resting on the top shelf, crisp and clear.

“This is Echo Base, come in Falcon. Over.”

The message repeats over and over, fading in and out of static, but it was undeniable.

“Dustin.” You both breathe out, shock widening your eyes.

Steve’s already holding the radio in one swift swipe of his hand before you can say anything, moving it to his lips.

“Henderson?!” He calls out into the speaker, leaving you both in silent and bated breath. Steve’s brows furrow even further and his voice cracks. “Henderson?”

The tickle of static cemented that feeling of dread in the air, the familiar wave of failure hitting every crevice in your chest.

But you weren’t the only one feeling it.

As you look over, Steve’s back has hit the wall, sliding down until he can almost feel his racing heartbeat hitting the rough denim on his legs. You’ve never seen this side of him, never even imagined it. Steve Harrington looked defeated.

“Hey.” You crouch in front of him, searching for his eyes. But his head was down, a tight grip on the radio leaving his knuckles white. You almost feel helpless, seeing him so distraught. But you swore you would never leave him like this. Not after everything he’s battled for you.

Silent tears have already hit his warm cheeks when he feels your touch, gentle fingers prying the radio from his hand. He thought you would try and use it yourself, prove he was being dramatic.

Instead, he hears it clatter to the floor and your fingers are intertwining with his, holding him while he ducks his head to hide from you.

This wasn’t him. He wasn’t so… weak. He was the strong one, the reliant one, always picking up the pieces, always fighting, protecting, leading, asking for nothing in return but a home, a family, anything like the care he would never have from his flesh and blood.

But this was his final straw. He didn’t expect it to break him so easily. Hearing Dustin calling out and not having the voice to scream back. Trapped.

“And you’ll be out soon, right?”

“Yeah, we’ll be out soon.”

It was a lie that felt bitter on his tongue even now, infecting his mind with hesitation. When would his words save them, offer truths and promises he could actually keep? He shouldn’t have tried to run without checking you were all safe first. Maybe if he wasn’t so dumb he might have actually avoided all of this.

“Steve?” Your voice is a whisper, your breath brushing against his hair. He can’t look up. He can’t face you, not like this. “It’s not your fault.”

His teary eyes find yours in silent shock. How was it that you could hear him so perfectly even in his quietest moments?

“We’re gonna get out of here.” You say with more determination than you’ve ever felt possible to express. “I mean, we managed 4 days of the apocalypse with the worst possible detours of our life, we can do this. Together.”

His eyebrows raise slightly when you hold out a pinky finger, rising a laugh out of him in surprise.

“A pink swear? Really?” He manages to smile, but his own is already wrapping around your finger in promise. A smile he hasn’t seen for days spreads across your face, a shine in your eye that left his thoughts incomprehensible. “Thank you.”

Involuntarily, his eyes dart to your lips. It was simply a flicker of movement, but you must have caught it because your lips part and you blink, making the heat flush to his neck and creep up to his cheeks and ears. Shit.

But then you’re leaning in. It was unexpected, and he’s never felt this kind of intensity in a moment that hasn’t even happened yet.

“Steve?”

The static crackles out, and you both sit there for a moment, wondering if the anticipation was driving you both to genuine madness.

“Steve, this is Mike, do you copy?”

He practically lunges forward, a hand on your back to make sure you didn’t topple back from his sudden action.

“Hey- hello?! Mike?!” He blurts out into the radio and your eyes are so fixated on the radio, you barely register the way his hand travels to your arm and down to your hand, holding it for support.

“Oh my god, Steve!” Mike’s voice blares through and Steve cries out in happiness, sharing the grin you have plastered on your face. “What- you’re alive! Where are you?!”

“Radio Shack.” Steve responds, almost feeling too giddy to even get the words out.

“Seriously? Wait… in the Upside Down? But it- it’s been three weeks, we thought… You’re in the Upside Down?!”

You and Steve share a look and then, with the drop of your face, it finally hits. They had no idea you were down here this entire time. All they would’ve seen is the explosion, the fact you weren’t there, and presumably Dustin’s ramble about chasing after El.

“Yeah, man.” Steve finally says, shoulders dropping. “We’ve been down here a while.”

“We- Y/n?!”

Steve hands the radio to you and you gladly take it, holding in the sob currently building in your chest. “Yeah, Mike, I’m here.”

“Ohmy-” Mike’s finger must have slipped off the button because his excited ramble cut off at the very beginning of his gleeful scream, making you and Steve laugh.

“They know we’re here.” You say out loud, looking at the boy beside you. His eyes were already on you, a smile creasing the corners of his eyes.

Only then were you conscious of the way his hand was still holding onto yours. And, when you look down, he only responds with a squeeze, burning that desire like the imprint of his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Y/n? Steve?”

Your heart almost leaps into your throat, tears pricking at your eyes. Steve’s eyes have widened, the joy of freedom now shadowing a dark cloud over both of your heads. The voice calls through again, making your mouth dry. You couldn’t even speak.

For three weeks you have been chasing the ghost of a girl who was never here in the first place.

Chapter Fourteen: coming soon...

You sigh. You laugh too but the sigh is the precedent you need to set. “I’m sure it is.”

“I mean I know we’re playing this whole game of hard to get, but just admit it.” A customer comes up to his register with a baby on her hip and a handful of formula. “You’ve been got.” He winks at you before turning around to turn on his customer voice. An octave higher and a bigger grin, the lascivious one he’d been giving you gone while he coos at the infant. You bite your tongue though, holding your retort back for later. You know he’s going to corner you in the break room after you both clock out, his shoulder pressed into the row of lockers to ask you again.

“When are you gonna let me take you out?”

It’s his weekly question for you always asked with a grin and short laugh like he knows the answer is going to be different than last week. You tidy up your register and flip aimlessly through your stack of laminated grocery codes and pretend to not look up at the back of his head. He’s been out in the sun recently, lighter brown streaks shot through the darker. His fingers that run through the shaggy locks have a golden hue to them, the moles that pepper his skin dark in contrast to the glow. Broad shoulders flex under his polo and that laugh, as fake as it is, makes you smile to yourself.

So no you aren’t staring and no he isn’t taking you anywhere. A glance down at your watch tells you there’s approximately 47 minutes before you’re off. 47 minutes before you have to let him down again like he doesn’t already know.

The locker door swings shut and you laugh, something from the back of your throat. His smile is bright in the corner of your vision, teeth white and straight behind pink lips.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, I just think I’m getting my psychic visions under control finally.”

“Hm.” His brow furrows before he pushes himself off the lockers. “I’ve got a friend who’s good at that, I can give you her number.”

You can’t be mad at him but you are tired. “What do you want Steve?”

“You know what I’m gonna ask.”

“And you know what I’m gonna say.”

That smile drops off his face. Shoulders relaxed while he shoves his hands into his coat pockets and he scuffs a shoe against the linoleum floor. “Can you tell me something?” He scratches at his eyebrow and squints past you.

“What?” You wonder what else he needs to know about your uneventful life.

“What does he do for you?”

“What?” You ask again and aggressively blink at him while you clutch your bag to your hip.

“What does he do for you? Like, ever.” He asks it so plainly like it isn’t some direct invasion into your life. You want to snap at him and tell him to mind his own business but you stop. It isn’t his fault that he doesn’t think this is out of line, who else do you tell first thing every work day when your boyfriend has fucked up again?

“He…he’s my boyfriend, Steve. He does a lot for me.” You yank on your bag to finalize your lame reason. “I don’t have to tell you everything he does for me.”

“No, but I don’t think you’ve ever said one positive thing about him.”

“He has so many-” You cut yourself off because you can’t even lie about that. He doesn’t have so many positives. He might have two and it’s that he’s never raised his voice at you and he doesn’t get on to you when you forget to pay the water bill on time again. Steve looks at you expectantly but you just huff at him.

“I’m not going on a date with you.” You’ve never said it like that before, so plainly. To his credit Steve doesn’t flinch, just nods his head deeply and swings his keys around his finger while avoiding your gaze.

“Understood.”

The routine of every closing shift with Steve goes the same. He shows up five minutes before he has to clock in to find you reading your last chapter in your book. He’ll compare lunches with you and you’ll talk about your leftovers and he’ll ask.

“Oh, did you make dinner again?”

Steve won’t put any feeling into that question. A simple tilt of his head, a comment about how it sounds delicious. A joke about how you should invite him and Robin to dinner some night because neither of them can cook more than mac and cheese without fear of burning something.

You’ll both head up to the front office to find your night manager and Steve will bump elbows with you on every other step. He’ll talk about the game that was on the night before and you’ll nod along. Rich, your boyfriend, also watched the game but it wasn’t as interesting as when Steve tells you. You’ll tamp that thought down though before it grows legs and runs away with your better judgement. He’ll ask about your night and when you don’t have anything to say?

“What’d you and Rich get up to then?”

The usual. He watched TV and yelled at the Packers for loosing again and you made dinner after being on your feet all day, unlike him and his office job.

“You know,” you’ll say “he’s home a full four hours before me and still didn’t take the chicken out of the freezer.”

Steve will nod and frown while he counts his till before turning on his light for the customers.

“Every night?”

“Every night! And he didn’t wash my sweater again. I swear I’m speaking friggin’ Greek some nights.”

Steve will sigh and huff along with you. He’ll bitch about his date the previous weekend, how she wasn’t interested in hearing about his hiking trip with Robin. How it seemed that it was more a pity date than anything.

“You and Rich got any plans this weekend?”

Of course not. You can’t remember the last time he took you out on a date, much less even went with you to the grocery store. Another slip up in your tales to Steve when you derail and tell him this. Barely a date night in the past year and every time you’ve brought it up it’s met with a sigh. With a hand wave and a promise for next month, when things calm down at work. When he isn’t so tired.

“What’s he working so hard for?”

You wouldn’t know if you even cared to ask. It’s in these conversations where you realize a few things. Every day gives you a new insight and Steve more fodder for his never ending question.

You like working Saturday’s with Steve because Robin usually shows up at closing and he’ll invite you out for a drink. She’s funny and he plays off of her well and by the end of the night you’ve usually forgotten that you’re probably showing up to an empty apartment.

“I’m not leaving until I see you walk in.” Robin chirps, her seat pulled too far up into the steering wheel. She’s the soberest out of the three of you and you roll your eyes at her with a giggle. “I know Rich is there but-”

“No he’s not.” Steve cuts in from the backseat. You see him shake his head in the rear view and Robin gives you an open look.

“Oh don’t get all weird with me, he’s just out with his own friends.”

“He doesn’t invite you out too?” Steve mumbles from the dark.

“Steve.” Robin warns over her shoulder.

“No, it’s okay. They get together earlier than I get off work.” You play with the zipper of your jacket and don’t make eye contact. “I don’t really like his friends anyways.”

“He should get new friends then.”

“Steve.” Robin turns her head sharply to stare into the dark backseat where her roommate sits in the shadows. There’s a silent game of chicken happening between them, something tense and unsaid and you unlock your door to try and cut the rising emotions.

“Thanks for the ride, I appreciate it.”

“Let me walk you-”

“I’m okay, thank you though.” You smile through the headrests at Steve and his insistence, his eyes glassy in the light from the street lamps. You stumble only a little on your way out of the car and once you make it to your door, darkened window greeting you like normal, you can hear the muffled volume of Steve and Robin arguing before she drives them both home.

Steve hasn’t asked you for a date in over a month. He still keeps close to you during working hours but he doesn’t hang in the break room. On Saturday he doesn’t ask you out with him and Robin and he doesn’t ask if you have any plans that weekend.

“Is Robin picking you up?” You ask timidly from inside your locker where you have your head buried, pretending to look for your wallet.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. We’re going to a friends house for a game night.” He waits for you by the door, still intent on walking you to your car. You’re waiting for him to do the courteous thing and ask if you have plans but when he stays silent you bring them up anyways.

“I actually have plans this weekend.”

“No shit?” He sounds surprised but you think you weren’t supposed to see the eye roll.

“Yeah, Rich is taking me to that little place in Marion.” You give him a big grin. “He said he heard good things, wanted to take me somewhere nice.” Deep down you want him to be jealous. You want Steve to feel a little bad for shit talking your boyfriend, even if you agreed with him. You know you shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place, none of his fuck ups or passive attitude, but maybe this could make up for it. Maybe you could show Steve you didn’t have that poor of taste.

Steve nods and bites his bottom lip. You wait for him to open his mouth to say something snippy but he lets the conversation die. He waits for you still, to walk you to your car, but when he gets you to your door he tells you to try the vodka sauce at this little restaurant and leaves you with a small wave while he hunches into the car.

Dinner is…fine.

It’s fine! Rich definitely took you to dinner and he did hold the door open for you and yeah the sauce was amazing and so what you had a brief ten minute interlude of quite between you and your boyfriend where you thought, briefly, about Steve sitting across from you and explaining the different types of pasta that his friend Eddie was learning in his culinary classes.

Then later during the quiet drive home when Rich had turned the radio over to some game he’d missed for your date you’d maybe had let your mind wander again, a wide palm that would rest on your knee and squeeze. Fingers that drift inwards with a promise for a continuation, conversation that makes you fawn and giggle and-

Steve pops up behind you while you shove your purse into your locker. “So, how was dinner?”

“It was fine!” Maybe a bit too snappy with the way he pulls his head back but you flash him a smile.

“Fine?”

“Yeah.”

He leans a shoulder on the lockers beside you, a curious look on his face. “Just fine?”

You swallow when the hand that scratches at his chin brushes your arm on the way down. “Yes Steve. It was…nice.”

“Oh now it’s nice.”

Your sigh is loud and full of exasperation. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to know how your dinner went.” He’s picking on you. That easy grin tells you everything.

“No, you want to know if he messed up somehow.”

“Maybe.”

“He was fine.”

“Oh then I could definitely do it better.”

That makes you pause. Your eyes flick between his trying to decipher his angle while you try to ignore how you can feel the heat coming off of him standing this close. “Excuse me?” It comes out quieter than you meant.

“If I take you out it isn’t gonna just be ‘fine’.” He scoffs.

“If?”

“It’s just a matter of time now.” He slides forward along the locker doors, face closer to yours, enough to feel the edge of his breath he huffs through his nose. “How many more ‘just fine’ dates do you want?” There’s a shift in his demeanor. A squaring of shoulders when he crosses his arms, his gaze softer as he looks down his nose at you.

“Steve, I-” You jump when the break room door opens and he just stands up straight to tug his shirt down before he raises an eyebrow and walks around you to head to work.

“You free tonight?” He asks you during lunch, half his sandwich shoved in his mouth.

“For what?”

“Drinks.”

“You don’t have another game night?” You try to ask it playfully but it comes off a little snooty. All throughout your date you’d caught yourself drifting and wishing you were at that stupid little hole in the wall with Robin and Steve. Once you’d realized how the night was gonna go all you could think about was Steve buying you another round, another cheep beer or the nickel shot of the night. How he’d circle his arm around to place the drink in front of you, careful to wrap himself around your back for a moment.

“Nope.” He pops the word for emphasis and gives you a dopey grin. “All free for you.”

It makes you bashful but what does he do that doesn’t? When you’re finished with your food he wordlessly grabs his trash and yours, even your empty tupperware to rinse it out.

“You don’t have to do that Steve, I have hands.”

“I’m being nice.” He hands you back the dried container. “It’s just a dish.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It isn’t just a dish. His arm brushes yours on your walk back to your registers and you barely keep up with his story about the art gallery with Robin from a few days ago. Lost in the little moments of things he does for you just at work, like walking you to your car. Rinsing your dish out for you and grabbing extra stacks of bags when he’s grabbing his own. Small, minute little things that he just does without you having to ask. It’s a strange concept to you, not having to ask for the small things.

“You aren’t listening are you?” He smiles at you again without irritation or an eye roll. Another thing you haven’t had the privilege of in a long time with Rich.

“I’m not, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll hold you hostage later and explain what Robin told me about the Haitian art.” He hooks an arm around your shoulders to pull you in. “All it’ll cost you is a single round.”

“Deal.”

Robin is nowhere to be found after work. The parking lot holds just a handful of cars, yours included, and no maroon beemer in sight.

“Are we meeting her there?”

“Uh, no.”

You pause with your key in the driver door. Turned away from him so you don’t have to look at him when you ask. “So just us then?”

“Mhm.”

What you should do is tell him no. Give him a ride home and then head back to your place where you can make a single serving of something and then fade away in front of the TV until your boyfriend calls you from his trip entirely too late and wakes you up.

Instead, “This isn’t a date, okay?” You get in your car and unlock the passenger side for him.

“Sure.”

“I mean it Steve.”

“That’s why you’re buying the first round.” He’s all wide grins and quiet giggles that turn infectious while you navigate to the bar. He finally has your attention so he finishes his art gallery spiel and you have to ask, it’s something that’s been burning in your back pocket forever.

“So when you go on all these dates, is Robin upset or…”

“We’re not together.” Steve sighs and shakes his head. “It really isn’t like that, we’re just friends.”

“Yeah but you two get along so well.”

“It’s…complicated.” He isn’t cutting you off but it’s the answer he’s giving you right now. “Not between us though, we really are just friends.” He points out the street you’re supposed to turn on and you have to make a quick right. “You got nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried.” You shoot him a glare as you park, the sudden silence when you turn off the car deafening. “First round on me, right?”

You open a tab when you get there, hellbent on paying your own way to prove to yourself that you aren’t trying to turn this into a date. It’s two friends hanging out, that’s it, and Rich wouldn’t care anyways because you’re allowed to have friends.

You buy your friend Steve a beer and he tells you about his parents retiring to Florida and you talk about your mom’s new boyfriend. Your empty barely hits the table and Steve has a cold can waiting, sliding it across the table at you.

He talks about his friends Nancy and Johnathan getting married and you vaguely mention that Rich is out of town for his brother’s bachelor party. Two shots get set down in front of you and the conversation gets louder with the music and the crowd.

You forget the lines you drew for yourself and reach a hand over to tap Steve’s leg while you’re trying to remember the next part of your story. His nose is red from the cheap whiskey but his cheeks flush when you have to use him for support when you stand, hot palm pressed into the thick of his thigh.

Steve listens to you talk about the drawing class your taking and when you think your starting to bore him he waves you off with a laugh.

“What would give you that idea?”

“I don’t know, Rich kind of drifts if it isn’t about him.” You’ve got enough liquor in your system to start bypassing your filter and you tell it like it is. “He doesn’t give a shit about my ‘stupid little class’.”

“His words or yours?” Steve asks over the rim of his beer. You just shoot him a look and take your shot with a grimace. “Well, keep going. I want to hear more about it.”

The night goes by quicker than expected and suddenly you’re drunk. You realize this while standing in the single stall bathroom while you hold yourself up over the sink to stare at your reflection.

“Get it together.” You make yourself chuckle. “Seriously, what’s going on with your mascara?” You swipe your still wet hands under your lashes to wipe away the black fallout. A moment of embarrassment when you think about Steve seeing you like that but he’d been laughing too, and the bar was dark.

“It doesn’t matter.” You point at your reflection. “He laughed at your jokes.” Your smile is florescent in this dingy bathroom for only a moment when you remember those lines you laid so carefully and then so quickly crossed. The corners of your mouth fall and you sway when you stand up too fast. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be drunk. You shouldn’t be here and drunk with only Steve.

Almost as if he’s heard your thoughts he’s knocking at the door rapid fire while a muffled voice tells him that’s the ladies room. “I know, I’m looking for my lady.” He laughs and the girl laughs and you start laughing and god you can’t keep a thought in your head now after what, 6 shots? 3 beers? You open the door and Steve greets you with a surprised face and an arm around your middle.

“See, I found her!”

“Steve,” you giggle against his shoulder while he walks you to the bar so he can pay the tab you were supposed to be picking up, “I shouldn’t drive.”

“Then I’ll drive.” He looks down his shoulder at you with hazy eyes.

“I don’t think you should drive either.” You’re slurring makes him laugh and under his right arm he reaches his left hand through to grab your fingers pulling at his coat.

“A cab then.”

“You’re so smart, you know that?” You stare at him in awe before laughing again, your fingers flexing in his grip and staying put.

Steve blushes doubly so with the alcohol and your words going to one of his heads. He whips his head to the bartender waiting for her pen back and he smiles brightly at her. “One cab please.”

You both fall into the bar top giggling while this poor bartender rolls her eyes and drops the phone in front of Steve so he can call for his own chariot.

He follows you right into the back seat and falls directly onto your side when your shoe catches on the rubber mat that lines the floorboards. The driver looks back at the two of you caught in laughter and sighs, waiting for one of you to give him an address. When you try to give Steve’s first he tuts and gives the driver yours instead, “That way I know you got back safe.” His breath tinged with cheap beer brushes your cheek, his nose almost pressing in if only you’d turn your head a little more.

“Yeah okay.” Instead you just look at him from the corner of your eye while your heart beats a hundred miles an hour. Steve adjusts as best he can, his limbs heavy with liquor so he just huffs into his corner of the bench seat, halfassed clipping his seat belt on.

“I mean it. Rich isn’t there.” Air quotes around your boyfriend’s name and a deep mocking frown accompany it.

“Steve.”

“What? You said he was gone.” He rolls his eyes but closes his mouth when he sees you getting that little notch between your brows. He drops his hand off his lap and inches it over the seat till he’s reaching out to poke your leg once. Twice when you don’t react and then hesitantly he hooks his pinky out for yours draped over your thigh.

God his hand is warm. You can feel it through your jeans where the side of it rests against you. He hooks his pinky and you don’t move a single digit on your hand for fear of turning this into something it shouldn’t be. You feel sober suddenly when it hits you where you are and with who.

“Hey.” He tugs your hand till it falls onto the seat and he can grab it. You don’t fight it, not when his voice has that gravel to it from speaking all day. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Steve starts to let your hand go but he’s taking that warmth with him and you finally latch on to him, holding his hand down against your leg. You lean over to lay your head on his shoulder and stare out the windshield. It’s foggy out, the mist collecting on the glass to starburst the streetlights and you stay pressed against him.

The cab comes to a stop in front of your building and before anyone can say anything you finally look up at Steve. A tug on his hand and a quiet question only for him. “You wanna come up?”

The stairs try to trip you but Steve is there with a balancing hand at your hip. When you fumble with your keys he holds out his palm for them and you hope he can’t see the nerves rolling off of you. Your apartment is dark just like you expected but for the first time ever it seems to hold a promise in it, something in the shadows that doesn’t feel so sad. Behind you Steve closes the door and cuts off the light streaming in from the hallway and a switch is flicked inside you.

He’s right there when you turn around to grab the front of his coat and press your lips to his. No startled noise just his hands coming up to cradle your head. You cling to the front of him and he tries to sooth you with thumbs rubbing gently across your cheekbones.

None of this matters in the dark and you need him, need him to understand that. You turn into a flurry of movement trying to get him out of his layers. He laughs and breaks the kiss while you push at the lapels of his coat and tear at the buttons on his polo. You’ve spent months staring at the back of him, his broad shoulders and sun kissed skin. The moles that dot his neck and the chestnut hair that he’s always futzing with.

He’s running those big hands down your neck and over your shoulders.

“We don’t have to rush.” His voice cuts through the quiet hum of the appliances and runs down your spine with its deep timber. “No one else is here.”

He dips his head to kiss you again but the fervor is gone, replaced instead by a slow build of want. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth to gently bite and you melt into his chest. Hands lay limp against him while he begins your undoing with his kisses. They trail off to your cheek and to your ear and when he’s at your jaw his jacket falls from his shoulders.

He works at your clothes methodically the same way his mouth works at your neck and when you try to tug him towards your bedroom he pauses.

“We don’t have to go in there.” He gives you a soft look, almost pitying. “The couch is just as good.” A small smile against your small frown.

“I want to.” You pull and he steps with you. “It’s my bed anyways.”

Your back hits the bed and he follows you down with laughter and roaming hands. They pull at his own clothes and yours till you finally can touch all that warm skin of his, fingertips tracing between moles on his chest inbetween sloppy kisses.

You can’t remember the last time you felt want like this. Everywhere his fingers drag feels like live wires under your skin. They dance along your collar bones and behind your knees, sensitive skin graced with featherlight touch.

“Please.” You pant while he kisses along your jaw.

“Please what?” He drags his touch up the inside of your thigh and grazes your mound, dancing around where you want him most.

“Please touch me.” Your voice wobbles with emotion, unshed tears stuck behind your lashes. The nerves of the night settle deep into your bones, deep enough you think you might shake apart with them. Long fingers split you open, a slow drag upwards till he hits that ache that you’ve been ignoring all night. Uneven circles drawn while he pants against the side of your neck, open mouthed kiss pressed into your pulse.

Deft fingers pull your pleasure forward quick, a practiced hand between your legs that rivals your own. He hasn’t come up for air since he planted his face against you, tongue and teeth working in tandem against the sensitive spot under your ear while those long fingers dip lower. You can feel his smile like a tattoo on the front of your throat when he sinks one finger in, and then two, his moan singing along with your gasp. Quickly the pads of his fingers find that spot and your knees snap together around his wrist.

“Right there?” It’s all breath in his ask, your nod vigorous. “Come on.” He grits and keeps his pace up while you spiral when he presses the heel of his palm down. “Come on baby, let go.” Teeth scrape against your neck and help to send you over the edge while you grind down on his hand firmly to chase the tails of your pleasure.

Aimless kisses help bring you back to focus along with Steve’s hands gripping you to slide you down the bed. Hooked in the bend of your hips he jerks you to him, thighs hitting his and his cock is there against you suddenly. Hot and heavy between your thighs when he leans down over you to catch your lips in a deep kiss. Short rolls of his hips make him catch on your overly sensitive clit to make your legs shake just a little more.

“Do you know how much I’ve thought about this?” He says against your mouth, sloppy and desperate as he ruts against your heat. “I think about you all the time.”

“Yeah?” You sound just as desperate, rolling hips meeting his own so he can keep nudging your clit. The tip of his cock edges lower but too slow, especially now with him staring wide eyed at you and panting.

“When you went to Marion I-fuck” He looses his composure when you sneak a hand between your bodies to help guide him, fingers wrapped around the thick length. “-I thought about crashing your date.”

You choke on your ‘what?’ when he finally sinks in and the size of him makes you gasp. He pauses for a moment when his eyes slip shut and you hold him between your thighs. When he doesn’t move you shift to get his attention and those blown out eyes find yours in the dark. Hands planted beside your head to cage you in and all you want to look at is his open expression. The grin he wears so well flashed at you while he rocks himself deeper.

“I know it’s crazy.” He half laughs as he starts a deliberate pace. “You make me feel crazy.” Every thrust is a punch of pleasure against that spot he’d found earlier. Precise and slow he drags this out so he can watch your face fall slack.

“I’m sorry.” You sob when he drives in deep and makes your eyes roll.

“No, no it’s me. You’re just-“ he hisses at your nails dragging behind his neck and up into his hair to grab fistfuls, pulling him down closer.

He takes the opportunity to kiss along your collar and mumble against your chest, slurred words only for your ears. Small bites along the swell of your breast and his long fingers rolling a nipple between his knuckles to make your breath hitch. He calls you beautiful and perfect and if you weren’t heading fast into your second orgasm you might cry from the attention.

Everything is big and hot in here. Louder and quieter at the same time. Steve holds onto you while he fucks you, hands gripping and lips searching. No marks but he lets his teeth nip at bared skin before he moves on, letting his fingers press into soft fat at the backs of your thighs and chest. You haven’t felt this kind of passion in a long time, the never ending want for more. You need him deeper, you need him to cover you completely. You want him to suck marks into your skin so you can see them in the morning and know this wasn’t you letting your fantasies get out of control again.

A faltering in his movement before he speeds up, hot breath fanning over your cheek where he kisses wetly up and down and to your ear, his quiet moans making your toes curl. It’s the deep, halting groan that pours out of him when he comes that has you clenching. He grips at you to hold you in place while you shake under him and he talks you down off your precipice. Mumbled praise and reminders of your beauty while sweat begins to cool. He doesn’t let his full weight fall on you but he does lay over your chest, skin sticking and sliding as his hand searches for yours to hook fingers together.

Beside your head you can hear him taking breath, readying to say something and you have a moment of doubt suddenly. He’s told you too much and not enough and maybe your brain is staring to catch up to your actions.

“I’m not drunk enough to say something stupid, but I need you to know something.” He uses his free hand to prop himself to hover over you, his grin skewed over his flushed cheeks. “I really like you.” A stray hair gets pushed out of your rapidly narrowing vision. His look is too soft and his wandering hand too light. It makes you shed a few tears that he seems to catch in the dim light.

“Steve…don’t…” You try to bury your face in the pillows but he’s quick to turn you back to face him.

“Don’t what? Tell you?” His grip on your chin is firm but his fingers don’t press in. He holds you still while his bloodshot eyes flick back and forth over your own. “I don’t…if you want me to leave I can do that.” It’s not a threat but it makes your heart seize regardless. “I’m just not gonna come in here and pretend like this is a one off or something.”

Knees still pressed to his hips holding him close, legs locked behind his knees where he kneels, you slide your hands up his sides for more points of contact. He’s real under your palms. Breathing and hot and sweating and telling you how he feels. The two orgasms barely hold a candle to the blossoming feeling in your stomach when he stares down at you with care.

“Steve-“

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I don’t think-“

“Yes or no.” He sits back with his arms spread wide. “I can go right now and we can pretend this didn’t happen.” He looks hurt when he says that but he holds your teary gaze. “I’ll get my shifts moved so you don’t even have to see me at work.”

You reach for him again, need him under your hands to ground you in the moment. “Don’t do that.” Face pushed into his shoulder sloppily when you rush up to meet him in the middle of your bed.

“If it makes it easier-“

“I don’t want it easier.” You hush. “I want you to stay.” A gentle tug at him to follow you back to the pillows. “Please.”

He falls easily with you, gets his arms around your shoulders to roll you into his embrace. “Okay.” Fingers over your scalp and down your neck to sooth your heavy breathing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He smells like the bar and his soap and the remnants of cologne that cling to his jacket. Scruff from a full day rubs against your forehead while you get comfortable against his chest and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Your bedroom is quieter than normal with his heartbeat under your ear and his breathing above you, a steady hum that calms you down. You begin drifting off when the liquor catches up to your satiated brain and your fingers loose some of their grip on his sides.

You think he’s still asleep with how quiet the room is but his voice is a deep rumble in the morning after. “Robin is going to kill me.”

You can hear the rub of his palms over his face and through his hair, that deep groan when he rolls either away or towards you, you’re not sure.

You find your own voice then, creaky and worn from yelling laughter at him all night through cheap whiskey shots. “I thought it wasn’t like that.”

“It isn’t.” His long fingers creep over your shoulder to pull gently. “She told me to leave you alone.” When you don’t unwind from yourself he uses you for leverage and rolls into your back, arm snaking around your waist. “And I told her I would.” A chaste kiss pressed to the back of your neck that makes you shiver, nothing chaste in the way it makes your chest flutter. “Obviously I lied, and she’s not fond of me lying to her.”

You turn your head slowly to look at him over your shoulder, mainly trying to prevent a wave of nausea but also to hold off the inevitable guilt hanging over you from dropping like a guillotine. In the late morning rainy light he’s even more handsome, bed-warm and rumpled. His hair sticks up on one side where it was pressed into your pillow, same pillow leaving lines on his cheek. He looks soft and out of focus and warm.

You expect that guilt to bubble up and spill out of your mouth in a wail but it doesn’t exist; there is no guillotine here.

You shuffle onto your back so you can look at him more intently, so you can stare at the green flecks in his brown eyes that roam over your face. “If anyone is gonna be in trouble, I think it’s me.” Barely a wobble to your words. He slides his hand up your stomach, fingers coming to rest in the valley between your breast. No rabbit heart under his palm. No gasping breaths to steady yourself under his gaze. You’ve made your bed and you would really like to lie in it, consequences be damned.

“It was fun.”

“It was.” You blink at him slowly. Rain patters against the glass and the clock in the kitchen ticks down the rest of your day. He tucks his other arm up under his head to look at you better before he sighs.

“I can go. If it’s easier.” Repeats himself from last night but your answer hasn’t changed. You frown lightly but don’t answer and he seems to take that as his sign to get up.

“No.” You reach out for his arm before he can set his feet on the floor. “I don’t want you to go.”

He laughs through his nose before settling in an upright position. “You don’t seem convinced.” A thumb to his nose twice while he stares at a spot at the foot of your bed.

“I’m thinking.” You sit up next to him and lean into his back facing you. Cheek resting on the back of his shoulder you stare at the moles that dot his skin and run a finger between them.

“About?”

“Breakfast.”

His laugh is louder than you expect but it’s nice to hear. “Hungover?”

A dry kiss where your cheek was resting before you scoot to your side of the bed in search of your underwear. “Something like that.”

Quiet shuffling while you two get dressed, Steve wincing at the smell of the bar stuck in his shirt that he shoves over his head. When he passes you to go look for his wallet he stops to lean down for a kiss. Unhurried and soft it leaves you with that same deep want from last night, especially when he hides a grin as he turns away. Bashful like you two weren’t just drunkenly fooling around until the early morning hours.

“There’s a place just do-“

Shrill ringing cuts you off on your way to the front door and you both stop to stare at the phone hanging in the kitchen. Steve looks suddenly adrift in your apartment, unsure while probably Rich tries to call you at too early a time. You let it go until it stops and the silence sits between you until Steve clears his throat.

“You still wanna get breakfast?” Quiet now that reality has stuck its nose back in. He shifts his weight from one hip to the other and you reach over for him, hands sliding under his jacket for a loose hug.

Your smile might be sad and the turn of his chin down at you shows the shadow of doubt on his mind but you wanted this. He did too and the aftermath of your shared night sits around you. The chair out of place from running into it, your shoes kicked in front of the tv and your bed just out of sight with its sheets melting onto the floor.