Steve is mid-stride through the living room, barefoot, shirt abandoned somewhere hours ago, hair already sticking to his forehead from the heat and the sheer cardio of chasing a three-year-old gremlin on a sugar rush.
“Stella! no! we don’t climb the- STELLA.”
Stella is gone. A blur. A giggle. A sticky handprint on the wall as she launches herself off the couch like it’s an Olympic event.
Steve pivots, already out of breath.
“Why are you so fast?! You’re three!”
She absolutely eats carpet, pops right back up, and keeps running.
Steve drags a hand down his face.
“Okay. Okay. That’s fine. That’s... we’re fine. Everyone’s fine.”
He turns the corner and nearly runs straight into Eddie.
Eddie, who has just walked out of the bedroom, fully intending to say something normal like hey, have you seen my-
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Because Steve Harrington, shirtless, slightly sweaty, flushed, and glowing in the sunlight coming through the window, is standing there like some kind of domestic, chaotic Greek statue.
Carrying a half-melted juice pop. Panting.
“…hi,” Steve says, completely unaware, pointing behind him. “Tiny criminal on the loose.”
Not a single thought behind those eyes.
Stella zooms past them both and smacks straight into Eddie’s leg, hugging it.
Eddie still doesn’t move.
Steve waves a hand in front of his face.
“Okay, wow. He’s broken.”
Stella looks up, concerned.
“Yeah. Heatstroke. Tragic. Gone too soon.”
A full five seconds later.
Eddie finally inhales like he’s been underwater.
“…you can’t just—” gestures vaguely at Steve “—be like that in the middle of the day.”
Steve blinks. “Be like what? Sweaty and suffering?”
Steve looks down at himself like he’s just discovered this information.
Eddie turns away, pacing, hands in his hair.
“I had a thought. I was thinking something normal. Responsible. And now it’s gone. It’s just gone.”
Stella, still hugging his leg chimes “I had a juice.”
Eddie, pointing at her without looking:
“YOU. This is also your fault.”
Steve, already moving again as Stella suddenly bolts:
“…I’m not surviving this summer.”
Steve catches her purely by accident and reflex.
One second Stella is a blur of sticky toddler chaos headed for the kitchen. The next...
Steve scoops her up mid-flight, turns once to keep his balance, and just… holds her out in front of him like he’s presenting evidence in court.
“Got you,” he says, breathless and triumphant.
Stella immediately starts laughing like she’s won something.
Steve squints at her. “You are absolutely not fast right now. You are airborne. That’s different.”
He shifts his grip so she’s safely under her arms, feet dangling, juice-pop crimes fully paused.
The classic Harrington maneuver.
“Air jail,” Steve announces.
Stella gasps dramatically. “NOOOO I FREE!”
“You were free. You abused your freedom,” Steve says seriously, despite his fighting smile, walking in a slow circle like a very tired security guard. “This is the consequence system.”
She kicks her little legs, giggling uncontrollably. “I escape prison!”
“Not this one,” Steve says, completely deadpan. “This one has maximum security and no juice pops.”
From across the room, Eddie is leaning against the doorway, arms folded, watching like he’s witnessing a nature documentary.
“…you’re telling me,” Eddie says slowly, “that you invented mid-auid containment for toddlers.”
Steve doesn’t even look at him. “It works.”
Stella wiggles. “I like jail!”
Eddie snorts. “Of course you do. It’s basically a ride.”
Steve adjusts her slightly, already walking toward the couch like this is standard procedure. “It’s not a ride. It’s correctional custody.”
Eddie pushes off the wall, following them. “You are a mall cop with arms.”
Steve pauses. “Excuse me, I am a parent with arms.”
Stella leans her head back, delighted. “Daddy strong!”
Steve, instantly softer: “Yeah. I am.”
Eddie watches him for a second longer, then mutters, mostly to himself:
“…god I love that idiot.”
