Nerdekuhero

–

steve harrington hasn’t been the luckiest with love, that much is certain to anyone who has as much as glanced his way in the last four years, but, god, he’s in love with you.

he can’t quite place the exact moment he started feeling this way, all he knows is that one day he glanced over your way, met your eyes, and it felt like his entire stomach twisted inside out and his body turned to goo.

he doesn’t have a clue how it started, maybe it was the way you always seem to laugh at his jokes, or the way you huff with an eyeroll whenever murray said something a little too distasteful. it could’ve been the fact that you come into the squawk every morning with coffee for him and robin from the cafe you work at, always just the way he likes it, and you hand it off to him with a small smile every time.

it could’ve been how funny you are, or how smart, or kind, or pretty, but steve thinks it must’ve been a mix of all of those things, because he loves everything about you. it’s been almost six months of feeling this way.

and, yeah, he’s definitely in love with you.

robin groans loudly as steve watches you leave the squawk one friday morning after bringing them coffee, as per usual, giving him a glance over your shoulder and a little wave as you walked out the door.

steve raised his hand to wave back, a dumb smile making it’s way onto his face easily before you slip from view, and he sighs.

robin shakes her head disapprovingly, murmuring under her breath, and steve looks away from the glass front doors and over at her.

“what was that, buckley?” he questions, not aggressively, but as if he’s challenging her to repeat whatever snide remark she had muttered to herself.

“all i said was, ‘god, you are pathetic, harrington.” robin repeats and steve shoots her a glare from his place by the soundboard, surrounded by tapes of different comedic sound effects.

there’s a record spinning by robin’s side, playing a song steve never would’ve picked but robin had insisted was ‘better than anything he listens to’. robin spins around on her chair to face him properly, shooting him a look from across the room.

“i mean, how long has it been steve, really? six months?” she asks and he sighs, reaching for his coffee and raising the paper cup to his lips.

“eight.” he corrects quietly before taking a sip and robin’s eyebrows shoot up.

“eight months. so you’ve been in love with her for half of this quarantine we’ve been stuck in, and the most you’ve done is smile at her a little differently?” robin shakes her head and steve scrunches his nose.

“who made you the love expert, huh? what happened to me being the one giving you advice?” he asks and she snorts.

“uh, how about the fact that i’m the one with a girlfriend here, meanwhile you’ve been pining for the better half of a year and have gotten nowhere.” robin spins around to face her microphone and adjusts a dial in front of her. “anyway, i think she’s going to eddie’s party tonight.”

“who, vickie?” steve asks and robin rolls her eyes so hard it looks like they might fall out of her head. and when robin says your name as if it was obvious, steve’s tummy fills with warmth and a smile appears on his face.

he wishes you could feel how he feels when somebody says your name. it’s almost like he’s going to be sick, but in a good way.

“really?”

“yes, dingus. maybe tonight’s your chance to work up the courage and finally say something.” robin says. “you know, confess? or, at least, ask her out.”

steve bites the inside of his lip and thinks for a moment, then groans because of course robin’s right, but he has no idea what he’d even say. he can hardly talk to you past a basic greeting or some small talk.

but then again, a party hosted by eddie means alcohol, and pot. maybe something there can help steve find the right words. no, that’s stupid.

he sighs and drops down onto his chair. “robin, i can’t do this. what if i say something and she’s just totally weirded out? i can’t risk that, it’ll kill me. like, actually, kill me.”

robin stares at him mid motion as she places a new record on one of the players, then sighs again.

“robin!” he exclaims but she quickly shushes him, holding a finger to her lips as the previous song dies down and she pulls her microphone down towards her mouth.

“goooood morning hawkins! glad you could join us on this beautiful friday morning.” robin shoots steve a glance over her shoulder and a mischievous smile slips onto her lips. “this next one goes out to my partner in crime, soundboard stevie, who’s been feeling a little lovesick as of late. who’s the lucky girl to have won steve ‘the hair’ harrington’s heart? well, we’ll have to wait and see if he has the guts to say anything to her…”

“robin!” steve hisses across the room, not caring that they’re on air, and she just giggles in response.

“take it away, olivia…” robin says and the opening to ‘hopelessly devoted to you’ by olivia newton-john fills the small sound booth. steve shakes his head and robin just grins over at him. “what?”

“what if she was listening to that, robin?” steve huffs, crossing his arms over his chest a little dramatically, similar to the way tantruming toddler would. “then what?”

“then i could be doing you a favor!” she points out but steve runs his hands through his styled hair, tugging lightly as he exhales.

“i feel like i’m going insane.” he tells her and she shrugs.

“save it for tonight.”

–

the air at eddie’s place is thick, a mix of smoke and heat from the large number of bodies filling the small house, and steve is perched on the couch between eddie and jonathan as they smoke, his eyes scanning the party, searching every face for yours. his nails dig into the denim of his jeans, and his friends seem to notice.

“what’s wrong with you, harrington?” eddie asks, holding out his blunt like an offering but steve shakes his head.

he opens his mouth to answer, but robin cuts in as she walks over with two cups and you right by her side.

steve’s mouth goes dry as he looks up at you, his eyes lingering on the cut of your shirt for maybe a moment too long before they reach your face. you’re smiling down at him.

“hi, steve.” you greet brightly and steve finds himself rubbing his palms against his thighs, like he’s wiping away imaginary sweat. he practically jumps to his feet and gives his best attempt at a charming smile. his friends all share glances behind his back.

“uh, hey,” when your name leaves his mouth, steve hears a quiet ‘oh,’ come from jonathan behind him and he’s immediately reminded that the two of you aren’t the only people in the room and, in fact, you’re standing in the middle of a party quite literally surrounded by your friends. steve awkwardly gestures toward the spot he had just been sitting in. “uh, here.”

“oh.” you stare at him for a moment and steve’s eyes flick over to robin’s in a brief moment of panic before you smile. “thanks, steve.”

“uh, yeah, sure. no problem.” he thinks he’s playing it cool, but everyone can see the way he shifts nervously on his feet.

“well, i’m getting another drink.” nancy says, standing up from her place on jonathan’s other side and pulling her boyfriend up with her. “anyone else want anything?”

“i just got a drink.” robin raises her cup. “but i’m gonna go find vickie, anyway.”

“i’ll come.” eddie jumps to his feet, winking at steve as he does so, and steve shoots robin a glare. she holds her hands up in surrender, mouthing that she didn’t say anything.

“can you guys get me a drink?” steve asks before taking jonathan’s seat on the couch and sitting down beside you. someone nods and soon the others all disappear, leaving the two of you sitting there alone.

to steve, the moment feels so right, the two of you sitting side-by-side, close enough that your legs are touching, but he also feels so wrong. his heart won’t stop beating, his stomach flips with each brush of your hand and when you look his way he forgets his train of thought.

he feels insane, worse than he had this morning, because now you’re next to him. now he’s not imagining what you’ll say if you speak to him, because right now you’re telling him about your day at work and your voice is like music to his ears.

the two of you sit there and talk for what feels like hours but was likely just 15 minutes before steve stands up.

“i’ll be back in a second.” he tells you before hurrying off, heading towards the kitchen first. he weaves his way through the sea of people filling the room, searching the house until he finds robin. she’s holed up in a corner, giggling with vickie, but still looks up when steve stops before them.

“what’s up?” she asks and he takes a deep breath, close to hyperventilating as he stares at her. he looks over his shoulder and back to where you’re sitting on the couch, giggling at something eddie’s saying as he holds two cups in his hands, one of those likely steve’s drink.

he faces robin and takes a deep breath. “how do i tell her?”

–

he’s given himself until monday morning. he’s got until monday morning to come up with a plan, because he’s going to tell you he loves you then.

the idea robin gave him is as follows, pick a song that explains how he feels about you, dedicate it to you on the squawk on monday morning, then when you come by with coffees he can actually talk to you and ask you out.

go big or go home, right?

the only issue is that steve has no idea what song to pick. it has to be perfect, it has to encapsulate exactly how strongly he feels for you, how you make him feel.

he wants you so badly that it feels like he can’t breathe when he’s away from you. his body feels like it’s been lit ablaze whenever you touch him, and he’s melting the moment your eyes meet his. you’re everywhere, even in his dreams.

he’s in love with you, he knows it. but is there even a song that can describe the way he feels about you?

steve’s been thinking, trying to come up with song ideas, while he’s been tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep because he can’t stop thinking about you.

he spends his entire weekend writing lists of song ideas, scanning the shelves of vinyls at the wsqk radio station for ideas, but none of them are right. none of them are perfect.

robin tells him he’s gonna regret it if he doesn’t have a song soon, the longer he waits to confess the less chance he’ll have. but how is he supposed to do this when every song he listens to doesn’t even begin to describe his feelings?

by the time monday morning comes around steve wakes up in a sweat, and not just from the summer heat.

he had a dream about you and now his boxers feel too tight. he slides a hand down, brushing against the scars healed over on his tumny, before squeezing his clothed bulge for some kind of relief.

but then he realizes. he still doesn’t have a song.

he makes it to the squawk tired, a little horny, and pissed off. and when he pushes open the glass front doors open and is immediately met with robin’s wide smile.

“so…” she starts as he drops his backpack by his chair in the booth. “today’s the day, loverboy. you got a song?”

he just groans in response, dropping down in his chair before immediately standing back up and walking out of the booth, over to the shelves of records.

“i’m taking that as a ‘no’?” robin says.

“how the hell am i supposed to do this?” he asks and robin stares at him in confusion.

“what do you mean? just pick a love song and—”

“but it can’t just be any love song, robin, it has to be perfect!” he exclaims frustratedly, hands finding their way to his hair immediately. “i feel like i’m going insane here, because the song has to be perfect, it has to tell her exactly how i feel and how in love with her i am but that seems impossible because i want her more than any stupid song could ever say and i have no idea how to explain that!”

“oh.”

the sound of a voice behind him makes steve freeze, then slowly turn around. you’re standing inside the squawk building, holding two coffees in your hands, and staring at him with wide eyes, like you just witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“uh, hey.” steve slips a hand into his pocket in an attempt to seem casual. “i, uh, didn’t realize you were… you’re– you’re early.”

“yeah.” you say, and your eyes shift over to robin. “uh, robin asked me if i could come by a little earlier today…”

steve shoots her a glare over his shoulder and she just shrugs, walking towards you and asking which coffee is hers. then she takes it, thanks you, and leaves the room saying, “i’ll leave you two alone.”

the silence is awkward immediately. steve’s panicking internally, and you’re just watching him.

“so, uh, how much of that did you hear?” he asks and you chuckle.

“well, all of it.” you reply. “i was kinda pulling into the driveway when you got here. i think you might’ve been just a little distracted.”

“right.” steve nods and you do the same, a little awkwardly, before you step forward and hold out his drink. “yeah, thanks.”

he takes the coffee and stares down at it. he has to say something now. he has to.

“lucky girl.” you speak first and he looks back up at you.

“hm?” he looks puzzled.

“the girl you were talking about.” you clarify. “the one you said you were in love with. you know? ‘i want her more than any stupid song could say’? she sounds lucky. you’re a good guy, steve.”

you give him a small smile, different to the one you usually give him, this one’s sadder, and it takes steve a moment to process exactly why as you turn back towards the front doors.

“she’s you!” he blurts out and you spin around.

“what?” you stare at him, you blink once, and steve feels sick.

“you’re the… the ‘lucky girl’ you were talking about.” steve swallows before setting his coffee cup down and walking over to you. “i’m in love with you. i love everything about you, and i’ve just been scared to tell you for months because i don’t want to ruin anything between us. i was gonna do this thing, robin said to, you know, dedicate a song to you on the radio but…”

you haven’t said a word the entire time he’s been talking, but you also aren’t running and screaming, so that’s a good sign.

“not a single stupid song can even scratch the surface of how i feel about you.” he says, and then he waits. he watches you carefully, and you don’t give him a reaction. 

then a smile cracks through your features and relief floods steve’s body.

“well, that’s very lucky for me.” you chuckle breathily. “you know, considering the fact i’m in love with you, too.”

“really?” he asks and you nod rather enthusiastically.

“you kinda make it hard not to.” you confess and he just grins. “i mean, you’re funny, brave, kind, i mean, you’ve definitely grown up a lot since high school and, well, you’re hot.”

he laughs, dragging a hand through his messy brown hair before looking back down at you, your eyes meeting. “so are you.”

a soft chuckle escapes your lips and a moment later you’re both just standing there and staring at each other, now closer than before. steve reaches out to carefully grab your waist.

“can i kiss you?”

“yes.” you say as if it’s obvious and steve’s mouth connects with yours within seconds, probably setting some kind of record with that speed. your hands slide up his body immediately, one gripping his shoulder while the other slides around his neck.

steve pours his entire heart into it, melting into you, moulding into something that’s yours and only yours. he’s not thinking of anything else, just the warmth of your body against his hands and the feeling of your lips on his.

he lifts one hand from your waist to cup your cheek instead, pulling back slightly just to kiss you again, aiming a little higher so he can take your entire upper lip into his mouth.

it’s uncertain exactly how long the two of you just stand there kissing, but the sound of a hand slamming against glass is enough to break you up.

steve looks over to see robin in the soundbooth, tapping her wrist to mimic a watch while saying something neither of you could hear through the walls. looking down at his watch, steve realizes he’s got about five minutes until they’re supposed to be on air.

“shit, i gotta go.” he groans and lowers his wrist. your arms are still linked around his neck. “can i take you out on a date tonight?”

“mm, no.” you say and he frowns. “i think we should skip that step and you should ask me to be your girlfriend.”

the frown disappears just as quickly as it had appeared and steve chuckles. “will you be my girlfriend?”

“yes, of course.” you reply, clearly trying your hardest to hold back a smile and stay composed. steve doesn’t hide his own smile.

“great.” he leans forward and kisses you once more before stepping back, closer to the door to the soundbooth. “i’m gonna pick you up from work later, alright?”

“yeah, alright.” you smile and he nods, opening the door. “steve.”

he turns back quickly. “yeah?”

“your coffee.” you gesture to the cup he had set down a moment earlier and he hurried over to grab it.

“thanks, honey. i’ll see you later, yeah?” he calls out as you head for the door. “i love you!”

“i love you, too!”

steve closes the soundbooth door and takes his place in his chair before he looks over at robin, who’s staring at him with an ‘i told you so’ expression. he gives her a shrug and she rolls her eyes before they’re on air.

“good morning, hawkins! this is wsqk 94.5 fm, ‘the squawk’ and i am your dj, rockin’ robin, and ladies and gentlemen, love is in the air this morning because our very own soundboard stevie has made a move! that’s right, folks, steve’s got a girlfriend. so, to celebrate the very new relationship we’re starting this morning off with a little love song…”

steve queues up a sound effect, but even robin’s teasing and antics can’t wipe the smile from his face.

–

a/n: just a little oneshot before i start posting my new series ahh!!! hope u guys like this one i think it's cute. everyone should go listen to 'you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love' by olivia rodrigo right now!!!

Still, on certain nights like this one, his insistence on everything being perfectly routine can get sticky.

You’re sitting at the dinner table, and it’s as crowded and rambunctious as usual. Your two youngests, eight-year-old twin girls, are giggling conspiratorially to each other. Your eleven-year-old son is trying to sneak his broccoli onto Steve’s plate without him noticing. Steve is moving the broccoli back piece by piece without looking, his eyes trained on your face as you tell him about your aggravating day at the office. And your oldest, your daughter Grace, has yet to show.

“Where is she?” you mutter, interrupting your own story as you become aware of the prolonged absence. “She’s leaving pretty soon, so she’s gonna have to eat quickly if she doesn’t–”

“Hey, Gracie girl!” Steve calls up the stairs, anticipating your needs and acting immediately like always. It’s a well-oiled system, your partnership. After all these years, reading each other comes naturally. “Dinner’s gettin’ cold, kid!”

You smile fondly as Steve returns to resupplying your son’s portion of vegetables, marveling a little at how well he wears fatherhood. The white button-up he wears for work is crisp and clean despite the chaos of the house tonight, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His wedding ring is a little scratched after so many years of wear, but the gold is still polished and maintained. And his eyes… well, the crows feet in their corners haven’t changed one bit of the warmth in those golden brown eyes. 

You’re pulled from your careful study by the arrival of your firstborn, thumping her way down the stairs and slinking into the last empty chair at the table. She’s not looking at any of you, and her posture is ramrod-straight. It doesn’t take you long to figure out why as your stare lands on the makeup she’s swiped onto her eyes, the blush that’s a shade too dark for her skintone. Your brows raise slightly, but you don’t comment on it.

“Hey, there she is,” Steve tosses out as Grace portions some pasta onto her plate. “What were you doing up there?”

“Sorry,” Grace replies casually. “Just getting ready.”

Steve’s eyes flick up from his fussing with your son and land on Grace’s face. You watch the moment it registers in his expression that his oldest daughter– the little girl he’s been cooing over from the second he met her fourteen years ago– is wearing makeup.

Steve’s eyes start to narrow, his humor fading. You shoot a hand out under the table and grip his knee, and he turns to you, suspicion awash in his face. 

You raise your eyebrows at him, reminding him silently not to say anything to embarrass her. 

He shoots you a disbelieving look back, like you’ve asked something impossible of him, and you squeeze his knee harder. 

Finally, he looks away and clears his throat. 

“So, are you excited about tonight, Grace?” you ask, opting for subtlety as you return your attention to your food.

Your daughter’s face brightens. “Yeah, Hannah said her mom even let her rent some horror movies.”

“Oh, yeah?” you smile to yourself at her excitement. “You’re not gonna get too scared, are you?”

Grace rolls her eyes. “Mom, I haven’t gotten scared at a horror movie since I was nine.”

“When we watched The Shining, you started crying,” her brother points out mockingly.

“That was different,” Grace insists. 

“Tonight?” Steve asks, and his voice is a little deeper than before– less amused. “What’s tonight?”

“Hannah’s having a birthday party,” you say of your daughter’s best friend. Grace has been gushing about the party all week– her first real boy-girl event. “You knew that.”

“I didn’t know that,” Steve frowns, his fork spearing at his plate. 

You fight not to roll your eyes. “Yes, you did. I told you on Wednesday that Grace would be gone tonight. It’s on the calendar.”

“I don’t remember that,” Steve replies mildly around a bite of food.

“Well, you have selected hearing, darling,” you say teasingly, lifting your hand to touch the hair at the back of his head affectionately.

“So, are there gonna be boys at this party?” Steve asks, overly casual.

Your fingers squeeze slightly at his neck in warning.

Grace colors a little. “Well, yeah, like, a couple. Just some of Hannah’s boyfriend’s friends.”

“Hannah has a boyfriend?” Steve asks flatly. “Is that even legal at your age?”

“Steve,” you start, your voice low. A laugh is building behind your lips at the barely-controlled panic and frustration in your husband’s face. 

“Yeah, Dad, it’s legal. Duh.” Grace huffs in answer.

You can tell Steve dislikes the attitude almost as much as the idea of his daughter hanging out with boys for the first time. “So these boys are the reason you’re wearing makeup?”

You shoot Steve another look that goes completely ignored. 

Grace colors further. “I’m not– it’s not even that much. And it’s not for boys, Dad. That’s so gross.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be wearing makeup?” Steve challenges, squinting at her. “Where’d you even get that stuff?”

Grace is glaring back at him, her cheeks redder with the blush. “Mom got it for me.”

Steve whips his head to you like you’ve committed an ultimate betrayal. “You did what?”

You fight your exasperated sigh. “She’s fourteen, honey. She can wear makeup.”

“Says who?” he asks, incredulous. “I certainly didn’t say she can wear makeup. She’s too young.”

“I started wearing mascara when I was thirteen,” you inform him pointedly. “It’s a rite of passage.”

Grace puts her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. “Dad, will you just stop? You’re embarrassing me.”

His expression turns a little pleading. “I’m just saying, honey, you’ve got such a beautiful face already. You don’t need to cover it up with all that stuff.”

“Yeah, it looks like you frosted a cake,” your son jeers, and you give him a stern look that makes him quiet. 

“Alright, enough,” you cut in. “Grace can wear makeup if she wants to. Now everybody just leave her be.”

Steve looks like he wants to argue this point to the death, but he bites his tongue and stabs at his dinner again petulantly.

Grace gives you a grateful look and keeps eating. 

It’s a matter of seconds before Steve interrupts the silence again. “I just think that–”

You let out a long-suffering sigh.

“You just don’t need any of that, Gracie,” Steve reasons with her, his hands spread and his face sympathetic.

Grace lets out an aggravated noise. “Oh my God, will you stop calling me that? It’s so embarrassing.”

“I can’t call you Gracie now?” Steve’s face twists in shock. “I gave you that nickname. I invented it!”

“It makes me sound like I’m four!”

Steve’s brows knit. “So, what, you’re so grown up now you’re wearing makeup and seeing boys and I can’t even call you–”

“Steve,” you say again flatly, more firmly this time.

He looks over you and takes in your uncompromising face. His lips press into a firm line, and he huffs. “Fine.”

Your younger daughters are unperturbed by the fighting traveling across the table, still happily shoveling pasta into their mouths. Your son’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he snorts and says, “Mom really shut you up, huh, Dad?”

Steve gives him a withering look. “When you get to be my age, kid, you learn that the key to happiness has a lot to do with listening to your wife.”

Silence returns to the table, broken only by the scraping of forks against plate and the sound of Steve’s indignant sighs.

Later, when you’re standing in the kitchen washing up and the kids have escaped to their rooms, Steve corners you again. 

“Hey, crazy,” he starts, his voice a hissed whisper. “What kind of backup was that?”

You give him an amused look as you scrub a plate clean and hand it to him. He dries it with the dishcloth in his hand without a second thought. “You know, it’s generally unadvisable to call your wife crazy.”

“Well, what the hell was that?” he repeats. “You totally turned on me in there.”

“Steve,” you hum, handing him another plate, “Honey, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious!” he insists, stacking the dry plates. “We’re supposed to be a unit, and you just–”

You turn to face him, eyes flat. “Us being a unit doesn’t mean I have to agree with you on everything. Especially when you’re being way overprotective.”

“Overprotective?” he scoffs, brows knitting. “I’m not being overprotective. I’m being exactly the right amount of protective.” He runs his hand through his neat hair, mussing it. 

You give another sigh. “Baby, Grace is fourteen years old. She’s allowed to wear makeup and speak to the occasional boy.”

“No,” Steve shakes his head petulantly. “No, she’s supposed to stay locked in her room until she’s thirty.”

“I seem to recall you and I found our way around my being locked in my room,” you remind him pointedly. 

Steve gives you a look. “That was different.”

“Steve, baby, I love you, but you’re starting to sound like my dad,” you tell him.

“Ouch,” he huffs, leaning back against the counter.

“Look, she just wants to know that you don’t think she’s a toddler anymore,” you reason with him. “She wants to know that you trust her.”

“I do trust her,” he argues. “It’s them I don’t trust.”

“What are a couple fourteen-year-olds gonna do?” you challenge dryly. “Hannah’s parents will be home all night– her mom told me on the phone.”

“I don’t like this,” Steve mutters, dragging a hand through his hair again. “Maybe I should just wait outside until she’s done. Just in case she needs me. Make sure she’s not getting into trouble with those boys.”

“Oh, now who’s being crazy?” you drawl, spraying down another plate. 

“I’m serious!” Steve insists. “If she’s gonna be staying out all night, running around with God-knows-who–”

“It’s a birthday party,” you remind him in a sing-song voice.

“That she’s wearing makeup to,” Steve counters firmly. 

You loose a tired laugh and shut off the tap, turning toward him. “Come on. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a huge deal,” he huffs. “I mean, you saw that gunk on her face. She looked– she–” he fumbles for words, flustered.

“Grown up?” you guess, your voice softening a little. 

Steve looses a breath, aggravated. He’s so like her sometimes– his daughter. They have the same temper and the same brown eyes. It melts out of him now, replaced by something that looks suspiciously like fear of losing her.

“She looks grown up because she is,” you tell him placatingly. “She wasn’t gonna stay five forever, Steve.”

He groans. “Don’t say that. That’s my Gracie girl you’re talking about."

You smile fondly and step closer, drying your hands on the dishtowel in his before slipping them around his waist. “You’ve gotta let it go, baby. They’re all getting older. And you trying to stop her from being a teenager is just gonna make her do it faster.”

Steve’s hands come around you, too, and his head drops and settles in the crook of your neck. “I don’t like this.”

“I know,” you tell him, scratching your nails gently along his back. 

“She was supposed to be obsessed with horses for at least a few more years.”

You laugh gently, holding him against you. “Just drive her over to Hannah’s tonight and try to patch things up. She loves you– she can’t stay mad at you forever. Be nice. And for God’s sake, don’t say anything else about her face.”

Steve sighs again, his breath warm and his voice muffled against your neck. “That’s my baby, you know?” he admits softly. “The first baby. She shouldn’t be this old already.”

“Funny how that ‘time’ thing works,” you hum, your fingers a soothing rhythm over his white shirt. 

Steve pulls back slowly, reluctant to let you go, as with everything. “I’m sorry I flipped out.”

“It’s alright,” you tell him, lifting a hand to brush a piece of his hair back. 

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Guess I’ve gotta get on board with all this ‘growing up’, huh?”

“You will,” you promise. “It’ll get easier.” You kiss him once, quick and pressing. “It’s just how it goes. Growing, aging, changing. Everything gets better with time.”

“Mm,” he mumbles against your lips. “Change. Never been great at that one.”

It’s true– he’s never been good with it. Steve has always wanted things exactly as they are, trapped in a perfect moment with the people he loves. It’s a snowglobe life the two of you share– a beautiful, idyllic snapshot, even with the flurries. 

“Too bad,” you tease him. “It’s happening whether you like it or not.”

“So I’m gathering,” he grumbles. 

You stay that way for a moment, soaking in the sweetness of holding each other, even after so many years. 

“I love my kids,” Steve tells you after a moment, as if it needs saying anymore. “I want to keep ‘em mine.”

“I know,” you say again, your lips twitching.

“And I love you,” he goes on, his head dropping to press another kiss to your lips. “Even when I call you crazy.”

“I love you too,” you murmur against his lips. “Even when you’re being overprotective. Especially then.”

And you do– all his quirks and idiosyncrasies, from his protective tendencies to his inability to give up on fixing the broken printer upstairs. It’s a part of who he is, that stagnation, that determination to sink himself in the present. 

Steve Harrington loves fiercely, his hands gripped onto it with a total unwillingness to let go. And that, more than anything else, would never dare to change. 

---

SPRING BREAK 1978 (APRIL 2ND)

“Steven! Time for lunch! Don’t make me call you in again!” a shrill voice yells out into the backyard

With a roll of his eyes, Steve pulls himself up the pool ladder to head inside, not because he wanted to eat, but more-so because he really gets tired of Maggie the Naggie. That’s his third nanny of the year, his least favorite from the bunch. He gets she means well, but boy can she really go at it.

Wet footprints follow him into the sizeable dining room, a squelch can be heard from his wet swim shorts as he sits at the end of the lengthy table. Sometimes he wonders why his parents got such a big table when they’re hardly ever home to eat dinner here anyway. Twelve perfectly varnished oakwood chairs, but only one seems to be more worn than the rest.

“Maggie, I’m gonna head out in a bit” he manages with a mouthful of eggs

“Where are you going? You know you’re not supposed to go places alone, what if something happens to you” the older lady says as she eyes him, hands steadying their motions as they wipe down dishes

“Did my parents tell you that?” he scoffs as he pours himself a glass of apple juice, “We both know they don’t give a damn where I go, plus it’s Hawkins, nothing happens here” he says between sips.

“Your parents care about you, Steven” she says sternly, carrying the clean dishes to the cupboard, turning her back to him.

“Yeah, they can tell me that themselves when they find the time” he tries to laugh, but it feels empty. Composing himself he tries to argue, “I’ll be back before 4:30, just in time to wash up before dinner”

The older woman sighs, turning back to face him. “4:30 sharp? Not a minute more?” with a raised eyebrow.

Steve pulls out his secret weapon, he smiles in a certain way that makes his cheeks look fuller, he thinks the ladies dig it. Well, older ladies do…

Maggie coos, “Alright then, you got me. Not a minute less, Steven” she warns as she takes away his empty plate and glass. “Hurry and wash up then, you smell like pool” she nags with the clinking of dishes.

—

Steve runs down the stairs grabs a baseball cap off of the rack before making his way out, “Bye Maggie, be back soon!” he yells out into the house before shutting the door. Not bothering to take the time to listen to what the older woman yelled out after him. He gets on his bike and makes his way to the park.

Popularity has always followed Steve around, well so far it has. Nearing 7th grade, he finds himself being admired already. It feels nice to be paid attention to. He recently became friends with Tommy Hagan, who he can admit is kind of an asshole, but the other kids seem to think he’s cool. So as the people pleaser he is, Steve spared no time in accepting Tommy’s invitation to hang out today in the hopes of trying to climb the rather short social ladder that exists in the 6th grade.

The park has more kids than usual, they probably wanted to hang out after church, considering it is the last day before school starts again tomorrow.

Ditching his bike at the racks, he makes his way to Tommy Hagan who’s been waving him over.

“About time, Harrington!” Tommy snarks as he playfully shoves Steve. Three other boys surround Tommy, Steve can’t be bothered to try to remember their names.

“Dave brought his new football” adds Tommy, “How bout’ a game of catch, first one to drop it owes the rest some milkshakes” he smirks as the other three boys jeer in agreement. “You’re on” challenges Steve as they jog over to one of the clear areas of the park.

While the ball gets thrown around, Steve notices a white moving van pull up to one of the houses facing the park. A navy blue Ford country following closely behind it. He snaps back into focus as he sees the football nearing his peripheral, he manages to catch it with a little fumble.

“C’mon, Harrington! Better pay attention or you owe us smoothies!” one of the boys taunt as they get ready for the next throw. Steve laughs as he fakes a throw towards Tommy, which causes him to stumble back a little.

His eyes drifted back to the household, he sees that a woman and two kids got out of the blue Ford, and a man was unloading the moving van. One of the kids catch his eye, a girl, most probably same age as him, holding what seems to be her little brother in her arms with great care. A radiant smile on her face as she talks with her mother. That smile could take out an army, Steve can’t help but be infected by the laugh that comes out of her mouth, a small smile making its way onto his face as well.

“Harrington! Think fast!” he hears before the football hits him square in the jaw, knocking him backwards into a wooden bench where he bumps his head.

“Oh shit! Dude, are you okay?” Tommy says trying to stifle a laugh, “Could’ve dodged that if you kept your head in the game” one of the other boys laughed as he grabbed the football as Steve still laid on the ground.

Ignoring the aching pain in his jaw and the back of his head, he tries to push himself using his elbows, annoyed that none of his ‘friends’ bothered to help him up.

“Yeah, should’ve paid more attention, I got the milkshakes” he says as he rubs the back of his head trying to ease the ache.

“You’re the shit, Harrington!” Tommy H. says as he claps a hand on his shoulder before running back to position to continue the game without him.

He sits in pain for a while, he doesn’t know how long but at some point Tommy and the other boys decided to forget about him and run off to play baseball at one of their backyards.

He scoffs and thinks about how he could’ve stayed at home instead. Still rubbing the back of his head and jaw at the same time, his mind wanders off to the girl he saw earlier, he wonders if he’ll see her at school tomorrow.

It was if the heavens heard his wish when he heard a gentle voice cut through his thoughts, “Hey, are you alright? I brought you some cold water and a towel, our ice isn’t fully hardened yet since my dad just plugged in the refrigerator.”

Steve squints up, the sun casting a glare in his vision, but once his eyes focus he realized that he was being spoken to by his cause of injury. His heart does a little backflip when he finally sees your smile up close, he can’t tell if he feels lightheaded because of hitting his head or if it was your eyes looking at him with such care, though it was most definitely the former, he likes the say it was the latter.

No one would expect to feel such big emotions at twelve years old.

“I think you hit your head pretty hard there, did it make you lose your hearing?” you joke lightly as you slowly crouch down to sit with him on the ground. Long pale pink skirt getting stained with dirt, though you didn’t seem to mind at all.

Steve struggles to get a sentence out, embarrassed that a cute girl watched him eat dirt. You laughs as you listen to him stammer, dipping the towel into the cold water and handing it to him.

“Maybe start with giving me your name, don’t think you can mess that up” you smile, that smile again, even though he was already sitting on the ground he could still feel his knees go weak.

Bringing the cold towel to the back of his head, he lets out a sigh of relief from the sensation. “I’m Harrington, Steve Harrington.” he manages not quite meeting your gaze.

“Harrington?” you scrunches your nose. Steve raises his eyebrow, he’s never had such a reaction to his last name before.

“What’s wrong with my name?” he says dubiously, still holding the cold towel to the back of his head.

“Well, you just don’t look like a Harrington. But, you definitely seem like a Steve” you say playfully, holding up the cold glass of water up to him.

Steve furrows his eyebrows at you, glancing at the glass, dipping the towel back in to cool it off. “What’s your name then, since you’re such an expert” he says with a smile.

Something in him lights up as he hears your laugh up close, he hears your name roll of your tongue, now he understands why you’re such an expert. Your name matches you perfectly.

He repeats your name back to you with a smile, “Your friends are kind of assholes for leaving you here” you add as you look around the emptying playground.

“Yeah, I know they are” he tries to laugh but winces at the pain reverberating through the back of his head. He feels a killer headache awaiting him tomorrow.

“Do you go to Hawkins Middle School?” you ask him, eyeing his furrowed brows, you fumble with your pockets looking for something and grab his hand to put it in his palm.

Confused, Steve raises an eyebrow at you, ignoring the way he feels his skin heat up at your touch. He looks at his palm to see two tablets.

“That’s ibuprofen… I kinda figured you might need it soon, but I totally recommend you go see a doctor, you might have a concussion or something” you ramble looking away from his gaze.

“Concussion?” he repeats, trying to figure out what that meant. He didn’t want to seem like a total dunce in front of you so he just agreed, “Yeah, totally probably definitely have a concussion, maybe…” he adds.

“And I do go to Hawkins Middle, are you going there too?” he answers your previous question, stuffing the tablets in his jacket pocket.

“Yeah, I’m starting tomorrow!” you look back at him excitedly, “I was kind of nervous since it is technically almost the end of the school year, I figured it would be harder to make real friends this late” you sighed. “But good thing you got hit on the head!” you joke as you playfully bump his shoulder, apologizing when he squints his eyes and winces at the movement.

“Well, since you saved my ass today, I’ll save yours tomorrow then” he says with a smile, “I can show you around, show you the ropes” he tries cooly. Immediately regretting how cringey that sounded coming out of his mouth.

You probably thought the same with the way you laugh at his statement, something in him buzzes at the sound of your laugh. He can’t help but smile when you smile.

“I’ll take you up on that offer, Steve” you say with a grin, a voice yells out your name behind you. “Sweetie! Time to help your mom with dinner!” your dad calls out into the park.

Looking at Steve apologetically, “I didn’t realize it was 4:00 already” you say standing up from the dirt. You hold out your hand to him, he looks up at you confused, “Well are you gonna spend the night on the ground?” you raise an eyebrow at him.

Now understanding your gesture he quickly takes your hand to pull himself up. There it is again, that warm buzz of your skin on his.

“You better head home too, Steve.” you say to him as you look around the ground around you, bending down to pick up his Cubs hat covered in red dirt. Dusting it off before meeting his curious gaze. He slowly puts out his hand expecting you to hand it to him, but is surprised to find his heart stuttering when you carefully place it back on his head yourself.

The smile you give him after that is fully ingrained into his brain, he thinks that in this moment, he could look directly into the sun but it still would not compare with how bright your smile is.

All he can manage to say during his inner turmoil is a small, “Thanks” his pre-pubescent voice cracking around the edges. He watches you pick up the towel and glass of now lukewarm water, “Next time, I’ll invite you over for dinner, just gotta finish unpacking” you sigh.

“Bye, Steve! See you tomorrow!” you say as you turn to head back to your house. Your father already calling your name a second time.

Wanting to get the last word, “Thanks for helping with my- uh- percussion!” he says hurriedly. Fuck, was that the right word?

“Concussion!” you yell back, not looking back behind you as you wave him off with the back of your hand.

He feels he will never recover. From the football? No that’s long forgotten. From you? You just gave him a concussion for the rest of his life.

Looking down at his dirtied watch, he realizes it’s 4:18, it takes ten minutes to get home. Ignoring the pounding in his head, he gets there in eight minutes, just enough time to dodge another nag session from Maggie.

Also, enough time for him to reflect on how he thinks a football just made him fall in love with a random girl.

—

From then on, you and Steve became fast friends. With only a month left to the school year, you two were attached by the hip. Sure, you made other friends, but Steve was your most constant.

A year went by, his feelings grew. He always catches himself looking for you in the hallways during breaks, passing you notes full of nonsense during the classes you have together, and going out of his way to get you the juice you like during lunch before everybody else gets to it.

More time passes, you just became even more radiant from the day he met you. You were so sweet, never failing to make everyone around you feel cared for. He thanks the heavens every single day for letting him experience you.

Getting teased by all his friends about how soft he gets for you, he couldn’t bring himself to mind, he just loved spending time with you.

What he loved even more was that it seemed that you liked spending time with him too. Waiting for him at the school entrance because he gets to school later than you, making extra sets of notes for him because you knew he never really paid attention during class, and inviting him over for dinner every sunday.

For once in his life Steve felt wanted.

Now it’s the summer before sophomore year, you decided to join an all girls summer camp, despite Steve’s protests. This is will be the longest he will have to go without seeing you since you got chicken pox last year. (That was the most devastating week and a half of his life)

“Come on, you can’t just leave me here” he pouts while you pack your suitcase trying to hold in your laughter. He huffs as you eye him with your hands on your hips.

“Stevie, it’s only for a two months, you won’t even notice I’m gone” you roll your eyes as you turn around to dig into your closet.

“Trust me, I’m definitely gonna notice” he mumurs as he stares at the back of your head sadly. Just thinking of you being away for that long made his heart ache, he won’t act clueless as to why. He loves you, with every inch of his fifteen year old heart.

“At least it’s an all girls camp” he sighs absentmindedly, turning your head around you eye him, “So what if it’s an all girls camp?” you ask as you slowly turn your body to face him fully.

Realizing how his previous statement could have sounded to you, he stumbled over his words to try to salvage an excuse. “You know- Well- Boys are gross? Phew good riddance right?” he scoffs as his cheeks turn warm under your gaze. “Yeah you’re definitely gross” you laugh as you throw a sweater at him.

His eyes dart away from you trying to regain his composure. But if he just let his eyes stay with yours for a little bit more, he wouldn’t have missed the knowing smile that flashed across your face. 

The sun sets as you two immerse yourselves in conversation. Steve tried his best to ignore the tug in his heart every time he remembered that you would be leaving by tomorrow morning.

Setting aside the packed bags, you huff from exhaustion and throw yourself onto your bed, landing right next to Steve’s sock-clad feet as he rests against your headboard.

Steve mopes and fiddles with the loose thread on the sweater you previously threw, you nudge his arm with your foot to get him to look at you, “Don’t be all pouty on our last day, dickhead” you say as you try to comfort him.

He huffs and pretends to throw a fit as he looks out your bedroom window watching the sun set further. After a pause, he murmurs “Can you promise that you won’t forget about me?” still looking out the window. 

You nudge him with your foot again, “I’ll only be gone for a few months” you say as you laugh at his solemn expression. Noticing how his face didn’t lift, you add “As long as you don’t forget me, Steve.” as you smile at him.

“I couldn’t even if I tried” he replies gently, looking at you in a way that you can’t name. You could tell he was being genuine, but also that there was also something more there, you just couldn’t place what. Well, maybe not right now.

You smile, abruptly sitting up to face him which startles him enough that he jumps a little. “Pussy” you giggle at him as you pinch his side, you lean over him to reach the drawer of your side table. Your shoulder brushes against his chest and he feels it stop his heart, he could smell your shampoo from the top of your head just a few inches away. God, he was whipped.

His trance was shattered when you grab something and quickly sit back up to face him, tugging his hand toward you and wiggling something onto his wrist. “What are you doing?” he laughs as you slip what it seems to be a bracelet, shades of blue and white thread braided together.

“What’s this for? Where’d you get it?” he asks as he admires it, its a bit delicate for his taste but anything that comes from you is a treasure to him.  “Lots of questions there, Harrington” you joke as you slip on a bracelet of your own onto your wrist as well, now yours was like Steve’s but the roles of blue and white were reversed, there was more white than blue but they were braided together nonetheless.

“It’s for us, I guess they’re kinda friendship bracelets… But I wouldn’t consider us friends, you’re definitely more than that to me”, you say while placing the two of your wrists side by side. Steve feels his heart melt at your words, he could only hope you felt the way he did, but he can’t risk losing what you guys had just from assuming. 

“So like best friends?” he adds nervously as he glances up to meet your eyes, you pause as you look at him, feeling your heart tug. Honestly, you still wouldn’t call it that either, you know you love Steve more than anything but is it completely platonic? The way he makes you feel is different than what you feel for your other guy friends, that’s for sure, but now all you can do is slowly nod.

“Yeah… I guess” you smile softly at him. If Steve knew better he would’ve noticed the way the curve of your lips dont quite meet your eyes, but he doesn’t know better quite yet. 

Moving to sit next to Steve against your headboard, now the two of you were shoulder to shoulder, “Don’t worry your big head about it too much, Steven” you say gently, nudging his shoulder. Before Steve can retort, he feels a weight on his shoulder and glances to see you resting your head on it, giving him the sweetest softest smile. He feels his heart soar.

“You know I hate when people call me that.” he says slowly not breaking your gaze, he feels the heat across his cheeks. you laugh gently, “Well I’m not people.” Then, he feels your arms circle around his waist, hugging him tight. Your head now under his chin and he feels you let out a content exhale. He doesn’t waste any time to return the hug, wrapping his arms around you, “You definitely aren’t” he mumbles into your hair.

A few knocks resound from your bedroom door, “Come in” you call out unmoving from your position against Steve’s chest. “Honey, dinner’s ready-“ your mother was cut off from the sight before her. Steve couldn’t help but give her a sheepish smile, unsure if she would approve of the situation.

Your mother gives him a sincere smile back, his body relaxes when he realizes she didn’t mind at all. “We’ll be right down” your muffled voice replied. She laughs, “Don’t take too long, the food s’gonna get cold, I’m talking to you too, Steve” she points her finger in his direction before retreating back out the door. “Yes Ma’am!” Steve yelled out before she shut it. 

He rubs your arm as if to wake you, “You heard her” he whispers. When you don’t respond he resorts to gently shaking you, “Hey, are you good?” He asks gently, trying to angle his face down to get a look at you. “Yeah, I’m just taking my time” you finally say, voice still muffled.

He can’t help but snort at your behavior. You are absolutely everything to him.

Finally you untangle you arms from around him and sit up, he notices your eyes were slightly puffy and gasped incredulously, “Holy shit, are you crying” he couldn’t help but smile at your state. “Yeah, but don’t let it get to your head, asshole” you retort as you wipe at your eyes with your hands, still sniffling. 

Now, Steve could feel a tinge of burning in his eyes as well. You looked so sad looking at him with your glassy eyes, he feels his chest swell with emotion. “You were the one telling me to calm down earlier, now look at you.” He laughs as he sniffles back a tear.

“Well, that was before I realized I won’t be here for your birthday” you say voice wavering slightly as you feel emotion get caught in your throat. “Geez, I think your period is coming, dude” He laughs pulling you into another hug. “How did you know?” You laugh as fresh tears run down your cheeks. “And I don’t mind if you miss my birthday, sure I’ll probably be pretty bummed, probably super bummed but as long as you have fun, I’ll be happy” he says wiping the tears off your cheeks with his thumbs. 

You feel your heart burn with affection at the gesture, it’s moments like this when you mean what you said earlier. Steve is so much more to you than a friend, you could only wonder what he thinks. You then reach out wipe a single tear that escaped his eye, he can’t help but follow your finger but he managed to let his gaze land on your lips. His fifteen year old brain just about short-circuits when he realizes how closed the two of your faces are. 

“I think it’s time for dinner, Stevie” you say, snapping him out of it. The look on your face makes him realize that you definitely caught him. His cheeks feel red hot when he coughs awkwardly, “Yeah, yup, yes” he says quickly clambering off of the bed, immediately making a beeline for the door.

You love this weirdo.

After dinner, you saw Steve out to his bike, he thinks his dad’s getting him a car for his birthday next month. You honestly wouldn’t be surprised, it’s the least they could do for him at this point. 

“You know what, I’m still coming over when you’re gone. I can not miss out on your Mom’s steak and potatoes.” He says before he lets out a burp. You scrunch your nose in disgust and nudge him with your shoulder with a huff. 

Now he’s standing in front of you in the middle of your lawn, rocking a little on his heels. “So… I guess this is goodbye?” He says gently. “It’s see you later, Steven. I’m not going off to war” you say deadpan, trying to disguise your sadness terribly. He huffs out a small laugh at your retort. 

He takes a few steps forward and doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you again in a hug, it gets so surprising how tall he gets over a few months. You wouldn’t be shocked if he absolutely towered over you when you get back. 

“Promise you’ll write?” You say gently into his chest as you wrap your arms around his middle. “Of course, dude. Not like I got anything else to do with you gone.” He laughs into your hair. “Good.” He feels you smile against him. 

After a pause he hears you call out his name. “Yeah?” He asks, letting go of you now, allowing him to look at your face now. Your face is flushed, with a mischievous grin on your face. “What is it?” He continues, furrowing his brows at your expression. 

“Can you lean in your ear for me real quick, I got something to tell you” you say, trying to stifle your grin. “But we’re the only ones out here” he laughs unsure, not really trusting your intentions. He honestly thinks you might bite his ear off. “I’m not gonna bite your ear off if that’s what you’re thinking.” You add as you roll your eyes.

Steve huffs out a laugh at your ability to read his mind effortlessly. He hesitates but finally lets himself bend down to let you reach his ear, turning his head to the side so you could just say what you wanted. He feels the hair raise on the back of his neck when your breath fans slightly against his ear. Getting flustered, he impatiently prompts you to hurry, “Well?” 

He feels the soft air of your laugh, before he hears, “Don’t hang out with Tommy Hagan too much” you giggle into his ear. He furrows his brows, head still turned to the side. He thinks you’re going to continue on since that can’t be the only thing you want to say. After a few seconds of silence, he asks confused, “Is that it? That wasn’t even a big deal-“ before he could fully turn his head back to face you, he feels you place a kiss onto his cheek.

He feels every nerve ending in his body explode.

Goosebumps travel down his neck down to every other part of his body. His heart stutters when he realizes it isn’t a quick peck either. After a few seconds he feels the warmth leave his cheek as you pull away. 

Head still frozen to the side, it takes your fingers to pull his chin back towards you for him to look at you again. You giggle when you see that his face looked as reddened as your face felt. 

“I’ll see you in August, Harrington. Please behave” you say as you dropped your hand and started walking backwards, smiling at his lost expression. Trying to find his words, he stutters, “See yo- Good- Yea-, Goodnight” his voice cracking at the last syllable. 

You laugh as you wave goodbye, finally turning around to jog back into your home. Only glancing back at him when you open your front door. Giving him that same smile that always knocks him off his feet.

When you enter your house, Steve is still left reeling in your front yard. He lifts a hand to where you left the kiss, feeling his face still hot to the touch. Looking up to your bedroom window, hoping to see you one last time, but seeing the lights shut off. As much as he felt disappointed, he could still feel a lovesick grin forming on his face as he turned around to pick up his bike.

“August better be quick” he whispers to himself as he pedals home. 

⭒˚。⋆ 𖤐 ⋆。𖦹  ◡̈ . * ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ༘ ˚ ⋆ 𐙚

Nancy and Robin walk up ahead of you, while Steve and Eddie clamber to avoid the vines behind, talking about… Ozzy Osborn? You shake your head. Every now and again you see Nancy and Robin turn around and glance at Steve. You can tell they’re worried about the two of you. You’re not sure what’s going on between Steve and Nancy this week. You weren’t the type to feel insecure over exes or friendships or any of that, but it felt like Steve was brushing you off to the side.

When you said as much after he tried to ditch you and the kids to join Nancy and Robin at the library, his defensiveness had startled you.

-

“So what if I wanna make sure Nance is being careful?” his tone was sharp.

“Steve, she said she could handle it. Did you forget that she went toe to toe with a giant meaty blob last year and won?”

“That was because of El and you know it,” he pointed a finger at you and you felt your chest crumple in at the action. You try to give him an olive branch

“It just— I’m probably being stupid, and I know this isn’t why, but it feels like seeing her again has brought up all of these.. unresolved feelings for you. I just, I guess I need reassurance that’s not the case here,” you sigh out. Hopeful that this will absolve whatever miscommunication has settled into your relationship.

Your stomach drops when Steve’s face screws up instead. “Oh, so that’s what this is, huh? You dont trust me.”

Your mouth falls open. “What?! Steve, no, I told you it’s probably just me-“

He cuts you off. “No, you know what? For once I don’t want to have to be the babysitter. If you can’t work through this yourself, maybe we should just take a break from all of this.”

Your heart cracks. “You don’t mean that,” you whisper.

Steve scoffs. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t want another person to take care of right now.”

Your lower lip shakes as tears threaten to spill over. “Fine,” your voice cracks as you walk past him and out of the Wheelers’ basement.

-

When deciding who would be going out to lovers lake to investigate the gate, Steve had pushed for you not to go. It was Robin who called him out on his behavior when he finally relented.

Still, seeing him get pulled under the water, his expression shifting from confused, worried, and finally to fully terrified made your stomach turn. You dove in after him without a second thought, and when you came out of the gate to see him getting torn apart by those bats, you almost lost it.

After you had all somehow gotten rid of the brood guarding the gate, Steve rounded on you so fast you stumbled back into Eddie, the other boy steadying you with his hands on your shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking following me down here?” He seethed.

“Steve, what is your problem? I’m your girlfriend and I was worried about you! Or did you forget that?” You scoffed.

He shakes his head, panting from the exertion of fighting off the bats still. “It was a stupid idea. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah and you could’ve been eaten alive!”

He opens his mouth to retaliate, but you’re both cut off by Robin pointing out the swarm of bats heading your way. Which leads you to now, you walking alone between the group. You think you see skull rock in the distance and breathe a sigh of relief, picking up your pace to hopefully get this over with faster.

You hear his voice call your name before you feel the sting of sharp needles in your leg, it giving under you instantly as you cry out, splayed face first across the forest ground. You thrash against the force, throwing your elbows back until you hear a squeal and it relents for a moment, allowing you to flip yourself over. You see it hover above you before it dives back in, biting the flesh of your thigh. You scream out as you try to pry it off of you.

“Steve!”

You feel a pair of arms under your shoulders and hear Nancy next to your ear. “You’re gonna want to close your eyes.” You do as she says. You hear Steve grunt, an object hit the bat as it squeals again, and feel your flesh tear out of your body as the creature’s sent flying in the other direction.

Your scream echos across the trees, your entire leg is on fire, and panic sets in as you look up at Nancy, eyes wide. She opens her mouth to say something but Steve rushes in before she can get the words out.

“There’s gotta be more coming, we have to get to skull rock.” His eyes rake over you, grimacing as he assesses your leg. Nancy steps back and stands.

“I.. won’t be able to walk,” you manage through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, I figured as much, honey. Hold still, okay?” The bitterness from earlier is missing from his tone, but when you look at him, his face is still set with hardness at the edges. Still, you nod as best as you can, looping an arm around his shoulders as he gently picks you up in a bridal carry. You whimper as your leg is jostled but bite your cheek to stop yourself from crying.

Steve starts walking, careful not to trip any vines. Eventually, Skull Rock comes into view. You feel your vision blurring at the edges as you try not to think about how much blood you’ve lost. Your head lolls, falling against Steve’s shoulder as you huff.

“Hey, hey, stay with me honey. You hear me? No passin’ out!” A sharp blade of fear works its way through you at his voice. If Steve is scared, what chance do you really have? You feel tears streaking down your cheeks, unable to control them anymore.

“Quick, get her under here,” you hear Robin’s voice at the edge of your consciousness. Shuffling, and then you’re being set down under the formation. You see Steve’s face above yours, eyes wild. Nancy kneels next to your leg, makeshift tourniquet in hand. You look over at her and shake your head, eyes wide. “N-no,” you mumble out. Steve clears your hair out of your face, turning your head towards his. “Hey, hey, she’s gonna have to, babe. You’re—“ he braces himself. “You’re losing a lot of blood.”

You look at him, blinking slowly before closing your eyes and nodding, hand fisting into the bottom of your jacket. You feel Nancy wrap the tourniquet around your leg and squeeze your eyes tighter. You feel Steve’s hand take your own away from the end of your jacket and squeeze gently. Nancy counts to three and yanks the tourniquet secure. You cry out, but it comes out as more of a whimper from the exhaustion. Instinctively, your body curls towards Steve’s, cheek brushing against the coarse hair on his chest. His arm comes up behind your back instantly, trying his best to soothe you. Your breaths are short, gasping, but the dizziness has stopped. Nancy sighs. “Okay. That should hold until we can get you back to Steve’s. But we should get going, and fast.”

Steve nods and hauls you up into his arms again. The weight of everything starts hitting you as you start to cry softly against him. Steve ducks his head a little so you’ll hear his lilting voice. “Shh, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Repeated over and over like a prayer.

You look at him, his face streaked with dirt, the angry ring of welts around his neck, hair wild. “‘M sorry, Steve,” you whisper. His brows furrow, confused. “Sorry I had to become another person you have to take care of,” you whisper. His face crumples with regret. “Oh honey…” his voice is wrecked. “I was being an idiot.”

Your eyes droop, heavy with exhaustion and emotion. “Talk ‘bout it later, kay?” You manage to slur, giving into sleep. You feel a kiss on your temple as you fade into unconsciousness in his arms.

-

You don’t remember how you got back to the Steve’s house as you blink yourself awake in his bed. You’re in an old pair of gym shorts, near bandages wrapping around your thigh. You grab the water sitting on the nightstand and finish it off in a few seconds. The door creaks open gently and Steve walks in. His face brightens when he sees you. “You’re awake, thank god,” he sighs, sitting next to you on the plush mattress. You nod slowly, not having the energy to talk yet.

“Listen, honey, I was an idiot the other day for saying that stuff to you; for being so mean to you. You didn’t deserve that. There’s nothing going on between Nance and I, I swear. I just— we’ve all been through so much shit over the past few years. I just fucked up, when I said I should go with them, okay? I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Steve. I think it’s just.. hard because she was your first love. You don’t forget that bond easily, and then she’s also been through all of this crazy upside down stuff with you. And she’s smart and pretty and…” you scoff at yourself. “It just caught up to me. Because you—you’re my first love, so I guess I got a little insecure and then hurt when you didn’t reassure me right away.”

Steve leans closer to you, tucking you under his arm. You go willingly, cuddling into his chest. “Nance.. she taught me a lot. About myself. But, at the end of the day, we didn’t work as a couple. And you know what?” You look up at him. “I’m glad for that. Yeah, it sucked when it all went down but I’m glad it didn’t work out because otherwise, we never would’ve started talking that night we were helping Dustin and Lucas and Max at the junkyard. Or if we had, I would’ve been a dick. And I never would’ve fallen in love with the best girl I know,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your head.

You sniffle, wiping at your tears. “I love you Stevie, I’m sorry you have so much on your plate.”

He shakes his head. “Like I said, I shouldn’t have said that. This group of people.. looking after everyone, it gives me a purpose. I’m thankful for it, even if it drives me a little crazy sometimes.”

You chuckle softly. “You’re allowed to admit that we drive you crazy. I know what we’re capable of.”

He laughs but shakes his head. “Not you, sweetheart. Never. When that bat attacked you and you were bleeding out.. you looked so scared and in pain, and it scared me. I don’t wanna lose you, and with that fight it felt pretty damn close,” his voice is thick with tears. You reach up to wipe a stray one off of his cheek before leaning in to kiss him. He tenses for a moment before melting into you, wrapping you even closer in his arms.

“I’m not going anywhere Steve. We’re good, yeah? Just… next time, take a minute if you need it, and talk to me about what’s on your mind, okay?”

He nods. “Anything for you, honey. I love you.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

four years. that's how much time passed since the night marcus –your now ex– broke up with you.

the breakup with him didn’t happen because you were unavailable. it happened because he was a lying cheating piece of shit.

and the memory still lingered like a bruise that refused to fade completely.

you found out a random tuesday evening. a mutual friend posted a story on instagram: nothing dramatic, just a casual photo for a party the previous weekend. in the background, clear as day, you saw him with his tongue down another girl’s throat.

the same weekend he told you he was ‘’too tired to hang out’’ and needed ‘’space.’’

you confronted him the next night when you two went out to have dinner. you played your role perfectly; laughing at his jokes and leaning at the right moments.

you were good at faking. you always had been.

you wanted to talk about that, and when you did, he didn’t even try to lie.

‘’yeah. i slept with her. so what? you’re never really present anyway. you’re always halfway out the door emotionally.’’

you tried not to cry. not in public. not in such a luxurious restaurant. you were about to speak, but he interrupted you.

‘’maybe if you actually talked to me instead of acting like some mysterious untouchable girl… i wouldn’t have needed to find pleasure in someone else.’’

his words were cruel, but the betrayal burned deeper than the insult.

you had let him in more than most. you shared pieces of yourself you usually kept hidden. and he rewarded that vulnerability by cheating you and then blaming you for it. 

that night you drove home in silence, your hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight your knuckles turned white. you didn’t cry until you took a shower. 

the hot water was burning your skin as reality settled in: trusting someone backfired spectacularly.

after marcus, something inside you shifted.

you stopped believing that real intimacy could be safe. 

every man who showed interest felt like a potential traitor. every sweet word sounded like manipulation waiting to happen. every touch made you wonder what that guy was hiding behind that smile.

you still went on dates. you still flirted effortlessly and still let men take you home and fuck you. but you never truly let them close.

the second things started feeling real –the second a conversation turned vulnerable, when sometime tried to stay the night and hold you, or even when a touch became too tender– you disconnected. you left your own body and watched everything from above.

years passed like this.

a string of shallow relationships that never lasted more than a few weeks. you became an expert at keeping people a comfortable distance while making them believe they were close. 

but you never stayed. not emotionally at least.

your best friend watched this cycle repeat itself with growing worry and frustration. she was there the night you found out about him cheating. she held you while you cried angry tears. and she was tired of seeing her best friend never letting anyone in.

one afternoon, after you mentioned yet another guy who slowly ghosted you after a few dates, she sat you down on her couch with two glasses of wine and a look that said she wasn’t going to let you dodge the conversation this time.

‘’i love you more than anything in this world,’’ she started quietly. ‘’but i can’t keep watching you destroy any chance of real connection because of what he did to you four years ago. you deserve to feel something.’’

you tried to brush it off with some humor, but she wasn't having it.

‘’you need therapy,’’ she said. ‘’you’re so scared and that fear is costing you years of your life. just go to one session. if you hate it, i’ll never bring it up.’’

‘’i don’t need therapy,’’

‘’yes, you do. you think you’re fine because you can still flirt and get guys, but you’re not fine. you’re lonely when you’re with someone.’’

you let out a bitter laugh.

‘’i’m not scared. i’m smart. after what marcus did, why the hell would i let someone in again? so they cheat on me and then blame me for having trust issues? no, thanks.’’

‘’not every man is marcus. but you’ll never know that if you keep pushing everyone away before they even have a chance. you deserve to feel safe with someone. you deserve to be loved and not just desired.’’

you looked away.

‘’i’m handling it.’’ you repeated stubbornly.

‘’you’re not handling it,’’ your friend said softly. ‘’you’re surviving. there’s a difference.’’

she slid a small business card across the table toward you.

hawkins behavioral health.

you didn’t book the appointment right away.

for nearly three weeks, the small business card your best friend gave you sat in your kitchen like a quiet accusation. every time you went to drink water, you saw it. every night you came exhausted from work, it was still there.

at first, you ignored it completely.

you told yourself you didn’t need therapy. but the words felt thinner every time you repeated them.

you started researching the place anyway – mostly out of boredom, you convinced yourself. hawkins behavioral health had a clean website and good reviews. 

but one name kept appearing with particularly strong feedback: dr. steve harrington.

you read review after review.

‘’he actually sees you. doesn’t just nod and write things down.’’

‘’first therapist who called me out on my bullshit in the kindest way possible.’’

‘’made me feel safe enough to be honest.’’

you closed the browser more than once, annoyed at yourself for even considering it.

then came the date with tyler. a guy you met.

it was supposed to be casual, just drinks at a nice bar. he was charming, successful, and funny. 

on paper, he was perfect. in reality, he spent most of the night talking about himself.

when you finally opened up a little, he didn’t seem to care. but there was a specific comment that hurt.

‘’guys don’t want to deal with a bunch of emotional baggage, you know?’’

the comment stung more than it should have.

later that night, when he kissed you outside the bar and invited you back to his place, you went. but the entire time you felt hollow. you two didn’t even kiss there, just talked at night and he let you stay to sleep.

the next morning you drove home in silence. when you walked into the apartment, the little business card was still on the counter. you picked it up, turned it over in your hands for a long time, and finally sighed.

‘’fuck it,’’ you whispered.

you called hawkins behavior health that same afternoon and booked an appointment for the following thursday.

the day of your first session arrived faster than you expected. 

you spent the entire morning convincing yourself you could still cancel. you changed outfits three times and almost turned the car around twice on the way there.

but somehow, you ended up walking through the front doors of the building.

the reception area was warm and comforting, with soft lightning and exposed brick walls. behind the desk stood a woman with short brown hair and energetic presence. 

her name tag read: robin buckley – office coordinator.

she looked up and gave you a bright welcoming smile.

‘’hi! you must be the 4:30. first time with us?’’ you nodded, gripping the strap of your bag a little too tightly.

robin’s smile softened, sensing your nerves.

‘’totally normal to feel anxious. everyone is on their first visit.’’ she typed something on her computer. ‘’you’re here to see dr. harrington, right?’’

‘’yes.’’

‘’he’s really good,’’ she said kindly. ‘’a little young for a psychologist, but perceptive. something annoyingly so, but don’t tell him i told you that.’’ she gave you a playful wink. ‘’just be honest with him. he can candle the truth.’’

she printed some forms and handed them to you.

‘’fill these out and i’ll let him know you’re him. deep breath. you’ve got this.’’

ten minutes later, robin returned and led you down a quiet hallway lined with plants. 

she stopped in front of a wooden door and gave you one last encouraging smile.

‘’dr. harrington? your 4:30 is here.’’

you took a deep breath and stepped inside.

the office was nothing like you had imagined. it didn’t feel clinical or cold. warm afternoon light poured through tall windows, bathing the room in a soft golden hue. 

one wall was lined with tall bookshelves filled with psychology texts, novels, and a few personal items – like a small framed picture of a group of friends, and what looked like a tiny hawkins high keychain hanging from a shelf.

two comfortable deep armchairs faxed each other with a low wooden table between them. a box of tissues on the table and a long couch that looked untouched.

and he was rising from one of the armchairs. steve harrington.

he was younger than you expected even if robin told you before. 

much younger. early twenties, if that. 

he looked tall even if he was sitting, with messy brow hair that looked like he’d run his hand through it several times that day.

and he had warm hazel eyes. big hazel eyes you weren’t able to ignore.

he also wore a brown jacket over a button-up shirt. 

steve looked more like a handsome graduate student than a licensed psychologist.

‘’hi,’’ he said with low warm voice. ‘’i’m steve harrington. you can call me steve if that makes you feel more comfortable. come in, please.”

he gestured toward the empty armchair across from him.

‘’sit however you’d like. there are no rules in this room.’’

you gave him a small smile and sat down, crossing your legs neatly and folding your hands in your lap. you studied him from a moment: the way he moved, the way he looked at you. 

he was annoying attractive. too attractive to be doing this job.

steve sat down across from you, leaning forward slightly with his hands clasped loosely between his knees. he didn’t speak right away. he just looked at you –not staring, but truly paying attention– and it made your skin prickle.

‘’so,’’ he said gently after a few seconds, offering a small smile. ‘’what brings you here today?’’

you let out a soft breath and gave him a smile.

‘’well…. apparently i’m very good at making men want me, but terrible at actually letting them stay.’’ you titled your head a little, letting your gaze linger on his face for a second. ‘’my last boyfriend said i’m emotionally unavailable. among other things.’’

you finished with a light laugh, hoping it would steer the conversation into safer waters.

steve didn’t laugh with you.

he simply watched you with a calm and thoughtful expression. 

after a moment, he talked.

“you started with a joke,” he noted gently. “and a compliment hidden inside it. you smiled while talking about something painful. that’s interesting.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your expression light.

“are you always this direct?”

“well… i’m noticing some things. you are trying to deflect,” he replied but not unkindly. “you’re very good at it. you use charm and humor to keep things from getting serious.”

you felt a flicker of irritation mixed with uncomfortably and nervousness.

“you’re very observant for someone so young,” you said, your tone was still light but with a subtle edge. “does that usually work for you? reading people before they even say anything?”

steve’s mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile.

but his eyes remained steady.

“you’re doing it again,” he said softly. “shifting the focus onto me and testing my reactions.” he paused, then added. “it’s okay. we don’t have to rush. this is your space.”

you sat back slightly, studying him.

he was good. too good.

and the fact that he was young somehow made it worse. 

he shouldn’t be this perceptive.

he shouldn’t be able to see through you this easily.

steve waited patiently, giving you time. his presence was calm, steady, and strangely grounding.

those hazel eyes never left yours, but they weren’t intimidating either.

they were patient. kind. like he really had nowhere else he’d rather be.

“so,” he said again. “when you say you’re “terrible at letting people stay”… what does that feel like for you?”

you opened your mouth, ready to give another polished half-joking answer.

but for the first time in a long time, the words got stuck in your throat.

steve didn’t push. he simply waited, watching you with that calm gaze. 

the silent stretched between you, not awkward, but heavy. for once, you didn’t know what to say. you didn’t have a clever line prepared. you didn’t have a flirty deflection ready.

after a long moment, you let out a slow breath and looked down at your hands.

‘’i don’t know how to… stay,’’ you admitted quietly. ‘’when things get real. when someone starts looking too closely. i just… leave. not physically. but emotionally. i go somewhere else in my head. i smile. i say the right things. but i’m not really there.’’

steve nodded slowly, his expression soft but attentive.

‘’that sounds lonely,’’ he said gently. ‘’being with someone but no really being with them.’’

you swallowed hard.

‘’it is,’’ you whispered. ‘’but it’s safer.

steve leaned forward sightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘’can you tell me more about that? when did you start feeling the need to protect yourself from the others like this?’’

you hesitated. the memories of your ex came rushing back – his cruel words, the way he blamed you for his own cheating, the humiliation of realizing you tried to be vulnerable with someone who never deserved it.

‘’four years ago,’’ you said, voice quieter now. ‘’i was with someone. i thought i was letting him in. i was trying and he cheated on me. then told me it was my fault and after that… it just felt easier to never let anyone close enough to hurt me again.’’

steve listened without interrupting. you liked that. and his eyes never left your face.

when you finished, he spoke carefully.

‘’so you learned that being vulnerable leads to pain. and now, even when you want connection, your mind and body protect you by disconnecting.’’

you looked up at him, surprised by how gently he said it.

‘’you’re very young to be this good at this,’’ you said, trying to regain some control with a teasing smile.

steve’s lip curved into a faint smile.

‘’and you’re deflecting again,’’ he replied softly, but there was no judgment in his tone. ‘’it’s okay. we’ll work on that. one step at a time.’’

he paused and then asked gently.

‘’when you’re with someone now… physically… what does that disconnection feel like in your body?’’

you shifted in your seat, feeling exposed under his attentive gaze. you hadn't expected him to go there so directly, yet so kindly.

‘’it feels like… im floating,’’ you admitted. ‘’like i can do everything right but i’m not really feeling anything. it’s like automatic.’’

steve nodded slowly, processing your words.

‘’and does that bother you?’’ he asked. ‘’or has it become normal?’’

you stayed silent for a long moment.

‘’.. it bothers me,’’ you finally whispered. ‘’but i don’t know how to stop doing it.’’

he gave you a small nod.

‘’that’s why you’re here,’’ he said gently. ‘’we’re going to figure that out together. no pressure. just honestly, at whatever pace you need.’’

for the rest of the session, steve listened carefully as you spoke. he didn’t interrupt. he didn’t judge. 

he simply asked thoughtful questions and noticed things you hadn’t even realized about yourself; the way you joked when things got heavy, the way you crossed your arms when you felt vulnerable…

by the time the session ended, you felt strangely drained. but also lighter.

steve stood up when the hour was over and gave you a warm smile.

‘’you did really well today,’’ he said. ‘’i know it wasn’t easy. same time next week?’’

you nodded, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and relief. 

as you left his office, you couldn’t stop thinking about how easily he had seen through every wall you tried to put up.

then the days after your first session passed in a strange haze.

you went back to your routine: work, nights with your best friend… but something felt different. lighter, maybe. or perhaps just more aware.

you tried dating again. not because you suddenly believed in love, but because you wanted to prove to yourself (and maybe to steve), that you could try.

his name was daniel. he was kind, funny and worked as a graphic designer. 

he didn’t try too hard. 

on your first date, you talked for almost three hours about music and movies. on the second, he kissed you goodnight outside your car. 

you wanted this to work. 

you returned for the second session. you spent the entire week thinking about steve’s words.

the way he looked at you. the way he actually listened. it was unsettling how much space he was taking up in your mind.

when you walked into his office and steve was already waiting, sitting in his usual chair. he wore a blue polo shirt that made his hazel eyes stand out even more. 

the moment you entered, he gave you a warm smile that made your stomach tighten.

‘’hi,’’ he said. ‘’it’s good to see you again. come in, make yourself comfortable.’’

you sat down in the armchair across from him, crossing your legs and folding your hands in your lap. for a few seconds, you didn’t know where to begin. 

steve waited patiently, as always – never rushing you, never filling the silence.

‘’i’ve been thinking about what we talked about last time,’’ you started quietly. ‘’and… i went out with this guy named daniel. a few times, actually.’’

steve nodded slowly, giving you his full attention.

‘’tell me about that,’’

you took a deep breath.

‘’he’s really kind. patient. he doesn’t pressure me. we talked for hours and he actually listens.’’ you paused, then added more softly. ‘’i wanted it to be different this time. i want to try going somewhere serious with him. not just casual.’’

steve listened, his eyes steady on you. when you finished, he spoke carefully.

‘’that’s a significant step – choosing to try something real with someone after being hurt. how did it feel for you?’’ you looked down at your hands.

‘’at the beginning it was okay. i felt present. but then i slipped away again.’’ you let out a small breath. ‘’i hate that i keep doing that.’’

steve was quiet for a moment, processing your words with care.

‘’what you’re describing is a very common trauma response,’’ he said gently. ‘’after being betrayed by someone you tried to trust, your nervous system learned that vulnerability equals danger. so when intimacy starts to feel real, your mind protects you by dissociating.’’

you looked up at him, surprised by how good he explained it. steve continued.

‘’the fact that you’re aware of it happening is already a progress. most people don’t even notice when they disconnect.’’

his words wrapped around you like a blanket. you felt your cheeks grow warm and you bit your lip. 

‘’thank you,’’ you whispered. steve’s expression softened further.

he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘’would you like to practice some grounding exercises? things you can use when you feel yourself starting to flow away?’’

you nodded. and for the next thirty minutes, steve guided you through several exercises with patience and care. his voice was incredibly calm and silky as he spoke.

he watched you practice, his eyes never leaving you.

‘’good,’’ he said when you did it correctly. ‘’that’s really good. you’re picking this up quickly.’’

every time he praised you, even subtly, you felt warmth spread through your chest. you found yourself feeling timid under his attention.

steve remembered details from your previous session and wove them in naturally.

‘’you mentioned last time that you tend to perform because you want others to feel good,’’ he looked at you. ‘’we can work on finding balance.’’

you felt exposed but safe. the way steve spoke made you feel truly seen.

when the session was nearing its end, steve looked at you.

‘’you did really well today,’’ he said softly. ‘’you were honest about something difficult. you let yourself be vulnerable.’’

his praise hit you deeply. you felt your face flush.

you left his office with warm cheeks and the confusing realization that your therapist’s gentle praise was starting to affect you far more than any touch from daniel ever had.

after that, you continued seeing daniel. the relationship –if it could even be called that yet– developed slowly and sweetly. he was consistent in a way that was almost foreign to you. 

but every time the moment leaned toward something more intimate, you gently stopped him.

daniel was always understanding. he’d kiss your forehead and never made you feel guilty. and yet, every time you left his apartment, you felt a quiet frustration with yourself.

you wanted him fully. you wanted to be normal. but something inside you still head back.

in the other way, your therapy sessions with steve became the anchor of your week. you found yourself in that office. steve seemed to look better each time you saw him. 

sometimes it was the way his hair fell across his forehead. 

sometimes it was the soft sweaters that hugged his biceps and shoulders. 

sometimes it was simply the way he looked at you.

the flirting on your part was subtle, almost unconscious. quiet and soft words while tucking your hair behind your ear. 

steve never crossed any lines. 

he remained perfectly professional. but his gaze would linger a second longer than necessary, and his voice would drop into that low silky tone when he praised you.

you told yourself it was nothing. he was just doing his job.

one afternoon, after a particularly long session, you met your best friend for a coffee. the moment you sat down, she studied your face with a knowing look.

‘’so… how are things going with daniel?’’ she asked, cutting into her avocado toast.

you smiled, a small genuine one.

‘’they’re good, actually. he’s really sweet. we’ve been seeing each other a couple times a week. we haven’t slept together yet… but i feel like i might be getting closer to wanting that.’’

her eyes lit up.

‘’that’s great! i’m really happy for you. he sounds like a good guy.’’ you nodded, stirring your coffee.

there was a comfortable pause. then she took a sip of her drink and asked casually:

‘’and how’s therapy going? you haven’t told me much about it lately.’’

you hesitated for a second, then shrugged lightly.

‘’it’s… going well, i think. my therapist is really good. he’s patient, he actually listens, and he explains things in a way that doesn’t make me feel like i’m broken. we’ve working on grounding exercises so i can stay more present, especially with daniel.’’

she raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

‘’tell me more about him. what’s he like?’’

you looked down at your cup, feeling a little shy.

‘’he’s… younger than i expected. really perceptive. he remember everything i tell him. he just helps me understand why i do it.’’

she stayed quiet for a moment. then she leaned forward with a mischievous grin.

‘’okay… i have to confess something. after you told me you started therapy, i got curious and looked him up on google.’’

you blinked. ‘’you what?’’

‘’i googled him,’’ she said, laughing. ‘’dr. steve harrington. i found his profile on the practice’s website and some pictures. girl… he’s ridiculously hot. like, stupidly attractive. i mean… i get why tour sessions feel intense.’’

you felt your face heat up instantly. you looked down at your latte.

‘’he’s just my therapist,’’ you said quickly, trying to sound casual. ‘’he’s professional. really good at his job. that’s all.’’

‘’sure. that’s why you are blushing right now.’’

after that comment, you may have started seeing steve a little bit differently. 

maybe more handsome. 

maybe with more interest.

you tried to think it was just nonsense, that your best friend’s talk was inside your brain.

while waiting in the reception area for your session, you made the mistake of checking the practice's recent google reviews on your phone.

several new ones appeared. from women in their twenties.

one in particular caught your eye:

‘’dr. Harrington is incredible. i’ve never felt so understood in my life. he’s helped me so much with my intimacy issues. 10/10, would recommend to anyone.”

there were several more like that – all women praising how attentive and emotionally available steve was.

your stomach twisted with an ugly feeling you didn’t want to name.

jealousy.

then, as you were sitting in the waiting room, the door to steve’s office opened.

a pretty brunette woman stepped out, smiling brightly. steve followed her to the door, speaking to her in that same gentle, warm tone he used with you.

“see you next week. you did great today.”

she left, laughing at something he said. you felt a sharp pang in your chest.

when Steve turned and saw you waiting, his expression softened immediately.

“hey,” he said warmly. “ready?” 

you forced a small smile and followed him into the office, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot of jealousy twisting inside you.

you sat down in your usual armchair. steve settled across from you, leaning forward sightly with his elbows on his knees.

‘’how has your week been?’’ he asked softly. 

you hesitated for a moment and opened your mouth to give a vague answer, but steve continued you could speak, his tone calm.

‘’you mentioned last session that you’ve been seeing someone. daniel, right? how are things going with him?’’

the question caught you slightly off guard. he had remembered the name. 

of course he had.

you shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling exposed.

“they’re… going well,” you said carefully. “he’s really kind. patient. we’ve been spending more time together. we talk a lot, we kiss… but we haven’t slept together yet.”

steve listened with complete focus, his eyes never leaving your face. he nodded slowly, processing your words.

“and how do you feel about that?” he asked with a soft voice. “about holding back with him?”

you let out a slow breath.

“i feel guilty sometimes,” you admitted. “he’s a good guy. he deserves someone who can give him everything. but i’m scared. every time things get more physical, i feel myself starting to disconnect again. i don’t want to perform with him… but i don’t know how to stop doing it.”

steve was quiet for a few seconds. His expression remained calm and professional, but you noticed the subtle tension in his jaw and the way his fingers tightened slightly around his pen.

“it makes sense that you’re scared,” he said gently. “after being betrayed by someone you tried to trust, your mind and body learned that intimacy equals danger.”

he paused, then added in that low silky tone he had.

“but I also notice that when you talk about daniel, you describe him as ‘nice’ and ‘kind.’ you don’t talk about desire. about wanting him. does that feel significant to you?”

his question felt more direct than usual. you felt your cheeks warm under his steady gaze.

“i… i don’t know,” you whispered. “maybe I’m still not ready. or maybe i’m comparing how i feel with him to… other things.”

steve’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. he didn’t push further on that comment, but the air in the room felt heavier.

you felt your face flush. you looked down at your lap, unable to meet his eyes. 

a shy, nervous smile formed on your lips as you played with the hem of your sweater and your fingers trembled slightly.

you left his office with the confusing realization that steve’s gentle praise affected you.

and no matter how many times you told yourself he was just being a good therapist. 

the feeling was getting harder to ignore.

another day that daniel texted you asking if you wanted to do something casual. you said yes before you could overthink it.

the night arrived. he was the same as always: easy to talk to, interested in what you said, and never pushy. he brought you flowers –white daisies– and remembered your drink.

when dinner was over, you ended up on his couch. the kissing started slow and sweet. his hands were careful as they slid under your sweater, caressing your back. 

for a while, you stayed present. you felt the warmth of his body, the softness of his lips, the way he whispered how beautiful you were. it felt nice.

but the moment his hand moved lower, slipping under the waistband of your jeans, something inside you tightened.

you pulled back gently, placing a hand on his chest.

‘’daniel… wait,’’ you whispered. he stopped immediately, looking at you with concern.

‘’is everything okay?’’ he asked softly.

you sat up a little, pulling your sweater back down. 

your heart was racing, but not from desire – from anxiety.

‘’i’m sorry,’’ you said quietly. ‘’i thought i was ready, but… i’m not. not tonight.’’

daniel nodded without hesitation. he sat back and gave you a kind, understanding smile.

“that’s completely fine,” he said. “we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. i’m really happy just spending time with you.”

you felt a wave of relief mixed with guilt. 

yet you still couldn’t give him what he probably wanted.

you stayed for a little while longer, talking on the couch, but the atmosphere shifted. 

when you left his apartment that night, you hugged him goodbye and told him you’d text him soon. the drive home was quiet. you felt disappointed in yourself.

by the time you got home, took a shower, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the frustration had built up to a breaking point.

now it has been months. months of this same cycle. flirting, dating, getting close, but then freezing or performing the moment things became truly intimate. 

you were tired of it. exhausted.

you arrived at your session feeling a mix of determination and deep embarrassment.

steve was already seated when you walked in. he wore a sweater that made his shoulders look broader. when he saw you, his hazel eyes softened with that familiar warm attention.

“hi,” he said gently. “come in. make yourself comfortable.”

you sat down. steve noticed your body language immediately.

“you seem a little nervous today,” he observed softly. “would you like to tell me what’s on your mind?”

you took a deep breath and decided to be honest.

“i’ve been thinking about what we talked about last time,” you said quietly. “about why i disconnect during sex. i… i want to understand it better. so i can try to fix it with daniel.”

steve nodded slowly, his gaze steady and kind.

“i’m glad you want to explore this,” he said. “to help you, i’m going to ask some personal questions about your sexual experiences. you don’t have to answer anything that makes you uncomfortable. but the more honest you can be, the better i can understand what’s happening and help you work through it. is that okay with you?”

you swallowed hard and nodded. steve kept his voice low and professional.

“when you’re with daniel, or with previous partners… do you feel any physical pleasure at all? or does it become purely mechanical after a certain point?”

your cheeks started burning.

“sometimes… at the beginning,” you whispered. “i feel warmth. tingling. but then it fades. i start focusing on what i should be doing instead of what i’m feeling.”

steve nodded, completely focused on you.

“do you touch yourself when you’re alone?” he asked calmly. “masturbate?”

your face went hot. you looked down at your lap, fingers twisting nervously in your sweater.

“…yes,” you admitted.

“how does that feel compared to sex with someone else?” he asked gently. “do you stay present when you’re touching yourself?”

you bit your lip, feeling incredibly exposed.

“mostly yes,” you whispered. “it’s easier when i’m alone. i can control everything. i don’t have to worry about what the other person is thinking.”

steve’s voice remained soothing.

“that’s very common,” he said. “when you’re alone, there’s no fear of judgment or betrayal. your body feels safe enough to stay present. but when someone else is involved, that safety disappears and your mind protects you by dissociating.”

he paused, then continued.

“when you masturbate… what do you usually think about? do you stay focused on the sensations in your body, or does your mind wander to fantasies?”

your face was burning now. you couldn’t look at him.

“i… try to focus on the sensations,” you mumbled. “but sometimes i fantasize. about… being wanted. being seen. not just fucked.”

steve was quiet for a moment, giving you space. the silence felt heavy but not uncomfortable. 

when he finally spoke, his voice was even softer, almost careful.

“thank you for being honest about that,” he said. “that’s really helpful information.”

he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

“as an exercise for this week, i’d like you to try something at home. when you masturbate, i want you to focus completely on the physical sensations. you don’t have to do it every day, just when you feel comfortable.”

your heart was beating fast. the idea of doing that and then telling him about it made your stomach twist with nerves.

“and… you want me to tell you how it went?” you asked, voice small.

steve nodded calmly. 

“only if you feel comfortable sharing. this is your space. but yes, talking about it next session could help us understand what makes it easier or harder for you to stay present.”

you swallowed hard, cheeks still burning.

“okay,” you whispered. “i’ll try.”

the drive home was quiet. your hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly the whole way. 

steve’s voice kept echoing in your head. 

the way he looked at you when you spoke. the subtle way his fingers tapped against his knee.

by the time you stepped into your apartment, you kicked off your shoes and sat on the edge of your bed, replaying steve’s words from the session.

you lay back on your bed, still wearing your clothes from the day. you slid your hand inside your now pajama pants and started slowly rubbing yourself over your panties. 

you tried to focus on the sensation, on your own body like steve suggested. but after a few minutes your mind began to wander.

you kept thinking about him.

about the calm way he looked at you when he spoke.

about how low and steady his voice got when he explained things. 

about the way his hands rested on his thighs during sessions. 

you imagined those same hands on you and immediately felt a rush of heat between your legs.

you slipped your fingers under your panties and touched yourself directly, circling your clit slowly. soft sounds left your lips as you got wetter. 

every time you tried to push the thoughts away, they came back stronger. 

you pictured steve’s face, his kind eyes, the slight scruff on his jaw, the way he said your name.

guilt twisted in your chest even as pleasure built between your legs.this is wrong, you thought. 

he was your therapist. he was trying to help you and you were here touching yourself while thinking about him.

still, you didn’t stop. your fingers moved faster, sliding inside yourself while your other hand gripped the sheets. 

your breathing grew heavier. you whispered his name once, very quietly, like a secret you couldn’t keep inside.

when you finally came it was sharp and intense; your thighs shaking, a soft broken sound leaving your throat.

you felt dirty. wrong. like you had crossed a line you could never uncross. 

steve trusted you. 

he was patient and professional and genuinely trying to help you heal, and here you were fantasizing about him.

“what the hell is wrong with me…” you whispered into the quiet room.

the next few days were hell.

you tried to pretend it never happened.

you told yourself it was a one-time mistake. that it wouldn’t happen again.

but when thursday afternoon came and you walked into steve’s office, your hands were already shaking.

steve was sitting in his usual chair, wearing a soft beige sweater, looking calm and professional like always. 

he smiled gently when you entered.

“hey,” he said warmly. “how have you been since last session?” 

you sat down on the couch across from him, legs pressed tightly together.

“fine,” you mumbled.

he studied you for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees.

“did you try the homework i gave you?” he asked, voice gentle but direct. “touching yourself without pressure?”

you stayed silent, staring at the floor. your throat felt tight. steve waited patiently.

“you don’t have to share details if you don’t want to,” he continued softly, “but it would help if you could tell me whether you did it or not… and if you did, what came up for you. what you were thinking about.”

you still didn’t answer. your fingers twisted in your lap.

steve tilted his head.

“it’s okay,” he said. “you can sit over here if it feels easier to talk.” he gestured to the smaller couch closer to his chair, only a couple feet away. “sometimes being a little closer helps.”

you didn’t move.

after a few seconds of silence, steve slowly reached out and placed his hand gently on your knee, warm and steady, trying to get your attention.

“hey,” he said quietly, voice low. “talk to me. what’s going on in that head of yours?”

your heart hammered in your chest. his hand on your leg made everything worse. you felt tears burning in your eyes.you finally whispered, barely audible:

“…i did it.”

steve nodded slowly, thumb brushing lightly against your knee in a comforting motion.

“good. that’s okay. and when you were doing it… what were you thinking about?”

you stayed quiet for a long moment, shame burning through your whole body. then, in a tiny, broken voice, you admitted:

“…you.”

the word hung heavy in the air between you.steve froze. his hand stilled on your knee. 

for the first time since you’d known him, he looked genuinely caught off guard.

steve didn’t move. the air between you grew thick. 

he stayed quiet for a few seconds, processing your words, then spoke carefully.

“you need to try thinking about something like that when you’re with daniel. that kind of arousal… that’s what we’re trying to build with him.”

you finally looked up at him with glassy and frustrated eyes.

“how am i supposed to feel that way with daniel?” your voice cracked. “how do i differentiate it? how do i know what i really want with him?”

steve stared at you. his breathing changed.

the professional mask cracked right in front of you. 

for a moment he looked conflicted, struggling hard with himself.

then he leaned in slowly, cupped your face with one hand, and kissed you.

the kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, but full of months of hidden tension. his lips were warm and gentle against yours. your heart slammed in your chest.

he pulled back after a few seconds with his breathing ragged.

“fuck… i’m sorry,” he whispered. “that was completely unprofessional. i shouldn’t have done that. we can’t—”

you didn’t let him finish.

you grabbed the front of his sweater and pulled him back into the kiss, harder this time. 

steve froze for half a second before he gave in completely, kissing you back with a quiet groan. his hand slid to the back of your neck as the kiss deepened, growing more desperate.

both of you knew how wrong this was.

but in that moment, neither of you cared.

“this is so wrong…” he said. “i could lose my license. i could get fired. we shouldn’t be doing this.”

you looked into his eyes, desperate.

“i need you, steve,” you whispered back, voice breaking. “i don’t want anyone else. i only think about you.”

he let out a shaky breath, clearly fighting with himself. 

then pulled you onto his lap so you were straddling him, your jeans rubbing against his thighs. his hands immediately gripped your hips.

“fuck… you’re going to ruin me,” he murmured before kissing you again, deeper this time.

his mouth moved to your neck, kissing and sucking on your skin as his hands worked between you. 

“ride my thigh, baby,” he whispered hotly against your neck. “just like this. with your clothes on. use me to feel good.”

you moaned softly and started rocking your hips, grinding your clothed pussy against his thick, muscular thigh. 

the rough fabric of your jeans created a delicious friction against your clit with every roll of your hips.

steve’s hands stayed on your hips, guiding you, pulling you harder against his leg.

“that’s it,” he breathed, sucking on the sensitive spot below your ear. “grind on me. use my thigh to get yourself off.”

you moved faster, rolling your hips in desperate circles, the seam of your jeans pressing perfectly against your clit. 

you could feel how wet you were getting, the fabric growing damp as you humped his leg.

“steve…” you whimpered, burying your face in his neck.

“good girl,” he praised softly, kissing down your neck while helping you grind harder. “look at you… riding my thigh fully dressed like you can’t wait any longer.”

his hands squeezed your ass, pulling you down firmer against him with every roll. the pressure was intense, the friction making your legs shake.

“does that feel good, princess?” he murmured, voice low and rough. “humping my leg like a needy girl?”

“yes… fuck, yes,” you moaned quietly, moving faster, chasing the building pleasure.

steve kept kissing and biting your neck gently while you rode his thigh desperately, the wet patch on your jeans growing bigger with every grind.

then he didn’t even wait for you to cum and unbuttoned your jeans and tugged the zipper down. his long fingers slipped inside your jeans and under your panties, finding you soaked.

you gasped as two thick fingers touched you.

“so wet already,” he breathed against your neck, kissing and biting softly while his fingers played with your pussy. “you really do need this, don’t you?”

you moaned quietly, rocking your hips against his hand as he fingered you deeper. 

his thumb found your clit and rubbed firm, steady circles while his mouth continued its assault on your neck.

“steve…” you whimpered, gripping his shoulders. “with you… i feel good.”

he lifted his head from your neck, eyes dark but full of concern. his fingers kept moving inside you, slower now.

“tell me,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and careful.“i don’t feel blocked,” you breathed, grinding down onto his fingers. “i’m not anxious… i’m not overthinking. i’m just… enjoying it. i feel safe with you.”

steve let out a shaky breath, clearly worried.

he stopped moving his fingers for a moment and looked straight into your eyes, his free hand gently cupping your cheek.

“are you sure?” he asked softly, thumb brushing your cheek. “i need you to be honest with me. if anything feels wrong or too much, you tell me immediately, okay? your comfort is the most important thing right now.”

you nodded, leaning into his touch.

“i’m sure,” you whispered. “i want this. i want you.”

steve searched your face for any sign of doubt, then kissed you again, slower this time, more tenderly. 

his fingers started moving once more, curling gently inside you while his thumb kept rubbing your clit in steady circles.

“good girl,” he whispered against your lips, voice full of care. “just relax. i’ve got you. tell me if you want it slower or deeper.” he whispered hotly against your skin, curling his fingers inside you perfectly. “just ride my fingers, baby. take what you need.”

his other hand slid under your shirt, squeezing your breast as he kept kissing and marking your neck. 

his fingers moved faster inside you, thrusting deep while his thumb pressed harder on your clit.

you were grinding desperately on his hand, moaning softly into his shoulder, completely lost in the feeling of his fingers stretching you and his mouth on your neck.

steve groaned quietly against your skin.

“you feel so fucking good… so tight around my fingers.”

you moaned quietly, rolling your hips against his hand as he fingered you with perfect rhythm. 

his mouth returned to your neck, kissing and sucking softly while he focused completely on your pleasure, always watching your reactions, always making sure you felt safe.

“you’re doing so well,” he murmured against your skin, fingers curling just right. “i just want you to feel good, baby. nothing else matters right now.”

the pleasure built quickly until it crashed over you. you came hard with a broken moan, thighs shaking, pussy clenching tightly around his fingers as waves of pleasure rolled through your body. 

steve kept moving his fingers gently, helping you ride out every last pulse.

when you finally came down, breathing heavily, you reached down to palm his obvious erection through his pants.

steve immediately caught your wrist, stopping you.

“no,” he said softly but firmly, breathing hard. “not today. this is about you.”

he gently lifted you off his lap and laid you down on the couch. 

he knelt on the floor between your legs, pulled your jeans and panties down in one smooth motion, and spread your thighs wide.

steve leaned in and kissed your inner thigh, then higher, until his mouth was on your pussy. he licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, tasting you. 

you moaned loudly, your hand flying to his hair.

he licked you slowly at first, savoring you, then became more eager; sucking gently on your clit, fucking you with his tongue, then sliding two fingers back inside you while he focused his mouth on your sensitive bud.

“steve…” you whimpered, back arching. “oh my god…”

he ate you out with perfect focus, humming against you, curling his fingers deep while his tongue worked your clit in stead patterns. 

you felt completely overwhelmed in the best way.

“it’s been so long…” you moaned, voice breaking, fingers tightening in his hair. “i haven’t felt this good with anyone in so long… steve, fuck—”

he groaned against your pussy, the vibration making you shiver. 

he doubled down, sucking harder on your clit while his fingers thrust faster.

you came again with a loud cry, thighs clamping around his head as intense pleasure flooded your body. 

steve kept licking you gently through it, drawing out every wave until you were trembling and oversensitive.

he finally pulled back, lips shiny, breathing heavily. he looked up at you with dark, worried, but undeniably hungry eyes. then he slowly stood up, towering over you as you lay on the couch. 

he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at you for a long moment.

“do you really want me to fuck you?” he asked, voice low and rough. “because we’ve already broken every rule… if we do this, there’s no going back.”

you nodded, still catching your breath.

“yes,” you whispered. “i want you.” steve let out a shaky breath, clearly fighting with himself one last time.

he quickly unbuckled his belt and opened his pants, pulling out his cock. he was big — thick and long, the head already leaking. 

you stared at it, a mix of nerves and excitement flooding you.

“you have to be quiet,” he warned, voice serious. “no matter what. if someone hears us, i’m done.”

you nodded quickly. steve pulled your jeans and panties completely off, then climbed on top of you on the small couch. 

he rubbed the head of his cock against your soaked pussy before slowly pushing inside.you gasped at the stretch. he was so big it almost hurt, but it felt so good. 

he covered your mouth with his large hand as he sank deeper while his eyes were locked on yours.

“shhh, baby,” he whispered, bottoming out inside you. “fuck… you’re so tight.”

he started fucking you on the couch, deep and steady thrusts, his hand still firmly over your mouth to muffle your moans. every time he buried himself completely you whimpered against his palm, eyes rolling back.

after a few minutes he pulled out, stood up and turned you around, bending you over the desk. he pushed back inside you from behind in one smooth thrust, groaning quietly.

“quiet, princess,” he reminded you, hand returning to cover your mouth as he started fucking you harder. 

the desk creaked softly with every deep thrust. steve was so big you could feel him in your stomach, stretching you perfectly.

his free hand gripped your hip tightly as he pounded into you, trying to stay as quiet as possible while giving you exactly what you needed.

“is this what you wanted?” he breathed against your ear, voice strained. “you feel so fucking good…”

you could only moan helplessly against his hand, completely lost in how full you felt and how deep he was hitting inside you.

“is this what you wanted?” he whispered, voice low and rough, lips brushing your ear. “when you were touching yourself at home… thinking about me… is this what you imagined?”

you moaned against his palm, nodding frantically.

“oh yes, steve…” you whimpered, the words muffled against his hand.he fucked you a little harder, deep and slow, making sure you felt every inch.

“you were fucking yourself thinking about my cock, weren’t you?” he breathed, voice soft but filthy. “touching that pretty pussy and wishing it was me stretching you open like this…”

you whimpered louder, pushing back against him.

“yes… yes, steve… i wanted you so bad,” you gasped against his fingers.

steve groaned quietly, pressing deeper, grinding against you.

“good girl,” he murmured, kissing the side of your neck while still covering your mouth. “you feel even better than i imagined… so fucking tight and wet for me.”

he kept a steady rhythm, rolling his hips, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. his hand stayed firm over your mouth, muffling your moans as you trembled beneath him.

“that’s it, baby… take it,” he whispered hotly. “this is what you needed, isn’t it? my cock deep inside you while you’re bent over my desk…”

you nodded desperately, tears of pleasure in your eyes.

“yes, steve… oh god, yes…” you moaned against his hand, voice broken and needy.

steve kissed your neck again, sucking softly on your skin as he fucked you deeper, slower, making sure you felt every single inch.

“you’re doing so good for me,” he praised gently, voice full of lust and care at the same time. “such a good girl… letting me fuck you like this…”

“that’s it, baby,” he whispered against your ear, voice low and rough. “cum for me. let go.”

your orgasm hit you hard. your whole body tensed, thighs shaking as you came around his cock with a muffled cry against his palm. 

your pussy clenched tightly around him, pulsing again and again.

steve groaned quietly, burying himself deep as he followed right after you. his hips stuttered and he came hard inside you, filling you with warm pulses while pressing his face into your neck to stay quiet.

for a few seconds you both stayed like that, breathing heavily. 

then reality seemed to hit him. steve pulled out slowly and grabbed the box of tissues from his desk. he cleaned you gently first, wiping between your legs with care, then cleaned himself.

you both dressed quickly in silence. he helped you button your jeans. once you were both fully dressed, steve sat on the edge of the desk and pulled you to stand between his legs.

he looked at you softly.

“how do you feel?” he asked quietly, genuine concern in his eyes. “be honest with me.”

you took a deep breath, still a little shaky.

“i didn’t feel blocked,” you whispered. “i didn’t overthink everything like i usually do. i just… felt good. really good. safe.”

steve’s expression softened. a small, relieved smile appeared on his lips.

“that’s really good,” he murmured, sounding genuinely happy. “i’m glad you felt that way. that’s important.”

“and… is this what all your patients get?” you asked softly, half-joking but clearly a little nervous.

steve’s eyes widened. he let out a surprised little laugh and shook his head immediately.

“ohhh no, no, no,” he said quickly, almost embarrassed. “you’ve been the exception. completely. i usually stay very professional… i’ve never crossed this line before. not even close.”

he cupped your face with both hands, looking straight into your eyes, sincere.

“this has never happened with anyone else. you’re the only one.”

you bit your lip, feeling a strange mix of relief and warmth in your chest.

steve leaned in and kissed your forehead gently, then rested his forehead against yours.

“this is new for me too,” he whispered. “and probably really stupid… but i couldn’t stop myself with you.”

Just as Steve deepens the kiss—his large hands on either side of your neck gently titling your head back to coax your lips apart with his tongue—the sound of someone gasping in surprise rips the two of you apart.

Please don’t let it be Dustin. Please don’t let it be Dustin.

But as you pull away from Steve, your face burning and Steve looking a little dazed, you quickly realise that it wasn’t Dustin who had caught you—it was Lucas.

“Um, hi Sinclair,” Steve says by way of greeting, trying to act casual and as though you hadn’t been making out merely seconds ago.

Lucas’ eyes dart from Steve, to you and back again.

“Oh, Dustin is gonna flip—”

“—you can’t tell Henderson!” Steve insists, eyes widening in slight panic. “He’ll kill me—”

“—maybe you should have thought about it before you started making out with his sister—”

“—it was just a kiss—”

“—that’s a bunch of bull—”

“—Lucas, please don’t tell Dustin,” you plead with Lucas, cutting him off mid sentence so you didn’t have to hear him and Steve bicker back and forth a moment longer.

“Why not?” Lucas asks. “He deserves to know, this isn’t fair on him, you know? Besides, the party doesn’t keep secrets from each other. I have to tell him.”

The guilt stirs in your gut because you knew Lucas was right. You knew not being honest with Dustin wasn’t fair on him but you were trying to be sensitive around your brother’s current state.

Steve glances at you, seeing the torn expression on your face and his hand twitches, as though he was desperate to reach for yours.

“Just give us a few days, yeah?” Steve asks Lucas. “We’ll tell him. We just need to figure out how to do it gently.”

Lucas looks unconvinced and you decide to plead with him instead.

“Please Lucas?” You press him gently before he could open his mouth to tell you no. “Th—this isn’t a bit of fun for us and we want to tell Dustin properly.”

Your eyes are on Lucas but you could feel Steve looking at you at your words. You try not to think too much about it.

“Wait—you guys are like…serious?” Lucas asks.

You feel your face warming and you force yourself not to look at Steve at that moment.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his hand finding yours, thumb gently rubbing over your skin and making it hard for you to hold back a smile. “We are.”

Lucas looks at Steve for a long moment before finally, he nods. “Okay,” he says, somewhat reluctantly. “Okay, okay. I won’t tell him. But you two should probably stop making out in the basement if you don’t want him to catch you.”

You learned a day later that Lucas Sinclair could not keep a secret.

You were back in the basement of the radio station, planning the next crawl. The basement was full with the entirety of the party present as well as the older kids, Joyce and Hooper. You stand beside Steve, trying to keep a straight face as you listen to Nancy but it was proving difficult when Steve kept nudging his foot against yours.

You hear your name being said and you look up to see Nancy looking at you expectantly.

“What?” You ask, your mind half on the conversation and half on Steve’s arm that was brushing against yours. “Sorry. What did you say, Nance?”

Nancy looks at you, slightly suspicious of the distracted look on your face before she glances back down at the map. “I asked if you and Steve were okay to take the van tonight? We need Dustin to stay here to cover—”

Lucas snorts with laughter and you don’t even have time to send him a warning look before he bursts out, “Oh, they’ll be just fine. They’re just gonna make out the whole time.”

His words were met with complete and utter silence.

Your face was burning and Steve was almost completely lost for words. Lucas seems to realise two seconds too late what he had just let slip and attempts to laugh it off.

“I was kidding! It was just a—”

But nothing gets past Dustin Henderson.

“What are you talking about?” Dustin asks, brows furrowed in confusion as he looks from you to Steve and back again. “Is there something I don’t know about going here or?”

“I um,” Steve begins, looking at you while Robin—who was the only person who knew about you and Steve—struggles to keep a straight face. “I mean he was probably jo—”

“—no, don’t try and bullshit me man, what is Lucas talking about?”

You look up your brother then and you almost see the way he’s putting two and two together. At the way Steve’s body was turned towards yours, how he was looking at you with a soft look of concern on his face. 

“Dustin, I swear we were going to tell you—” You begin but Dustin is quick to cut you off.

“—we?” Dustin asks, nostrils flaring as he looks at Steve. “There’s a we?”

“Can we please focus?” Hopper’s gruff voice cuts in before you or Steve could respond. “There’s more important things that we need to—”

“—you can’t be serious,” Dustin interrupts, clearly no longer caring about the crawl as he glares at both you and Steve. “You and Steve? Seriously?”

“Dustin, could you just—”

But Dustin is already shaking his head, curls bouncing as he walks away from the table without another word to either you or Steve.

Everyone in the room seems to hold their breath as Dustin practically stomps up the basement stairs while you and Steve look at each other. You vaguely register Lucas profusely apologising for running his mouth but you weren’t listening.

“I’ll go after him,” you say to Steve. “I can talk to him and—”

“—no, I’ll go,” Steve insists with a shake of his head. You open your mouth to protest but Steve is already leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek before he follows Dustin up the basement stairs.

“So you and Steve, huh?” Robin asks, trying and failing to seem surprised. “I had no idea! That’s such a surprise!”

Both Nancy and Jonathan laugh in a disbelieving sort of way and even you manage to crack a smile, despite the way your heart was pounding in your chest as you can’t help but imagine the conversation that Steve and your brother were having.

“Alright! Can we focus up now, please?” Hopper calls out, trying to wrangle everyone’s attention back to the mission at hand. “Alright—Wheeler—no Mike, not you—I need you and Buckley to—”

“—I’m just gonna go and check Steve and Dustin are okay,” you interrupt Hopper, ignoring the audible groan of frustration from him as you slip past the group and race up the basement stairs.

You follow the sound of Steve and Dustin’s voices, all the way up the basement stairs and out of the maintenance room where the entrance to the basement was hidden. You’re about to round the corner to head into the kitchen when the sound of Steve’s voices stops you.

“—I promise you man, I’m not just fooling around with her. I wouldn’t do that, especially not to her.”

“Then why would you not tell me? If you were that serious about her—”

“—I was scared, okay? I was—I was scared you wouldn’t handle it well and honestly? I was scared because I hadn’t felt this way about anyone before.”

Your breath hitches and even Dustin is taken aback by Steve’s words.

“Not even Nancy?”

A beat and then—

“Yeah. Not even Nance. With Nance it was—it was constantly worrying if I was doing the right thing, if I was enough. But with your sister—” Steve begins and though you can’t see him, you can hear the smile in his voice. “—she’s the real deal. She’s my favourite person and I was scared that telling everyone about our relationship would burst that bubble or something.”

You bit back a smile as you lean against the wall, your heart feeling fuller at Steve’s admission.

“She’s your favourite person?” Dustin repeats, his voice a little softer now.

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “She is.”

You almost step out and into the kitchen but what Dustin asks Steve next keeps you rooted to the spot.

“Do you love her?”

You swallow because three months together meant that you hadn’t yet breached the L word yet with Steve. You knew you loved him—you had known since the very first kiss if you were honest with yourself. But you had never told him that and you couldn’t be sure that Steve was actually in love with you too.

You almost leave, so that you don’t have to hear Steve’s response. In fact, you started to do just that—stepping back towards the stairs that lead back down to the basement when—

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “I do. I love her.”

Your heart was doing funny things in your chest, things that surely defied science and all because Steve Harrington admitted that he loved you. He loved you, he loved you, he loved you.

“Wow,” you hear Dustin say a few seconds later, after he had digested Steve’s words. “Love. That’s um, that’s big, Steve.”

“It’s kind of hard not to fall in love with her.”

The smile that was beginning to tug on your lips almost hurt at Steve’s words. You had to fight the urge to run toward your boyfriend and kiss him stupid.

“You know if you break her heart that I’ll get Jonathan to beat you up again—”

“—oh c’mon, that was one time, I could totally take Byers again if I—”

“—so as long as you don’t do anything too stupid then—then I guess…I guess I forgive you for keeping it from me.”

“I promise you I won’t,” Steve reassures Dustin. “I’m gonna keep her for as long as she’ll have me. You never know, I might be your brother in law one day—”

“—nevermind, take everything I said back—”

“—too late, I can already see it now. A spring wedding, you can be the ring bearer and—”

You don’t see it but you hear a thumping sound which could only mean Dustin had smacked your boyfriend’s arm to shut him up. And you can’t help yourself, you let out a laugh.

There was silence from the kitchen and your heart thumps as you realise that both Steve and Dustin had heard you. 

Dustin calls out your name and asks, “is that you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, silently cursing yourself before you respond. “Yeah. It’s me.”

You step out then, heading towards the kitchen where Dustin and Steve were watching you step over the threshold. Dustin looked incredibly amused while Steve had a look of apprehension on his face, likely worried about just how much you had overheard.

“You’re so like mom, you know that? She’s always eavesdropping on my conversations—”

Your face burns at that and you glance quickly at Steve before looking away, “—I wasn’t eavesdropping, Dustin—”

“—you totally were. But whatever, I’m glad you two are happy. Just don’t make out in front of me. I don’t want anymore reasons to go to therapy at my age.”

You let out a choked out sound while the tips of Steve’s ears turn red. Dustin pays no mind to it, slipping past you as he heads towards the basement door with a slight spring in his step.

You don’t speak and neither does Steve. You begin to fiddle with a button on your cardigan while Steve seems suddenly interested in looking out of the kitchen window. 

“So, do you wanna head back down before Hoppers kills us or—”

“—how much did you hear?”

You flex your fingers, the button slipping from your hand as you look over at Steve. He has a carefully measured expression on his face, as though he was bracing himself for the worst.

For a moment, you debate whether or not to lie to him. Whether you should tell him you hadn’t heard much at all but one look in those big, hazel eyes that you loved so much and you couldn’t find it in yourself to lie to him.

“You said I’m your favourite person,” you say finally with a faint smile. “That was sweet.”

Steve swallows nervously, a pink flush creeping up his neck as he looks back at you. “It’s true, you are.” He takes a tentative step closer, his eyes not leaving yours as he asks, “what else did you hear?”

You pretend to think, finding it near impossible to not smile as Steve stands right in front of you, his hands planting themselves on your waist and squeezing affectionately.

“I heard you say that you love me,” you say softly, your eyes flickering over his face.

“Yeah?” Steve murmurs, leaning in until his lips ghosted over your cheek, his breath hot against your skin. “And what did you think about that, baby?”

You exhale a shuddering breath, Steve’s lips placing a tender kiss to your cheek, then another to your forehead, then your nose and finally the very corner of your mouth. The contact makes your entire body shudder.

“I think,” you breathe out, head tilting back instinctively so as to look back at him. “I think it’s a good thing that I love you too.”

You feel Steve’s breathing slow, his hands grip you that little bit tighter and there was a look in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, barely able to contain the smile on his face, “I love you. I love you so much. I can’t believe—”

He doesn’t even finish his own sentence, his lips sealing over yours in a kiss that leaves you breathless. Your hands find their way into his hair and his pull you flush against him, your mouths moving against each other as though you had all the time in the world.

It was you who had the sense to pull away first—Steve chasing your lips and pressing kiss after kiss there until you were laughing against him.

“Later,” you promise him, placing a finger to his lips to stop him. “We’ve got a crawl to plan.”

dividers and banner by me 🌸

please credit me if you wish to reuse

.✦ ݁˖ rec account: @moonstone-recommends .✦ ݁˖

Just as Steve deepens the kiss—his large hands on either side of your neck gently titling your head back to coax your lips apart with his tongue—the sound of someone gasping in surprise rips the two of you apart.

Please don’t let it be Dustin. Please don’t let it be Dustin.

But as you pull away from Steve, your face burning and Steve looking a little dazed, you quickly realise that it wasn’t Dustin who had caught you—it was Lucas.

“Um, hi Sinclair,” Steve says by way of greeting, trying to act casual and as though you hadn’t been making out merely seconds ago.

Lucas’ eyes dart from Steve, to you and back again.

“Oh, Dustin is gonna flip—”

“—you can’t tell Henderson!” Steve insists, eyes widening in slight panic. “He’ll kill me—”

“—maybe you should have thought about it before you started making out with his sister—”

“—it was just a kiss—”

“—that’s a bunch of bull—”

“—Lucas, please don’t tell Dustin,” you plead with Lucas, cutting him off mid sentence so you didn’t have to hear him and Steve bicker back and forth a moment longer.

“Why not?” Lucas asks. “He deserves to know, this isn’t fair on him, you know? Besides, the party doesn’t keep secrets from each other. I have to tell him.”

The guilt stirs in your gut because you knew Lucas was right. You knew not being honest with Dustin wasn’t fair on him but you were trying to be sensitive around your brother’s current state.

Steve glances at you, seeing the torn expression on your face and his hand twitches, as though he was desperate to reach for yours.

“Just give us a few days, yeah?” Steve asks Lucas. “We’ll tell him. We just need to figure out how to do it gently.”

Lucas looks unconvinced and you decide to plead with him instead.

“Please Lucas?” You press him gently before he could open his mouth to tell you no. “Th—this isn’t a bit of fun for us and we want to tell Dustin properly.”

Your eyes are on Lucas but you could feel Steve looking at you at your words. You try not to think too much about it.

“Wait—you guys are like…serious?” Lucas asks.

You feel your face warming and you force yourself not to look at Steve at that moment.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his hand finding yours, thumb gently rubbing over your skin and making it hard for you to hold back a smile. “We are.”

Lucas looks at Steve for a long moment before finally, he nods. “Okay,” he says, somewhat reluctantly. “Okay, okay. I won’t tell him. But you two should probably stop making out in the basement if you don’t want him to catch you.”

You learned a day later that Lucas Sinclair could not keep a secret.

You were back in the basement of the radio station, planning the next crawl. The basement was full with the entirety of the party present as well as the older kids, Joyce and Hooper. You stand beside Steve, trying to keep a straight face as you listen to Nancy but it was proving difficult when Steve kept nudging his foot against yours.

You hear your name being said and you look up to see Nancy looking at you expectantly.

“What?” You ask, your mind half on the conversation and half on Steve’s arm that was brushing against yours. “Sorry. What did you say, Nance?”

Nancy looks at you, slightly suspicious of the distracted look on your face before she glances back down at the map. “I asked if you and Steve were okay to take the van tonight? We need Dustin to stay here to cover—”

Lucas snorts with laughter and you don’t even have time to send him a warning look before he bursts out, “Oh, they’ll be just fine. They’re just gonna make out the whole time.”

His words were met with complete and utter silence.

Your face was burning and Steve was almost completely lost for words. Lucas seems to realise two seconds too late what he had just let slip and attempts to laugh it off.

“I was kidding! It was just a—”

But nothing gets past Dustin Henderson.

“What are you talking about?” Dustin asks, brows furrowed in confusion as he looks from you to Steve and back again. “Is there something I don’t know about going here or?”

“I um,” Steve begins, looking at you while Robin—who was the only person who knew about you and Steve—struggles to keep a straight face. “I mean he was probably jo—”

“—no, don’t try and bullshit me man, what is Lucas talking about?”

You look up your brother then and you almost see the way he’s putting two and two together. At the way Steve’s body was turned towards yours, how he was looking at you with a soft look of concern on his face. 

“Dustin, I swear we were going to tell you—” You begin but Dustin is quick to cut you off.

“—we?” Dustin asks, nostrils flaring as he looks at Steve. “There’s a we?”

“Can we please focus?” Hopper’s gruff voice cuts in before you or Steve could respond. “There’s more important things that we need to—”

“—you can’t be serious,” Dustin interrupts, clearly no longer caring about the crawl as he glares at both you and Steve. “You and Steve? Seriously?”

“Dustin, could you just—”

But Dustin is already shaking his head, curls bouncing as he walks away from the table without another word to either you or Steve.

Everyone in the room seems to hold their breath as Dustin practically stomps up the basement stairs while you and Steve look at each other. You vaguely register Lucas profusely apologising for running his mouth but you weren’t listening.

“I’ll go after him,” you say to Steve. “I can talk to him and—”

“—no, I’ll go,” Steve insists with a shake of his head. You open your mouth to protest but Steve is already leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek before he follows Dustin up the basement stairs.

“So you and Steve, huh?” Robin asks, trying and failing to seem surprised. “I had no idea! That’s such a surprise!”

Both Nancy and Jonathan laugh in a disbelieving sort of way and even you manage to crack a smile, despite the way your heart was pounding in your chest as you can’t help but imagine the conversation that Steve and your brother were having.

“Alright! Can we focus up now, please?” Hopper calls out, trying to wrangle everyone’s attention back to the mission at hand. “Alright—Wheeler—no Mike, not you—I need you and Buckley to—”

“—I’m just gonna go and check Steve and Dustin are okay,” you interrupt Hopper, ignoring the audible groan of frustration from him as you slip past the group and race up the basement stairs.

You follow the sound of Steve and Dustin’s voices, all the way up the basement stairs and out of the maintenance room where the entrance to the basement was hidden. You’re about to round the corner to head into the kitchen when the sound of Steve’s voices stops you.

“—I promise you man, I’m not just fooling around with her. I wouldn’t do that, especially not to her.”

“Then why would you not tell me? If you were that serious about her—”

“—I was scared, okay? I was—I was scared you wouldn’t handle it well and honestly? I was scared because I hadn’t felt this way about anyone before.”

Your breath hitches and even Dustin is taken aback by Steve’s words.

“Not even Nancy?”

A beat and then—

“Yeah. Not even Nance. With Nance it was—it was constantly worrying if I was doing the right thing, if I was enough. But with your sister—” Steve begins and though you can’t see him, you can hear the smile in his voice. “—she’s the real deal. She’s my favourite person and I was scared that telling everyone about our relationship would burst that bubble or something.”

You bit back a smile as you lean against the wall, your heart feeling fuller at Steve’s admission.

“She’s your favourite person?” Dustin repeats, his voice a little softer now.

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “She is.”

You almost step out and into the kitchen but what Dustin asks Steve next keeps you rooted to the spot.

“Do you love her?”

You swallow because three months together meant that you hadn’t yet breached the L word yet with Steve. You knew you loved him—you had known since the very first kiss if you were honest with yourself. But you had never told him that and you couldn’t be sure that Steve was actually in love with you too.

You almost leave, so that you don’t have to hear Steve’s response. In fact, you started to do just that—stepping back towards the stairs that lead back down to the basement when—

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “I do. I love her.”

Your heart was doing funny things in your chest, things that surely defied science and all because Steve Harrington admitted that he loved you. He loved you, he loved you, he loved you.

“Wow,” you hear Dustin say a few seconds later, after he had digested Steve’s words. “Love. That’s um, that’s big, Steve.”

“It’s kind of hard not to fall in love with her.”

The smile that was beginning to tug on your lips almost hurt at Steve’s words. You had to fight the urge to run toward your boyfriend and kiss him stupid.

“You know if you break her heart that I’ll get Jonathan to beat you up again—”

“—oh c’mon, that was one time, I could totally take Byers again if I—”

“—so as long as you don’t do anything too stupid then—then I guess…I guess I forgive you for keeping it from me.”

“I promise you I won’t,” Steve reassures Dustin. “I’m gonna keep her for as long as she’ll have me. You never know, I might be your brother in law one day—”

“—nevermind, take everything I said back—”

“—too late, I can already see it now. A spring wedding, you can be the ring bearer and—”

You don’t see it but you hear a thumping sound which could only mean Dustin had smacked your boyfriend’s arm to shut him up. And you can’t help yourself, you let out a laugh.

There was silence from the kitchen and your heart thumps as you realise that both Steve and Dustin had heard you. 

Dustin calls out your name and asks, “is that you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, silently cursing yourself before you respond. “Yeah. It’s me.”

You step out then, heading towards the kitchen where Dustin and Steve were watching you step over the threshold. Dustin looked incredibly amused while Steve had a look of apprehension on his face, likely worried about just how much you had overheard.

“You’re so like mom, you know that? She’s always eavesdropping on my conversations—”

Your face burns at that and you glance quickly at Steve before looking away, “—I wasn’t eavesdropping, Dustin—”

“—you totally were. But whatever, I’m glad you two are happy. Just don’t make out in front of me. I don’t want anymore reasons to go to therapy at my age.”

You let out a choked out sound while the tips of Steve’s ears turn red. Dustin pays no mind to it, slipping past you as he heads towards the basement door with a slight spring in his step.

You don’t speak and neither does Steve. You begin to fiddle with a button on your cardigan while Steve seems suddenly interested in looking out of the kitchen window. 

“So, do you wanna head back down before Hoppers kills us or—”

“—how much did you hear?”

You flex your fingers, the button slipping from your hand as you look over at Steve. He has a carefully measured expression on his face, as though he was bracing himself for the worst.

For a moment, you debate whether or not to lie to him. Whether you should tell him you hadn’t heard much at all but one look in those big, hazel eyes that you loved so much and you couldn’t find it in yourself to lie to him.

“You said I’m your favourite person,” you say finally with a faint smile. “That was sweet.”

Steve swallows nervously, a pink flush creeping up his neck as he looks back at you. “It’s true, you are.” He takes a tentative step closer, his eyes not leaving yours as he asks, “what else did you hear?”

You pretend to think, finding it near impossible to not smile as Steve stands right in front of you, his hands planting themselves on your waist and squeezing affectionately.

“I heard you say that you love me,” you say softly, your eyes flickering over his face.

“Yeah?” Steve murmurs, leaning in until his lips ghosted over your cheek, his breath hot against your skin. “And what did you think about that, baby?”

You exhale a shuddering breath, Steve’s lips placing a tender kiss to your cheek, then another to your forehead, then your nose and finally the very corner of your mouth. The contact makes your entire body shudder.

“I think,” you breathe out, head tilting back instinctively so as to look back at him. “I think it’s a good thing that I love you too.”

You feel Steve’s breathing slow, his hands grip you that little bit tighter and there was a look in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, barely able to contain the smile on his face, “I love you. I love you so much. I can’t believe—”

He doesn’t even finish his own sentence, his lips sealing over yours in a kiss that leaves you breathless. Your hands find their way into his hair and his pull you flush against him, your mouths moving against each other as though you had all the time in the world.

It was you who had the sense to pull away first—Steve chasing your lips and pressing kiss after kiss there until you were laughing against him.

“Later,” you promise him, placing a finger to his lips to stop him. “We’ve got a crawl to plan.”

dividers and banner by me 🌸

please credit me if you wish to reuse

.✦ ݁˖ rec account: @moonstone-recommends .✦ ݁˖

A love that blossomed slowly but surely, as sometimes happens to childhood friends. In between fighting monsters and keeping each other alive, when you finally fell into each other, together, the rightness of it was just there. Unquestionable and unyielding.

The time before him sliding seamlessly into the time where it was just him.

And it worked so well, too.

You moved together like you were made for each other. Whether it was battling the evil from the upside down, making breakfast in the kitchen, or making love. You complemented each other perfectly in a way that settling down didn’t feel like a compromise, it just felt natural.

When he slid that little diamond ring on your finger, no one commented on the youth you still bore on your face. That maybe more of your life should be lived before making such a big decision. No one ever questioned the wisdom of it. Because it made sense, the two of you together.

And then it ended. Not with an argument.

It ended softly, with his quiet pleading.

With a whispered “Please” and not a shouted “Get out!”

But you left all the same. Engagement ring on the coffee table, full of unfulfilled promises.

And life continued without him. With you pretending that you didn’t have a Steve-shaped hole in your chest, wide and gaping.

However, the time after Steve feels displaced. Like a phase that doesn’t belong in the timeline and it’s caused everything to feel disjointed after that.

You tried to date, tried to see what love would feel like with other people. But nothing ever felt right, or fit right.

So you were forced to feel comfortable in your own skin. To sit with yourself, alone, something you hadn’t been in such a long time.

But he’s always there, occupying the corners of your mind. When you first received your teaching license, your first instinct was to call him. The phone already in your hand, the first three numbers dialed before you stopped yourself.

And it continued on like that for a while. During the bad moments, when the worst nightmares shook you violently awake, sobs erupting uncontrollably from your body. On beautiful days when it was bright out with a nice, calming breeze and nature’s colors were vibrant and alive.

The days you thought about the past. Of the things you’d been through together.

And on a day like this.

When your first grade class is having a career day.

Because Steve Harrington is standing at the back of your classroom dressed in his fireman uniform, with your colorful bulletin board serving as a backdrop. His face next to your makeshift calendar for November is not how you imagined seeing him for the first time in a very long time.

He looks good.

Healthy, and in one piece.

Okay, he looks great.

With his hair is shorter with the back cropped closer to the nape and the slight scruff along his jaw, Steve Harrington looks every bit as attractive as he did when you were still together. He’s filled out quite a bit since you’ve last seen him, and you cannot deny how good he looks in his uniform, a dark blue button up tucked neatly into his matching trousers. His shoulders appear broader, his uniform stretching over larger biceps than you remember and you let yourself wonder if he would feel the same if you stood in the circle of his arms again.

You mentally shake your head at the thought. Arms crossed tightly against your own chest and an equally tight smile on your face, you try to concentrate on listening to Simon Gubler’s father talk about the joys of being an accountant to six and seven year olds that have barely learned basic addition. You can feel the heat of his stare, the way that his eyes track your every movement as you walk around the room.

He isn’t supposed to be here.

Ashley Humphrey’s father is.

So yes, you are unprepared for Steve Harrington to step into your tiny classroom, overwhelming you with his presence. And you hate being unprepared.

You clap your hands, effectively cutting off Simon’s father before he can go into corporate taxation laws.

“Thank you so much, Simon’s dad, for explaining to us the wonderful world of accounting and numbers,” you announce as you walk to the front of the classroom to stand by your desk. “Does anyone have any questions for Simon’s dad?”

You peruse the room with a smile plastered on your face, even though the sight of little Sarah Matthews’s head lolling to the side on the edge of slumber makes you want to grimace. Not one tiny hand in the air.

“If there are no questions, lets all thank Mister Gubler for coming in and sharing his precious time with us,” you prompt your half-asleep class.

“Thank you, Mister Gubler,” they manage to chorus albeit a little slower and softer than you prefer.

Thankfully, Mr. Gubler is nice to enough to merely shrug his shoulders and wave to everyone before walking to the back of the room.

Taking a look at your list of names on your table, you swallow hard. You’re not even sure you checked. There’s only one person left to present.

“I know you are all very excited for our last presenter to explain their career to us.” Your students start to perk up at your words. “Ashley’s dad, Captain Humphrey, was supposed to be here today. Unfortunately,” your eyes flit to Steve’s for a moment before settling back on your class, “He isn’t yet able to make it in. He did send us a lovely thank you letter which I’ll be reading to the class after recess. But he does want us to know that he is very grateful for all the Get Well Soon cards you made for him.” Your eyes land on Ashley who sits at the front of the class and you give her an encouraging smile and she rewards you with a timid one.

You try to ignore the way your hands grow cold, and your back stiffens. “But, in his place we have today, Mister Harrington, one of our dedicated firefighters.” You can’t help but emphasize the word and you catch the way Steve freezes. “Let’s all give him a round of applause.”

Your kids enthusiastically clap their hands, which makes you feel a little embarrassed at the obvious lack of it earlier.

Steve starts for the front of the class and he’s careful with his steps making sure not to bump into any of the desks on the way, made difficult by the duffle bag in his hand.

“Hello, everyone! My name is Steve Harrington and I’m one of the firemen with the Hawkins Fire Department.” He tells your first graders as he comes to a stop just five feet away from you and he bends down to set his bag on the floor beside him.

You try your best not to look. But he crouches low to unzip his bag and takes out an off-white plastic object from the bag. You clear your throat as you look away.

 Standing, Steve shows the item to the class. “Raise your hands if any of you have one of these in your house!”

The show of hands is impressive and Steve grins. “That’s great, kids! This is a smoke detector and everyone should have this in their house. When the alarm goes off that means that there’s smoke in the house. And smoke means that there is a fire. When the alarm goes off, that means you need to call the fire department. Does anyone know what number you need to call?” He asks the children.

Your class doesn’t disappoint as they all yell. “Nine-one-one!”

You can’t help but smile as Steve goes through the rest of his presentation, the kids in rapt attention. He shows them his protective equipment from his bag, lets some of them even try the helmet on. You’ve forgotten how good he is with children, and you feel your defenses ease away into something warm.

Steve fields a million questions from the kids as well as expertly deflecting any requests to ride the red firetruck parked outside. And when you notice that you’re nearing recess, you find yourself a little disappointed that you need to cut his time short.

The kids are disheartened as expected, and they’re not shy about showing it. Plenty of moans and groans fill the small room and you bite your lip when you find Steve’s warm smile in the corner of your eye.

“Let’s all give St—” you catch yourself, “Mister Harrington an applause for his amazing presentation.”

After a loud and exuberant applause from your class, Steve gets on his knee next to Ashley’s desk. There’s a short, murmured conversation between the two of them before she leans in for a tight hug that Steve readily returns.

Your heart skips a beat.

Because there was a time that you thought of this as your future. But instead of Ashley Humphrey, it’s a little kid with Steve’s puppy dog eyes and your smile.

You tear your eyes away from Steve and take a deep breath. Clapping your hands together, the kids settle down in their seats. “We’re going to have recess soon so let’s thank our guests for coming here today and sharing their jobs with us. Let’s go ahead and say “Thank you guests” on three,” you instruct once the room is quiet. “One, two, three!”

“Thank you, guests!” the kids chant loudly.

“Good job, everyone! Now I’ll give you a few minutes of free time to speak with the guests for any questions you forgot to ask earlier. I know some moms and dads have been very patient and are waiting to get some hugs in before they leave.”

The kids waste no time jumping out of their chairs, some heading to their respective parents, others talking amongst themselves. You feel Steve turn to you, his attention fully on you once again. But before he can move towards you, a bunch of the boys manage to create an effective, and very loud wall as they inundate him with even more questions and requests.

You take the distraction and walk to the end of the room to speak with the rest of the volunteer parents. Shaking their hand and thanking them for their time, your attention still on Steve and his attempts to get to all the questions being thrown at him all at once. He takes the kids seriously, too, you realize and when your heart starts to melt you’re thankful that free time is over.

The last thing you need to fall back into the pit of regret that was already so hard to climb out.

You ask the kids to fall in line and it takes almost the full minute for them to cooperate and when the bell rings, you’re relieved that you won’t need to be back in Steve’s orbit for much longer. The kids file out of the room obediently and you walk them outside to enjoy their recess in the playground.

Rebecca, the kindergarten teacher, is already outside with her kids and waiting for you to join her. She readily holds a bag of pretzels out to you and you take a couple gratefully as you come to stand next to her under a shady tree.

Already married with kids of her own in their preteens, Rebecca and you grew close when her family moved last year from the city after her husband took a position at the hospital. She was warm, brutally honest in the most caring way, and a good friend in the times you felt like you had none.

“How’d career day go? I don’t think I’ve heard a more enthusiastic one before. My kids kept getting distracted by all the clapping.”

You chew a pretzel slowly before swallowing. “We had a firefighter for the last one so the kids were excited about that.”

“I forgot about that. I guess whoever Captain Humphrey sent was a hit with the kids.”

You hum.

Rebecca nudges your shoulder and nods over to your right. “That him? He’s cute.”

A gaggle of your kids have congregated by the fence, all staring at the shiny red firetruck parked by the curb. And there is Steve, standing next to it, looking right at you.

He has his arms folded across his chest as he leans against the side of his truck. A pair of sunglasses, sit low on the bridge of his nose. You almost smile at him trying to look cool and you’re not quite sure if the performance is for you or the children.

You quickly look away and clear your throat before digging back into the bag of Rebecca’s pretzels.

“You know he’s looking straight at you, right?” Rebecca points out.

You hum again.

Then, because you have no self-control, you casually run your fingers through your hair, fluffing it to the right side of your face as you peer back at him.

He’s still staring at you but the slow grin that falls across his handsome taunts you with the knowledge that he knows exactly what you’re doing. And the realization that neither of you are being all that subtle makes your heart skip a beat.

Again.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Rebecca mutters from beside you. “Tell me you at least got his phone number.”

You almost choke on your spit. “Rebecca!” You hiss.

“What? He’s cute. And if I were ten years younger, I’d ask for his number myself.”

“I like how age is the one deterrent here and not the fact that you’re happily married.”

She snorts. “Stop deflecting.”

“I’m not,” you answer defensively. You heave a sigh. “Besides… it’s not like that.”

“What’s it like if not a handsome guy who has been staring at you for the last five minutes.”

You’re silent for a moment before you finally tell her the missing piece. “That’s Steve Harrington.”

“Your ex-fiancé Steve Harrington?” You feel Rebecca grab your arm. “You never said he looks like that.”

“Not that that has anything to do with anything.” You roll your eyes.

“See, now I regret never pushing you for details. You never even told me why you broke up.”

You sigh, finally turning your back on the direction that Steve is standing. “It’s a long story,” you simply say, before walking away.

…

As a kindness—although you think the use of the word is quite generous—Ashley’s father offers to have your first grade class go on a short field trip to the fire department. A sort of apology, he explained, for not having been able to make it to career day.

You prefer the apology without the added work of a field trip and the possibility of running into your ex again. But Ashley let the cat out of the bag to the rest of the class before a decision could be made and it didn’t feel right to deny her after everything that her family had already been through.

So on the last day of school before the Thanksgiving break, you pack the kids with their ill-concealed excitement into the school bus, along with the new teacher's aide, Jessica. You're appreciative of the extra set of hands and even if it someone who's still a little green. But Jessica is bubbly by nature, with shiny blonde hair that bounces as she laughs, and that matches the energy of the kids fairly well.

It's a short trip from the school to the fire station, thankfully, because the children are practically bursting with excitement eagerly peering out the windows and chattering about sliding down the pole (which you have already explained will not be happening) and riding the firetruck (which just might).

When you arrive at the station, Captain Humphrey is already waiting for you, a beautiful merle border collie obediently sitting by his feet. There's a warm, welcoming smile on his face as he stands, holding his hands behind his back.

You can already hear Ashley excitedly telling everyone, "That's my dad, guys! That's my daddy!"

Once the bus comes to a full stop, you quickly remind your class to be on their best behavior then have them form a line so that they can file out of the bus as orderly as you can manage. You and Jessica make sure that they have their sweaters and jackets on as the November air has turned predictably chilly with the onset of winter.

After you have the class congregated in the firehouse bay in front of the Captain, you walk straight up to him and he eagerly shakes your hand as he greets you.

“Good morning, Captain,” you greet him back. “Happy to see you’re doing better.”

“Thank you for coming to visit when I was still in the hospital. It really meant a lot to the family, especially Ashley, that you went through the trouble.”

You wave his gratitude away. “No trouble at all. Ashley’s such a sweet girl and I was happy to do it.”

"Well, you baked us so many cookies, Maggie brought some over here to the station and I think the guys are waiting for me to take another fall so they can have more of your chocolate chip cookies," he tells you with an easy smile. He opens his mouth to say more but Ashley all but barrels into his legs.

"Everyone, this is my dad and he's the boss," Ashley announces proudly.

Her dad laughs as he pats Ashley's head lovingly. "Not the boss, but one of the bosses. The real boss is at a conference in Indianapolis." He turns to the rest of the class then. "Thank you, everyone, for coming down here today! I'm Captain Humphrey, Ashley's dad. And this here," he gestures at the dog beside him, "is Tilly. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to career day but Steve told me that you all had a lot of fun."

There are several variations of "yes" from your students and you grin at their growing excitement.

"That's great! I'm going to take you on a tour of the station. Please make sure not to touch anything until I tell you that it's okay. And please no trying to slide down the fireman pole. We don't want accidents to happen in the fire station." Captain Humphrey raises an eyebrow.

You bite back a smile as the kids groan in disappointment and Tommy Hagan, Jr. lets out an exasperated "But that's the best part!"

But the children remain surprisingly obedient and cooperative as you're walked through the fire station and shown around. You go through the first floor where all the administrative offices are located and the locker area where the kids get to touch the different protective gear that they have. Each child is delightfully surprised when they receive their own little plastic helmet.

They also get to touch the pole. Some of the kids, particularly Tommy Jr. and his buddy/co-conspirator Seth Winslow attempt to climb up the pole to the second floor. But there's only so far they're able to go and you have to reach out to prevent Seth from landing on his tush.

Once you're ushered onto the second floor and shown through the dorms, kitchen and dining area as well as the room for firefighters to hang out during downtime, do you finally let out a sigh of relief at not encountering Steve Harrington. Likely on his day off, the firemen at the station on duty for the day seem fewer than expected.

You’ve tried not to think about him too much. Which you feel doesn’t work all that well because you end up thinking about him more. All your mutual friends have known to stay away from the topic of Steve when talking to you and you’ll admit that this has put a heavy strain on your relationships with them.

You lost far more than you bargained for.

Which is easy to do when you don’t bargain for anything.

The horn of a firetruck blares through the building announcing the return of one of the fire engines and children, initially startled by the loud sound, suddenly start cheering.

"Alright alright, settle down," Captain Humphrey laughs as he reaches his hands out to get the kids to quiet down. "We had a small fire in town earlier. Normally, I would go along with them, but I'm stuck behind a desk for a few more weeks so I'm glad that you kids came here today to keep me company. But..." he trails off, a knowing smile on his face, "Let's see if our brave firefighters can do a quick demo for us. Maybe they'll even let us ride the firetruck."

You pale a little at this despite your class once again bursting into loud cheers. Back rigid, you follow your class they shuffle down the stairs to the first floor where Steve Harrington is, once again, standing next to the familiar red fire engine locked in conversation with a sandy-haired man a few inches taller than him.

His hair is curling against skin, damp with sweat despite the cool temperature, and his face smudged a little with dirt. But this time, instead of the uniform he wore to your class, he's dressed in the protective khaki pants and a tight dark blue shirt that stretches across his chest and his arms, sweat making it stick to his skin, leaving little to the imagination.

Your mouth goes dry as intimate memories of you and Steve flash through your mind.

Would he still feel the same?

Would you?

"Harrington! Lewis!" The Captain calls out and the two men end their conversation abruptly to turn to their attention to their supervisor. "Can we do a ladder demo for the kids? Then maybe,” he winks at your class, “We can have them ride the truck."

You can feel Steve's eyes settle on you and you keep yours on the kids as they start jumping up and down cheering at the prospect of seeing some live action firefighting skills.

“We’re going to need a volunteer for the ladder demonstration.” Every single kid’s hand is high in the air and Captain Humphrey laughs at their enthusiasm. “Actually, I think it’s best to let your teacher help with the demonstration.”

“Oh I don’t think—” you start to reject the request.

“Has your teacher ever taught you kids the importance of cooperation and teamwork?” Steve cuts in smoothly. Your gaze meets his and you see the unmistakable challenge in his eyes.

Your class immediately confirms his statement and start throwing good-natured jabs at you.

“Fine,” you finally agree through gritted teeth. “What do I have to do?”

Apparently, you’re to simulate a ladder rescue and you’re directed by one of the trainees up the stairs and all the way to the roof. Your class starts loudly calling out to you once they see you in view and you can’t help but give them a cheerful wave.

You watch as the firefighters work to expertly maneuver the truck by the side of the building before the ladder expands to get closer to you. And of course it’s Steve, now dressed in full protective gear, at the top of it, a smile on his handsome face that widens the closer he gets to you.

“Are you ready?” He asks holding his hand out to you.

You instinctively take a step back, suddenly unsure of the safety of, ironically, a rescue demonstration. The beat of your heart picks up at the idea of being entirely too far off the ground for your liking.

But the seriousness in Steve’s eyes are unrelenting, holding you in place.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he tells you softly. “Do you trust me?”

Sweetheart, your heart stutters at the word.

The question carries more weight with it than it should. But you can’t deny that even after everything, you do still trust him.

You nod slowly and when you place your hand in his, the warm smile he gives you transports you to all the better days that always feature him and this exact smile.

Before you realize what’s going on, your feet are off the ground. Effortlessly carrying you over the short wall and into his arms steadying you as you make contact with the ladder that is suddenly beneath you instead of in front of you.

“You were perfect,” you hear his whisper amidst the children’s cheering and clapping.

But all your senses are centered on his arms steadying you, the nearness of him that you haven’t felt in a long time.

How it still feels right to be held by Steve.

Once you’re safely back on the ground, you determinedly keep your eyes on everything but Steve Harrington. It’s the only way you can assure yourself that you’ll be able to function as a responsible adult around your class.

Thankfully, Jessica is there to be hands-on with the kids and Lewis is there to help Jessica while he attempts to make small talk with her. A few more firefighters appear and introduce themselves then assist with loading the kids into the truck to take them around the block, a handful of kids at a time since all twenty-five of them wouldn’t be able to fit once.

While you wait with the rest of your kids, Tilly comes up to you and nuzzles your hand. You smile and crouch down to give her soft coat a pet, scratching behind her ears and she leans further into your touch, tail wagging aggressively with happiness.

“She’s a rescue, you know,” Captain Humphrey says as he comes up from behind you. “She was a hyperactive thing and the family that owned her first didn’t know what to do with her. Brought her to the pound to be rehomed.”

You laugh when Tilly nudges her cold wet nose against your chin. “I’m glad she found a home here then.”

“Oh, she doesn’t live here. She’s Harrington’s dog. He got her a year and a half ago, I think. Shortly after after he finished training.”

You straighten as you digest the information and Tilly whines at the sudden lack of attention.

“I see,” you murmur.

“He’s a good kid, Steve. Good head on his shoulders.”

You nod despite not knowing where any of this is going. Because it’s true.

“Never saw anyone work so hard. You know, it took him months to just be able to calm Tilly down, let alone listen to any of his commands. But he did and now she’s just a sweetheart.” His hands settle on his hips as he watches Ashley chatter happily with her friends. “I asked him why he bothered with such a stubborn dog and he said ‘Because I know what it’s like to not be understood by the people who were supposed to love me’. Tough words coming from someone so young.”

There it is.

You remain silent, having nothing to add to an already painful to hear conversation. So you nod again, pretending that the words don’t hurt, that you’re not the person who Steve was referring to.

But the words still creep along your veins, settles in your bones. And you go through the motions of being a good teacher with a smile on your face despite your heart breaking the entire time.

Getting back to the school is a relief and when the bell rings and the kids are long gone, you sit alone in your car, in the emptying parking lot and finally allow yourself to feel all the emotions that you’ve bottled up.

Because you’re the bad guy in Steve’s story.

The one that left.

The one that refused to understand him.

But it didn’t feel fair to you at that time. And it doesn’t feel any more fair now.

…

Like clockwork, Robin calls to let you know that she’s in town for Thanksgiving weekend. You always meet up for drinks one of the days that she’s in town for the holidays. The effort she shows is always appreciated and even when you don’t feel like going, you still make it a point to drag yourself out of your apartment to meet her.

It’s usually just the two of you at one of the local bars but she suggests going for drinks at a dive bar outside of town. Today, with the new snowfall, you really aren’t looking forward to the drive but you put your big girl pants on and bundle up for the weather.

You manage to get there in one piece but when you find her, she’s not alone.

She has Max and Nancy with her.

Okay, you can do a girls night.

They look happy to see you and each of them pull you into a tight hug. For a little while, it feels like everything is right again. Like you’re all just normal people, with normal problems.

Nancy talks about her job at the Boston Herald. Still focused on her career, made difficult when her bosses want her to cover weddings and social events instead of the investigative journalism that she really wants to do.

Robin is in her last year of college and not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do after. With Hawkins steadily growing in the aftermath of the upside down, she’s considering moving back. You tell her about the community college they’re building and suggest looking into becoming a lecturer.

Max shares the tiny diamond ring that sits on her finger and a round of congratulations are offered. But something inside you shifts even though you’re genuinely happy for your friend.

Jealousy, maybe.

Regret?

Something that reminds you that you once thought that you would have this kind of happy ending.

So when the three of them turn to you expectantly. You pretend not to notice.

“You really have nothing to share?” There’s a challenge in Robin’s tone that’s hard to miss. “Not even a little bit?”

You shake your head. “Same old. Just the same stuff as last year, really. Teaching first grade, which is fun.” You shrug. “I don’t have much of a social life.”

There’s a reason why Nancy’s good at her job. She levels you with an intimidating stare as she cuts through the fat. All the way to the bone.

“We know you saw Steve.”

You swallow down a healthy gulp of soda, wishing it was alcohol instead. “I did.” There’s no use lying. “Twice. He showed up to career day and then we saw each other again for a field trip to the fire station.”

“And?” Max questions. “That’s it?”

You give them a tight smile. “That’s it.”

Robin leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. “I know you never want to talk about why you broke up or really anything about Steve but…” she trails off awkwardly.

“He’s still in love with you.” Nancy finishes helpfully.

Robin nods. “Hasn’t even tried to date anyone.”

That’s news to you.

Not that it should matter.

Except you’d be lying to yourself, because it really does matter.

Because what was the point in leaving if neither of you are able to become whole without the other?

“You need to talk to him,” Max adds softly. “He comes over for dinner sometimes. He’s just… lonely. So are you.”

“No,” you tell them immediately. “That’s not… that’s…” You take a deep breath, your grip on your glass. “I left for a reason. I… this wasn’t something I did on a whim. All I wanted, still want, is for Steve Harrington to stop putting his life on the line. Because it was always me who had to put him back together.”

Max says your name softly, placing her hand on your arm.

That’s when you realize that you’re crying. You swipe angrily at your tears with the back of your hand, frustrated to still have this reaction after so long.

“When I close my eyes, I still see him. All the worst nightmares are of him. Battered and broken. All the times that I thought I almost lost him. There are already too many close calls and then he tells me that he wants to become a firefighter?” You almost yell out the last word, upset to relive the disappointing end of your relationship.

You take the tissues that Nancy kindly offers you and wipe your tears away. “We already did our part. We made it all go away. And at the expense of one of our own. We already sacrificed so much of ourselves. We deserve quiet lives. Why doesn’t Steve understand that? Why wasn’t everything that we had gone through enough for him? Why wasn’t I enough?”

The truth always comes out.

That’s how it ended.

Quiet words.

You asking him to choose.

Him telling you that he shouldn’t have to.

So you chose for the both of you.

You didn’t argue with him.

You just left.

He let you.

And you’re not sure what hurt you more.

“Remember that time,” Nancy breaks the uncomfortable silence with her soft voice, “When you went to visit family in Indianapolis the summer before sophomore or junior year?”

You give her a watery smile, already knowing where the story is headed. “Sophomore year.”

“Right!” Nancy snaps her fingers. “I remember now, because Steve just got the BMW. And you called him in the middle of the night crying—”

“Why were you crying?” Robin asks, smiling a little now that the mood has shifted thanks to Nancy’s story.

You blush a deep crimson. “I got my period but I didn’t have anything on me. I was too shy to wake anyone up.”

“Steve was panicked. He grabbed all his mom’s stuff from their bathroom and then drove the almost two hours to the city to hand deliver everything to you. He was grounded for two weeks when he got that speeding ticket on the drive back.”

Everyone is laughing now at the mental image of Steve frantically driving with the stolen feminine products in his car.

You remember opening the door to Steve. Remember seeing him standing outside your grand aunt’s house, arms laden with several multi-colored plastic packages. You knew then, in that moment as you stared at him in wonder.

“Every time I think about love, I think about that story,” Nancy reaches out and pats your shoulder.

Your eyes grow wet with tears again.

“I still love him,” you finally admit. “I always will. It’s been hard seeing him again. And—” you hiccup, “It’s not fucking fair that he looks so hot in that uniform!”

Nancy and Max laugh while Robin grimaces.

“You need to talk to him,” Max tries again. “But it doesn’t have to be now. Just when you’re ready.”

“But what if—”

Robin cuts you off with a quick shake of her head. “Whatever doubts you have, just remove them from your head. Steve Harrington will forever be in love with only you. There is no one else. Not for him,” she tells you with such convincing certainty that you believe her.

You allow the hope to blossom in your chest. Could it work? But the claws of reality still push into your skin. Could you live with Steve and what he’s chosen to dedicate his life to?

You don’t let yourself dwell on it, instead choosing to enjoy the rest of your evening with the girls. You bid them goodnight as they pile into Nancy’s car, all their homes being closer to one another while you live on the other side of town.

“Call me when you get home,” Nancy tells you as she climbs into her car. “And be careful driving out there. Roads might be icy.”

“Yes, mom,” you answer playfully. “Let’s make plans to see each other again before you and Robin drive back.”

“Absolutely.” She waves goodbye before pulling out of her parking space.

There’s an unfamiliar peace that settles over you as you drive back into town. For the first time in a long time, you seriously contemplate what it would be like to have that much needed conversation with Steve.

Would he understand?

Would he be willing to compromise?

Would you?

But life without Steve… has it been worth it? All you’ve been doing is going through the motions of your own life. Thinking that not feeling anything at all is better than the possibility of the hurt you could feel from Steve putting himself in harm’s way. But all you’ve succeeded in doing is rendering yourself empty. Just a shell of your former self. Safe in mundane, your life colorless since you left him.

The girls are right.

You need to talk to Steve.

And, you think, the sooner the better.

But fate has other plans for you. Because in your distracted thoughts you realize too late that there’s a deer in the middle of the highway. You swerve to avoid hitting it, but the tires of your car catch onto a patch of icy road causing it you to start to sliding sideways.

Panic causes you to commit the mistake of turning your wheel the opposite way and overcorrecting, and your slide turns into a vicious spin that gains momentum the longer you go.

“No no no,” you whisper helplessly, unsure of what to do or how to make it stop.

But it’s too late to figure it out.

The corner of your car hits the metal railing along the side of the road and your hands grip your wheel tightly as the speed combined with the impact causes your car to flip over several times as it careens into the ditch.

I don’t want to die, you think. I haven’t told Steve that I still love him.

Broken glass and the sickening sound of crunching metal overwhelm your senses and your seatbelt does little to protect you as you get jostled around like a ragdoll in your car.

The last image in your head is Steve’s happy grin when you said yes to his proposal and then everything goes dark.

…

But when it came to you, whatever little self control he had in his body, seemingly turned to dust.

It had been a week since he last saw you.

Since he decided not to trespass into your life again.

Everyday since then, you hadn't left his mind.

Your smile, your laugh, the tiny quirk of your lips, the way your eyes would squint in concentration, your art — your art of him— every little thing was strung into an ever playing loop of flashes of memories that mirrored in his eyes.

When he was at work, working on the rubber of the black tires with grease marked on his hands , he would remember the red paint smeared on your cheek. The way it looked so perfect on you, like you were painting yourself all the while painting him.

Jason needed to distract himself from his thoughts which were consumed by your presence and he does the one thing that has helped him for years.

Books.

Jason has always immersed himself in books when reality was too much to bear. Books had the ability to make you forget whatever was going wrong in one's life. He loved being the audience as the characters in the book navigate through their own life in the universe.

But even that hadn't helped.

Every time he opened a book, he remembered the way you both met. The stares in the library, the intrigue he felt in his heart, the way you stuttered, your confession to him about how you never read books, the consecutive decision to cosplay as Red Hood.

Everything that had led him to you.

Hell, he hadn't even stepped once inside the two story marvel of Gothic architecture, packed with books — his safe haven for years, in the past week.

Groaning, he lays his forearm against his eyes, rays of sunlight blinding him momentarily. The red duvet sits perfectly against his shirtless torso, crowding against the left side of his body while his right leg hung off the bed, fingertips grazing against the hard wooden floor. Jason had to leave for work in another hour.

The sound of a notification pulls him out of the early morning tornado in his head, saving him from the endless cycle of thoughts. Jason taps his palm all over the bed, trying to find the rectangular electronic. It was a little unusual for him of all people to receive texts at eight in the morning. Once he gets hold of his phone, green eyes widen before glowing like he just got a text from the love of his life— might as well be — while a smile curves at his lips.

It was you.

And like the past few days of having known you, you seemed to have a gift of breaking his endless cycle of thoughts.

The text from the home screen reads:

'Hi Jason, Good Morning! I know it's been a while but can we meet for dinner tomorrow? I have some news to share.

No issues if you are unable to meet.'

Jason sits up, leaning his back against the headboard as his fingers hovered over the screen. He knows he should decline. It should haven been the immediate answer after telling himself not to get involved in your life. His gaze shifts to the portrait hung in front of the bed. It was the only picture that was of him in the house. The only one he could look at everyday without thinking about what was all wrong about him. The way you had painted him made him feel like a person, not a lazarus pit monster masking in the skin of a human.

Jason reads the text again, the sparkly emojis invoking a laugh, a hoarse sound that trudges past his lips before the sound gets huddled by silence.

The first thing that left his lips today was a hearty laugh.

How long had it been since he heard the sound early morning in an empty house?

All because of you.

The glass pricks his heart further.

But his heart aches. He does want to see you again.

But what if he couldn't let go.

His heart reasons.

He could see you one more time.

Bask in your presence.

And before it could win the battle with his brain, Jason moves to the kitchen, leaving his phone on the bed.

He would reply to you be the end of the day.

Jason lied.

Your text had essentially been on his mind since the minute he received it. Every chore he worked around the house, your voice reading the text was the music he heard. It made him feel different things — wildly conflicting at that.

Scarlet painted the stretch of his cheeks at the realization that you texted him first thing in the early morning. It made him even do a little dance around the kitchen, spatula in one hand as the waffle irons hissed.

As he draws his leather jacket over his shoulders, he thinks about all the time your eyes locked onto the clothing. It was subtle but he had only caught them when he himself wasn't mesmerized by your beauty, which honestly wasn't a lot.

When he finally walks to his bike, he remembers feeling your hands around his waist, cheeks smashed against his back. He remembers the way your lips curved to a smile as you looked at the night sky of sleeping Gotham.

Without a second thought, he grabs his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and texts back to you.

"I would love too."

Jason stares at the blue message bubble.

Was he too forward?

Should he even use the word love in this?

Does this make him look too desperate? Which wasn't a lie but he didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable.

Was this the right thing to do?

He was making it harder for himself. It had only been a week yet you occupied every waking moment, even in his sleep through his dreams.

But meeting you again — seeing every feature mapped beautifully on your face — would only make it even more difficult to forget you, to stay away from you.

To stop being in love with you.

But Jason had realized one thing — he couldn't really stop loving you but he could take measures to stay away from your life.

His fingers immediately press on the blue bubble, with every intention to delete when the word 'read' appears below, along with a grey bubble consisting of three dots. The helmet on his left hand is heavy, almost acting as the anchor rooting him to his spot. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, thudding with velocity.

Had he done the right thing?

Hell, was the message even for him?

Maybe you had accidentally sent it to him and now you were going to apologize for it.

Of course, you wouldn't —

There is a slight buzz on his right palm. You sent two message which instantly calmed his rushing heart.

you: Can't wait 🥳. I'll text you the address for the restaurant by the evening.

His hands stiffen around his phone, as he looks at the ground.

Nervousness and excitement fill his senses.

Nervousness that he gets to see you again.

Excitement that he gets to see you again.

You plant your face onto the soft pillow, feeling it's lush cotton brush against your cheeks as your lips try suppressing giggles but failing phenomenally to the point even your roommate and best friend raises an eyebrow. It's early in the morning and she knew, you were not for one to laugh without having a sip of coffee. Even a smile on your lips in the wee hours would be a sight so rare to Zara — your best friend of ten years — she might even think she was hallucinating.

"What's got you smiling like that?"

"More like who," hugging the pillow, you stare off at a distance, yellow sunlight shining bright against your paintings stacked on the wooden desk. Zara circles around in her desk chair, hair tied in a loose bun. She was always the early bird among the both of you while you were the night owl.

"And?" Her voice sounds louder as she rolls the desk chair towards you.

"It's Jason," you say, eyes lighting up like there were literal fireworks ablaze in your irises "I asked him if we could meet for dinner. And….drum roll ,please," you add, hands shifting to tap the imaginary sticks against the plastic surface of the drums.

"He said yes."

"Of course, he is the one who made Ms. grumpy giggle first thing in the morning," Zara rolls her eyes, though her lips stretch into a wide smile.

"Please,stop acting jealous," you mumble throwing the lush pillow at her. It lands straight on her face, knocking off her glasses to the floor. Zara's mouth opens, huffing before she picks up the cotton cushion.

"Me?!" The lush cotton lands on your face as you both giggle, till your stomachs ache. It's a Monday morning. Usually, you'd be up and racing against the clock to get your shit together and run to class but ever since your final project exhibit had gotten over, you had a lot of time on your hands. Zara still had a few classes left, but it was much later in the afternoon.

As your breathing calms, you both lay on the bed, legs dangling off the edges. The overhead fan zooms lazily, air drifting against your hair.

This was what you wished for when you were thirteen.

A future filled with laughter and happiness and the will to live this beautiful life, with all it's blues.

But at that time, it didn't feel like it.

For a long time.

Till you met him.

"So, why are you meeting him again?" Zara asks, hands braiding her dyed electric blue hair.

"To treat him to a full dinner. After all, he is the reason my thesis got selected as one of the few to present at the Museum."

"And nothing else?"

Zara knew all about your crush on Jason. She was like your human diary, the way you were hers. You still remember the moment you had written the words "Do not fall in love." in your journal. Zara had said with a voice full of confidence that you were going to fail your own resolution. She declared that you had already fallen even before you wrote those words.

Said she could see it in your smile.

" I might ask him if we could see each other often."

"You should." She turns, facing you. "From what you have said, it looks like he likes you too"

You hum though anxiety creeps in like a wine surrounding your limbs.

"But what if —"

" No what-ifs," Zara affirms, shaking her head "The worst thing that could happen is him rejecting you."

"Exactly!" you shout even without meaning too.

Zara rolls her eyes when you mutter a sorry.

She knew you didn't mean it and was rather a product of your anxiety.

There were small signs and based on your experience of watching a plethora of romantic films, you had a feeling Jason liked you too.

But you could be wrong.

All you could do was hope.

"Hello, Demon spawn."

Jason is leaning against the entryway, hands folded against his chest and a tight-lipped smile grazing his face. He avoided Wayne Manor unless it was regarding a mission, or on Alfred's insistence but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Damian ignores his brooding brother and continues painting the orange of the monarch butterfly onto the canvas. He had been working on the painting — the Wayne Manor garden with it's luscious bushes along with Alfred the cat, Bat cow, Titus and Goliath, all lounging against the lush green — for a while now, the final touches being the tiny butterflies zooming around the flowers.

"I need a favor," Jason repeats now standing upright. Damian still doesn't look at him, as he now makes tiny white spots on the black bordered wings.

"Are you even —"

"I am, Todd," He looks at his grumpy brother, a frown etched onto his tan skin. "It's a no."

"You haven't even heard what is it," Jason grumbles, hands on his hips.

"Whatever it is, it's a no,"

"Oh my god, at least listen to me," Jason's voice booms loud, echoing off the tiny art studio. His eyebrows are furrowed, chest heaving but Damian could sense something else — something that was so not his brother.

Nervousness.

"I-I need help in choosing an appropriate gift for someone who's an artist," Jason sighs, hands ruffling his hair.

Damian stares at the man wide eyed, dark green eyes the same as his mother's locked onto the giant standing in his doorway.

Did Jason 'The Red Hood' Todd just stutter in front of him?

It takes a whole minute for Damian to return back to himself.

"Didn't know you had friends, Todd."

"Wow, this is —" Jason takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves at the sight of a smirk on his younger brother's face. "I have friends and I need to buy a gift for her."

"Her?" Damian's voice is filled with as much amusement as one fifteen year old boy could muster. Jason wants to hurl himself out of the manor, but he still needed to buy a gift for you. And so, he grits out a reply.

"Yes."

"Fine, besides I have to buy something too," Damian answers before setting down the paintbrush. He takes off the multicolored apron with only splotches of the original cream material visible, and hangs it beside the door. Damian did not need anything from the store, he just couldn't let it seem like he was willingly helping his older brother.

"What do you know about her?"

"Nothing, like nothing related to art." Jason mumbles, sinking into the plush cushion of the couch on the far end of the room as Damian washes his hands.

"Todd, you should be knowing something about the person you want to buy a gift for."

"I-I don't know," Jason squeezes his eyes, the heel of his palms rubbing against them "She likes the color yellow, and she likes jazz music."

It's weird seeing Jason smile, Damian thinks. Eyes squinting into tiny curves, while his cheeks crease and lips stretch wide.

"She- She likes the sun or the sun likes her — I'm not sure. She likes to collage, she likes the dumplings from this Chinese restaurant near Gotham U," Jason takes a deep breath, looking off into the distance like you were just standing there rather than it being a blank wall. "She likes portrait paintings — the one where you paint people and she….she believes in hope."

It almost feels another layer of red hot brick was laid on his chest.

You believed in hope.

And he didn't.

He shouldn't be this happy to see you, when it was all going to end tomorrow.

He couldn't — wouldn't let him have hope.

After all it was a lie.

Damian really only wanted the specifics about what you liked — like what type of paintings you liked or materials you used. Instead he learnt about how you loved those specific Chinese dumplings and jazz music.

Jason was just as sappy as Dick when he was in love. But Damian is perceptive and he could see the minute the light around Jason dims. It almost looked like he realized something, something that he kept pushing back in his mind.

"Todd," Damian says, standing in front of Jason. He raises his voice a little at the lack of a response "Todd."

Finally, Jason looks up but there is a very thin layer of sheen covering his eyes, something that could be missed if one was not too observant. But Damian was and he didn't know what to say.

"Shall we go?"

In an hour, Jason and Damian reached the art store located in Central Gotham. It was a three story tall building tucked in between a Italian restaurant and a boutique. The smell of new stationary filled every sense of Jason as he steps into the bustling room.

Shelves of paint tubes and pallettes line the walls. In the center, were smaller crates filled with brushes of varying sizes, crayons and color pencils. He could even feel the scent of excitement oozing from Damian as the young teenagers bounces lightly on his feet, a smile curved on his lips.

"Do you remember what type of paintings she did?" Damian asks, looking at a new set of paint tubes. "Were they acrylic, watercolor, or gouache? Or maybe even oil?"

"I don't really know the difference between them," Jason scratches the back of his head, ears tinged red.

"Of course, you don't," Damian grumbles before pointing his hand at the myriad of paintings hung above the shelves. "Just point at the one that's similar to what your friend did."

There were four paintings in front — one with a cottage and kids playing outside, one with the glittering ocean and a sand castle, another with the Eiffel tower and the final one with a girl in the middle of a field of sunflowers.

Not only did the last painting remind him of you, but it was the exact type of painting you did for your final project.

"That one."

"That's a gouache painting," Damian murmurs before shifting between rows, Jason following him. He then picks up a gouache painting set with 100 colors and turns to hand it over to Jason, only to see the six foot giant crouched down on his knees.

"Todd, what are you doing?"

Jason hisses , a finger on his lips. Damian follows his older brother's line of sight to see a woman checking out the canvases by the door. She was holding her phone — a white cover with sunflowers painted on it — and Damian can only assume it was the girl his brother was in love with.

"Is that her?"

Jason did not have to reply.

The answer was all in his eyes.

The way they lit up like translucent green akin to that of a leaf when the early morning dew touched the surface. The way his cheeks were seemingly painted in red ochre. The way his jaw softened, posture relaxed like he was within the premise of his home.

Jason hadn't expected to see you. It had only been a week since the last time he saw you and seeing you now gave him this sense of euphoria he couldn't describe. You looked beautiful — a fact, really. The way you smiled at onlookers, talking to some of the women who worked there. He could only figure you were a recurring customer to the store. Jason finally lets out a breath when he sees you walking towards the elevators.

"We need to get out fast."

Within few minutes, Jason and Damian were out of the store, the new paint set in a paper bag. Damian doesn't say anything, just looked at his brother and rolled his eyes.

Why was his adult brother acting like one of the boys at school?

He would never know.

Forty-five minutes later, Damian is dropped off at the footsteps of Wayne Manor, Alfred waiting by the front door. Jason waves at the butler, who nods in response. Just as he gears up to leave, Damian turns.

"Good luck, Jason," Damian mutters before walking past the front doors of the manor.

When Jason reached his apartment, a small two bedroom house on the top floor, he immediately looked around for some gift wrapping paper. Then he decided to do something, that even he was surprised at.

Write a letter.

You see, Jason Todd was an amazing writer. He loved reading more, but that often translated to beautiful writing. An old worn out journal of his old song lyrics, poetry, and even critical essays. It's just that he never showed it to anyone. He sits at the desk in the corner, with a blank sheet of paper and pen laid in front of him and starts to write with the intention to thank you for the experience.

But as they say, when you enter flow state, you forget about everything else.

Jason wrote and wrote as the minutes flew by. A slight ring of his phone cracks his concentration. It had already been an hour since he sat and when Jason read what he had written. He realized he had written a love letter instead of what he had set out to start with. Jason does the one thing he always did with his writing — hide it. He folded the sheet of paper and stuck it in his old journal.

One day, he will have the courage to read it again.

After spending hours of overthinking which restaurant you wanted to take Jason to, you finally decided on the Italian diner in downtown Gotham. The restaurant wasn't too pricey and was well known for it's amazing food.

After texting Jason the address of the restaurant, you try working on an art piece as a part of your commissions but nothing really was able to distract you from the sheer excitement and part nervousness you felt for the next day. You try watching some of your favorite movies, but it hadn't helped either.

Trying to sleep was another mission. You tried closing your eyes but all you thought was how the day was going to be, hanging out with Jason after a while. Shuffling around the bed, you look up at the ceiling.

You just hope things would go the way you wished.

You just hope Jason liked you back.

Early rays of dawn flitter through the curtains, casting a deep yellow over the floorboards. Zara was up already based on the tell tale signs of clanking of utensils and some soft music playing in the background.

"Girl, you need to get up. Now!" Zara shouts from the kitchen. You whine against the duvet, tucking it over your head. You hadn't slept all that well — head filled with all the things that could possibly go wrong and the things that could possibly go right. An endless plethora of them.

"Don't you have to meet Mr. Reeves today ?"

And that's enough to make you sit up, back straight like a surfer board. Letting out a small curse you run to take a shower.

Jason is the same on the other side of the town, hair disheveled and eyebrows furrowed at the alarm. The patrol had run longer than usual yesterday paired with his lack of sleep over seeing you today, had made him almost decide not to go to work.

Begrudgingly, he gets up, looking at the portrait of himself but more specifically made by you before moving to the living room.

Jason hadn't slept well either.

After all there is a saying:

If you can't sleep, someone is thinking about you.

If someone walked into Jason Todd's bedroom, it probably looked like a makeshift clothing store. Almost all his clothes from his closet were haphazardly thrown onto the floor after trying out each of them. It had been an hour since he got back from work and another two hours until your dinner reservation.

He wasn't able to concentrate all that at work either, even earning some light comments from his boss.

You had mentioned it was just a casual dinner. But Jason had a lot of shirts, a lot of jeans and a ton of jackets. It had to be perfect. He groans, flopping onto the plush mattress. He could call Dick, but that would also ensue blackmail material for him to tease. He could call Kory but she was going to mention it to Dick in a matter of minutes, hell they might even be together at the moment.

After thirty minutes, Jason decides to wear a white t-shirt that fit perfectly, showing off his muscles and some black jeans, paired along with a maroon leather jacket. He combed his hair in different styles, to the point of seeing tutorials on YouTube but decided to go with the best one — messy hair. And with that it was time for him to leave for the restaurant.

Jason reached the small Italian restaurant fifteen minutes before the intended timing. After parking his bike, he paces back and forth in front of the entrance before leaning against the brick wall of the restaurant. He watches the people walking by, his detective eye trying to notice anything illegal happening in the vicinity.

The sound of a car door closing has him look up, only to still — his entire body transfixed at one place. There you were, thanking the driver with a smile on your face before it breaks into one filled with mirth as your eyes lock onto his. You were wearing a similar maroon leather jacket with a black dress underneath. It felt like the world had blurred, only spotlighting your figure in the stage.

You looked radiant, light emanating from your very smile.

"You-You look beautiful," Jason says, pink on his cheeks.

"I-Thank you. You look beautiful too."

"We are wearing the same jacket," you giggle, pointing at his. He nods, tugging the fabric more tighter against his back.

"Shall we go in?" you ask, looking up at Jason and he swears, he could fall (but he already fell) just by how you looked.

"Lead the way."

"I'm sorry, what?" your voice rises with every syllable uttered by the host.

"We are sorry for the inconvenience, Ma'am." The man mutters, eyes drifting to the giant behind you. But you could care less about the excuses. What did they mean the restaurant was closed due to some last minute construction and that they didn't even have the courtesy to inform you. Heat rises up to your ears, hands resting on your hips. You knew it was not really the fault of the host but of the management.

But the first segment of your plan had gone to trash.

What would Jason think?

And why was your luck so bad at times?

Jason laid a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently. You look at him as he stares intently at the host who fumbles around the desk.

"We could still offer you some pizza for free."

That's how the both of you ended up with two large pizzas in front of the restaurant.

"I'm so sorry Jas—"

"Hey, it's fine." He says, eyes soft. "It was their mistake and it happens at times."

You sigh looking at the boxes. There's a brief silence as the sounds of honking and people chattering fill in.

"We could maybe go to the rooftop? Of the art studio?" Jason asks.

You nod.

Jason was going to ask Bruce to check for all the inspection criteria for the restaurant later.

Gotham during the nights was a splendor of it's own. Glittering buildings, the subdued sounds of traffic not reaching so far high, the cold winds. The both of you were sat on the plush picnic mat as you eat the second slice of the pepperoni pizza.

"Oh, by the way I got selected to exhibit my paintings at the metropolitan Museum of Gotham."

"Wow, Congrats," Jason smiles. "You deserve it."

"All thanks to you," you say, taking the next slice of pizza."They really loved the Red Hood portrait the most."

"It was your talent that did wonders," Jason murmurs, looking at you."I was just a muse."

Heat rises to your cheeks, spreading through the expanse of your face. He was not just your muse for a painting but rather had become something more. Muse for love. You look at the Gotham skyline, when Jason calls your name.

"This is for you," He says, handing over a wrapped box.

"No….you didn't have to get me anything," your voice is soft as your gaze shifts between the wrapped box in front of you to Jason.

"Please, it's just a little thank you from my side," Jason pushes it lightly into your hands.

"Thank you."

You slowly open the wrapping, eyes wide with curiosity. Jason sits cross legged next to you, hands rubbing against each other in nervousness.

"You didn't," Your voice softens as you look at him. "I can't possibly accept this. It-It's too expensive."

"It's for you and you deserve it."

There's silence and your mouth aches for an argument. But his eyes are so clear with clarity that you murmur a thank you instead.

"But why did you buy it?" you ask again, gaze locked on his form.

Jason is stumped.

He wanted to tell you it was because he liked you.

He wanted to tell you it was because he is in love with you.

He wanted to tell you it was because he wanted to leave something from him with you, but he couldn't, not when the letter he wrote was tucked in between the pages of his old journal.

"A thank you for considering me your muse," he opts for instead.

"Please, anyone would consider you," You huff, like it was the most diabolical statement "You're like a walking Greek god on earth. You deserve to be remembered like it."

You did not meant to say ALL of it out loud.

Red coats Jason's cheeks. You take another slice of the pizza to distract yourself from spewing something that only needed to stay in the premise of your mind.

After a few minutes, the large pizza boxes are empty as you both witness the Gotham skyline, eyes closed as the winds of the night welcomes you into it's embrace.

It was time to say goodbye.

You hug Jason, feeling his warm flesh against your body. But your mind was riddled with thoughts.

You loved spending every moment with Jason.

You wanted to spend more time with him.

And so you say it.

"Jason." He stills, hands midst of folding the picnic mat. Your eyes are wide and sweat runs down your forehead, despite it being cold. Jason could sense something was wrong — the way your hands twitched, the way your eyes don't lock onto his.

"Is everything o—"

"I like you."

The confession hangs in the air. No one moves and you don't dare to meet his eyes. Your heart thumps loudly and you take the moment of silence to pour all of it out.

"I have loved spending time with you in the past few days, and would-would love to see you more often."

Silence ensues and it's not comfortable, like it was tinged with guilt.

Complete silence during confessions is never really a good sign.

You look up and the minute you do, you already knew the answer. His eyes don't meet yours, rather looking at his black boots. Jason stands still, but you could see the way his hands shake a little. It was as if a cloud of somberness washed over the space, taking away it's earlier remnants of warmth and laughter.

You force a smile regardless.

"It's okay, if you don't like me," your voice is soft, normal but Jason doesn't miss the quiver in each syllable.

He hates that the reason behind it was because of his words.

Was because of him.

He was the reason a face full of sunshine was trying not to breakdown into tears. Jason's green eyes look at you, and he wants to punch himself. Your hands were trembling that you quickly hide behind your back when feeling his gaze on them. Eyes glassy, sheen coating a thin layer but your smile was the most heartbreaking part.

It was the same, but forced.

And he was the reason behind it.

"I'm sorry," Jason's voice is soft, the words almost a whisper.

You shake your head, "No, please it's fine. Just do not let this be our last meeting. I want to see you on the day of the exhibition."

Jason doesn't say anything.

What can he say?

Should he say that he liked you too?

That he loved you?

That he wished he could be with you every waking moment of his life?

That for the first time, something he had wanted come true?

But he destroyed it all again.

Like he always did with hope.

Like hope did with him.

Jason's throat feels dry and itchy, his voice strained as he mutters, "I'm sorry," before leaving the rooftop. Jason runs along the stairs, from the fifth floor to the ground floor. His chest heaves but it was not because of the physical activity he did.

No.

It was because of this weighted stone in his heart. He hurls a kick at the wall in the parking lot, but it only hurt him further. And maybe that's what he wanted.

He did the right thing didn't he?

He couldn't destroy your life.

He couldn't make you give up on hope, but why did it feel like he just did.

The thing about heartbreaks is, it happens at every age.

It just looks a little different every time.

Your heart broke for the first time when you were five as you watched a boy in the playground stamp on an ant. The boy had left, running off to play with his friends while you crouched next to the ant, tears streaming against your cheeks.

Your heart broke for the second time when you were ten, and your best friend stopped wanting to be friends with you. It was sudden and you had never found the reason behind it.

Your heart broke for the third time when you were thirteen, after a screaming match with your parents. It was never really the same again. Though you have mended your ways, words can never be taken back.

Your heart broke for the fourth time when you couldn't find the second robin — the boy who had been there with you that night.

And now for the fifth time — It was Jason.

The week following the night was agonizing to say the least.

To both of you.

You had spent the better part of the days crying or at least on the verge of crying. You hadn't realized how much it was going to affect you. You thought it was just a silly little crush, that you could get over in a day or two. But this, this made you realize that perhaps it was more. perhaps it was love.

You had fallen in love for the first time.

You tried painting — the one thing that helped during times like this. But even that fell short. All you did was paint blues and blues. Zara helped you at every moment, trying to say he was a jerk but that only made you cry further because you knew he was not. He just did not like you.

You decided maybe you had to look at something that would give you a sense of hope and you did.

Ever since the age of thirteen, when you started pursuing painting again. You had a ton of sketchbooks filled with your artistic endeavors over the years. Most of them were in your parent's house back in Star City but you carried one of them to every place you went.

Your first sketchbook.

It always gave you a sense of hope. The feeling that everything will eventually turn out alright. You pick the black covered sketchbook that had painted red and green — a number of hibiscuses on the front.

You sit against the plush of the brown bean bag on Zara's side of the room, turning to the first page of the sketch book.

A laugh escapes your lips without even meaning too, at how bad your art was back then.

But it was still art and the only reason you were able to do well now. The first page was filled with stars, and the moon. The following few pages were filled with characters from cartoons such as Spongebob Squarepants and Dora the explorer.

Then it's filled with Robin.

Colors of red, yellow, green paint over the white pages to form the silhouette of robin. Some filled with his face — freckles, heart shaped chunks of hair that framed his forehead.

You felt hope.

It might be even questionable how one could feel hope after seeing a painting.

But you did.

After all, it was Robin who gave you all this hope in the first place.

Jason was in no better shape.

He hadn't left his apartment in the last two days — skipping work and patrol alike. A number of missed calls from all his siblings, the Outlaws, and even Bruce. But Jason never got back to them. He just wanted to be left alone.

Jason had gone to work the very next day after the confession, tried acting like everything was in fact okay. But it wasn't and it didn't take much time for the cracks to form. During his day job, he misplaced items, punctured an already good tire and at the end got yelled at by his boss, who later asked the young man to take a few days off.

Patrols weren't great either.

He had beaten a thief to the pulp. There was a good reason behind it — said thief had stolen from an elderly lady — but even Jason knew this was not about it. It almost felt like he was seeing himself when he was punching the man. Wanting to pour out all his anger towards himself.

It was Dick who got him to stop by calling him Robin, not Red Hood which had made Jason even more angrier.

Jason was angry.

Not at you.

But at himself.

A knock on the door propels Jason out of his bed. It was probably some food delivery service considering he had been living off of takeout for the last two days and so he makes the mistake of not looking through the peephole because the first thing that greets him early in the morning was Dick Grayson's 24 carat smile.

Jason is fast but not faster than his older brother's reflexes as he pushes a foot against the slamming door. Jason grunts, walking back to the couch as Dick shuts the front door. He sits on his couch, cradling his foot while eyes squint in pain. Jason sighs before retrieving an ice pack and handing it over to him.

"Why are you here?"

"I can't visit my younger brother?" Dick feigns, placing the icepack on his foot. Jason doesn't bother asking how he knew of his apartment — after all, they were detectives and children of Bruce Wayne.

Dark blue eyes look around the apartment. It was simple, modest with a few nooks and crannies that felt like Jason but he could also see the stacking take-out boxes on the counter. Dick walks to the kitchen — albeit still limping — as he starts clearing out all the boxes and washes the dishes left in the sink.

Jason watches and he could only feel water bubbling up in his eyes. He lets his head fall back against the couch, eyes closed as a tear slides down.

He didn't deserve all this love.

All this care.

When he watches his older brother clean the house, it takes him back to the happy moments he shared with Dick years earlier — before everything went wrong.

Before he came back wrong.

There's this tight feeling of guilt Jason feels when he looks at Dick — all the times he has been rude to the man though he only was helping. Jason knew he had every right to feel angry but guilt was an added emotion along with it.

After an hour of cleaning the house, Dick finally sits back on the couch.

'Succession' plays on TV, as Dick looks at Jason who is peering at the screen. But he could tell Jason wasn't really looking at the show — his mind was elsewhere. Dick unwraps the burrito bowls that Alfred had made and sets it in front of Jason.

Dick also got a bat burger since his younger brother loved them too much but even that couldn't deter Jason's apparent concentration from the large screen. He tries shaking the bowls against the teakwood of the coffee table, hoping that would divert Jason's concentration.

But nothing.

"Okay, what's wrong?" he asks, hands folded "Is this about her?"

And that get's Jason to look at Dick, "Damian mentioned about the gift you got her. Did she like it?"

"Yeah, she did," Jason murmurs, looking down at his lap.

"Then what's wrong?"

Jason stands up, walking towards his room. He couldn't be having this conversation or else it would just end up having him loose it.

But Dick, doesn't let go — he knew better.

"Just let it out Jason, you can't keep hoping —"

Hope is a lie.

You hurt hope.

He hurt hope.

It rings in Jason's head and before he knows it, it comes out through his mouth.

"I hurt her, okay!" Jason shouts, voice booming in the closed space. "She asked me out and I said no."

"But w—"

"Because I don't deserve her, Dick. I- I don't. I wanted her to like me but after she realizing she does, I knew I had to let go." Tears streak his scarred cheek , chest heaving as he continues, " And I hurt her and-and I don't know what to do. I love her but she deserves better."

And Dick does what he does best.

He pulls Jason into a hug, lets him cry on his shoulders as he rubs his back. Dick knows telling he deserved everything wasn't going to change how he felt. No words from him could do that.

Only Jason himself could.

But he was going to be there for his younger brother.

It was finally D-day.

The day your exhibit was going to live in the hallways of Metropolitan museum of Gotham. You were decked out in a white shirt and black slacks — formal enough for the event and casual enough for you to stay comfortable. It was only 9 am,but you and the two other students had come early in order to make sure all the paintings were at the right positions.

This was your dream come true.

To have your art, your paintings be part of the very same walls that hung paintings of revered artists from all over the world. The very walls you had been to every year without fail since childhood.

A small giggle escapes your lips before tears prick your eyes.

You couldn't cry. No, it was going to ruin all your makeup. But a tear slips by anyways.

Your dream had finally come true.

You sniffle, looking at your phone.

Since there was still an hour left for the museum to open, you opt to listen to songs while having breakfast at a cafe nearby.

But your eyes don't leave your phone.

You were not sure whether or not to text Jason. You wished he would come but you were not sure whether if he would. Glancing at his contact, you type 'Hi:)', before deleting the text. Sighing, you look out of the large glass windows, as kids play in the green, bubbles floating in the air. It was a beautiful day, the sun beaming brightly.

Maybe he would come.

It had been a few hours since the Museum opened. Your parents had traveled from Star City to visit the exhibition, along with a few family friends. Zara had come in early morning along with some of her friends as they look at each painting.

You received various compliments for your accurate portrayal of the vigilantes, including people who had been saved by them personally. High profile members of Gotham had also visited your exhibit, citing they would contact you for future opportunities. But with every person stepping into the pristine air of the museum, your eyes hoped it was your beloved muse.

Zara had noticed, brows lifted. You just shrug, talking with other guests. Soon, the crowd became gentle, slowly dispersing into the evening air of Gotham. The sound of footsteps has you turning around to see The Dick Grayson, along with the youngest Wayne and the billionaire's only daughter. Every citizen of Gotham knew of Richard Grayson, the first adopted son of Bruce Wayne.

He wore a three piece suit with a midnight blue tie that probably costed more than all the things you owned. Cassandra looked beautiful with her luscious black hair framing her face. Her defined arms were striking through her sleeveless black dress, as she had a soft smile on her face. The last member of the trio was the youngest Wayne, a three piece suit similar to that of his older brother's paired with a emerald green tie.

"Hi, sorry we couldn't make it earlier," Dick Grayson says, extending a hand as you shake it with your own clammy palm. "Our father unfortunately had some very boring business proposals to take care of."

"No-No issues. Thank you for stopping by," you smile through your nervousness as you stand in front of the members of the most powerful family of Gotham.

You take a step back, hands fiddling against each other as the three siblings stand in front of your portraits. Cassandra's eyes lit up as she looks at the portrait of Orphan while Dick and Damian look around the other paintings of their family members such as Batwing, Red Robin, Batgirl. Cassandra mutters a 'beautiful' as she observes each painting in detail while Damian questioned about the different techniques you had used to make the paintings.

All three of them stop in front of the largest painting among your exhibit — your robin painting.

"That's the-the second robin right?" Dick asks, turning to you with wide eyes.

"Yes, that's him," you answer, eyes focused on the painting.

Dick Grayson knew you were the girl Jason was in love with. It had been a total coincidence that he met you since the visit was supposed to be on behalf of Bruce Wayne. But Damian having seen you earlier at the art store, immediately told his older brother when he saw you talking with other patrons.

"It's beautiful," Dick says, his eyes tracing over each and every portrait. "All of them are."

"Thank you."

And Dick Grayson knew just what to do.

"What do you want?" Jason grumbles into the phone.

Dick had given him ten missed calls over the span of fifteen minutes. "Unless you're in immediate danger, I'm ending the call."

"Come to the museum, Jaybin." Dick answers, voice soft yet firm over the phone.

Jason sits up straight, red already coursing his body.

"What are you doing there? Did you stalk—"

"No, Jason. I came here along with Cass and Damian on behalf of Bruce," Dick sighs, as he looks at you standing at the far end of the exhibit. "Now just get here as soon as you can."

"I-I can't." Jason mumbles, head in his hands.

"Do you trust me?"

"…Yes," Jason sighs. He did trust his older brother, though he never says it out loud. Dick Grayson on the other side of the call was expecting a no. The answer from his younger brother takes him aback a little before he regains his composure.

"You have forty-five minutes before the museum closes."

Jason wore the first thing he could find. The museum was further into the city and along with the added evening traffic, he had to leave now to reach before it closed. With not much time on his hands, he decides to wear a black t-shirt paired with blue jeans.

Within thirty minutes, Jason reaches the marble staircase to the Museum. He could see Dick Grayson standing near the front door, looking at his watch.

"He—" Dick stops him, before giving his younger brother a firm squeeze on the shoulders.

"Cass and Dami are waiting in the car, " He continues, eyes locked with green ones. "Don't overthink it. Just go in." He gives a slight pat on Jason's shoulder before walking towards the car.

Jason finally steps inside the building.

There aren't many people at this time in the museum. He could see you standing at the far right corner of the room, looking at your phone. With every step ahead, his heart beats loudly like it was stuck in his throat. How does he explain why he couldn't come early.

You look up once he is at a reasonable distance, eyes lighting up and lips breaking out into a wide smile.

Oh, how you looked so beautiful.

Oh,how you were still kind enough to grace him with the same smile that he fell in love with after he broke your heart.

"Jason," you squeal, gaze locked on his face. "You're here."

"Yeah, sorry I was la—" He tries apologizing but you don't let him.

"Doesn't matter. You're here."

Jason nods, a slight smile grazing his lips as he looks at the different portraits hung up on the wall. He had already seen most of them while he was your muse. His gaze finally dropped to the center piece, the one he hadn't seen yet — the one of Robin.

But when he finally sees the painting, he takes a step back, breath hitching. It wasn't Damian nor Dick's. Not Tim's or Stephanie's, but rather his.

His.

The Robin is on the rooftop, a girl next to him with her features not too defined. He is pointing at something in the sky, his smile vibrant against the dark night background. But the girl next to him wasn't following his finger, but rather looking at him, as golden hues outline his body, gleaming brighter than the stars of the night sky.

Looking at the portrait, itches something in his brain.

He doesn't know what or why.

"Th-That's the second Robin," His voice comes out stuttering.

Jason had always thought his Robin run was useless. After all, he was reckless and emotional. But he hadn't thought he had impacted anyone's life.

"Yeah, that's him."

"Why did you not choose any of the other Robins?"

Because Jason truly wonders why him? A lot of his memories from back then was broken. All he remembered about himself as Robin was, he was a failure.

So why did you paint out of all the Robins, him?

A failure?

"Because if not for him, I wouldn't be here."

A/N: Hope you liked it :)

To join the general taglist, pls comment.

He’s sitting on your bedroom floor flipping through an old photo album while you search for a sweater you’re convinced you left at Robin’s house.

“What the hell is this?”

You glance over.

Immediately groan.

“Oh my god.”

Steve’s laughing so hard he can barely hold the picture steady.

“Is that Eddie?”

“Yes.”

“And is that a sewing needle?”

“Yes.”

“And are you both actively tattooing each other in his TRAILER?”

“Yes.”

Steve looks back at the picture again.

Then at you.

Then back at the picture.

“You've always looked cool as hell.”

Something in your chest warms embarrassingly fast at that.

Because that’s the thing about Steve.

He never reacts to your tattoos the way other people do.

There’s no weird judgement. No assumptions. No “bet your parents loved that” jokes from drunk men at parties. No asking whether you’ll regret them when you’re older.

Steve looks at your tattoos the same way he looks at every other part of you.

Like he genuinely can’t believe he gets to be near them.

Your tattoos existed long before Steve did.

Before Hawkins nearly ended.

Before Vecna.

Before Steve started sleeping with one arm looped around your waist like his body physically refused to let you drift too far away during the night.

Some you got with Eddie in Indianapolis after graduation, buzzing with too much freedom and fake IDs and twenty dollars each tucked into your pockets. Others came later. Bigger pieces. Dark ink sprawling across thighs and ribs and shoulders and spine until eventually your body started looking less like blank skin and more like a sketchbook you carried around permanently.

Bats. Moths. Snakes. Flowers. Blackwork climbing slowly across all four limbs, wrapping around your stomach, stretching across your back.

Steve loves every single one.

Not casually either.

Reverently.

The first time he sees the tattoo on your ribs properly, he goes completely silent for a few seconds.

You’re lying half asleep in his bed during one of those brutally hot Indiana summers, all tangled sheets and open windows and skin sticking faintly together in the heat. Your t-shirt’s ridden halfway up your stomach somewhere during the night, exposing the black ink sweeping along your ribs.

Steve’s fingertips pause over it like they always do.

Not because he hasn’t seen it before.

Because he has. Hundreds of times probably.

He just still looks at your tattoos like somebody handed him access to something sacred.

“What’s this one again?” he asks softly, tracing the lines carefully with one finger.

You crack one eye open. “The moth?”

“Mhm.”

“You know what it is.”

“I know.” His thumb drifts slowly beneath the ink. “Tell me again.”

You smile despite yourself.

Steve asks about your tattoos constantly. Not absentmindedly either. He asks like he genuinely wants every story attached to them lodged permanently somewhere inside his head.

“That one was after graduation,” you mumble sleepily. “Me and Eddie got drunk and suddenly decided we were very symbolic people.”

Steve laughs quietly under his breath.

“Bad decision?”

“Nah.” You stretch slightly beneath him. “Still love that one.”

“Good.”

His mouth brushes softly against the tattoo afterwards.

Just once.

Like a reflex.

You stare at him for a second.

“…did you just kiss my rib?”

Steve immediately looks defensive. “Maybe.”

“That’s weird.”

“You’re weird.”

“You literally kissed my tattoo.”

Steve shrugs against the pillow beside you, completely unembarrassed now.

“I like ‘em.”

That turns out to be a massive understatement.

Because Steve doesn’t just like your tattoos.

He becomes quietly obsessed with them.

Not in a performative way. Not like the guys who stop you in bars wanting to know whether they “mean anything” before immediately sexualising whichever one sits closest to your chest.

Steve treats your tattoos like extensions of you.

Important because they belong to you.

That’s the difference.

His hands find them constantly. Absentminded tracing while you’re talking. Fingertips drifting beneath the hem of your shirts just to trace familiar lines beneath his skin. Lazy kisses pressed against your shoulder tattoos whenever he hugs you from behind in the kitchen.

And God, summer makes him unbearable about it.

The first warm day of the year you wear shorts around him, Steve actually stops mid-sentence.

You blink at him from across the kitchen. “What?”

Steve’s eyes stay fixed somewhere around your thighs.

“…Jesus Christ.”

You glance down automatically. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Steve looks mildly overwhelmed. “I just forgot how insane you look in summer.”

You snort loudly. “That’s dramatic.”

“You’ve got tattoos literally everywhere.”

“And?”

“And it’s distracting.”

You burst out laughing while Steve walks towards you looking genuinely offended by your reaction.

“I’m serious,” he says. “How did somebody like you even end up with me?”

The sincerity in his voice catches you slightly off guard.

Because Steve says things like that sometimes. Little comments slipped quietly into conversations that reveal something softer sitting underneath all his confidence.

Like some part of him still can’t quite believe he gets to have this.

Gets to have you.

Your hand settles automatically against his cheek.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Steve leans instinctively into the touch.

“Yeah, probably.”

Then, after a pause, “Still think those thigh tattoos are psychologically damaging though.”

You laugh so suddenly you nearly spill your drink.

Steve grins immediately, pleased with himself now that he’s made you laugh, before wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you against him.

His hands slide automatically beneath your shorts.

Not sexual.

Just familiar.

His thumbs drift lazily across the tattoos there like he’s checking they’re still where he left them.

You realise slowly over time that Steve navigates your body almost entirely through touch.

Not consciously.

But he knows where everything is.

The bats wrapping around your forearm. The blackwork along your thigh. The snake curling across your ribs. He can find them in complete darkness now, fingertips moving instinctively over familiar ink like muscle memory.

One rainy evening you’re curled together on the couch while a movie mutters quietly in the background, half asleep against Steve’s chest while his hand drifts absentmindedly beneath your shirt.

His fingers trace slowly over the tattoo on your stomach.

Then the one beneath your ribs.

Then higher.

No hesitation.

No searching.

Your eyes narrow slightly.

“Wait.”

Steve glances down immediately. “What?”

“You know where they all are.”

“What?”

“All my tattoos.” You push yourself upwards slightly to look at him properly. “You literally know where every single one is.”

Steve blinks once like this is completely obvious information.

“…yeah?”

You stare at him.

Steve starts looking faintly self-conscious now under the weight of your expression.

“I mean,” he says carefully, “obviously I know where they are.”

“How?”

Steve actually laughs softly through his nose.

“Baby, I’ve spent like two years touching you.”

Your stomach flips embarrassingly hard.

“That’s not-”

“You’ve got the bats here.” His fingers brush lightly along your wrist. “The flowers on your ribs. The one on your shoulder blade.” Another touch. Another precise point. “And the moon one you always forget people can see when you wear tank tops.”

You blink at him.

Steve pauses slightly.

Then quieter, “And the thigh piece you only let me see for like three months before anybody else.”

Something warm twists painfully beneath your ribs.

Because he remembers that too.

Not just the tattoo itself.

The trust of it.

The fact you’d sat nervously on the edge of his bed months earlier tugging your shorts higher up your legs while Steve looked at the ink like he’d just been handed something fragile.

“You remember that?” you ask softly.

Steve’s expression shifts immediately, like the question itself surprises him.

“Course I do.”

Your chest aches suddenly.

Steve notices straight away.

“What?”

You shake your head once, still staring at him.

“Nothing. I just…” Your laugh comes out quieter than intended. “I didn’t realise you paid that much attention.”

Steve goes strangely still after that.

Then, very carefully, “It’s you.”

Like that explains everything.

Maybe it does.

The room stays quiet except for rain tapping softly against the windows and the television still playing ignored somewhere behind you.

Steve’s hand settles against your waist again.

Warm. Familiar.

His thumb traces slowly over the tattoo there like instinct.

“You know what I think?” he says eventually.

“What?”

“I think they’re kinda perfect for you.”

You smile faintly. “Why?”

Steve shrugs slightly, eyes fixed on the ink beneath his fingertips.

“They’re permanent.” His thumb drifts slowly along the lines again. “You carry all these little pieces of yourself everywhere.”

God.

Sometimes Steve says things so accidentally beautiful it makes you want to hide from him slightly.

“You’re being emotional again,” you mumble weakly.

Steve grins immediately. “Shut up.”

You laugh softly while his arms tighten around you.

Then, absentmindedly, Steve presses another kiss against the tattoo on your ribs.

You roll your eyes.

“That one’s your favourite now?”

Steve looks genuinely offended. “It’s always been my favourite.”

“You literally said that about the shoulder one yesterday.”

“Different categories.”

“Oh my god.”

Steve just smiles against your skin before kissing another tattoo somewhere near your hip.

And later, long after the movie ends and the room goes dark around you, his hands still drift instinctively across familiar ink beneath your skin while you fall asleep against his chest.

Like landmarks.

Like proof.

Like he loves you enough to have memorised every version of your body by heart.

You blinked silently, but accepted with an absence of hesitation, the feeling of Steve's fingers flexing slightly from the contact before his hold embraced yours completely. The beginning notes of 'Heaven - Bryan Adams' began to play softly as he guided you toward an unoccupied space.

His large hand splayed over your hip, introducing a comfortable warmth to seep through your dress. It was a grounding touch, as much of an anchor as the way his fingers slid between yours before holding you with confidence. He wasn't in any way a professional, but Steve swayed you both gently in a small circle, his eyes absent-mindedly dropping to his feet to make sure he wouldn't step on you.

For the first time in a long time, you both felt content.

Steve's lips hovered by the shell of your ear, hilarity riding the tone of his voice, the rumbling from his chest close to pressing against your own, "I'm not much of a dancer, just thought I'd warn ya."

"Thought you were good at everything, Harrington?"

Steve laughed and chuckled, and the hand intertwined with yours offered you a slight squeeze. He had to hold himself back from pulling you completely flush against his front. "Yeah, well, fighting off interdimensional monsters really brings things into perspective."

Your bodies moved slowly, a union that harmonised easily with little thought. It allowed you to release a shaky breath, expelling fear as you instead chose to accept the safety of your new friendship with Steve. The hand that you had placed on his shoulder snuck around his neck, closely followed by the other one, until you were hugging him to you. Your cheek pressed carefully to his chest to revel in the steadiness of his heartbeat. The boy dropped his head, nose against your temple, hugging you back.

Your steps had slowed now as you settled into the feeling of Steve's embrace. He didn't want to scare you - to squeeze so hard that you'd crack, or to speak too loudly that the moment you found yourselves within shattered. He had developed a desperation to keep you protected, and right now, it was by holding you against his chest to shield the outside from invading your thoughts.

And it was as if you could sense it, "Thank you, Steve."

He didn't ask what for, but he had an idea. Your lives had now intersected in a cruel twist of fate, and the unknown hung dangerously over your heads every day. Finding people to band together with was crucial - and he had happened to now be your person, and you were his.

Steve's nose buried against your temple, breathing you in as he tried to slow his heart's pace.

"Anytime."

ⅱ. ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ; ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။|||||။၊|။• tainted love - soft cell

The strength of the bass made you flutter as it thumped, musical patterns reverberating up from the floor and settling in your chest. You weren't sure whose house Steve had dragged you to on this summery Friday night, but the place was crowded, and the beer was warm. The perfect concoction for letting loose.

He made sure not to stray too far - focus drawn to you and Robin as if second nature by now, whilst he mildly engaged in conversation with someone from your school days. Steve's head nodded in the right places, and his smile showed interest enough, but he still couldn't look away from you. Both of you. Unable to drop his protector status for even a mere moment.

Robin exuded confidence as she settled comfortably into your surroundings, using her energetic nature to ensure a full plastic solo cup always accompanied your palm. You both lost track of the drinks you had had, but Steve was counting them; not to be controlling, no, but because he has unconventionally learnt to be overly observant, to keep an eye out for danger, triggers, walking and talking caution signs.

You could've sworn the music got louder, or the bass had gotten deeper, feeling each note and tune so viscerally. Bone-deep, as if it were a part of you, etched deeply. Robin's mind was lost within a world of her own, quite like yourself, as her body swayed to a beat far from the song blaring across the living room, but her smile was still wide. Though maybe that was because of Vickie Dunne and her inability to look away from your joyous friend, and the longing looks Robin had been throwing back to her all night.

"You should go talk to her," you attempted to say, needing to repeat yourself as Robin peered at you with curiosity. When you spoke louder against the shell of her ear, you could feel the warmth flush her cheeks.

Robin stammered, "I-i mean, yeah, I.. but what about you?"

Although you'd love to think she was purely being caring, you knew your friend well enough to see the deflection, trying to conjure an excuse. Robin was one of the most assured people you know, but at this moment, she had never seemed shyer.

"I'll be fine, promise. better to try now before that liquid courage dries up." You cooed, eyes gesturing over your friend's shoulder. With a comically deep breath and a shake of her head, Robin hyped herself up before you sent her on her way. You watched as she stumbled briefly into a small console table, only to straighten up immediately, all without breaking eye contact with the redhead - and you stood back, thoroughly impressed, but now bored.

And that's when the thought of Steve popped into your head.

He always did, so easily these days. When you had a nonsensical thought, were unsure what to do next, unable to cure the monotony of your day, he would answer your beck and call. Steve was always the solution, and he never let you down.

You could feel his gaze watching over you across the density of the crowd. The room was thick with drunken bodies, much like the air, an almost suffocating atmosphere that you didn't realise until now. You found it difficult to see where Steve was as you stood tiptoed, examining your surroundings. It was as if he knew, however, already making his way to you. Like a magnet. An indescribable force. A taut invisible string.

The scent of his cologne wafted around you before steady hands were placed on your shoulders, a firm chest pressing to your back, a chuckling voice sounding by your ear, "You lookin' f'me?"

Steve could've sworn he stopped breathing as he watched you turn around and smile so wide at him. The excitement of your night mixed with relief to see him as it tugged between your cheeks, igniting a fire behind his ribs. He could stare at you all night if you kept looking at him like, probably even the rest of his life...

"Dance with me." Your declaration broke his thoughts, and Steve blinked back into reality before looking at your dainty hand held out to him. It brought back a memory from a year ago, where you attended somewhere as friends and left as something more intimate and trustworthy. Oh, how far you've both come since then.

"You know I'm not much of a dancer," he replied, his smirk deepening as he watched you prepare a comeback.

A scoff escaped between your lips, arms crossing over your chest. "Please, I've seen Steve 'the hair' Harrington dance at parties before." Your eyes squinted, nose crinkling in the way he loves. He rolled his eyes, pretending to think about it. Still, a crack formed in his teasing as he noticed you biting your lip, "C'mon Steve, I'm buzzed, and I wanna dance with you."

How could he say no when you were looking at him like that? As if he were the only one that mattered in this crowded, stale room. Steve sighed dramatically as his eyes rolled clockwise, fingers easily interlocking with your own as his palm slid against yours. He would be lying if he said that he didn't wish his hand could hold yours forever.

Nothing could wipe the slanted smirk off Steve's lips as he watched you situate yourselves closer to the music, your lips moving as you mouthed the words to the current song, head moving side-to-side rhythmically. You were completely unaware of how cute you looked, and Steve had to draw a deep breath before looking away so that these new thoughts didn't evolve into something else. Something deeper.

The music took control of your body for the umpteenth time that night, hips now swaying, and Steve's hand that you were still holding now lifted above you both as you tried to entice him to join. He rolled his tongue at the gesture before his head began to bob with an accompanying smile that he couldn't bite back. His fingers tightened around yours before tugging you closer, your frame twirling gently under your arms, until you landed in front of him with a palm pressed to his chest.

Steve's smile didn't falter, not in the slightest, but it did soften.

You let him go so that your hands could slide up to his shoulders, finding their home at the back of his neck. Your lip was bitten again, the spot swelling with pink plumpness from the constant harassment of your teeth - and Steve tried not to stare.

"You can put your hands on me. I won't bite." You said, noticing how they had fallen to his sides. It made you giggle, gentle and sweet, when he realised he was stuck in an entrancement. But you moved before he could, your fingers taking hold of his wrists and bringing them to your waist. They flexed against you, tightening, savouring the feeling of your body under his touch.

Your hips were near flush to his now as they kept their momentum. Being so close to Steve brought a different thickness to the air - one that allowed you to breathe more, but you were merely breathing in him. It was like a bubble made just for the two of you, everybody else fading.

The tempo changed as 'Tainted Love - Soft Cell' sang through the speakers nearby, so you turned around, Steve's grip still tight as you twisted until your back was against his chest. You could feel it thumping, fast, hard. His breath quickening. You're not sure if the drinks you had were finally settling, but your mind felt lighter, and you settled among the carefree.

Your body rocked in cadence, and although you couldn't see Steve, you could tell that his hips were following yours like a lost puppy - desperate and dependent on you. The people around you shifted, and he instinctively pulled you closer after his grip dragged to your hips, guiding your movements, controlling how you grazed him. The pace. The pressure.

You could feel a carnal fervour lulling down your neck as Steve breathed. It forced a jagged inhale to gather in your lungs, hitching abruptly, and you didn't expect the beautiful boy behind you to make you feel so stirred. A sudden heat made your skin pebble, and you retreated forward like his presence had burnt you, his hands dropping from your frame. It was as if your bubble had been popped, and you both remembered where you were and who you were with. What you were doing. How it made you feel.

Steve cleared his throat. You looked to your feet.

ⅲ. ʜᴀʀʀɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ ᴋɪᴛᴄʜᴇɴ; ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။|||||။၊|။• centerfold - the j. geils band

Steve couldn't sleep. More accurately, Steve didn't sleep. He was cursed with unforgettable scenes that haunted his mind whenever he closed his eyes. Which is why he preferred to sit within spaces bathed in light when he was alone; scared that the shadows would prey on him when he couldn't see, that they would sink in their claws and refuse to let go.

Three raps against the chipped-red wood of his front door made Steve jump, his mind broken from an exhausted trance. As one normally would, Steve didn't actually become concerned at a late visitor. In fact, he was used to it. He was used to you - and how you too suffered the inability to settle into a sweet slumber, how you would flinch at loud sounds and the creeping inch of darkness.

You didn't need to ask why he opened the door so quickly at one a.m, his living room bright with every globe aglow, your gaze drifting from the space behind him to the tired lines framing his eyes, "You too, huh?"

"Just the norm." He murmured back, a sympathetic smile shaping his lips and softening his eyes. Steve moved to the side so that you could walk inside, your shoes instantly kicked off by the door. He fell easily in step with you as he guided you both toward the kitchen, the room also lit up with nearly enough wattage to require UV-protected sunglasses. It made you squint, but you knew Steve needed it - the reassurance, the lack of shadows.

Steve's hands found solace around a half-drunken mug of tea, the aroma sweet and warm as it filled the space. It was complementary to the gentle hum of the radio on the island bench, and you could see where your friend had been propped up for most of the night as he leaned next to the askew bar stool with an upside down book nearby and a pair of discarded glasses. You didn't know that Steve had taken up reading, but you were sure it was out of boredom or avoidance that had prompted him to raid his father's forgotten stash.

"You want a mug? Kettle's still warm."

His voice drew your attention toward him, thoughts too loud and imposing to consider what he had said, and the furrowed brows you displayed were an indication enough to Steve. He easily recognised that expression of disorientation: astray from reality, stuck in a purgatory between fact and fiction. And it made his chest tighten.

The tender melody emanating from the speakers to his right filled the silence between you. It sounded comfortable - a tune that dared Steve to put down his mug and hold his hand out toward you. His eyes were tired, but they still managed to sparkle, "Dance with me."

It wasn't a question, yet it was neither a demand. It was more of a silent understanding between you both that always ended the same way - your hand slipping against his, and a large, warm hand splayed against your waist.

Steve guided you so that you were situated in front of him, your matching sock-clad feet opposite each other on the brown tiled floor. He desired your full attention, for you to tell him what was bothering you, because he could see that something was. He could tell easily, like a book he's re-read a hundred times. A movie he knows all the words to. A song that had embedded its melody so deeply in his mind.

After all, you were his person. And he was yours. It only made sense.

"Thought you weren't much of a dancer." You hummed, looking down at your socked feet.

His response was quiet as he spoke, scared to break the moment, "For you I am."

Steve slowly swayed as his fingers flexed around yours, the hand on your hip allowing his thumb to rub reassuring circles through your thin sweater. His eyes bored toward your crumbling facial expressions. "Tell me what's wrong." His voice was delicate, yet stern. Careful.

"I'm just tired, Steve - "

"C'mon. You don't need to bullshit with me. You never do."

You had told him that you had trouble sleeping, but you never properly explained why; the visions that controlled your nightmares were now seeping into the daylight and playing when you were awake, and you had been experiencing sporadic and painful headaches.

He would lose his mind if he knew, but he would lose it even more if he didn't.

You drew a deep breath, "The migraines are back, and they're always hurting."

Steve's steps faltered. He became uneasy too quickly. Knowing you were in pain and what it could mean was enough to turn his blood cold. He swallowed back the lump forming in his throat before absentmindedly pulling you closer, your arms instinctivly tangling around the back of his neck as his cheek pressed to your temple.

"You could've said something." He murmured, feeling you hum in agreement against his clavicle.

The song changed on the radio and the kitchen was soon filled with a soft ballad, a toned-down crescendo that bespoke mosaics bounced between four walls. It carried a melody you knew well, and Steve could feel your shoulders ease as you let it engulf you.

It was fitting for this moment - tender and delicate, like the way Steve was holding you, your bodies still swaying despite the minimal space that separated you both.

"This would be my song." Your words were spoken in a barely audible whisper, the confession licking at Steve's collarbone.

His brow quirked when confusion took over, "What do you mean?" Yet he had an idea, and he instantly wished he hadn't asked.

"If Vecna came for me."

"You know damn well I wouldn't let that happen-"

"But it could, Steve. And if it did, it would be this song." Your nose dragged gently by the base of his throat as you repositioned your head, shifting slightly, "I would think of now. This mere moment of peace. And it would bring me back."

Your admission hung like a safeguard, readiness for the unseeable. It made him think of Max, floating high above him, her mind lost. And how he would rather die than ever see you enter a similar fate.

Your fingers fidgeted with the hairs at the nape of his neck, nervous movements from such a serious revelation. The tension was thick but Steve knew that you trusted him with everything you embodied.

"Centerfold."

You pulled back at his word, only enough to see his face as he peered down at you, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.

"By The J. Geils Band. That'd be mine." Steve confessed, his smile widening as you began to giggle, chest warming at the sight of you happy.

"Homeroom angel, that'd be your pick? Seriously?"

The boy scoffed before pulling your laughing form closer to him again, smooshing your face into his shirt as your jovality grew louder. There was no point in holding back the pleased grin he wore so well around you; pressing the smile against the crown of your head, the swaying movements you were making now became exaggerated, back and forth as he tossed you playfully.

"Not that we're gonna need 'em, okay? I got you, and I always will." Steve started, slowing once more, embracing you tightly, "And when this is all over, there will be time for us. Just you and me, if... ya know, you'd want something like that."

You didn't waste a second, "I would."

ⅳ. ʜᴏᴘᴘᴇʀ-ʙʏᴇʀꜱ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ; ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။|||||။၊|။• time after time - cyndi lauper

It was odd; standing in a room bathed in pastels and florals, no resemblance to the darkness of any kind, surrounded by the people that you had spent years running toward the light with. Being on high alert for so long still left your bodies trembling at unexpected moments, compelled to always look over your shoulders, to view the world a little differently.

And yet, the party that you eventually built your life around had finally found relative happiness.

They say that some families only come together during weddings or funerals, and thankfully, today was the former. The turnout was small yet familiar and intimate, a perfect setting for the matrimony of Joyce and Hopper. It felt like years in the making; finally expelling into a contented deep breath, an introduction to the rest of everyone's lives, the capability to move forward.

You stood back, listening to the melody of laughter around the room, noting the matching smiles that complemented the serenity. Even after all this time, your gaze still trailed over the kids like a protective caretaker, but you couldn't help the softened grin that pinched up your lips when you saw their eased shoulders and joviality. Finally.

"You're staring." Humour voiced by your ear, the familiar scent of oakmoss and leather notes filling your vicinity. Steve was instant warmth as he settled beside you, his arm now wrapped comfortably around your back as you leaned into his side.

"How can I not? Look at them, our babies are all grown up." You cooed like a reminiscing parent, prompting Steve to chuckle heartily in return. He was the other half of your babysitting madness, earning just as much of a right to gush about those kids as if they were his own. And he often did.

He gently nudged your hand with a cool glass of champagne as he took a sip of his own, eyes dragging back over to you after monitoring the younger party members. Cheeks grew pink when he noticed your bottom lip pinched between your teeth.

"Trying to get me drunk on the first date, Harrington?"

Steve scoffed, completely enamoured, "Maybe I just wanted to make sure my girl was well looked after."

My girl.

The words struck something within you. A chord played just right. It was the first time you heard the sentiment fall from his lips, and you were sure that the warmth travelling up your neck was giving away how taken you were.

The glasses were soon abandoned as guests started to gather around cleared floor space, gentle notes of Cyndi Lauper drifting around Hopper and Joyce as they took their first steps together as a married couple. It was awkward to watch, yet endearing, as Jim Hopper tried to do a bridal waltz before giving up and simply swaying Joyce with all the happiness in the world.

It was then that you felt Steve's hand nudge yours. A touch, a feeling that you could never forget. Calloused and scarred skin mingling with your own. His hold safe, and loving. The floor was declared open, and he wasted no time before standing in front of you, eyebrow cocked, famous smirk shaping his lips.

"Dance with me."

Nothing could ever feel more right in this world than being in Steve Harrington's arms. They fell effortlessly to your lower back before he pulled you close to his chest, your own tangling behind his neck where fingers could lightly play with long brown tufts. Steve's cheek pressed to your temple as you both swayed, the chorus of 'Time After Time' being hummed gently into your hair.

You couldn't help the smile that contorted your facial features - wide lips, a scrunched nose, crinkled eyes. The embodiment of contentedness. A place you never want to leave.

"You know..." Your voice started after a change in song, your nails scratching lightly at Steve's scalp to coax him out of his comfortable trance, "It's pretty ballsy taking a girl to a wedding for a first date."

Steve snorted. As if you weren't already invited. But there was a difference in his tone a few days ago when he brought it to your attention; and asking if you'd go with him, was entirely different to asking if you'd go with him.

"Yeah, well. I've been into taking risks as of late." He sounded in reply, thumbs absently rubbing your hips through your dress. It was then that he pulled back, hazel eyes lidded in what one could only describe as love. His large hands warmed your skin as they slid up your arms, hands capturing your own, and pulling them gently between you both.

Your swaying continued, feet moving around in small steps, before Steve pressed a kiss to each of your knuckles.

"And how is that working out for you?" You asked, eyes remaining on his. Your voice was gentle among the budding crowd, but in the moment, it was just the two of you. No distractions. No intercepts. Just you and Steve.

He had always been a smooth talker, so it took you by surprise when that charm exuded into his movements as Steve suddenly spun you away from him, never once breaking eye contact. A stunned exhale pushed through you after you were pulled back in, your back now pressed to his chest and arms tangled over yours.

He could sense your shock, so he laughed against the shell of your ear before lips trailed down to a spot that he knew would make you sigh, "You wanna know how it's working out?" He whispered into your skin.

You nodded, breathlessly.

Steve placed a kiss. "Unbelievably perfect."

ⅴ. ʟᴏʟʟᴀᴘᴀʟᴏᴏᴢᴀ '92; ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။|||||။၊|။• porch - pearl jam

You thought that Hawkins mid-Summer could be the hottest place on Earth, but nothing prepared you for Cincinnati. Maybe it was the intensity of the sun that cast its warmth ferociously over the festival, or perhaps it was the electrifying energy that surrounded you as you stood within a buzzing swarm of music-lovers.

Either way, it was far from a deterrent for Steve Harrington as he still found every opportunity to place his hands somewhere on your body. Or if his hands had already found refuge, his lips were quick to seek out the next best sliver of skin.

Spirits were high, as were many of the thriving patrons around you. The smile that tugged eagerly between your cheeks was reciprocated easily by your friends as your group stayed close to one another throughout each set. Vickie, at some point, climbed onto Robin's shoulders as their voices boomed with loud joviality to each song, whilst Jonathan captured every moment through his trusty lens, and Nancy moved so freely as she finally let loose.

And then, there was you and Steve. Your voice also carried alongside the crowd, but it began to falter the more you felt Steve's fingers absently fiddle with the shiny band and stone that now graced your left hand. It was an obsession he had - the inability to stop feeling for it, to remind himself of reality, to ground his thoughts and reassure his dreams that he proposed to you and you had said yes.

It had been three months since his knee found the plushy carpet of Enzos. Three months since the speech he had planned for weeks had dispersed because he couldn't stop smiling and crying. Three months since you dropped from your seat, dress crushed as you knelt in front of him, and fell happily into his arms. After all this time, he was still addicted to the thought of you as the future Mrs Harrington.

Hollers and cheers erupted as the large stage ahead sounded a new song; Pearl Jam setting the scene for another track from their new album, before Robin's excitement boomed in your ear when the opening notes of 'Porch' began to play.

The atmosphere was contagious like a fever that couldn't be held down. As one entity, the crowd was moving and singing - a unified moment between thousands of people. It was hard to feel out of place when you were in the middle of such cohesion.

The second you turned to your side, Steve was already looking down at you, the sun reflecting golden flecks from his hazel eyes in a mesmerising moment. It made him appear younger, as if the trouble you had all faced didn't exist within this brief instance of time.

"Dance with me." You said, your smile still worn well and wide.

He snickered, leaning in to peck your sun-kissed cheek before his nose grazed along the warmth. The man hummed in acceptance and smoothly wrapped his arms around your torso, tugging your body back until you felt the hard plane of his chest behind you. You were back in your favourite place, Steve Harrington's embrace, as your hands rubbed over his forearms before your head fell to his shoulder.

Steve guided your bodies from side-to-side. It was a momentum that you knew all too well, ignoring the heat and beading sweat that clung between you both so that you could immerse yourself in all things Steve. His cologne had yet to falter, adhering to his baggy tee and wafting further toward you the more his arms tightened.

You eventually grasped his wrists, wrapping around them with care before pulling them to your sides. It was always so invigorating whenever Steve's large hands splayed against your waist - their size making you feel safe and heated in a conflicted concoction. You craved for him to both protect and tear you apart at the same time. They slipped generously to your hips before his fingers tensed, blunt nails digging into you with calculated strength.

His lips fell next. They found their home below your ear, claiming the expanse of skin down to the base of your throat. Every drag of his tongue professed ownership, only justified by the control he now had as he moved you with his hands - your pace, your position, your pressure.

The festival had become background noise; all that you could focus on was your future husband and the significant devotion of love he had for you.

ⅵ. ʜᴀʀʀɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ; ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။|||||။၊|။• more than words - extreme

It had taken ten years in the making for this moment to happen. Bright flashes of light still trigger something within you, and pure darkness is more than enough to haunt - but standing, hand-in-hand, with what you could call your universe and more in a single person had easily rewritten the cruelty of the past. The suffering still existed; however, Steve Harrington's love made the fight and survival absolutely worthwhile.

You wore matching smiles with twin pinched lips, intertwined with devotion and warmth. They paired harmoniously with the two sets of eyes that were still slightly red-rimmed from the jovial tears that ran rapidly. And then, there were the words that were declared not too long ago that continued to sing sweetly in your mind - Husband and Wife. Steve and You. A pairing that outlived monsters and anguish, that sought each other through the dark with fumbling hands, that created their own light instead of waiting for it to come.

Steve's right hand was stubborn, refusing to let go of you. From the moment you two ventured back down the aisle, and through the audience of loving words delivered in toasts from your loved ones, he held you tight as a reminder that this was real. That you were now a constant in his life - like oxygen, and he was desperate to breathe you in and fill his lungs with this stunning promise of forever.

"I love you." His whispered words felt like a tattoo the more he whispered them against your throat, your pulse jumping and the proud turn of his lips grazed skin so stunningly before they pressed yet another kiss below your ear.

Your hand snaked up the side of his head as fingers carted through his hair, slight pressure forming as you made sure to keep his face in that position against you. Steve chuckled, the gentle huffs of breath tickling your skin. You could feel his glasses nudge the underside of your jaw before you turned slightly to smile at him. "I love you, too."

It was perfect. Even more so, when delicate sounds of music began to emit around the reception space.

'More than Words - Extreme' was a song that Steve picked. It was his only must-have requirement for the Wedding you two found yourselves the centre of. He proclaimed it a story that followed you closely, as if your journey together across all these terrifying and beautiful years had been summarised. As if the song itself were a neon arrow, pointing toward this moment of you both wearing matching rings.

He stood from his seat as if the notes were a trigger, hazel eyes widened with hope when he looked to you. You could read him like a book - the way his smirk cocked, how his gaze softened. He'd already encaptured your hand, but the invitation was still laid out. Steve didn't need to ask you aloud, not this time.

"I would love to dance with you. Always." You spoke gently, attempting to hold down the shake that followed your words and the happy tears that threatened to spill.

Steve guided you both to the dedicated space, family and friends watching on with endearment. He positioned his left hand on your hip, thumb already rubbing delicately into your side. His right still holding onto you, never planning on letting go. Your chests were close, and you cupped his cheek before Steve's lips pressed into your palm.

He took the lead.

It was more than a sway this time, more than intimate touches as two bodies moved clockwise. More than wandering hands that burnt with every drag of skin over skin. It was more than a distraction or a promise of safety, a budding romance from years of dancing around feelings rather than just dancing together.

The way he moved with you, and you with him, was a sentiment that vowed beyond longevity. Steve Harrington was holding you as if you were the most delicate thing he had ever touched, whilst also being the one thing that he craved more than life itself.

It was, simply, forever.

You could see the glassiness coat his eyes, contentedness settling so easily now within him. Carefully, your hand dragged up from his cheek to take hold of his glasses, removing them and placing them in his front jacket pocket before the lenses could fog up. He chuckled under his breath as a tear began to fall.

"You know, I'm still not much of a dancer."

You chuckled back, tears of your own falling once again, yet the smile between your cheeks had grown.

"Thought you were good at everything, Harrington?"

Fingers flexed against your hip before they trailed up your side, taking their time to map each curve. They eventually found solace on your back before splaying comfortably, and then he tipped you backwards.

The joyful laugh that pushed through you was Steve's version of angels singing. And he would do whatever, whenever, for the rest of your lives to always hear that noise. He didn't want to interrupt it, but the desperation to kiss you came first, his lips capturing yours as he swallowed your laughter, smiles pressing to one another.

When he pulled you upright, you laughed again, softer but passionate as your crinkled eyes and scrunched nose looked to him. Steve would never understand how you were both his oxygen and the reason for his breathlessness.

"I'm good at a lot of things..." He began, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. The two of you couldn't hear the cheers from the wedding guests; how they gushed and cooed, the way their applause echoed loudly throughout the room. Instead, you were focused on each other. More specifically, the way Steve's lips grazed yours, and the shudder that shook him,

Robin is thankful you’re still getting changed behind the curtain so that you don’t see her roll her eyes in exasperation.

“Then what do you want?” Robin asks with an air of impatience. “Because I’m hungry and you promised me hot dogs!”

You sigh and glance at the dresses you still had yet to try on and can’t help but feel a little dejected. Steve’s birthday party was on Saturday and you were struggling to find a dress that felt good enough for the party. If it was anyone else’s party, you would have just worn a nice top and either jeans or a denim skirt. But this was Steve Harrington’s party and you wanted to look good. Really good. Because after months of you and Steve dancing around your feelings for each other, you had finally had enough.

And so, you had come up with a little plan to show up to Steve’s party in a nice dress and hope that he would finally take a hint. 

The only problem being—is that you were struggling to find said nice dress. And now you were starting to wonder if it was a stupid plan.

“I don’t know,” you tell Robin miserably, deciding to abandon the dresses you had left to try on in favour of pulling back on your jeans and t-shirt. “I just want something that makes me, you know, stand out to Steve.”

“You always stand out to him,” Robin tells you gently, softening a little at your slightly dejected tone. “But he’s also a guy so he’s also an idiot.”

You laugh a little but your stomach turns a little as you wonder—not for the first time—if Steve really did like you the way everyone told you he did. Robin insisted that Steve liked you, so did Dustin, Max, Lucas and even Nancy. Everyone told you Steve was crazy about you. So why hadn’t he made a move? Why hadn’t he been honest with you about his feelings? What if everyone was wrong? What if he didn’t actually like you and you were making a fool of yourself?

“Are you overthinking again?” Robin asks you when you say nothing.

“No,” you say, the uncertainty in your voice evident as you pull back the curtain to see Robin sitting in the armchair outside of the dressing room. “Maybe? I dunno Robin, I’m starting to doubt the plan.”

Robin sighs, glancing over at the dresses you still had to try on before looking back at you. “You know what I think the problem is?”

“What?”

“I think you’ve been trying to find the wrong type of dress.”

You blink, a little confused by Robin’s words. “What's wrong with the dresses?”

“Nothing! Not really they just—they don’t scream ‘fuck me’, you know?”

“Robin!”

“What?” Robin asks, holding her hands up in surrender. “Do you or do you not want Steve Harrington—christ, I can’t believe I’m saying this—want Steve to fuck you?”

You were aghast, your mouth hanging open in shock at her words. But you don’t deny it because yeah—you did want to him to fuck you.

“I—I um, I mean—”

“—see? You need a ‘fuck me’ dress not a ‘take me to church’ dress,” Robin tells you, stepping into the dressing room to grab the pile of dresses resting on the bench. “Stay right there. I’ll find a dress for you and it’ll make Steve want to fuck your brains out—”

“—Robin!—”

“—kidding! Mostly.”

But the thing is—Robin hadn’t been kidding.

Because the dress she had picked for you was one that didn’t just say ‘fuck me’—it screamed it.

“Are you sure it isn’t too booby?” You ask Robin for perhaps the millionth time as you adjust the strap: of your dress. It was the night of the party and you were getting ready at Robin’s before Steve came to pick you both up and it was only natural that your nervous system was a mess.

“I highly doubt Steve Harrington of all people would think a dress was ‘too booby’,” Robin says with a slight roll of her eyes. “He’ll just see that hint of your cleavage and forget what year it is.”

You smile a little but still, you weren’t entirely convinced. Because now that you were wearing the dress—which was beautiful, the glittering material a mix of black and a deep red that couldn’t help but catch the eye—you were wondering if it was too late to just wear some of Robin’s clothes instead.

But before you could suggest such a thing, the familiar sound of Steve’s car horn came from outside and the words die on your tongue.

“C’mon,” Robin tells you, seeing the slightly panicked look on your face. She gently fixes a piece of stray hair and smiles at you. “You look incredible. Don’t overthink it, okay?”

“Easier said than done,” you mutter as you grab the gift bag with Steve’s present—a watch you knew he had his eye on—in and following Robin out of her bedroom.

You vaguely hear Steve talking animatedly to Robin’s parents in her living room as you make your way down the stairs. Your heart was beating so fast that it felt as though it was attempting to beat its way out of your chest. You felt hot all over, clammy even and you didn’t quite know what to do with your hands because this dress was so far out of your comfort zone that you had the urge to run upstairs and take it off.

As if she had a sixth sense for any thoughts you had of fleeing—Robin grabbed your arm and gave you an encouraging smile when you reached the bottom of the staircase.

“You look great. Stop doubting yourself or I swear to god, I’ll slap you. That four hour shopping trip wasn’t for nothing, you know.”

You blink before a small laugh leaves your lips. “Four hours is an exaggera—”

It was the sound of Steve saying yours and Robin’s name that cuts you off. Your body stills and you turn around and—

Your breath hitches in your throat when you finally see Steve. He looked devastatingly handsome—he always did—but especially in those jeans that hugged his thighs and ass so well that it made your throat feel a little dry. He was also wearing that sage green shirt that you had told him looked nice the other week and you wonder for a moment if he was wearing it for that reason. But before you could think too deeply about it, you finally look at his face and Steve—he was just staring at you, lips parted and seemingly speechless.

Your face feels so hot that you were sure it was noticeable. You could barely hear Robin’s mom gushing about your dress, about how grown up and beautiful you looked because all you could focus on was Steve’s eyes slowly travelling up your body.

It was as though everything else around you had ceased to exist all because Steve Harrington was looking at you.

“Happy Birthday, Steve,” you say finally, your voice higher than usual due to the almost crippling nerves you were feeling.

Steve doesn’t say anything to that and you weren’t sure whether that made you feel better or worse.

“Cleans up well, doesn’t she?” Robin asks Steve with a somewhat smug smile and plainly ignoring the flustered look on your face.

Steve blinks, licking his lips as he tries to formulate a response whilst still looking at you, completely unable to look away.

“I, um—yeah, I mean—she—looks—”

Steve couldn’t string a sentence together and everyone in the room could see it—you, Robin and even her parents.

“She looks—yeah—she looks beautiful.”

Beautiful.

Steve had called you beautiful.

That word now lived somewhere deep in your ribcage and didn’t want to leave.

It was all you could think about as you sat in the passenger seat of Steve’s Beamer. Robin’s voice was almost completely drowned out as you repeated the way he had said it over and over again in your head. The way he had looked at you—

But arriving at Steve’s party felt like a bucket of ice cold water being poured over you. 

Because you were painfully overdressed.

And that warmth that the word beautiful had given you almost entirely disappeared.

You felt as though everyone’s eyes were on you, wondering why the fuck you had turned up to Steve’s birthday party in a dress like that. And honestly—you were beginning to wonder the exact same thing.

“C’mon,” Steve says to you and Robin, his hand finding your lower back—just that little bit lower than he usually would—while the other gently pries the gift bag from your hand. “Let’s get you both a drink.”

You let Steve guide you into the kitchen because it was a welcome distraction from the people who were looking at you. Because having one of Steve’s large hands resting on the small of your back meant that you weren’t thinking of anything else.

But he doesn’t keep it there for long, much to your dismay. Steve withdraws his hand as he busies himself with making both you and Robin a vodka cranberry. You don’t even notice how he spills a little bit of the cranberry juice when he chances another glance at you because you were too busy trying to pull down the hem of your dress.

Once Steve had made your drinks, you wasted absolutely no time in taking a generous swig as some sort of liquid confidence. 

Steve raises a brow but says nothing.

“I’ll just take this up to my room,” Steve says, holding up your gift bag with a small smile. “Thank you. I’ll open it later when things aren’t so—crazy.”

You nod and force a smile, the uncomfortableness you were beginning to feel seeping into your gut as you watch Steve head upstairs.

“Why the fuck did I do this?” You ask Robin almost as soon as Steve disappears, your knuckles turning wet as you grip the edge of the countertop. “What possessed me to do this, Robin? I look so fucking stupid—”

Robin’s eyes widen as she sees the genuine panic in your eyes—the embarrassment, the worry reflected there. She puts her solo cup down and steps toward you, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You don’t look stupid, okay? I promise—”

“—everyone else is wearing jeans, Robin. I look so out of place—”

“—so? Did you or did you not see Steve’s reaction to the dress? He nearly crashed into like ten cars on the way here because he kept looking over at you.”

“It wasn’t ten cars—” Your face feels hot as you say it, something tightening in your gut as you remember feeling Steve’s eyes on you in the car, the way Robin had kept yelling at him to keep his eyes on the road.

“—stop deflecting or I will drag you upstairs and lock both you and Steve in his bedroom until you both stop being idiots.”

No matter how much the thought of being locked in a bedroom with Steve Harrington made your core ache with need, you knew it wasn’t the grand declaration of feelings that you had always envisioned for you and Steve.

And so, you try to enjoy yourself despite how uncomfortable you feel. It seems to work—at least for a little while.

You dance with Robin, laugh with a few of Steve’s friends and all the while, you keep catching Steve looking at you. But still—he doesn’t make a move. He doesn’t even ask you to dance when Heaven Is A Place On Earth starts to play like he usually would at a party. You tried not to let doubt creep in, tried not to listen to the small voice in the back of your head telling you that Steve clearly didn’t feel the same. That the months and months of flirting, of lingering touches and almost something moments were simply figments of your imagination. That buying a dress to try and encourage Steve to finally make a move was an act of desperation that Steve—another everyone else around him—pitied. 

You were trying not to listen to those voices, instead remembering the way Steve had looked at you, the fact he had called you beautiful and meant it.

But it all came crashing down when you left Steve and Robin to grab yourself a drink.

You still feel eyes on you as you walk into the kitchen. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you just needed to wait it out until the party died down a little. You just needed to wait until then to—

You don’t register the sound of shouting right away. In fact, you were so in your own head that you barely hear it at all. 

But you certainly register the warm, sticky liquid suddenly drenching the front of your dress.

“Oh shit,” the guy who had spilled his beer all over you laughs as embarrassment and humiliation stir so deep in your gut that it makes you feel physically sick. “Sorry about that babe, want me to help you clean up?”

The way his friends laugh loudly at the suggestion makes you suspect that the beer spilling had been anything but accidental and that this guy was anything but sorry. 

You try to conjure up a quick, self-assured response. Try to conjure up the nerve to call these guys—who you were sure had just stumbled into the party without invitation—a bunch of assholes. But all you could focus on was trying not to burst into tears as shame, embarrassment and humiliation all swirled sickeningly in your gut. You felt it turn into something so all consuming that for a moment, you couldn’t move—didn’t want to move. All you could hear was the guys’ laughter, the beer that soaked your dress beginning to drip down your thigh and a faint ringing in your ears—

“Hey, hey, what happened here?”

You didn’t think that there would ever be a time that your stomach would turn horribly at the sound of Steve’s voice—at his hand on the small of your back, at the concern in his eyes as he looked at you.

You open your mouth to reply but no words come out—because your eyes became glassy and panic began to rise in your chest.

“Little black dress over here spilled her drink,” one of the guys lie easily to Steve as a smug smile tugs on the corner of his lips.

“That—that’s not what h-happened,” you say finally in a shaky voice. “I-I didn’t spill anything, that guy—”

“—clearly she’s had one too many,” the guy who had spilled his drink over you interrupts. “Should probably take that dress off, sweetheart. You’re pretty wet”

You don’t hear Steve’s pissed off response. In fact, you don’t hear anything at all—just the ringing in your ears as you finally look down at the front of your dress. You see how it was soaked through almost entirely, the wet fabric clinging to your skin and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. 

And that was the moment that the dam finally broke. 

You don’t think as you push Steve aside, your body in autopilot as you rush out of the kitchen where you collide into Robin. You barely hear her as she asks you what had happened, why your dress was drenched and stank of beer and why you were crying. You don’t say anything, not even glancing her way as you slip into the crowd gathered in the living room, slipping through the mass of bodies before heading up the stairs. Your hands don’t stop shaking until you stumble into Steve’s large, family bathroom.

You slam the door shut behind you as sobs wracked through your body. Hot tears of shame and embarrassment spill down your cheeks as you sink down to the floor. Your back against the freestanding bath as you tug your knees close to your chest to try and find some semblance of comfort. But none came—all that lived inside you was humiliation and shame. 

You wondered why you had even bothered. It was so clear to you now—because if Steve hadn’t made a move on you after months of flirting back and forth, months of touches and glances that felt anything but friendly—then maybe you and everyone else around you had been wrong. That sure—maybe Steve was attracted to you but not enough to risk your friendship, not enough to want you the way you wanted him.

You felt so stupid for hoping that he wanted more and you felt even more stupid for coming up with this plan that was dripping with desperation. Everyone at the party could see it—the way you had dressed up specifically for Steve. They also probably saw the way he had kept you at arms length all evening too and the shame returned in a fresh wave of sobs that you couldn’t hold back even if you had tried.

The sound of a gentle knock on the bathroom door makes you look up just in time to see Steve slipping into the bathroom.

You had the urge to yell at him to leave but instead, you let out another small sob before burying your face into your knees.

“Oh, please don’t cry,” Steve soothes you gently, sinking down onto the bathroom floor beside you and placing a cautious hand on your arm, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin. “Please don’t cry because of those assholes.”

You wish you were simply crying because of those assholes and not the mix of emotions you were feeling. The humiliation of the past three minutes, the embarrassment of being the girl so desperate for Steve Harrington’s attention that she wore a dress that she could barely afford and the almost crippling fear that Steve didn’t actually feel the same way, that you had made a fool out of yourself for being so certain that he had. 

“It—it’s not j-just ab-about those a-assholes, Steve,” you tell him, hiccuping slightly as you force yourself to look at him. You almost wish you hadn’t because those big hazel eyes of his were looking at you with such kindness and concern that it very nearly split you open.

Steve blinks, brows pulled together in slight confusion as he looks back at you, his other hand finding home on your shoulder and squeezing reassuringly.

“What do you mean? What else is this about?”

You knew you should lie. You knew it wasn’t the time nor the place. It was his birthday party and his bathroom should be the very last place to have this conversation. Not only that but you stank of beer, you were incredibly upset and tethering on the edge of tipsy.

But that was also why you couldn’t stop yourself.

“This stupid f-fucking dr-dress,” you sob out, feeling utterly pathetic as tears keep falling down your cheeks with no sign of stopping.

Steve looks perhaps even more confused, eyes shifting down to your dress and the way the glittering material was almost a second skin, the way he had a clear view down your cleavage and the way the tops of your thighs were exposed. Steve swallows, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before he looks back at your face.

“Why?” He asks you gently. “You look fucking beautiful, even if you’re covered in beer.”

It was supposed to make you laugh, you know it from the way the corners of his lips curl upwards in amusement.

But you don’t laugh, instead you shake your head and let out another loud sob.

“Be-because I-I wore it for you and y-you don’t e-even care,” you stutter out, the words falling from your lips before you could even think about stopping them. “I-I feel s-so stupid and n-now it-it’s ruined and—”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Steve hushes you, his fingertips pressing into skin before one hand lifts to gently cup your jaw. “You—you wore it…for me?”

It was only then that you realised what you had told him, that you realised just how honest you had been. You think briefly about lying right to his face, telling him that you were joking and to forget all about it. But it was Steve’s thumb gently rubbing along your jaw that had you nodding before you could stop yourself.

“Yeah,” you admit quietly with a small sniffle. “To—I-I don’t know, impress you or m-make you s-see me di-differently. I told you—it was stupid—”

“Not stupid,” Steve assures with a gentle smile, another gentle caress of your skin that left you feeling a little lightheaded and your stomach tightening in a way you didn’t want to think about. “You just—you don’t need a dress like that to impress me or for me to see you. I already do.”

You blink, tears sticking to your lashes as you look back at Steve with your lips parted.

“B-but—but you’ve never—”

“—I know,” Steve says quickly, his other hand resting on your knee as he shifts that little bit closer to you. “Trust me, I know. I was—I was waiting for the right moment, I guess. Well, that’s what I told myself anyway because there were so many right moments where I should have told but you didn’t because I was—scared, honestly. Scared that I had just imagined that you liked me back, scared that I wouldn’t do it right and then you’d want nothing to do with me.”

You laugh a little at that because the notion of not wanting anything to do with Steve was so ridiculous that you couldn’t help but laugh.

“That’s almost as stupid as me b-buying a dress just for your attention,” you say with a small smile and a quiet sniffle.

Steve smiles and then his eyes shift back down to your dress and you watch as he swallows, his hand on your knee squeezing gently before he seems to force himself to look back at your face.

“Then we can be stupid together,” Steve murmurs affectionately and the way he says it, you can’t help but smile right along with him. There was a moment where you just look at each other. His big, hazel eyes keep yours hostage before they flit down to glance at your lips for a brief, barely there moment.

Steve clears his throat, looking away as he asks, “you uh, you want me to grab you something to wear while you have a shower so you don’t smell like a brewery all night?”

You nod, looking down at your dress and grimacing before looking back up at Steve with a small, grateful smile. “Please.”

Steve smiles back at you before he gives your knee a little final squeeze before getting to his feet and holding out his hand for you to take.

You try not to think about how his hand feels against yours as he pulls you up to your feet. You notice immediately how Steve doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he pulls you just that little bit closer and leans down to whisper in your ear. “The dress is incredible by the way, truly. You look so fucking good. I almost got hard right in the middle of Robin’s living room when I first saw you.”

You hadn’t been expecting it, not at all and the words go straight to your core. A current as strong as electricity flowing through you and making your cunt pulse with need for the man in front of you as he pulls away from you with a slightly smug smile.

“Steve!” You choke out, half laughing, half flustered, your face so hot that you wouldn’t be surprised to find steam rising from your skin. 

“What?” Steve asks you with an innocent smile. “You said that you wanted my attention and you certainly got it. Why do you think I’ve tried to keep a respectable distance all night? Because I’m trying my best not to embarrass myself at my own party.”

You try to laugh but you’re too busy trying to not think about Steve and what was hiding beneath those fucking jeans. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t allowed yourself a good look at the crotch of his jeans from time to time. Mostly because the imprint of his cock against the denim was near impossible to ignore.

“Couldn’t be more embarrassing than me showing up to your party in a ‘fuck me’ dress when literally everyone else is dressed normal.”

The words came out before you could really think of what you were saying.

Steve chokes out a laugh, the tips of his ears reddening in a way that gives you a fluttery feeling in your stomach and makes you feel warm inside.

“A ‘fuck me’ dress?” Steve repeats with another quick glance down at the dress, at the way the damp fabric was clinging to your breasts. “Pretty accurate description.”