Belle

You abandoned your box immediately to help him, feeling like the worst person on the planet as he cursed at you.

"I am so sorry!" you rushed out, holding his elbow to help him up from the floor, placing his cane in his hand.

He grumbled words you forced yourself to forget.

8 months later, it seemed as though you developed a small crush on him, learning small things about him over time, his patterns, his day to day life.

It wasn't stalking, no, because you already knew where he lived-

The door right across from you.

It wasn't your fault you'd see him out and about in town.

and it wasn't your fault that you'd bump into him in the hallway.

Monday, he left his apartment around 10:45am.

From there, he'd take a walk in the park, stopping by the pet store for 20-30 minutes, then make his way to the cafe on Mary Street to have lunch.

Steak sandwich, black coffee.

Tuesday, he stayed in.

Around 1pm, a lady visited him, wearing a white coat badge. Leaving only 10-20 minutes later.

Wednesdays were also boring, another lady coming in, bags of shopping in her hands. A family friend, you learned after meeting her, who brings him food and necessities.

She'd stay a little longer.

An hour or two, at least before heading home.

Thursdays he left around 9am, taking another walk, you would assume, coming back around an hour later.

Friday was always a surprise.

He'd leave at different times, come back after 10 or so minutes or a few hours later.

It was always different.

The only thing that wasn't different was every time, he'd come back with a simple, blueberry muffin.

Now, flirting was usually easy.

Well- easier than your foolish attempts to woo your neighbour.

You couldn't dress nice and all dolled up.

You couldn't smile.

You couldn't even wink.

Because he wasn't able to see that.

So, you had to get smart.

Use other senses.

Be subtle, let your presence be enough to grab his attention.

So, a month ago, you bought it.

Perfumes. a whole bunch.

Just to see his reaction.

The first perfume you tried was citrusy. Orange and warm notes of sandwood.

His nose had scrunched up when you passed the hall.

No.

The second was classic scents, floral.

You opted for jasmine and rose, out of everything.

He had only sneezed in the elevator.

Then it was spices, cinnamon, to be exact.

Only earning a scratch of the nose as you left your apartment.

You had gone through many perfumes.

Apricot and caramel.

Amber.

EVen bringing out the big guns of Cherry.

Nothing. No reaction.

It wasn't until your 3rd visit to the store, the worker knowing your name as you looked for new arrivals.

He would have to like one scent.

Searching bottles and reading the fine print of notes and tones, you shook your head.

Until you stopped at a blue bottle, a nice bubble glass shape.

Main notes:

Blueberry

Undertones:

Sugar, vanilla

It was like you hit the lottery.

Of course.

If he didn't acknowledge this one, then your plan was doomed, never to succeed.

He loved blueberry muffins.

Surely if you smelled like one, he would notice.

Well, it's been two weeks and nothing.

Elevator trips stayed silent.

Passes in the hallway remained unacknowledged.

It was frustrating, to be completely honest.

You'd try to speak to him, only to be ignored.

You knew he wasn't deaf.

He apparently just held grudges.

You were leaving your apartment when he came out, extending his cane as you jingled your keys.

You looked at him, a little longer than you should have, in all honesty.

His hair was ruffled, falling down into the edge of his glasses, an effortlessly perfect way, his lips chapped and plump before he licked them.

You felt a bit pervy before you forced yourself to look away, matching his steps as you walked to the elevator.

"Goodmorning" you spoke carefully, putting your keys into your purse before pressing the button to the ground floor.

"Mornin'" He mumbled, standing beside you.

His nose scrunched as he tapped his foot on the carpet.

You watched the number on the elevator, sighing as he kept going up to the top floor, you, stuck on the 5fth floor as it reached the 20th.

It was silent as you swallowed thickly, biting your lip as you took a peak in his direction.

He stood still, almost like a statue, looking straight ahead at nothing, the grip on his cane tight but carefree.

"Taking a walk?" you asked, although you already knew the answer.

He huffed, nodding once "yep"

You smacked your lips together, closing your eyes briefly as you tried to calm yourself.

You thought about his route that he takes.

Through Stapes Lane across Draws Avenue to the park.

The park.

You turned to him.

"They're doing renovations on the park today" you informed him, recalling the notice on the daily paper and sighs on street lights.

"Renovations?"

"Yeah..." you started "fixing it up, something about fallen down trees and stuff, but it's closed for the week"

He hummed, furrowing his eyebrows "Oh"

"The field by the freeway is a good walk, though, a fit far but"

He paused, his muscles tensing, breatch hitching.

"Nah, s'ok..." He replied shortly, slowly turning back to the hallway "Just wait for the park"

Before you could say anything else, he was walking away, back to his apartment.

So clearly he doesn't like the field.

The next time you saw him was at the Church.

He was sat at the front of the hall, head down, hands clamped together on his lap, cane resting beside him, leaning against the dark wooden pew.

You sat on the opposite side of the Church, keeping him in your peripheral vision.

You sat there quietly, barely registering the way Gator snapped his head up, tilting to the side, searching for something he wasn't able to find.

"Sad story that one" A creaky voice whispered from behind you.

Turning your head, you frowned at the old lady sat behind you, leaning forward with her hands resting on the back of the pew you occupied.

"I beg your pardon?" You questioned curiously, not knowing what she was talking about.

"That Tillman boy"

You raised a brow, looking over to him.

"What do you mean?" You mumbled back.

"His father was our county sheriff for quite some time, but...after the accident, no one's heard of him since" she tutted, shaking her head in disapointment.

You didn't want to know any more of the story, you weren't one for gossip, but something in you seemed to scream for any sort of knowledge of Gator. Something that would give you just a piece of him.

You knew you weren't entitled to know; it wasn't your business. Still, you asked.

"The accident?"

She nodded quietly "Well...It wasn't an accident... the poor boy was tortured by a crazed man...burned his eyes off"

You gaped, turning around to face forward, really wishing you hadn't been so curious.

"His father abandoned him after that...now he's all alone" The lady finished, clearly not understanding that you weren't interested futher.

In fact, it made you sick to your stomach at the thought of his past.

So much so, you gathered your bag, smiling politely to the woman as you stood up, walking down the aisle to leave, a churning feeling settling deep in your chest.

the next few days were rough, the guilty feeling of holding the knowledge of his past eating you alive.

You didn't hold any power to know; you didn't deserve to know that part of him.

Still, you knew, and you couldn't shake the knowledge no matter how hard you tried to. It stuck.

The next time you saw him, your hands were full.

Reusable bags dug into your fingers, the plastic handles threatening to snap as you fumbled with your keys.

You had underestimated how much you could carry in one trip, and now you were paying for it, shifting your weight awkwardly in front of your door.

You didn’t even hear his door open at first.

"Strugglin' there?"

You froze.

His voice, closer than expected, rough around the edges but quieter than usual, made your heart jump straight into your throat.

You turned your head just enough to see him in your peripheral, standing a few steps away with his cane extended.

"I-uh- no, I've got it" you said quickly, which was a blatant lie as one of the bags slipped lower down your wrist.

He tilted his head slightly, like he was listening past your words instead of to them.

"Doesn't sound like it"

You huffed softly, more embarrassed than annoyed, crouching a little to stop the bag from completely falling "It’s just the keys-"

A can dropped.

It hit the floor with a hollow clang and rolled somewhere behind you.

You shut your eyes.

Perfect.

There was a brief pause. Then the soft, rhythmic tap of his cane moved closer.

"Hold on," he muttered.

You blinked, watching as he stepped into your space with surprising confidence, crouching down. His hand hovered over the floor for a moment before landing exactly on the can, fingers curling around it like he’d known where it would be.

You stared.

He stood back up, holding it out in your direction- not quite touching you, just… offering.

"Here"

"Oh- thank you" you said, quickly shifting a bag to take it from him. Your fingers brushed his for half a second.

He pulled back almost immediately.

You fumbled again, but this time managed to get the key in on the second try, pushing the door open with your hip. You stepped inside halfway, then hesitated.

"Do you-" you started, then stopped yourself.

He was already turning away.

Something in your chest twisted.

"Wait-" you said.

He paused.

You adjusted the bags on your arms, stepping back out into the hallway. "Um… thank you. For helping"

A beat.

Then, quieter, "You didn’t have to"

He shrugged slightly, not facing you. "Would've been loud if you dropped the rest"

You almost smiled.

Almost.

There was a small silence, not uncomfortable, just… there. You noticed the way his head tilted again, just a fraction in your direction.

He nodded once, brief, but somehow kind, an unspoken understanding of something.

Something you didn't know.

Then he walked away.

Wednesday rolled around quickly, and you were coming back from work when you got stopped.

The small woman carrying bags almost bigger than her practically stumbling down the hall as you tried to open your door.

She panted as she came closer, her face washing with relief as she saw you.

"H-hey!" she smiled tightly, perhaps due to the strain on her thin arms.

"Do you need help?" you asked, abandoning your apartment to help her.

She let you take the bags from her, sighing deeply.

"Thank you...would you mind bringing these to Gator...I'm a little behind on my errands and I don't have time right now..."

Your eyebrows shot up as you opened your mouth the speak.

She wanted you to give Gator...his groceries?

"Um- I- I mean- Sure...Dot" you nodded, unsure of yourself as she dug into her pockets.

"These are his keys...tell him I'm sorry"

Before you could get another word out, she started walking down, rushing down the hall, clearly needing to be somewhere.

You hauled the bags, groaning at the weight as you held the key out, taking a deep breath in as you stared at his door.

You struggled for a moment, fumbling with the keys, missing the hole, putting it in the wrong way until you finally unlocked it.

You pushed the door open with your hip, taking a slow step forward, cautious as you entered his home.

You shifted the bags, huffing as you pulled the key out with too much force, your feet losing balance before you stabilised yourself with the wall.

"Nadine?" You heard, the weakness in his voice pulling at your heartstrings.

You struggled to find your voice as the door shut behind you, letting you take in the place.

It was cold. That was the first thing you noticed.

Walls plain white, bare, not a single picture or poster on the wall.

The place was spotless, not a messy thing about it.

Wooden flooring was polished, the dark rug of the living room perfectly soft.

It was the opposite of what you expected of him, although, if you thought harder, you realise it made sense.

He was sat on the couch, back to you as he stared at the tv- well, faced in the direction of the tv.

The air was crisp, smelling like a mix of nothing and faint scent of cleaning supplies.

You stepped further in, catching a glimpse of the kitchen around the corner, your feet dragging you towards the room as he spoke again.

"Dot, you there?"

You walked behind him to get to the kitchen, not missing the way he tensed, his shoulders stiffening as every muscle in his body went into a reset.

It fell silent again as you reached the kitchen.

Behind you, he stood, turning in your direction as you put the bags up on the counter, letting out a sigh of relief.

He called your name, soft, tight, sure of himself.

You frowned, placing your hands on the edge of the countertop.

You didn't bother turning around, no, it wasn't like he knew.

"Is that you?" he said, coming out as a statement rather than a question.

You struggled to find the words for a moment, thinking the situation through.

You hadn't even spoken yet, and he somehow figured it was you?

"How did you..." You started, trailing off as he heard him approach you. "Yeah...It's me"

"What are you doing here?" he asked, voice coming out a little harsher than he intended.

"Dot had things to do...told me to do it...and that she's sorry" You replied quietly, digging through the bags.

He was quiet for a moment before you decided to ask again.

"How did you know it was me?"

He only shrugged.

You turned around now, flinching at the sight of his eyes.

Scarred.

Healed- but deeply scarred enough to make you pause.

He remained composed, frowning at your silence until you swallowed, tearing your eyes away as to not stare.

He looked so...at peace, perfect and dishevelled at the same time.

He was himself in his truth with his glasses off, which made you feel guilty for invading in his space, his privacy.

The night went smoother than expected, he didn't hover, didn't get in your way (not that you would have minded)

But he spoke more than he usually did. Which made you feel like progress.

You saw him the next morning, right on time, 9am, almost on the dot, you left your apartment, him coming out of his own barely a second later.

You watched as his ears almost perked up at the sound of your keys locking your door.

Then you heard it, the quiet sniff of his nose.

You turned, giving him a smile he couldn't see.

"Good morning" You greeted, walking along with him, listening to the soft tap...tap of his cane.

He mumbled a hello, seeming to be deep in thought as you arrived to the elevator.

You pressed the button, smiling as it opened no less then ten seconds later.

You stepped in, giving his space as he followed in suit.

You pressed the G button, letting the door close as you brought out your phone.

He hesitated "Your perfume"

It was hushed, like a secret he didn't want to tell.

"Pardon?" you blinked, looking up at him

"You smell different today"

Your heart fluttered at his words, realising what it meant.

He did notice.

"You usually smell like a bakery" He spoke again, stating a fact like it was common knowledge.

"A bakery?" You stifled a laugh, snorting at his description

"A blueberry muffin" He hummed simply.

You grinned.

You knew it would work.

You had your doubts at times, but you had hope.

"I didn't think you noticed..." you shrugged to yourself, eyes drifting away from him.

He chuckled lightly "Your other senses heighten when you lose one, you'll find"

You nodded shortly "Right, yeah...I've heard that"

He stood there, not doing anything particularly as you watched the floors go down.

"Do you...like it?" You asked carefully, not trying to let any emotion that he might pick up on lace through your tongue.

"Which one?"

"The blueberry one"

He shrugged "I like blueberry muffins...and it helps me know when you're near"

You ignore the way your heart missed a beat, processing his words.

"I was hoping it would" you confessed, biting your bottom lip when the elevator door opened.

He smiled, almost proudly as he walked out, letting his cane guide him.

"Enjoy your walk, Gator" you bid goodbye as you separated, going in different directions.

The next day was quiet, the whistle of the wind in the air sending shivers that you couldn't shake even from inside the house.

It was snowy, a day spent inside the house, school was out, and your work was cancelled due to enterances being blocked off.

Gator couldn't go out. Not in this weather.

Which led you to go outside for him, jackets piled on your body to keep warm, bag of baked goods in your hand as you trailed to his apartment.

The hallway felt longer than usual, more narrow as you reached your apartments.

Your heart felt heavy, your mind felt fuzzy.

You knocked once.

Twice.

Three times before waiting, rolling on your heels as you looked down the hall.

It took around 13 seconds for him to open the door, eyes covered in his black out glasses.

He spoke before you had the chance.

"You went back to the blueberry"

You grinned sheepishly, looking down at your feet.

"I did...But I think you also might be smelling the blueberry muffin I got you, so..." You chuckled lightly, watching his eyebrows settle calmly.

"I also brought you lunch so...that'll have to be dessert" You said, letting him think over your offering.

"W-...why?" He mumbled, tilting his head.

"You weren't able to go out today, and you always get a blueberry muffin on fridays...wouldn't want you to go hungry"

He was silent, smacking his lips together as he stepped back, opening the door wider.

"Do you...wanna come in?"

You contemplated fr a beat before taking him up on it, slowly making your way inside as he shut the door behind you.

He led you to the couch, taking a seat on the far corner of the seat as he felt around, giving you space.

You sat down beside him, placing the bag on the coffee table as you took out the boxes.

"I got you a steak sandwich" You stated as you placed the box in his lap, watching him as he felt around the box.

"You didn't have to-"

"-I wanted to" You cut him off softly, digging in the bag to find your own food.

He hesitated as he took the sandwich in his hands.

"Thanks"

You smiled as you took a bite of your food, eyes drifting to the tv, volume on low.

You ate in silence, the sound of his chewing and breathing blocking out the show as you picked at your food.

You turned to look at him, learning the way his jaw tenses and moves as he chews, the way his fingers drag across items like he's memorising the textures.

The pads of his fingers drifting across the styrofoam box, picking at the seeds of the bread.

He licked his lips after he swallowed, nose flaring before settling.

"I can feel you staring at me" he announced calmly, hand searching for the bottle of water you brought him.

"I wasn- I uh-" you stammered, looking away "I didn't mean to...I was just...you don't have to wear those if you don't want to"

He paused for a fraction of a second as he brought the bottle to his lips. He knew what you meant, he knew you were talking about the glasses.

"You don't wan'to see what's under them..." he muttered, taking a swig before sighing, screwing the lid back on.

You frowned "I already did...the other day"

He clamped his lips together, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed.

"Well, I'm sure you don't wanna see it again"

You shook your head gently, biting your tongue.

"I just want you to be comfortable...you shouldn't be ashamed-"

"Ashamed?" He repeated sharply, his head turning to yours in a snap.

You opened your mouth to speak.

"You think it's because I'm ashamed?" he spat, shuffling away from you.

"No-" You started, blinking as you tried to keep up with him.

"I'm not embarrassed about my eyes, I own my truth, I'm reminded of it every day I wake up and can't see! I don't need some random lady I don't know deciding I'm ashamed of myself. I don't owe you shit!"

You flinched at his tone, nodding to yourself quietly as you blinked back tears.

You took in his words.

You didn't know him.

You didn't know anything about him. Not really.

You were just stupid enough to have a silly little crush on a guy you had no knowledge of.

"Thank you for the food, but the last thing I need is your pity"

It went quiet for a while before you decided it was time to go.

His breathing went deep and rigid, a frown plastered on his face as he pushed his food away.

You got up, putting your food in your bag, contemplating whether or not to give him the muffin.

You sighed as you took it out, placing it gently down on the table as you gathered your things.

"I'm sorry..." You mumbled as you walked around the couch, spearing him a glance before heading to the door, slowly opening and closing it behind you.

You didn't see him for days after that, you weren't even sure if he came out of his apartment or not- not that you noticed.

You took a break.

From thinking about him, wondering about him.

You put away your perfumes, the blueberry one taunting you from your dresser.

He was right, you decided.

You wore your regular scent now, hiding the rest of them.

Simple. Plain.

Vanilla and sandalwood, the musk subtle but felt like you.

Or- how you felt.

It was quiet for a week after that, nothing interesting to recall back on.

You didn't bump into him, you didn't notice or hear when he left or came back.

It went back to him being your neighbour, not that he was ever anything else.

You never had any visitors, your family in other states, and barely any friends in town to keep you company, or to distract you from the lingering shame you felt.

So, you were surprised to hear a knock at your door.

It was midday, in the middle of making your lunch when you heard it.

The light tap...tap like the person on the other side of the door was unsure of themselves.

You abandoned your lunch as you made your way through your apartment.

Looking through your peephole, your frowned, brows furrowing as you opened the door.

There he stood, a little pouch in his hands, looking like some kind of make-up bag.

"Gator?" You wondered, looking behind him.

He looked small as he stood in place.

"My nurse can't make it today..." He started, voice soft and weary.

You scratched your arm as you waited for more.

"I...I was wonderin' if you could help me" he asked lowly, running his tongue along is bottom lip.

You raised an eyebrow, looking over him.

"With what?" questioned lightly, not shutting him down.

"Clean my eyes" he responded swiftly, holding up the pouch, giving it a light shake.

You opened your door wider with a sigh "Sure, c'min"

He stepped forward, his free hand darting out to carry him through your home.

He was in an unfamiliar place without his cane, the thought pulling at your heartstrings as you placed a hand on his bicep, guiding him through your house to your bathroom.

The bathroom wasn't small by any means, a decent size considering where you lived, but that did little to stop you from feeling squished as you sat him down on the toilet.

He kept the pouch in his lap as he sat, body stiff as you began to wash your hands.

"You're gonna have to tell me what to do- cause I don't know what I'm doing" you stated

He nodded his head as you dried your hands, turning back to him.

"Can I see what you got?"

He slowly lifted the bag, blindly searching for your hands before you took it, laying it down on the counter.

You examined the bottles and containers, reading the labels as you sighed.

"I don't know what half this shit means" you murmured, turning back to him.

"Gator?" you sucked in a breath "You're gonna have to..."

He reached up, fingers pausing at his glasses before sliding them down his nose, taking them off and placing them on his lap.

You bit your tongue.

"Th-there should be soap...you just get a rag and warm water..."

You dug into the cabinet next to the sink, pulling out a clean rag and rinsing it with warm water.

Taking the soap. non-fragranced, you rubbed it against the towel, lathering it up just enough before you stood in front of him.

You reached a hand up, cautiously cupping his chin to lift his head up before he closed them.

You dabbed the rag onto his eyelids- or, what was left of his eyelids- the thin layer of skin saggy and loose.

You were gentle, being careful not to press too hard, pulling away every few seconds to make sure he was okay.

He told you what to do, going through the process of caring for him. The oil, eye drops and moisturiser.

"Then it's the uh- the antiseptic cream" He swallowed "Should be a tube"

You nodded, digging into the pouch to find the blue and white squeezy tube.

Taking your pointer finger, you got a dab of it on the tip.

Raising your hand, your fingers hovered over his eyes for a moment before smoothing it over the skin, smearing over the scars with the cream as he bounced his legs.

It was quiet between the two of you as you finished up, now washing your hands.

"I'm sorry" he muttered, your eas almost not catching it.

"Pardon?"

"For the other day...I was rude" he hummed lowly, fiddling with the glasses in his lap.

You shook your head "No...No- I'm sorry...I was being pushy, and you're right- I don't know you"

He smacked his lips together, pressing them into a thin line as he took a deep breath out his nose.

"I'm glad you don't..." He whispered, making you raise a brow, a stream of sarcastic comments lacing through your tongue, but before you could speak, he beat you, adding on;

"I mean- before...I'm glad you didn't know me before this shit" He fixed his wording, realising how you must have taken it.

"How come?" You stifled a laugh, drying your hands with the towel.

He shrugged his shoulders lazily "Yer wouldn't've liked me"

"I'm sure that's not true" you assured him, getting cut off swiftly as he shook his head.

You went quiet, hearing the subtle blow of his breathing.

"You're one of the only people who don't know the story...I'm glad you don't"

You took in a deep breath, crossing your hands over your chest as you sat on the edge of the tub beside him.

You decided against telling him about that day at the church, letting him stay comfortable with the truth he believed.

"You changed your perfume again"

You huffed in amusement "Yeah"

"Why?"

You thought for a moment, staring at him, not noticing the way his fingers twitched.

"I don't know" You concluded, really not knowing how to answer his simple question.

You looked down at the floor as he silenced, closing your eyes.

But you gaped as his fingers found your face, grazing your skin so softly it sent shivers down your body.

You were quiet as you let him explore your face, the pads of his fingers dragging along your jaw, up your cheeks, ghosting over your eyes, down along your nose, hovering over your lips.

"I bet 'chur real' pretty" He spoke like it was a fact, clueless to the blush that flushed on your cheeks.

"I bet you'd like to know" You snorted with a roll of your eyes.

"That's what I just said, didn't I?" He squinted, to his best ability, that is.

You bit your tongue, nodding, letting his hand cup your cheek.

"Can you go back to the blueberry?"

You smiled, reaching your own hand up to trace over every mole and freckle that adorned his face.

"Yeah...if that's what you want"

He furrowed his brows "I want a whole lot more than that, darlin'"

"What do you want?" you tilted your head.

"Close your eyes" He mumbled, barely audible if your bathroom walls didn't almost echo the sound.

"Okay..." You said sceptically, fluttering your eyes closed.

"Are they closed?" He questioned, his fingers finding the plush under your eyes.

"Yes- yes they are!" You giggled softly, leaning away sheepishly.

His breath hitched, and you waited for his next move.

And you waited, and waited until a soft, warm pair of lips found the corner of your mouth.

You huffed softly as he muttered, pulling away.

"Were you aiming for my lips or cheek?" You teased lightly, eyes opening to see him almost cowering away.

"Shut up"

"How about you let me do it, huh?" you grinned, feeling his finger twitch against your skin.

"I can do it" He assured, sucking in a deep breath before trying again, leaning in carefully to finally meet you in the middle, arguing to himself while you leaned in.

His kiss was tentative, cautious in the sense that he was nervous.

You'd describe it as sweet, but something about it made it feel selfish.

He was taking, more than giving, softly searching for something he was yet to find.

You'd have to start wearing that blueberry perfume again.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

These are the people who replied saying they wanted it!

“Uh… Yeah,” he nods, voice cracking under the expectant glare you give him. He clears his throat and folds his arms over his chest, biceps straining against his cream-colored sweater. “That’s the gist of it, I guess. Yeah.”

“Great,” you chirp with a shrug and a grin too sweet to be genuine. Your head whips to the side to flash the artificial smile at the solemn faces standing around you. “Our only plan to stop Vecna and save the planet is a wing and a fucking prayer—”

“Language,” Jim scolds from the other side of the room, peering over Joyce to shoot you a steely-eyed look.

“Well, I don’t see you offering up any ideas!” Steve exclaims with wide eyes, then adds quickly before you can interrupt: “Ones that don’t include getting us all killed!”

“New flash, Harrington, but some of us are gonna die!” Your retort is meant with groans of protest. Your face screws in offense. “Why are you booing me? I’m right. You guys are the ones going on and on about how this is the first of our lives, right?”

“Doesn’t mean we’re all gonna die,” Mike argues from beside you.

“I agree,” you tell him. “Either we do it my way and lose a few good soldiers in the process, or we do it Harrington’s way— the dumb, stupid, idiot way—”

“Real mature,” Steve squints.

“—And then we all die,” you conclude with a death glare that makes the boy’s chiseled jaw clench tight. You see something fiery flicker across his hazel-colored gaze, and it makes you smile all over again. “So… Up to you guys, I guess.”

—————

The gang comes up with a plan of their own while you’re away — one they keep from you and Steve, hours before the final battle is set to commence. Operation: Just Kiss Already (title pending). They have Murray escort the two of you to the storage room under the guise of dragging out artillery to pack into the Bradley’s Big Buy van.

“And I’m here instead of Hopper because…?” you trail off, lagging in the long hallway behind the older men.

“Well, because I think you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, kid, that’s why,” Murray croons with a sarcastic grin that he flashes you over the shoulder of his fur-lined coat.

Your features crumple with disgust. “Don’t make me puke…”

He rolls his eyes behind his thick glasses and wrenches open the storage room door, waving an arm to beckon you and Steve inside. You step past the threshold behind the taller boy, and the stale air that reeks overwhelmingly of old newspaper hits you immediately.

Your heads turn in sync when you find nothing inside — certainly nothing that would be of use at the end of the world, unless milk crates of old records and a mop bucket filled with dirty still water will kill Vecna, anyway.

“There’s nothing in here,” Steve announces.

“Good observation, Captain Obvious,” you deadpan.

He flips you off with a lanky middle finger and a boyish frown.

“You idiots aren’t coming out of here until you either kill each other, or you solve this little lover’s quarrel you won’t stop annoying everyone with. So I’d hurry and get to makin’ up if I were you,” Murray lilts with a sarcastic smile, which widens at the death glare you give him. “There. Barf.”

The door slams behind him, then locks with a heavy ca-chunk.

You seethe, and point every inch of your wrath at the dumbfounded boy beside you. “Good job, Harrington.”

He cowers instinctively under your glare, scruffy face twisting with confusion that glimmers mostly in his deep brown doe eyes. “What the hell did I do?”

“This is all your fault!”

“How?!”

“If you weren’t such an idiot, we wouldn’t be locked in here—”

“No. We’re in here, because you’re on my ass all the time—”

“Because you’re an idiot!”

“You know what? Maybe this is a good thing,” Steve hums with narrowed eyes, crossing his arms over his. “Maybe it’ll teach you to be a little nicer to me.”

“In your dreams,” you scoff.

“Ooh,” Steve winces playfully, sneakers dragging on the carpet when he takes a step closer. You catch a whiff of the sweet cologne clinging to his sweater, and it almost makes you dizzy. “That is not how you’re supposed to talk to people, honey.”

“Call me honey again, and Vecna will be the last thing you have to worry about—”

Steve hisses through his pretty, white teeth. “The longer it takes you to apologize, the longer we’re stuck in here—”

“You know what?” you chirp with that same sarcastic grin from before as your hands gesture wildly. “I hope we go with your plan, Harrington. I hope the end of the world takes all of us out, so I don’t have to put up with your stupidity anymore—”

“Stop,” Steve spits through gritted teeth, with a foreign venom coating his words that you haven’t heard from him before.

There’s a strange sort of hardness to his honeyed gaze, too, that makes your breath catch in your throat. He isn’t fake angry with you now — not the kind of anger that blankets an obvious sexual tension — he’s real angry. And he’s never been real angry with you.

“Alright. Just stop,” he scolds, rogue strands of chocolate-colored hair swinging over his forehead. “The end of the world isn’t gonna take anyone out, so just— stop being so goddamn morbid all the time.”

“How about you stop being so naive?” you retort, with a foreign sort of softness that gives Steve great pause. “Not all of us are gonna make it out, okay? This isn’t like the movies where we beat the bad guy, and by some miracle, we all make it out to see some stupid happily ever after—”

“Why does it sound like you’ve already made up your mind?” Steve asks.

“Because, unlike you, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to stop Vecna,” you answer through gritted teeth. “And if it kills me, then so be it.”

“You’re not gonna anywhere,” he tells you with a knowing look in his squinted eyes.

You tilt your head to your shoulder and echo, “Why does it sound like you’ve already made up your mind?”

“Easy…” he shrugs and takes another step forward, until you have to tilt your chin to keep his gaze. He meets your scowl with a lopsided smile. “‘Cause you’re stuck with me, honey.”

Your frown deepens. “Don’t call me honey.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want. Honey.”

Your mouth parts to argue. Steve’s kissing the words from them before you can — caging your cheeks between his calloused palms and ducking down to press his lips to yours.

It’s sinful, searing. Full of tongue and teeth and spit, not nearly as sentimental as one might expect.

You’d think kissing the person you’ve been secretly in love with for years, right before you fight a dark wizard trying to end the world, might make you a little more tender. Instead, you press your lips together like you plan on leaving bruises, asking the silent question: god, you idiot, what took you so long?

You let Steve kiss the breath from your lungs while you tug at his hair like you want to pull it from the root. His palms are wide and warm on your ribcage as he urges you backwards. You stumble aimlessly on your feet until your ass meets the desk against the wall. You perch yourself on the edge of it, and Steve situates himself instinctively between your thighs.

You sigh hard through your nose when his tongue swipes into your mouth, like velvet brushing velvet. Steve grumbles when you pull harder at his hair. Your swollen mouths click when he pulls away, panting and wearing your spit all over his rosy lips.

“Are you sure?” he wonders through labored breaths. “About this?”

“Well, we aren’t getting out of here until we make up, right?” you tell him, kissed lips curling into a devilish grin. “So let’s make up.”

—————

You hope to god that Murray isn’t standing guard outside the door just now. Because, if he is, the poor asshole’s getting the show of his life.

The windowless storage room of the WSQK station swells with sex, growing quickly humid and filling with a chorus of panted breaths, dull clapping, and wood scraping against concrete.

Steve hides his groans in your neck as your thighs curl tighter around his waist, now bare with your jeans left in a forgotten pile on the floor. He whimpers under his breath every time your dripping pussy clenches around his stiff, sensitive cock — so you do it a few more times more intentionally, just to hear him whine.

“Move,” you command when his shallow thrusts slow to a stop.

“I can’t,” he huffs, gripping you tighter by the waist, like holding you will stave off his orgasm a little longer.

“Yes, you can,” you tell him. “Now move—”

“I’ll cum,” he confesses, voice breaking. “I don’t— I want you to— I want this to last—”

“Well, we don’t have time for that, now do we?” you deadpan in lieu of telling him that you’re much closer than he thinks, ‘cause the coarse thatch of dark hair above his cock is brushing your swollen clit with each of his thrusts. “I don’t care if you cum early, alright? We have to get back out there soon, so man up and make me cum, Harrington— Oh, fuck…”

His hips tilt back and forward again before the words can properly leave your mouth. He punches harder into you, pushing you further into the concrete wall behind you and staving off his own orgasm through gritted teeth.

He parts from your neck for the first time in several minutes, lidded eyes darting across your face like he’s trying to memorize you. He’d paint you if he could, with your eyes squeezed shut and your nose bridge scrunched, and your mouth parted in pleasure. He grins when your fingers tighten at his shoulders, balling the thick fabric of his sweater into your fists.

“There you go…” he hums lowly, as if he weren’t whimpering for you just moments ago. “You don’t have to be so mean to me, honey. You know I’ll take care of you—”

“Shut up,” you huff, fighting back the moan welling in your throat.

“That’s okay, honey,” Steve hums, breaths stuttering between his shallow thrusts, which makes his hair sway over his glassy eyes. “I know you don’t mean it—”

“Shut up!”

You vaguely hear him laughing over your own pleasure, much louder in comparison as it swells within you. Steve cups his large hands under the bend of your knees when they start to slip from around his waist, hiking them further up and pressing him deeper inside of you in the process. A high-pitched whimper leaves your mouth before you can stop it.

Steve laughs through his own moans. “Yeah. There it is…” he croons. “C’mon. Give it to me, honey. You can do it. Cum f—”

His eyes widen when your palm claps suddenly over his mouth. You keep your eyes shut tight, your bottom lip caged between your teeth, and your hand over Steve’s mouth when you cum — back arching off the concrete wall behind you, thighs trembling around his waist.

Steve forgets his own pleasure in that moment and just watches you melt into a pool of honey below him, leaking around his cock just the same. He fucks you through every inch of your high. You feel his smile curling against your palm as your burning skin starts to buzz from the ebbing aftershocks. He waits until your trembling stops to—

“Ew!” you exclaim, jerking your hand away from his scruffy chin. Your face screws at the feeling of saliva cooling on your palm. “Did you just lick my hand, you weirdo?”

He just laughs.

“Oh, my god— You’re disgusting!”