Olivia

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Jesus-" You jumped slightly, frowning as you stared at the teen. "What the hell does it look like I'm doing? I'm looking for something."

Dustin shrugged, "I don't know you like that, for all I know you could be rigging some sort of evil device."

Your eyes narrowed, "And why would I do that?"

He made a strange noise, "I dunno, feminine rage or something like that?"

Your eye twitched, "Don't you have dice to roll and some made up characters to cry over?"

"It's not just dice rolling. It's critical thinking and collaboration that allows you to experience different lives and stories. And just so you know, we don't play on Tuesdays."

You rolled your eyes, continuing your search as Dustin continued explaining the magic that was Dungeons and Dragons. You finally looked back up at him, "Dustin, if you don't shut up in the next ten seconds, you're going to see some real feminine rage."

He swallowed hard, staring at you for a moment before scurrying off to the break room again.

Robin laughed from the comedy aisle, "I don't think I've seen you that frustrated with someone before."

"He was pushing my buttons." You mumbled, standing up with a defeated sigh. "They're not here." You whined.

"They have to be, we'll find them." Robin's head popped up.

"Find what?" Steve stood in the door frame that led to the back, hand resting on his hip.

"My keys. They're gone." You frowned over at him.

Steve pushed off the door, going over to the counter. "I'm sure we'll find them. What kind of key is it?"

"All of them! My car and house key are on the same keychain. I'm totally screwed without them. My parents are out of town this weekend so if I can't find the house key's I'm fucked. Not that it will matter if I have no way to get home." You sulked over to the counter, dropping your head onto it.

Steve let out a small laugh, "Hey, it's gonna be okay either way. If we can't find your car key I can take you home, and didn't you say your folks keep a spare key under that rock with your hand print on it?"

You blinked, looking up at him, "I- yeah.. I did say that. Like months ago, how did you remember that?"

Steve shrugged, the tips of his ears turning red. "Dunno, maybe I was preparing for this day to come."

You smiled, suddenly not feeling so frustrated about the missing items.

Robin glanced over at Dustin who had peeked out from the breakroom. The two of them smiled triumphantly and nodded at each other.

Despite looking through the whole store, your keys were in fact MIA. It was like they had disappeared into thin air, or rather disappeared into Dustin's backpack.

You waited patiently for Steve's shift to end, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in your chest as you thought about him driving you home. By the time Steve was cleared to leave, the sun had started setting, casting a beautiful glow on Steve's signature beamer.

He opened the door for you, bowing slightly as you slid in, "M'lady."

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the smile pulling at your lips. "Get in the car, ya weirdo."

He shut the door before jogging over to the drivers side and slipping in. The drive was nice, the streets of Hawkins passing by as you and Steve slipped into conversation about whatever came to mind. You felt at ease next to Steve. It seemed like the car had adjusted to the perfect temperature, a warm fuzzy feeling settling in your chest. Or maybe that was because of the way Steve kept glancing over at you each time you laughed at some silly joke.

The ride came to an end way faster than either of you were willing to admit. And before you knew it, he had pulled into the driveway of your house. You reached for the handle, moving to open it before he locked the doors. "Ahhh! What are you doing?!" He looked at you like you were crazy.

You stared at him like he had three heads, "I'm opening the door, Steve."

"Absolutely not." He quickly got out of the car, rushing back around and pulling the door open for you again, repeating his bow from before. "Once again... M'lady."

You smiled and stepped out with a bright laugh, "You're ridiculous."

He shut the door and started walking with you to your door. "No, I'm chivalrous."

As you reached the porch, Steve squatted down and found the key under the rock. "Boom." He held it out towards you.

You took it, fingers gently brushing his. "Thank you, Steve."

"It's no big deal." He shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets.

"No it is, without you I would still be totally freaking out." You smiled sheepishly.

"Well... I'm glad I could help." He smiled.

You carefully unlocked the door, turning slightly and smiling at him, "Night, Steve. Get home safe."

He nodded, "You too- shit- I mean I will. Night." He quickly turned and made his way back to his car.

You laughed and shut the door. Not even 30 seconds later there was a knock at the door. You opened it back up, with a raised eyebrow. Steve stood awkwardly on the porch. "I just realized you've got no way to get around. Well- I knew that- but it just clicked that you might need to go somewhere tomorrow and you don't have your car. So I just wanted to let you know if you need anything or need to go somewhere I don't mind driving you." He took a deep breath.

You smiled shyly. "That's really sweet, Steve. But I'm sure you've got a lot of things to do. I mean you've got work, and you're probably hanging out with people, I'd hate to mess up plans or be in the way."

He shook his head, "You won't! I mean I'm offering. I really don't have any issue with it, and I'd hate for you to be stuck asking around all week. So until you find your keys, I'm your guy- that sounds- I'm your ride."

You bit back a laugh, "Alright, you're my guy, Steve."

Steve smiled proudly, "Yeah, good, good. So just give me a call, I mean it!" He started walking backwards off the porch, tripping slightly over a plant.

You laughed, watching him retreat to his car with a lopsided grin. You yelled out before you could stop yourself, "Hey Steve!?"

He straightened up, leaning against his car. "Yeah!?"

"I just realized! I need to get groceries tomorrow! My fridge is fully empty!"

He nodded, "Alright! I'll pick you up tomorrow at noon, that sound okay!?"

You smiled and nodded, "Yeah! I'll see you tomorrow, don't trip over any more plants on your way home!"

You could see the red tint in his cheeks as he ducked back into his car and peeled out of your driveway.

As promised, Steve was at your house at 12 on the dot the next day. He knocked on the door, his easy smile and messy curls greeting you. You smiled back, "Make it home safe?"

"I'm standing here, aren't I?"

"Hmm, could be. Or maybe I'm dreaming."

"Oh so you dream about me?" He quirked a brow.

"You wish, Harrington." You slipped past him, bumping him out of the way with your hip and locking the door. He smiled as you trailed off to the car, watching you carefully. "You gonna keep staring or get in the car?"

He straightened up, bouncing over to the car. As your finger brushed the handle he let out a startling noise. "Nah-uh! Don't you touch that handle."

You let out a long sigh. "What is it with you and car doors?!"

He opened it for you, "Simply doing my gentlemanly duty."

"Don't say duty."

"Duty." He closed the door swiftly before you could reply.

The week continued like that. Steve had all practically enforced his role as your driver, not that you were complaining. In fact you were doing the opposite of complaining, you couldn't stop talking about how sweet Steve was being. He truly was outdoing himself. He took you to the store, to the laundromat, to the library, anywhere you wanted to go. Steve was mapping out the longest way to get there. And you noticed. You noticed how he would occasionally "miss" a turn, or when he purposely took a longer route.

It would have gotten on your nerves if it was anyone else. But it wasn't just anyone, it was Steve. And you were more than happy to spend a little extra time in his car if it meant more inside jokes and stolen looks.

But the week was nearing to the end, and soon your parents would be home and you would have another available more viable ride.

You sat seated in the beamer, the leather a familiar feeling against your skin. The car was parked in your driveway, had been for almost 30 minutes now while you and Steve gabbed about Robin and Vickie.

"I keep telling her she needs to go for it. It's obvious Vickie likes girls, but she won't listen." He threw his head back against the head rest.

You nodded, "I've told her the same. She's gonna regret it if she never says anything and is always left wondering 'what could have been.' You have to go for that, I feel like life's too short to hide feelings."

Steve sat up more, "So, if there was someone you liked... you would've asked them out by now?" He eyed you carefully.

Your cheeks flushed, "Well... that's a little more complicated. Robin doesn't really know Vickie that well and I-" You quickly cut yourself off.

Steve blinked, "You know the guy well?"

You swallowed hard, pivoting subjects. "So, my parents get back in town tomorrow. So you'll be free of driving me to the store everyday because I always seem to forget something." You laughed lightly.

Steve nodded slowly, staring at the singular bag of chips in the grocery bag. You thought you were slick, saying you forgot to buy your favorite chips, but Steve vividly remembered you getting them on your first trip. "Yeah... But, your parents both work right? So you'll still probably need some rides around town while they're at work."

"Yeah, I will. But I highly doubt my dad is going to just let me do that when I have a perfectly good car of my own. He'll probably go up to the dealership and get another key or something." You frowned.

"Well... maybe your mom can take the car?"

"If I didn't know any better, Harrington, I would say that you're offering to be my personal chauffeur." You teased.

"Something like that..." He scratched his neck. "Can I be honest with you?"

You nodded. "Yeah of course."

He sighed and reached into his back pocket, pulling out your keys with a nervous grin. You blinked at him, reaching over and taking them gently. "I haven't had them the whole time! Dustin gave them to me today. He said he and Robin planned the whole thing. He's had them the whole time..."

"Those little shits." You laughed, turning over the keys in your hands.

"You're not mad?"

"Oh, I'm pissed! Not at you, but those two! Especially Robin!" You shook your head. "Why the hell would they do that?"

"Because, they were trying to help me out." He looked down.

"With what?" Your brows furrowed.

"Cause, I told them I have a.. slight- not slight- big thing for you. And I guess they were just trying to help me get some alone time with you. I'm sorry- if I had known they were going to do all this I would have sto-"

"You've got a thing for me?" You smiled brightly.

He flushed, nodded slowly. "Yeah, big time."

"Y'know when you asked me if I would have asked someone out by now and I said it was different because I know the guy.. I was talking about you. You're my guy, Steve."

He sat up more eyes shining, "Wait seriously!?"

You nodded, "Mhm. And I've really really enjoyed being your passenger princess this week."

"Me too. Y'know it doesn't have to stop. I meant it when I said your mom can take your car and maybe instead of making up excuses to go to the store, we can go on dates?" He watched you nervously.

A big smile broke across your face as you nodded quickly, "Yes! Yeah! I would love that. It was getting pretty obvious that you were taking the wrong turns and longer routes."

"Guilty. But now I don't need an excuse. Now we can just go on rides if you want."

You leaned over the center console, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "And you can stop staring at my thigh and just put your hand there."

Steve pulled you into another quick kiss. "I'm feeling like a late night drive sounds nice right about now."

"I completely agree."

You settled into the seat as he switched on the radio, his hand finding your thigh as the car pulled out of the driveway.

They belonged to a boy crouched beside you, his thick chestnut hair perfectly styled despite the obvious panic written across his face. He wore a white sailor uniform trimmed with navy blue, a bright red neckerchief tied beneath the collar, and a little sailor hat perched crookedly on his head.

It was, without question, the most ridiculous outfit you’ve ever seen. “…Am I dead?” You mumbled.

The boy blinked bewilderingly. “What?”

Beside him, a girl in the exact same uniform snorted. “I mean,” she shrugged. “If heaven makes people wear these uniforms, I’d rather not find out.”

The boy shot her a heavy glare. “Robin.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “What? You know I’m right.”

He sighed before turning his attention back to you. “I promise you’re not dead.” He reassured.

At least that was good, but then a beat passed. “Where am I?” You asked again, the white walls surrounding you were certainly not helping.

The two exchanged a glance. “Uh,” the girl said slowly. “The storage room.”

“The storage room?” You repeated, how the hell did you get from the middle of the woods into a storage room?

“Behind Scoops ahoy.” She completed, thinking it would clear things up.

You stared at her blankly. “I’m…sorry, behind what?”

Now they looked just as confused as you felt. Before she could answer, the sailor boy carefully offered you his hand. “Can you stand?”

After a second's hesitation, you carefully slipped your hand into his. His grip was warm, strong as he tightened his fingers around yours. He slowly pulled you upright, steadying you when the room tilted beneath your feet. “Easy,” he murmured.

The girl folded her arms, you couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated by her stare. “So, wanna explain how you appeared out of literally nowhere?”

“I…” you frowned. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” She repeated with a raised brow.

“I was at summer camp, and then I fell.” But as you were repeating your memories, they felt far away, like you had been dreaming.

“Into our storage room?” She asked slowly.

“Apparently.” You sighed, the wound on the back of your head wasn’t getting any better, your limbs feeling sore from the fall.

“What’s your name?” The girl asked, and you answered automatically.

“I’m Robin.” Then she pointed beside her. “And the sailor boy’s Steve.”

Steve looked mildly offended, the costume had already done enough damage to his confidence, the last thing he needed was Robin embarrassing him in front of a girl. “Just Steve, Steve Harrington.”

“I thought sailor boy covered it.” Robin defended herself.

“It doesn’t.” You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, the sound seemed to relax all three of you.

“Do either of you have a phone?” You cut in. “I really need to call camp.”

“A phone?” Steve repeated.

Robin frowned. “There’s a pay phone outside.” She pointed.

You shook your head. “No, I mean your cell phone.” You mimicked holding one.

There were only blank stares around the room, complete silence. “…Portable?”

You laughed nervously. “Seriously?” You looked between them.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “I think she hit her head harder than we thought.”

“Who doesn’t have a phone in 2026?” You muttered to yourself.

Robins eyebrows shot up, catching your words. “Twenty-twenty six?”

You frowned, not sure why she sounded so surprised. “Yeah?”

Steve chuckled, cross his arms across his chest. “Okay, yeah, good one.”

You looked between them. “I’m not joking.”

Robin smiled uncertainly. “You do know it’s 1985, right? That’d be like…forty years away.”

You choked out an incoherent sound. “What?” Neither of them laughed, the smile slowly slipped from your face. “Stop messing with me.” You shook your head.

“We’re not—” you pushed past them.

“No.” The bell above the shop door jingled as you stumbled outside. Your feet froze in place, neon signs glowed from every corner, teenagers walked past in brightly colored windbreakers and high-waisted jeans.

The Starcourt mall stretched before you excatly like something ripped from an old movie. Your breathing quickened. “No…”

Steve and Robin hurried out behind you. “Hey!”

You spun in a slow circle. “This isn’t…” your eyes landed on a newspaper someone had dropped near a bench. Hands shaking, you picked it up slowly.

June 28, 1985

The words blurred before your eyes, heartbeat thundering in your ears. You had only fell—there was no way—

“No, no, no,” the world tipped sideways, strong arms caught you before you could hit the ground, then everything went black.

The cool cloth pressed against the back of your head was the first thing you felt, then the dull ache. “…Still think we should’ve called the ambulance.”

“And tell them what? ‘Hey, this girl materialized in our storage room and claims she’s from the future?’”

Steve sighed, but he had no retort. Your eyes flew open, you shot upright so fast the cold compress slid into your lap. “No!”

Steve nearly spilled the glass of water he was holding. “Whoa—”

Your chest rose and fell in frantic breaths as your eyes darted around the ice cream parlor. Taking in the striped walls, pastel booths, the same sailor uniforms. You weren’t back at camp, you weren’t in your room, you were still here.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, no, no.”

Steve cautiously held out the glass. “You passed out—again.”

You stared at it for a second before accepting it with trembling hands. “I was hoping,” your voice cracked. “I was hoping I’d wake up back home.”

Neither Steve nor Robin spoke, and the silence was somehow worse. “So, so this is actually happening?” You laughed weakly.

Robin slowly nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

You buried your face into your hands, Steve leaned against the counter opposite you. “Okay.” His voice was calm. “You really believe you’re from the future?”

You lowered your hands. “I know how insane it sounds.”

“2026?” She repeated your words from earlier, from when she thought you were fooling around with them. “And what exactly is 2026 like?”

You blinked, searching for words. “It’s…different.”

“Different how?” She tilted her head at you.

“Well, we have tiny computers that fit in our pockets.” You answered.

Robin scoffed while Steve frowned. “You mean a calculator?” He cut in.

“No, like, actual computers. You can call people, take pictures, watch movies, listen to music, send text—”

“Hold on.” Robin held up a hand. “All on something that fits in your pocket?”

“Pretty much.” You shrugged.

Before either of them could ask another question, the front doors of Scoops Ahoy flew open. “Steve!” A curly-haired boy wearing a bright Camp Knowhere T-shirt hurried towards the older boy, grinning ear to ear.

“Dustin,” Steve responded with a smile. He would’ve been more enthusiastic if there already wasn’t a problem on their hands.

Just as Dustin looked over towards the bench, he froze, eyes landing on you. “Who’s she?” He suddenly asked.

Steve rubbed his temples. “It’s complicated.”

Robin snorted in response. “She’s from the future.”

Dustin blinked once, then twice, then burst out laughing. “Good one.” He wiped tears from his eyes.

“We’re serious.” Steve said with a straight face, making his smile falter.

Dustin examined you more closely, pointing a finger at you. “You?”

You offered an awkward little wave. “Thats me, hi.” You could physically see the thoughts racing through his head, confusion, comprehension, and finally, curiosity.

“Are there flying cars in the future?” He immediately went into an interrogation.

You stuttered out a sound, before answering. “Nope.”

He looked slightly let down before moving onto the next question. “Did we make contact with extraterrestrial life?”

“Not that I know of.” Your brows pinched together.

“Cure for cancer? Do robots take over? Who’s president? Did we stop climate change?” Questions flew faster than you could answer them, making your head spin all over again.

“Dude.” Steve interrupted. “Quit it, you’ve asked like twenty questions!”

“I have a lot of questions!” Dustin replied, as a science nerd, he needed to know everything.

You couldn’t help letting out a small laugh. “It’s okay.”

Dustin instantly leaned closer. “So,” he started. “How’d you get here?”

You huffed. “I don’t know, I was walking through the woods at summer camp.” He nodded along. “Then I saw—” you hesitated. “A crack.”

“A crack?” Dustin repeated.

“In the ground. It wasn’t supposed to be there.” You shook your head. “I got closer, and then I fell.”

Dustin’s expression suddenly changed, his playful smile disappearing. His eyes slowly widened. “You mean, like, a crack in reality?”

“I guess? It’s a bit fuzzy.” Robin looked between the two of you, but Dustin was thinking, really thinking.

“What if?” He lowered his voice, looking up at Steve. “What if it’s connected to the gate?”

The words hung in the air, Steve’s posture stiffened, but Robin still had no clue what they were talking about. “You really think—”

“I don’t know.” Dustin confessed. “But weird portals showing up out of nowhere isn’t exactly new around here.”

Before Steve could respond, crrrrkkttt. The radio beside Dustin erupted in a burst of harsh static, all four of you jumping.

Then came the sound of distorted voices speaking through the interference. Steve and Robin exchanged a look. “Thats new.”

The radio sat between the four of you, emitting nothing but soft static. Steve sighed for what must’ve been the hundredth time that afternoon. “I’m telling you, Henderson, we’ve listened to this thing for hours.”

Dustin ignored him, scribbling another page of various types of symbols into his notebook. “There has to be a pattern.”

“There is a pattern.” Steve muttered. “It’s called not English.”

Robin smirked. “I didn’t know you were so perceptive, Harrington.” She perked up.

Steve gave her a sarcastic smile. “Yeah, yeah.”

You sat quietly at the end of the end, your melted ice cream had begun dripping down the side of the cup. You hadn’t taken a single bite. The excitement from earlier had faded, reality finally settled in, you weren’t dreaming, you weren’t hallucinating, you were stranded.

“Hey.” Steve’s lowered voice pulled you from your thoughts. “You okay?”

You forced a smile. “Yeah.” He knew you were lying, right as he opened his mouth, the radio crackled and everyone’s attention snapped towards it.

A familiar melody drifted through the static, Robin’s eyes widened. “Wait, play that again.” She instructed, looking around.

Steve frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The music—the one in the background!” She stood so suddenly her chair scarped against the floor. “I’ve heard that before, it’s the same music that stupid horse plays outside.”

“C’mon!” She exclaimed, already rushing out of the shop. Minutes later, the four of you stood in front of the small mechanical horse in the center of Starcourt.

Steve reluctantly dropped another coin into the slot. “This is ridiculous.” He sighed.

“Just ride the horse.” Robin urged him.

“I’m not riding the horse!” Steve denied, shaking his head.

“Steven.” With another sigh, Steve climbed ashamingly onto the plastic horse. The cheerful carousel music began to play, and Robin's eyes lit up. “Thats it! It’s the same song.”

Dustin’s face broke out into a grin. “Which means…”

“It’s broadcasting from somewhere inside Hawkins.” She finished.

Dustin looked thoughtful for a moment, before his eyes landed on you. “And it started the same day she showed up.” Everyone turned towards you.

Your stomach tightened. “You think they’re connected?” You asked slowly.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “But I don’t believe in coincidences. If something strange brought you in here, maybe whatever’s behind that signal knows something.” For the first time all day, hope flickered inside you.

The sun had long dipped below the horizon by the time Scoops Ahoy closed. Steve locked the front doors while Robin stretched her arms above her head.

“So,” everyone looked at you once again. “Where are you sleeping tonight?”

Your expression fell. “I…” You hadn’t even thought about it, and now the thought felt daunting. “I don’t exactly have anywhere.”

“I can’t bring her home.” Robin said. “My mom would know the second I try to sneak another person in.”

Dustin raised both hands. “Me too, I don’t have any space.”

Silence fell over the group, and slowly, they both turned towards Steve. He stared back, clueless. “What?”

Robin smiled innocently. “You said your parents are gone all the time.” She pointed out.

His brown eyes narrowed. “But—”

“She could stay with you, just until we figure this whole thing out.” She said. You suddenly found the floor incredibly interesting.

After a long pause, “okay.” Your head lifted. “I mean,” he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Just for tonight.”

Relief flooded your face. “Thank you.” You sighed gratefully.

His cheeks warmed, eyes flickering everywhere but you. “Yeah—no problem.”

Steve’s house was enormous, and the silence inside somehow made it even bigger. In your time, people barely could afford rent, so him having this all to himself blew you away.

He disappeared upstairs before returning a minute later carrying an armful of clothes. “They’re probably gonna be huge.” He offered them forwards.

You accepted them with a smile. “They’re perfect.”

You left to change in the bathroom, and he was right. The sweatshirt hung halfway down your thighs, the sleeves swallowed your hands completely, it smelled faintly of laundry detergent, and something else—Steve cologne, oddly comforting.

When you stepped back into the bedroom, Steve looked up from where he’d been gathering pillows. He’d changed himself, into more casual wear, grey sweatpants and an old shirt.

He looked more relaxed, more like the boy beneath the costume. “They fit?” He asked when he noticed your return.

You nodded. “You know,” you said, folding your arms. “I think I liked the sailor outfit better.”

Steve let out an incredulous laugh. “Seriously?”

“It’ll always be my first impression of you.” You laughed. He rolled his eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I’ll pretend that was a compliment.” He stated. Even if he wasn’t wearing the uniform anymore, he’d always be sailor boy in your eyes.

“You can take the bed.” Steve spoke once he straightened up. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You fiddled with the edge of the fabric of his clothing. “You don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind.” He brushed off, flicking off the bedside lamp as darkness settled over the room.

You slowly settled onto the sheets, but when he reached the doorway, your voice called out softly. “Steve?”

His hand paused on the frame, still keeping his back facing you. “Y-yeah?”

Your fingers tightened around the blanket. “Could you stay?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He finally turned around, swallowing thickly. The moonlight spilling through the window illuminated your features just enough for him to see your face. At that moment, you sounded terrified. You’d lost your home, your family, you were sent to a time that may as well be a completely different world.

Something inside Steve’s chest clenched, he’d spent the whole day trying to figure out how to send you back, though he hadn’t stopped to think about how frightening this must be for you.

“Yeah, alright.” He agreed softly, giving you a reassuring smile. A few minutes later, he spread a blanket and pillow on the floor beside the bed.

The room fell silent again, looking down you could see him curled up in your direction. “Goodnight,” you murmured.

“‘Night.” Steve whispered. For the first time since waking up in 1985, you didn’t feel quite so alone.

taglist: @unclejeezysblog @selinna29 @hazzaisonfirelol @crackncrinkle @youreasnack @oleander-by-mothermother @electra-hearttt @oliviaharrington @strangegirl26sff @cosmiiwrites @beautifulsoulsaretaken @bamitzzsam @wandadjangomaximov @4v3rybl0zz0m @djodjosiwa @eerilyjaggedconstruct @maemeru @ddjjoo21 @1iliaanxz @iamwarrenspeace @whoxoxovi @finniewolfsoft @dustymerlin @scorpioluvrrr @rruuudii @harbourverse @tokalotashiz @skelkitty @scoopstroop0704 @blurryshycloud @moonlights-muse @insomniacpen @peaxxhyyangell @melonme18 @newtie-mybaby @wandasimp-69 @satoruyazzy @munsonintheupside @folkwhore8 @leaveonthelight29

“Is it about your sister?” You implore.

He looks down at the floor, “She asked me not to tell you and Dad.”

“If she could be in trouble, then you need to tell me what’s going on, hun,” you place your hands on his shoulders.

“There’s these girls at school. They’re,” he trails off, sighing in defeat, “they’re harassing her.”

“What do you mean harassing her? What’s going on?” You reply urgently.

He quiets significantly, mumbling something under his breath.

“What?” You ask sharply, nerves starting to get the best of you.

“They say things about our family,” he swallows harshly, and you can tell it’s not the full truth.

You raise your eyebrows, “Like what?”

“That she’s gonna end up like you,” he mumbles.

Your frown, “What does that mean?”

He winces, refusing to look you in the eye as he says, “That she’ll end up a whore.”

“Oh,” you clear your throat, unsure of how to respond.

Hawkins was still considered a small town, despite the fact that it grew tremendously after quarantine lifted and the dust had settled, and ugly words spread like wildfire in tight spaces.

You were used to the displeased looks from the baseball moms when you showed up to support Steve with all six of your children in tow. You could handle it because their judgment of your family was mostly silent - not quite daring to speak their thoughts on the amount of kids you had out loud. Sure, there were sometimes snide comments spoken in hushed tones, but typically it was never directed straight to your face.

It’s why you never told Steve, who would surely lose his mind if he knew about the dirty glances you received while sitting in the stands.

But to be called a whore? That was definitely new. It makes your stomach curdle because no one deserved to be called that, and you ached at the fact that you couldn’t protect your own girl from the cruel words.

“She knows that’s not true,” he rushes out, “and I called them out on their bullshit because it’s not okay to label you or her, or anyone that.”

He’s angry now, upset for you and your girl, and for the lack of respect being thrown your way. It’s made clear by the way he curses, which he doesn’t tend to do - especially when he knows the littles are definitely listening in.

“She got mad at me for intervening. She said she could take care of it on her own, but she’s honestly starting to scare me,” he admits.

He then goes on to list reasons for why he’s concerned about her, and you feel like the world’s worst mother for not noticing sooner that your baby was struggling.

“When she comes home, she locks herself in her room and barely comes out. And when she says she has to stay late at school she’s really just hiding in the library and crying. I caught her there once after a student council meeting. She’s pretending she has all this homework to do, but I know it’s not the truth,” he rushes the words out, desperate to unleash the secret he’s been keeping.

“She’s gonna be so pissed at me, but I had to tell you,” he trips over his words, clearly on the verge of crying from holding something so heavy in.

“I’m so sorry you were carrying that, hun. You did the right thing by letting me know,” you assure him, wrapping him up in a tight hug.

You press a swift kiss to his forehead, “I have to call your Dad.”

He nods solemnly, turning to walk back into the living room where your younger babes are looking on with curiosity, though it’s mixed with distress because they can feel the tension starting to bloom throughout the house.

“Steve?” You breathe out frantically, phone clutched tightly against your ear.

“What’s wrong, honey?” He responds immediately.

You pick anxiously at one of your nail beds, “I’m sorry for calling. I know you’re in the middle of a game right now.”

Steve shakes his head on the other end of the line, “No need to apologize, honey. You know you can call me for anything.”

“Steve, she’s not home yet," you stumble over the words that have you scared out of your mind.

He knows instantly that you’re talking about your teenager, “Where is she supposed to be?”

“She said she was staying late at school to study, but,” you falter, breaking off as a sob rips from your throat.

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, “Honey, I need you to listen to me. She’s a smart girl, you know that. Definitely doesn’t get it from me.”

You let out a choked laugh, “Yes she does.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree then, honey,” he teases, effectively calming you down within seconds.

“I love you,” you confide, thankful for his constant steadiness.

Steve smiles, grateful to hear your regular cadence returning, “I love you, baby. What else should I know before I go look for her?”

You proceed to loosely tell him what your son told you, voice trembling as you leave out one crucial element; the derogatory name being tossed around.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, honey,” Steve gently calls you out.

“It’s silly. Don’t worry about it right now, please. Just, find our girl?” You beg, fingers curling tightly around the counter you're leaning against.

Steve relents, but only because he knows he needs to hustle before it gets dark outside, “I’m gonna find her, honey. Don’t worry, I’ll bring her home.”

Steve whips off his baseball hat, running a hand through his hair as he jogs over to the assistant coach.

“I gotta run, family emergency,” he says firmly, leaving no room for argument or questions.

“Take care of whatever you have to do, man,” his coworker nods, grabbing the clipboard of notes that’s in Steve’s hands before turning back towards the game.

Steve’s heart thumps aggressively in his chest. It’s an alarming rate that only picks up as he jumps in his truck and starts to drive the grounds of the high school - though he tries his best to keep it at bay because he knows his girl well. He has an inkling she wouldn’t have gone far, so it doesn’t shock him when he finds her, minutes later, on a bench by the football field.

The place is deserted, practices wrapped up as the sun starts to slide down the horizon. Steve thinks his heart shatters a bit when he steps out of his car and gets a full look at her. Her knees tucked into her chest, head pressed firmly against them - like she’s hiding herself from the world, from him.

The gravel under his feet crunches with each step he takes towards her - knowing it must alert her to his presence, but she refuses to move. He comes to a stop in front of her and squats down to a crouch, matching her eye level.

“You wanna talk about it?” He questions softly, and he notices the way her shoulders relax a bit - loosening when she realizes it’s him.

“He told Mom, didn’t he?” She bites out, referring to her older brother.

“Can you blame him?” He replies quietly.

“Yes,” she snaps, “I told him I was fine."

“You call this being fine, sweetheart? You’re hanging out on a bench by yourself, nearly an hour past the time you told Mom you’d be home, and you shut your phone off so you wouldn’t have to answer her,” he states the grievances without contempt, simply troubled at what’s going on in her mind.

She lifts her head slightly, and her eyes that look just like his are rimmed red. That damn color makes him ache something awful because it means she’s been crying.

“I’m fine,” she insists, though she can’t fool him, and when he raises his eyebrows at her she finally gives in.

“It’s girl drama. That’s all,” she shrugs, trying to play off the bigger issue at hand.

“Teenage girls can be ruthless. Trust me, I know. I have experience,” he tries to reassure her.

She rolls her eyes, but caves, “How so?”

“You wanna know how many times my heart was stomped all over before Mom gave me a chance? No girl wanted to date the washed up King of Hawkins High when I graduated,” he confesses.

“I still can’t believe people actually called you that,” she remarks.

“You and me both,” he agrees, moving to take a seat next to her, “Please, tell me what’s going on. I wanna help.”

“Dad, it’s not that simple,” she shakes her head.

“C’mon, try me,” he presses.

He waits patiently as she collects herself, letting her legs unwind - sitting up straight to turn and look at him, reflecting his stare.

“They’re calling Mom a whore,” she replies, decidedly blunt.

Steve rears back like he’s been slapped, “What?”

His mind starts to turn, calculating the way you were being dodgy about something over the phone. It’s the missing piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

“They say things like only a whore has so many kids, and that,” she stops, biting her lip - hating what she has to tell him next.

“And that what?” Steve asks, doubting he wants to hear the answer.

“That surely we can’t all be yours, and they keep calling me,” her lower lip trembles as she breaks off once again.

Steve remains silent as he waits for her to finish, feeling a palpable anger starting to consume him.

The tears spill over, rolling down her cheeks, “They keep calling me Whore Harrington.”

Fury now rolls off of him in heated waves. It takes a lot to make Steve furious, but going after his wife or children is the easiest way to make him lethal. He grits his teeth, willing himself to not explode in a fit of fire in front of his girl.

“I’ll handle it. I’ll go straight to Principal Higgins’ office first thing tomorrow morning, and we’ll get this addressed,” Steve declares.

“I don’t want you to do that. It’ll only make things worse!” she cries, tugging him to sit back down.

Steve didn’t even realize that he stood up, was too blinded by the white hot rage settling over him at the fact that anyone dared to talk to her like that.

“It’s clear this is hurting you. I’ve gotta do something to stop it,” he wraps an arm around her shoulder, tucking her in close to his side.

She lets his arm linger, but she’s distraught now, “Dad, you can’t! Please don’t do that.”

“You’re my little girl, and it’s my job to protect you,” he retorts calmly.

She throws his arm off her, storming to her feet, “Dad, I’m sixteen! I'm not your little girl anymore!”

A look of instant regret washes over her face as the callous words slip out, and she starts to mutter apologies - though the words have already taken root.

Steve’s taken aback by her yelling, feeling like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him. The words were like acid, burning him from the inside out. He wants to argue, wants to bellow back that she’s been his little girl since the moment he first held her as a baby with adoration spilling from his seams, but the only thing he can think to do is agree.

“You’re right,” he finally replies.

She furrows her brows in confusion, “What?”

“You’re not little anymore. You’re becoming an intelligent and compassionate young adult that I’m incredibly proud to call my daughter. But that’s the thing, sweetheart. You're always going to be mine. You may not be little anymore, but you’ll always be my girl. I know you’re growing up, but you better believe I’m always going to fight like hell for you,” he concludes, moving to stand in front of her.

Her face twists, crumpling as she starts to cry again. She collapses into his arms, and he’ll hold her for as long as she wants - ready to help her pick up the pieces that she didn’t realize she needed picking up.

“I was embarrassed,” she whimpers.

“Of us?” Steve probs.

“No, I love our family. I promise, I do. There’s so many of us, but you and Mom never make any of us feel left out. You always make us feel like we each have a place,” she sniffles.

Steve’s heart swells because really, that’s all he can ask for. That his kids know that he loves them fiercely, that they each matter, that they all individually take up a unique space in his heart.

He knew six would never be easy, but he also knew that just because it wasn’t easy didn’t mean it was wrong. Knew that he would devote his life to making sure each of them felt equally cared for.

“What made you embarrassed then?” He implores, catching some of her lingering tears that are slowing.

“Because I thought I could do this by myself. You and Mom have so much going on already, and I didn’t want to add anything to your plate. I knew Mom would blame herself, and I knew you would worry,” she reveals, pushing herself back to run her sleeve under her nose.

Steve fumbles around in his pockets and finds a napkin in his jacket. It’s crumpled, but she accepts it anyways. He watches as she composes herself, wanting nothing more than to be able to shield her from the growing pains of life.

“Listen to me. Having all of you? We knew what that meant. That was our choice, not yours. Which means it’s not your responsibility to make our life easier. It’s not your responsibility to take care of us. You’re our responsibility, not the other way around. Your only job is to let Mom and I love you,” he ducks his head to meet her eyes.

She nods her head in understanding before melting back into his embrace.

“Can you do that for us? Let us be your parents. Let us take care of you,” he requests.

“Okay,” she utters weakly.

Steve rubs his hands comfortingly over her shoulders before pulling away to make sure he communicates clearly, “I won’t make a scene and storm into the principal's office tomorrow. I don’t want to be the dad that embarrasses you like that. But we also can’t ignore this, or it’ll never get better. I’d like to walk in there, with you, to help give you the confidence you need to speak up for yourself. Does that sound like a deal?”

She nods, “Yeah, that sounds better.”

“Good. Now let’s go home, Mom’s probably freaking out since I haven’t called her,” he slips his cellphone out to message you.

“Do you think she’s mad at me?” She asks, fidgeting with her fingers at the thought.

Steve opens the passenger door for her, “Your Mom? Absolutely not. I’m sure she’s just ready to hold you.”

Which was true.

When they returned home, you hugged your baby so tight that she started complaining about not being able to breathe. And when she started to cry again and apologize for icing you out, you simply kissed the crown of her head - assuring her that all you cared about was her safety.

Your girl didn't want to leave your side for the rest of the evening, so she’s currently asleep on the couch - tucked in between you and Steve with her head on your lap.

“You’ve been quiet,” Steve murmurs to you.

Your eyes flick over to him, before looking back at your daughter, “I don’t want to wake her.”

Steve chuckles softly, “Babe, do you remember how she slept through that firework show a few summers ago? You’re not gonna wake this kid up.”

You comb a hand through her hair and shrug your shoulders, “Still.”

Steve reaches over to place a hand on your knee, “What’s upsetting you, honey?”

The tears slip down your cheeks before you even have the chance to hold them back, “This is my fault.”

He makes a sound of disagreement, “She got good at pretending. You couldn’t have known.”

“It’s not that,” you admit weakly, rubbing the heels of your hands against your eyes.

“What is it then?” He replies quietly.

“When we had her, I said two was enough,” you whisper.

Steve’s eyes widen in realization, “Honey, I'm the one that wanted six kids.”

“I know, but I swore two was the perfect number. And then the twins,” you trail off, biting your lip at the shame you suddenly feel for even thinking about a life without the rest of your babes.

“Were a happy accident,” he finishes the statement for you.

“The best accident,” you laugh gently, thinking about the time you both came home drunk from a wedding and got a little too eager to have the house alone for the night.

Steve grabs your free hand and brings it to his lips, echoing the sentiment, “The best.”

“And then I was sure that four was it,” you mumble.

“But Max and Lucas started having kids,” he prompts, remembering how he took one look at you holding their first baby girl and pictured you holding your oldest boy for the first time all those years ago.

“And I felt so much love having their babies in my arms that it reminded me of how much I loved ours,” you glance down at your girl again, who’s lost in the world of her dreams, and you struggle to control the tears gliding down your face.

“What if I was just being selfish, Steve? She’s hurt because of me. Because I wanted more. God, you know how people look at us when we’re outside of Hawkins, like we’ve lost our minds for having six. But now even in our own hometown we can’t get away from the judgement. I can’t help but feel like we’ve given them something that’s only going to hold them back in the long run,” you disclose as conflicting emotions swell within you.

Steve shifts as best he can, careful not to disturb your girl as he lifts his hand from your leg to swipe tenderly at the droplets that cascade down your face.

“You’re the least selfish person I know, honey. You give everything you have to them. And you’re not the only one who wanted more. I wanted more too. I don’t think we were being selfish,” he promises.

“But how do you know that?” You beg, needing to soothe the agony building inside you.

“Because our hearts didn’t divide each time we had another. Our hearts grew to fit them all in there. We never thought for a moment that we would struggle with one more. We always looked at that pregnancy test and thought it was the greatest damn gift we’ve ever gotten. Even after seeing it five separate times,” he grins, thumb working over your jaw.

You exhale deeply, “You’re right, I know you are. I just hate not being able to protect them from what people are going to say about us.”

“People are always going to have their opinions, honey. There’s a lot of sacrifices that have to be made for our family, more than most have to deal with. But you know what? There’s also a whole lot more love too,” he concludes firmly.

You let his words linger in the air, settling over you with ease - knowing in your heart that none of your kids were ever a mistake.

“I agree with Dad,” a voice mumbles below you.

You and Steve both look down to see your eldest girl rub the sleep from her eyes and scooch herself up. She leans against you, wrapping her arms around your middle.

“Were you listening the whole time?” You ask, slipping your own arms around her back.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You and Dad are loud,” she grumbles, snuggling closer to you.

Steve barks a laugh at that, reaching over to brush some hair out of her face, “Louder than those fireworks, huh?”

She hums in agreement before saying, “I would never change the life we have, even if it’s harder than most.”

You swallow thickly, “Even though those girls are being awful towards you?”

She tucks her head under your chin, “Yeah, because you and Dad are the best. I honestly think they just hear things from the baseball moms who are totally jealous of you.”

Steve tilts his head in confusion, “The baseball moms?”

“They’re rude to Mom at your games sometimes. I think it’s because they can’t handle the fact that she got to marry you,” she tells him.

Steve furrows his brows, eyes searching yours. You mouth the word later and he gives you a look that clearly means I’m holding you to that.

“You think they’re jealous of me for being with Dad?” You run a hand up and down her back soothingly.

“Completely. He obviously sets the example of what it means to be a good husband and father,” she answers, and Steve feels a pinch of gratitude for her thoughtful words about him.

She turns her head to look at him, “I really am sorry, by the way. For saying I wasn’t your little girl anymore.”

Your eyebrows raise, and he sheepishly mouths later like you did just seconds ago.

“I appreciate that, sweetheart,” he smiles at her.

The three of you fall quiet, only for the stillness to be broken by your oldest boy walking in, and you could sense he wanted a chance to clear the air with his sister.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, taking a seat on the couch across from you.

Your girl already knows he’s addressing her, “Hi.”

He scratches the back of his neck, “I’m sorry I went behind your back, but I’m not sorry for why I told Mom.”

She sighs heavily, “I’m still kinda upset with you.”

He glances down, “I figured you would be.”

“But,” she grips onto you tighter, gaining the strength to say her next words, “I get it. I wouldn’t have said anything to them. And you were just trying to help me.”

“You’re my sister. We’re supposed to help each other out,” he affirms.

They continue talking, allowing you and Steve to silently communicate just how much you love them dearly, how you’ll be eternally grateful that your teenagers somehow turned out everything you could have asked for them to be and more.

You’re about ready to stand up from your chair in Principal Higgins’ office after discussing the next steps to solve the situation your girl has been dealing with, when the door suddenly bursts open. Surprise floods you when you see your oldest enter the room with a grumpy looking teacher trailing behind him.

Your eyes rake over him, and you immediately feel yourself getting infuriated when you see he has a split lip with blood dribbling down his chin.

“Why is he bleeding?” You snap at the teacher, narrowing your eyes in accusation.

Steve places a hand on your thigh from his spot next to you, giving your leg a gentle squeeze - serving as a mute reminder that it’s not always the teacher’s fault for something, which was a thing he knew all too well about from working at the middle school.

It gives you a moment to think more rationally, trying to steady yourself and not overreact, but that's your boy, and it’s clear he’s been hit.

“Why are you bleeding?” You redirect the question towards him.

You walk over to him, grabbing his chin to inspect the deep cut that travels the edge of his bottom lip.

“I’m okay, Mom,” he insists.

“Caught him in the middle of a fist fight,” the teacher cuts in.

“What?” Steve asks in bewilderment, and your eldest girl has the same expression of shock written all over her face.

“He started it too,” the man tags on.

“Why would you do that?” Your voice turns stern.

Your boy swallows thickly, glancing around the room nervously before admitting, “Ryan Matthews saw you and Dad come in. He started saying things about you.”

You feel bile rising at the thought of him hearing more horrific words about you, and Steve must be feeling the same way with how his hands clutch around the handles of the chair he’s in - making his knuckles turn a stark white.

“And I told him if he didn’t keep my family’s name out of his mouth that I’d shut it for him,” he trails off, insinuating that he indeed punched the kid for continuing to talk about you.

The office falls silent, and Steve has to suppress a wicked grin that’s threatening to take over his lips. Principal Higgins runs a hand over his withered face, probably considering to himself why he hasn’t retired yet.

“Why don’t both the Harrington kids take a break from school today. We can reconvene on repercussions at another time,” he looks at Steve with his mouth set in a hard line.

Steve nods, “That sounds fair, sir.”

“But Dad,” your boy protests.

Steve ignores him and starts to usher you all out, calling over his shoulder, “See you later, Jeremy.”

Soon enough, the four of you are hightailing it to Steve’s truck in the front parking lot.

“Do you think I’ll get suspended?” Your son cards a hand through his hair, stressed at the thought.

“We’ll figure it out if you are. Besides, I work for the district buddy, I’ve got some strings I can pull,” Steve shrugs.

“Steve,” you chide, narrowing your eyes at his bluntness.

“What? He’s a good kid, babe. And he was standing up for you. Plus, he’s already been accepted into college. If he does get suspended we’ll talk with his guidance counselor later this week,” Steve justifies, hauling the passenger door of his truck open for you.

You freeze, folding your arms across your chest, “Steve, you can’t use your job as leverage for this. What he did was wrong, even if he had the right intent.”

“I’m also standing right here,” your boy interjects.

You turn to face him, “Hun, I love you, but you know violence isn’t the answer. You could have seriously gotten hurt.”

“It would’ve been worth it,” he states.

Steve’s eyes shine at that, “I’m proud of you.”

You roll your eyes, agitated that Steve’s encouraging the unacceptable behavior.

“But,” Steve stresses, “as proud as I am that you were defending her, Mom is right.”

“When am I not?” You mutter under your breath.

“I feel like this isn’t a conversation I’m supposed to be a part of. I’m gonna wait in the car,” your girl speaks up, sliding into the back seat.

“Honey,” Steve starts, reaching for you, and the brief touch of his fingers skimming your lower back makes you burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” your boy says.

You swipe angrily at your eyes, frustrated with yourself for making him feel like he’s caused you to cry, “I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt. This whole thing has me sick to my stomach, and I feel useless for not being able to help you or your sister.”

“Mom, it’s not your fault,” he tells you.

You suck in a sharp breath, “I know, but it still doesn’t erase the fact that I don’t want you risking your future by throwing punches for me.”

His shoulders hunch in defeat, “I didn’t think about it like that."

“I know you didn’t. You acted on instinct because it’s what Dad would do. He would do anything to protect our family, and I love that you’ve learned that from him. But I’m your mom, and my purpose is to keep you safe. I can’t do that if you’re trying to fight battles for me that aren’t yours to bear,” you explain.

Steve remains quiet, recognizing it’s a similar speech to the one he had to give your girl less than twenty four hours ago.

“You didn’t hear what he said about you,” he refutes, frowning at the thought.

“If it’s anything like what you told me yesterday, then I can take a guess, hun. I know it’s not fair. I’m so sorry you felt like you needed to handle it, but you are not supposed to be taking hits for me,” you emphasize the words, making sure he knows how serious you are.

He unclenches his teeth from the tension he’s been holding onto, “I understand.”

“Good,” you nod, and he moves to hug you.

When his arms wrap around you he mutters, “I really am sorry.”

“There’s no more need to apologize. Just, please don’t ever do that again,” you reply.

When he pulls away, Steve clasps a hand on the back of your boy's head in affection, before jutting his jaw in the direction of the car - indicating he wants a moment alone with you.

He gets the hint, and when the door closes behind him, Steve turns to you - grasping onto your hips, tugging you so you’re flush against him.

“You were kinda pissed at me for a second there, weren't you honey?” He teases, thumbs tenderly rubbing against the curve of your hipbones.

“You were acting like it was okay for our seventeen year old to take a swing at another kid,” you deadpan, but you ultimately thaw in his embrace - always finding it hard to stay upset with him.

“I reinforced that you were right,” he defends himself, nose nudging yours sweetly.

“Yeah, after I called you out on it,” you toss back.

“C’mon, aren’t you just a tiny bit proud of him?” He goads, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Maybe, but he still shouldn’t have gotten into a fight,” you confide.

“Agreed, but you’re an amazing mom, honey. I don’t blame him for trying to knock someone out in your honor,” he muses.

“Steve,” you reprimand, hitting his chest playfully.

He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Forgive me, honey?”

“You’re gonna have to work harder than that,” you hum, pretending like you have to think it over.

“Oh, I can do that,” he smirks, mouthing slightly at your jaw.

“Are we leaving anytime soon? Or are you two gonna start being gross? If you are, I can walk home,” your girl calls when she rolls down the window.

Steve complains about her interruption, which makes laughter bubble up inside of you.

“She got all that attitude from you, babe,” you pat his chest, giving him a quick peck to the cheek before hopping into the truck.

There were still things to work out, decisions to be made, conversations to be had, but for now, you were just relieved that the car ride home was calmer - softer around the edges, all while Steve held your hand and your babes teased the two of you for being lovesick.

And they may not always say it out loud, but they were thankful for parents who thought carrying the weight of the world for their children was far more important than letting them try to take care of the heavy on their own.

Divider credits to @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist If Interested!

While in my writers block era for this series, I answered a few asks… here are the links in case you missed and wanted to read!

4th of July blurb

Who the kiddos look more like

Which aunt and uncles the kids click with most

Reader having a dream about Billy and Steve comforts her

Harrington Household Taglist: @djoshairychest @mutual-future-repeat @cciessuzi @enchantedsharddetective @aria1108 @ann-aatn @willyoucry13 @soapyysofi @scoopstroop0704 @offbrandhandymanny @sweatydjoshoes @shadogirl @foreverdjofan @keerymylove @bluebvrriee @finniewolfsoft @st4rg1rl88 @straystar-8 @miahslt91 @jamieexistss @drlangdonapologist @harringtonsgff @loveeverythingsblog @pepsipoet @arayajasmynee @vanillelle @cedricdiggorysimpp @harringtonkeerys @gaptoothsmile29 @ellastyles13 @marvelss3000 @crunkprincess @ribeiroteresa97 @harringt0nangel @jinxispunk @thewildflowerarchives @lili-tate @hoekeerymm @sp-elle-bound @emmaleylaa @bl3ssedp0etry @pluviophilevibes @msdankworthpotter @4v3rybl0zz0m @noblyplatinuminferno @winnie106

click here if you wanna be added to the HH tag list, or here for my Joe Keery Characters taglist!

Robin has seen Steve Harrington smile thousands of times over the years. She's seen the cocky smiles, the embarrassed smiles, the polite customer-service smiles he reserves for difficult customers, even the exhausted ones that followed too many nights spent fighting monsters.

This one is none of those.

It isn't bigger. It's softer. It settles across his face so naturally it almost looks unconscious, like the expression was already waiting for you before you'd even stepped through the door.

"...Hey."

You smile back immediately. "Hi."

"How'd it go?"

"Successful." You lift one of the paper bags slightly. "They had cinnamon swirls."

Steve looks absurdly pleased. "They did?"

"Mhm."

"I thought they'd sold out."

"They almost had."

The conversation carries on as though nothing remarkable has happened.

And that's exactly why Robin notices it.

Before you've even reached the counter, Steve reaches over without interrupting himself, lifting the strap of your handbag from your shoulder and setting it gently beside the till. He doesn't ask if you want him to. You don't thank him.

Neither of you even seems to register that it's happened.

Somewhere between your first date and now, little acts of care have stopped feeling like kindnesses.

They've simply become the shape your lives have quietly settled into.

Robin watches him continue talking to Dustin as though he'd done nothing at all.

Then, a few moments later, she watches his hand drift up again.

Your hair has started doing that thing it always does after a humid day, one stubborn strand curling across your face. Steve brushes it gently behind your ear without breaking the conversation, his fingertips lingering for barely a second before they disappear again.

You don't react.

Not because you don't like it.

Because it's so normal that neither of you thinks twice about it anymore.

Robin slowly turns towards Dustin.

He'd been watching exactly the same thing.

"...Did he just-"

"Yep."

"He literally couldn't help himself."

"Nope."

Steve finally glances over, faintly suspicious. "What?"

Robin folds her arms. "Nothing."

She nods vaguely towards Dustin. "Carry on."

Steve studies the two of them for another second before shrugging, immediately turning back towards you.

The conversation resumes.

Robin waits. "...Give it five minutes."

Dustin raises an eyebrow. "For what?"

"He'll do it again."

"You wanna bet?"

Robin doesn't even consider it. "No."

Barely thirty seconds later, you squeeze behind Steve to reach the shelves at the back of the shop.

Without looking, without thinking, he shifts sideways to make room before his hand settles lightly against the small of your back, guiding you past him with the sort of unconscious gentleness most people reserve for carrying something fragile.

Robin lets out a long sigh. "...Because I'd lose."

It isn't even that Steve is particularly affectionate.

It's that, somewhere along the way, affection stopped becoming something he consciously decided to do.

Love, you've discovered, doesn't always arrive in the form of three words.

Sometimes it looks like Steve quietly moving your favourite mug to the front of the cupboard because he knows you'll reach for it first. Sometimes it looks like him walking an extra ten minutes because one bakery makes the cinnamon swirls you like best. Sometimes it looks like the heavier shopping bag disappearing from your hand halfway through the walk home, or your favourite hoodie somehow finding its way into your wardrobe after you'd spent weeks stealing it from his.

None of those things is remarkable on their own.

Together, they become a language.

You don't remember exactly when it happened.

There wasn't a particular morning when Steve woke up and decided to memorise every tiny thing about you. He simply accumulated them. The way you always forgot to eat lunch when you were reading. Which songs you'd skip every single time they came on the radio. The fact that you unconsciously rubbed your wrists together whenever you were anxious. The tiny crease that appeared between your eyebrows whenever you were trying not to cry.

He notices everything.

Not because he's looking for things to notice.

Because, somewhere along the way, paying attention to you simply became one of the ways he moved through the world.

The sweetest moments are the ones nobody else is really supposed to hear.

You'll all be crowded around the Wheeler's dining table arguing over takeaway when Steve leans across just enough to murmur, "You eaten enough, honey?" so quietly you're not even sure anyone else heard him.

Or you'll be halfway through one of Dustin's increasingly dramatic conspiracy theories when Steve quietly asks, "You alright?" after noticing you've gone unusually quiet, his hand settling briefly against your knee beneath the table where nobody else can see.

They're never grand declarations.

Just tiny check-ins.

Little reminders that, even in a room full of people, some part of him is always listening for you.

The only problem is that Steve has absolutely no idea how loudly he speaks.

One afternoon you're all gathered in the Harringtons' living room for another movie marathon. Robin is attempting to ration the snacks with increasingly little success, Dustin is loudly complaining that nobody ever lets him pick the film, and Lucas has somehow managed to start a completely unrelated argument about whether Aliens counts as science fiction or horror.

You wander over with a bowl of popcorn, settling onto the sofa beside Steve before offering it to him.

Without taking his eyes off the television, he reaches in for a handful. "Thanks, sweetheart."

The room falls completely silent. Steve keeps watching the film. Robin slowly lowers the bag of crisps she'd been holding. Lucas bites the inside of his cheek so hard he almost hurts himself. Dustin simply stares.

Steve finally notices the silence. "...What?"

Robin points at him. "Sweetheart?"

He blinks. "...Yeah?"

"You just called her sweetheart."

"I know."

"...In front of people."

Another blink. "So?"

Robin looks genuinely lost for words. She turns to you instead. "Does he actually call you that all the time?"

You can't help smiling. "Honestly... I don't remember the last time he actually used my name."

Steve finally looks away from the television. "...That's not true."

You raise an eyebrow. "When was the last time?"

He opens his mouth. Pauses. Actually thinks about it. "...Huh."

Robin claps once. "Oh my God."

You laugh. "You call me Honey."

Steve nods. "Mhm."

"Sweetheart."

"Mhm."

"Pretty girl."

"Mhm."

"My love."

"Mhm."

"Baby."

Another nod. "Mhm."

Robin throws both hands into the air. "You are absolutely insufferable."

A faint blush creeps up Steve's neck. "I didn't realise."

"No," Robin says. "That's the worrying part."

Dustin leans forward. "Dude."

"What?"

"I think you might actually be the most down-bad person in Indiana."

Steve looks between the three of you, still appearing genuinely confused. "I've got a girlfriend."

"...Yeah."

"I like her."

The room dissolves into laughter.

Steve waits patiently for everyone to finish. Then, with complete sincerity, "...Am I missing something?"

You can't stop yourself. Still laughing, you shuffle a little closer until your shoulder brushes his, your hand finding his almost automatically. His fingers lace through yours without either of you looking down.

Robin watches the movement. She lets out a long, theatrical sigh. "...Hopeless."

Steve glances across. "For holding my girlfriend's hand?"

"No." She smiles despite herself. "For somehow making being disgustingly in love look like the most ordinary thing in the world."

Steve looks down at your joined hands. His thumb strokes once across your knuckles before he looks back up again. "...It is ordinary."

The room falls unexpectedly quiet. Not awkwardly. Just quietly.

Because that's the thing everybody keeps getting wrong.

Steve isn't trying to show you off. He isn't making some grand romantic gesture. He isn't performing for anyone.

This isn't the version of love that lives in films or Valentine's cards. It's smaller than that. Quieter.

It lives in mugs of tea and absent-minded touches. In pet names that have entirely replaced your own. In the unconscious certainty that if you're nearby, he'll somehow end up beside you without ever deciding to move.

To Steve, loving you has become so completely woven into the fabric of ordinary life that he no longer recognises it as anything unusual.

It's simply who he is.

The house is finally quiet by the time everyone leaves.

The front door clicks shut behind Dustin's endless complaints about carrying too many VHS tapes, Robin shouts something about Steve actually tidying up this time, and then, almost as suddenly as they'd all arrived, the noise disappears. Their laughter drifts down the driveway before dissolving into the familiar rumble of an engine somewhere beyond the end of the street, leaving the house wrapped in a kind of silence that only ever arrives after good company has gone home.

Steve doesn't move straight away.

He stands by the living room window for another moment, watching the last pair of taillights disappear into the darkness, one hand still loosely entwined with yours as though he'd forgotten he was holding it in the first place.

"They're never quiet when they leave," you murmur.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I think they do it on purpose."

"They definitely do."

You give his hand a gentle tug. "C'mere."

He follows without hesitation. He always does.

The kitchen still bears all the evidence of movie night: half-empty bowls of popcorn, abandoned glasses, crumpled napkins and a deck of cards that nobody had ever actually used. You begin clearing it together without discussing who'll do what, moving around one another with the effortless rhythm that only comes from years of sharing ordinary evenings.

Steve rinses the bowls while you stack the dishwasher. You wipe the worktops just as he reaches over your shoulder to put the cloth back beneath the sink. Every so often your hands meet reaching for the same thing, and one of you instinctively steps aside before the other has even realised there's something to make room for.

It no longer feels like coordinating. It feels like remembering.

Like two people who have spent so long building a life together that even the smallest routines have settled into muscle memory.

You're reaching onto your tiptoes to return the final mug to the cupboard when Steve quietly appears behind you. "Need a hand?"

"I've got it."

"I know."

His hand settles against your waist anyway. Not because he thinks you need help. Simply because you're there.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the faintly absent expression on his face, and smile. "You know they keep making fun of you for this."

His brow furrows. "For what?"

"This." You rest your own hand lightly over his where it's still sitting against your waist. "You can't seem to go more than five minutes without touching me."

He actually thinks about it. "...Can't I?"

"I don't know."

A small frown settles between his eyebrows. "...Probably not."

You laugh. "I noticed."

A faint blush begins creeping across his cheeks. "I don't really mean to."

"I know."

"I'm not trying to..." He gestures vaguely between the two of you, searching for words that never seem to come quite as easily as his actions. "I don't want you thinking I'm following you around."

"I know."

"It's just..." He trails off again. Then shrugs. "...I always want to know where you are."

There's no flourish to the sentence. No dramatic confession. He says it with exactly the same honesty he'd use to tell you he's hungry, or that it's probably going to rain tomorrow. Simple. Matter-of-fact. Entirely true.

Your chest tightens. "Why?"

He looks genuinely puzzled by the question, as though the answer should be obvious. "I don't know." He smiles a little, almost shyly. "I just..." Another shrug. "...I like being wherever you are."

For a moment neither of you says anything.

The clock above the stove ticks softly in the background. Somewhere outside, a car passes at the end of the street.

You think about all the times you've caught him doing exactly that. Wandering into the garden because you'd gone out to water the flowers. Appearing in the kitchen moments after you'd decided to make tea. Sitting beside you on the sofa despite there being six perfectly empty seats elsewhere in the room. None of it calculated. None of it deliberate. Just Steve.

"So," you say eventually, slipping your fingers through his, "Robin's right."

He groans immediately. "Oh, don't encourage her."

"You crossed the entire kitchen because I opened one cupboard."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"I..." His eyes drift down between the two of you for the first time, only now seeming to notice how close he's standing. "...Huh."

You can't help smiling. "Huh?"

"I really did."

"You really did."

He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost embarrassed now. "I swear I'm not trying to be weird."

"Weird?"

"I just..." He laughs quietly through his nose. "Sometimes I look up and somehow I've ended up next to you again."

The words make something warm unfurl inside your chest. Because he's right. You've noticed it too. Not just tonight. Always. It's almost impossible to remember a room where Steve hadn't eventually found his way beside you, as naturally as water finding its level.

You reach up and smooth an unruly strand of hair back from his forehead. "Steve."

"Hm?"

"I have never once wished you were further away."

His eyes flutter closed almost instantly. Such a tiny touch. Barely the brush of your fingertips through his hair. Yet he leans into it with the quiet contentment of someone who's finally stopped pretending they don't need to be looked after too.

"I like it when you do that," he admits.

"I know. I like it when you do it too. You always play with my hair when you think I'm tired."

"I know."

"You rub my back when I'm stressed."

"Yeah."

"You kiss my forehead whenever I'm overthinking."

"I know." His eyes open again. "You notice all that?"

You laugh softly. "Steve." Your thumb traces gently across his cheek. "I notice everything."

You notice the way he checks the locks twice before bed after a difficult week. The way he automatically reaches for your hand in crowded places without ever looking. The tiny crease between his eyebrows whenever he thinks everyone else is relying on him too much. The way he relaxes, almost imperceptibly, whenever you touch his hair. You notice the way he pretends he's not tired because everyone else is. The way he instinctively gives away the last slice of pizza. The way he apologises when somebody else bumps into him.

You notice him because you've spent years loving him.

Just as he's spent years loving you.

He looks at you for a long moment, something impossibly tender settling across his features. "I don't know why everyone keeps laughing."

"They think you're attached at my hip."

"They do."

"They're not wrong."

He smiles sheepishly. "I just..." Another pause. "...You're my favourite place."

The words leave him so quietly you almost think you'd imagined them. No rehearsed speech. No perfect line. Just the truth.

"I spend all day wanting to tell you things," he continues, almost laughing at himself now. "If Robin says something ridiculous, I want to tell you. If Dustin does something stupid, I want you to see it. If something good happens, you're the first person I think about. If something bad happens..." He shrugs. "...I still want you."

His fingers tighten gently around yours. "So I guess..." He smiles. "...I just end up wherever you are."

Your vision blurs before you even realise your eyes have filled. "You make it very difficult not to fall in love with you every single day."

His expression softens. "You still do?"

You laugh. "Steve."

"I know we've been together a long time."

"I know."

"I just..." He looks almost bashful. "I hope you still do."

Your answer is a kiss. Slow. Unhurried. The sort of kiss that has nothing left to prove.

When you finally pull away, his forehead settles against yours once more, his hand finding yours again without either of you acknowledging the movement.

Neither of you comments on it. Neither of you needs to.

For Steve Harrington, love has long since stopped being something he says.

It's the way he reaches for your hand without thinking. The way he unconsciously ends up beside you in every room. The way every ordinary day bends itself around one quiet certainty:

Wherever you are is exactly where he wants to be.

dividers: saradika-graphics

“Steve..” You mumble, only turning your head slightly as you’re still trying to follow the plot of the movie that’s playing. The reason why you’re actually here. 

Your birthday. Steve had planned it all. First, dinner with Robin, Jonathan and Nancy where you had ordered cake and champagne, the whole shebang. Steve didn’t know any limits when it came to spoiling you. And afterwards he had taken you to the drive-in movie theatre for some quality time for just the two of you. 

His fingers tighten a little on your skin as he only hums out a little “M not doin’ anythin’” but you can hear the humour in his voice, this man knows exactly what he’s doing and as you now fully give in and turn your attention to him, sure enough there’s a self assured little smirk on Steve’s face. 

“Stevie” you warn, in a less than threatening voice “I thought you wanted us to watch this” 

His eyes lock onto yours and his smirk widens before a breathless laugh escapes him “I did. I do” and as if on cue he leans in again and kisses your cheek, lingering a bit longer for good measure. He knows you can’t be mad at him if all he does is love on you. 

But you’re not even trying to go back to the movie, now you’re curious how far Steve might take this before he has to come clean and admit to his constant teasing and distracting. 

You tilt your body slightly in his direction which makes his big hand on your leg nudge even closer to your centre and it makes him look at you, eyes widening a tiny bit. You give him a little smile, playful, almost challenging, you want to see what he will do next. You’re not breaking eye-contact with him and soon enough, his warm hand leaves the comfort between your thighs and is slowly wandering over to your side, squeezing your hip once before Steve is moving your whole body forward and closer to his own. The simple yet very effective motion pulls a little gasp from you before you realise how close you are to him now. Basically face to face, noses almost touching if you’d lean in just a little bit more. 

“You wanna tell me again how much you like this movie?” His voice has now lowered an octave and instead of the previous banter, there’s something darker there now, more urgent. “Must be real interesting if you keep lookin over at me” he continues, and now you can feel the hand that was previously on your headrest, almost forgotten, creep into your hair as it makes contact with the side of your head. He’s tilting your face further towards him so you’re forced to meet his eyes, but before he can give another teasing remark, you decide to finally make a move and nuzzle your nose into his, and then nip his bottom lip with your own. You can feel him take in a shuddering breath, not so cool and unaffected by your ministrations as he’s trying to be. But all you really care about now is the man of your dreams in front of you and feeling his plush lips against your own, so you finally connect your lips all the way and let yourself sink into this moment. 

You love spending time with Steve, being silly, having adventures, or simply doing the most mundane tasks together. But one thing you love most is kissing him, feeling your bodies sync together, being intimate with Steve and putting all of your love for each other into one heightened experience. 

“Bab-y..wha…” He tries to mumble out in between kisses but you’re driven by a new found urgency now, needing him as close as possible, so you’re gently urging your tongue against his lips until he lets you in. What started as a still innocent little  caress has now turned into passionate, almost sloppy kisses that neither of you want to stop. 

But you’re technically still in public, even within the comfort of Steve’s car, people parked close to you would have no problem to look over and inside, seeing what you two are getting up to. And right before you’re able to throw your leg over the annoying middle console that’s in the way to climb onto Steve’s lap, he gains some of his senses back and gently stops you with a hand to your knee.

“Hang on sweetheart” he breathes and pulls away from your mouth. The action takes you off guard and you’re trying to pull him back in with the hand that had made its way into his soft locks at some point during your make-out, but he turns his face to nuzzle into your cheek instead “Fuck….there’s too many people here” you hear the smile in his voice and it makes you groan as you burry your face into his neck. As much as you hate to admit, Steve’s got a point. You don’t want to spend the rest of your birthday being shamed and laughed at for public indecency.

“We could climb into the backseat. More privacy back there” you say it so casually that Steve let’s out a surprised laugh before squeezing your curves affectionately 

“No baby, that’s too risky. And uncomfortable, remember?”. 

Your only response is a little whine as you finally look back up at him. You love looking at Steve up close like this, you get to admire the cute little freckles adorning his face, the little bit of facial hair around his mouth, and his big eyes that always look at you with such a warmth in them that could make you melt on the spot. So you gently take his handsome face back into your hands, place the softest of pecks onto both cheeks, the side of his nose and finally on his forehead before almost whispering your next words, trying not to disturb this delicate moment between you 

“You wanna take me home instead Stevie? Where we can have all the privacy in the world?” And he has to close his eyes for just a moment to collect his thoughts. He would genuinely go to the ends of the earth for you if you’d ask him, so going home before the movie night he had planned even ends is the easiest decision for him to make

“Yeah sweet girl, lemme take you home” now it’s his turn to leave a barely there kiss on the side of your mouth before he gently manoeuvres you back into your seat so he can start the car and make the short trip back to your place.

“I’ll show you how you deserve to end your birthday festivities properly” and his final statement sends a new flutter through your body as Steve stirs the car onto the road and grabs ahold of your hand, not letting go of his precious girl until you’re back home for more.  

The aftermath of the robbery is very interesting...

A.N: this one got wayyyy too big so i'm gonna link part two here

Your POV

KEYS POV

Mouser is still looking at Keys with a knowing look, while he is trying to work.

So he saved her, so what? He would do that for any civilian. His spider tingles were a little heightened which was weird, but that didn't mean anything. He still didn't like her.

All sound heard on the room is the tapping of the keyboard when the automatic glass doors open, revealing you.

You were slightly shaking, clutching your purse with wide erratic eyes. The vision sat wrong in his chest.

You sat down on your desk slowly and put your purse on the free space in the desk.

Keys clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, pondering his next action.

"Are you okay?"

Her wide eyes soften, but still seem surprised. She purses her lips and nods.

"I guess you all heard" she chuckles, rubbing her forehead "yeah, i'm fine"

Keys isn't convinced, so he narrows his eyes at her, waiting for her to say more.

"Seriously, i'm fine"

Keys wets his lips, he is about to interject when Harry Osborne rushes to her side and sits on a nearby chair.

"Hey, Y/N" his voice is sweet and gentle talking to her "I heard about what happened"

Keys rolls his eyes. He noticed how the glorified nepobaby had been giving her all of his attention and she was eating it up. If she only knew the type of person he was...

She smiles at Harry, which gives Keys a weird taste to his mouth. He isn't sure why.

"If you need to go home, please do" He rubs her arms "Don't you worry, okay?"

He's touching her, he's actually touching her. Keys doesn't care. He's super chill about that. He actually saved her so a little arm rub is nothing. Not that he cares.

But he didn't. Spider Man did. He wonders if she knew... But no, he doesn't care. It's whatever.

"That's so sweet of you, Harry"

Oh, right. They're on first name basis already. Barely know each other, but that's fine. Keys should be on yhe Guiness book for how much he doesn't give a shit.

"But i'm good" she nods "It was just a scare, thank god!"

"That's good"

"I mean i was lucky, spider man was there"

Keys's eyes widen comically. Oh that was what praise felt like. Keys is blushing so hard, he ducks his head behind the monitor.

"Oh" Harry grimaces, standing up "You're a fan?"

Keys smirks, Harry isn't a fan of his superhero identity. He mocked quite a few times when he first started using the mask. Take that, asshole.

"Well, i am now" she giggles.

Well, that sound sure made him blush harder. What is wrong with him.

"It's kind of nice, having someone looking out for the town"

Mouser interjects for the first time, with a manic smile.

"Yes, it is" he turns to Keys maliciously "Don't you think so, Keys?"

Damn him. Keys takes a deep breath. He just shrugs. He's super chill.

YOUR POV

Reblogs are a fanfic writer's best friend

prev next

masterlist

TAGLIST: @oliviaharrington

Steve goes through several stages of self-doubt when he finally meets the woman that those six walking disasters have been raving about for weeks. Apparently you're so cool that you've even won Max over, which is impressive to Steve because he doesn't even know if he's done that yet, and it's been four years since they've met.

It helps, of course, that you work at a movie theater. Steve tries to defend himself when Dustin says you've got the coolest job in the world, but the kid insists that the theater is better than Family Video because you give him free access to new movies, and you butter his popcorn halfway through instead of waiting until the end so that it's all on the top.

Apparently you're very versatile- you chat with Max about horror and chick flicks alike, and you even have a skateboard to match hers. But the boys eagerly recount the two hour gossip session they'd had with you about whatever nerd movie you'd snuck them in to see, and it seems like you'd given equal enthusiasm to both.

Will had even broken into a smile as he shrugged off the scrape on his arm, telling Jonathan he didn't have to worry about beating anyone up for shoving him because you'd already done it. Apparently you'd been tasked with picking the kids up from school because Steve was working, and you'd been there early enough to see Will get bumped into the brick wall he'd been sticking tight to. The boy says there's a bloodstain on the bricks that won't wash out from where you'd slammed the dick's face into it.

Additionally, he has reliable intel that you're gorgeous.

Robin said so, and she's always right about girls.

So, all things considered, Steve's happy to tell Mike he can invite you for movie night at his place. He's eager to finally meet you, the new addition to their ever-growing group of day-savers and monster-fighters. Words like amazing, awesome, and cool are thrown around constantly to describe you, and even Eddie nods thoughtfully, proclaiming you, 'pretty badass'.

It's why Steve's so thrown when you knock on his door looking like that.

You're shifting back and forth on your feet, eyes wide and nervous as they blink at him when he greets you. He's surprised none of the little shits draped all over his couch had gotten there before he had, but it's just the two of you in the massive entryway to his house.

"Hi," You smile, but it comes out looking like a grimace, like there's a dull ache in your back that won't go away, "Um, the kids said I could come to movie night? I hope that's okay."

Steve nods mechanically, his hair bouncing and dipping into his eyes on the upswing, "Yeah, yeah! You're Y/N, right?"

He's genuinely asking.

He hasn't once heard anyone describe you as timid but that's the only word for it, doe-eyed and cautious as you step in and your eyes flit around the foyer. It's a wide empty space, but it's dotted with photos and decor that makes it look like an art gallery more than a home. It's excessive to say the least, and Steve feels the urge to usher you through it before you think he's the curator.

He's about to say something, but it gets caught in his throat as you slowly inch towards the den. There's barely any lighting in the house, only the flicker of the tv from the next room over and the glow from the streetlamps outside that spills in through the front windows. But it's enough to see you with, and Steve curses the way he's such a sucker for girls.

He's so predictable. His eyes skate over your profile as you stare at a painting on the wall, watching the way your gaze hangs there like you're interested in it and not beelining for the den. He can tell it intrigues you because you gravitate towards it, body turning slowly and unconsciously, drifting towards the wall as you peer at the abstract, textured smears of paint. Steve's never thought it worthy of much contemplation before but he can admit it's visually appealing, and evidently it's working on you.

He glances at your hands, seeing them slowly curling into the fabric of your jeans and bunching them up at your thighs. He steps forwards like he's been beckoned, it's barely a conscious choice. He stops a foot behind you, but his voice carries enough that you still jolt, "I think that one's supposed to have some deeper meaning.

You turn bewilderedly, nearly bumping into his chest with how suddenly close he is. It means your eyes flare wide, and your lips part then squeeze shut with a gasp that turns Steve's heart to goop.

So predictable.

"Sorry," He breathes, smiling sheepishly, "The painting? I, uh- I think it just looks like a bunch of squares. Pretty squares," He cocks his head, finding immense difficulty in tearing his eyes away from you to nod pointedly back at the painting, "But squares."

"Oh." You nod dazedly, your hands resuming their scrunching of their jeans, "Yeah. I don't know if I can find some hidden message in it." You turn again, flashing the logo of the movie theaters whose vest you're still wearing, evidently straight off of your shift, "But it's really pretty."

Steve can't say thank you because he didn't buy it, or paint it. He also can't tell you that you're really pretty, because that would be fumbling, and he's determined not to do that anymore. So instead he reaches for the hem of your vest, the left front panel that hangs loosely off of your frame instead of sticking tight to it, "Did you want to take this off? You can hang it by the door."

You flounder when you realize Steve's got your vest in his hand. You do this awful side-step that pulls it out of his grip, like he's a mangy dog sniffing around you at a restaurant and you're gonna talk to the manager about him. His hand awkwardly drifts back down to his side, but you fumble for the meshy fabric of your vest with a deep swallow that sounds painfully dry.

"I forgot," You breathe out a laugh, "I didn't realize I still had it on. That's embarrassing." You note, then your eyes screw shut like saying it out loud was worse, "You don't have to hang it, it's- it's not that important." You bunch a corner of it up and tuck the entire thing into your back pocket, much like the way Eddie hangs a bandana from his, and you brush your palms off like it had been dirty.

"Movie room's this way," Steve gestures, pointing towards the flashing light coming from the den, "It's Risky Business. Hope that's okay."

"Mhm," Is all you say as you hightail it towards the den's doorway, a sudden urgency propelling you there.

Steve liked it better when you'd drifted through his foyer, giving him ample time to look at you.

He has to admit, everyone seems like they'd been wrong about you. Well, everyone but Robin, of course. He doesn't get chatterbox vibes from you, nor can he picture you punching out a leering high schooler for getting in Will's face. You seem like a spooked deer, one loud noise away from bolting and high tailing it down the street. But who knows- maybe you're not good with new people. Maybe all it'll take is some Steve Time to get you to loosen up, and he follows you to the den distinctly determined.

"Y/N!" El and Max shriek in unison as you pad over the threshold, and Lucas is promptly kicked off of the sofa to give you room. You apologize for it by squeezing the boy's shoulder, and when El and Max each drape themselves over one of your legs you draw them in closer with arms around their shoulders.

"Hey," Eddie calls, chucking a balled-up hershey's wrapper at you in lieu of a greeting. Steve stands by the doorway, surveying the room for a spot to sit. It looks like he's condemned to Robin's feet, but at least he'll be able to subtly glance at you out of the side of his vision.

Predictable. So fucking predictable, he fights the urge to scrub a hand over his face. He's got to get this under control, because he can't keep falling for girls that he's got no shot with. But if you're just shy, he reasons, that doesn't mean he doesn't have a shot. It means he's got to make one for himself, and he leans himself against the wall while Eddie scrounges around for another wrapper to chuck.

"Hey to you, too," You fling it back at him, and he's so caught up in finding more garbage that you hit him square in the forehead. He yelps, a garbled sound, and Steve snorts at the triumphant grin on your face. Your eyes dart to him at the sound, and widen as your smile dims.

Steve feels his stomach beginning to hurt.

"You were supposed to bring popcorn." Eddie gripes, "And unless you've got it in your bra I think we're all about to go hungry."

"I brought it!" You insist, nudging Max off of your shoulder carefully. You bend down, reaching into your bag with the arm that El has wrapped her own around. You retrieve a bag of kernels- a massive one, but definitely unpopped. There's a few groans that cut across the movie's dialogue but you defend yourself, "I know, I know! But I can't just steal from the popper, they'd totally know. And it doesn't take long to make," Your eyes flit over to Steve, and his stomach melts at the way you duck your head down a few degrees. Your voice comes out softer when you speak to him, "Um, do you have a big pan I could use to pop some? It'll take a few batches, but I can finish in about thirty minutes."

"I'll check." He bites his tongue, "I think so? I'll be back."

He rushes off towards the kitchen, bumping his shoulder into the doorframe on the way out and hissing at the pain.

Smooth.

He fumbles through a noisy cabinet of cookware, and finds a wide-mouthed pan that looks like it'll suit a big batch of popcorn. He even manages to extract a matching lid, and he's eager to provide you with them, even more eager to linger in the kitchen with you and try to sneak past that nervous air you've got about you. This will totally work, he decides, and he strides back into the movie room with a purpose.

You're standing when he enters. You've somehow extracted yourself from the gaggle of girls hanging off of your arms, and they're swinging wide, then joining to clasp your hands between them as you nearly shout. Everyone's gazes are trained on you, amusement tinging their features and Steve only catches nine measly words from you before you notice he's back.

"-so I'm like, sir, we don't sell movies, we-"

You turn to gesticulate in Steve's direction, and when you catch him there you freeze. It's heartbreaking, actually, the way the life leaves your body, your arms dropping back to your sides and your spine going stiff. It's like you've been turned to stone, and he marvels at the way he feels like an intruder in his own home. Now all of a sudden his stomach is dropping further, and not in a good way. How has he fumbled already?

He can barely speak, not while you're looking at him like you're a little afraid of him, "I- uh, I found the pans," He jerks a thumb backwards, "Can I show you to the kitchen?"

"Yeah." You murmur, your voice a far cry away from how boisterous it was mere seconds ago, and you scramble to grab the bag of kernels from El's lap before trailing after him back to the kitchen.

Your eyes rove across this room similar to the last, but they land on the pan and stay there. Before you can reach for them Steve grabs them himself, lid in one hand and pan in the other.

"These," He holds them out, like you couldn't see them before, "Will these work?"

You look cowed, perhaps because he's swinging around pans like he's trying to hit you with them. But you nod, a timid thing, and he sighs through his nose and prays you can't hear it.

"Perfect, I can- I can help you, if you want." He offers, setting the pans back on the counter and trying not to get his hopes up.

It doesn't work, because when you shake your head he feels a wave of shame roll over him like nausea. He's trying to pinpoint exactly what came across as too much to you- if he'd come on too strong with his greeting and triggered this cautious defense mechanism you've initiated.

"It's okay." You hum, voice still dim and low, "I do this all day at work. I don't need help."

"Right," Steve smiles, laughing off the awkward tension. But he pulls a barstool out anyways, sinking down onto the cushion and bracing himself on the counter, "No, I'm sure you know what you're doing. It's just- sometimes my stove is a little unpredictable," He lies through his grin, "So, I mean, I can hang out in case you need help with that."

"O-kay," You nod slowly, hands carefully arranging the pot over the burner, "Am I gonna, like, light myself on fire if I turn the dial?"

"No! No, that's not- it's fine." Steve shakes his head so hard it hurts, "Just- it's just, fire safety, y'know? I'll just stay."

"Okay." You repeat, head tucked nearly to your chest, "Sounds good."

It doesn't sound like it sounds good. It sounds like- it sounds like you're angry, almost, and Steve is hit with yet another wave of dread.

Are you angry at him? God, do you hate him already? This has gotta be the fastest that's ever happened, aside from that one time during the summer he worked at Scoops when he'd spilled a milkshake down a girl's new top just trying to hand it to her.

He's starting to feel hopeless.

Is there something wrong with him? He doesn't understand- he looks the same as he did when he was 'king'. Better, even, cooler hair and a fuller frame. What's wrong with him now that wasn't then? He thinks he's nicer now, even if he's lame, but are you really that put-off by his current demeanor to be irritated with him already?

Or, Steve thinks, and he's not sure which is worse, do you hate him because of his brief reign as king? Had he been rude to you? He'd been rude to a lot of people. The thought makes his chest sting on a normal day, but now it's all-encompassing, aching down to the tips of his toes as he tries frantically recalling if he'd messed around with you during school. He comes up empty, but there's gotta be a reason you're pulling so hard away from him now, and he stands up so suddenly that the barstool nearly tips over behind him.

"I actually- I gotta go make sure they don't break anything," He excuses himself, his voice tight with emotion, "Uh, let me know if you need me."

"Oh-okay!" You blurt, watching bewilderedly as he rushes for the door, "-thank you!"

He charges into the den fast enough to draw attention. Then he flounders, and Robin sits at attention when he nods towards her.

"Uh, can I talk to you outside?" Steve asks, and she throws a cautious glance to Eddie who shrugs minutely.

"Sure thing, dingus," She braces herself on Will's knee to stand, and Steve fights the urge to grab her hand and drag her outside so that she'll move faster and he can barf all the words in his brain out of his mouth.

"Yes, bozo?" She asks, when they're finally outside in the cold Hawkins night, "Why are you all jittery?"

"What did I do?" He asks expectantly, and her brows raise in the way that means sarcasm is imminent.

"What did you do, when?" She asks, "Are we playing this like Clue? Where, with what, what do you want me to say?"

"To Y/N," Steve sneers, "You didn't watch her, like, completely shut down when I walked in the room?"

"Oh. Yeah, I saw that," Robin's aloof posture slumps slightly, "But- she might just be tired after work."

"Only tired around me?" Steve asks, crossing his arms over his chest, "She seems fine around you guys."

"I know, but you barely know her! Just let her warm up to you," Robin shrugs, her voice far too light and airy for a situation of this magnitude, "I'm sure she'll be fine by the end of the night."

"I don't think i did anything to her." Steve speaks more to himself than to his friend, but she throws a sympathetic palm against his arm anyways.

"I'm sure she doesn't hate you." She reasons, "Seriously, not everyone can just jump into a conversation like you do. Even if you don't know what to say, you just- you just say it."

"What?" His brows furrow and his nose scrunches, "What are you talking about?"

"It's like a popular guy thing," She explains, "You can just talk to anyone like you've known them forever. I can't, though. And maybe Y/N can't either, maybe she just needs to get to know you first. So let her."

"Okay." Steve grumbles, because there's nothing else to do. He follows her back into the house still feeling discouraged, but he's softened slightly by the way you offer him the first bite of popcorn from the bowl you'd scrounged around for.

"I hope it's okay I'm using this," You hold up the bowl, and that downcast gaze you shoot through your lashes at Steve makes him forget anything but the way you're looking at him, "Try some?"

He reaches for the bowl, eating a few pieces as politely as he can. In the theater he might try shoving twelve above his molars but he savors the sparse mouthful, nodding appreciatively.

"It's good." He insists, and the smallest smile Steve's ever seen curls your lips at the corners, "It tastes just like the movies."

It's a stupid thing to say, considering that's where it came from. And Steve's glad that you don't say anything about it, though it's because you don't speak to him at all for the rest of the night. Nothing, not a single word, not a 'can you turn it up, please?' or a 'where's the bathroom?'. He's waiting for it all night, waiting to analyze your voice and see if it's brightened at all, strengthened, grown more confident but your mouth remains shut until you stand up to leave post-credits.

"Thanks for inviting me," You stretch out your stiff limbs, talking to the group as Dustin gravitates towards you for a ride home instead of making Steve leave his own house, "It was a good movie."

Steve knows he's fishing but he can't help it, not as you gather your bag to leave and he's about to lose you to the front door, "I can hook up with- I can hook you up with any movie." He offers, stammering over his slip of the tongue, "I mean- like, I can get 'em for you. If you want a tape, just call the store and I'll put something aside for you."

You don't thank him. You look at him, which is why he's such a blubbering mess in the first place, but all you grant him is a soft smile and a nod. It's better than nothing, but Steve's heart clenches as you deny him your voice, and he watches you leave helplessly with Dustin on your tail.

"Close call," Robin smacks his arm once the rest of the kids have migrated towards the door, "She definitely wouldn't warm up to you if you offered to hook up with her."

"I didn't mean to say that," Steve grunts, and Robin laughs, "Just- I figured she'd say thank you."

"I'm sure she meant to," Robin hums, "I mean, she kind of did. She nodded, that's enough."

Not for Steve. He wanted to hear your voice, he wanted you to ask for the store's number so that he could scrawl two down on a scrap of paper, hoping you'd call the wrong one first and his home landline would ring.

"I thought she was supposed to be this motormouth who likes everyone," Steve can't help but mumble, and the way that Robin sucks her lips between her teeth to bite them doesn't help the disheartening feeling Steve's throat is clogged with.

"Steve... she is," Robin sighs, "I don't know. She was- a little quiet tonight." She admits, "But that's not a guarantee that she hates you! Just give her time."

"How much time did it take you?" Steve asks, and Robin winces.

"Ten minutes."

Steve ushers her out within five short minutes so he can wallow in self-pity.

Clocking in at Family Video the next morning makes Steve's stomach churn. Part of it is dread, because he fucking hates the regular who comes on Wednesdays and he knows they'll be busting down the door as soon as he flicks the lights on. But the rest of it is because he'd found your vest on his couch when he'd turned the lights on to clean up stray popcorn kernels- it must have fallen out of your pocket the further you'd slouched into the cushions. It's your work uniform, and he'd brought it with him just in case you wanted to bound through the doors and reward him for returning it to you with a kiss. Probably not, but he's got it clutched in his fist anyways. It smells really nice, which is something he knows not because he'd smelled it on purpose, but because he'd flung it over his shoulder when leaving the house and a whiff of your perfume had hit him like a wave.

The morning is slow, and Steve suffers through the ramblings of their regular nuisance, but it gives him time to daydream, and he's so convinced that you're the one on the other line when the phone rings that he forgoes his company greeting and just blurts your name into the receiver.

"Y/N?" He asks, and a familiar sarcastic scoff comes from the other end.

"Is that how you answer the phones now?" Robin asks, and Steve rolls his eyes even if it's lost on her.

"Why are you calling your own store?" He asks, and Robin shifts around on the other end, muffling her words.

"What?" Steve asks, and she sighs into the phone like it's his problem.

"I said, Y/N asked me to ask you if she left her vest at your house last night. It's her uniform, she works in an hour."

"Yeah, actually," Steve glances at it under the counter, hope blooming in his chest, "I have it here. I figured she'd need it- tell her to stop by."

"Look at you, thinking ahead!" Robin gushes, and Steve has half a mind to hang up on her, "I'll send her over. Hey- I come in at four, don't leave a mess for me!"

The thirty minutes that it takes you to peel into the Family Video parking lot is agonizing for both parties. Steve's drumming his fingers against the counter, trying to keep them out of his hair that he's fluffed and ruffled ten times over. You're gunning it down the icy Hawkins roads, trying not to die from a car wreck before you get murdered for either showing up to work out of uniform, or showing up late.

The bell above the door jingles when you shove it open, and Steve smacks his thigh on the bottom of the counter in an effort to launch himself to his feet.

"Shit," He hisses, "Hi!"

"Hi," Your eyes flit wildly around the store, "Robin said you had my vest?"

Steve takes it as a good sign that you're talking to him now. But you're not as soft as last night, limbs tense and eyes wild. "Here-" He fumbles for your vest beneath the counter and as soon as it's in sight you snatch it up, halfway out the door before he can even register the way your fingers had brushed against his.

"Thanks!" You call, and Steve tries figuring out as he watches you speed away whether you'd been inside the store for more than thirty seconds, or less.

So definitely no reward kiss, then.

Barely any eye contact, either. You hadn't said anything you didn't need to, no small talk, no questions, no inquiries about movies. You'd run in, taken what you needed, and run back out again, and Steve feels frustration thick in his chest as he sits back down again.

He's really having trouble believing that you don't hate him.

"Rob," Steve scoffs, leftover popcorn ground beneath his teeth, a kernel lodged in his gums, "You don't understand. She ran in, she grabbed it, she ran out."

"And she didn't say anything?" Robin asks, balancing an armful of tapes that need rewinding, "Like, anything at all?"

"She said, 'hi' and 'thanks'." Steve recalls, "Oh- and! 'Robin said you had my vest?'. Seriously! Nothing!"

"She was running late for work, and she was panicked!" Robin shrugs, "I wouldn't read into it. Seriously, she's cool. She might just have to warm up to you like I said. It's not like she had time to chat. But she thanked you this time! And that's gotta mean something." Robin eyes him pointedly, "Don't start to spiral about this. Why does it matter, anyways?"

"Because!" Steve starts too strong, and has to rein himself back in, "Because, Robin, everyone's been talking my ear off about how fun and crazy she is, and whenever I walk into a room it's like someone takes her batteries out! I want to know why!"

"Why, though? Why do you care? Plenty of people in Hawkins don't like you," Robin reminds him, and Steve drops his head into his palm, blocking the light from his eyes.

"Yes, I'm aware. Thank you."

"I'm not saying it to be mean." Robin sighs, abandoning all hope of ever getting any actual work done and setting the tapes on the counter to rub a tentatively soothing hand down Steve's back. Their touches usually consists of punches or shoves, but she can tell the former king needs something nicer right now, "Just- don't let it bother you. Even if she does have some sort of crazy hatred for you, don't worry about it. Sometimes people just aren't gonna like you."

He gives her a despairing look, and one shared glance is all Robin needs.

"Oh, fuck." She declares, and Steve's brows furrow, "This again!"

"What?"

"You!" She gushes, "You fall in love with everyone!"

"What?" He sits ramrod straight on his stool, "What does that have to do with this conversation?"

"That's why you care," She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, "Because a new woman has entered your life and she's neither taken nor gay, so she's gotta be your girlfriend now."

"That's not fair," Steve tries, but it totally is, and Robin nails him with a deadly glare.

"Don't even start with me! Are you forgetting that I counted every swing and miss you committed at Scoops? You're a total player!"

"Not anymore," Steve argues, "I haven't done that in a while, okay? Because it wasn't working for me! And all I was ever really after was a date. You really think I saw my future in Jenny Bates or Christie Langfield? I just wanted to feel like I wasn't the biggest loser in Hawkins!"

"You literally never got one 'yes'." Robin reminds him, and he groans despairingly.

"Yeah, I know. Again, that's why I stopped doing it! And- okay, I have a tendency to crush a lot, I don't know! I like women, sue me! So do you!"

Robin's eyes flash wide; he's got her there.

"But I'm not just asking out everything with boobs anymore, okay? I'm trying to only engage in relationships I think might actually work."

"And you think that's Y/N?" Robin asks, collapsing onto her own stool, deep in thought.

Steve flounders, blushes, "It would- I mean, it'd be nice if it was. I think she's really pretty, and she drives the kids around so I don't have to, and she's- y'know, everyone says she's awesome."

"You don't even know her," Robin glares scrutinizingly at him, "We've had this entire conversation because she's not herself when she's around you."

"Which is why I'm trying to get to know her better! I'm not gonna propose," Steve huffs, "I just- I just want a chance. I want one chance, and I want her to like me."

Robin doesn't speak- not right away. She chews on the info, mulling it over while her eyes are glued to Patrick Swayze on the cover of the tape she'd neglected to rewind. She gnaws at the inside of her cheek, then drags her gaze towards Steve who looks entirely too downcast for her liking.

"Alright." She decides, "I'll help you. If you really mean this, and you're serious, and you're not gonna dump her and totally ruin our group dynamic, I'll try to get intel from her."

"Intel?" He asks, instantly nervous.

"I'm going to her place tomorrow," Robin nods, "We're having a sleepover. And sleepovers are, like, prime 'boy talk' time. I might not have anything to contribute myself, but I can definitely weasel something out of her. I promise," She offers a pinky to Steve, and he takes it with a soft, amused grin, "I'm gonna help you land this one, dingus."

"Y/N," El stares boldly at you from the backseat, meeting your eyes through the rearview mirror, "Why don't you kiss Steve?"

You nearly swerve off of the road, and Max snickers while you regain your composure.

"What?" You ask, and El cautiously explains.

"It said in Max's magazine that girls get shy when they like a boy. And you get very quiet around Steve. And that means you like him, and kissing is what you do when you like someone. So why don't you kiss Steve?"

"I don't get quiet around Steve." You defend yourself despite the heat in your cheeks, "I just don't know him."

"So?" Max scoffs, "You're all extroverted and stuff. It doesn't matter when you meet anyone else. It's just Steve that it happens around. You go dead silent and you stare at him with those ooey-gooey eyes, it's disgusting."

"That's so not true!" You're happy to pull into Max's driveway, the cool winter breeze filtering through the windows, "Now get out, before I lock you in here and torture you with bad music."

The girls fumble for the doors, but Max leans in before she leaves to gloat, "You're so, totally in love with Steve Harrington."

"I don't like Steve!" You shriek, clinging to the lie desperately like it'll come true if you say it with enough fervor.

Max blinks blankly at you. No- she blinks blankly behind you, and your head jerks to the side to see a maroon BMW that makes your heart sink.

Steve Harrington is leaning against it, and he's frozen in his tracks, eyes wide and cheek between his teeth. There's no way he hasn't heard you.

"Wow." Max snorts, and El shuts her door behind her, "What are you doing here, Steve?"

"Uh," He has trouble tearing his gaze away from you, his suspicions confirmed but at what cost? Looking away feels like a breakup, like shutting the door and never coming back, like throwing away a phone number. It feels like being alone, like a too-big empty house and no friends to fill it with. Like having no one that wants to be around him. "Your- your dad called, El, wanted to know if you were getting a ride home from me today or if you'd need one. And I said I could get you, so... so he said you'd probably be at Max's. So I'm here," He trails off, and you grip your steering wheel so tightly that you're surprised it doesn't snap, "And... I can drive you home."

There's got to be a reason. He just doesn't know what it is- maybe there is something wrong with him. Maybe he's unlikeable, like he'd always worried about, and maybe he is just a glorified babysitter. He honestly can't remember the last time Dustin called him to do anything but beg him for a ride, and the fact that he has so few friends his own age that he has to rely on validation from a kid hits him like a semi-truck, nausea rushing to his stomach and roiling there so viciously he pales.

El ducks towards your window before joining Steve, and you fight down your own nausea and rushing blood through your ears to hear her.

"That sounded mean." She notes, "Do you want me to tell him you do like him? And that you want to kiss him?"

"No," You seethe, panic making your heart pound, "Just- go! Go and don't say anything!"

You're really not sure how much worse that could have gone. Of course, the girls were right. Unfortunately, those teeny bopper magazines do have the formula down to a science, and you've been crushing on Steve Harrington since you first saw him wait until Max's seatbelt was buckled before driving out of the school parking lot. You hadn't met him for months, but you'd seen him around, sometimes through the window at family video, sometimes at the gas station filling his car up.

He's undeniably handsome, and the exasperated masquerade that he uses when dealing with the kids doesn't fool you. They're your little friends too, and pairing a pretty face with a heart of gold did you in.

Now, however, that you've gone and ruined everything, you're quite certain you won't get any more chances. You hadn't even been able to work up the courage to actually say anything to him, despite having been in his house, and now you don't have a shot in hell, because he slams his door so hard the car shakes.

El would follow your instructions, but it would be rather rude to ride all the way to Hopper's cabin in Steve's car and not say anything. So she settles into the seat, awkward silence thick in the air as your tires screech against the road, and hums, "She does like you."

"That's-" Steve chokes out a laugh, "That's nice of you, El. Really, thanks, but I don't think there's anything you can say to fix that."

"Really," El's brows furrow, "I read it in a magazine. She likes you." She holds up fingers for each piece of evidence, "She doesn't talk to you, and she talks to everyone! And she avoids you, and she tells people she doesn't like you."

"Yeah- thank you," Steve sighs, his own grip on the wheel tight enough to pale his knuckles as he begins the trip to Hopper's cabin, "Now that you put it that way, things are really looking up for me."

You think you have the salesman beat when you ignore the bell three times, but then Robin Buckley falls through your window with an overnight bag, and you realize you're fucked.

"Oh my god!" You shriek, sinking to the floor to help her, "Oh my god, you- that was you! Shit, you were gonna sleep over," You remember as she rubs her stinging elbow, carpet burn evident on her skin, "Robin, I'm so sorry-"

"Hey, don't worry about it," Any indignation she might have felt is gone as soon as she gets a glimpse of your face, tear-stained a puffy, "What's wrong?"

"What?" You ask, but when you're unable to breathe through your nose you remember, "Oh. Oh, god, don't even ask, I- I can't talk about it."

"Did someone die?" She asks, eyes blown wide.

"No," You snort wetly, "I wish."

"Then we can fix it." She declares primly, her cheeks flushed from her second-story window adventure, "Tell me about it."

You should. You know Robin's closer to Steve than anyone else, and you're sure if you don't tell her now, she'll know the second she gets home and gets a phone call from him. And you don't want to lie to her, so you muscle up the courage to smear a tear off of your cheek and admit, "I fucked up."

"I gathered," She nods at the tissues scattered around your room, "Did you trip and fall and split your pants open? Did you drop your favorite ring down the gutter? Did you use your mom's leg razor on your peach fuzz?" She sticks out a finger to poke at your upper lip and it startles you so much you have to laugh.

Her responding grin is toothy and adorable, and you hope that after everything you tell her tonight, Robin still wants to be your friend.

"I messed up things with..." You breathe, in, out, "Steve."

She pales slightly.

"Steve?" She asks, "What- Steve Harrington?"

"What other Steve do you know?" You narrow your eyes at her, unfairly perhaps, because she's set out to help you, "Of course Steve Harrington."

"Sorry." She shakes her head, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them as you two huddle on the floor together, "What happened?"

"He overheard me," You begin, a rather kind way to put it considering you'd shouted it to Max's whole neighborhood, "-saying that I didn't like him."

Her eyes dim.

"Oh. You don't- uh, you don't like him?" She asks, her voice forcibly casual, too tight and coiled like a snake about to strike.

"No, that's not-!" You struggle for the words, and accept defeat, "I do. I do like him, I-" You scrub your hand over your face, hiding behind it, "I said it because I was trying to keep it private, but Robin... I like him. Like- romantically. Maybe."

She's never been more grateful in her life than she is right now, because the way you're avoiding her gaze means you can't see the blinding grin she's sporting.

"Okay," She muscles it down, treading lightly, "Okay, so you like him! Who could blame you, what a guy!" She exclaims, reaching for your arms and tugging them away from your face, "I mean, he's got a nice car, he's got a steady job, he's got hair that's a foot tall- what else does a girl need!"

"Courage!" You wail, "I need to put on my big girl panties, apparently, because every time I'm around him it's like I'm all sweaty and nervous and blubbery," You recall the movie night where you'd absorbed maybe half of the dialogue, and even less of the plot, "He- like, drives me crazy or something. I'm a total loser around him," You despair, "And now he thinks I hate him!"

She neglects to inform you that he'd thought that from the beginning. It won't help. But she will, and she squeezes your hands with so much excitement they might bruise come morning.

"Okay, so, he heard you say something unflattering. But that doesn't mean he'll shoot you the next time he sees you! We can fix this!" She swears, "I'll call him right now, and you can-"

"No!" You gush, horrified, "Do not call him!"

"You have to fix this!" She moves her hands from your shoulders, shaking them violently, "You have to tell him!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes! You have to, I told him I'd help!"

Your brows furrow, and you push Robin's hands off of you.

"Help with what?"

Several silent seconds later, you snap, "Robin, now's not the time to develop the ability to shut your mouth. Open it, and tell me what you're talking about."

She groans low in her throat, "Fine. We were kind of sort of talking about you yesterday, and he was telling me that you seemed like maybe you weren't crazy about him. So today definitely didn't help," She reasons, "But the only reason he even cared about your opinion of him is 'cause he likes you too! Romantically," She gives you a suave smirk, "So call him, and tell him you didn't mean it, and then kiss!"

"You sound like El," You try griping at her, but the giddiness you feel at her words is undeniable. You're smiling, cheeks burning, chest heaving like you're a lovesick fool. "He really said that?"

"Oh yeah." She nods, tongue jabbing into her inner cheek, "We had a whole fight about it."

She reaches for your phone, finger spinning the dialer so fast she's not even sure she's hit the right numbers. She keeps it pressed to her ear, soothing your nerves with a hand on your knee.

"It's fine," She whispers when the line rings three times, "He's probably peeing or something."

"Oh." Your nose scrunches, and she eyes you pointedly.

"Hey, get used to it. You're about to get a boyfriend."

You shrug, the b-word igniting another wave of elation through you.

He doesn't answer.

"Okay," She hums, dialing again, "He's listening to really loud music, maybe?"

The third time, she guesses that he's taking a walk around the block.

"One more time," She speaks through gritted teeth, "Come on, Harrington."

"Hello?" A lazy voice answers.

"Steve!" She cheers, "Hey, are you busy?"

"No," He drawls, and her brows furrow, inching closer together, "No, I'm not busy. I'm never busy! Not unless someone needs a ride from me!"

"Are you drunk, Steve?" She asks, sharing a worried glance with you.

"Yep," He laughs, "Yeah, because- because why not? Because it's not like there's anyone around to stop me. I don't have any friends," He gripes, "Not besides you, and you're only still hanging out with me because we got tied together and drugged last summer!"

"You got what?" You ask, head rearing backwards.

"Later," Robin hisses, slamming the phone back to her ear, "Steve, listen to me, you're spiraling. You have tons of friends-"

"Yeah, that are all twelve years old." Steve's words run together, unsteady like you're sure he is on his feet, "Which is a great look for me. And nobody likes me, and I don't know why, because I'm trying so hard to be nice and good now, but nothing's working, so I'm drinking instead. And that's at least fun," He chuckles dryly, and your heart feels like it's being squeezed to the verge of pulverization, "Because when I lay on the floor, it feels like I'm spinning."

"Okay," Robin chirps, alarmingly cheery, "Stay on the floor, Steve. Don't drive anywhere, just stay there and spin around."

"Will do," He rasps dryly, "Buh-bye."

The line goes dead, and you share a petrified look with her.

"Let's go," You decide, springing to your feet, and she grins, racing after you.

"Hell yeah! Let's go." She grabs your keys and tosses them to you, "Are you squeamish around puke?"

"Why?" You stop dead in your tracks, so she beats you to your car."

"He's a lightweight," Robin reveals, her lips puffing out in a pout, "Come on! No time to waste."

You steel yourself against vomit, and speed to Steve's house.

It's just as ridiculously large as you remember it. You'd been so caught up in ogling the inside when you'd been here a few days ago that you hadn't remembered the outside much, but it's foreboding and empty with all of the lights off. You picture Steve laying alone in the dark, puking on the carpet, and you beeline for the front door.

"Ah-ah-ah," Robin grabs your elbow, tugging you to the side gate, "He always leaves this one open in case I stop by when he's out."

She holds open a sliding door for you, and you try not to stare at the gorgeous pool the opposite direction. You're here to help Steve, and if all goes well, you'll make it a point to have a pool party afterwards.

"Steve?" Robin calls, traipsing through the dark rooms and flicking lights on as she goes, "Steve, where are you?"

"Robin?" He answers, and you veer left to follow the sound of his garbled speech, "You- s'that you Rob? You come to- are you here my... house?"

You're the one that finds him, flat on his back in the bathroom, a trash can just out of reach. His head is pressed up against the bathtub, and you hope he hadn't hit it on the way to the floor.

"Steve," You breathe, and you wonder if Robin's on her way.

Steve's head shoots up, but the rest of him doesn't. He blinks blearily at you, neck craned, brows pinched in confusion, "Y/N?"

Then, he pukes.

You're quick enough to see it coming, but not quick enough to ensure there's no damage done. He coughs first, and you bolt for the trash can, but there's definitely going to be a stain on his shirt from the few precious nanoseconds you'd lagged in stuffing the can under his chin.

"Oh, fuck," You grunt, steeling yourself against your own queasiness at the sight and sound and smell, "Oh, Steve, how much did you drink?"

"I followed the sounds of retching," Robin declares, appearing behind you in the doorway, her mouth set in a firm grimace as Steve hurls into the bin you're still holding for him, "Well, look on the bright side. Romantic!"

"Robin," You hiss, and Steve hangs his head over the mouth of the trash can for ten seconds after he finishes puking, just to make sure there's nothing left. He dry heaves, but there's simply nothing else in his stomach, and you sympathize with the knotting his gut must be doing right now, uncomfortable and tight.

He groans, throaty and open-mouthed and pathetic. It's really the only sound that sums up the situation, and you wholeheartedly agree.

"Is there more?" You ask, and your voice comes out sweet and kind, doting, even, "Or do you want to go to bed?"

"Bed." He whines, head hanging even when you set the trash can aside, "It's so far."

"Walk with me, Harrington." Robin offers her arm, eyeing the puke stain on his shirt warily, "Just- don't try to give me a hug or anything."

You watch as Robin helps pull Steve off of the floor, giving him time to adjust to his new orientation before he starts barfing again. They inch towards the stairs and Robin calls back towards you, "Get water and pills! Meet us there, first door on the left."

You set off towards the kitchen, hands trembling as you root through the cabinets.

You feel ridiculously guilty.

Evidently you've sent Steve into some existential crisis about how no one likes him. That might honestly be the worst case scenario, the greatest fumble in the history of dating. Your heart gets choked out again as you think about Steve racing home and raiding the liquor cabinet, desperate to distract himself from his big empty house and from his own self-loathing.

You tuck two aspirin into your palm and fill a glass of water to the brim, making your way to Steve's bedroom.

It's... plaid.

Monstrously so, wallpaper and comforter and lampshade and curtains and rug. It's hideous, but you'll look past it for now. Later- if this miraculously works out, you're buying him some new drapes.

"There we go, big boy," Robin congratulates, propping him up shirtless against his headboard and dropping his stained shirt in the laundry, "Y/N brought you some medicine for tomorrow, and some water!"

"Y/N," He mumbles, eyes closed, head still hung, "Why's Y/N here? She- she doesn'even like me."

"That's my cue," Robin smiles sweetly, backing towards the door, "Hurry, before he crashes!"

"Steve," You step warily towards his bed, hearing the door click shut behind Robin, "Can I sit with you?"

"Yeah, sure," He breathes, his voice dull and lifeless, "I'on'care."

You purse your lips as you sit down, spotting a smear of puke on his chin.

"You're a little pukey, Steve." You note, "Do you want to brush your teeth?"

"I can't." He moans, "Bathroom's too far. And my arms don't work."

You march in, retrieve toothpaste and toothbrush and trash can, and march back out.

"Okay," You squeeze the toothpaste onto the bristles, wetting it with a splash of water from the glass you'd filled, "Open up, Steve."

"Huh?" He asks, finally lifting his head. You reach for his jaw, and he watches you with a dazed expression, his eyes half-lidded and dilated as he stares up at you.

"Open," You thumb across his lips, and they part to breathe a sigh onto the pad of your finger.

He widens his mouth, and you get to brushing.

You hadn't realized how awkward it is to brush someone else's teeth. But it's Steve, and he's narrowly avoided drinking himself to death because of you, so you scrub like he's about to see the dentist.

"Tongue," You say, "Show me your tongue."

He sticks it out, and foamy drool drips off of it into the trash can you'd stuffed beneath his chin again.

You scrub his tongue, and fight to keep it extended when he decides it feels weird and retracts it again.

"Steve, you've still got vomit back there." You coax him with another stroke to his jawline, "Stick your tongue out again."

"Why are you doing this?" He moans, but he does as he's told, and you ponder your response as you scrub away at his poor taste buds.

"Rinse," You hum quietly, holding the glass of water to his lips. When he's cleaned and rinsed and spit and swallowed you drop the trash can beside the bed, foreseeing a very nauseous morning in his future.

"I'm doing this because," You finally answer, "I don't- not like you. I don't dislike you, I like you," You insist, unable to stop yourself from guiding his upper body to the mattress and dragging the blankets up beneath his chin, "I was just embarrassed because Max was teasing me, so I said I didn't. And I said it loud, and you heard, and now we're here and you're going to have the hangover of a lifetime all week."

"Why was Max teasing you?" He asks groggily, a yawn eclipsing his features before they smooth again. You sigh, eyeing his hair and fighting to stop yourself from running your fingers through it to elicit a sleepy sigh from the man.

"Because I like you," You repeat, "Like- romantically. Maybe."

His brows raise.

"Romantically? That's-" He laughs, a puff of air from his chest, "'Cause, I like you, romantically. For sure."

"Yeah?" You can't help but grin, squeezing his hand when it erupts from the blankets in search of yours, "Good. I hope you still like me even after you heard me today. I'm sorry," You cringe, relishing the way his palm fits against yours, "I'm really sorry, Steve, I feel awful."

"No, I feel awful," He mumbles, "I've got- I'm drunk. But you- don't feel bad. We can- oh," HIs eyes widen, then scrunch shut, and he rips his hand out of yours to drag it down his face, "Oh, no."

"What? Steve," You reach for the bucket on instinct, "What's wrong?"

"I'm gonna forget this," He wails, "I'm gonna forget this in the morning because I'm stupid and drunk and you're not gonna tell me again because you're gonna run off and avoid me like you always do."

"Steve," You wince, "No, no that's- that's not what's gonna happen. I mean," You eye him carefully, "I'm pretty sure you're gonna forget this. But I'll tell you, I swear. And if I didn't," You reason, "Robin would. You know she almost shook me to death earlier trying to get me to confess to you? She wouldn't let me run away again. And," You sigh, "I'm sorry for running away earlier today. I was just embarrassed, and scared. You're a really good guy, and it's not your fault that I was afraid."

"Robin'll tell me," He nods along, and you wonder if he's absorbed any other information you've presented him with. But it doesn't matter, because it's a conversation better suited for tomorrow than tonight. And you'll have it- you will tell him, and he'll tell you, too, and you'll... kiss, hopefully.

It's an exciting prospect, kissing Steve. You're glad the feeling in your stomach is butterflies and not barf, and you stand up to re-smooth the covers around Steve's drowsy form.

"Go to sleep, Steve." You croon, "You'll need it, as much as you can get. And tomorrow, you can call me." You snag a pen and paper from his desk, "I'm leaving my phone number right here. Call me, and I'll come over, and we can talk."

"Y'swear?" He asks, squinting suspiciously at you. It's endearing, his eyes narrowed and his cheeks flushed.

You nod like a bobblehead, "I swear, Steve." You offer him a pinky, and his teeth gleam in the low light of his bedroom when he grins, hooking his around yours.

"I'm tired," He announces, dragging his arm back under the blankets, and he's out in no more than five seconds as you pad quietly towards the door.

Robin's sitting on the top step. She turns when she hears you, and springs to her feet, "He's out?"

"He's out." You nod.

"You told him?" She asks, her eyes shining.

"I told him," You confirm, your own smile growing, "And I left my number, so he can call me tomorrow."

"And you'll tell him again," She leads you down the stairs, "Because he's probably gonna wake up with no memory of us even being here."

"I know," You laugh softly, "He told me the same thing. But yeah, I'll tell him again," You promise, "And if things really work out, again. And again, and again, and again, 'cause I really do think I like him a ton. I wouldn't brush just anyone's teeth."

"That is intense," Robin nods, accompanying you back out the side gate and crunching gravel beneath her feet as she heads for your car, "But it's cute, in a gross way. Romantic, maybe."

"Yeah," You grin, glancing back at Steve's dark window as you tug open your car door, "Maybe."

The annual summer barbecue at Soonami sounded significantly more dreadful than it actually ended up being. For weeks Walter had complained about mandatory socialization, passive aggressive networking and what he thought of as poor attempts to gather marketing material for recruitment ads disguised as performative team bonding.

But despite all that, he ended up spending most of the evening quietly attached to your side, looking far more relaxed than he would ever willingly admit. He enjoyed himself for most of it, because it was an evening spent with his favourite person and free food. The first summer barbecue you managed to join him for.

The rooftop garden itself was beautiful in that polished, overly curated way tech companies seemed obsessed with to appear modern, friendly and relatable all at once. Warm string lights crisscrossed above the seating areas, little lanterns glowed between flowerbeds and somewhere near the bar, a group of developers were passionately arguing over game mechanics while sipping on fruity cocktails with ridiculous names. The epitome of modern day hipsters.

Impressively so, the space also overlooked most of the city skyline, golden light lingering on the walls nearby as the evening settled into something softer and warmer.

You still felt a little out of place at Walter’s work events sometimes, even after nearly three years with him. Not because anyone there was unkind to you or anything.

Over time, mostly through rushed lunch breaks Walter occasionally invited you up to the office for, late evenings where you physically had to drag him away from his desk and the handful of coffee breaks Mouser would invite you for, you’d slowly become familiar enough with his coworkers that being around them no longer felt intimidating.

Maybe that's why Mouser greeted you with immediate excitement the second you arrived, several people from marketing complimented your dress and someone from HR practically lit up remembering you from the Christmas party half a year ago.

But it never really lessened the way these events still managed to make you feel slightly overdressed, sort of undereducated and entirely too overstimulated all at once.

There were moments where you simply sat back and listened to everyone speak rather than trying to piece together what half of it actually meant.

You would think a party might finally pull people away from work for a few hours, yet somehow every conversation still circled back to coding problems, server crashes and deadlines hanging over everyone’s heads. Even here, surrounded by music and drinks and warm summer air, their minds seemed permanently wired into the company itself.

Walter, brilliant, direct and perpetually exhausted Walter McKeys, who spent most of his life buried beneath lines of code and half finished cups of coffee himself, always seemed to notice whenever that feeling of not belonging started settling over you. And somehow, with nothing more than a hand rubbing your back or a quiet explanation murmured beside your ear, he always managed to make you feel like you belonged there with him anyway.

Opposed to that, some of his coworkers would argue you were out of his league. Some driven by sheer confusion, some by jealousy. You caught glimpses of it every now and then, in the slightly surprised looks people gave the two of you, the brief pause when they connected quiet, chronically meticulous Walter McKeys with you standing beside him in a floral cocktail dress and leather boots, an oversized knitted cardigan draped loosely around your shoulders in a way that somehow made the entire outfit look even softer.

Walter’s mother made that cardigan for you after deciding store bought knitwear was soulless. The sleeves were slightly too long, the rust coloured wool soft from constant wear and Walter loved it for reasons he couldn’t properly explain without getting flustered.

It became part of you after his mother surprised you with it during your second visit to their house, wrapping it around your shoulders with the kind of quiet affection that made it feel less like a gift and more like something she had already decided belonged to you. Even then, she seemed to know you were meant to stay in her son’s life.

“You know”, Mouser said at one point during the night, leaning against a table, “you being here genuinely improves Keys’ social skills by at least thirty five percent”

Walter looked unimpressed, but you had to hide your smile. “That statistic feels fabricated.”

“Oh, absolutely is”, Mouser admitted instantly. “But I stand by it.”

You finally laughed out loud while Walter’s hand settled on your back, grounding himself in the conversation with one of the few colleagues he actually liked not tolerated. The night itself had been genuinely nice because of that. The kind of evening where Walter smiled more than once without even realizing he was doing it, simply because you were there beside him.

You even managed to convince Walter to dance with you eventually, though calling it dancing felt generous when it was really just the two of you swaying together in a quieter corner of the rooftop, drinks still stubbornly clutched in both your hands because neither of you felt like setting them down somewhere and risking losing them afterward. It made the whole thing slightly awkward, his movements careful as he kept his glass tilted away from your dress while your arms looped loosely around his neck, laughing every time the two of you struggled to navigate your glasses up to your mouths.

You smiled up at him like he’d granted you your biggest wish of the night. And honestly, maybe he had.

Walter’s arms settled around your waist with familiar ease, the touch present beneath the fabric of your cardigan, while his expression softened into something quieter the longer he looked at you. You laughed at something barely worth laughing over, probably one of his dry muttered comments.

It was a familiar dynamic between the two of you by now. You laughing and Walter looking at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

This was his world surrounding you on all sides and yet he still gravitated toward you like nothing else there held his attention for long.

“You know”, you mused eventually, glancing over his shoulder toward the scattered groups of employees across the rooftop, “I thought the Christmas parties were exceptions because people left town to be with family and stuff, but there aren’t many dates here, are they? I’m basically the only plus one.”

Walter followed your gaze as the two of you continued swaying softly. There weren’t many partners there at all, now that you mentioned it. Mostly employees clustered together in little groups, drinks in hand while conversations drifted to the same old topics.

There were women around, though far fewer than you would’ve liked, most of them from marketing or HR with a handful of external artists and designers scattered throughout the crowd, but very few people had actually brought partners with them.

“Babe”, Walter said gently, squeezing your waist once as quiet amusement slipped into his voice, “most of them don’t have anyone to bring.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him properly, your expression deadpan. "Right, forgot nerds don't have girlfriends. Y'all scare them away, clearly"

Walter laughed beneath his breath while you rolled your eyes.

His attention drifted back across the rooftop for a moment afterwards, eyes scanning over the crowd. He’d genuinely never seen this many employees gathered in one place before. Usually everyone disappeared the second work hours ended, retreating back into their own lives and apartments until the next morning dragged them all back again.

A few coworkers looked surprised every time their eyes landed on the two of you, probably trying to process the fact that their co-worker had a girlfriend who looked like you standing in his arms.

You looked beautiful tonight.

Painfully, distractingly beautiful.

Your hair fell in soft curls around your shoulders, the flowers scattered across your dress somehow matching the color of his shirt perfectly and every time you laughed, people nearby instinctively glanced toward the sound without meaning to.

Walter wasn’t stupid. He noticed the attention. But more than that, he noticed the envy underneath some of it too.

Because despite the endless teasing he got at work, the sarcastic comments about the sticky notes you hid in his laptop bag that he carefully lined up along the frame of his monitor instead of throwing away, or the times you showed up at the office with coffee and enough patience to physically drag him home after fourteen hour shifts, most people there wanted something like that too.

Someone who looked at them the way you looked at Walter and vice versa.

He leaned down eventually, aiming a kiss toward your lips only to miss slightly when you laughed again, the kiss landing near the corner of your mouth instead.

“Don’t overthink it”, he murmured softly.

“I’m not overthinking”, you replied with a smile. “Just observing.”

One of his hands slipped from your waist then, fingers catching yours instead before he awkwardly attempted to twirl you beneath his arm despite still holding his drink in the other hand. The movement was clumsy enough that both of you immediately burst into laughter halfway through it, nearly colliding into each other again once you stumbled back against his chest.

Walter definitely wasn’t the type to show off or intentionally draw attention to your relationship, but he wasn’t oblivious to the occasional glances either, nor the quiet surprise whenever someone looked between the two of you for a second too long. And he was definitely aware of how beautiful you looked tonight.

As far as Walter was concerned, nobody else in the world came close to comparing to you anyway.

But knowing everyone else could see that you were the one choosing him back? Yeah, he’d admit privately that he liked that part too.

A few moments later though, because it was always something with this company, you noticed a change in atmosphere before you understood the reason for it. A subtle shift rippled through the crowd, a nearby conversation abruptly cut off and several people glanced toward the entrance almost at once. It wasn’t dramatic, nobody announcing anything or reacting loudly, but the mood around you shifted just enough to feel it.

You and Walter walked back over to Mouser and a few other colleagues that were all sitting around a small fire pit and Mouser straightened next to you. “Oh man”, he breathed out in a half-groan and you furrow your brows instinctively.

Walter barely reacted outwardly at first, though you watched the exhaustion settle onto his face with immediate familiarity, like he already knew who had shown up before looking.

“What?”, you asked quietly, feeling the way his hand slipped from your back and around your waist, pressing his fingers into your side almost absentmindedly.

Mouser kept staring forward, but responded anyway. “Boss.”

You turned just as Antwan stepped out of the elevator and immediately understood why the mood had changed. Nobody was alarmed by the sight of him, but it still seemed as if the people were mildly confused by his appearance.

Everyone else looked softened by the evening, slightly rumpled from drinks and warm weather, relaxed in a way employees rarely got to be around each other.

He didn’t fit the atmosphere at all. Antwan looked like he’d walked out of an entirely different event and accidentally entered this one on his way to a private bathroom or something. Expensive jacket thrown over one shoulder, tinted glasses still resting on his nose despite the sun having set already, phone in hand while he continued some loud conversation about investor meetings.

Walter had talked about him enough over the years that you recognized him immediately, though none of the stories prepared you for the sheer level of self-importance radiating off him in person. You've never seen him at any other event.

People greeted him carefully as he passed and Antwan barely acknowledged any of them. He wandered through the area with complete disinterest until his attention landed on you.

He stopped walking, his gaze lingering for a moment, as if trying to place you. “You new?”, he asked casually, his phone still pressed against his ear as if respect for both conversations wasn't a given.

You blinked once. “No.”

That seemed to genuinely confuse him, but you even more so. His brows furrowed as he glanced at you over the rim of his shades, clearly trying to place you somewhere within the company.

“Huh”, he muttered. “Marketing?”, he tries again, though you couldn't understand why you had to work for the company to be at the event, or why you being a plus one would come as such a surprise.

“I don’t work here”, you explained and Antwan finally glanced past you, eyes landing on Keys before returning right back to you.

To him, Walter barely factored into the equation at all.

“Then why on earth would you be here?”

The question wasn’t threatening, nor particularly hostile, but there was something undeniably dismissive underneath it, something that made it obvious Antwan genuinely couldn't comprehend why someone like you would willingly spend your evening at a company barbecue surrounded by developers and exhausted office employees.

His attention remained entirely on you as he spoke, phone still lifted near his ear from whatever call he’d been pretending to care about moments earlier, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and amused disbelief. Respect for either conversation was apparently not a given.

You tried to smile politely, instinctively stepping closer into Walter’s side until his arm settled more securely around your waist, your fingers curling against the front of his shirt while his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your hip through the fabric of your dress.

“I’m Walter’s girlfriend.”

For the first time since walking over, Antwan looked genuinely entertained. Not surprised in any normal sense either.

It was the kind of reaction someone had after hearing an unexpectedly excellent joke, his attention fully snapping toward the two of you as the phone call lost all importance. His thumb lazily ended it without even glancing at the screen, phone dropping into the pocket of his jacket while he openly studied Walter now.

“Keys? Funko pop lookin, square headed Keys”

The way he said it made your brows pull together almost immediately, finding his comment more than distasteful. The tone behind it, the subtle disbelief as his gaze flicked between Walter’s arm around your waist and the way you leaned into him without hesitation, gave you a good enough picture of someone you would not converse with under any under circumstances.

Beside you, Walter stayed perfectly composed, sipping on his highball as if this entire exchange didn't bother him the way it actually really did.

Only someone who knew him well would’ve noticed the slight tightening of his jaw or the near invisible shift in posture that always appeared whenever he was forcing himself to stay polite. None of his colleagues, let alone his boss, came close to that.

Antwan let out a quiet laugh beneath his breath, shaking his head slightly like he genuinely couldn’t process what he was seeing.

“That’s fascinating”, he mused. “Thought the guy went home and just... stared at code until morning, a good wank if he finds the right video, but you...”

Mouser coughed into his drink trying to disguise a laugh and the sound alone made your expression sharpen slightly. You’d picked up on the weird dynamic surrounding Antwan, the nervous laughs, the automatic agreement, the way people bent themselves around his ego because he signed their paychecks.

But you still shot Mouser a pointed look and he immediately redirected his attention elsewhere, suddenly very interested in the rooftop view. If there was one thing you hated, it was people kissing ass and expecting something positive to come out of it at the expense of their friends.

Walter, meanwhile, said absolutely nothing.

Not because he agreed, because he knew better.

You could feel the restraint radiating off him beneath your hand, the effort it took not to respond with the dry sarcasm he naturally defaulted to around literally anyone else. That restraint translates into a tightening of his chest, his breaths not reaching his belly anymore and slowing down as if he was bracing instead.

Around coworkers, Walter was rarely sharp tongued, more quietly witty in ways people didn’t expect at first glance. Around Antwan he became carefully neutral, all measured responses and controlled expressions in the way employees often did around bosses they deeply disliked but couldn’t openly challenge.

Without even thinking about it, your hand slid higher against his chest, while his arm tightened around your waist in return, the two of you unconsciously grounding each other through touch the way you always did. You'd learned many ways to communicate over the years.

Antwan noticed that too.

Actually, he seemed incapable of not noticing it.

Every glance he gave Walter carried this underlying confusion, like he genuinely could not understand how someone he viewed as painfully average had somehow ended up with someone like you curled so naturally against him.

“You’ve been together long?”

This time the question was directed toward Walter instead of you and the shift alone seemed to surprise him slightly. You looked up at your boyfriend immediately, smiling gently as he glanced down at you for half a second before answering.

“Almost three years”, he responds, a small smirk now tugging at the corner of his mouth while his hand squeezed your waist, the fabric of your dress bunching up slightly from his grip.

That earned another genuinely stunned look from Antwan.

“Well, fuck me, bro”, he laughed, his eyes raking over the crowd as if waiting for someone to explain the punchline. He stepped back slightly, still visibly entertained by the entire situation as his eyes landed back on the two of you beneath the rooftop lights.

“Who knew he had it in him?”

Walter glanced down at you again, clearly debating whether enduring this silently or pretending to laugh along would get Antwan to leave faster.

The second your grin started slipping behind your own cocktail glass, trying to take a sip but failing, he caved. He laughed along with you, hesitant but real enough that Antwan looked pleased with himself afterward.

And somehow that made the whole situation even funnier to you.

Because beneath Walter’s composed expression, beneath the professionalism and restraint and careful neutrality, you could physically feel him getting defensive too.

"Trust me, I'm the luckiest girl", you muse, knowing it would both reassure Walter and maybe even annoy his boss a little, a clear win in your books. The smile you gifted Antwan then was genuine, confident too, but also a warning in disguise.

For a brief moment he just stared, still trying to figure it out, still carrying that subtle assumption that someone like him should make more sense beside someone like you than Walter ever could.

But Walter, despite how much he clearly wanted this interaction over with, looked at you with the kind of quiet affection Antwan probably couldn’t buy from another human being if he tried.

Eventually he let out a chuckle, before patting Walter on the back roughly. “Cheers, bro.”

Walter responded with nothing more than a tight lipped smile and a single nod, while Antwan wandered off almost immediately, already shouting towards the catering table about wanting a finger food plate done pronto.

“Okay", Mouser exhaled eventually, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he glanced back at you. “In my defense, survival instincts kicked in.”

You laughed softly while Walter finally let some of the stiffness leave his shoulders, his arm loosening around you with his hand brushing small circles over your back now.

“You don’t have to explain”, you reassured him easily. With a boss like that, you assumed everyone had to watch their own backs first and foremost.

“I know the laughing thing probably looked bad, but when Antwan decides you’re the funniest thing in the room, your options are kinda limited”, he tries again, looking genuinely apologetic for enabling him.

Walter snorted, before taking another sip of his drink, waving it off. “I mean he’s not wrong”

You immediately turned toward him, a brow quirked in amusement. “Excuse me?”

“I absolutely look like I’d spend my evenings alone, staring at code in silence. It's all I did before I met you”

“That’s not the point.”

“That is the point he made though.”

"Well, was he right about the rest too then?", you tease, chuckling as he took a long sip of his drink, his brows raising playfully as he stalled.

Mouser laughed at his reaction, nudging Walter, because to him, this whole thing was genuinely funny. You found yourself laughing too, not even needing an actual answer from him anymore.

Whatever he did before you didn't matter and you hoped there would never be an after either.

What you did care about though, was Walter finally looking properly relaxed again, the tension Antwan had dragged in with his mockery slowly dissolving now that he was gone. You press a swift kiss to his cheek.

“You should see him during crunch weeks”, Mouser told you once the conversation settled again, deciding the best way to recover from the awkwardness with Antwan was apparently exposing every strange work habit Walter had accumulated over the years.

He called it friendly fire.

Walter called it slander.

According to Mouser, Walter became borderline nocturnal during big deadlines, surviving entirely on cold brew and your little notes while re-organizing digital files no one else cared about and muttering insults at broken code under his breath for hours at a time.

“You say that like I wouldn't know what he's like”, you laughed while Mouser continued piling onto the story with increasing dramatics and your boyfriends' occasional complaints.

There was surprisingly little Walter could do that would genuinely scare you off now. Not after nearly three years together.

Not after late nights spent waiting for him to finally shut his laptop and come to bed, or the countless times you’d dragged him home from the office while he insisted he only needed twenty more minutes. You’d seen every exhausted, grumpy, overworked version of Walter McKeys imaginable at this point and somehow none of it had ever made you love him less.

If anything, it only made the other parts of him feel more special.

The conversation shifted as the night carried on, coworkers drifting in and out of your little circle while music hummed in the background and the city lights brightened below the rooftop.

At one point you found yourself talking with some girls from the marketing team about the content they’d been filming throughout the night, Walter angled away from you slightly, tangled in his own conversation with some guys on his support team.

You were midway through complimenting some ridiculous behind the scenes footage when Walter’s hand slid up from your waist, fingers catching the sleeve of your cardigan before it could slide down your shoulder.

The gesture was absentminded, automatic even. Like fixing things for you without thinking about it had simply become second nature to him.

Mouser trailed off mid sentence the second he noticed though, blinking at the absentminded little gesture like he’d just witnessed something deeply revealing. For a moment he simply stared at Walter, the way his fingers automatically fixed the slipping sleeve of your cardigan without ever interrupting the conversation around him felt like a declaration of love to him.

“Dude”, he said finally, pointing dramatically. “This is the kind of shit you do that gets you a long term girlfriend, huh?”

Walter let out a breathy chuckle at that, surprised by the sudden attention. He pulled his hand from your shoulder, stuffing it into his pocket like he’d only just realized everyone noticed him doing it before he even did himself.

You noticed too.

Even while still halfway invested in your own conversation with the marketing girls nearby, you felt his hand slipping away. You didn't interrupt or turned away from your own conversation rudely, you just registered it.

Meanwhile, the blush across Walter’s cheeks combined with the awkward readjustment of his glasses earned him absolutely no mercy from the rest of the group.

“Oh my God, he’s blushing.”

“Keys has game apparently.”

“Now this is sweet, Jesus”

Walter groaned while the others laughed around him. “A girl doesn’t just magically fall into your lap, you know”, he responded dryly, pointing at Mouser with his drink. “You need to be a decent person. Smell decent too. You should start with that”

The entire circle around him immediately burst into laughter loud enough to turn nearby heads and you nearly choked on your drink.

Mouser looked mildly offended, staring back at the group with a deadpan expression. “That was hostile for no reason”

Walter laughed and as if you sensed it, you caught the way he glanced over afterwards, eyes immediately finding yours in the midst of your own conversations.

He almost never said things like that out loud, not confidently anyway.

Normally any joke at his expense got deflected, either with awkwardness or sarcasm, but tonight there was something quieter sitting beneath his usual dry humor, something subtly self-satisfied that had to do with you just simply existing and deciding to exist right next to him.

Because maybe people were surprised. Maybe half the rooftop was still trying to connect someone like Walter McKeys with someone like you.

But at the end of the night, Walter still got to leave with your hand in his.

your boyfriend, gator, on the other hand, could not for the life of him understand why you consumed so much of these “shitty shows”. he’d groan whenever he’d come home and find you laying on the couch watching one of your shows.

your current reality tv hyper fixation is jersey shore. you watched it when you were younger, probably way too young, but it was one of your favorites. so you were doing a rewatch of it.

like any other night after dinner, gator is sat in his usual spot on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table as he scrolls through his phone absentmindedly. your laying on the opposite end, feet resting in his lap beneath a blanket.

remote in hand, you navigate to the streaming service and hit play on the next episode. gator barely glances up through his lashes before he’s grunting and rolling his eyes.

“don’t be so grouchy. i know you secretly love my shows.” you tease, poking his thigh with your foot.

gator scoffs, shaking his head. “i don’t like this dumb shit. i dunno how you fuckin’ watch it.”

you roll your eyes, smiling as you settle into your blanket. “when you have a better tv suggestion, we can talk.”

gator mumbles under his breath and you drown him out by turn up the volume a couple of notches.

every once in awhile, you steal a glance or two at gator and find his thumb had paused where it hovered over his screen and his eyes were cast towards the tv screen. you hide your smirk behind the blanket, filing away that bit of information.

another thing you notice was how gator who scoff quietly every time rob would be on the screen. eventually, you brought it up.

“what’s your problem?” you tease and gator looks up at you from his phone.

“guy’s a douche. dunno how you can stand watchin’ this.”

it made you laugh because gator was right and it surprised you that he paid attention enough to know that rob was an ass.

“it’s entertaining, gate. c’mon, you can’t tell me that you don’t find the drama at least a little entertaining.” gator just shakes his head.

he keeps his eyes on his phone for a while longer, until you let out a soft gasp and reach for the remote. his gaze lifted up curiously as he watches snooki and jwoww walk into a cyber cafe on the screen.

“this part is so good.” you say, mostly to yourself, as you turn the volume up a few notches.

“what’re they doin’?” gator mumbles, trying to sound disinterested.

“they’re about to make shit hit the fan.” you say with a grin.

gator’s phone sits forgotten in his lap, screen locked from inactivity, as he watches snooki and jwoww write a letter to sam about rob’s behaviors at the club.

“they just gonna give that to ‘er? in a letter? why can’t they just tell ‘er?”

“just wait.”

gator grumbles. then he watches as they don’t, in fact, hand deliver the letter to sam, but leave it in her dresser anonymously.

“wait, so they’re just gonna put that shit there not signed and she don’t even know who it’s from?”

“yup.” you reply, popping the ‘p’.

“but ain’t they her friends? why would they not just tell her?”

“because they don’t want to be targeted by rob, baby.”

gator is bewildered. and then the episode ends. you sigh and reach for the remote again, turning off the tv. you swing your legs off of gator’s lap as you sit up and stretch. gator doesn’t move.

“wait, what’re you doin’?”

“going to lay in bed. it’s late and i wanna cuddle. get your ass up.” you say like it was obvious.

“so we’re just gonna stop there? we ain’t gonna watch the next episode?”

you make a face. “i was watching. you were on your phone.”

“but wouldn’t you rather go to bed not on a cliffhanger?” gator scoffs nonchalantly. but you know him too well. he doesn’t convince you one bit.

“i already know what happens.” you shrug, collecting your water cup and phone from the coffee table.

“yeah, well i don’t and it’s gonna piss me off not knowing. so sit your ass back down and play the next episode.”

you gaze down at gator, fighting the amused smile on your face as you cross your arms.

“admit that you like jersey shore then we can watch one more.”

“i don’t like this fucking shit. i just wanna know what happens. ‘s different.” gator crosses his arms, avoiding your gaze. something he does when he is lying. you roll your eyes and set your things back down.

“fine, but we’re laying down and cuddling.”

gator scoffs and rolls his eyes but immediately moves to lay down, tossing his phone next to yours on the table.