val 𝜗𝜚

it had snuck up on him somehow.

one day he was settling into the routine of being coach harrington, and the next he was wondering how he'd managed to blink and spend years there.

he loved his job. genuinely.

he loved the kids, even when they drove him up the wall. he loved watching the quiet ones come out of their shells, loved seeing the loud ones finally figure out who they wanted to be. he loved friday games, the stupid jokes in the locker room with the kids, the awkward health class questions that somehow always ended with half the room laughing and the other half wishing the floor would swallow them whole.

teaching sex ed had definitely never been what he'd pictured himself doing, but somewhere along the line he'd realised he was actually pretty good at it. if it meant some kid walked away feeling a little less embarrassed or a little more informed, then that was enough for him.

the rest of the staff were... alright. some were better than others, naturally, but they made decent company in the break room between classes. it was comfortable. familiar.

maybe that was the problem.

because lately, steve couldn't shake the feeling that he'd stopped moving.

everyone else seemed to be going somewhere. every year another class graduated and disappeared into the world. teachers he'd started alongside were retiring or transferring to bigger schools. robin had somehow found herself exactly where she belonged, and the rest of his friends had scattered across the country, building careers, relationships, lives.

they were all growing.

moving.

and steve...

steve was still unlocking the same gym every morning.

it was strange because, for the longest time, this had been enough. hell, he'd worked hard to get here. after everything that had happened in hawkins, after monsters and nightmares and fighting things no one should've ever had to believe existed, a normal life had sounded perfect.

and it had been.

for a while.

but now, every time someone called him "coach harrington," something in him hesitated.

it didn't feel wrong.

it just... didn't feel like forever.

which was ironic, really.

if you'd asked him ten years ago what kind of job old steve harrington would have, coaching would've probably been somewhere near the top of the list. in his mind it was a very old man kind of job. stable. predictable. something you settled into after you'd figured everything else out.

except the older he actually got, the less he felt settled.

he felt stuck.

he didn't know what "it" was, the thing he was apparently supposed to be searching for, but he knew, somehow, that this wasn't it.

so he did something incredibly irresponsible.

he handed in his two weeks' notice.

no backup plan, no new job lined up, no clue what came next. just a resignation letter and a stomach full of equal parts excitement and absolute terror.

looking back, maybe it was stupid.

or maybe he'd earned one impulsive decision.

he'd spent most of his teenage years, and what should've been his college years, fighting monsters from another dimension. he'd learned, over and over again, that life could end far sooner than anyone expected. that waiting for the "right time" wasn't always an option.

so...

why not?

it wasn't like he had a wife waiting at home. no kids depending on him. no mortgage tying him down. despite the fact he complained to himself about still being painfully single more often than he'd ever admit out loud, there wasn't anything stopping him from trying.

for once, he could choose something simply because he wanted to.

when the two weeks finally came to an end, steve packed the last box out of his office, handed over his keys, and walked out of the school with no destination in mind.

he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, honestly he still had no idea, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was moving again.

and somehow, that was enough to make him believe he'd find whatever it was along the way.

-

the first thing steve did was take a road trip.

it felt right.

if he was going to quit his job on a whim with absolutely no idea what came next, then he figured the only logical thing to do was get in his beloved beamer, throw a duffel bag in the back seat, and start driving.

"setting sail" he'd proudly announced to robin over the phone.

"steve, you're in a bmw."

"metaphorically setting sail."

she'd sighed so dramatically he could practically picture her pinching the bridge of her nose.

"just... don't die."

he'd laughed, promised he'd try not to, and hung up.

truthfully, he still didn't have a destination in mind. he was just following whichever roads looked the most interesting, windows down despite the wind tangling his hair into a complete mess, music playing loud enough to drown out the part of his brain asking what the hell he thought he was doing.

he kept telling himself something would fall into his lap eventually.

he just hadn't expected it to happen quite the way it did.

a few hours into the drive, with his fuel gauge sitting at a level that could only be described as concerning, he rolled into a small town resting against the shores of lake michigan.

he'd never heard of it before.

then again, steve had never exactly excelled at geography.

he pulled into the first gas station he saw, filled the tank, and wandered inside to pay.

the poor college kid behind the till looked half asleep.

steve, for reasons he couldn't explain, was in one of those annoyingly good moods that made him want to talk to everyone.

he complimented the guy's t-shirt, asked how his day was going, somehow ended up hearing about a statistics exam he'd failed that morning, wished him luck on the retake, and left with a bottle of water and enough enthusiasm to probably make the guy question his sanity.

after that he drove around until he found a motel.

it wasn't nice, it wasn't clean, but it was cheap, and at this point that felt like a more important quality.

he dumped his bag in the room, stared at the floral wallpaper that looked older than he was, decided he'd survived worse accommodations than this, and headed back outside.

he walked. and walked. and walked some more.

every shop he passed, he went into. every building with an open sign became another excuse to wander inside.

he wasn't looking for anything specific.

just... something.

whatever something was.

he ended up buying a book from a tiny bookstore despite the fact he didn't actually read books.

he wasn't entirely sure why he'd bought it. the owner had seemed nice, that was about as much reasoning as he'd managed.

after another hour or so of aimless wandering, he found himself standing outside a small local museum.

normally he would've kept walking.

museums weren't exactly his thing. they ranked somewhere between watching paint dry and listening to ted explain the rules of chess for fun.

but today was supposed to be about trying new things.

so he shrugged and stepped inside.

turns out...

it was pretty boring.

there were old photographs, faded maps, model boats, actual boat parts, and enough information about shipping routes to make his eyes glaze over.

he wasn't entirely sure what half of it even was.

he wandered around looking vaguely confused, reading little plaques without actually absorbing a single word, until a voice interrupted his increasingly lost expression.

"first time here?"

he looked up.

and then...

he forgot what he'd been looking at entirely.

you stood a few feet away, offering him an easy smile that somehow made the slightly dusty museum feel a little brighter.

you introduced yourself, explaining that you worked there.

"so..." steve said after another minute of pretending to inspect an ancient anchor. "don't take this the wrong way..."

"that's never a good start."

"...this place is kinda boring."

instead of looking offended, you laughed. an actual laugh.

"you're not wrong."

he blinked.

"...i'm not?"

"honestly?" you admitted, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "i still don't know half this boat stuff."

that made him laugh.

you explained that you'd only ended up in town yourself a while back, completely by chance. you'd become friends with the elderly curator after stopping by one afternoon, and somehow that friendship had turned into a job.

"he offered me decent pay," you said with a shrug. "the old people who visit are lovely, i get nice views every day, and i mostly just smile and point at boats."

"living the dream."

"exactly."

before either of you really realised it, you were walking through the museum together.

officially, you were supposed to be explaining the exhibits.

in reality, the exhibits became background decoration.

instead you talked.

about why he'd come to town. about why you'd stayed. about moving somewhere new because you couldn't shake the feeling there had to be more waiting for you somewhere else.

about jobs. about childhood. about favourite movies. about the terrifying concept of becoming an actual adult.

every now and then one of you would remember you were technically in a museum.

you'd point at something hanging on a wall.

"that's... a boat thing."

steve would nod seriously.

"very informative."

then you'd both laugh and carry on talking.

by the time you'd wandered through the outside exhibits overlooking the lake, he'd learned more about you than he'd expected to learn about anyone in a single afternoon.

you'd learned about him too.

not everything, but enough.

enough that conversation never felt forced. enough that silences weren't awkward. enough that, when you glanced at your watch and sighed quietly, steve's stomach sank.

"shift's over" you said.

"already?"

"afraid so."

he tried not to look quite as disappointed as he felt.

tried.

failed miserably.

"well..." he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly forgetting every smooth thing he'd ever said to a woman in his entire life. "this is probably... weird."

"probably."

"but you're obviously an expert on..." he gestured vaguely behind him. "...boats."

you laughed. "a world-renowned expert."

"clearly."

he smiled, looking down at the ground for a second before forcing himself to meet your eyes again.

"would you maybe... wanna be my tour guide tomorrow?"

there was a beat of silence.

"for the town," he added quickly. "not just more boats."

you pretended to think about it. "hmm."

"i'm willing to pay."

"tempting."

"or buy lunch."

"more tempting."

you smiled. "alright."

his face lit up instantly. "really?"

"really."

"i promise i'm less awkward after the first day."

"i somehow doubt that."

"...that's fair."

you laughed again before giving him a time and place to meet you the following morning.

steve walked back to the motel with the biggest smile he'd worn in years.

the room was still awful. the wallpaper was still hideous. the mattress still squeaked every time he sat down.

he didn't care.

there was something waiting for him tomorrow.

he wasn't entirely sure why meeting you had sparked something inside him. hope, maybe. whatever it was, he hadn't felt it in a very long time.

and as he lay staring at the stained motel ceiling that night, he couldn't help wondering if he'd ended up in this tiny lakeside town for a reason.

he had a feeling he might be staying a little longer than he'd planned.

-

the next day with you was, in steve’s entirely biased opinion, one of the best days he’d had in years.

he woke up stupidly early in that motel room, heart already doing something embarrassingly cheerful in his chest before he’d even fully opened his eyes. for a few confused seconds, he forgot where he was. forgot about the peeling wallpaper, the lumpy bed, the thin curtains doing a terrible job of blocking out the morning light.

then the memory of meeting you hit him all at once and he smiled into the pillow like an idiot.

he spent an unreasonable amount of time getting ready for someone who was, technically, only a tour guide.

when he finally met you outside, you were already waiting with that same easy smile, and the second you looked at him like you were genuinely happy he’d shown up, something warm and bright settled in his chest and stayed there.

from there, it was all so simple that it somehow felt rare.

you wandered through the town together, your pace unhurried, your conversation wandering just as much as your feet. you pointed out little things he would have missed on his own, the sort of details that made the place feel less like a stopover and more like somewhere that had a pulse.

you bought sandwiches from a tiny deli you swore, very seriously, were the best in the country, and steve believed you immediately because you looked so passionate about it that he decided not to risk arguing. then you dragged him into a thrift shop where he tried to act annoyed about it and failed, mostly because he kept finding things he secretly liked.

that was how he ended up standing at the register with a hat in his hands while you grinned at him like you’d won something.

“absolutely not” he said, even as he tried it on.

you tilted your head, pretending to judge him. “it’s good.”

“it’s ridiculous.”

“it’s good and ridiculous.”

he caught his reflection in the little cracked mirror behind the counter and, annoyingly, had to admit you were right. it fit him better than he wanted to admit.

before he could talk himself out of it, you bought it.

he stared at you, flustered. “you did not have to do that.”

“welcome gift,” you said, shrugging like it was nothing. “and good luck on your journey.”

he laughed softly, still looking at the hat like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“you know,” he said, glancing at you, “you keep talking about my journey like i’m about to go find myself on a mountain somewhere.”

“aren’t you?”

“no.”

“pity. i had a whole speech prepared.”

he shook his head, smiling despite himself, and followed you out toward the lake after that, the hat tucked under his arm until you convinced him to wear it properly.

by the time you reached the water, the day had turned almost painfully beautiful.

the sun was warm but not harsh, the lake glittering in broad bright stretches, and the air had that soft, clean smell that only came from being near water.

there were people scattered along the shore and farther out, a handful of swimmers cutting through the surface, a few families lingering with towels and coolers and the kind of easy contentment that made steve feel oddly like he was peeking into a life he didn’t know he’d wanted.

you led him to a little rocky ledge tucked slightly away from the busiest part of the shore, where the stone dipped just enough to let you sit with your feet in the water.

he followed you carefully over the rocks, muttering under his breath when he nearly lost his balance, and you laughed so hard at his face that he had to pretend not to be offended.

“i’m just saying,” he said once you’d both settled, legs dangling over the edge, “this is a very unfair surface.”

“you’re being dramatic.”

“i’m being safe.”

“you nearly fell on your ass.”

“nearly is the key word.”

you snorted, and he leaned back on his hands, the sunlight turning the edges of your face soft and golden.

for a second, he just looked at you, and the thought that followed was so immediate and so sincere it almost startled him.

you were beautiful.

not in some loud, obvious way that demanded attention. just in the quiet, impossible way that made him want to keep looking. to memorise the exact shape of your smile. the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed. the way you talked with your hands when you were excited. the way you seemed fully, effortlessly alive.

he looked away before he made it obvious, clearing his throat.

“can i tell you something kind of pathetic?”

“that depends,” you said. “how pathetic are we talking?”

“pretty pathetic.”

“go on then.”

he stared out at the water for a second, watching the light flicker across the surface before he answered.

“i think i’m scared i still haven’t figured out what i’m supposed to do.”

the words came out smaller than he meant them to, but not weak. just honest.

you were quiet for a moment, not in the uncomfortable way, just in the way people got when they were actually listening.

then you looked at him and said, “steve, you got in your car and left because you knew you were stuck. most people don’t even get that far.”

he glanced at you.

you shrugged, feet swaying slightly in the water. “most people spend their whole lives feeling like something’s off and never do anything about it. they sit with it. they let it become normal. you didn’t.”

something in his chest shifted.

he let out a slow breath, watching the water lap against the rocks.

“still feels like i should know by now.”

“why?”

“because everyone else seems to.”

you smiled a little then, soft and almost sad in a way that made him want to lean closer.

“they don’t,” you said. “they just get better at pretending.”

he went quiet.

“besides,” you added, nudging his knee with yours, “being stuck doesn’t mean you’re failing. it just means you’re still in the middle of figuring it out.”

he turned that over in his head.

it was such a simple thing to say, but it landed like truth.

he thought about hawkins then, about all the times he’d been so sure everyone else had some invisible map and he’d somehow missed the part where they handed it out. he thought about how easy it was to assume other people had answers just because they looked less lost.

and then he looked at you.

you, who had also come here on a whim. you, who had apparently arrived in this town looking for something and still hadn’t quite found it. you, who sat beside him on a rock with your feet in the lake and somehow seemed more certain of yourself than half the people he’d known his whole life.

“yeah,” he said quietly. “i guess you’d know.”

you raised an eyebrow. “that sounds suspiciously like a compliment.”

“it is.”

“wow.”

he smiled. “you’re weirdly one of the best people i’ve ever met.”

that made you laugh, bright and surprised.

“you’ve known me for, what, a day?”

“still counts.”

“that’s absurd.”

“maybe,” he said, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours, “but i’m a man of deep and careful judgment.”

“you bought a book yesterday even though you don’t read.”

“that was one time.”

you laughed again, and he decided right then and there that your laugh was one of his favorite sounds in the world, which felt wildly unfair considering how short a time he’d known you.

after that, the two of you became nearly inseparable.

steve found a part time temp job at a corner store a few streets over, mostly to help cover the motel and buy himself a little more time in town. he expected it to be miserable. instead, it turned out to be tolerable in that strangely comforting way life sometimes was when he stopped trying to control every part of it.

the motel clerk, a woman with tired eyes and a permanently unimpressed expression, somehow became one of the first people in town to make him feel vaguely at home.

she offered him a questionable cigarette every time he walked by the front desk, and he always declined, and she always looked vaguely offended by his refusal.

somehow that turned into a routine, and somewhere between the deadpan exchanges and her occasional snide comments about the quality of the town’s plumbing, they developed a sort of friendship. or at least something adjacent to one.

and you.

he spent as much time with you as he possibly could.

on his breaks, on your breaks, after shifts, on weekends, in the gaps between whatever tiny obligations the town demanded of either of you. you showed him the local diner that had the best pie and the worst coffee. he showed you how he could win any game of stupid trivia if the questions were about obscure movies, bad pop music, or useless sports facts. you took him to places tourists probably never bothered with, and he took you on walks just because he liked hearing you talk while the two of you wandered aimlessly under the open sky.

the more time he spent with you, the less he thought about hawkins.

not completely. never completely.

he still called robin and dustin almost every day, and the others whenever they had time. he still got texts from his neighbor back home complaining about a package left outside his apartment door or some letter that needed to be collected, and those reminders were enough to keep the existence of his old life from dissolving entirely. it didn’t disappear.

it just stopped feeling like the center of everything.

at first, he told himself he would leave next week.

then next week turned into another week.

and then another.

every time the thought of going back started poking at him, he’d picture your face and feel something in his chest drag warm and heavy and reluctant in the direction of staying.

so he extended his trip.

then extended it again.

and somewhere along the way, the excuses got less convincing.

he wasn’t fooling himself.

he knew exactly why he was still there.

and when he finally found the nerve to make your outings official dates, he nearly talked himself out of it three separate times before he actually asked. but you’d looked at him like he was the only person in the room and smiled that little smile of yours, and suddenly the word date felt less terrifying and more like the beginning of something he’d been trying not to hope for.

the kiss happened a little later than he wanted it to, which felt very rude of the universe, but when it finally did, he was absolutely done for.

it happened one evening by the water after the town had gone quiet and everything about it felt too perfect to be real.

he’d been talking about nothing and everything at once, one hand in his pocket, the other brushing against yours as you stood shoulder to shoulder. then you looked at him in that way you did sometimes, like you were waiting without pressure, and his nerves finally gave way to instinct.

he kissed you.

you kissed him back.

and then, because apparently his life enjoyed making him feel like he was seventeen again and hopelessly undone, he realised he had no idea how he was supposed to act normal after that.

he tried.

he failed.

spectacularly.

after that, it was impossible not to see that he’d become attached to the town, but not really to the town itself.

to you.

to the way your smile made the whole day feel softer. to the way your hand fit in his like it had been meant to be there all along. to the way you listened. to the way you made him feel like every ridiculous, tender, hopeful part of him was allowed to exist without apology. to the way he wanted to know everything about you. to the way he wanted you to know everything about him.

he tried, once, to tell you the truth about hawkins.

not all of it at first. just enough.

the things under the ground, the things in the dark, the way all of it had changed him.

he expected disbelief. maybe awkward laughter. maybe concern so sharp it would make him wish he’d never said anything.

instead, you just listened.

really listened.

your expression shifted, sure, but not into mockery. not into pity. just into something thoughtful.

and that frightened him more than laughter would have.

because no one outside the group had ever looked at him like that and seemed to believe him.

he didn’t want you in that world.

he didn’t want those monsters anywhere near you, anywhere near the soft little life you seemed to be building for yourself here. so he cut the story short. gave you the one demogorgon encounter, flattened the edges, and lied that he’d been drunk that night, just to make it sound more impossible.

he didn’t know why he lied.

maybe because if he told you the whole truth, it would become real again in a way he didn’t want.

maybe because you’d looked so calm and so unafraid that he suddenly wanted to protect that in you, even if it meant hiding parts of himself.

whatever the reason, you didn’t push.

you didn’t ask again.

and after that, the subject never came up between you.

he talked about the rest though.

about robin and dustin. about nancy and jonathan and the weird, chaotic, impossible little family he’d ended up with.

about how he sometimes missed everyone so much it felt like an ache he kept under his ribs.

and once, while he was mid-rant about some ridiculous thing dustin had done, he suddenly realised he’d been talking for far too long.

he stopped, embarrassed, ready to apologise for rambling.

but when he looked at you, you were smiling.

not politely. genuinely.

and you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

so he did.

because no one had really done that before. no one had ever wanted to hear him talk about the stupid stuff. about the little details. about the people he loved. about all the mess and noise of his life back home.

you did.

and every time you listened like that, something in him settled deeper.

the days passed.

then weeks.

and eventually, steve ended up unofficially staying at your apartment.

the motel room sat mostly untouched by then, his things slowly migrating across town until there wasn’t much left to bring back each night. the apartment was cozier, lived-in in a way that made the motel feel like a place he had merely passed through. it became normal to leave his shoes by your door, to find his toothbrush next to yours, to fall asleep on your couch half-watching whatever movie was playing and wake up with you curled against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you both claimed it was practical.

you said it saved him money, he said it made more sense than the motel.

which was true, technically.

but both of you knew, quietly and without needing to say it, that there was more to it than that.

neither of you wanted to lose the time you had left.

because by then, steve had started to understand something that scared him just a little.

it wasn’t just that he was falling for you, he already had, it was that being with you made staying feel less like a pause and more like a life.

and for someone who had spent so long feeling as if he was waiting to begin, that meant everything.

he still didn’t know what “it” was. that elusive thing he’d been chasing when he first left hawkins behind. the thing that had felt missing for so long.

but now, with your hand in his and your laugh in his ears and your apartment becoming the place he returned to every night, he was starting to think maybe the answer wasn’t some grand revelation after all.

maybe it was this.

maybe it was a town on the coast of lake michigan. maybe it was a thrift store hat and a sandwich you swore was the best in the country. maybe it was a museum he’d thought was boring until you walked up and changed everything. maybe it was the way you made a life out of small, ordinary things. maybe it was the way you looked at him like he was worth staying for.

and maybe, just maybe, steve harrington had finally stumbled into the place where he was supposed to be, even if he’d found it by accident.

-

you and steve still weren’t official, not really, but by then it didn’t feel like it mattered much in the usual sense.

you had both settled into something quiet and comfortable and so constant that it was starting to look suspiciously like a relationship anyway.

it was in the way he came back to your place without thinking twice. in the way you left a space for him on the couch. in the way his toothbrush lived beside yours and his jacket ended up on your chair and neither of you ever seemed to question it. you weren’t seeing anyone else. he knew that, and he was pretty sure you knew that too. there was no point pretending otherwise. whatever this was, it had long since become more than a passing thing.

and then, eventually, the temp role at his job ran out.

the end of it had been sitting in the back of his mind for weeks, a little quiet dread he kept trying to ignore. but time, annoyingly, had a way of moving forward whether he was ready or not, and suddenly the inevitable was standing right in front of him.

it was time to go back home.

or it should have been, anyway.

the two of you spent days in bed after that, as if neither of you wanted to say the words out loud where they could become real.

you talked for hours with your legs tangled together and your voices soft from lack of sleep. you talked about how much you would miss each other, like saying it enough times might make it hurt less. you promised to keep in touch. to call. to text. to make it work. you made plans that felt flimsy and hopeful and impossible all at once.

and yet, even while he said all the right things, steve could feel something in him resisting.

the thought of leaving made his chest feel tight in a way that had nothing to do with nerves.

because the longer he lay there beside you, the more obvious it became that he didn’t want to go.

and more than that, he didn’t have to.

so when you were at work one afternoon, steve spent the first proper day to himself in a while. no company. no distractions. no easy excuses. just him and his thoughts and a whole lot of silence.

he ended up on a random bench somewhere near the water, staring out at nothing in particular while his mind spun in circles.

he had left hawkins because he was searching for something.

he’d come here on a whim, with no real plan, and somehow landed exactly where he was supposed to be. first try. no detours that mattered. no dead ends. just this town and this life and you.

surely that was too good to be true, right?

surely he wasn’t supposed to believe the universe handed him the answer that easily.

but maybe that was exactly what had happened.

maybe you weren’t too good to be true, maybe you were just good.

maybe that was all there was to it. maybe after everything he’d been through, the universe had finally decided to stop fighting him for five damn seconds. maybe the fact that both of you had spent so long feeling uncertain about who you were supposed to be had pulled you together in the first place, like two missing pieces of something neither of you could name until you fit.

he sat with that thought for a long time.

long enough for the afternoon to shift. long enough for the sky to change. long enough for the answer to settle into him with a kind of calm certainty he hadn’t felt in years.

he wasn’t going back.

or rather, he wasn’t going back now.

not because hawkins was wrong, exactly. not because he didn’t love the people there, or because he had nothing left behind him. but because for the first time, he had something in front of him that felt real enough to stay for.

and it was you.

so he stood up, brushed off his jeans, and headed straight to the museum.

he waited outside for all of five minutes before your shift ended, and when you stepped out and spotted him leaning against the wall with that familiar look on his face, you stopped short.

then your expression softened into a pleasantly surprised smile, and you made your way over to him like you’d been looking for him too.

“hi” you said, already smiling.

“hey.”

“you’re here.”

he shrugged a little, trying and failing to seem casual. “couldn’t wait to see you.”

that made you laugh, quiet and warm, and the sound eased something in his chest before either of you had even started walking.

the two of you got ice cream on the way home, because steve insisted it was necessary and because you humored him the way you always did when he got a little too earnest about something pointless. the walk back was slow and easy, your shoulders brushing now and then, the kind of ordinary moment that somehow felt enormous to him.

he looked at you beside him and felt it again, that strange and certain sense of rightness.

not because the town itself had become important. not because the museum or the shops or the lake had suddenly turned magical.

just because you were there.

and somehow that was enough to make him feel like he belonged.

that night, the two of you ended up on the couch together, as usual, the apartment quiet around you except for the low murmur of some movie neither of you was really watching. steve kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, his nerves building in that familiar frustrating way that always showed up when he had something important to say.

you noticed, of course. you always noticed.

eventually you turned your head and gave him a look. “what?”

he exhaled through his nose, almost laughing at himself. “can i ask you something?”

you arched a brow. “that sounds dramatic.”

“i’m being serious.”

“that’s worse.”

he groaned under his breath, then sat up a little straighter, suddenly aware of how fast his heart was beating.

“okay,” he said, “i know we’ve kind of... already been doing this.”

you smiled faintly, waiting.

“but i was wondering,” he continued, “if you’d maybe let me be yours. officially.”

you stared at him for a second.

then you gave him this skeptical look that made him immediately worry he’d misread everything for the last several weeks.

and then you smiled.

big and bright and impossible.

before he could even process it, you’d climbed straight into his lap, hands framing his face as you kissed him with the kind of certainty that made his whole body go warm and loose all at once.

when you finally pulled back, he was pretty sure he had forgotten how to breathe.

“yes” you said, voice soft and amused.

he blinked at you. “yes?”

“yes, steve.”

he laughed, half in relief and half in disbelief, his hands settling carefully at your waist like he was still trying to convince himself you were real.

“good” he muttered.

you smiled against his mouth again before kissing him once more, slower this time, and when you finally rested your forehead against his, he felt something in him settle so completely it almost hurt.

that was when he said it.

the truth, quietly, like it was the most important thing he’d ever admitted.

“i found what i was looking for here.”

you went still, just enough for him to feel it.

he swallowed once, then corrected himself with a small, helpless smile. “not here. just... with you.”

for a second, you didn’t say anything then you kissed him again, soft and sure, and when you pulled back this time your forehead stayed pressed to his.

“good” you whispered, and there was something almost shaking in the way you smiled. “because i was really hoping you were going to say that. otherwise i was about to pack up and follow you back to hawkins.”

he barked out a laugh, startled and delighted all at once. “you’d do that?”

“i’m being romantic.”

he laughed harder then, the sound breaking something open in both of you, and soon you were laughing too, your hands still on his face like you couldn’t quite let go.

then, slowly, the laughter faded into something softer.

something calmer.

you shifted against him and the two of you curled together on the couch, wrapped up in each other in that natural, inevitable way that made it feel like you had always belonged there.

the tv kept murmuring in the background.

the apartment stayed warm and quiet around you.

and for the first time since leaving hawkins, steve didn’t feel like he was waiting for his life to begin.

it was already happening.

you both fell asleep like that, tangled together and still smiling a little even in your sleep, with one thing settled between you without needing to be said again.

you would figure it out together.

it didn’t matter if he stayed here and got a permanent job at the store, or sold his apartment back in hawkins and made this place home, or went back someday and found something different there, or ended up somewhere entirely new.

none of that mattered as much as this did.

because with you by his side, steve felt sure he could handle whatever came next.

that was what he had been searching for all this time.

not some perfect answer. not a map. not a life already planned out.

just someone to manage it all with.

and somehow, impossibly, he had found that in you.

-