You were a second year resident transferred from Indiana. You had a good head on your shoulders and although you were new, you got everyone's good side and became a friend to all pretty quickly. Outside of that, you were beautiful. Your physical presence was enough to brighten a room. It was a shock to the staff that you didn't have a boyfriend. Hence, the nurse taking it upon themselves to find you one.

"Um, what about Carter?"

"Oh yeah! Carter has been single for some time. He'd be perfect. I think she likes him too."

Just then, you come in for your shift, noticing the nurses around the table. They all look at you, raising your suspicions. "Good evening, ladies."

They say good evening one after the other. Some pretend to flip through magazines and news papers, while the others drink some coffee. You head to your locker to get changed. "Was I interrupting?"

They start giving each other a look determining whether or not to tell you. Then Chuny speaks, "Hypothetically, would you date somebody from the hospital?"

"Hm, I think so," You shrug, "I'm here all the time so I'm bound to meet somebody."

"What about somebody in this department?" Lydia asks next.

"Oh, compelling but I think that's where I draw the line. Not many fish in the pond and the few free one there are have no interest in being caught." You chuckle at your own joke.

"What about Carter?"

"What about him?" You scoff, "He's one of the ones not interested."

"What do you mean? He's single right now, you could ask him out."

"Just because I can ask him out doesn't mean he will say yes." You adjust your collar in the mirror of your locker, "Besides, I'm not his type."

"Not his type? Carter's type is just being drop dead gorgeous."

"And blonde, and pale, with rosy cheeks and long eyelashes with dazzling blue eyes." You say. The nurses clam up at your description as for the last few girls he has brought around they matched that exact description, "So, I don't think I even have a chance."

"But if you did?"

"If I did… then yes, I would ask him out."

"You should at least try."

"Why?" You rolls your eyes, "Why should I ask when I already know the outcome? I'm not his type."

"Not whose type?" Carter enters the lounge to begin his shift. He goes to the counter to pour himself some coffee.

"Uh… Chuny is trying to set me up with some guy from surgery. I met him once but I don't think it'll work out."

"Oh I might know him, I can put in a good word for you."

"No! I mean, it's not a big deal, I'm not his type so it doesn't matter." You check your watch, "I gotta punch in." You quickly leave the lounge,

Carter looks to the nurses, "Who's the guy?"

They look among themselves and snicker to each other until they leave one by one. Chuny is the last to leave, getting up to dump her coffee in the sink, "It wasn't a guy from surgery."

"Who was it?" He leans in curiously.

"Why don't you ask her, Carter, since you're so interested." She then walks past him and back to the ER.

You look through charts for the night, picking up a few. Carter comes up behind you trying to think of what to say to ask. You don't notice his presence behind you and bump into him when you turn around. "Jesus, Carter. What are you doing standing right there?"

"So, this surgeon, what makes you think you're not his type. I mean, you're a catch."

"Thank you… I didn't think you would care so much." You walk around the desk to curtain 5.

"Just color me curious." He shrugs.

"Curiosity killed the cat." You warn.

"Humor me."

"Fine, he's a creature of habit. I know the last three women he dated were blondes.

"But wait you said you only met him once."

"County is a rumor mill. I heard it from one of the nurses." You wave your hand around.

Carter narrows his eyes then they widen in realization. It was him you were talking about. The last 3 women he went out with were blonde. They all met him at the hospital before going out. All during the same shifts he had with you.

"It could just be a coincidence." He says, "You shouldn't write him off for that."

"Right, I should go up there right now and convince him to be attracted to me. What a good waste of my time." You give a feigned smile, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have patients." You enter the room leaving him in the dust.

Carter's heart wilts as he watches you through the glass of the door. He was attracted to you. You were gorgeous in his eyes. Your eyes, your smile, your skin, your hair. He could stare at you for hours. And on occasion has done that. Being your senior he couldn't make a move it was irresponsible but god, did he want to. Today was the day he was willing to risk it all to convince you.

When you come out of the room back to the clerk desk, Carter tries talking to you again. "You know, I think you believe you're not his type when in actuality, you are afraid of rejection."

"I am not." You scoff, "I just think, we aren't compatible."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. He's smart, empathetic, very charming."

"He sounds ideal."

"He's dismissive sometimes and a tad abrasive."

"Okay but nobody's perfect. If he's not compatible to you with all of that then who is?"

"Hm, maybe someone not bothering me during the work day?" You retort.

"Oof, low blow. Look, I am just trying help you out," He smirks, "I think you'd feel better if you said something to him."

"And what should I say? 'Hey, I know I'm not what you're looking for but go out with me anyway'" You pretend to gag, "Do you not hear how desperate that sounds?"

You shake your head realizing your hypothetical was conflating as you spoke. This surgeon did not exist and yet you spoke as if he was. It was Carter. You were talking about him. Carter was talking about himself. You furrow your brows and shoot a glare at Carter. He simply smiles back at you. "You have a better way with words than that." And with that he walks away.

Later in the night, you are sitting the suture room stitching up a drunken frequent flyer. Finally free of Carter's watchful gaze you get a moment alone with your thoughts. You had never had your love life in the forefront of your mind like tonight.

It was a petty crush on him that you were just getting over. Now, he was bothering you, making your heart race and teasing you about it. You cringe and mutter to yourself as you replay the moments from earlier.

The door to the suture room opens and Carter peeks his head, "Everything okay in here?"

"Mhm. He's out like a light." You whisper as you continue. He moves closer to inspect your work.

"One more thing about the surgeon—"

"Oh my god, Carter, there is no surgeon. I made him up because I was embarrassed to talk about my very sad love life." You sigh.

"Alright… I won't bring it up again." He steps back but he doesn't leave.

"Carter please—"

"I knew there was no surgeon." He blurts out. You raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"What do you mean, you knew? How did you know?"

"Well, I figured it out." He shrugs, "3 dates, all blonde. Charming but abrasive…"

"Oh my god… Were you trying to get me to confess to you?!" You snatch off your gloves and cover your face then just your mouth.

"A little yeah." He smiles smugly, "Look, I will admit I do have a predisposition to blonde women but nobody can compare to you and I am attracted to you."

"You're pitying me."

"No, I mean it." He says, "You're very beautiful. Anybody with eyes could see that. Just because I have dated a few women that look alike doesn't mean I wouldn't date someone like you."

You are still skeptical. You narrow your eyes, "Are the nurses out there? Is this a set up?"

"No! This isn't a prank." He chuckles, "Why do you think so low of me?"

"Because you and everybody else in the hospital is crazy." You pout, "I think you're getting back at me for judging you."

"I don't care about that," He grabs your hand, "I'm more upset that you think you don't have a chance," with his other hand he caresses your face, "You know sometimes I like to watch you suture because you're so pretty when you're focused."

"Really?"

"Yes," His eyes dance around your face, "You make my heart race. I get nervous around you. I want to impress you all the time."

"Sure you do." You roll your eyes sarcastically.

"No, it's true." He bites his bottom lip, "So go ahead and ask me."

"Ask you?" You laugh nervously, "Ask you what?"

"Ask me out on a date."

"Carter please." You try to slip out of his grasp but he pulls you closer. His thumb rubs against your bottom lip.

"Then I will." He leans in, "Would you do me the honor of going out with me?"

"Carter…" Your face is burning up, you are only a few inches apart.

"You're not saying no." He whispers.

You lower your resolve and press your lips against his. His hand moves from your hand to your waist towards the small of your back. His other stats on your face as he deepens the kiss.

You pull away to catch your breath. "So, what do you say?" He whispers

"I'd love to," You smile, "Prove me wrong and not because you want to show boat."

"Are y'all done makin' out on top of me." The patient mumbles, "I wanna go home."

"Sorry, sir. You're almost done." You whisper to him. You then look back at Carter and the two of you giggle.

"Tomorrow. Lunch at Gino's." He walks to the trauma door, "I'll pick you up."

"I see you then." He flashes you a wink before leaving you to finish.

When you come out of the suture room most of the nurses from the lounge earlier are in the hall. As you pass, you see them smile and giggle at you. "Alright, you guys were right. I am his type.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

Perhaps it was because you had always been a helper, and it felt good knowing that people were comfortable enough to come up to you and ask for such help.

But what you really loved about it was the outcome.

When the person you helped came to you afterwards and excitedly told you how they had aced their test, or how they had gotten a good mark on their assignment, it filled you with a quiet sense of pride. Not exactly for yourself, but for them. For their success, for their improvement. And because you had done that, you had helped them get to that success.

So naturally, you signed up to become an official tutor at the Hawkins High School Tutoring Centre.

It became apart of your routine. Staying after school to tutor someone, or having to come to their house to do so. Either way, you never really minded. All that really mattered was that you helped them not to dread class so much anymore, to help them to not have to scratch their head while looking at the work because they just didn't get it.

So of course, now in your sophomore year, you didn't mind when the coordinator of the centre informed you that a new person had been added to your roster. However, you didn't know who this person was because the arrangement had been last minute since the person's original tutor had been unable to do so, so he wasn't officially on your schedule yet. All that you knew was that he was a guy in the year above who had apparently been holding off getting tutored for a long time. This made you assume this guy was going to be a bit hard to work with, but you were always able to manage.

It had been thirty minutes since school ended when you sat in the library, waiting for this person to show up with your stationery already set out on the table. This person was already late, and should have already been at the table with you fifteen minutes ago.

You were thinking about the meatloaf you were going to have for dinner tonight when the doors of the library swung open, abruptly cutting off your thoughts and startling you. You looked up as the librarian glared at the culprit at the door, pressing a pointy finger to her lips.

And the culprit was the last person you expected to walk into a library of all places.

Steve Harrington.

As in Steve "The Hair" Harrington, also known as King Steve.

The kind of person who threw a raging party every Saturday, the kind of person who misbehaved in class because they knew there would be no real consequences, and the kind of person who would only ever be at school after hours for basketball practice.

So why the hell was Steve Harrington in the library of Hawkins High after school hours?

And why was he looking straight at you?

He didn't look happy by any means. He was obviously annoyed by whatever was plaguing him, and you grew nervous as he approached you while still wearing his irritated expression.

He came to a stop in front of your table, and you swallowed anxiously under his intimidating stare, starting to fiddle with the ends of your sleeves as a nervous habit.

"Are you Y/N L/N?" He asked flatly.

You blinked. "Yes. Can I help you?"

"You're supposed to apparently, you're my... tutor," said Steve, his face scrunching up as if the word physically hurt him.

Somehow, you had known from the second he had walked in with that look on his face, yet your stomach still dropped with dread when he said it.

You were happy to tutor anyone, but anyone didn't include Steve Harrington. It was something you had never worried about, because how were you supposed to assume that one day you would have to tutor King Steve out of all people?

You schooled your expression to the best of your abilities, and you recollected yourself as you nodded. "I see. Well... sit down, and we can get started."

You tried to say it kindly, but you immediately regretted doing so when he mumbled something grumpily under his breath as he reluctantly sat on the same table on you, pointedly choosing the seat furthest from you. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, and you had a feeling that was an urge you would need to resist often.

You cursed the coordinator of the centre for setting up this arrangement. Clearly, this person didn't know anything about how you and Steve couldn't be any more different, because you truly were polar opposites.

While he played beer pong at house parties, you were studying. While he goofed off in class, you paid attention and completed all of your work. While he was at basketball practice, you were tutoring. While he always had a rowdy table at lunch, you had a quiet and calm one.

There was a spectrum, and you both sat at the opposite ends of it.

You just hoped you could swiftly help Steve pass a test so that it would be over as soon as possible.

***

After just one week, you could tell you were going to be tortured with tutoring Steve Harrington for a while.

To put it nicely, he... lacked concentration, and perhaps lacked a lot more. You really didn't think he was stupid, he just couldn't focus on what he needed to.

Only after two sessions, you had noticed that while you talked, he simply didn't listen and clearly didn't even try to. He always had a faraway look in his eyes, like he was thinking about the party he was throwing that weekend, or what he was having for dinner. Sometimes he was clearly present in the moment, he just still chose not to take in a single word of yours. One time, he started to balance a pencil on his nose while you were explaining the math equation he needed to solve, and it had taken him ten minutes to realise you had stopped talking.

He was already by far the most difficult person you had tutored, and so far, you were lost on how to get through to him.

You didn't even know how or why he was in the tutoring program. He had made it clear since day one that he didn't want to be tutored by you, and he hadn't once shown an ounce of effort in any of your sessions. Maybe he had gotten pressured by his parents, that wasn't an uncommon reason behind kids coming to the tutoring centre. But then you had heard rumours that his parents was always out of town and that's why he was always able to throw parties, so if they were never there, why would they pressure him to do such things?

You didn't know, and you didn't really want to. You had no interest in Steve Harrington's life, no matter how handsome or charming he was. He wasn't all that interesting.

Nevertheless, you were still being forced into his life one way or another, so much so that you ended up with plans to go to his house on Sunday.

It had been during the usual tutoring session tucked away in the corner of the library, you overviewing your notes for your own work while he was supposed to be reading the textbook laid out in front of him. Of course, he was instead staring out of the window longingly, like he wished to be outdoors instead of stuck inside with you.

"Do we always have to do this in the library?" He asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You looked up, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, is it necessary to be in the library for all of this stuff?" He rephrased.

"Well... yeah. A library is the best place to study and get work done," you said, confused on why this wasn't obvious to him.

"Yeah, but... someone could walk in," he said quietly.

Oh, so that's what it was about. He didn't want someone to walk in and see him actually studying, something that was considered weird and nerdy for people like him. Or more specifically, he didn't want to be seen with you.

You sighed, and propped your chin on the palm of your hand. "Then where do you suggest we go if not a library?"

"I don't know, just like... not at school," said Steve, avoiding your gaze.

"Well, you could come to my house or I could come to yours. I've done that with other people when they weren't able to study at school either," you said.

He blinked. "You want me to come to your house?"

"Yeah, so I can tutor you. If that doesn't work, then we can go the public library or-"

"No, just..." he trailed off, seeming to consider it before sighing, running a hand through his hair that you couldn't help but look at. "My parents are out of town this weekend. You can come over on Sunday if you really want."

You were secretly glad he suggested his house. You didn't want Steve coming over and judging your house that was very much not a mansion like his probably was.

"Sounds like a plan," you said dryly. "What time do you want me to come over?"

"I don't know like... two o'clock?" Said Steve.

"Works for me," you said unenthusiastically, and he seemed just as eager as you were as he ripped some paper from his notebook and wrote his address on it, giving it to you.

"Don't take this the wrong way but can you please not tell anyone about this?" Steve asked.

You didn't resist this time, and let yourself freely roll your eyes. "Don't worry, I don't want anyone knowing about this either Harrington."

His eyes flashed with surprise, and you tried not to feel too satisfied as you had clearly startled him with that.

The rest of the week passed quicker than you would've liked it to, and before you knew it, you were climbing onto your bicycle with your bag on your back and his address in your hand. It was a longer ride than you had anticipated, and you soon realised why your houses were so far away from each others as you entered his neighbourhood, which was lined with rich houses and fancy cars in driveways, a stark contrast to your neighbourhood that was filled with actual life instead of excessively big, soulless properties.

You finally pulled up to Steve's house, and suddenly the nerves inside you increased tenfold. You certainly didn't want to be alone with Steve Harrington in his house that was go-to place for high school parties you were never invited to. But you were a tutor, this was your job, so you had to pull through. You were determined to get Steve to at least pass one of his subjects.

You took a deep breath before you approached the house and knocked on the door. You stood there for a few minutes with no answer, so you knocked again, and only a minute after that, the door swung open.

Steve looked like he had just rolled out of bed with rumpled clothes and hair that was tousled, out of its usual polished state, a sight that felt a bit shocking to see as he was well known for his perfect hair.

He blinked as if he was surprised to see you, and then he said, "I forgot you were coming."

Despite your nerves, you were able to remain cool and unbothered on the outside as you shot him a deadpanned look, sarcastically replying, "flattering."

He sighed. "I didn't mean it like that, I just- sorry, I know you've come all this way, but I can't do the whole tutoring thing today. I've got a killer headache, so I'm in not in a good state to study."

You actually did believe that he had a headache, but you had a feeling he was leaving out some details.

"Are you hungover?"

A pause.

"No," Steve scoffed.

But his hesitation had already answered your question.

"Have you made a hangover smoothie?"

He frowned. "Hangover smoothie?"

"You don't do that sort of stuff? My sister always did when she was in high school," you said. "Do you have a blender?"

"I... don't think so?"

"God, for someone who always goes to parties, you don't seem well equipped for your hangovers," you said quietly, but he heard it all the same, and he looked at you incredulously.

"I can't study," Steve repeated firmly, probably a way of trying to get you to leave.

But you only tilted your head. "I think you can."

"What?"

"Just drink lots of water, and we can get started," you said with a sweet smile.

"This is ridiculous, you can't-"

"But I can, because I'm your tutor, and you can be as difficult as you want, but I'm not giving up on you. So, are you going to let me in, or should I tutor you at school this week?" You asked.

Steve stared at you in bewilderment, like he couldn't even fathom the fact that someone was saying no to him, that someone was going against what he wanted.

He seemed to realise that you weren't going away anytime soon, so he widened the door, and you smiled with satisfaction as you stepped into the threshold, shoulder brushing against his as you walked further into his house.

Your confidence diminished as you followed Steve into his fancy kitchen, awkwardly standing in silence while he had a water in a glass that had probably been expensive, like most items likely were in the house by how everything looked, but you tried not to pay too much attention to it all.

He then led upstairs to his bedroom, and you tried not to show your surprise at the size of it, at the king-sized bed in the middle of the room, the shiny basketball trophies that lined the shelves, and the ensuite connected to the room.

It reminded you of how much of a typical jock he was, and how you were supposed to tutor this certain jock.

"Get started with it then," said Steve unenthusiastically, flopping onto his bed. When he noticed you weren't moving, he said, "you can sit down, y'know."

You cleared your throat awkwardly before sitting on the edge of his bed that you noticed immediately was very soft. Still, you didn't let yourself get too comfortable as you shifted your bag to your lap, undoing the zip and starting to unload your stuff.

Soon enough, there were books and pens scattered on the bed, both of you sitting opposite each other. He at least had a notebook opened in front of him with pen in his hand, but that was where it ended, while you explained the key points of the Civil Rights Movement for his history class.

"Are you hungry?" He interrupted you to ask. "I am."

You gave him a confused look. "Um... I guess I could eat, why?"

"I'll go get a snack!" He said eagerly, jumping up from the bed, "do you like potato chips?"

"Yeah...?"

"Great, I'll be back," said Steve, bounding out of the room, leaving you confused by his sudden hospitality.

When he was gone for longer than necessary just to get chips, you realised he was just making an excuse to not do his work, and it made your irritation grow. You needed to come up with a new strategy to get the information for the work through his head.

He eventually came back with a bag of chips that he sat between you so that you could share, but he still ate most of them as you focused on trying to make him learn. It became even more annoying to do so when he kept crinkling the bag obnoxiously and chewing excessively, all while sat in a stupid position on his side while leaning on his elbow.

And then you got an idea.

Just as he reached out for more chips, you snatched the bag out of his reach and placed it next to you.

Steve looked at you, clearly affronted. "You didn't have to take the whole thing if you wanted some."

"I made some flash cards for you," you said, ignoring what he said.

"Oh, great," he said sarcastically.

You shot him a look as you reached into your bag to pull out the pile of flashcards stuck together with a paper clip.

"Here's how we'll do this. For every answer you get right, you get a chip," you told him. "If you get it wrong, well, you just won't get anything."

He narrowed his eyes. "That's just stupid. I could easily get those back."

"Okay, then go ahead."

He held your challenging gaze before moving abruptly to try and startle you, reaching for the bag. But you were faster, taking the bag before he could touch it and placing it on your other side.

His mouth parted. "That was good luck."

"Just answer the flash cards Harrington, and you can get as many as you want," you said. "Only if you get them right though."

Steve groaned, running his hands over his face before he said, "fine, then shoot."

You smiled, pleased, and read out the first flash card. "What does the atomic number of an atom tell you?"

Steve was silent for a moment. "Uh, say that again?"

You repeated it, then he narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously.

"I thought we were doing history," he said accusingly.

"We were, but now we're doing science. I guess I didn't think you'd realise since you don't listen to anything I say," you said coolly.

Steve raised his eyebrows, and got off his elbows, sitting up. "Alright, so we're not holding back today."

"Why would I? I'm serious about tutoring you, Steve," you said while looking into his eyes, saying his first name for the first time without realising it. A smirk then tugged at his lips, and he subtly grew more confident.

"Atomic number... um... it tells you how heavy the atom is, or something?" He guessed.

"Incorrect," you said flatly, "but at least you tried. The atomic number of an atom tells you how many protons there are in the nucleus."

Steve frowned. "What does that even mean?"

"The nucleus of an atom is the centre of the atom, and it consists of the protons and neutrons," you explained, and at his lost expression, you added, "I can draw you a diagram-"

"No, just... next question," said Steve with a slight grimace.

You obliged, and went to the next card. "How many electrons are found in the first, second and third shells of an atom?"

"Jesus Christ," Steve murmured, rubbing his temple.

Feeling a stab of sympathy for him, you said softly, "want a hint?"

"Obviously."

"There are two found in the first shell, and the second and third are the same," you told him. "Well, it depends on which rule you're using, but we'll just use one for this one."

"I don't know, okay?" Steve snapped, still rubbing his temple. "We both know I don't know shit."

You deflated at his outburst, and you bit your lip, reading over the flash cards.

"Let's try this one, it's easy," you said gently. "What is the central part of an atom?"

Steve shot you a glare. "I don't-"

"I just said it," you told him encouragingly, "when I was explaining the answer to the first question. Think back on what I said."

Steve furrowed his eyebrows, "I..."

"I offered to draw a diagram of it."

You waited patiently as Steve went into deep thought, and then he blurted out, "the nucleus!"

You grinned. "Yes! That's right?"

Steve's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really! Good job, Harrington, I knew you had it in you," you said happily.

"Thanks. Now, can I have my chips back?”

"Oh, right," you handed the packet back to Steve, and he took it back eagerly, digging into the bag enthusiastically. You snorted, and he sent you a sharp look with no real bite.

"You haven't had any yet, have some," Steve offered, holding it out.

"I'm fine, thank you," you said politely.

"You said you could eat, so eat," Steve insisted, and you let out a little laugh before giving in and taking one.

"You know, it's not that you don't know shit, it's that you don't pay attention," you said. "If you just simply did that, you would know much more."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Tell me more about it later," said Steve, bored by school talk. "What's your favourite chip flavour?"

To your own surprise, you went along with the change of topic. "Salt and vinegar."

His face scrunched up in disgust. "Are you serious?"

"What's wrong with salt and vinegar?" You said defensively.

"Everything. It makes my tongue feel weird, and I hate the smell," said Steve. "It's disgusting."

"No it's not! What's your favourite then if you're such an expert?" You inquired.

"Chicken's good."

It was your turn to grimace. "Yeah, you're the last person who should be judging my favourite flavour."

Steve's jaw dropped. "You don't like chicken?"

"It's got a weird smell to it," you said.

"Salt and vinegar is the one with a weird smell!" Steve said furiously, and instead of snapping back at him, you couldn't help but burst into laughter.

Surprise flickered across his face at your laughter, before he was unable to stop himself from laughing with you. It felt so out of the ordinary to be genuinely laughing with Steve Harrington on a Sunday, a moment that you felt like you shouldn't have belonged in.

And when the ring of the telephone on his bedside table cut through the sound of your combined laughter, the moment vanished, and you no longer belonged.

"I'll get that," said Steve, sobering and jumping off the bed to reach the phone, taking it off the stand and holding it to his ear.

The awkwardness crept back into you as you sat in silence, trying to mind your own business as you looked down at the books set out in front of you. Still, you couldn't help but pay attention to Steve's conversation.

"Oh, hey Nance!" He said eagerly, and you blinked at the change in his voice. "Mhm... yeah, of course, I would love to. How could I ever say no?" He laughed then, and you could hear the muffled voice on the other end. "Yeah, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. See you then."

You were picking at the skin on your fingers by the time he put the phone back down on the stand, and you reluctantly looked up as he turned to you.

"Hey, so uh-"

"You have plans with your girlfriend?" You said it before he could, raising your eyebrows.

"Well... yeah," said Steve sheepishly. "So unfortunately, we're going to have to cut this short."

"I don't think you find that unfortunate," you said knowingly, getting off the bed and starting to gather your stuff.

"Yeah, I don't," he admitted shamelessly. "No one does homework on a Sunday anyway."

"People with good grades do," you said pointedly, and Steve's eyebrows furrowed at the jab. Yes, it was a little harsh, but you had realised by now that you needed to be harsh if you wanted to get your point across. You straightened up, looking him in the eyes. "Harrington, you can't cut a tutoring session short just because your girlfriend wants to hang out with you."

Annoyance spread across his face. "Why not?"

"Because that's not how it works," you said snappishly, getting irritated with his obliviousness. "We were finally getting somewhere, and then you just ditched it with no second thought. You signed up for this, so you need to pull your head out of your ass and go through with it."

Steve scowled. "For the record, I didn't sign up for this, my dad did, so you should know I'm not doing this willingly. Even if I was, I'm not going to ditch my girlfriend to be tutored by another girl in my own house."

"Doesn't she know you're getting tutored?"

"No, no one does!" He blurted out, and you blinked. "The whole thing's pointless. Seriously, you really don't need to do this. You know my girlfriend is really smart? She can just tutor me instead, and she's happy to do so."

"Maybe you should've told your dad that before he signed you up," you said coldly.

"You don't think I- you know what, it's none of your business. You should just give it up, because you should know by now that this isn't going anywhere," said Steve heatedly, and you clenched your fists, biting your tongue so that you wouldn't say something you'd regret.

You packed the rest of your stuff and zipped your bag with an angry sigh. You hoisted your bag onto your back and went for the door, desperate to get out of the house.

But then you paused by the door, gripping the doorframe tightly as you looked at Steve who was glaring at the ground.

"You don't understand that I'm not giving up, Harrington. This might be an arrangement neither of us like, but I'm going to help you no matter what, because that's what I do. You shouldn't doubt yourself so much," your voice became quieter the more you spoke, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

You turned before you could see him look at you, and you hastily left the house.

***

The next tutoring session in the library was awkward and mostly silent. You had tried to explain the work to him for the first fifteen minutes, but when you realised he was never going to listen, you stopped talking and looked at your notes instead. You gave him a textbook that you told him to read even as that was something the both of you knew he wasn't going to do. You spent the whole session trying to think of what to do about him, how you could get him to just listen to you.

It was at the end when he broke the silence.

"About the other day..." he started, and you looked at him too quickly, with too much hope. "I just... you know who my girlfriend is, right?"

Oh, so it was just about his girlfriend instead of an apology. You didn't know why you were expecting more.

But of course you knew his girlfriend. Nancy Wheeler, a pretty, smart girl who nearly beat your top grade in the class, and sometimes did when you lagged behind on work due to tutoring. She was quiet but kind, and never did a thing wrong it seemed. You weren't friends with her, but you liked her with the exception of the times she got a higher mark than you, and jealousy would flare up inside you without being able to help it.

You didn't know how someone like her was able to put up with Steve.

"Yeah. She's really nice," you replied.

Steve smiled, a soft look in his eyes you had never seen before. "Yeah, I know."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

"I just want to ask you to not tell her about this... whole tutoring thing. Or anyone, for that matter. I don't want her to know because it's a bad look for me to be spending so much time with another girl," he explained.

"But I'm just tutoring you," you said with confusion.

"Yeah, but still," Steve shrugged.

You didn't hold back from rolling your eyes this time.

"And I don't want anyone knowing I'm getting tutored either. They might think I'm a nerd," said Steve, and then gave you an apologetic look. "No offence."

"None taken," you said sarcastically.

"Anyway, is that all okay?" He asked.

You sighed. "Yes, it is. I haven't told anyone anyway, and I don't plan to. My goal is just to get you to pass one test, and then you can be free."

"One test?" He repeated.

"Yes."

"It doesn't have to be an A or anything?"

"No, just a pass, even if barely," you said.

Steve nodded like he was accepting a challenge, leaning back in his seat. "Deal."

You hated how a small smile twitched at your lips. "Deal."

That next Sunday, Steve came over to your house instead. Leading up to it, you had been a nervous wreck.

People came over to your house all the time for tutoring, it had become normal for you, and you never minded it. But it was different with Steve, because he was different from all of the other people you had tutored. You had seen his big house, you knew he was rich just by looking into his driveway, so he was more likely to judge.

It wasn't that you were poor. You and your family were comfortable, but not rich, and you had a feeling Steve had only ever been around rich. You were the type of person who still only had a bike because you were saving up for a car, while he was the type to have his car bought for him.

You also just had wildly different interests, so yeah, you were pretty fucking scared.

You sat in your kitchen while your mum moved around you, biting your nails while you waited for Steve to come. You had deep cleaned your bedroom, and cleaned other parts of the house just to be safe.

You hated how much Steve Harrington was stressing you out.

"I think your new student is here," your mum said, looking through the window.

You jumped up at once, and joined her by the window, spotting Steve's burgundy BMW parked outside of your house.

Your mum raised her eyebrows. "He must be borrowing his dad's car.”

"No, that's his car," you said weakly.

She blinked. "Oh, wow. Okay."

You watched Steve get out of the car, subconsciously observing the navy jacket he was wearing over a polo shirt, along with his famous jeans that always fit him just right.

You blinked, startled by your own thoughts, and distracted yourself by heading for the door to greet Steve.

"Don't be weird!" You called out to your mum.

"I'm never weird!" She called back. That was a lie.

You opened the front door before Steve even reached it, and you internally winced at your eagerness.

He seemed to notice it by the slight raise of his eyebrows, but thankfully, he didn't say anything.

"Hey," he said casually as he approached you.

"Hi," you said blandly.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and you were about to ask him what was funny until he spoke. "You know, you always speak in this tone."

You frowned. "Tone? What tone?"

"Like, this flat tone, and you're blunt too," he explained. At your skeptical look, he rushed to say, "not in a bad way, it doesn't have to be bad. Except for when you're like, insulting me."

"I don't insult you."

"You literally did this time last week."

"Just because someone's saying the truth, doesn't mean it's an insult Harrington," you said sweetly.

He clicked and pointed at you. "See? That's it, right there!"

"That wasn't an insult."

"No, but it was blunt."

You rolled your eyes, albeit a smile tugged at your lips against your will.

"Just come in, we've got work to do," you said, widening the door and stepping aside for him to come through.

"Yes ma'am," said Steve, stepping into the threshold, and you failed to keep your smile from widening.

Your smile dropped when you were reminded of your fears as you noticed him looking around your home, and you started to pick at your fingers.

"My bedroom's just upstairs," you said quietly, about to lead him to your room until your mum appeared with a wide smile.

"Hello! You must be Steve!" Your mum greeted brightly. She introduced herself by her first name, and you wanted to sink into a hole.

"Nice to meet you," said Steve politely, seeming taken aback from your mum's energy. But there was nothing judgemental on his face, just... surprise.

"I don't know how long you plan to stay over for, but no matter the time, if you want a drink or some food, feel free to come down and ask! Or just get some yourself, she can show you," your mum said kindly, referring to you. "If she lets you out of the room, that is..."

"Mum," you warned.

"I'm just playing around honey! She's just a strict tutor, she's determined," your mum told Steve.

"He knows, mum. I've been tutoring him for a few weeks," you said with annoyance. At least, you had been trying to. "We're going up to my room now."

"Okay. Good luck, Steve!" Your mum said playfully to Steve, and you groaned as you urged him along while he laughed, seeming heavily amused by your mum.

"I'm sorry," you said once you were out of earshot. "I told her not to be weird, and I guess she heard a completely different thing."

"She's not weird," Steve smiled. "She's... really nice."

He wore a strange expression when he said it, one you couldn't read, so you just looked away and dismissed it.

You swallowed nervously as you entered your room, Steve stepping in behind you, and you rushed over to set up the stationery on the floor, as if starting as soon as possible would give him less time to look at your room.

You called him down to sit, and your face felt hot as he sat down without saying anything, glancing at your posters with an unreadable expression.

Your focus was on English today where Steve had to write an essay. You didn't think it was particularly hard, but that was always different for Steve. So you went into it thinking that he would be ignorant to it as always, that he would just get distracted by something stupid again.

But he proved you wrong.

Because when you looked at him, his eyes were already on you, and they weren't glazed over with the other thoughts he usually had running through his mind. He seemed... focused, and it startled you. Especially so when he asked a question about the topic.

So you let him write the introduction of the essay himself, sitting in silence as he wrote. Both of you had your backs pressed up against your bed, the supplies laid out in front of you while you sat a respectful distance from each other.

You tried to mind your own business, but then you couldn't help but stare at him while he wrote something that you'd probably have to give some constructive criticism on. Either way, it felt oddly personal to see him like that. King Steve sitting in your bedroom, writing an essay after apparently listening to the tips and information you gave.

You noticed how his eyes slightly narrowed while he wrote, his tongue sticking out slightly while he concentrated. The small vulnerability was definitely strange to witness, but... nice to see.

You snapped out of your daze, and looked away from him.

You spent the next whole hour working on the essay. There were many scrunched up balls of papers by the end of the hour, all that had come from a frustrated Steve every time he made a mistake. You had to gently remind him that it wasn't his final copy, that these were only his drafts.

He ended up with an introduction he was somewhat satisfied with, and a written starting sentence for the next paragraph.

You never thought you'd say it, but you were actually proud of him. Proud of him for finally putting in the effort, for swallowing his pride and taking your advice.

Your mum came at the perfect time with a plate of chocolate chip cookies just as you had decided to give Steve a break. They were leftovers from the batch she had made only a few days ago, and while Steve had been politely thankful, you could see the delight in his eyes.

After your mum left, he took his first bite of the cookie, and stopped masking his joy.

"I love your mum," he said blissfully, throwing his head back as he savoured the cookie.

"Don't go throwing that sentence around please," you said with a small grimace.

"But I do! I swear, these are heavenly," he said solemnly, holding up the cookie like it was a trophy. "This is exactly what I needed after the worst hour of my life."

You snorted. "Uh oh, Steve Harrington's actually done schoolwork and now he's dying."

"I am," he said seriously, and you laughed, making him grin.

You fell into a relaxed silence as you grabbed a cookie for yourself, and it felt strange to feel so comfortable around Steve, to just eat cookies with him in silence like you were friends who did this all the time.

After a few minutes, Steve interrupted the silence as he nodded towards something on the wall, asking, "do you have siblings?"

You followed his gaze to the photos of you and your family hung up on your wall, one of which included a younger you surrounded by older kids that were in fact your siblings.

"Yeah, quite a few actually," you answered. "But they're all either moved out or at college right now, so I'm basically an only child at the moment."

"So... you're the youngest?" Steve inquired, and you weren't expecting the genuine curiosity in his voice.

"That I am," you said with a bashful smile.

Steve hummed as he stared thoughtfully at the picture of you and your siblings.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to have siblings," Steve said like it had been a thought in his head more than something he'd meant to say out loud, and that seemed to be the case by the way his face fell after he realised what he had said.

But you didn't pay any mind to it, continuing the conversation normally, "it's loud when the house is full. It can also be really annoying when I want some quiet privacy, because that always get disrupted. Well, I guess I get time to myself all the time now, but that's going to change when they come back for the holidays."

You hadn't meant to ramble, and heat rushed to your cheeks once you realised, but Steve

showed anything but judgement. If anything, he seemed invested in your words, a faraway look in his eyes like he was imagining the scene for himself.

"Sounds nice," he said so quietly you almost didn't catch it, and you decided not to let him know that you had heard it, because you somehow knew those words had only been for himself. He cleared his throat, seeming to recollect himself as his voice returned to its usual confident, slightly cocky state. "So, do you plan to go to college like them? Your siblings?"

"Yeah, I'm actually really excited to. It'll be nice to get out of Hawkins," you said with a smile, "what about you?"

Steve shrugged. "I guess. My dad wants me to. But anyway, I probably can't get in with the way I'm going," he gestured to his incomplete essay.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you really do have it in you, Harrington? And either way, it's up to you whether you want to go to college or not. Don't let your dad decide for you," you said lightly, popping a small piece of a cookie into your mouth.

Steve blinked, and something vulnerable flickered in his expression for a few seconds before it smoothed over, his walls coming back up.

He seemed to be in a rush to lighten the unspoken weight that now hung in the air, so in his haste, he grabbed another cookie and took a reckless bite of it, spilling crumbs onto your carpeted floor.

"Stop it, you're getting crumbs on my carpet!" You complained, grimacing as you picked the crumbs out of your carpet and sprinkled them back onto the plate.

When Steve let out a laugh, your expression soured and you decided to take a different approach, gathering more crumbs in between your fingers before throwing them at him.

He let out a sound of disbelief as he held his hand up to shield himself, and he narrowed his eyes at you before he picked some of the crumbs out himself and threw them at you.

"You jerk!" You laughed, swatting his arm before the two of you fought over the last few pieces of crumbs in the floor to toss at each other.

You both ended up in a fit of laughter that made your stomachs hurt from the sheer absurdity of it, and that was what you counted as the first successful tutoring session.

***

The tutoring sessions with Steve changed after that day. Instead of it being something in your schedule you dreaded, it became something you actually looked forward to, because the times with Steve became enjoyable.

You both came to an agreement of doing tutoring twice a week, since you had other people to tutor and he had basketball practice. Wednesdays at his house, Sundays at yours.

You grew to favour Wednesdays and Sundays.

What it was, was that he was finally listening to you, and he was finally getting schoolwork done. There were many things about the work from each subject that you always had to explain to him multiple times so that he would understand, but you never lost your patience. He seemed surprised by this every time, looking at you like he was waiting for you to get angry after sheepishly asking for another explanation.

But you never did. You never saw any reason to.

It was not only that he was finally getting assignments done, but there had also been a shift in the dynamic between you. At the beginning, it had all been awkward silences and irritated glares, until you started to talk instead of letting the silences settle, until you laughed instead of throwing annoyed words and looks at each other, and the glares became playful instead of real. It began to feel less like a chore, and more like a fun hangout.

You considered Steve Harrington as a friend now, which felt ridiculous while simultaneously feeling right, because why wouldn't he be your friend? Sure, he didn't acknowledge you at school, and sometimes he talked about his girlfriend too much when he should've been studying, but he was kind. He was extremely nice to your parents, he complimented your home in a way that you knew he meant it, and he was always offering you food and drinks whenever you went to his house, or bringing them over whenever he came to yours.

You had even grown to like him so much that you started making hangover smoothies for him every Sunday when he came to your house, because he was pretty much always hungover on Sundays. You told yourself that you did it because you wanted him feeling well enough to be tutored, but deep down, you knew it was more than that.

Sure, he had his flaws, but Steve wasn't nearly as bad as you had initially thought him to be. Because you had seen a different side of him, a softer and more vulnerable side he never showed in public, in front of his popular friends and the girls that fluttered their eyelashes at him despite knowing he was taken. You wondered if he even showed that side to Nancy Wheeler.

It had especially shone through on one Wednesday when he came to your house instead of his. He had called you immediately after school to beg you to not come to his house, to have him come to yours instead just for that week. He hadn't told you why, but you had said yes anyway, because all you needed to hear was the urgency in his voice to know that it was important.

You hadn't asked when he arrived, even when he  looked down more than usual. You still didn't ask when he wasn't nearly as talkative as he usually was, almost silent the whole time as you talked him through the history paper he had to write.

You were forced to finally do something about it when you noticed him doing nothing after you left him to do it on his own, his eyes glued to the paper with a distant look in his eyes, mindlessly tapping his pencil on his knee. It was easy to see as you were working in your living room, sat at either ends of the couch. You didn't want to push him as he clearly wasn't in a good mood, but unfortunately, giving him a push was what you were there to do.

"Steve," you said softly, bringing him back to the moment and capturing his attention. "Are you struggling to start the next sentence?"

He blinked. "Huh?”

"On the paper," you said, nodding towards it.

"Oh," he said, looking at it like that was the first time he had noticed it there. "Um... no. Just thinking."

"You've been thinking for a long time," you pointed out gently, and you swallowed when he fixed his hard gaze on you. "I just- if you need me to go through it again, you know not to be afraid to ask me-"

"For god's sake, I already know I'm stupid so can you just leave it alone for a second?" Steve snapped, and you jerked back a little, taken by surprise. "I don't need you talking to me like I'm some slow kid."

"I wasn't-"

"You were. You always do!" Steve said out of frustration, running a hand through his hair.

You stared at him for a moment, processing his words before you leaned back into your spot on the couch, accepting defeat.

"Work at your own pace then, Steve," you said flatly, not bothering to hide your annoyance as you shifted your body away from him, focusing on your own notes.

You didn't look at him for a few minutes, but the tension in the air was palpable as you felt Steve's gaze burn holes into you. He said your name after at least ten minutes had passed, and you looked at him to find his guilty expression.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking at the ground. "You're not doing anything wrong, I'm just an asshole. I don't even know why I'm acting like one when I literally wanted to come here."

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The last place I wanted to be at was my house tonight, and for some reason, your place was the first thing that came to mind for an alternative," Steve admitted softly, and your heart skipped a beat. "I was so relieved when you said yes to me coming here instead."

The admission slammed into your chest, and it made your breath catch. Your house had been the first place he had thought of for an escape? Not Tommy Hagan's house? Not even Nancy Wheeler's?

Steve blinked as if snapping out of it, and frantically said, "sorry, that was a weird thing to say. I don't know why I- just forget that ever came out of my mouth."

"Don't be sorry. I think it's nice," you said softly, turning your body back to him as he looked at you curiously, "that you thought of my house as a better place to be. I didn't realise you liked it that much."

"How could I not? It's the place that holds the outcomes of your mum's glorious baking," Steve joked, and you laughed quietly, shaking your head at him. Steve smiled, but his face quickly sobered as he looked at you questioningly. "By the way, you haven't asked me anything."

"About what?"

"About what happened at my house, why I prefer to be here," said Steve bluntly.

You shrugged. "Not my business, is it? It's up to you if we talk about it."

Steve seemed taken aback by that, and you didn't know why he did. Was he used to people prying in his personal business that clearly upset him?

"But... don't you want to know?" Steve pushed.

"I guess I'm a bit curious, but I'm not going to force you to say anything," you said as if it were obvious.

Steve opened his mouth just to close it again, and narrowed his eyes. "You're weird."

You arched an eyebrow. "Or I'm just not nosy."

"Or that," Steve agreed in defeat, and you huffed out a laugh. You didn't expect anything more from him, but when he started talking again in a weaker tone, you listened. "My dad's just an asshole, and... is it really bad to say that I prefer my parents being away on a work trip to them being home?"

You didn't respond momentarily, staring ahead thoughtfully before you softly spoke. "I think you're allowed to feel however you want to, and you shouldn't be so quick to invalidate yourself."

You looked at Steve to find him staring at his lap with his eyebrows knitted together into a small frown, picking at his fingernails as he went into deep thought, probably taking in your words.

Neither of you mentioned it again after that. His asshole of a dad and his unstable home, that was. Every time his parents were home on a Wednesday, you always changed the plans around for him to come to your place instead. You never made a big deal out of it, never talked about the reason why, because you never felt it was necessary to make Steve explain himself more than he had to. It was something Steve appreciated more than you could realise.

It was a Friday night when your parents were in need of some last minute groceries. Your dad had been about to go get them himself before you had offered to get them instead. Your parents had both just come home from a whole day of working, and it had worn them down enough to the point you could see the exhaustion on their faces, so you had been generous enough to take a small weight off their shoulders. They had been hesitant to let you with the recent disappearance of a young boy named Will Byers, but they had been too tired to argue with you, so they let you go with minimal argument.

You weren't old enough to drive on your own yet, so you took your bicycle as you always did with a flashlight. The grocery store wasn't far away anyway.

You quickly popped in and out, getting what you needed with the cash your parents had given you. You took your bicycle out of park and struggled to juggle the full grocery bag in your hands while trying to get onto your bike safely, only having the fluorescent lights of the store behind you to help.

You heard a car pulling up to the curb in front of you, and didn't look up as you thought nothing of it, thinking it was just someone else coming to the grocery store until they suddenly honked. You jumped in surprise, almost dropping the bags as you looked up.

The headlights of the car blinded your vision for a moment, and you blinked rapidly as you squinted to see who was sitting in the drivers seat of the car. When you realised who it was, bewilderment washed over you.

The window rolled down, and Steve tilted his head to meet your gaze from the drivers seat. "What are you doing?"

You blinked, and shot him a look of disbelief. "What am I doing? What are you doing, honking at me like some idiot?"

"That's not very nice."

"Am I usually nice, Harrington?"

Steve snorted. "No. But seriously, what are you doing?”

"What does it look like? You do know what groceries are, right?" You asked sassily.

"I know that! But why are you... you're trying to get onto that bike while you're holding a bag that looks very full."

"Yes?" You said, confused on why he was pointing out the obvious.

Steve returned your confused look. "Didn't you bring your car?"

You gave him a deadpanned expression. "I don't have a car."

Steve didn't react for a moment as he comprehended what you had just said, and then his eyes widened. "You- you don't have a car?"

You looked at him with irritation. Of course a rich boy like him couldn't believe such a thing. "No, because not all of us are rich like you, Harrington."

Steve blinked, eyes flitting from you to your bicycle as he slowly seemed to understand. "Right... but you couldn't even bring your parents' car?"

"I can't drive yet. I'm a year younger than you, remember?"

"Then why-"

"Can you stop interrogating me and just get to the point of why you're here right now? Or have you just come to make fun of me for not having fancy transportation like you?" You snapped more harshly than you meant it, and a tense silence followed your outburst, making embarrassment flood through you.

"I didn't come to make fun of you," said Steve quietly. "I was going to ask if you wanted a ride back home."

Your face changed, not expecting that. "Oh."

"Yeah, um... well, do you? Want that ride?" Steve asked.

"Is it still up for grabs after I just bit your head off?" You said sheepishly.

Steve let out a laugh, and answered your question wordlessly as he got out his side of the car and walked around the BMW to approach you. He stopped in front of you, looking into your eyes for a second before he took your bike out of your hands.

"You're not about to throw my precious bike to the side of the road, right?" You asked, half joking.

He snorted. "No, I'm putting it in the trunk. You can get in the passenger seat, I’ll be there in a second, I just gotta put the seats down first."

You were about to speak up to say that he didn't have to go through so much trouble and that you could really just pedal your way home, but he was too swift in his movements as he opened the car door, leaning in to adjust the backseats of his car.

You tentatively got into the passenger seat, balancing the grocery bag in your lap. You glanced at Steve through the rearview mirror, and felt a weird fluttery sensation in your chest.

You stared ahead with a warm face as you listened to Steve’s movement before you could hear the sounds of him handling your bike. You looked over your shoulder this time, and watched the way he put in extra effort to make sure your bike was in a safe position before he closed the trunk. You turned back to the front, the fluttering in your chest intensifying as your cheeks started to burn. God, why were your cheeks burning?

You didn't move as Steve got back into the car and started up the engine again. After a moment of silence, he said, "you can put your seatbelt on, y'know."

"Right! Sorry," you said, your cheeks burning even hotter as you scrambled to put your seatbelt on.

Steve pulled out of park after putting his own seatbelt on, and you deliberately kept your gaze on the window while keeping a tight grip on the bag in your lap.

"You also don't have to keep that bag on your lap. You can put it on the ground," Steve added.

You might as well have been on fire at that point. You carefully placed the bag on the ground, avoiding his gaze. "Sorry, it's just... a nice car. Don't want to ruin it."

"Groceries won't ruin the car," Steve chuckled, and you smiled sheepishly. In your defence, it was a really nice car. "So, why were you on your own? Getting groceries, I know, but your parents didn't want to come?" Steve asked, genuinely curious.

"They were going to get groceries, but I decided to do it to let them rest. They're tired from working all week, so I just wanted to give them a little break," you explained bashfully.

Steve hummed. "That's really nice of you."

"Unheard of, right?" You joked.

"Not really," said Steve so quietly you were sure you imagined it, glancing at him to find that infuriatingly unreadable expression on his face again. "Still dangerous to be going out by yourself at night, though. Especially since that kid's just gone missing."

You did a double take, unsure if you had heard him right the first time. His tone was casual as he said it, but his jaw was tight. He surely didn't care, did he?

"Well, that kid was eleven, and I'm sixteen. I'm capable," you replied.

"Sixteen's not that much older."

"Oh come on, don't act all high and mighty just because you're a year older."

"I'm not. I'm just saying you need to be more careful because I- you don't want something bad to happen you," his voice grew quieter with each word, barely inaudible at the end of his sentence, but you were still able to catch what he said.

You shot him a confused look. He was acting weird tonight, you thought. There was that softer side of him showing that he never displayed in public, but it wasn't that. There was something about his energy that lacked its usual spirit, something dejected. Had it been his parents again, you wondered? You certainly weren't going to ask, though.

The rest of the drive to your home was silent and quick. The grocery store was only a short way from your house anyway.

When you arrived, Steve got out of the car with you to take your bike out of the trunk, being kind enough to park your bike where you directed him as you held the grocery bag.

"Thank you, Steve. For the ride and doing... all of this. You really didn't have to," you said sincerely as he leaned on his car.

Steve smiled weakly. "No worries. Couldn't have just left you there, could I?"

"You could've," you said calmly.

"I'm not that bad, L/N," said Steve teasingly, and you chuckled.

"Goodnight, Steve," you said softly, sending him a small smile.

He mirrored your smile, saying goodnight to you back with your name. You turned on your heel, starting the walk to your house as your heart raced in your warm chest.

When Steve called out your name, you turned around too quickly, making it seem as though you had been waiting for him to call you back. Perhaps you had been.

Steve scratched his neck, seeming nervous as he hesitated. "Um, sorry to be a bother but can I just ask for some advice?"

"Yeah, of course," you said, walking back over to him.

"Since you're a girl and all," said Steve quickly. "It's about Nancy."

You froze.

Oh. You forgot about Nancy.

Your chest twisted suddenly, nearly winding you and making you stumble, but you kept your composure and faced him with your chin up.

"Yeah, what's up?" You said airily.

"She's not happy with me right now. I invited her and her friend over to a party at my house, and she stayed over without her friend and now she hasn't seen her since, and she's really worried," Steve explained. "And I guess I was just more concerned about getting in trouble than her friend, and she got pissed off at me for it and... I don't know, I just don't know how to make it up to her."

You frowned. "Wait, her friend? Like, Barb?"

"Yeah, her. You haven't seen her around, have you?"

"No, not since Tuesday," you said.

"Well shit, that's the night she went missing..." said Steve, and your eyebrows drew together with concern. Just like Nancy, you weren't friends with Barb, but you had always thought she was nice. "Anyway, Nance isn't talking to me so I thought that you, a girl, would know how to fix it."

"Right," you said uncomfortably. "Why don't you ask your friend Carol? She's a girl."

"Yeah, but she's too... I just think you're someone who gives better advice," said Steve honestly.

You didn't know how to take that, and you hated how a smile twitched against your lips.

"Well, it seems simple. You just go up to her, apologise, and help her look for Barb. Or just be there for her. She's obviously distraught if her best friend is nowhere to be seen," you told him.

Steve nodded along, listening intently. "Yeah, okay... thanks."

You smiled weakly, "no problem."

Steve sighed. "I just... I really like her, and I don't want to mess it up, y'know?"

Your chest twisted even further, and you bit your lip, looking away from him.

"Yeah, that's understandable. Well, I hope it works out between you, but I have to go to bed now. My parents will get worried," you said briskly, already starting to talk away.

"Yeah, okay. Goodnight," he said.

"Goodnight," you said quietly over your shoulder, and basically sped to your house, not looking behind you as you went back inside the safety of your home where he couldn't reach you.

That was the night you realised you had developed feelings for Steve Harrington.

But it didn't matter, because his heart only belonged to Nancy Wheeler, and you didn't stand a chance.

***

You were zoned out as you absentmindedly stored some of your books into your locker, your mind in a different place to your physical body.

Annoyingly enough, all it ever seemed your mind could stay on these days was the thought of Steve.

You knew it had been a bad idea to tutor him from the very start for many reasons, and now your worst fear had actually happened. Just like every other girl at Hawkins High, you had developed a schoolgirl crush on Steve Harrington, and he plagued your mind completely without permission.

It had been two weeks since you came to your realisation, and every tutoring session with Steve since then had been torture. It didn't help when he was his usual sweet self, bringing your favourite snacks when he came to your house, telling you how one of the posters in your bedroom looked cool, getting along with your parents, and listening to you with that concentrated look he had that was frustratingly handsome.

And it certainly wasn't helping that he now insisted on giving you a ride home every time you went to his house. He had asked you about your method of transportation to his house since he found out you weren't able to drive, and he seemed to take it personally when you told you just took your bike every time. Sometimes, you even got into small arguments about it, because you didn't like making him go through the effort of putting your bicycle into his car every time, but it made you learn that Steve didn't take no for an answer when to came to those sort of things.

Every ride home made your heart beat a little faster for him, and your feelings grew stronger with each time you both talked nonstop for the whole ride. It wasn't fair that he was able to make you feel such a way.

You used to judge those kind of girls before, the ones who batted their lashes at him in an attempt to get his attention, the ones who stared longingly at him in the hallways. Now you were one of them, and you felt so pathetic. You wanted to defend yourself by acknowledging that you had actually spent quality time with him and had gotten to know him as more than just a popular jock, that you had seen what was under the mask he always hid behind at school.

But did it even matter when he had never once remotely showed interest in you? When you technically weren't even friends, just acquaintances? You were his tutor for goodness' sake, of course you weren't supposed to feel this way. You had never even come close to feeling the same about anyone else you had tutored.

Of course Steve had been the one to capture your heart out of all of it. Him and his stupid soft smile that almost seemed reserved for you, him and his stupid jokes that made you genuinely laugh, and him and his stupid kindness in giving you a ride back to your house that night, putting your bike in his car without you having to ask him to do so, the implications of him caring about you when he expressed a concern for your safety.

All before he had asked you for advice on how to make it up to his girlfriend.

Even if you could've, you wouldn't. You certainly weren't the type to barge into a relationship, a very happy one at that.

You were snapped out of your daze when you heard someone call your name, and you perked up, looking into the direction of the voice.

A boy named Tyler came up to you, a student in your year that you tutored for maths and history. He had an excited expression on his face as he approached you with a piece of paper in his hand.

"Hi, Tyler," you greeted with a warm smile. "What's up?"

He grinned at you. "I have news. Good news."

"What is it?"

He held the piece of paper up to your face, showing you the contents. All you had to do was look at the B circled on it to know what it was.

"I got a B on my maths test!" He told you happily.

"That's amazing!" You said with a wide smile, pride blooming in your chest upon seeing the joy in his eyes. "I told you you had it!"

"I couldn't have done it without you," he said. "Seriously, thank you so much. You saved me."

You laughed sheepishly. "I'm just glad it worked out for you."

"I mean it, you're the best! I hope you're getting good credit for all of this tutoring you do," said Tyler earnestly. "You deserve it."

You smiled. "Thanks."

"I'll see you around. Hopefully I'll ace my history test next!" He said hopefully as he walked off, and you gave him a thumbs up before he fully turned away.

You turned back to your locker with a smile, your chest filled with warmth. That was why all those hours of tutoring was always worth it at the end of the day. The extra credit was a bonus, but it was helping others that really mattered for you.

You jumped at the sudden bang on the locker next to yours, followed by a familiar voice saying, "who was that?"

You turned your head in surprise, and your face morphed into an expression of disbelief as you saw him.

Because here Steve was, his body completely facing you while it leaned against the locker next to yours, his arms crossed and his eyes focused on you while everyone moved around you, all easily able to see the interaction between you two. The interaction between the most popular guy in school and some quiet girl who tutored people. 

It was the first time Steve had ever even looked at you in the school hallways, let alone talked to you, so it took you a moment to respond to his question as you processed your current situation.

And god, you hated how your chest started feeling warm in a different way when you looked at him.

"Um- uh- just a guy I tutor," you said bashfully.

"What were you talking about? He seemed very happy about something," Steve asked, and you quietly grew confused at his curiosity.

"He got a good grade on his test. He came to me because I helped him study, and he really thought he wasn't going to do a good job, but I told him he would, and I was right," you said with a proud smile.

Steve narrowed his eyes at you, his expression unreadable. "Hm, interesting. You seem to like him."

You blinked. "Um... yeah, he's a nice guy."

"So, do you have a thing for him?" Steve said suddenly with a smirk.

Your face dropped. "What?"

"What? It's just a question. You can tell me, I promise it'll stay between us. If it helps, it seems like he might like you too," Steve lowered his voice and leaned in a little, causing heat to rush to your cheeks.

You tried to hide your flustered state by rolling your eyes and slamming your locker shut. "No, Steve. I don't have a thing for him."

"But wouldn't he be your type? Like, smart guys?"

You looked at him incredulously. "No offence to him, but he's not exactly a smart guy if he needs tutoring. God, Steve, just because I get along with him, doesn't mean I like him. I'm his tutor, and that's it."

His infuriating smirk didn't falter, his eyes shining with amusement as he said, "if you say so."

You sighed while rolling your eyes again. "You're so annoying."

"Your eyeballs will get stuck in the back of your head if you keep rolling them."

"Then stop doing things that make me roll my eyes, idiot."

Steve opened his mouth to continue the banter both of you would never admit you thoroughly enjoyed, but the next words never got to leave his mouth as you were suddenly approached by two certain people, one of which threw an arm around Steve.

"Couldn't find you for a second there Harrington, you disappeared on us," said Tommy Hagan, while Carol Perkins stood beside him, chewing gum obnoxiously while assessing you with her eyes.

Then, a smirk spread on her lips, her voice laced with amusement as she asked, "who's your friend, Steve?"

Tommy looked at you like he hadn't noticed you were there, and immediately started sniggering even though you hadn't done anything.

Steve's face fell, something more guarded taking over his expression at the presence of Tommy and Carol while panic flickered faintly in his eyes, and you noticed it. Meanwhile, your stomach churned uncomfortably as Tommy and Carol stared at you like you were some form of entertainment.

When Steve didn't answer Carol, you took it into your own hands and hesitantly said your name. She snorted, arching an eyebrow at you.

"I wasn't asking you," she said.

"Well you were looking at me when you said it, so maybe you should've been clearer about who you were talking to," you shot back coldly, and Steve's eyes widened while Tommy whistled.

Carol's face hardened, chewing her gum more aggressively.

"Sassy, aren't you? Honestly Steve, since when did we start stooping so low for new friends? We shouldn't be welcoming this kind of crowd," she said, looking at Steve with a scoff.

"We're not," said Steve quickly, and you frowned. "She's not my friend. She's just..."

He trailed off, catching your sharp gaze. He held it for a few moments before looking away, looking at his actual friends, "she’s a stranger to me."

Your heart dropped.

A stranger.

Not a friend, not even an acquaintance, just a stranger. That's all you were.

“Then why are you even talking to her?” Carol snorted.

“Because, um… she dropped something and I was just giving it back to her was all,” said Steve hastily, talking about you like you weren’t even there.

Carol raised her eyebrows, unconvinced, and god, you wanted nothing more than to just shove her face into the locker like she deserved.

"As fun as this is, I'm hungry man, let's go eat!" Said Tommy, slapping Steve's back before letting go of him. He briefly glanced at you, his voice mocking as he said, "see you later... uh, whatever your name is."

Carol giggled, "yeah, see you sweetheart."

Tommy burst into another fit of sniggers, and your eyes caught it immediately as Steve let out a laugh, albeit it sounded a little more uncertain than the others.

But you were probably just imagining that just to make yourself feel better, because when the three of them walked away, Steve didn't look back at you once.

Your cheeks burned as he left you standing there, feeling like an idiot who had just been picked apart by a group of people who deemed themselves superior to you just because you weren't popular.

As if that hadn't already ruined your day, as if Steve hadn't already made your heart hurt enough, something happened at the end of your science class.

The class was pleasantly rowdy as everyone either did their written science work or talked with their friends about their plans for the weekend. You were one of the people doing their work, and was the first to walk up to the teacher to hand in your completed work.

"Well done, Y/N. I look forward to grading this, you never fail to impress me," your science teacher said, and you smiled sheepishly, thanking her quietly. "So, how's that tutoring of yours going?"

"Really good," you said, hating how Steve crossed your mind.

"I'm sure it is, I've even seen the evidence of it. You know, I never thought I'd see the day where Steve Harrington would be able to understand anything in my class, but proving by his recent results on his last test, it seems as though I have made it to that day," she told you with a smile.

You stilled. "What do you mean?"

She tilted her head at you. "Hasn't he told you? He passed his science test the other day. I even almost gave him a B."

You narrowed your eyes, "the other day? I- did you give him these results?"

"Yes. I know he tried to hide it, but I could see how happy he was."

Your blood started to pump in your ears, the realisation slowly dawning on you as you comprehended what she was saying.

"I even heard he got a good grade on his English assignment too. I don't know how you've done it, but you've worked wonders on him," she said. "Good job."

You didn't say anything for a moment before collecting yourself enough to say quietly, "yeah, that's good."

You went back to your seat after that, the noise around you fading to the background as the gears turned in your head.

He had been passing tests and getting good grades on assignments, and hadn't told you? He had been keeping it from you?

Your jaw tightened, and you clenched your fists, something hot stirring in your stomach.

You were going to kill him.

***

You thought it had been apart of your dream at first, then you thought it was just some animals playing around outside. But when the persistent tapping kept on going every time you thought it would stop, you finally woke up, and investigated.

When you saw nothing was happening to your window, you went over to it anyway, looking outside to see the source of the noise.

It was much worse than an animal. It was Steve throwing rocks at your parents' window, the morning sun shining down on him and highlighting the small cuts on his face along with the purple bruise on his left cheek.

You gasped softly upon seeing his beat-up face, concern flooding you against your will as you worried about who did something like that to him. You stared at him in disbelief before rushing to put your dressing gown and slippers on, tidying your hair as best as you could before hastily making your way out of the house, not even bothering to be quiet since Steve was being noisy enough anyway.

You walked around your house to meet Steve now crouched, gathering more rocks to throw. You stood there for a moment, gazing at him with folded arms while he didn't notice you, lost in his own world. You reminded yourself that you needed to be hostile, that he still hadn't given you an apology for what he did a few days ago.

When he rose to his feet, you finally spoke up.

"Trying to wake my parents up?" You asked, and he jumped, whirling around to you with wide eyes. He blinked at your words, looking back to your parents' window as you clarified, "that's their room, genius. I know you like my mum's food, but you surely can't be that desperate."

Embarrassment flickered across his face at your words, and he looked back to you with shame. "Shit. Sorry."

You shrugged. "That'll depend on how grumpy they are this morning."

A short silence followed your words, and Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair, and you watched him closely, eyes lingering on his bruises. The injuries looked fresh, and it made you wonder why he was here instead of resting at home.

"Are you okay?" You asked gently before you could stop yourself.

Steve looked at you in surprise. "Huh?"

"Your... face," you said, gesturing to your own. "Seems like you're hurt. Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine, but that doesn't matter," he said quickly, seeming ashamed of whatever it was.  "What matters is what I came here to do, which is to say sorry for the other day."

You raised your eyebrows. "What did you do the other day?"

"You know, when we were talking and Tommy and Carol came over," said Steve, confused on why you were asking about the obvious until he realised you weren't playing dumb, you just wanted him to admit what he did wrong. "And then they were being assholes and I didn't do anything about it."

"Is that it?"

Steve's eyebrows knitted together as he seemed to search his mind for anything else. "I think so?"

You hummed quietly, keeping your face blank as you looked him over. You quickly noticed how something about him was off — not just the bruises and cuts on his face, but the way he held himself, the defeated look in his eyes that wasn't there before. You couldn't put your finger on it, but something in the air around Steve had shifted, and it made your curiosity grow stronger about whatever the hell had happened in the past few days that caused that and the bruises.

Steve sighed, his head hanging low as he said, "look, I know I messed up. I know that wasn't right of me and it wasn't fair to you, and you had to defend yourself which you shouldn't have had to because I shouldn't have let them treat you like that in the first place. If it's any help, it didn't feel good during that moment."

You scoffed. "It didn't feel good for me either."

The guilt in Steve's eyes strengthened, and he looked at you sorrowfully. "I'm really sorry. You didn't deserve that, after everything you've done for me-"

"Actually, it's okay Steve. We're not friends anyway, you don't owe me anything," you snapped.

Steve's face fell slightly like you had struck him. "That was stupid of me to say. I was trying to get them to back off of you, you know? They wouldn't have taken it well if I said yes, they would've been even worse."

"That's such a lame excuse. They were going to make fun of me no matter what you said, so you're just telling yourself that to feel better," you said sourly. "You're just like... I don't know, ashamed of me or something?"

Steve shook his head. "I'm not-"

"Then what do you call it? You're only nice to me when we're alone, and you're embarrassed to be seen with me in public. That's why you didn't want me to tutor you in the library. You literally said it yourself, you didn't want anyone to walk in and see," you poured out what had been pent up inside you through this whole ordeal. "You never acknowledged me in public until that moment for some reason, and even then, you said I was just a stranger."

"I know, I know, it was shitty of me. I shouldn't have- I'm really sorry," said Steve, and the worst part about it was how sincere he sounded, how real the apology seemed to be.

But you knew it would go back to normal after this, and with the last few days having given you room to think about it, you knew you couldn't go for any longer. Not with your feelings for him growing stronger everyday.

"I don't think this arrangement is necessary anymore," you said with a tight throat, avoiding his gaze as you said it. But even in your peripheral vision, you could see how his face dropped.

"What? But I still need to be tutored! I- I still need your help," said Steve frantically.

"There are other tutors at school, you can just go to them if you really need help," you said. "Also, didn't you say you could get your girlfriend to tutor you? She'll be happy to help."

Steve's expression shifted into something more hurt as he looked at his feet. "I'm not sure that's so true anymore. I'm not her favourite person right now."

Your chest tightened, and you finally looked at him, reading his crestfallen expression. Was that the reason why he looked like that? Because him and Nancy were arguing? You had a nagging feeling that there was much more to it, but you weren't going to push. You were too mad at him to do so anyway.

"Even then, I'm not the only tutor in the world. Besides, from what I've heard, you'll be just fine without tutoring anyway," you said bitterly.

Confused spread across Steve's features. "From what you've heard?"

"Yes. I'm not sure why I had to hear it from someone else that you had literally passed your science test, and got a good grade on your English assignment."

Steve's eyes widened slightly. "You- who told you that?"

"The science teacher."

"Why would she even tell you that? Oh my god..." Steve murmured, pressing his hands to his face.

"That doesn't matter, Steve. What matters is that for some reason you decided to hide the fact that you were improving," you scolded. "You neglected to tell your literal tutor that you had passed in two subjects!"

"I... forgot," said Steve unconvincingly.

You snorted humourlessly. "I don't think you did, and I don't even want to ask why you didn't tell me because you'll probably just give me another stupid excuse."

You were mainly pissed off at Steve for the way he had treated you in front of Tommy and Carol the other day, that was what drove the wedge between you two in the first place, but him not telling you about his good results had been the final straw. Because those had been moments he was meant to share with you, because you had been the one to help him. He was supposed to approach with you excitement like Tyler had done, and he was supposed to brag about his results to you with a wide smile while you were silently proud of him.

You had been eager for that moment between you and Steve, but because of some reason that was unknown to you, he hadn't told you, and had robbed you of that moment.

So yeah, you were very pissed.

"So you're ditching me because I didn't tell you about two decent grades I got?" Said Steve, and you couldn't help but notice the hurt that seeped through his voice. You hated how it sparked guilt in you.

Yet, you stood your ground. "I told you that all you needed to do was pass one test, and you could be free of me. Did you just forget that?"

Steve's Adam's apple bobbed, his jaw tight. "No."

"Then why didn't you just tell me? I know you hate being tutored, so why did you drag it out?" You asked heatedly, your pent up frustration spilling out. You stared at him expectantly, impatiently waiting for his answer.

But he only stared back at you, his mouth opening uselessly with nothing coming out, his eyes holding a desperate look that tugged at your chest, that almost made you give in. But you fought back against it, and scoffed at his silence.

"There's no reason to keep doing this, Steve," you said, your voice weaker.

"But I still need help with my other subjects," said Steve quietly.

"You know how to study now, and you can help yourself. I've given you a little push, so now you can be independent," you reasoned. "And look at the bright side, you'll have free time on Wednesdays and Sundays now."

"But I..." he trailed off, and your heart skipped a beat as you thought he was finally about to speak, finally about to admit something.

But he chose not to say it, and continued with his silence.

You gazed at his face, taking in each detail of his features, memorising it for when you would think about him at night, when you wouldn't see him anymore. The softness of his dark hazel eyes, the moles scattered on his face, and his stupid perfect hair that you longed to feel with your own fingers.

"It really was nice tutoring you Steve, but I've done my job now," you said softly, sending him your first smile of the day, and your last for a while.

He looked at you with sadness, something close to devastation, but not quite there. Because maybe Steve Harrington was fond of you in the way he was fond of your mother's cookies, but he nowhere near cared about you in the way he cared about Nancy Wheeler.

And that's why you turned your back to him, walking inside your house without looking back at him, even when you heard the small, desperate "please," leave his lips.

all comments and reblogs appreciated!

Clark adjusted his glasses with the expression of a man facing public execution. “In my defense,” he said weakly, “you’re very pretty.”

Somewhere across the newsroom, somebody choked on a laugh.

You looked down at the coffee dripping off the edge of Clark’s desk. Then back up at him. Then at the completely soaked stack of papers in his hands.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“No, I mean—” You pointed at the papers. “Weren’t those your interview notes?”

Clark glanced down.

The color drained from his face. “Oh no.”

The bullpen erupted.

Jimmy Olsen burst into laughter so hard he physically folded over his desk. Someone else wolf-whistled. Perry White shouted something from his office about professionalism that nobody listened to.

Clark stood frozen in the middle of it all looking deeply, deeply miserable.

And weirdly adorable.

You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile. “You’re kind of a disaster, Kent.”

He looked at you over the rim of his glasses, visibly horrified. “You think I’m a disaster?”

“I think,” you said carefully, “that you just sacrificed your notes to avoid having a conversation with me.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Mostly.”

Jimmy made a loud fake coughing noise that sounded suspiciously like he likes you.

Clark shot him a betrayed look.

You laughed before you could stop yourself.

And that—that seemed to make Clark’s entire brain shut down.

Because he stared at you for half a second too long, looking startled by the sound, before smiling instinctively.

It hit you like a truck.

Not because he was handsome—you had unfortunately noticed that weeks ago when you’d first started at the Daily Planet—but because his smile changed his whole face.

Clark smiling felt warm. Soft. Like sunlight through open curtains.

Your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.

Clark seemed to realize he was still staring at you at the exact same moment you realized you were staring back.

He immediately looked away so quickly he knocked another coffee cup over with his elbow.

“Oh my God,” Jimmy wheezed.

-

Working at the Daily Planet meant existing in a constant state of chaos.

Phones rang nonstop. Reporters argued across desks. Perry barked deadlines like military orders while interns sprinted through the bullpen carrying stacks of papers and half-dead laptops.

You’d only been there three months, but somehow it already felt normal.

Mostly because of Clark.

Which was ridiculous.

You barely knew him. Technically.

But Clark Kent had this strange gravitational pull to him. The kind that made people naturally drift toward him without realizing it.

He remembered everyone’s coffee orders. Held doors open. Asked about your day and actually listened to the answer.

He was impossibly kind in a way that should’ve felt fake considering he looked like that, but somehow didn’t.

Honestly, the man looked like he’d been engineered in a lab specifically to make people stare.

Broad chest. Strong hands. Dark curls that always fell messily over his forehead no matter how many times he pushed them back.

And his eyes.

Jesus Christ.

You’d made the mistake of maintaining eye contact with him once during a meeting and forgotten your own name halfway through a sentence.

Which apparently wasn’t a problem exclusive to you.

Because Clark got nervous around you too. Painfully nervous.

At first you thought you imagined it.

Then you noticed patterns.

Clark dropping things whenever you walked too close to him. Clark forgetting what he was saying mid-conversation because you smiled at him. Clark volunteering for stories on the opposite side of Metropolis whenever you wore something nice.

It was honestly kind of endearing.

Today, however, was especially bad.

You walked into the break room around noon and stopped short.

Clark was standing at the counter holding a mug that literally bent in his hand.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

Ceramic cracked beneath his fingers.

Clark stared down at it in horror.

You stared at him.

“…Did you just Hulk-smash a coffee mug?”

Clark nearly jumped out of his skin. “What? No.”

You pointed.

The handle fell off the mug and hit the floor.

Clark looked genuinely distressed. “I can explain.”

“I would love to hear this explanation actually.”

He glanced around the empty break room like he was searching for divine intervention.

“It was slippery.”

“The mug exploded.”

“It’s a very slippery mug.”

You laughed again.

Clark visibly melted.

Not metaphorically either. The man genuinely seemed to lose all motor function when you laughed near him.

It was becoming a problem.

“You know,” you said, leaning against the counter, “for a Pulitzer-winning reporter, you’re a terrible liar.”

Clark ducked his head, smiling sheepishly. “That obvious?”

“Clark, you once told Perry your laptop stopped working because of solar flares.”

“They can interfere with technology.”

“Sure.”

“It’s science.”

“You sounded like a conspiracy podcast host.”

Clark huffed out a laugh.

God.

That was dangerous too.

Because Clark didn’t laugh quietly. He laughed fully. Warm and surprised and bright like he couldn’t help it.

You liked making him do it.

Probably more than you should.

“You’re staring,” Clark said softly.

You blinked.

Shit.

“I am not.”

One dark eyebrow lifted.

You folded your arms immediately. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Clark’s ears turned pink.

And for some reason, that made you bold.

“You get flustered really easily for someone who looks like he belongs on a magazine cover.”

Clark made a choking noise. “A magazine—”

“You know exactly what you look like, Kent.”

“I really don’t think I do.”

“That’s actually insane.”

Clark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well… I think you’re beautiful, so maybe we’re both insane.”

The room went completely silent.

Your heartbeat stuttered.

Clark seemed to realize what he’d said a full three seconds later.

“Oh my God,” he whispered to himself.

Then he physically walked into a cabinet.

You slapped a hand over your mouth.

Clark stood there with his eyes squeezed shut like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“You okay?” you asked, voice shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Never better.”

“You hit that cabinet really hard.”

“I’m durable.”

You snorted.

Clark looked absolutely devastated by his own existence.

And somehow, impossibly, it made him even cuter.

-

Lois Lane cornered you two days later.

“You like him.”

You nearly inhaled your own coffee. “What?”

Lois sat casually on the edge of your desk like she wasn’t about to ruin your entire life.

“You and Smallville.”

“We are coworkers.”

“You look at him like he personally invented romance.”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Lois smirked.

“Oh my God,” you muttered.

“Yeah, that’s usually the reaction.”

You dropped your head onto your desk dramatically. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me? Absolutely.”

“This is humiliating.”

“Nah.” Lois nudged your shoulder. “It’s cute.”

Cute.

Right.

Except your crush on Clark Kent felt less cute and more actively life-threatening.

Because the problem with Clark wasn’t just that he was attractive.

It was that he was good.

Everywhere you looked, Clark was helping someone.

Carrying absurdly heavy boxes for interns. Staying late to help fact-check stories. Walking little old ladies across busy streets outside the Planet building.

Once, you’d watched him stop in the middle of a conversation because he noticed a little kid crying outside through the bullpen windows.

Clark had excused himself immediately and come back twenty minutes later with melted ice cream on his sleeve and a shy explanation about helping the kid find his dad.

Who does that?

Who is actually like that?

“You’re smiling,” Lois said knowingly.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Unfortunately, she was right.

Lois leaned closer. “So what’s the hold up?”

“What?”

“With Clark.”

You stared at her. “There is no ‘with Clark.’”

“Please. That man looks at you like you hung the moon.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

“That’s dramatic.”

“It’s accurate.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice called your name from across the bullpen.

You looked up instinctively.

Big mistake.

Clark was walking toward you holding a file folder against his chest, glasses slipping down his nose slightly. His tie was crooked. His hair looked windswept like he’d just sprinted back from somewhere.

Which honestly was possible.

The man moved weirdly fast.

Clark smiled the second he saw you.

And there it was again.

That stupid, soft sunlight feeling.

Lois watched your entire expression change and looked unbearably smug about it.

“I’m going to kill you,” you muttered.

“Worth it.”

Clark reached your desk, slightly out of breath. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

For a second, both of you just stood there smiling at each other like idiots.

Lois made a fake gagging noise before hopping off the desk. “I’m leaving before this turns into a Hallmark movie.”

Clark looked alarmed. “What turns into a Hallmark movie?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

“Everything,” Lois corrected.

Then she disappeared into the crowd of desks before either of you could stop her.

Clark looked adorably confused.

You looked anywhere except directly at him.

“So,” Clark said after a moment. “I, uh… brought those files you asked for.”

He handed them over carefully.

Your fingers brushed his.

Clark froze.

You felt him freeze.

The entire atmosphere shifted instantly.

It was ridiculous.

A tiny touch shouldn’t feel electric.

And yet.

Clark swallowed hard. “You okay?”

“You’re asking me?”

A nervous laugh escaped him.

“You just—” He stopped himself abruptly.

“What?”

Clark stared at you for one long second like he was debating something internally. “Nothing.”

“Clark.”

“It’s not important.”

“Clark.”

His shoulders slumped in surrender. “You just make me nervous.”

The honesty in his voice hit you straight in the chest.

“You make me nervous too,” you admitted quietly.

Clark blinked.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“But you seem so calm around me.”

You stared at him. “Clark, last week you smiled at me and I walked directly into the women’s restroom instead of the elevator.”

For a beat of silence, Clark just looked at you.

Then he laughed.

Not a polite chuckle.

Not a soft huff.

An actual laugh.

Head tipped back slightly. Eyes crinkling behind his glasses. Warm and bright and helpless.

Your heart basically dissolved on the spot.

“You think I’m funny?” you asked weakly.

Clark looked at you like that was the dumbest question he’d ever heard.

“I think you’re incredible.”

Oh.

Oh, you were in serious trouble.

-

It started raining halfway through your walk home.

Not normal rain either.

The kind of dramatic Metropolis downpour that felt personally targeted.

You groaned as cold water soaked through your jacket within seconds. “Seriously?”

“You forgot your umbrella too?”

You turned.

Clark stood a few feet away under a massive black umbrella, glasses speckled with rain.

Of course he had an umbrella.

Clark looked like the kind of man who reminded other people to bring umbrellas.

“You stalking me, Kent?”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “Coincidence. I was getting groceries.”

He lifted a paper bag slightly.

You frowned. “How are those not soaked already?”

Clark glanced at the perfectly dry bag in confusion before quickly holding the umbrella lower. “Good umbrella?”

You narrowed your eyes.

Clark smiled innocently.

Suspicious.

Still, he stepped closer, angling the umbrella over both of you.

Warmth immediately surrounded you.

Clark smelled ridiculously good. Like clean laundry and coffee and something faintly earthy after the rain.

You tried not to notice.

Failed horribly.

“You can’t walk me home every time it rains, you know.”

Clark looked down at you. “I can try.”

Oh.

Oh, that was dangerous.

The city blurred around you as you walked side by side through the rain.

Cars hissed past on wet streets. Neon signs reflected off puddles. Somewhere nearby, someone played music loud enough to echo between buildings.

Clark kept subtly adjusting the umbrella to make sure you stayed covered.

Meanwhile his own shoulder was getting soaked.

“You’re terrible at sharing umbrellas,” you informed him.

Clark blinked. “I am?”

“You’re getting rained on.”

“That’s okay.”

“No, move over.”

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged him closer underneath the umbrella.

Clark immediately went completely still beside you.

Your arm brushed his.

Heat radiated through the contact even through layers of clothing.

Clark looked down at you slowly.

And there it was again.

That look.

Like you were something precious.

Something worth handling carefully.

It made your chest ache.

“You know,” you said softly, “for someone who panics every time I touch him, you really like standing close to me.”

Clark’s mouth twitched. “Maybe I enjoy the panic.”

“Is that what this is?”

“No,” he admitted quietly. “Not really.”

Rain hammered softly overhead.

Clark’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back up.

Your breath caught.

He noticed.

You knew he noticed because his own breathing changed instantly.

And suddenly the space between you felt very small.

Very warm.

Very dangerous.

A car horn blared somewhere nearby.

Both of you jumped apart like guilty teenagers.

Clark cleared his throat violently. “Well.”

“Yep.”

“That was—”

“Definitely something.”

Clark laughed nervously.

You smiled despite yourself.

Then, before you could overthink it, you reached for his hand.

Clark went silent.

His fingers instinctively curled around yours.

Warm.

Careful.

Like he was afraid to hold on too tightly.

You looked up at him.

Clark looked completely undone.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you murmured.

“What thing?”

“Looking at me like I personally invented happiness.”

Clark stared at you for one long second.

Then he smiled softly.

“I might argue you did.”

Your heart was never recovering from this man.

Ever.

-

By the time you reached your apartment building, neither of you had let go of the other’s hand.

Clark looked mildly stunned by that fact.

You were trying not to look equally affected.

Rainwater dripped from the edge of the umbrella while the city buzzed around you in blurry lights and distant traffic.

Neither of you moved.

“This is usually the part,” you said carefully, “where people say goodbye.”

Clark nodded immediately. “Right. Yeah. Goodbye.”

Neither of you let go.

A smile tugged at your mouth.

Clark noticed instantly.

“What?”

“You’re still holding my hand.”

Clark looked down like he’d genuinely forgotten.

“Oh.”

But he still didn’t let go.

Instead, his thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles.

The movement was absentminded.

Gentle.

Your heartbeat nearly climbed into your throat.

Clark looked like he realized what he was doing at the exact same moment.

His eyes widened slightly behind his glasses.

“You should probably kiss me now,” you blurted before your brain could stop you.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Clark stared at you.

You stared back in horror as your own words replayed in your head.

“Well,” you said weakly. “That was terrifying.”

Clark still looked frozen.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “Forget I said that.”

“No.”

Your eyes snapped back to his.

Clark stepped closer slowly, like he was worried you’d disappear if he moved too fast.

“No,” he repeated softly. “I really don’t think I can.”

The rain suddenly felt very far away.

Clark lifted one hand carefully toward your face.

Even now—even with the way he looked at you, with your fingers tangled together, with every charged moment between you hanging in the air—he still hesitated like he wanted permission.

You leaned into his touch before he could ask.

Something in Clark’s expression melted instantly.

Then he kissed you.

And—

Oh.

That was not a first-kiss kind of kiss.

There was nothing uncertain about it.

Clark kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for weeks and was only now allowing himself to do it.

Warm lips. Careful hands. The soft sound he made when you kissed him back harder.

Your fingers curled into the front of his jacket automatically.

Clark’s free hand settled against your waist like he physically couldn’t stop himself.

And somehow, impossibly, he still kissed like Clark.

Sweet.

Tender.

Like he was trying to memorize you.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were visibly breathless.

Clark looked completely wrecked.

His glasses were crooked.

His hair was damp from the rain.

And he was looking at you like you’d personally rewritten his entire universe.

“You kissed me,” he said softly, sounding genuinely awed by it.

You laughed quietly. “Pretty sure you kissed me too, Kent.”

“I know, I just—” He stopped to smile helplessly. “Wow.”

You smiled so hard your face hurt.

Clark looked at you for another long second before blurting suddenly, “I have wanted to do that since the first day you worked at the Planet.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “The first day?”

“You smiled at me in the elevator and I walked into a wall.”

You stared at him.

Then burst into laughter.

Clark groaned immediately. “Please don’t laugh.”

“You walked into a wall?”

“It was a glass wall,” he muttered.

“That is somehow worse.”

Clark covered his face with one hand while you laughed harder.

“I’m trying to be romantic.”

“You are romantic,” you promised, still grinning. “You’re just also deeply awkward.”

Clark peeked at you through his fingers. “You still like me though?”

The fact that he sounded genuinely unsure nearly killed you.

You reached up, adjusting his crooked glasses carefully. “Clark Kent, you spilled coffee on yourself because I touched your arm.”

His ears turned pink again.

“You carried one umbrella specifically big enough for two people.”

Clark looked away innocently.

“You looked at me like your entire life changed because I held your hand.”

A soft smile spread slowly across his face.

Then he leaned down and kissed you again.

Softer this time.

Slow enough that your chest physically ached from it.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours.

“So,” you murmured, “does this mean you’ll stop destroying office supplies every time I flirt with you?”

Clark considered that seriously.

“…Probably not.”

You laughed.

So they started arranging it, but Nancy and Robin had to be discreet. If Nancy told you that you were going on a date with Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington, who you’ve only seen from further away, you’d be scared off and refuse to go. And Robin knew Steve was the overly excited type, he’d spend hours messing around with his hair and clothes, and overthink everything that he was going to say, not being able to act like himself.

Nancy was driving you around Hawkins, she mentioned she needed to run a couple of errands before going back to her house. But you noticed there was something weird going on with her, she was practically bouncing out of her seat, a small smile creeping up onto her face.

‘Maybe she’s just thinking about Jonathon’ you thought to yourself shrugging.

Nancy and Steve’s past relationship hadn’t gone down the best, it was full of regrets and hurtful words but she managed to move on with Jonathon. But Steve was still her friend, she knew how much he had grown these past few years, and he deserved a companion just as much as you did — someone to treat him better than she ever did.

She pulled up into the parking lot of family video. “Hey, can you grab the movie tape I told you about earlier inside? I just need to tell Robin something and we’ll be out of there.” You nodded, and followed her inside.

The store was fairly empty, you quickly spotted Nancy’s energetic friend Robin who was standing behind the counter, a wide smirk on her face. What was going on with them?

You wandered over to the rom-com section browsing for the tape Nancy instructed you to find.

You were lost in your own world, unaware of the commotion happening a few sections back. “Dingus, go help her, I’m busy right now!” Robin whisper-yelled hitting Steve’s back as he came out of the break room.

“Ouch, ok ok I’m going.” Steve yelped, spotting you across the store struggling to find a specific tape.

He walked over and your back was still turned to him, he cleared his throat awkwardly standing. “Er, can I help you with something…oh,” Steve went slack-jawed when you turned around.

He could only describe you as the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen in all of Hawkins. You were holding your hands together in front of you, shifting between both feet, looking up at Steve with the most adorable look on your face. He could instantly tell you were shier than most, your eyes looked all around his face before settling on the floor.

“I-I’m good, just looking for a…movie” you squeaked out. You remembered Steve but he looked different now. He lost his youthful lean body, his shoulders were broader now, jaw sharper with light stubble coating his once clean shaven face, and his hands god. They were rougher — the veins popping at the surface, it was clear he worked now, not just lazily kicking back and letting others take over. He smiled when it meant something now, and he looked like he went through some tough moments.

“Need help?” Steve swallowed thickly.

“I…mhm,” your voice coming out as a faint whisper, a pink colored flush swallowing your face whole.

Despite your closed-off nature Steve took a step closer, he found himself unable to keep the short distance from the quiet kind of beauty that was in front of him.

“This is the one you’re looking for?” He pulled out the tape you were endlessly searching for.

Your eyes widened at the way he understood what you wanted without having to communicate it. “Y-yeah, that’s the one.” You looked into his eyes, while a soft smile spread onto Steve’s face.

He extended the tape towards you, and you reached out wrapping your fingers around it, they skimmed Steve’s own fingers but neither of you pulled back. You weren’t one for physical touch, but there was something about his warm skin against yours that found you aching for more.

Steve’s breath paused when he made contact with you for the first time, tingles spread from his fingertips straight into his chest. Unbeknownst to them, Nancy and Robin were hidden behind the counter giggling uncontrollably, and high-fived each other at their brilliant thinking.

After a couple seconds you took the tape away and held it close to your chest not sure what to say anymore. “T-thank you…you must know all your movies well.” Your poor attempt at flirting with Steve sent butterflies through his stomach, and he let out a quiet laugh shaking his head.

“Not really no, I don’t even know how I got this job. But if you keep showing up, I’ll have a reason to try and pay attention from now on.” Steve effortlessly responded, reminding you of the ladies man you once knew.

You ducked your head, cheeks darkening even further, though you smiled. You weren’t use to this type of attention, especially not from Steve Harrington, but that’s what made your heart start to quicken. Why was he so damn charming?

You turned away before you could embarrass yourself more, he was probably just being friendly, you were a customer after all. Steve rung you up but snuck glances at your face, reveling in the way you refused to meet his eyes anymore.

Nancy finally emerged and held a smug look on her face as she walked alongside you back to her car. “Sooo” she dragged out. “How’d it go!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Nance,” you tried brushing her off, busying yourself with getting your seat buckled.

“Oh, stop it! You know what I mean…” she wiggled her eyebrows at you with a knowing look. “Steve Harrington.”

You buried your face into your hands groaning, it was embarrassing just how affected you seemed, after a short interaction with the attractive man. “He’s so…” you sighed, not being able to describe so many characteristics into one word. Handsome? Flirty? Helpful?

“I knew it, you guys were made for each other. So when’s the date?” She asked getting to the point.

“What?” You screeched out. “I’m not—he didn’t, he just helped me out.” You settled on, though the warmth still swarming through your chest said otherwise.

“Practical Steve, he’s never been able to make the first move without a little push,” Nancy rolled her eyes. Was she seriously expecting Steve Harrington to ask you out? You were nothing like the girls he went for, and were you even looking to date anyone right now?

Back in family video, Steve hadn’t even moved since you left, frozen in place still thinking of your fluttering eyelashes at him. Robin tackled him, her curiosity not even trying to be hidden. “Well? Are you back in the game Romeo? You two look so cute together I’m already planning your wedding!” She was bouncing up and down.

“It was—she’s—god she’s beautiful.” Steve shook his head, about to ask Robin to pinch him out of this dream.

“What did she say when you asked her out?” Robin was beyond happy.

Steve’s eyes widened his stare turning blank. “You did ask her out…right dingus?” Robin repeated slowly, looking like she was about to seriously hurt Steve if he denied.

“Uh…I…it completely flew out of my mind.” Steve’s gaze turned downwards, regretting the past ten minutes of his existence.

“Are you out of your mind Harrington? We bring you a girl, who’s exceptionally pretty and smart, and everything you don’t deserve, and you fumble that hard? What, did you expect her to do it for you?” Robin stretched her hands out grabbing Steve by the collar, drilling her words into his head.

“Start using your brain, before I take it away from you, Steve. I’ll tell Nancy to give me her number and you will call her tonight. Ask her to go on a date. Or so help me god I will never try to help your doomed love life again. Alright?”

Steve nodded rapidly, “yes yes ok, I’m gonna ask her out.” Prying Robin off of his body.

And sure enough, Robin gave him your phone number and later that night Steve was anxiously sitting by the phone preparing to make his move.

Your phone rang once, twice, then you picked it up. “Hello?” You questioned softly, Nancy never called you this late, and there was no one else that would be willing to strike up a conversation with you right now.

“Hey…Hi, it’s Steve, from earlier today.” He spoke his words slow, thinking about them more carefully now.

“Oh, hi! How’d you get my number?” You were shocked, maybe you hadn’t been imagining things after all.

“Robin gave it to me from Nancy. Don’t worry I’m not a stalker,” Steve awkwardly laughed and you couldn’t help the giggle that creeped through the line.

“But…I actually meant to ask you something, I forgot to earlier, it’s your fault actually, for distracting me.”

Your lips parted, you were distracting? Usually people barely detected you, but Steve noticed you enough to call you hours later.

“Yeah?” You asked, your tone still not rising above a whisper.

“Of course, which is why I wanted to know. Would you go out with me, like on a date?” Steve matched your pitch, wishing he could see through the phone, imagining how hard you would blush at his words.

You were taken aback, that was definitely not what you were expecting. Maybe he got you mixed up with another person, but your heart fluttered just a little.

“Really?”

“Yeah, pretty.” Steve’s word almost made you go into cardiac arrest. He called you pretty. A boy called you pretty. Steve called you pretty. You tried not to let how hard your heart was beating show through your voice.

“Um—yes. Yes! I’d like to.” You’ve truly never felt this excited in a long time, embarrassingly you’ve never gone on a date before. Guys were never really interested in you, and although it stung every now and then, you learned to ignore it, maybe love was never supposed to be in the cards for you. But Steve made sure to keep you on your toes.

“That’s great! Amazing actually!” Steve accidentally let his excitement show, but he felt like he was on cloud nine.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow night, alright?” Maybe Steve should’ve asked if you were even free then, but all he wanted was to see you again as soon as possible.

“Okay, sounds good.” You agreed, looking forward to your date.

The line filled with a long moment of silence, no one making the move to end the call. You could hear his soft breathing on the other end, and found yourself wondering what he was thinking too.

“Goodbye, Steve.” You whispered, hoping that your fondness would be able to reach him.

“Bye, pretty.” Steve whispered back, and you put the phone back down screaming into your pillow.

The next day you hurriedly invited Nancy over to help you prepare, maybe it was weird she was helping you get ready for a date with her ex, but she seemed just as excited as you.

She searched through your closet for the best outfit you own, pulling out a short navy plaid skirt paired with a soft sweater. You didn’t want to look like someone different, you wanted Steve to see the real you. Nancy did your hair and applied some light makeup to your face, just enough to bring out your features.

It was slowly getting closer to the time Steve was supposed to be picking you up, and you stood in front of your mirror admiring how good you looked.

“He’s going to fall at his knees for you,” Nancy giggled, and you shoved her away gasping.

“Nance!”

“I’m only saying the truth. You’re an amazing girl, it doesn’t take Steve much to see that. Just be yourself, I know it might feel like too much, but he just wants to impress you. Don’t get in your head,” Nancy finished by pulling you into a hug.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Nance, thank you, I owe you one.” You said smiling, Nancy shook her head shushing you.

She left your house with a wave and you patiently fidgeted around now, growing more restless by the minute. Then you heard it, the soft knock at your door by who you could only assume was your date. You smoothed down your skirt before swinging the door open.

You came face to face with Steve who was standing just as nervous you were, though he did a better job at hiding it. He put a lot of effort into his hair you noticed, wearing a jacket over his sweater and jeans. In his hands, Steve was holding a small bouquet of flowers, your favorite.

“Hey,” he breathed out, looking deeply into your eyes.

“Hi,” you couldn’t stop the small smile pulling at your lips.

“Hi,” he repeated, causing you to giggle. He shook his head, pulling himself out of the trance he was stuck in after seeing you looking all pretty for him.

“These are for you, I didn’t know what kind you liked, but…” Steve trailed off, handing them to you.

“They’re actually my favorite,” you tilted your head at him, moving them up to your nose to deeply inhale.

“Oh, well, looks like I’m an expert.” Steve puffed out his chest smugly.

You figured you should leave your doorway now, and he guided you to his car with a hand on your back. His touch, again.

He pulled open the passenger door for you, and once he made sure you were fully inside he shut it, jogging over to the drivers seat.

“I’d tell you where we’re going, but it’s a surprise.” He started driving, and every now and then, would take a glance at you, both of your smiles never leaving your faces.

He pulled up to a busy parking lot and a soft gasp left your mouth when you spotted a ferries wheel in the distance, Steve took you to the yearly carnival. You had always wanted to go, but going alone wasn’t ideal, and the crowds of people terrified you.

“We can leave if you don’t like these kinds of places,” Steve fully turned to you, not leaving the car yet. You felt like crying at how sincere he was being, taking your preferences into account.

You shook your head, “this is perfect, Steve.” You said, and he had to blink a couple of times at how good his name sounded leaving your lips.

He nodded rapidly and got out of the car coming around to help you out. He led you through the busy crowds, and your hands started brushing against his at your side, all you wanted was to reach out and hold his, but what if he didn’t want you to?

As if Steve was sensing your thoughts, you suddenly felt his warm hands lace his fingers through yours, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. You tried to not allow Steve to see the effect he had on you, but he pulled you just a tiny bit closer to his side, bumping hips.

“I’m not the best at carnival games to be honest, but they’re rigged anyway so who cares?” He said walking you over to a ring-stacking game.

You watched as Steve handed the worker some cash and was about to start playing before he turned to you. “Well, find a prize you like, for when I win it for you.” He winked, and you bit back a smile, shaking your head.

He squinted focusing as hard as he could, and got it in on the first try. “You see that!” He jumped, embodying an excited puppy.

“I see that, good job Steve”. You laughed. He got the next two rings successfully onto the cone and you cheered.

“Gimme that one.” Steve pointed at a small bunny plushie, looking so soft covered by fur.

He dramatically presented it to you, acting like it was gold. “For my good luck charm,” Steve bowed. You took it, giving it a light squeeze. “Hey, it kind of looks like you,” Steve teased.

You pointed at a penguin plushie, “and that one looks like you.” You teased back, Steve’s face morphing into one of shock.

“Take that back! If anything, I’m a lion” he playfully pushed you.

“Mhm sure, whatever you say.” You retorted, not able to take him seriously.

After sometime Steve took you to a cotton-candy stall, buying a huge bright pink one sharing it between you. What you really weren’t expecting though, was for Steve to pick off a big chunk and bring it to your mouth waiting to feed it to you. Your brows raised at his gesture, but you humored him moving to bite the sweet sugar from his hand.

He stared at you hungerily while you ate, and afterwards when there was some left over on the corners of your lips he lifted his thumb to gently swipe beside your mouth. “Good girl,” he muttered, low enough for only you to hear.

Burning heat rushed to your face, and Steve gave your still interlocked hand a soft squeeze, but undeniably gloated at how flustered he made you.

“‘Cmon pretty, we can’t leave without going on the Ferris wheel. I saw how excitedly you looked at it before.” He mentioned, grabbing you gently to get in line for the ride.

The sight was beautiful, you were looking up at the night sky, the wind softly blowing your hair back. You turned back to Steve who was watching you the entire time. “I had a really good time today with you, Steve.” You said.

“Me too, you look so beautiful.” He reached forward and tucked a loose strand behind your ear, getting to admire your features up close.

“Thanks…” you whispered, your gaze never leaving his honey brown eyes.

He seemed to not be able to look away from your eyes either and before you knew it, the distance between your faces was slowly closing, and you didn’t want to pull away.

“Steve,” you sighed, waiting for his soft pink lips to attach to yours.

“Yeah, baby?” He whispered, his hands not leaving your face.

“Kiss me,”

And just like that, Steve stopped over thinking every little movement, and allowed his heart to take control, his lips pressing fully against yours in the softest of kisses.

You didn’t pull away until you couldn’t breathe, but as soon as you did you wanted nothing more than to kiss him again and again.

“I want to be yours.” Steve confessed.

“I’d like that too.” You smiled wide, as he brought you into another kiss.

You’re used to the nurses’ gossip; sometimes it’s unfounded, so you’ve learned to check your sources with Carol and Jerry to know what’s true. You take your chart to the front desk and return it to the stack. You lean on the desk, drumming your fingers.

“Hey, Jerry.”

He nods. “Hey. Woman with a head lac in Curtain Two. Shattered a vase and cut herself.”

“Okay. Do you know where Benton is?”

Jerry snorts. “Sure. He’s tending to His Highness, Howard Davis.”

“Who?”

“We have a medical wing named after him.” He rubs two fingers together. “Y’know?”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah, and get this: Carter went to school with his son. Davis called him Johnny.”

“Johnny?” You grin. Carter is so not a Johnny.

“Yup.” Jerry pops the ‘p.’ “Swift came in and had me call Chicago’s greats just ‘cause Davis had a little cut on his hand.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve got our priorities in order,” you say, laughing.

“Sure. Wish I had a medical wing to donate.”

The phone rings. You take that as your cue to go tend to the woman behind the curtain. She’s deeply apologetic, even though you assure her that this is what you’re here for. You need to up your procedure count anyway. You’re pretty sure Benton will give Carter the surgery internship next year, but Mark Greene had told you that he’d be thrilled to have you back in the ER. It’s not your first choice, considering you want to be a chief of surgery one day, but you switched hospitals halfway through your rotation this year. You’re lucky to be offered anything at Cook County in the first place.

Besides, you like it here. You like the doctors, the staff… you like Carter too, even if he can be a little bit of a pain during times like these, when you have to compete for opportunities. But he’s been nothing but nice to you since you arrived, and he’s shown you all the ropes he could. 

And he’s rich? Jesus. You wonder why he’s even here. Surely, he could do anything, right?

“Okay, Mrs. Maldonado,” you say, finishing the woman’s stitches. “You’re all set. If you feel dizzy or nauseous, return immediately, okay?”

She thanks you and apologizes one last time before going to be discharged. You return that chart to the desk, then head for the stairs, on the hunt for Benton. He’d hinted at a chance for you to scrub into a hernia repair, and you want to make sure he hasn’t forgotten. 

But Benton comes out of the elevator before you can go upstairs, flanked by Carter and who you assume to be Davis. His hand is wrapped, and he’s talking animatedly about horses. Benton looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. He raises his eyebrows at you. 

“Hi, Dr. Benton,” you say quietly. “Can I still scrub into the hernioplasty?”

“Yeah, fine. One sec.” He turns to Davis, who has stopped talking, and is now studying you. You smile, and he smiles back, but it’s not warm.

“Mr. Davis, it was a pleasure,” Benton says. “I hope your hand heals fast.”

“You did excellent work,” Davis says, patting Benton’s shoulder. “It was good to see Johnny again.” He gestures to you. “And you must be the girl who got Johnny’s heart!”

Your eyebrows lift. “I’m sorry?”

Carter is slicing his throat with his hand behind Davis, shaking his head urgently. Play along! he mouths. Your gaze flicks from him to Davis. 

“Uh…”

“Oh, don’t be shy. Johnny told me all about you. Dating another medical student, well, I guess that figures. I told him he should catch up with Katrina, my daughter, but he can’t with you keeping him honest. Tell me, where did you go to school?”

“I went to Illinois State for my undergrad,” you say.

Davis looks you over. “Uh-huh. I see. And you two are in the same program?”

“That’s right, sir,” Carter says. “That’s how we met.”

You open your mouth to correct him, but Benton, by all the graces of God, interrupts.

“I’m really so sorry, Mr. Davis, but I need my students back. They’re scrubbing into a surgery. You understand, I hope.” Benton doesn’t sound sorry at all. You love it. 

“Oh, sure, sure.” Davis waves his uninjured hand. “Of course, Dr. Benton. Keep up the great work, you and John. Johnny, I’ll see you and this young lady for dinner tonight, yes? Seven sharp.”

“We can’t, unfortunately, as I mentioned before, sir. We’re on-call till midnight,” Carter says, rubbing his hands like he's washing them. A nervous habit. You've noticed that Carter's hands get cracked and red on colder days like these; you've been meaning to give him a pocket lotion, identical to the one you keep in your coat. “We’re not able to get off early.”

“For one night! I think the hospital can survive. Benton, can you let these kids go for a few hours?”

Benton smiles flatly. “Of course, Mr. Davis. We can survive.”

“Fantastic! Johnny, I’ll send the car. You know how that goes.” He nods at you, a little stilted. “And you. Don’t worry about wearing your scrubs. I’m sure it’d be too much trouble for you to change. Johnny’s always dressed up, aren’t you, John?”

Carter rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh—habit from my dad, I guess.”

Davis laughs like that’s the best thing he’s heard in a decade. “You’re right about that! Well, I’ll see you soon. Take care.”

He pats Carter’s shoulder and leaves. Carter shoves his hands deep in his pockets, avoiding both your and Benton’s gaze.

“Didn’t know I’d stolen your heart, Johnny,” you say, hands on your hips.

“Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know about him,” Benton says. “Carter here liked riding horses before he came to slum it with us, didn’t you?”

Carter sighs. “Dr. Benton, can we have a minute?”

Benton rolls his eyes. “Both of you finish your charting, and then I’ll see you for the hernia.” He points to you. “Got it?”

You nod. “Got it.”

“Great. We should be finished by the time the car arrives, Mr. Carter.”

Carter winces as Benton walks away. You tilt your head.

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

“Uh-huh. Since when are you loaded and dating me? All in one afternoon? Should I expect a ring tomorrow?”

“I’m not loaded, my parents are.”

“Yeah, that’s what rich kids say to attempt modesty. You raced horses?” you ask.

“I didn't race, it was dressage. With an Icelandic pony. Look—”

“A pony? I thought ponies couldn’t be ridden.”

“Some are bred to be ridden. Can I just explain?”

“Wait, I have another question. Is caviar really worth the hype? ‘Cause it looks like those decorative beads that they sell at Pier One, and I’ve always thought it was really weird how obsessed some people are with eating animal embryos and babies.”

Carter pinches the bridge of his nose. “Um, I haven’t had it in a long time, but from what I remember, it was only okay. Can we talk now?”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, herding you into an empty on-call room. He turns on the light and closes the door. You sit on the bed and watch Carter pace a few times before speaking.

“Okay, so, I went to school with Mr. Davis’ son, Greg, as you might have heard. And Davis started talking about Katrina, his daughter, who’s a year younger than Greg and I.”

“Greg and me,” you say.

Carter stops pacing. “What?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘Greg and me’ ‘cause it wouldn’t make sense if you said ‘Katrina is a year younger than I.’ Well, I guess you could say that, but it sounds really weird, like strangely archaic and formal—”

“Seriously? Now?”

You shrug. “Okay, whatever. I guess I expected more from—where’d you graduate? Vanderbilt?”

“Brown. If this is you trying to soothe my nerves, it’s not working.” Carter's a little unkempt, which isn't unusual after a full shift, but you're only three hours in. His stethoscope is slung unevenly around his neck. You reach up to pull one end down so it's even. He blinks at you. 

“You’re right,” you say solemnly. “This requires drastic measures. I’ll tell Alfred to fetch the smelling salts immediately, Mr. Wayne.”

That gets a laugh out of him, and you smile, happy he’s a little less tense. Tense Carter is never fun to witness. He sits next to you on the bed. You pat his back, encouraging him to keep explaining. 

“Davis was asking me about my life and… y’know, women in my life. He started talking about Katrina, and how she’s ‘managing a bank, but she’s still unmarried! Ain’t that a damn shame!”’

You grimace. “What century is this guy from?”

Carter scoffs. “Not ours or the last. He’s really old-fashioned. He told me that Katrina’s visiting him in Chicago for work and he’d love for us to catch up, and I… I panicked.” He groans, running his hands through his hair and tugging the ends. “I’m sorry. Your name was the first I thought of. I said we’ve been together for a year.”

“Why don’t you just go out to dinner once with Katrina and then tell her you don’t feel a spark, or whatever?”

Carter blows out a slow breath. “No, that wouldn’t work. She’s… God forgive me, honestly, I don’t like saying this about people, but she’s crazy. She set this girl’s hair on fire in her junior year because the girl slept with Katrina’s boyfriend. Katrina was drunk, but…” 

“Yeesh,” you say. “I take it there was no disciplinary action?”

“The dean tried, but Davis just threw money at him, and it all went away. Katrina was back in school a few weeks later. Even Greg would warn his friends not to get involved with her. She was out of control for years, and I can’t imagine she’s much different now.” He looks at you, eyes big and pitiful. “I’m really sorry. Maybe we can say we have to be quarantined for tuberculosis or something.”

You hum. “We could. Or we can just go to dinner for a few hours and then Jerry can page us back to the hospital. That way, Davis won’t hound you to meet him again.”

Carter’s eyebrows lift. “You’re taking this really well, considering I just threw this at you.”

“Oh, well, you had a fantastic reason. Johnny Carter is never caught unawares!”

He shakes his head. “I always hated when he called me that. I never felt like a Johnny.”

You bump his shoulder with yours. “Yeah, sorry. I think it’s either John or Carter. Do you have a middle name?”

“Truman.”

“Yikes.”

He snorts. “My dad’s John Truman Carter Jr. So…”

You smile slowly. “Oh, Carter. You cannot tell anyone else that. They will literally never let you live down John Truman Carter the Third.”

He flops back onto the bed horizontally. “Tell me about it. I thought I could graduate without anyone finding out about my family. I don’t want anyone to treat me differently just ‘cause he has money. I’m still the same guy you all know.”

You lie down next to him, propping your head on your hand. One of his suspender straps has slipped down his shoulder, so you pull it back up. You smooth his tie. 

“You’re still Carter to me,” you say. “But the suspenders make a lot more sense.”

He smiles and looks down at his shirt. You’ve never noticed how long his lashes are; this close, you can see that they cast shadows on his cheeks.

“My dad made me wear them for most of my life. Never thought twice about it, honestly.”

“I think they’re dashing. Do they get the ladies hot? Do said ladies snap them against your skin?”

“Oh my God,” he says, cheeks pinking. “No comment.”

“That’s absolutely a yes!”

“New subject. Are you sure you want to do this? I can find a way to get you out of this. You shouldn't have to suffer just because of my stupid mouth.”

Carter’s mouth isn't stupid at all, though you don't say so. He's got a perfect mouth, actually. It's pink and when he smiles, his mouth turns upside-down, which you didn't expect the first time you met him. When he shows his teeth, it's even better. Carter has the cutest grin. You look at his mouth now, how it's pulled into a frown. You want to trace his lips until he smiles again. 

“I don't mind,” you say. “He's a super important guy, right? Donated a lot to the hospital? We should keep him happy.”

Carter scowls. “This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. I thought the days of meeting my dad's friends and listening to their ridiculous, out-of-touch problems were over. I chose my own path, and I still can't escape them.” 

He presses his palms to his eyes. You take a moment to look at the shape of him: his long legs bent over the edge of the bed, his striped white shirt tucked into his pants, the lean lines of his torso. His chest rises and falls quickly. 

You savor moments like these, despite his freakout. Carter's the only one who makes you feel like a person at work. He sat with you last month when you lost a little boy in emergency surgery and held your hand while you cried. He's brought you countless bagels and coffees and vending machine chips. Sometimes you just sit together, when you have a second to spare. 

“Carter.” You touch his chest. It's warm. He runs so warm, and it surprises you every time. “It'll be fine. You're still on your own path. One dinner won't derail your independence.”

It's beginning to click now, why Carter takes mistakes so personally, like he's failed himself over and over. Why he was desperate to move out, why he never speaks about his family, and why he never has any plans for the holidays. He's mentioned his brother's cancer once to you, nothing else. 

He lifts his hands. “I know. It's just, Davis can be a little much. You shouldn't have to deal with it.”

“I can be couth. Address the one percent.”

“I didn't mean it like that. You're amazing. He can be brash. There's a reason Greg moved across the country to be away from him.”

“I think I'll be okay,” you say. “Don't worry, Carter. You will owe me, though.”

Carter nods like he was expecting that. “Of course. Anything you want.”

“I have to think about it.” You hop off the bed and extend a hand. “C'mon, Kentucky Derby. We need to get back to saving the world.”

Carter takes your hand and stands. “That doesn't even make sense. I didn’t race.”

“Well, I don't know any famous dressage competitions. That's outside of my tax bracket.” 

The hernia repair goes well. Benton lets you go with minimal grumbling, maybe because he realizes that Swift will be on his ass if Davis complains. You change out of your scrubs, Davis’ comment still ringing in your ears. You dress professionally when the occasion calls for it, and you always have a set of work clothes in your locker. Mostly, you wear scrubs or t-shirts you don’t mind getting blood on.

Benton has never commented on it, nor has Mark, so you stuck to it, prioritizing comfort and hygiene over anything else. It’s a hospital, not Fashion Week.

There’s a knock on the door. “Hey, almost ready? I think the car’s outside.” Carter.

But as you change and look yourself over in the bathroom, you’re wishing you had the means to make more of an effort. Your hair is styled efficiently, out of your face, protecting it until the next wash. Your face is plain, skin free of jewelry. It’s too much of a work hazard with grabby or drunk patients, and you sweat frequently, running around the way you do.

You lean in to inspect your skin, the hair on your face, natural discoloration around your features. The change of clothes helps; you’re in a nice pink blouse and dark pants. The last time you wore this was for a meeting with Morgenstern about a scholarship opportunity. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

“Yep, ready!” You smooth your shirt down and grab your stuff, opening the door.

Carter’s got his coat on, in his usual digs, but there’s no reason for him to worry about appearances. Now that you know about his family, it’s easy to imagine him in a room full of elites, wearing a sports jacket and drinking expensive scotch or champagne. Hate it or not, you’re sure Carter’s really good at mingling with people like that. He was one of them. Is.

“You look nice.” He smiles, but it’s a little confused. “You didn’t have to change, though.”

“No one wants me in my stinky scrubs,” you say breezily, turning to put on your coat so you don’t have to look at Carter.

He sighs, and when you look at him, he’s frowning. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Carter, don’t be a silly goose. You said the car’s waiting, right? Let’s go.”

He reluctantly follows you out, through the hospital, and into the cold February air. You tuck your scarf tighter around your neck. Carter takes your hand and points at a black towncar. 

“I think that’s it.”

Carter touches your wrist gently, and you look at him.

The seats are soft and leathery. You’re almost afraid to sit, worried you’ll ruin it. Carter chats with the driver, and if he’s nervous about dinner, it doesn’t show. You watch the city blur past, content to let Carter take the lead. At work, you’re clever and ambitious, and you and Carter have even gone toe-to-toe a couple times.

The medical field is already difficult enough; going into surgery as a woman is about twelve times harder. Benton respects you… you think he does, anyway. He’s tough on everyone, which comforts you. But you know most surgical residents aren’t like him. There’s a certain demographic that enters this field. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod. “I’m fine, Carter.”

He laughs a little. “Probably shouldn’t call me Carter at dinner. None of my girlfriends called me Carter.”

At least now you have no conflicts. You’ve accepted how you feel, you just bury it. 

It’s just pretend, just for tonight, but Carter calling you his girlfriend sends a jolt of electricity through you. You’ve seen and even met a few women he’s dated, or, more accurately, had flings with. He’s affectionate, clingy when he thinks he has privacy.

For a while, you hated how your body reacted to the sight of him with women. Carter is technically your competitor, and liking him is only a distraction. Now you’re friends, but it was frustrating at the beginning, trying not to like him. Carter’s sweet, which made it worse. 

“John, then.” It’s unusual coming out of your mouth, but it’s nice. “I guess you should call me by my first name too.”

He nods. “For sure. I told Jerry to page us at eight.”

“Only an hour?” You grin. “No faith in me?”

“No faith in me,” he says. “I’d rather do a hundred rectal temp checks.”

“Oh my God, it can’t be that bad!” you say, laughing.

“No, it won’t. I haven’t done this in years. I’m just intolerant, I guess.”

The car pulls up to the establishment: Gibson’s, an upscale American bar and grill. Carter gets out and comes around to your door so you don’t have to slide across the street. He opens the door and takes your hand, helping you out.

“Such a gentleman,” you say.

“Sometimes,” he says, a little bashful. His cheeks are flushed with cold. “Remember, we’ve been dating a year. We met at school.”

“Got it.” 

Carter links your arm with his. You walk in together. Carter gives his name and helps you out of your coat to give it to the coat check attendant. You rush to unwrap your scarf, and Carter pats your shoulder, a silent message. Relax. You slow down. You deserve to be here too. You were invited, after all.

You’re brought to the table, where Davis is already seated. He waves, calling Carter over. Carter pulls your chair out for you, then pushes you in. He takes his seat next to you. 

“I’m so pleased you could make it,” Davis says, like you had a choice. “Nice having a break from the hospital, eh?”

“We like our work, but it’s nice to have a break,” Carter says diplomatically. “What’s good here?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I already put an order in for three ribeyes.” He points at you. “It’ll knock your socks off.”

“Mr. Davis, we appreciate that, but she doesn’t eat red meat,” Carter says.

Davis squints at you. “Since when? Some fad diet?”

“No, it’s just a personal choice. We see a lot of heart problems in the ER, so I’ve been cutting back. But it’s okay, I can—”

Carter interrupts your excuse. “Mr. Davis, surely you understand. She’d really prefer to eat something else.”

Davis sighs like he killed the cow himself. “Sure, fine. A little beef does you some good, you know. John here loves steak! Should’ve found yourself a steak-lover, Johnny.”

Carter just presses his lips together. You awkwardly fold your hands in your lap as Davis waves over a waiter to give you a menu. You order quickly, not wanting to prolong the tension. 

“So, tell me, what do your parents do?” Davis asks. 

“My mother is a teacher, my dad was a mechanic. He retired.”

“Hm. They must be glad you’re becoming a doctor.”

“Yes, they’re very proud,” you say.

“Costly, though. You must be drowning in debt.”

You stutter, surprised at his bluntness. “Oh, um, I was fortunate enough to get some merit scholarships, and other aid, but yes, it’s expensive. I have loans, but who doesn’t, right?”

Davis is silent. Right. No one at this table shoulders loans. You glance at Carter, who looks exhausted already.

“Katrina’s on the board for PNC Bank,” Davis says. “No decent guys at work, though. You’d think that the higher you go, the better the options, but no luck.”

“I’m sure she’ll find someone,” Carter says.

“Has she tried those matchmaking services?” you ask. “I had a friend who got married through one of those, and she’s happy.”

Davis raises an eyebrow. “My daughter can find a good fellow on her own.”

“It was only a suggestion,” Carter says. “The Maynors did the same thing with their daughter.”

Davis hisses through his teeth. “Yeah, I remember. That’s because Alexis Maynor had nothing going for her. No looks, no charm, not even a viable career. I suppose if you’re that desperate, you have to rely on those kinds of things.”

Jesus. If this is how Davis is, you’d hate to meet either of his children. 

“So, a teacher. What does your mother teach?” Davis asks.

“She teaches high school biology.”

He raises a brow. “And she didn’t want to become a doctor herself?”

“I think she liked teaching more. She likes the kids and the schedule.”

“Ah, well. Not everyone can do. Some must teach.”

You tuck your tongue into your cheek, trying not to snap. “Respectfully, Mr. Davis, all of history’s greats would never have become great without a good teacher.”

“And yet we never hear about them,” Davis says, chuckling. 

The waiter arrives then with your food—truly wonderful timing. You wish you had a clock to know how much longer you have to put up with this. Hopefully not long. You can weather through it; he’s not much worse than the smarmy classmates and older doctors you’ve dealt with.

“So Johnny, when are you getting married?”

Carter’s cutting his steak with laser focus. He glances at you, then clears his throat. “We haven’t really discussed it, sir.”

Davis guffaws. “Johnny, I didn’t mean you two. Oh, I’m sure you’re a splendid girl,” he says to you. “But Johnny, you need a family woman. Someone who’ll take care of you at home.”

“I take care of myself just fine,” Carter says, the muscles in his jaw jumping. “And we’re very happy together.”

“Two doctors? Your schedules will never work. You’ll fall apart within a year. Not to mention, Jack and Eleanor wouldn’t approve.” He waves a hand at you. “Surely, you can find someone more your speed, huh?”

Your eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“Someone who shares your background! You can’t have much in common, besides the hospital. What are you specializing in, anyway? Pediatrics? Gynecology?"

You can’t believe it. Davis saw you right next to Carter and Benton. He saw Benton speak to you, address you as his student. And he… what? Assumed you were lost?

You take a slow breath. In, out. “No, actually, I’m studying surgery. I want to be a chief of surgery.”

“A female chief of surgery, wow. Someone’s got big dreams. Johnny, this is what I mean—you don’t want a girl who’s competing with you for the same spot.”

Your and Carter’s pagers beep then, and you’d laugh at the timing if Davis wasn’t turning an interesting shade of red. Carter turns the alert off.

“You know what?” Carter throws his napkin onto his plate and stands. Several people’s heads turn.

“Mr. Davis, you’ve been unbelievably rude tonight. Just because you’re a friend of my father’s doesn’t mean you have any right to judge what I do or who I love. This woman here is fantastic. Her. Right here.”

Carter thrusts a hand at you. You lower your eyes briefly, not wanting to see Davis’ irate expression. But then you look at Carter, and his intensity steals the air from your lungs.

“I’m in love with her! I’d be proud to call her my wife someday. She’s a great doctor, and if she became chief, it would be well-deserved. I am more than my family. I barely see my parents these days, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give a shit about what they think. This is my path. My life. She’s in it, in a big way, and you aren’t.”

“That’s the hospital. We have to go.” He pulls out his wallet and tosses a few bills onto the table. “For our share. And by the way? Katrina’s a bully, and so are you. That’s why she can’t get married.”

Carter helps you out of your chair, then rests an arm around your back as you go to the coat check. Soon enough, the restaurant resumes its usual bustle, letting you leave in peace. Carter’s quiet the whole time. You follow him outside where he tries to flag down a cab in vain. 

“Carter,” you say softly.

He checks his watch and grumbles, failing to wave another cab. “What, do they have somewhere to be?” he mutters. 

“John.”

Carter looks at you, mouth twitching at the name. “Yeah?”

You sigh. “You should go back. Apologize. He’ll complain to Swift. What if you get kicked out?”

“He wouldn’t go that far,” Carter says. “My dad’s a jerk, but if he ever found out Davis was the reason I got dropped from the program, he’d go after him.”

“Still, it wasn’t—I’m not worth all that trouble. You can still smooth things over. Say you had a hard day, say we fought or something.”

Carter blinks at you. “Not worth—what are you talking about? Of course you’re worth it. He was totally out of line. That shit he said about your mom? God, who the hell does he think he is?”

“It was out of line, Carter, but you and I are just friends. We were pretending, remember? It’s not like any of that stuff about you loving me is true.”

Carter glances at the road, the pavement, anywhere but your eyes. Your heart thumps in your chest.

“Carter?” Your voice is weak. “Is it?”

“There’s a reason I said your name,” he says, and bites the inside of his cheek. “It was… wishful thinking.”

You take a careful step forward. It’s freezing. You want to be wrapped in Carter’s warmth.

“You’re in love with me?”

He nods, staring at his shoes. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say, not daring to breathe in case you fill your lungs and it all melts away. “I just thought of a way you can pay me back for tonight.”

The look Carter gives you tells you that he knows what you’ll say, but he needs to hear it anyway. “How?”

“Kiss me.”

He takes your face in his hands tenderly, thumbs rubbing your cheeks. He kisses you, his mouth warm and firm. Not stupid. His bangs tickle your forehead. You close your eyes and push his bangs back, raking your fingers through his hair. He makes a pleased sound and pulls you closer. You’ll never be cold again.

Carter pulls back just enough to rest his forehead on yours, nose bumping your cheek. “You are worth it.”

“How was it today?”

The other voice, she quickly realizes, is Y/N. Though Nancy confirms this by peering around the edge of the doorway to see the two of them. Y/N had stayed behind from today’s crawl, instead opting to sort through the rather large shipment Murray had brought earlier that day. A small clipboard is in her hand, a pencil in the other as her gaze flicks back and forth between the shelves and the inventory sheet that had been carefully curated in the past few months of quarantine. 

“Fine.” Steve responds, hand coming to rest on the top of the shelf as he gazes down at her. The type of thing he does to seem cool, Nancy is pretty familiar with the move herself. The action gives Y/N a reason to pause, she looks up at him. “Nothing of interest.” Steve adds, feeling almost scrutinized under the girl’s gaze as he swallows nervously.

Y/N only hums, gaze returning to her inventory sheet, an air of nonchalance she doesn’t often wear, the type that seems almost unnatural and forced. “Well, I’m glad you made it back alright.” The words are sincere yet stiff, maybe a bit awkward. Bashful might be the better term by the way she avoids Steve’s gaze. 

Nancy blinks at the sight, once, twice. Trying to discern what it all means. She’s seen the two of them interact before, they’d all gone to high school together after all. For the past few months, he and Y/N had been working nights at WSQK to keep the midnight radio station going. Sure, they’d gotten closer, but Nancy had never thought it was anything more than two good friends. 

Until now, that is.

Steve nods absently, leaning a little closer. Close enough that it borders on something a bit more than friendly as his head just barely ducks down in a subtle effort to be closer to Y/N. It makes Y/N pause again, looking up at him. Nancy can see the way her gaze flits to his lips for just a moment and—

Holy shit, are they flirting? Or, more accurately, failing at flirting? The tension between them is easily explained by some sort of awkward pining now that Nancy thinks about it. 

“Steve.” The way Y/N speaks is almost in warning, back of her pen coming to his chest to gently push him away. “I told you—”

Instantly he’s shaking his head. His hand came to gently wrap around her wrist. “I know.” He acquiesces. “And I told you that you’ve got the wrong idea.” His voice is soft, almost pleading as his gaze darts over her face. 

See, Nancy had it all wrong. Steve’s odd behavior and awkwardness had nothing to do with a crush on her, it had everything to do with his stupid crush on Y/N. Because after confessing to the girl, she had instantaneously shot him down. 

“Everyone knows you’re still in love with Nancy.”

The words had been haunting him ever since. And Steve had made it his personal mission to prove her wrong. He wasn’t still in love with Nancy. Yes, there was a point in his life where he loved her deeply, but that felt so far away now. Nancy had moved on with Jonathan, and maybe Steve had been vying for her affection at some point, but he wasn’t stupid. Nancy didn’t want him anymore. After a bit of sulking and wallowing, he’d realized there were better things to do with his time.

Y/N wasn’t a rebound. She was, admittedly, an accident. Though Steve had been going on dates left and right, he hadn’t been looking for love per se, he’d been looking for some form of validation. Proof that he could be loved at all. With each failed date, the blows to his pride only grew. The dry spell was neverending, and eventually he’d all but given up. Perhaps Steve Harrington really was unlovable, meant to die alone.

She was around a lot. And with proximity comes talking, and with talking comes knowing. Steve has found that there is nothing more intimate than knowing. To know someone like the back of your own hand, it brings a warm feeling to his chest and a word he’s a bit scared to say to his mind. Because he knew her, he’d memorized the curves in her handwriting on that god forsaken inventory sheet, the glee of her laugh, the furrow of her brows when she was confused. He knew. 

Worse, she knew. It was the little things, the way she arrived for the 6PM shift with an extra cup of coffee made to his taste. Or how she’d always started the late night radio off with one of his favorite songs. Even the way she knew his movements as they navigated the all too small radio booth. She knew who he was and she was still his friend. A fact that made Steve think, even if only for a moment, that maybe he is not unlovable. 

Eventually he didn’t just know: he wanted, he yearned. 

With each late night shift together, the desire to be closer, to know more only intensified. The simple routine they’d fallen into was something he relished in. The banter, the type of flirting that is hardly there. Or at least, he had thought it was flirting. Robin had too, having grown tired of Steve’s lengthy rants on their interactions. Up until he’d been dropping Y/N off at home and just confessed. Hearing her say no because she was under the impression he still wanted Nancy hurt. So, he simply had to show her how wrong she was. 

“I don’t like Nancy anymore.” The words are insistent, maybe a bit desperate. Because he needs her to believe him, he really does. The mere thought that this was the only reason he’d been rejected physically pains him. She could be his if they just cleared this up and moved on!

Nancy suddenly feels like she’s intruding, quickly realizing that Steve hadn’t been treating her oddly because he had feelings for her. But rather, because he’d been trying to prove he didn’t have feelings for her. 

Y/N clears her throat, pursing her lips and looking up at him. “Steve—”

He shakes his head again, giving her wrist a gentle squeeze. “Y’know, I’ve been avoiding her like the plague for the past two weeks.” Steve explains, gaze flickering over her face in search of some sort of approval. Avoiding Nancy was an easy solution, people would stop talking about his non-existent feelings for her. “Hardly even a conversation.” He breathes out. 

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” She responds softly, brows furrowing a bit. “And I doubt Nancy will take too kindly to that.”

Steve laughs, “I don’t care.” A pause. “I mean— I do. I don’t wanna be rude but I—” He sighs, “I don’t care about Nancy like that, that’s what I need you to understand.” Yes, Nancy was his friend, a good friend. But now, that’s all there was to it. 

She sighs, gently tugging her wrist free from his hold. She puts down the clipboard and pen before returning her attention to him. “Steve.” She talks with her hands, he knows that. It’s one of the many things he knows about her, it's probably why she put those things down first. Because now he’s watching her gesture a bit wildly with her hands, starting some rant that he’s not entirely paying attention to. 

“Do you like me?” He cuts her off, it’s a simple question after all. One that has her pausing, blinking up at him, surprised and confused. 

“Do I…” Her face warms as she registers the question, and she looks away with a huff. “That’s not what this is about.”

“That’s the only thing this is about.” Steve responds, “cause I really like you. A lot. Like, way too much. It’s embarrassing if I’m honest.” He brings a hand to hover over her face, hesitant for a moment before cupping her cheek. “It’s not about Nancy at all. Or about what everyone thinks I feel. It’s about you and me. That’s it.” He says softly. 

She swallows, suddenly feeling nervous. Her gaze goes down, trying to avoid eye contact. Though his hand slides to her jaw, gently tipping it back up to make her meet his gaze. She looks up at him through her lashes, eyes flicking over his face. When she frowns a bit, his free hand comes to smooth the crease between her brows. “Everyone says you still like her.” She repeats quietly. 

“But do you like me?” He asks again, leaning forwards to rest his forehead against hers. “Do you?” He somehow sounds both shy and eager, looking for clues on her face. 

He really wants her to say yes. If nothing else, he just wants to try. He’ll kick himself for the rest of his life if they don’t at least try. It doesn’t have to be anything more than a single date, but Steve just needs a chance. 

She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and his gaze drops down to her lips at the sight of it. Oh god, she’s killing him. His thumb gently swipes over her bottom lip, tugging it free from between her teeth. 

“I— I do.” She breathes out, hesitant. “But Steve—”

He’s already beaming, a dimpled smile on his face as both his hands cup her cheeks. A breathy laugh escapes him as he leans forward to nudge his nose against hers. “You do?” It’s endearing, how excited he sounds. “I like you too.” He repeats it, and she thinks she’s heard it a million times from him now but it still has the same effect. Her heart pounding a bit harder in her chest. “Like a lot.”

“I’m starting to think you don’t listen to the words I say.” She mumbles, a bit shy from the proximity. 

Steve scoffs, nosing at her cheek now, she breathes out a little laugh. “I listen to everything you say.” He responds, almost offended she had even suggested otherwise. “Everything. All the time. I love your voice.” 

A giggle escapes Y/N this time, though it’s quickly silenced when he pulls back to look at her, thumb smoothing over her cheek. “Hi.” Is all she can manage, and it has him laughing as well.

“Hi.” He murmurs back quietly. 

It’s soft— he’s soft. Hushed whispers and laughs between the two even if things aren’t entirely resolved quite yet. Steve has always been a loverboy, but seeing him now, Nancy can’t help but feel a bit surprised. He’s gentle in a way she’d never really seen before. She finds herself stepping away from the small crack in the door, her own morbid curiosity is beat by the overwhelming feeling she’s invading on something deeply intimate. 

Well, at least she didn’t have to yell at anyone today. 

Note: laugh out loud!

giggles filled the room, neither max nor el able to stop themselves as they balanced the coke bottle on the cardboard. the stereo weighed heavy on the colorful comforter, and max's excited hands were toying with the makeshift bandage as she nodded for el to spin the glass.

max had resolved to teach el to have fun this summer. not with mike, not with hopper's shadow looming over her, just unadultered, teen girl fun. poor thing deserved a break, to feel normal for once in her life.

their laughter died slightly when the bottle landed on ted wheeler. they shared a complicit distasteful look, muttering "boring" at the same time before trying again.

"why did we even write him in in the first place?" max chewed out.

a loud laugh left the both of them when, this time, the bottle pointed at one steve harrington.

"oh, my god, el," max squealed. "we have to see that uniform again. i forgot how ridiculous he looks."

"he looks funny," the brunette agreed, her eyes fluttering shut as max fixed the blindfold behind her head.

without much effort, she saw steve's silhouette materializing in an endless sea of black. he wasn't wearing his sailor uniform, which el thought odd, since she was fairly sure he should've been on the clock still.

she tried to get closer, because all she could see was his back moving in strange, slow waves, his body twisting around something else. a few steps ahead, she heard something.

"well, what's he doing?" the redhead asked from the material world, no longer smiling since el had been quiet for a bit.

"'m not sure," el mumbled. "he's making noises."

"noises?"

"yeah, like—" she imitated his grunts for a bit, then a smack, and a slurp. max gasped, but el couldn't see her mortified expression.

"el—"

oh. oh, yuck.

steve shifted a little, just enough for el to spy another figure laying beside him. smaller, making noises as well, in a different pitch. the person moved along with steve, seemingly in a coordinated dance that soon dawned on el. she'd spent a good amount of time doing the exact same thing with mike.

"he's with a girl," she muttered the obvious for max.

she watched him lay back, bringing the other person with him. it wasn't someone she recognized, although when steve finally had the decency to stop sucking your face and pull away, el spoke again.

"a pretty girl."

"nancy?!" max gasped again. closer to a yell, actually.

"no, no, no, i— i don't know who she is. she's just very pretty. i think they're in the woods, or something. there's dirt."

"el, stop watching him make out with some rando!"

"they've stopped!" she squealed in her defense.

she couldn't quite stop looking, either. you weren't just pretty, she decided when steve tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. you were beautiful. and you were smiling so much.

"you taste like peaches," she heard you giggle, ducking your head again to peck steve's lips.

"yeah?" he pecked yours in return. "you taste like someone i'm gonna take to dinner tomorrow."

you giggled again, louder, fully laying down beside steve and burying your pretty face in the crook of his neck, mumbling something el knew would be wrong to listen to.

she removed the blindfold, blinking to adjust her eyes to the artificial light of the room. max's cheeks was as red as the blood dripping down her own nose.

"so?" the redhead yanked the bottle, toying with it expectantly in her hands.

"he's gonna take her out to dinner. tomorrow," el clarified with a growing, cheeky smile on her lips.

"oh, my god, steve has a girlfriend," max stated, definite and with barely contained laughter. el nodded, allowing herself to chuckle a little.

"i can't believe this is the thing lucas and i make up over," she huffed, skipping off the bed, already reaching for the phone.

✦

six little heads peeked from behind a parked car, anxiously waiting for steve’s familiar beamer to drive up the street. the glowing sign of enzo’s illuminated mike’s face as he sighed.

"i swear to god if you guys are messing with us," he huffed. "it’s not funny."

"we told you el saw them!" max whipped her head to the side, sneering as her hair whipped will’s face. "look, mike, if you’re bored and wanna go home just grab your stupid bike—"

"sh!" lucas waved a hand, making all of them duck out of sight as the bmw finally rolled down the street and parked close by. their keen eyes caught steve stepping out of it and rushing to the other side. he opened the door and the kids had to strain to catch sight of you as you emerged.

dressed up, unfamiliar, giggling and glowing at something steve had said. his arm settled around your waist with ease, toying with the fabric of your dress as you both walked up to the restaurant. once the clicking of your heels could no longer be heard behind the closed door, dustin guffawed.

"told ya!"

"i can’t believe someone fell for that stupid uniform."

"but he was not wearing the uniform when i saw them," el mumbled, a small frown on her face.

"and now he’s wearing slacks."

"so this is a second date kind of thing, then?" max perked up. "if el caught them making out already."

"and they were touching a lot," dustin pointed out.

a few beats of silence followed. the kids looked at one another, clueless as to what to do next. will was about to suggest going back to the wheeler’s and get started on the d&d campaign he’d been planning for days, before dustin spoke again.

"they always seat the couples by that window."

will groaned as everyone scurried over to the brick wall at the side of enzo’s, still wet with that midday’s summer rain.

✦

how could someone laugh so much, the kids wondered from where they had been peeking for over an hour.

steve surely wasn’t that funny, yet there you were, leaning on your elbows, chin resting on your palms, whole face glowing with joy and something mike didn’t remember seeing in his sister’s eyes when she’d been sitting right in your spot. nancy had always had a slight tightness to her shoulders and yet, you seemed to melt in steve’s presence.

they couldn’t hear your conversation, of course, your words all muffled by the apparently best insulated windows in hawkins, but they didn’t need to. steve’s eyes spoke for themselves when he let you take the first bite of the tiramisu you’d sworn you didn’t want. as if you could fool him, with how often you asked for that exact flavor at scoops on your dates— your dates with other people.

he was close to feeling that horrible tightness in his chest at the thought when he looked you over again. beautiful you, sitting across from him on your second date, looking perfectly happy to be there with him. oh, how miserable he’d seen you just a week ago. he’d make sure you never felt that again.

"is it any good?" he asked you, quietly so he’d have an excuse to lean closer.

you hummed, a glimmer in your eyes as you thoughtfully studied the tiny spoon between your fingers. steve didn't know what to make of it until he watched you scoop a small bite of the dessert and bring the spoon to his lips. they parted slowly in surprise, a chance you took to gently feed him the tiramisu, a bit of cocoa powder staining the corner of his mouth. he took a few extra seconds to swallow, completely bewildered yet blushing to the tips of his ears.

dustin cackled, and the smile that was growing on steve's lips froze as the one sound made it through the window. the kids couldn't back down from the window in time before he caught sight of them, his features hardening into a scowl.

"steve?" you called, confused, watching him rise from his seat. you swore steam was coming out of his ears.

"i'm sorry, beautiful," he muttered, pressing a kiss to your cheek before making his way out the door, startling the other tables. "i'll be right back!"

you stayed there, baffled and pouting at your date's flight, toying with the spoon. maybe that had been weird? you knew some guys didn't like that kind of sappy gestures— some of the guys you'd brought to scoops before had made that perfectly clear. you'd thought steve would appreciate it, but perhaps you'd been wrong. you could work around that, surely, and it was no reason to bolt out—

you heard muffled shouting at your side. through the window you could see steve, standing oh-so handsome in the middle of the street, yelling at a bunch of kids who couldn't possibly be older than middle school. you blinked, confused, before a giggle left your lips at the scene. just then, you made eye contact with a girl, the one with the sweet brown eyes, which widened when she saw you. her gaze fixed behind his head made steve turn back to look at you through the window, to which you could only give a little smile and a wave. by the time he snapped himself out of it, the kids had fled.

he returned to you with a lowered head and a string of apologies spilling out of his lips, which you interrupted with a gentle nudge to his leg under the table.

"you could've told me you had kids, you know," you joked, making him choke on the wine he'd gulped down after sitting. "i don't mind."

he hadn't planned on telling you this story so early on.

"two tickets for st. elmo's fire, please. and a large popcorn. with butter. thanks."

you didn’t have time to register steve’s words before he was sliding a bill to the teenager on the other side of the counter, looking just as miserable as steve himself had before you became a regular at scoops ahoy.

your protest died in your throat as he turned to smile at you, offering you the bright yellow bucket.

"butter popcorn with milkshakes?" you leaned in to murmur, just for his ears, feigning bewilderment. "wanna kill me?"

"the milkshakes have fruit in them," he raised his eyebrows, grinning as he led you down the hallway. after having the tickets torn in half at the door, he was quick to shove them into his pocket, just to let the hand that wasn’t holding the bucket hang free— just in case you wanted to hold it. the two cups of sugary goodness slushed around in your bag. "they’re healthy."

"it’s cute that you seriously think peach ice cream has actual peaches in it."

cute. he’d take what he could get.

"would you have liked that back to the future one better?" he mumbled as you both sat down, the previews already rolling. you dove into your bag, fishing for the two large milkshakes steve had lovingly prepared for the both of you before leaving robin to cover for him, lest the movies close on you. "we can still switch rooms, if you want."

"it’s okay," you smiled at him, handing him one of the cups, along with a straw. his heart skipped a beat when your fingers brushed. "i’ve heard this one’s good. we can always just come again."

again. fuck yeah.

when you bent back down for the second cup, he stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm. you turned to blink at him, finding a hopeful expression on his pretty face.

"we can share," he whispered, placing the cup on the holder between both your seats and shoving the straw in it. "so you don’t get sick. you take the other one home."

the movie had already started, so the warm lighting seemed to kiss one side of his chiseled face, while projecting soft shadows onto the other. your heart fluttered, something none of the boys you'd brought to scoops ahoy so far had ever managed.

"okay," you murmured, warmth creeping up to your cheeks. "thank you for the extra one, then."

"thank you?" he echoed, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "you think i'm giving it to you for free, just because you're pretty?"

you were about to blurt out a confused little something when he laughed, leaning in even closer. "you'd be right."

you wanted to smack him. you also wanted to melt in your seat. you chose the latter.

for the majority of the movie, you actually focused on what happened on the screen, which confused steve because, well, he couldn't recall a single film he'd come to watch on a date, the memories filled with sloppy making out instead. about ten minutes in, though, after noticing you weren't paying him much mind, he decided to tune in, too, just to see what was hoarding all of your attention. he found himself actually invested. huh.

by the time you got out of the mall, the sky was dark, and the wind had picked up. goosebumps bloomed on your arms, and you barely had time to hug yourself before steve had shrugged off his bomber jacket and draped it over your shoulders. the scent of his cologne made your face even warmer, and your eyes flicked up to his face, which only made it worse.

you found him already looking down at you, seemingly fond if you could say so yourself.

"robin must have closed up already," he mumbled, still not daring to reach out for you first. oddly shy of him. "so, um— i don't know if you're hungry enough for dinner, maybe we could just drive around for a bit if you feel like it. or i can just drop you off, you tell me."

"i don't wanna go home just yet," you confirmed, a pretty smile puffing up your cheeks and making steve's heart do that stupid thing it always did. although, this time, instead of you smiling at some idiot while he sulked behind the counter of scoops ahoy, this time it was actually all for him. and he was giddy.

"awesome," he hummed, reaching for his car keys in the pocket of his jacket, the one that fit you awkwardly yet somehow like a glove. the contact through the fabric made you want to squeal.

✦

"your car's gorgeous, by the way," you commented as you buckled up, making steve light up from where he'd held the passenger door open for you.

"yeah?" he laughed, rushing around the car to get in, not wanting to waste a second of your company. "it's my baby. not that i'm crazy about my car like other guys are, but i do take care of it. so, thank you."

you hummed, looking around the space as the engine revved, then smoothed out into a steady vibration once steve grabbed the gear shift like second nature and got moving. it was true, the car was impeccable. you relaxed imperceptibly into the leather seat, letting the scent of steve's pine tree air freshener lull you into a trance.

the street lights kissed your skin as he drove, and as much as he tried to focus on the road, god help him, his eyes kept on finding you. just a week ago he'd been moping to robin, pining over you, and now here you were, rolling down the window of his bmw to let the summer breeze in.

steve wondered when the right moment to kiss you would be as your hair fluttered in the wind. not yet, dummy. he almost missed the turn he had to take, a dirt path off the main road that would've eventually taken you to the interstate. the trail was significantly darker, narrower, cradled by the trees.

"you're not trying to murder me out here, are you?" you joked, eyes twinkling when you spotted his little grin at your accusation.

"no, no," he laughed. "it's just that we can't reach the field by car."

"the field?" you echoed, blinking at him as he killed the engine and climbed out of the car. before you could speak again, he was opening your door for you.

"yeah," he hummed. when your sneakers were firmly planted on the dirt, he locked the car, and began walking at your side, one of his hands hanging free at his right— your left. just in case you wanted to hold it now. "mr. wright's pumpkin patch."

"in july?"

"they're growing in just about now," he defended himself, the familiar fencing coming into view, along with a hole in the wires, suspiciously steve-shaped. "and it's just far enough out of town for the stars to be in full view. mr. wright stops by to check at eight every night, so we should be clear. plus, he keeps the place pretty neat."

your eyes widened a little at steve's... knowledge of this random man's crops. just how many girls had he brought here, you wondered. you might’ve been the thousandth one. god, you were an idiot, and you were just now realizing it. he had wooed you so easily after too many failed dates, and now he was just gonna—

his hand brushed yours. the panic quietened down as quickly as it had started, replaced by this ever-encompassing warmth. you turned to him, and even in the near total darkness, you could see a twinkle in his eyes. and, god, didn't those eyes deserve your trust? a chance?

"i'm very happy you said yes, you know," he chose the perfect moment to speak. "i'm having a lot of fun."

"i am, too," you returned the sentiment, cheeks warm again. you even dared brush your hand against his, obviously deliberate this time, and he took the opportunity to thread your fingers together. he didn't keep a tight grip on you, just barely holding on to give you the chance to retreat without much of a hassle. you didn't.

"i mean it, it's just—" he spoke again with a light chuckle. "i loved the movie. and you're really fun. and, like, crazy smart— here, sorry," he ducked down to lift the wire for you, an unnecessary gesture considering the size of the hole but sweet nonetheless. he kept on talking as he entered after you. you tried not to wince at the texture of the soil under your feet, no doubt staining your sneakers as you moved carefully through the scattered, unripe fruits.

"but you're not the kind of smart that makes me feel like an idiot, you know?" the words made you squeeze his hand unconsciously. "it's just really nice to talk to you, in general— outside of scoops, i mean. it was nice in scoops, too, but— yeah."

"you know you're not an idiot, right?" you muttered, letting your feet come to a slow stop once steve himself did. he laughed, which came out slightly sour.

"one of us is going to college."

"that doesn't make me smarter than you," you argued, mindlessly following him when he plopped down, not before having arranged a few leaves strategically for you not to get any stains on your pants. "we're just good at different things."

quiet. he tilted his head towards you and made a face, one that showed that he clearly didn't believe you, which only aggravated you even more.

"you can read everyone like books," you began, squeezing your fingers around his again. "and you just— you morph when you talk to them, and you always know exactly what to say to have them make googly eyes at you. i can't do that. and look at all the schmucks i went out with, and i couldn't even tell that they were! you could! you know how to talk to people and make them feel seen, and you have a good heart, and just because i wasted more of my time pouring over textbooks than you does not make that any less important."

steve's features smoothed out then, like a wave of something had washed over him, and your face flamed with shame. too much. and yet, you couldn't stop yourself from saying one last thing.

"and i really like all of that about you, by the way. i wouldn't have gone out with you if i'd thought you were an idiot."

he took in a deep, deep breath, willing his heart to beat at a normal rate, willing the tears off his eyes. he prayed you didn't notice as he moved his head again, the starry night sky filling his view. all of that stuff out there, and it had all somehow moved in such a way that you were there with him right at that instant, making it feel like the start of something.

"i wasn't planning on kissing you tonight," he spoke, turning to look at you and finding you completely engrossed in the sky, no doubt finding patterns and constellations he didn't know were there. maybe you'd like to show them to him sometime.

you whipped your head to the side at that.

"you know, i wanted to take it slow for a change," he laughed. "but i can't help it, i still wanna ask if you'll let me."

he squeezed your hand this time.

"so, will you?"

"yeah— yes, god, yes," you blurted out, not a flicker of hesitation in your mind.

you'd expected him to smash his mouth against yours, so it didn't help your frayed nerves when he did the exact opposite. he leaned in real slow, taking you in as much as he could before his eyes fluttered shut, and he pressed his lips to yours. soft, warm, just like you'd imagined. he hummed happily against your mouth, pecking it one, two, three more times before pulling back.

a sweet haze fogged his mind, his cheeks bright pink and his lips tingling with the slight hint of peach he'd taken from you, and your own taste he so wished he could make into a milkshake. smiling at his silly thought, he leaned in again.