soph’s lair𖤐

“Not that I’m complaining, big fan of the outfit,” he adds slyly, and you can’t help the way your cheeks tinge with heat. 

You’d gotten all ready, slipping on some baby blue tights, and your old pair of cream-colored leg warmers – the ones you used to wear for ballet before you’d forced your mom to let you quit. You’d even bought a new leotard from the athletics store a few shops down the way.

Now, though, you just felt stupid.

“I just heard some girls talking about it” pretty ones, you don’t add, chewing on your lip instead as you gaze around the bland room. It had only been a few months since you and Steve started dating, a few months after he tried talking you up in the Scoops Ahoy line, and you nearly slapping him in the face because you thought he was playing a joke on you.

You weren’t ugly, or even unlikeable, by any means, but you were shy and lived the majority of your life with few friends and even fewer boyfriends. In fact, your Saturday nights throughout the years consisted mostly of watching over your neighbor's son while he played video games with his own friends. 

So god forbid you decide that maybe you should try something new – get out of your comfort zone. I mean, sure, Steve wasn’t exactly Mr. Popularity these days, but he had friends. Even if they were years younger. 

It wasn’t even that you minded being alone, but it was the way you never really had much to do other than reading, listening to music, working, and occasionally sneaking your boyfriend through your bedroom window that made you wonder if maybe Steve was getting a bit tired of the lone wolf routine you were so accustomed to.

“Y’know if you wanted to get my attention, you could’ve just said so. Didn’t have to go hurting yourself,” he jests lightly, shoulder brushing yours to try and nudge the frown off of your face and soften the crease between your brows.

You huff a small laugh, rolling your eyes as you lean your head back against the cold wall. “Yeah, yeah, don't get ahead of yourself, Harrington.” you tease, lifting your ankle off of the table and effectively knocking the ice pack off. 

It feels better, but the embarrassment still stings in a way something physical can’t. You should’ve just gone to the bookstore like you’d planned, picked up that new book you’d been eyeing the last time you were there. Would’ve saved yourself the humiliation and onslaught of self depreciation wiring its way through your chest.

“Hey, what's wrong?” he murmurs softly, eyes glossing over your face as his hand itches to brush across your cheek. Even after only a few months of dating, he could read you better than most people in your life.

“Nothing, I just” wish I liked more normal things so I didn’t have to resort to stumbling around like a baby deer on rollerskates, “wish I had better foot coordination” you muse, brushing off his worry with some cheap laughter as you pick at your nailbeds.

Steve, to his credit, can tell you're lying but doesn't push. Not yet.

He’d changed out of his uniform in the employee bathroom before you came in, and was now donning some worn jeans and an old t-shirt that made you feel utterly foolish that you didn’t bring a spare change of clothes.

He watches you eye him with a soft smile, reaching around to grab his Members Only jacket off of the table before wrapping it around your shoulders gently. “Lets get you home, sweet girl” he hums, offering up his hand to help you up – ever the gentleman. 

You nod, hair falling in front of your face in an attempt to cover the way your eyes soften at the nickname. You take his hand, only wincing slightly as you stand on your swollen ankle, and let him lead you out of the now nearly vacated mall. 

You’re just thankful the escalators are still running, because if you were forced to hobble down the stairs like this, you think you’d actually die. It’s only when you see the familiar maroon hue of Steve's beamer parked out in the lot that you finally feel a sense of relief. 

The warm summer air brushes across your face gently as Steve helps you into the passenger seat, taking extra care to press a soft kiss against your forehead. When the door closes, you take a deep inhale and press your back into the familiar leather interior, eyes closed.

Steve wastes no time hopping into the driver's seat and turning down the Journey song blaring from the radio before pulling out of the lot. Well, this was easy, maybe you really were in the clear-

“Wanna tell what’s really wrong?” he hums, fingers drumming softly on the steering wheel as his eyes never leave the road.

And there it is.

You hate to admit how clever it was, trapping you in an enclosed space where there's no avoiding confrontation. You felt like an emotionally stunted cat backed into an alleyway.

“It’s just been a long day,” you offer quietly, wrapping Steve’s jacket around yourself a bit tighter as you stare at the blurring trees from the passenger window.

“So then let’s talk about it,” he adds, tearing his eyes away from the road to look at you, really look at you.

God, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so beautiful, even when frowning.

You chew on your lip, wishing you had stuffed some of your peach lip smacker in your purse before you’d left the house earlier. “You have to focus on the road, Steve” you muse, deflecting slightly as you look at him.

What you don’t expect is for Steve to slam on the brakes of his precious car as he swerves onto the shoulder of the road, putting the gear in park as he turns to face you expectantly. 

You huff out a weak laugh, “Well don’t you just have all the solutions” you mumble, a reluctant smile gracing your lips as you wring your fingers together.

To Steve's credit, he doesn’t smirk or laugh, just leans in a bit further to rub gentle circles on your wrist.

“Well, that’d only be true if I figured out how to make you feel better. So, help me out here?” he murmurs, voice soft as not to spook you too much.

It feels like coaxing a cat out of a hiding spot, and much to your chagrin, it’s working.

“I just feel embarrassed,” you huff, eyeing your ankle with such venom Steve’s surprised it doesn’t wither away. “I hate jazzercise” you grumble, and Steve can’t help the small smile that breaks out onto his face.

“Then why did you go?” he laughs, a hint of incredulity in his tone, and you feel your body freeze up.

“Because it’s normal, it’s what everyone does,” you point out quietly, and suddenly all of the laughter is sucked out of the car and your seatbelt feels too tight.

“So what?” he hums softly, scooting a little closer – well, as much as the center console will allow.

“Steve,” you murmur quietly, internally begging him to stop, to pretend like this all never happened.

But then again, Steve never was one to back down.

“No. Who cares if it’s what everyone else does, that doesn’t mean you have to do it” he murmurs, eyebrows furrowed in your direction. 

It’s like something in you snaps, “I notice how people look at us when we’re together, Steve. ‘Oh look, there's Steve and the weird loner chick’” you mutter, hands rubbing over your face aggressively. “I just wanted to feel like I fit in, for once. Like it’s not crazy for people to think you could actually be into me,” you add, quietly.

And for the first time since you two got in the car, Steve's face drops. For a second, you think he’s mad at you before he turns towards the backseat and pulls a paper gift bag onto his lap.

How long has that been back there?

“Steve, what-” you’re cut off by the resounding sound of a cassette tape settling on your lap. You feel your heart still in your chest as you read the title, The Queen Is Dead by The Smiths. “How- It’s only been out for a few days?”

“John at RadioShack owed me a favor,” he murmurs distractedly, hand still digging around in the bag before he pulls out something else. And this time, it takes everything in you not to cry.

It’s a copy of The Handmaid's Tale, the exact book you were eyeing at the store the last time you and Steve went. “Steve…”

“If you couldn’t tell, I like you the way you are. I like that you listen to The Smiths and Bowie, and read dystopian feminist novels, and don’t hesitate to almost slap me when I’m being a dick.” Steve's rambling now, hands gesturing wildly as you will back tears.

“Steve-” “and I like the way you don’t base your self-worth around how many friends you have, or the amount of parties you’ve been to, because none of that is important-”

“Steve-” “you taught me that none of that matters.” He finishes, eyes searching yours rapidly as you clutch the cassette and paperback between shaking fingers.

“Steve. I love you,” you whisper, voice shaky and so quiet that you’re sure if you two weren't sitting in a dead silent car, then Steve would’ve missed it.

Its the first time either of you have said it – you both felt it, of course you did, but the timing never felt right. 

Not like now, when the throbbing of your ankles dulled to nothing and the only thing you can really feel is the warmth of Steve’s eyes over you like a warm blanket in winter, because for the first time — possibly ever — you feel seen.

In fact, you don’t even exhale fully before you feel the familiar warm press of Steve's lips to yours.

It’s the blur of lips molding together and the warm hand brushing your cheek that make you forget why you were even upset to begin with.

It’s only when you’re both weak and breathless that Steve pulls away, hand still grasping your cheek as he looks at you with soft eyes.

“Well, if it wasn’t obvious – and Dustin’s been telling me it’s been glaringly obvious since our first date – I love you, too” he murmurs gently.

You don’t know what else to do, so you press your forehead against his with shuddering breaths, a weak laugh escaping your lips.

“Even when I force you to listen to The Clash’s discography from start to finish,” you tease softly.

Steve only laughs, nodding slightly as he looks at you, “Yes, even then.” he muses, pressing a delicate kiss to your temple. “Now, let’s get you home, clumsy girl.” 

You stifle a smile, intertwining your fingers with Steve’s as he pulls back onto the main road.

By the time you were old enough to understand what people were saying when they lowered their voices as you walked by, they'd already made up their minds about you anyway.

Your father had disappeared when you were seven. Some people said he ran off with another woman somewhere down in Indianapolis, others insisted he'd gotten himself arrested, and there was even an old rumor floating around The Hideout that he'd wound up dead in a ditch halfway across the state. 

Your mother never corrected anyone. Most days she couldn't remember what she'd told one person from the next, usually too busy sitting on the front porch with a cigarette hanging from her lips and something stronger than beer hidden in a paper bag at her feet.

As the years passed, she became less "that poor woman whose husband left" and more "the drunk over on Maple."

Kids snickered when she stumbled through the grocery store. Adults looked away when she nodded off at church picnics. The police knew your address without needing directions.

By association, everyone knew you too.

It didn't seem to matter that you always said yes when Mrs. Henderson needed help carrying groceries to her car, or that you babysat Dustin Henderson for practically nothing because you knew they couldn't afford much more.

It didn't matter that you stayed after class to help clean paintbrushes in art or volunteered at bake sales or smiled politely at teachers who looked at you with barely concealed pity.

You ironed your own clothes because your mother wouldn't. You packed your own lunches. You left early enough every morning to stop and make sure she hadn't fallen asleep with the stove on or a cigarette lit. You did everything in your power to prove you weren't her.

Still, every time attendance got called, somebody found a reason to laugh. "There she is."

"Bet her mom's plastered already."

"My dad says their electric got shut off again."

"I heard she steals."

The funny thing was, you never actually defended yourself anymore.

You'd tried when you were younger. Tried explaining, tried arguing, tried insisting they were wrong, only to discover that people who enjoyed believing the worst about someone rarely changed their minds because of facts.

So eventually you just kept your head down, smile, take your notes, go to work after school, come home, repeat. It was easier that way.

Or at least it had been until one Tuesday afternoon when Tommy Hagan decided the cafeteria was a suitable stage and announced to half the room, "Wonder who her mom will sleep with next. My money's on Carver's dad. He's always had an infatuation with the less fortunate."

The laughter came exactly when expected, almost comforting in its consistency. You looked down at your tray, swallowed hard enough that your throat hurt, and simply kept walking.

No comeback. No tears. No scene. Just another Tuesday. You were halfway to the table by yourself when somebody else spoke instead.

"Damn."

The voice was lazy, amused in that way that always made it impossible to tell if Eddie Munson was joking or dead serious.

"What an asshole."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Mind your business, freak."

Eddie looked around theatrically before pointing at himself. "Me? I thought I was minding it just fine."

A couple chuckles scattered through the room. Tommy scoffed and walked away with his little entourage, deciding it wasn't worth getting into another screaming match with Hawkins High's resident freak. 

You figured that was the end of it. It wasn't.

The next day you sat down at your usual empty table near the windows, unpacked your lunch, and had barely taken one bite before someone dropped onto the bench across from you with all the grace of a falling tree.

You looked up. Messy curls and a grin that looked entirely too comfortable on someone who was supposedly as intimidating as everyone insisted. "Hey."

"...Hi."

He pointed across the cafeteria with his carton of milk. "That guy's still an asshole."

Despite yourself, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "I've noticed."

"I heard what he said yesterday."

"So did everybody."

"Doesn't make him less of an asshole."

You shrugged and peeled the corner off your napkin without really thinking about it. "People say stuff."

"They say stuff about me too."

You let out a tiny laugh through your nose. "Yeah, but you're Eddie Munson."

"So?"

"So... you don't seem to care."

He leaned back, studying you for a second before giving the smallest shake of his head. "Nah."

The answer came so quickly you almost believed it. He reached over and stole one of your fries before you could protest. "I care a lot."

Your eyebrows shot up.

"I just figured if everyone already thinks I'm Satan reincarnated, I might as well give 'em something interesting to gossip about."

That earned a real laugh, quiet but unmistakable. For a second, he just looked at you, then he smiled too. "There it is."

"What?"

"I've seen you around for like... two years? First time I've seen you produce a real smile."

Your face immediately warmed. "I smile."

"Nope. Not like that."

"I do."

"Haven't seen it."

"Maybe you're not looking."

"Nah, sweetheart." He popped the stolen fry into his mouth and pointed at you like he'd solved some impossible equation. "I think you've just been trying way too hard to convince everybody you're not who they already decided you are."

You looked down at your lunch again. "...Maybe."

Then, almost casually, he shrugged. "For what it's worth..."

You glanced back up.

"I don't think you've gotta convince me."

It became something of an unspoken routine after that. Nothing dramatic, nothing anybody else would've noticed if they were looking in from the outside.

Eddie would throw himself into the seat across from you at lunch like he'd been doing it his whole life, steal a handful of fries or half your dessert if you happened to bring one, complain about whichever teacher had irritated him that day, and somehow manage to make you laugh at least once before the bell rang.

He never asked to walk you home, never pried. Never asked about your mother or why your sleeves always smelled faintly of laundry detergent, or why you looked perpetually exhausted by first period.

He just... sat with you. It was strange, really. Most people in Hawkins saw you as a cautionary tale. Eddie looked at you like you were actually a person.

A week later, after another particularly bad evening of listening to your mother cry over somebody who had been gone for nearly ten years, you found yourself doing what had quietly become your own ugly little habit.

You waited until she finally passed out on the couch. Walked three blocks with your jacket pulled tight around yourself. Slipped behind the abandoned picnic shelter at the park where nobody could see you from the road.

Then, after checking over your shoulder twice despite knowing there was nobody around, you dug into your pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

You hated them. You hated the smell. You hated the taste. You hated the way your fingers smelled after.

Every single drag made your chest ache and your eyes water. But for five minutes, all you had to think about was breathing in and breathing out, nothing else.

The lighter clicked as the end began to glow orange. You leaned back against one of the support beams, staring out into the empty darkness beyond the playground.

"You know those'll kill you."

Your entire body jerked so violently you nearly dropped the cigarette.

You whipped around to find Eddie standing a few feet away with both hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, looking almost apologetic.

"Oh, my God!"

"Sorry."

"You scared the shit out of me."

"I gathered."

Your face immediately flushed as you instinctively tucked the cigarette behind your back.

For a second, he just looked at you before reaching into his own jacket pocket and pulling out a pack.

"...Really?" He held it up, "I feel like we're past pretending."

Your shoulders relaxed just enough to pull your own hand back into view. He wandered over and leaned against the wooden railing beside you, taking a drag before looking out over the empty park.

"I always figured you hated me."

Your eyebrows pulled together. "What?"

"You look at me like I'm contagious."

"I don't."

"You kinda do."

"No, I..." You laughed quietly to yourself. "I just thought you thought I was pathetic."

He turned so fast he looked genuinely confused. "Why the hell would I think that?"

You shrugged. "'Cause everybody does."

He stared at you for another second before huffing out a laugh through his nose. "Jesus."

"What?"

"You really believe that, don't you?"

You didn't answer, so he looked back out into the darkness. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why do you care so much what these assholes think?"

You looked down at the cigarette between your fingers. "I don't."

"Bullshit."

"I don't."

"You apologize when people bump into you."

"...So?"

"You help every old lady in Hawkins carry groceries. You volunteer for school shit nobody wants to do."

You sighed. "So?"

"So, none of it's for you."

Your jaw tightened. "I'm just trying to prove that I'm not..."

He finished it for you. "...your mom."

You stared at the ground. "My dad left."

He nodded once. "I know."

"I just..." You swallowed. "I keep thinking if I can just be good enough then eventually people will realize I'm not gonna end up like her."

Eddie actually laughed, not meanly, more out of disbelief.

You frowned. "What's funny?"

"They won't. They already decided who you are."

You looked over at him.

"They've had your whole life to change their minds. They haven't."

You hated how quickly tears threatened your eyes. "So what am I supposed to do?"

He looked over at you like the answer was obvious. "Fuck 'em."

You blinked. "What?"

"Fuck. Them."

"Eddie—"

"No, seriously." He flicked ash onto the pavement. "You could cure cancer tomorrow, and half this town would still whisper about your drunk mom."

You stayed quiet.

"You could save somebody's life. You could become valedictorian. You could go to church every Sunday. And Tommy Hagan's still gonna call you trailer trash because it makes him feel better about himself."

You stared out into the empty darkness.

"So stop trying."

Your eyebrows knit together. "...Stop trying?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"That's terrible advice."

"It is."

"You know it is."

"I do." Another tiny smile tugged at his mouth. "But tell me I'm wrong."

You couldn't. Because somewhere deep down, in the place you tried very hard not to look at, you knew he wasn't.

He turned to face you fully now. "You spend every damn day trying to prove to people who don't care that you're worth something."

His expression softened just a fraction. "They don't get to decide that."

He nudged your shoulder with his. "You know what I'd do?"

"What?"

"I'd give 'em something to actually bitch about."

You looked at him like he'd grown another head.

"I'm serious, “ he grinned. "Skip class."

"No."

"Steal a stop sign."

"No."

"Spray paint Principal Higgins' parking spot."

"Eddie."

"I'm brainstorming."

Despite yourself, a laugh escaped, and he pointed at you immediately. "See? You’re considering it!"

You rolled your eyes. "You're a bad influence."

He smiled wider. "Nah."

He bumped your shoulder again. "I just think life's a hell of a lot easier when you stop begging people to like you."

You looked back down at the cigarette between your fingers. Then quietly asked, "And if they hate me?"

His answer came so fast it almost overlapped the question. "They already do."

You frowned, and he shrugged. "So you might as well have some fun."

By the time you got home that night, your mother's bedroom door was shut. You didn't bother checking if she was asleep; you already knew she was.

The television droned quietly from the living room, throwing blue light across the peeling wallpaper while an empty bottle sat on its side where she'd left it earlier in the evening. 

You stood there for a second, keys still dangling loosely from your fingertips, looking at the familiar scene with the same detached exhaustion you'd carried for years before quietly setting your bag down and making your way toward your room.

You should've done your homework. Should've packed your lunch. Should've folded the load of laundry that had been sitting in the dryer since yesterday. Instead, you sat on the edge of your bed and stared at your bedroom window.

"So stop trying."

The words refused to leave your head. You'd spent so much of your life worrying about what people thought of you that the idea of simply... not caring felt impossible.

You almost laughed when you got to the picnic shelter and found him already there.

Eddie was sitting on top of one of the weathered tables with one boot planted on the bench beneath him, lazily flipping a guitar pick between his fingers like he'd been expecting you all along.

The second he noticed you, the corner of his mouth curled upward. "I was beginning to think you were responsible."

"I am responsible."

"Ah. My mistake."

You rolled your eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Hanging out."

"By yourself?"

"For about..." he checked an imaginary watch on his wrist. "...forty-seven minutes."

"That's kind of sad."

"It is."

You stood there awkwardly for another second before shoving your hands into your jacket pockets. "So..."

"So,” then he suddenly hopped down from the table. "Wanna commit a crime?"

You blinked. "...Excuse me?"

He pointed dramatically toward the road. "Nothing huge."

"Eddie."

"Nothing illegal-illegal."

"Eddie."

"Victimless." He grinned, "Mostly."

You stared at him, and he stared back. "...I'm kidding."

You visibly relaxed.

Then he added, "Unless you say yes."

"I am not committing a crime."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He started walking anyway. Curiosity got the better of you after about twenty feet.

"...Where are you going?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Benny's."

"The diner?"

"The abandoned diner."

"It's closed."

"Very observant."

"Eddie."

"What?"

"We can't just..."

He raised an eyebrow. "...Walk inside?"

"Yes."

"Sure we can."

"No, we can't."

"We absolutely can."

"No."

He looked at you for a second before smiling that stupid smile again. "You comin' or what, sweetheart?"

You should've gone home; you knew that. You knew it with absolute certainty. Instead, after one quick glance up and down the empty road...you followed him.

The chain-link fence surrounding the old property had long since been bent out of shape in one corner, creating an opening just wide enough to squeeze through if you turned sideways.

Eddie slipped through first with practiced ease before holding the fence open for you with an exaggerated little bow.

"M'lady."

"This is trespassing."

"It absolutely is."

He didn't even sound concerned. You ducked through anyway.

The parking lot was cracked apart with weeds growing through the pavement, faded yellow lines barely visible beneath years of neglect. The old sign still hung crookedly above the building, half the letters missing, while dark windows reflected only the moonlight overhead.

You suddenly became very aware of how quiet everything was.

"Eddie..."

"Hm?"

"What if somebody sees us?"

"They'll think we're teenagers."

"We are teenagers."

"Exactly."

He reached the side entrance and gave the handle a tug. Locked.

He frowned dramatically. "Foiled."

A second later, he leaned down, reached beneath a loose cinder block, and triumphantly pulled out a rusty spare key.

Your jaw dropped. "Eddie."

"What?"

"How did you know that was there?"

He slid it into the lock. "I have my secrets."

The door creaked open with enough noise to make you physically cringe.

Dust floated lazily through the beams of moonlight pouring in through broken windows while overturned stools still rested upside down on counters exactly where they'd been left years before. Everything smelled faintly of mildew and old coffee.

You looked around slowly. "This is..."

"Kinda cool?"

"Kinda creepy."

"I'll take that."

The two of you wandered quietly through the empty diner, your fingers ghosting over chipped countertops and faded booths, every little sound seeming amplified in the silence.

You paused in front of one of the old menus still bolted to the counter.

Cheeseburger. $2.15. Coffee. 40¢.

You smiled to yourself. Then all the lights overhead suddenly flickered.

You froze. "Eddie."

No answer. "Eddie?" Silence.

You slowly turned, and he was gone.

"...Eddie."

A low voice echoed somewhere deeper inside the kitchen. "You should not have entered this place..."

You immediately covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.

"...for many years..." The voice dropped lower. "...the spirit of Benjamin has wandered these halls..."

You rounded the corner to find Eddie standing half-hidden behind the old serving window with both hands raised dramatically in the air, eyes rolled upward in what had to be the worst ghost impression ever performed by a human being.

"...searching eternally..."

His voice deepened another octave. "...for the teenager who last desecrated this place."

You snorted. He continued anyway. "...many have entered..."

He slowly pointed toward an old stain on the floor. "...none have survived..."

Your shoulders were already shaking. He took one giant theatrical step forward. "...except Gary."

You blinked. "...Who's Gary?"

He pointed randomly toward an overturned booth. "I don't know, some virgin, probably."

Another pause. "He seems alright."

That was it. A laugh burst out of you so suddenly and so loudly that it echoed through the entire empty building, the kind that made your stomach hurt.

When you finally caught your breath enough to look back at him, Eddie wasn't talking anymore.

He was just standing there with his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets, looking at you with the tiniest smile you'd ever seen on him.

"What?"

He shook his head once. "Nothing."

"What?"

"I just..." He looked down at the floor before letting out a quiet little laugh. "I don't think anybody's made you laugh in a really long time."

The smile faded from your face, replaced by something softer.

"...No."

He nodded as if he'd already known the answer. Then he looked around the abandoned diner before grabbing an old salt shaker off one of the tables and setting it carefully on top of the jukebox.

You frowned. "What are you doing?"

He looked back with complete seriousness. "Leaving evidence."

Your eyes widened. "Eddie."

"Gotta keep 'em guessing, hon."

Looking back on it later, you wouldn't have been able to pinpoint the exact moment things started getting out of hand. There wasn't some grand declaration, no dramatic pact.

No night where you suddenly decided to become a completely different person. It happened the way sunsets happened, so slowly you didn't notice until it was already dark.

The first "crime" had been wandering through Benny's abandoned diner and leaving a saltshaker on the jukebox as “proof of entry”. 

Then it was climbing onto the roof of Hawkins High after midnight just to watch the stars because Eddie insisted they looked better from up there.

Then it was buying one gas station soda and sharing it because neither of you had enough money for two. Then it was skipping the last period on Fridays because "Coach barely takes attendance anyway."

Then somehow...

You found yourself sitting on top of Skull Rock with your legs dangling over the edge, a warm beer balanced between your knees while Eddie attempted to explain why Black Sabbath was objectively superior to every other band in existence.

"I don't think objective means what you think it means."

"It absolutely does."

"No."

"It does when I'm right."

"You are impossible."

"I'm also correct."

You took another sip and immediately grimaced. "This tastes disgusting."

He looked genuinely offended. "It's beer."

"It's awful."

"You'll acquire the taste."

"I don't want to."

"You will."

"I won't."

Three weeks later, you'd stolen half of his can before he'd even asked. The scary part wasn't that you were changing; it was how easy it was.

One Saturday afternoon the two of you wandered aimlessly through Starcourt with exactly eleven dollars between you, neither of you intending to buy anything because neither of you could afford to.

You drifted through little novelty shops, picking up snow globes and cheap plastic rings and tiny stuffed animals before putting them back exactly where they belonged.

Eddie stopped in front of a rack of ridiculous keychains. He picked up one shaped like a tiny rubber chicken. Held it up, looked at you, looked back at the keychain, then quietly slipped it into his jacket pocket with all the subtlety of someone hiding a television.

Your eyes widened. "Eddie."

"What?"

"You just stole that."

"I did no such thing."

"I watched you."

"You have no proof."

"I literally saw it."

He leaned in conspiratorially. "Allegedly."

Five minutes later, he casually dropped the little rubber chicken into your hands while pretending to examine baseball caps. "For you."

You looked down at it. "...Why?"

He shrugged. "It looked stupid."

You laughed. "I love him."

"I knew you would."

The next store over, your eyes landed on an embarrassingly ugly pair of fuzzy six-sided dice hanging from a rotating display. Purple. Covered in silver glitter. Absolutely hideous.

You looked around once, twice. Your heart hammered so loudly you were convinced everybody could hear it. Then your hand darted out almost involuntarily before shoving them into your pocket. You practically speed-walked out of the store.

By the time Eddie caught up with you outside, your face was bright red.

He stared. "...Did you?"

You silently pulled the fuzzy dice from your jacket. For exactly three seconds, he looked completely speechless. Then he started laughing so hard he had to lean against the side of the building.

"You committed a felony for ugly fuzzy dice."

"I know."

"They're hideous."

"I know."

"I love them."

You shoved them into his chest. "They're yours."

His smile softened almost immediately. "For me?"

"They looked like something you'd hang in the van."

He looked down at them, then back at you, then quietly looped them around his fingers. "They're the nicest thing anybody's ever stolen for me."

From then on, it became something of a game. Nothing valuable and certainly nothing useful. Just tiny, ridiculous little things.

A plastic dinosaur. A guitar pick with flames on it. A novelty lighter that barely worked. A little ceramic gnome. An ugly pin with a smiling hot dog on it. Cheap friendship bracelets. A pair of sunglasses with one cracked lens.

Each one ending up in the other's pocket with no explanation beyond, "Saw it. Thought of you."

It wasn't about having things; neither of you really had anything. It was about choosing something absurd and deciding that it belonged to the other person.

The biggest offense came a month later. You and Eddie sat in the grass across from the Hawkins water tower while he shook a can of black spray paint absentmindedly.

He looked at it, then at the tower, then at you, then back at the tower. "...Terrible idea."

"Horrible."

"We absolutely shouldn't."

"Nope."

Silence.

"...Wanna?"

You looked at the water tower, looked back at him. Thought about every report card you'd brought home. Every teacher you'd smiled politely at. Every grocery bag you'd carried for strangers. Every time someone had looked at your mother's face and decided they knew yours too.

Then you looked back at Eddie. "...Yeah."

The climb was terrifying; your knees shook the entire way up. Halfway up, you almost turned around. So, when he noticed your hesitation, he reached down, grabbed your hand without saying a word, and helped pull you onto the platform.

Your breathing hadn't settled by the time he handed you the spray can. "You do it."

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. "No."

"You should."

"I can't."

"Sure you can."

"I've never spray-painted anything."

"So make it memorable."

You looked over the sleeping town stretched out beneath you. Every little house. Every little street. Every little person who thought they already knew exactly how your story ended.

Your thumb pressed down as the black paint hissed into the cool night air. In embarrassingly uneven letters, you wrote exactly two words.

FUCK 'EM.

You stared at it. Then immediately covered your mouth with both hands as laughter escaped you. Not because it was particularly funny, but because it felt impossible.

Eddie looked at the words, then started laughing too. The kind that echoed into the darkness. When the laughter finally died down, he bumped your shoulder with his.

Quietly, almost fondly. "I like you a lot better like this."

You looked over. "...Like what?"

He smiled at the town below. "The version of you that isn't apologizing for existing."

One day, Eddie's shoulder would brush yours, and you'd think nothing of it. Next, you'd find yourself looking around the cafeteria for him before you even realized you were doing it. Then suddenly every stupid thing he did became inexplicably funny.

Every time he walked into a room, your eyes followed him without permission. Every time he leaned over your shoulder to point something out in a comic book or hand you the lighter or steal your cigarette, your brain seemed to short-circuit for reasons you couldn't quite explain.

You tried very hard not to think about it. Mostly because it was Eddie; everybody knew Eddie flirted with everyone.

Everybody knew Eddie called half the female population of Hawkins "sweetheart." Everybody knew Eddie was just... Eddie.

Besides, you had more important things to worry about than some embarrassingly obvious crush.

Which was exactly what you were trying to tell yourself while staring at him instead of paying attention to whatever story he was currently in the middle of telling.

He stopped midsentence. "...Hello?"

Your eyes blinked. "Hm?"

"I lost you."

"I was listening."

"You absolutely were not."

"I was."

"What did I just say?"

You looked at him confidently. "...Something profound."

He burst out laughing. "Sweetheart, I was talking about Wayne accidentally super-gluing his fingers together."

"See? Profound."

He shook his head. "You are hopeless." The unfortunate part was that he wasn't entirely wrong.

By the time Founders Day rolled around, the rest of Hawkins seemed determined to spend the afternoon pretending the town was charming.

Children ran around with balloons tied to their wrists. Families wandered between food stands. Music drifted through the streets. Little American flags poked out of flower pots and storefront windows.

You and Eddie were approximately as interested as two stray cats.

Instead, the pair of you disappeared into the woods behind one of the nicer neighborhoods bordering town, settling beneath a cluster of trees, swapping what seemed like endless amounts of joints back and forth. 

The conversation drifted lazily from one topic to another, interrupted every few minutes by laughter over absolutely nothing.

At some point, Eddie had ended up stretched out flat on his back beside you, one arm folded behind his head while the other lazily pointed up through the branches.

"I still think that cloud looks like Ozzy Osbourne."

You squinted. "...That's a squirrel."

"A very metal squirrel."

"It has ears."

"So does Ozzy."

"I don't think that's his defining characteristic."

He looked over at you. "I think you're judging me."

"I absolutely am."

He clutched dramatically at his chest. "How rude!"

The breeze pushed through the leaves overhead while somewhere in the distance fireworks cracked faintly against the afternoon sky. You rolled onto your side to look at him, but he was already looking at you.

Neither of you immediately looked away. Your stomach did something deeply inconvenient. So naturally… you blurted out the first ridiculous thing that came to mind.

"...Let's go swimming."

He looked around. "In...the forest?"

"No."

"Okay."

You pointed vaguely through the trees toward the expensive houses on Loc Norah beyond them.

"The rich people."

His eyebrows lifted. "The rich people?"

"They all have pools."

"They do."

"They're all at Founders Day."

"They probably are."

"So..." He slowly sat up. "...Are you suggesting we trespass?"

You smiled innocently. "No…I'm suggesting we very politely borrow their pool."

He stared at you for a long moment, then a grin spread slowly across his face. "Holy shit."

"What?"

"You've officially become the bad influence."

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

"I think it's community service."

He laughed so hard he had to put his head in his hands. "Community service."

"They aren't using it."

"You are unbelievable."

"So are you coming or not?"

He stood up, brushing leaves off his jeans. "I'd follow you into active traffic at this point."

The neighborhood was eerily quiet. Massive houses sat empty beneath the afternoon sun, perfectly trimmed hedges lining pristine walkways that looked like nobody had ever actually walked on them.

You both crouched behind somebody's decorative bushes, trying very hard—and failing—not to laugh.

Eddie whispered, "We're gonna get arrested."

"No, we're not."

"We absolutely are."

"We're invisible."

"You are giggling."

"I'm whisper-giggling."

"That's somehow worse."

You covered your mouth, shoulders shaking anyway. Finally, you reached the backyard fence.

You looked at Eddie. "...Well?"

He vaulted over first before reaching a hand back for you. The second your feet hit the grass, the two of you looked around one last time before dissolving into another fit of laughter for absolutely no reason other than the absurdity of existing there.

Eddie looked over at the perfectly still water before glancing back at you. "So... now what?"

You shrugged. "I don't know."

"We didn't exactly think this through."

"No."

Then, with absolutely no warning whatsoever, you kicked your shoes off and sprinted across the backyard.

His eyebrows shot up. "Wait—" You didn't.

You reached the edge of the pool and jumped anyway, the splash echoing through the quiet neighborhood before your head broke back through the surface a second later, immediately pushing your soaked hair out of your face.

The first thing you saw was Eddie still standing exactly where you'd left him, staring at you in complete disbelief.

You grinned. "C'mon!"

"We are absolutely getting arrested."

"We're already trespassing."

"Fair point."

He looked around one last time before muttering, "Fuck it," kicking off his own boots and launching himself in after you.

The resulting wave soaked both of you, earning another uncontrollable fit of laughter as he surfaced, coughing dramatically and slicking his curls back out of his face.

"Oh, that's cold."

"It's the middle of July."

"It's still cold."

You rolled your eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"I've been told."

For the next ten minutes neither of you did much of anything besides drift lazily around the pool and make complete idiots of yourselves.

You splashed him, and he retaliated by creating a tidal wave large enough to drench your face. You accused him of attempted murder. He insisted it was self-defense.

At one point he disappeared entirely beneath the water only to grab your ankle a second later, making you shriek loud enough that both of you immediately froze and looked toward the dark house.

Nothing happened. The silence lasted exactly three seconds before the two of you were laughing all over again. Eventually the laughter faded on its own, and the water settled with it.

You floated onto your back, staring up at the stars beginning to appear overhead while distant music from the Founders Day fair drifted faintly through the trees.

For a little while, neither of you spoke. You were just... there. Weightless. Peaceful. You turned your head just enough to find Eddie floating only a few feet away, looking over at you instead of the sky.

"What?"

He smiled. "Nothin'."

"No, what?"

He shrugged. "I just don't think I've ever seen you look..."

He searched for the word. "...happy."

Your expression softened. "I don't think I have been."

He drifted a little closer without seeming to realize he was doing it. "So..."

"So?"

"I'm glad you're here."

Your stomach immediately betrayed you. "I'm glad you're here too."

The distance just seemed to disappear all on its own until your shoulders brushed beneath the water, creating tiny ripples that spread lazily across the otherwise still surface.

You looked at him. His curls were dripping into his eyes, his denim vest abandoned somewhere in the grass, his stupid rings catching little flashes of moonlight every time his hand skimmed through the water.

He looked back at you with that same familiar softness he'd somehow always reserved just for these quiet moments.

His voice came out barely louder than the water around you. "...Can I kiss you?"

Your ears turned pink. "I was kinda hoping you'd ask."

The kiss itself was awkward in the sweetest possible way, interrupted almost immediately by the fact that neither of you had accounted for the simple logistics of trying to kiss while floating.

You bumped noses. He accidentally laughed into your mouth. You both pulled back, laughing just as hard, trying again only to nearly lose your balance and send another wave sloshing between you.

"Oh, my God."

"I'm trying."

"I can tell."

"I'm doing my best here."

"You suck at this."

"I've literally never kissed you before."

"Fair."

He looked at you for another second before gently reaching up and brushing a wet strand of hair away from your face. Then, slower, he leaned in again.

Just the quiet press of his lips against yours while the water rocked softly around you and fireworks bloomed somewhere beyond the trees, hidden from view. When you finally pulled apart, you stayed close enough that your foreheads rested together.

Then Eddie let out the tiniest laugh. "So..."

The water lapped gently around your shoulders as you stayed close, foreheads still touching, breaths mingling with the faint chlorine scent and the distant pop of fireworks. 

Eddie’s eyes were dark in the low light, that familiar mix of chaos and softness that always made your chest ache in the best way.

“So?” you echoed, voice barely above a whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.

His thumb brushed your jaw, slow and reverent, like he was still processing that this was real. “So… I’ve been wanting to do that for a stupid amount of time.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head, letting your nose graze his. “Took you long enough, Munson.”

He huffed a laugh against your mouth and closed the distance again. This kiss was less clumsy, and more certain.

His hand slid into your wet hair, holding you steady as the water rocked you both. Your arms looped around his neck, bodies pressing closer beneath the surface, legs brushing in the cool depths. 

Somewhere along the way, it turned hungry, tongues meeting in a slow, exploratory glide that sent heat pooling low in your belly despite the chill of the pool.

He tasted like summer and stolen moments, and when he nipped at your bottom lip, you couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped you.

Eddie pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours again, breathing hard. “Fuck… you’re gonna kill me.”

You grinned, fingers tracing the damp curls at the nape of his neck. “Not yet.”

Another kiss, messier this time, laughter bubbling up between you as you both tried to stay afloat without completely tipping over. His hands roamed down your back, over your hips, pulling you flush against him.

You could feel him, half-hard already through his soaked jeans, and the realization made you bold. You rocked against him experimentally, earning a low groan that vibrated through his chest.

“Sweetheart…” he murmured, his voice rough. He glanced toward the dark house, then back at you, eyes gleaming with that reckless spark you loved. “You wanna do something really illegal?”

Your pulse jumped. “Define illegal.”

He jerked his head toward the cabana at the far end of the pool: a fancy little pool house with wide glass doors, loungers visible inside, probably some rich asshole’s private oasis.

“In there. With you. Right now.”

You bit your lip, heat flooding your cheeks even as excitement coiled tight in your core. “Yeah. I do.”

He kissed you once more, quick and fierce, then helped boost you out of the pool. You both dripped across the grass, giggling like idiots as you tried to stay quiet, shoes forgotten somewhere behind you. 

The cabana door was unlocked, because of course it was in a neighborhood like this, and Eddie ushered you inside first, sliding the door shut behind him with a soft click.

A wide daybed took up most of one wall, piled with towels and cushions. Eddie turned to you, water still dripping from his curls, his expression suddenly softer.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low. “We can just make out. Or not. Whatever you want.”

You stepped closer, peeling your soaked shirt over your head and letting it drop with a wet slap.

“I’m sure. I mean, I haven’t, like, done it with anyone else before. But I’ve… you know.” Your voice dropped, a little shy but steady. “I know what I like.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Shit. That’s… yeah. Okay. Fuck, that’s hot.” He reached for you, hands gentle on your waist as he walked you back toward the daybed. “Tell me what feels good, alright? We go slow.”

Clothes came off in a tangle of wet fabric and breathless laughs. Your shorts and underwear, his jeans sticking stubbornly until you both nearly fell over trying to help. Naked, he was all lean muscle and ink and those damn rings he didn’t even think to take off. 

He laid you down on the soft cushions, hovering over you, kissing you deeply as his hand slid between your thighs.

You were already slick, and when his fingers found your clit, circling with surprising patience, you arched into him with a gasp. “Eddie—”

“Like that?” he murmured against your neck, kissing down to your collarbone. He took his time, learning you, adding a finger when you rocked against his hand and whispered for more. 

The stretch was new but welcome, especially with the way he praised you in that wrecked voice, so good, so wet for me, fuck you’re perfect, until you were trembling on the edge.

When you finally tugged him up, legs wrapping around his hips, he looked at you reverently. “Still good?”

“Yeah. Want you inside me.”

He groaned, reaching down to line himself up. The first push was slow, careful, the blunt head of his cock stretching you open. 

It burned a little, but you breathed through it, hands in his hair, urging him deeper.

“More,” you whispered, surprising even yourself with how steady you sounded. “I can take it.”

Eddie’s hips stuttered, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna ruin me.” 

He sank in inch by inch, gentle but relentless, until he was buried to the hilt. You both stilled, foreheads pressed together again, breaths ragged.

“You okay?” he asked, voice strained.

You rolled your hips experimentally and moaned at the full feeling. “Move, Eddie. Please.”

So, he did. Slow, deep thrusts that built steadily, his mouth on yours, on your neck, whispering filthy-sweet things between kisses.

You surprised him again when you clenched around him deliberately, nails digging into his back, urging him faster. 

The gentle rhythm shifted, turning hotter, needier. He hit that perfect spot inside you, and you cried out, legs tightening around him.

“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you,” he panted, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit. The pressure coiled tighter, and when it finally snapped, you came hard around him, pulling him over the edge with you. 

Eddie buried his face in your neck, groaning your name as he spilled deep inside, hips jerking through the aftershocks.

For a long moment, you just held each other, hearts pounding, skin slick with pool water and sweat. He kissed your temple, lazy and soft. “Holy shit.”

You laughed breathlessly. “Yeah.”

Then, the backyard floodlights snapped on with a harsh buzz. Voices carried faintly from the house. “What the hell—?”

“Shit!” Eddie’s eyes went wide. You both scrambled up, grabbing clothes in a frantic tangle, still half-naked and laughing hysterically as you bolted for the door. 

He yanked it open, you shoved his jeans at him mid-run, and the two of you sprinted across the grass toward the fence, wet footprints and discarded shirts left in your chaotic wake.

“Run, you beautiful criminal!” he wheezed between laughs, boosting you over the fence first.

You dropped to the other side, heart racing, adrenaline singing in your veins as he landed beside you. Hand in hand, still giggling like maniacs, you disappeared into the night, clothes askew, bodies buzzing, the stolen moment burning bright between you.

You'd never run so fast in your entire life.

The second somebody inside the house had shouted, every coherent thought in your brain had completely evaporated, replaced entirely by blind panic and the overwhelming instinct to get as far away from the expensive neighborhood as physically possible.

"Eddie!"

"I'm running!"

"I can see that!"

"Then why are you yelling my name?"

"Because I'm freaking out!"

"So am I!"

You were both laughing despite yourselves, tripping over roots and ducking beneath low branches as you tore through the woods with absolutely zero concern for where you were actually going.

Somewhere behind you, a dog barked.

You immediately grabbed Eddie's arm. "Oh, my God."

"It's fine."

"What if they're following us?"

"They're definitely following us."

"Eddie!"

"I'm kidding!"

"You are the least reassuring person alive!"

He reached back long enough to catch your hand, practically dragging you over a fallen log before the familiar outline of his van finally appeared through the trees.

"There she is," he breathed dramatically.

"My hero."

He fumbled with his keys, somehow dropping them twice before finally getting the door unlocked.

The second you both climbed inside, he slammed the doors shut, and the silence that followed seemed almost deafening.

You just sat there trying to catch your breath, exchanging one look before immediately dissolving into helpless laughter all over again.

"I cannot believe we just did that."

"I cannot believe we got caught."

"I cannot believe you said we were 'politely borrowing the pool.'"

"We were!"

"Eddie."

"We gave it back."

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt. He reached behind the driver's seat and blindly started digging through the pile of jackets, shirts, and miscellaneous clutter that permanently seemed to live in the back of the van.

Eventually, he triumphantly pulled out an old Hellfire shirt and tossed it into your lap. "It's clean."

You held it up skeptically. "...How clean?"

He paused. "...Cleaner than the floor."

"I'll take it."

You disappeared behind the open side door just long enough to tug it on before climbing back inside, the oversized sleeves swallowing your hands almost entirely.

The shirt smelled faintly of laundry detergent, weed, and whatever incense Eddie occasionally remembered to fumigate the van with after cyph sessions.

It was strangely comforting.

When you looked back over, he was already looking at you, and there was that stupid grin again.

"What?"

"Nothin'."

"Eddie."

"Nothin'."

"You keep looking at me."

"'Cause you're wearing my shirt."

"So?"

"So..." He rubbed the back of his neck with a laugh, suddenly looking far less confident than usual. "Looks nice."

Your face warmed immediately. "You think?"

"I know."

The adrenaline had started wearing off, replaced by something quieter. Something that suddenly made the cramped little van feel very small.

Eddie leaned back against the driver's seat, studying you with an expression that was almost disbelieving. Then he let out a quiet laugh to himself and shook his head.

"What?"

He looked at you again. "I've been wanting to kiss you for, like..." He paused dramatically, "...an embarrassingly long time."

You smiled. "I noticed."

"And now I finally can." His smile widened.

"...Yeah."

He reached over, tucking a strand of wet, messy hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness before pressing another quick kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then finally another soft one to your lips.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for just a second and muttered with a little laugh, "Fucking finally."

You couldn't help smiling. "Took you long enough."

He looked mock-offended. "Me?"

"Absolutely you."

He pointed at himself. "I was being respectful."

"You were being a coward."

He gasped dramatically. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"You have many things."

"And?"

"Coward is one of them."

He laughed, nudging your shoulder. "Yeah..."

His voice was quieter this time. "Worth the wait, though."

hope you all enjoyed<333

dividers by @dividers-are-us

overall taglist is open:) !!

taglist:

@lnnn1n @youngbrokefab @ludachrissy @sisteramycatherine @izzycstairs @britttzy267 @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @sariahs-stuff @cciessuzi @lilyquinnmunson @julxsxx @kozume-ko @obsessed-eddie @doomdabss @leelei1980 @hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullsteve @peachpuffs25 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond @enne02  @ludachrissy @izzycstairs

@abbysleftbicepp @britttzy267 @ssculker @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch

Jim Hopper is a watcher by nature.

He's a survivor, a cop, a girl dad.

He notices the things his eldest daughter thinks he would miss.

Jim sits at the coffee table, wrestling with the images in his head. Glances that linger, inside jokes, the way that he hovers around you, as if he's drawn to you like a magnet. Jim's hand curls into a fist underneath the table.

This is not okay.

He takes a breath and shakes his head, "no."

Denial runs through his veins like something poisonous. Slow and stubborn.

Across from him sits Joyce, as she fiddles with the pen sitting on the kitchen table. She takes a breath as if she is about to say something, but Jim continues.

"They're just... friendly. Right?" He questions, his eyes darting from his coffee cup on the table to Joyce's face, looking for any sign of agreement from her.

Jim flashes back to yesterday at the squawk, when that punk tossed you a water bottle. You smiled at him.

"Yeah. Friendly," he grumbles, reaching for his coffee cup.

The white glass hits his lips, and he tips it back, taking a gulp of the bitter liquid.

It tastes almost as bitter as his name in his mouth.

Harrington.

He turns to the side, resting his arm on the coffee table, turning away from Joyce.

"I know you're just worried about her; she's been holding a lot, Jim," Joyce starts softly.

"and maybe..." Joyce continues, dropping the pen on the table. "Maybe it's nothing, but really Hop, would it be... really such... a bad thing if it was?" She asks softly, picking the pen back up and tangling it in with her fingers.

"You know... something?" She finishes, looking up at Jim, who is currently shooting daggers through the window.

Jim just grumbles in response.

A few years ago, before everything went sideways, Hopper was on duty late at night. He was leaning back in his chair with a cigarette hanging loosely out of his mouth. His office was damp and musky.

Flo's voice cut through the smoke: "Jim!"

Rolling his eyes, he reaches for the cigarette in his mouth, taking a drag. The embers at the end of the stick burn a bright shade of amber.

"What?" he spits.

Flo appears at his door, leaning against the wall.

"Noise complaint. It's that Harrington kid again," she looks at Jim pointedly, crossing her arms. “Please, deal with it. Cynthia is clogging up our damn phone lines.”

This wasn’t the first time he’s had a run in with Steve Harrington. Noise complaints were typical. He was often a recurring character at the parties he would get called to, with a bunch of teenagers and red punch that was full of more than just fruit juice.

He thinks back a week prior, where the kid was sitting in the station with a busted lip and a purple shiner. This was a first; but it solidified one thing, this kid was reckless and dumb.

"Where the hell are this kid's parents?" he snaps. Flo shrugged her shoulders, unbothered, heading back to her desk.

So, he did. He made his way out of the police station to the Harrington house. He knocks on the door and is met with none other than Steve Harrington, with messy hair and red-rimmed eyes.

The Harrington house was surprisingly empty.  Hopper expected to open the door to more than a dozen sweaty teenagers rubbing up against each other. But when he peers over Steve's shoulder, he's met with nothing but darkness.

The two of them stand in the doorway. Neither of them says a word at first. Hopper stands with his hands on his belt, weight shifted onto his left leg.

"This is the part where uh, you tell me it wasn't that loud," Hopper starts, staring right at Steve.

At this time, two voices, a male and a female, echo off the walls of the house. Steve's smile lurked at the corner of his mouth. He stands up straight, chest puffed forward, and eyes hooded.

Steve shakes his head ever so slightly, "it wasn't that loud, officer."

Hopper takes a deep breath, trying to keep himself in check.

"Your neighbors have said otherwise," he continues, despite being a little confused, considering the lack of bodies that would typically be producing this alleged noise.

"Just keep your music down, yeah? The rest of the world doesn't stop just because your parents aren't home."

Steve's shoulders fall ever so slightly. "So. You want me to apologize to the neighbors or just... turn the volume down?" Steve responds sarcastically, trying to save face, his two fingers brush his nose, then fall back down to his side.

Hopper closes his eyes and lets out a breath, not having any more patience for the eighteen-year-old standing in front of him.

"I don't want to come back here, Harrington."

Steve nods, "yes sir."

Jim nods back in response, being the first to turn on his heel and walk away from the house.

This was a short time before you had come back to live with him in Hawkins. In the separation, his wife had primary custody. He thought it was best for you to stay with your mom, as chaos and hurt seemed to follow him. You’d come to visit, but it was never the same. He’d miss your company.

So, despite his fears, he was happy when you’d decided to come live with him, even if it was just because you hated your mom’s boyfriend.

Joyce scoots her chair back, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. This pulls Jim out of his thoughts and back to the present moment.

"Harrington. Really?" Jim says again, in disbelief of your taste in men. Joyce grabs both coffee cups from the table, carrying them over to the sink and placing them in gently.

"You don't have to like it, but-"

He scoffs, cutting her off. "That kid was a mess, Joyce."

Joyce turns around, leaning up against the counter. She doesn't deny it, "but not anymore. He shows up. Every single goddamn time, Hop. That’s not nothing."

Jim sighs aloud as he sits in inner turmoil. The fact is, he's losing ground. Joyce isn't wrong, but he's stubborn. He opens his mouth to respond as El emerges from her room.

"I'm ready," she says simply, dressed to train.

♡ ♡ ♡

All the while, you're elsewhere.

The aroma of disinfectant and latex fills your lungs while the harsh fluorescent lights bounce off the white linoleum. Your eyes wander over to the clipboard lying on the table at the foot of the bed, next to a vase of red peonies reaching the end of their life.

Lucas replaces them regularly; the pop of colour helps it seem less stale sometimes.

It feels quieter today, but not peaceful.

A sharp pain shoots across your lower back, leading you to readjust. Your notebook is open on your lap.

The notebook you always have with you in case there's news of a crawl; however, the radio in the hospital room is reserved for Kate Bush. Besides, a burn isn't expected for another week or so.

The margins are full of stars, little arrows, words crossed out so many times they're barely legible. Your pen moves while you talk, the inky scent drifting from the paper.

"So, there's this thing... "

You let out a breath that's almost a laugh, the corner of your mouth upturning just slightly. "It's not a thing. We haven't... talked about it."

The pen curves absently, looping letters together. You start writing his name without meaning to. You stop at the S, scratching it out. You then start writing it again, much smaller this time, tucked into the corner.

You sigh. Tapping your pen once. Twice.

"He just...helps me feel a little bit better, you know? Like Hawkins isn't literally crumbling," you start quietly, then stop.

You lean further back into the uncomfortable hospital chair. One arm on the rest, the other steadying the notebook on your lap. Your eyes drop back down to your pen.

"You'd never let me live this down," you mutter, eyeing the scribbles on your page. It scares you.

Your eyes flick back to Max, searching her face for the "told you so" that isn't coming. You think back to the first time Max clocked your crush on Steve.

This was before you thought you lost your dad. Before you were dragged away to California. Before you lost Max. You hated yourself for not being there for her physically, even though you spoke on the phone regularly and sent letters back and forth.

The two of you were sat on the steps of the high school, a breeze sent crunchy leaves tumbling over the sidewalk. The sun was out, yet it wasn't warm. Just comfortable.

"You like him," she joked, leaning into you slightly.

"I don't."

"You do," Max responded, immediate. "You always smile just a little bit, before he even opens his mouth"

You turned to look at Max, "um, I smile at lots of people."

Max leaned back on her hands, kicking her feet out and crossing them.

"No, you don't."

The two of you are interrupted when Dustin ran out of the school from behind you. Almost simultaneously, you saw a shiny maroon beamer pull into the parking lot.

An all to familiar face pops his right arm and head out the window, calling "Henderson!"

"He's stupid," you stated, still looking at him with awe.

"Yeah," she paused, "but he's one of the good ones"

You sighed, clicking your pen. Max has seen none of this relationship develop, but you just know how fed up she would be by now. Fed up from the two of you dancing around the truth.

"You'd tell me not to run away. That it's been months and it's time to stop pretending it's nothing," you lean forward, gripping your notebook with both hands, eyeing the name you scribbled in the corner.

You continue, quieter now, "because of course, nothing doesn't make me do that." Your stomach starts to feel heavy with embarrassment.

You tap the notebook shut gently, like locking up a secret. You lean over, placing the book in your bag.

Your hand finds Max's, a little cold and stuck in time, contrasting your sweaty palms.

"I miss you," you whisper, honest and small. You start to feel a slight burn around your eyes, tears threatening to escape. You give her hand a squeeze, while your other hand reaches up to wipe your tears.

You're relationship with Max was a sisterly one, being a few years older than her. You stepped into that role soon after her and El became so close. You were there through the parts of Max's life that most people would want to look away from. You were there when her brother made life unbearable, and there when his absence made life hollow. Yet, Max has never needed saving. So here you sit, until she manages to fight her way out of whatever this is, you hope.

Then she can rub it all in your face. I told you so.

You're left with nothing but the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor that stands feet away from Max's head. The air kicks in, humming low and steady.

The door clicks softly, opening just slow enough for you to quickly wipe your eyes with your sleeves. The slight tension in your shoulders releases - tension you didn't know you were holding. Your mouth upturns slightly.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I thought I might find ya here," Steve takes a careful step in, taking notice of your state. His brown eyes meet your glassy ones, before roaming over to your hand over Max's.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to..." he gestures vaguely at the room, "interrupt."

"You didn't," you state quickly, "just talking."

He glances at Max, motionless in the hospital bed. The heater is still humming steadily, the heart monitor maintaining the same rhythm.

"Yeah." His tone alone tells you he understands. He leans against the closed door, folding his arms. You pull your hands away from Max's and wipe them on your thighs as you lean back and take a deep breath.

"So... there's a crawl. Tonight."

You blink, becoming painfully aware of the world that exists outside of this room. For a moment, you start to feel the walls close in on you. The Crawls. The Upside Down. Max...Vecna. Everything you can't fix. Your posture becomes rigid as your chest tightens. Your feet start to vibrate, your knees bobbing in response to the sensation.

Both of your hands grip the armrests of the chair.

"The last burn wasn't even that long ago?"

Steve shrugs, walking towards you. He pulls the extra chair from against the wall up to sit right next to yours, so the armrests are touching. He leans back, spreading his legs just enough for his knee to be up against yours.

"Murray says tonight. Your dad's got two hours down there. Lotsa time."

You bring your attention to the sudden contact with Steve, noticing how your legs start to go still.

Steve looks in your direction, "you okay?" His voice is low and patient.

Your eyes wander to the heart monitor machine. The line is green and sharp. With every beep, it's like a pin is pricking the back of your neck. You nod again in response, "Yeah, fine."

Steve doesn't push. He places his arm closest to you on the armrest, his pinky touching yours. A surge of warmth travels up your arm, heading straight for your ears.

"You can talk to me. Y'know, if y'want,"  

"I - I don't know," you exhale slowly, looking up at Max.

The bleached white sheets are suddenly twice as bright as they were before, as if they've begun reflecting the fluorescents overhead.

Steve offers a soft smile, "it doesn't... have to be right now," his free hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

You focus on the body heat coming from the boy next to you, chest easing slightly as you begin to notice how his hand rests against yours. You nod, eyes zoned in on his fingers. You move your pinky slightly, rubbing it against his.

This gains his attention too, as he flips his hand to face his palm upwards and snakes it under yours, taking your hand in his.

The tightness in your chest starts to dissolve, yet your heartbeat quickens in the slightest. You interlock your fingers with his, both of your palms sticky with nerves.

The two of you sit there together in comfortable silence for a moment. It's not often that Steve joins you when you visit Max, but he sometimes comes to pick you up afterward. It's kind of something you usually would prefer to do alone, or with El, but you're happy he's there with you now.

A short amount of time passes before the door handle clicks once again, causing you to separate your body from Steve's. You pull your hand away, simultaneously jerking your knee away from his.

Suddenly, you feel a little cold.

This thing, whatever it is, cannot be out in the open. Not yet, anyway.

In your heart, you know at least some of the kids speculate, but it's better to not give them something to talk about.

Plus, trying to keep it under wraps is just easier. Even the mere thought of dealing with telling your father that you and the Harrington kid have a budding relationship gives you a raging migraine. Chief of police, big, gruff, scary, and team no-boys-allowed-ever-under-any-circumstances-like-literally-ever, especially boys with that smug face and stupid hair.

You know in your heart your dad doesn't actually mean it. It's all just a front. Somewhere in there is the softy who falls asleep on the couch with his hand in a bag of Lays chips. Who likes to watch Sunday morning cartoons with you, even now. Blueberry pancakes, and Eggos, of course, are a requirement for Jim Hopper bonding.

It took your father a while to start warming up to Mike. Truthfully, he still may not be okay with that situation. You're convinced he expects you to be single for your entire life, resorting to filling any signs of emptiness in your life with cats. Which, you do hope to have one day, but only one.

Through the door comes Lucas and Will, their eyes land on the two of you. Close, but not touching. Lucas' eyes head straight to Max, while Will's gaze lingers between the two of you. You watch how his eyes glance towards Steve, whose attention is also on Will, then back to you.

"Any movement?" Lucas asks before the awkward silence can suffocate the four of you. He sounds exhausted.

You shake your head no, reaching down to grab your bag. "We were just about to head out," you state, pushing yourself to your feet.

Steve nods, following your lead, getting up behind you.

The two of you move towards the door as Lucas shifts to take your spot in the seat next to Max, Will shuffles off to the side to clear your path.

"I’m gonna… stay with the guys. See you tonight?" Will says to you, as Steve is already through the doorway.

You nod, "of course," forcing a smile.

At that moment, you step through the doorway while Steve waits for you in the hallway. You pick up your pace a little bit so you can walk next to him.

"I should probably hit home before the crawl."

"Yeah? I’ll drive you?"

You smile at the offer. You walked here this morning, needing to clear your head. The hospital is quite a way away from your place, about a 25-minute walk.

"Not if you have somewhere to be…” not wanting to cause any trouble.

"I don’t,” he tossed his keys up into the air and catches them.

“Okay.”

The drive was quiet, but comfortable.

“So… next week they’re playing re-showings of Gremlins at the theatre,” Steve glances at you for a moment before turning his attention back onto the road, hooking a right onto your street.

“Come with me? Friday?”

You smile at him, “absolutely.” You have a Gizmo plush on your shelf in your room.

Steve pulls up in front of your house, shifting the car into park. He sends you a shy smile, “great… yeah, that’s great.”

You turn to look through the passenger side window, unsure if anyone is home yet. You knew that your dad and Joyce were going out with El this morning, but are unsure of their whereabouts.

"Thanks for the ride, Steve."

You glance over at him, as he's already looking at you. His left hand grips the top of the steering wheel, while his right grips the gear shift. There's a stray hair that's tickling his forehead.

He answers back with a nod, "anytime."

The air is thick as the two of you hold each other's gaze for a moment. You reach down to unbuckle your seatbelt and then grab your bag, pulling it up over your right shoulder.

Steve twists his head to face forward. He feels it too; the tension between the two of you. You quickly glance back at your house, searching for movement through the window.

Your curtains are still.

You lean over the console and plant a kiss on Steve's cheek. You sink back into the passenger seat and open the door in one sweep.

Steve sits frozen for a split second, then looks at you. His cheeks are rosy, with a look of longing in those honey-brown eyes of his.

"I'll see you soon?" you question, quietly.

He nods. You step out of his BMW, taking one last look at him before you shut the door. He's still watching you, lips parted slightly. After shutting the door behind you, you start towards your house, leaving Steve to mentally punch himself in the face for not grabbing you and pulling you back in.

After you step into your house, you close the door and peer through the window. Steve sits in front of your house for a moment longer, then you watch him drive away. You turn around to see your dad leaning up against the wall, El standing next to him with a knowing smirk on her face.

You gasp slightly, a little bit startled. You didn't think anyone was home, nor this close to the door. El slips away into the kitchen before you can speak.

"Hey," you greet him, your hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Hey, kid," he responds. His chest is tight. He walked into the foyer as you were walking up the sidewalk to the house, clocking the beamer that dropped you off.

You walk past your dad, moving into your bedroom to avoid any unwanted conversation about what he may or may not have seen.

The bag that hung around your shoulder lands on the floor with a thump as you loosen your grip on it. You head straight to your closet, sifting through your sweaters for a comfy crewneck. The clothes you wore at the hospital were suddenly suffocating you.

You land on a dark grey sweatshirt. On the front is an image of some mountains dusted with snow, surrounded by dark green pine trees. You walk over to shut your door before taking off your top and replacing it with the crew. You wrap your arms around yourself, embracing the comfort and softness of the sweater.

You changed your jeans too, opting for a darker wash. As you button up your bottoms, you hear a light knock on your door.

"Yeah?"

You reach up, combing your fingers through your hair as you watch yourself in the mirror, the circles under your eyes looking a little darker than normal. Your door opens with a squeak.

In your doorway stands your father, leaning against the doorframe. His arms are crossed, while his eyes scan you before they soften.

"You're coming?"

Hopper is stuck in the middle. While he wants you absolutely nowhere near this, it's almost scarier leaving you here alone. With this random burn, he's feeling a little bit more on edge than normal. If he had any say in anything, you would stay somewhere else, far away from all of this mess. You and El.

"I think so," you say quietly, crossing your arms again, standing across from your dad.

There's a beat. Hopper shifts his weight a little, as if he's going to leave, but he stays put. You stare at him.

“You see Max today?”

The question lands heavier than he probably meant it to. You look away, fixating on a blank spot on the wall.

“Yeah,” you say quietly.

Hopper clears his throat. He almost asks about Steve... almost. The thought stalls somewhere behind his teeth. Instead, he stares down at the floor, like it might tell him what comes next.

“How was she?”

You exhale through your nose. “Same.”

He winces. Just barely. Anyone else would’ve missed it.

He thinks back to his conversation with Joyce; she's carrying a lot, Hop.

"You eat?"

You woke up with a low churn of nausea, the kind that comes from too little sleep and too much thinking. You’d been up most of the night. You dragged yourself out of bed, got dressed, and headed straight for the hospital.

The cafeteria had been nearly picked clean. You settled for a bran muffin and a cup of coffee before riding the elevator up to Max’s floor, where you stayed for a few hours. Doodled. Talked when it felt right. Then Steve got there.

You didn't care for bran muffins as it was. Plus, this one was especially dry, and you weren’t really hungry anyway. You managed to stomach about half before giving up and tossing the rest in the trash.

"I had a coffee and half a shitty muffin this morning," you mumble, telling the truth, knowing your dad wouldn't be happy with the answer.

A frown settles on his face as he reaches into the pocket of his crawl jacket and pulls out a strip of jerky, holding it out to you without a word.

You take it. You’re still not hungry, but you both know you’ll crash before the crawl if you don’t put something in your stomach.

So you eat it anyway. It's tough, salty, but good. It was one of the snacks your dad always had on hand for road trips when you were a kid.

A silence stretches between them - familiar, almost comfortable. The kind built over years of not saying enough.

His mind lands back onto the maroon BMW in front of his house. He wasn't going to ask, but he figured it was a reasonable enough question. Forget about the part where he already knows the answer.

"How'd you get home?"

"Steve drove me," you turn to sit on your bed, crossing your legs.

"He stay with you?" His eyes are not on you, but on your bag that lies on the floor.

Your lips press together, "only for a little."

That makes his eyes shoot up to you. His jaw tightens ever so slightly. Your hands find the hem of your jeans as you run your fingers along the seam.

"And then he dropped you off," more of a statement than a question.

"Yes."

Hopper exhales through his nose, irritated more at the situation than you.

"He used to be a real pain in my ass," he grumbles.

You fight off a smile, "he's not that guy anymore, dad."

"You spend all your afternoons together?" He presses a little, despite his better judgment. He can't help himself.

Your back straightens, and your eyebrows pinch together momentarily, shaking your head. Your defenses rise. You're not sure what lead to your dad questioning you like this so suddenly, it's not like Steve is brand new to your life.

"It's not like that." It kind of is.

He hears your answer and takes a second to recalibrate. The last thing he wants to do is hurt your feelings or start an argument, especially considering the long night you have ahead of you.

"I'm just. Concerned." He admits, standing up straight now. "That's all."

"Well, you have nothing to worry about. I promise."

It's the truth.

Hopper nods, his chest loosening just a little bit at your promise. He’s not quite satisfied, but he is done pushing. He needs to get Joyce on an earpiece or something.

"Ready to go?"

You relax your jaw, not even realizing it was clenched. Suddenly, a little bit of calm washes over you as the subject is dropped.

“Yeah, ready,” you stand up from your bed and start moving to your bedroom door.

You try to slip past him, but he stops you in the doorway. His hand drifts to your head, firm but gentle. Before you can react, he presses a quick kiss onto the top of your head. Your hair catches on his beard just a little, but you catch yourself dropping a weight from your shoulders. At the end of the day, he just wants what’s best for you.

“Let’s go,” he grunts, finally letting you move.

The two of you make your way into the foyer, where El and Joyce are lacing up their shoes to head to the meet-up spot. The four of you have to travel through the tunnels.

El and Hopper's voices travel, as she begs him to allow her to tag along into the Upside Down.

"You promised," she pleads.

"You weren't fast enough," he argues.

You and Joyce walk quietly alongside each other as the other two are ahead. It's about ten minutes of walking before you make it to the ladder, where you all crawl out into a forest.

Five minutes later, you're stepping into an open field. The air outside feels heavy. The grass is dry and yellow, as the only thing that takes care of this lawn is nature itself.

You see four figures standing outside of the Squawk: Mike, Lucas, Robin, and Steve.

The second Mike locks eyes with El, they're running towards each other. You stay back, walking with Joyce and your dad. When you look over at him, it doesn't look like he's going to throw up, which is a good sign.

The two of them collide, enveloping each other in a hug. Your eyes fix on Steve. You could use a hug right now.

Your hands are shoved deep in your jean pockets, shoulders squared like you're bracing for impact. Your father walks into danger the same way, like he can shoulder it down. The closer you walk to the radio station, the more you're plagued with thoughts of Vecna.

Max's face won't leave your head: freckles scattered over her nose, eyes closed, mouth fixed. She's too still, too quiet. This isn't how you want to be remembering her.

The events of the hospital room replay in your mind. The hum of the machines, the beeping of the monitor, and the clicking coming through the air vents. She was warm. This thought should be comforting you - it usually does.

Instead? It's scaring the hell out of you.

There's a flicker of relief that flushes through you at the sight of Steve, as he takes a few steps towards you. He greets you quietly as you take a space next to him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see your dad's eyes are locked on you, Joyce grabbing his arm as they walk past to head into the radio station.

"How ya doin'?"

He steps a little closer, your shoulder brushing against his upper bicep. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, remembering how you left him in front of your house.

You shrug, "okay."

You notice Lucas pacing in the near distance, shouting into his walkie, "..do you copy?"

"Is... everything okay?" unsure if you want the answer, as everything feels off.

At that moment, Robin walks over to the two of you.

"Hey," she looks at you, "have you heard from Dustin?"

You shake your head, "he's not here?"

Steve responds first, "no."

This causes your stomach to dip. You check your watch. Dustin is almost always early. Given things have been a little weird between him and Steve lately, he's been taking a little bit of space, but he is never late.

A prickle crawls up your spine, and there's a pulse of sharp pain behind your eyes. You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, trying to ground yourself in that moment, the way you were taught.

It's probably nothing, you tell yourself. The ground under your feet feels like it's shifting, and you feel a hand grip your elbow.

"You good?" Robin asks, laced with concern.

Her voice sounds a little murky, but you nod. You blink hard, take a breath, and things start to go back to normal - whatever that feels like.

"Let's go inside, yeah?" Steve says, dropping his hand from your elbow. You look up at him and nod, "yeah, let's go."

The three of you head down to the basement of the squawk, walking directly into the controlled commotion.

Steve leaves your side for a moment to grab the keys to the van. Normally, you sit with Joyce at the radio so you're in on the communication and Hop knows exactly where you are.

You head around the corner, straight to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. Your mouth feels extremely dry, and a headache is starting to form. You down the entire bottle.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your dad with a rifle on his back, looking past the wall right at you.

Steve comes back with the keys attached to a carabiner looped on his jeans, jingling as he steps.

Your eyes zone in on the keys to the van. Dustin usually goes with Steve. There's still no Dustin. How is your dad going to stay safe in the Upside Down without Dustin? Is Dustin himself even safe? What if something happened to him?

Max flashes in your mind again.

That sharp pain behind your eyes from before makes a return. The world tilts before you even realize it. You gently squeeze the plastic water bottle in your hand, causing it to crinkle as the pit in your stomach starts to twist.

Hopper clocks it first, eyes softening at the crinkle of the water bottle. He notices the small hitch in your breathing and the way your eyes dart to the left, looking for a place to hide.

You try to take a step forward then, but Steve's hands are already on your arms, steadying you. You try to breathe through the tightness of your chest as he squeezes your arms.

"Hey," his voice cuts through, calm and careful.

Everyone else is still busy around you. There's a handful crowded around the table, some around the overhead projector.

"Hey, look at me."

Your eyes catch Steve's then, blinking through the tunnel vision. A lifeline.

"I've got you, okay?" His voice is still low; he doesn’t want to draw attention to the situation. His hands are still gripping your arms as your chest heaves. He kneels down a little so his face is at the same level as yours.

"Try n' breathe with me," he inhales and exhales, slow and controlled.

Your chest feels like it's sitting under a 50-pound weight, and tears start to well in your eyes.

"I'm right here," Steve says again, still modelling a slow inhale and exhale. You manage to let in a sharp inhale, you freeze, then push out an exhale.

"Good, one more."

Hopper watches from the corner, his jaw is tight. Every fatherly instinct is screaming at him to grab you, like he did when you were a kid. But he doesn't, he knows better. Getting involved now would only make things worse, as it seems Steve is helping you find your breath again.

Your hands move from your own sides, gripping Steve's shoulder now. You pull him in, and he wraps his arms around you; the spinning begins to fade. You start to match Steve's pace, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against you. "That's it. I've got you"

Slow and deliberate.

Hopper notices as your shoulders start to unclench. You aren't lost in it. The tightness in your body dissipates. The humming in your ears retreats to the background as you open your eyes. The two of you breathe together for a few moments before you pull away from Steve. He loosens up his grip, looking at you.

Steve pulls your head in, kissing you on the forehead. Jim’s chest tightens, but not in fear, more in a grudging relief kind of way.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, as your head is still pressed up against his mouth.

"No," he mumbles against you, before you pull away. "Nothing to be sorry for."

Hopper turns around, grabbing a cartridge of bullets for his rifle. Something in him softens ever so slightly. This is not the Steve Harrington he remembers, who was reckless and, well, stupid.

"Can... can we get some air?" you ask gently. Steve nods, taking your arm and guiding you through the crowd of people.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Mike shouts at the two of you, as they're close to being ready to send Hop through the gates. El sends Mike a knowing glance, but he doesn't catch it.

"Be right back," he responds from behind you, already halfway up the stairs. His hands hover behind your back, just in case you lose your balance.

The two of you head outside the radio station, you sit down next to each other, his side is flush against yours. His legs are straight; yours are curled up to your chest. The outside wall of the squawk is cold against your back, but you welcome it.

You take a deep breath, the air suddenly not feeling as thick as it did when you got there.

"Everything feels weird, Steve," you share, then look down at your fingers. He doesn't respond just yet; he's facing forward, patiently waiting for you to continue.

"The whole day. I felt so sick this morning," you hiccup, your breath still catching up to you. "Then this out-of-routine burn pops up. My dad is constantly going through the gate, and El is getting stronger, meaning she’ll be going in soon too."

His head turns to face you, and he reaches over to take your hand in his, drawing circles with his thumb.

Your voice goes down to a whisper, "and there’s Max... now Dustin is M.I.A., I just... I feel scared, Steve. I’m ready for all of this to be over.”

"I know," he says quietly, acknowledging your feelings. "Max is strong, you know? She'll crawl her way out of this. Your dad and El are both smart; they know what they're doing. As for Henderson... I’m sure he’s alright.”

"I know." You whisper. You appreciate how he's trying to make you feel better. You know everything he's saying is true. Max is strong. Your family is smart. It's just been a weird pattern of things. Your attention is drawn to your hand in his, and you look down at them clasped together.

The two of you sit in silence again, listening to the chirp of the crickets out in the field. The sun is setting now, and the sky glows a deep orange.

You straighten one of your legs, staring at your feet for a moment.

"Steve?"

"Yeah," immediate and gentle.

"Can I ask you something? It might be stupid," you start before you can stop yourself.

He looks at you, like you could ever be stupid, "course."

Your free hand fidgets with the cuff of your sweater.

"What... what is this?"

Steve lets out a nervous breath, dropping your hand. He shifts slightly so he's more in your line of sight. “You mean us?"

You nod, looking at him. He's already looking at you; his expression is soft.

"I think about you all the time," he starts, then stops for a moment.

"I didn't want to rush you or anything, but if you're asking," he continues, steady now, "then yeah. This isn't... this isn't nothing to me."

His eyes search yours for any hint of validation. There's no performance in it, just truth.

"It's not nothing to me either," you swallow. The words sit between you, heavy and steady all at once.

You think back to your notebook, lying in your bag at home, picturing the scribbles in the margins, causing your face to heat up. This is so far from nothing to you.

His smile is small as he leans in slightly, "I thought so, but I like hearing it"

Your eyebrows stitch together slightly, "what gave me away?"

You ask, curious - although this thing between you has been developing for a long time. Everything has just been so insane it felt silly to worry about labels.

"El mentioned something to Dustin,” he pauses, breaking eye contact with you. He’s suddenly really interested in your sneakers, “about a cute little notebook of yours.”

Your lips part slightly, eyes wide. “...What?”

This had to have happened in the past week or so, as this lovesick style doodling is an incredibly recent development.

Regardless, you are mortified. Sisters. You can't hate them.

Steve risks a look at you now, grin tugging at his mouth despite himself, "so it's true?"

You stare at him for a long beat. Then, stubbornly, “Not true.”

At this point, you’re just trying to save face.

“The notebook is for the crawls,” you insist quickly. “Notes. Maps. Plans. That’s it.” Which is true.

He hums, amused and unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”

Your hand scrubs your face as you let out a breathy laugh, "Please drop it, Steve."

The air feels lighter now, almost playful. Normally, you’d be riddled with guilt, but right now it feels good to laugh.

He smiles at you, letting out a chuckle. “Fine, for now,” being mindful of the fact you've already had quite a tough day.

There’s a beat of silence while you gain your composure. He looks back down at his own shoes now.

"I've known for awhile," he says, voice low and serious. "I think you have too, y’can’t fake this."

He looks up at you now. He lifts his hand, his knuckles gently brushing your jaw. When you don't pull away, his hand moves so his palm is flat against your face, the pad of his thumb brushes along your cheekbone.

"You're so pretty, y'know that?"

At that moment, you push yourself forward. Your lips land on his softly. It's brief and gentle. He exhales against your lips, your foreheads pressing against each other's like before. Then, just a single, lingering peck, and he slowly pulls back, leaving the space between you charged.

This isn't the first time you and Steve have shared a kiss, but this one felt different.

"We should probably go," his voice is low. Neither of you wants to go, but the Upside Down is calling.

Steve stands up first. He reaches his hand out for you to grab, pulling you up to your feet. Still holding your hand, he starts to walk back to the front doors.

"Wait, Steve," you freeze in place, he stops and turns towards you.

"I'm not saying we should tell anyone right now but-" you take a breath, stopping yourself from rambling. This is not important right now.

He walks towards you, your hand still in his. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you in slightly so you're flush against his body. This is new. His finger hooks under your chin, causing you to look up at him.

"I'm yours, doll," he leans down and plants a soft kiss on your lips. He lingers for a moment as you smile up at him through your lashes. You feel comfortable.

The two of you make your way back into the WSQK, following Steve down the stairs. Everyone surrounds the table as Nancy is just about to begin going over the plan.

You reach the bottom of the stairs together, and all eyes turn toward you. Heat rises to both of your cheeks under the weight of their gaze. A silent question seems to hang in the air, yet it is broken by the one and only.

"Well would you look at that," Robin smiles, "the lovebirds have landed."

"You're impossible." Steve quips, as your heartbeat quickens, finding your father in the crowd.

In this moment, he's hard to read.

"Anyways..." Nancy continues, pointing at the map on the wall - even though it hasn't changed the past thirty-plus times you've done this.

Once she’s done, everyone scatters to their places.

Hopper holds the bright, glowing tracker in his hand.

Steve is about to head out to the truck to grab the signal, before Hopper stops him.

"Harrington. A word."

Steve freezes mid-step, his stomach twisting at the sound of your father’s voice. He turns toward him, catching the slight jerk of Hopper’s head toward the corner.

Once they turn the corner, Hopper crosses his arms. Not threatening, he's just bracing himself. Steve stands across from him, completely rigid, hands in his pockets.

"What was that?" Hopper asks.

Steve blinks. "What?"

"You," Hopper says, his eyes sharp. "Before... with my kid."

Steve hesitates. He doesn’t joke. His fingers curl slightly in his pockets.

"Yeah, I've just... seen it before."

This wasn't the first time this has happened with you and Steve.

"You knew exactly what to do," Hopper’s eyes narrowed.

Ironically, Steve doesn't know what to do right now, rocking back onto his heels. He shrugs, voice quieter now. "I wanted her to know she was safe."

Hopper looks away for a second, jaw tight. When he looks back, there’s something different there. Still gruff, still guarded, but his edge has softened.

Steve swallows hard, “Hey, Chief… I know I messed up before. Back when I was a kid.”

Hopper opens his mouth, almost to say Steve still is a kid, but the words die on him. They wouldn’t fit anymore.

“I don’t mess around like that anymore. I uh…” Steve trails off, suddenly aware of how loud his heart is, and how much he’s overthinking every word.

There’s a long pause, the kind that’s almost uncomfortable, before Hopper looks down, then back up. Steve swallows, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

"Care." Hopper states, voice low. As much as he hates to admit it, Steve Harrington surprised him tonight. That doesn't mean he's okay with it, but Joyce is right. He can't ignore it.

Steve nods in response, looking down at the floor. He’s noticing the tension in his shoulders and his neck, suddenly feeling the pressure of this interaction. Especially as he just secretly made it official with his daughter.

“Okay,” Hopper finally says, stepping back.

Steve exhales again, shaking his head slightly, and follows Hopper back into the main area.

“You’re not staying at the squawk tonight,” Hopper says, eyes on you.

“What?” You ask, prepared to argue before he continues. Joyce is next to you, ready to jump to your defence.

“You’re going with him,” he adds, nodding toward Steve.

Steve blinks, caught entirely off guard. Hopper’s gaze flicks between the two of you. “That okay with you?”

Steve’s eyes widen. He nods immediately, not even hesitating.

“Good,” Hopper exhales, finally releasing some of the tension in his chest. “Then get going.”

He watches as the two of you climb the stairs, the keys jingling with every step. Steve’s hand brushes yours almost instinctively.

Joyce slips up behind Hopper, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Wow. Look at you,” she murmurs, teasing.

Hopper glances back at her, their eyes locking. She notices the worry lingering behind his gaze, the subtle tension still coiled in his shoulders, and she whispers, “Don’t worry… he’s got her.”

—

♡ taglist: readinf , endlesslytemporalpilgrim