ʚsterɞ

Steve rolls his eyes, taking a halfhearted kick at your foot that you dodge easily with a snicker. "So you'll do it?"

Of course you'll do it. You'd do anything Steve asks you to do like a goddamn lovesick fool, the same way you always have since the day you met him. Because you like him more than you should. More than someone should like their best friend, in a way that someone definitely shouldn't like their best friend.

"Yeah, fine, I'll do it. But you're buying me a slushie too. And fries."

"Whoa, what am I, made of money? You forget I'm living on a coach's salary, sweetheart."

"Looks like you'll have to figure out how to make ends meet."

"The things I do for you."

Three boys wind up piling into the backseat of your beat up car, overflow from those who wouldn't fit in the bed of Steve's truck for the short ride to the fairgrounds. You recognize them enough to know their names, but they're on the quieter side as you get on the road.

"So…are you Coach Steve's girlfriend, or something?"

A quick glance in your rearview mirror shows you the question came from none other than Derek Turnbow. Steve's told you much about Derek—solid catcher and a good kid, but with a major attitude.

It makes sense he would be the only one bold enough to ask it, but still, you're taken aback at his bluntness. "Am I—no, I'm not. Steve—Coach Steve and I are just friends."

"You sound like my sister when she talks about dumb boys with her friends. Do you have a crush on Coach Steve?"

"You sure do ask a lot of questions, Derek!" You say, fighting the urge to grit your teeth.

"I'm a naturally curious guy. So? Do you?"

You inhale deeply, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. "No, I don't. He's my friend."

"Okay. Sure. And I don't have a problem with authority."

Steve winds up parking right next to you in the lot. As the rest of the boys pile out of his truck and reconvene with your group, he makes his way over, hands in his pockets as he bumps shoulders with you.

"Everything cool? They cause you any trouble?"

"No, no trouble. Lots of questions, though."

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Was it Derek? I keep trying to tell the kid, stop giving everyone the third degree."

"He's just a naturally curious guy," You joke, and Steve rolls his eyes playfully. "Seriously, he's harmless, Steve."

Other than the fact he'd been able deduce your feelings for Steve in a single car ride.

"Yeah, I'll take your word for it. I'm still on the fence about that one though. Alright, boys, listen up!" Steve claps loudly to get their attention, beckoning the group of boys into a huddle. "You get two hours to go around the carnival. I promised all your parents I'd keep you knuckleheads safe, so don't make me look like a fool. Don't mess around, don't eat too much junk, don't get hurt! I'm not trying to spend my Saturday night at the hospital, okay? You need anything, you come find us. Can I get a 'yes, Coach'!"

A chorus of the same sounds from the group, very no nonsense without ounce of sarcasm in sight.

Watching Steve with these boys stirs something in you, because it's obvious how much loves what he does. How much he cares for these boys and wants them to thrive as much as he can let them. He's exactly the kind of mentor figure he needed when he was their age, someone to help them as they begin to navigate who they are in the coming years.

There isn't a doubt in your mind that they'll remember Steve long after they leave the team one day, maybe even when they leave Hawkins in search of their own place in the world. He just has that kind of effect on people.

"Perfect. Okay, okay, Cubs on me, Cubs on three—one, two, three, Cubs!"

The boys take off yelling with excitement at being cut loose without adult supervision for a while, running towards the entrance ahead of yours and Steve's slower approach.

"You didn't Cubs on three with us," He says, frowning.

"Yeah, I'm not doing that."

Steve sticks his tongue out at you childishly. "Party pooper."

The fairgrounds are more crowded than you thought they'd be, a cacophony of flashing lights and loud music and general yelling that has you pausing the moment you're hit with it.

Steve notices you aren't next to him within a few steps and whirls around, tilting his head at you curiously. He jogs back over, hands out to the side, brows pinched. "You okay?"

You blink. "Mm, I—" A shaky sort of chuckle escapes you with your attempt at a reassuring grin. You think it must come out as more of a pained one. "Place is packed."

Realistically, you have no reason to be wary of crowds, but the clenching of your heart in your chest says otherwise.

"Yeah. C'mon, let's find somewhere to sit. I don't like the looks of this crowd either."

You know he's just saying it for your benefit, because he saw the way your eyes darted around and flickered with the beginnings of fear. He's always been observant like that. Always noticed how others were feeling with just one look and took it upon himself to fix things.

It was the same when you were kids and you were scared to ride your bike without training wheels, when you were teenagers and afraid to ask out the boy you were crushing on.

And now, something as small as taking the blame for missing out on what should be an evening full of fun.

Your hand reaches out like it has a mind of its own, slotting with Steve's before you realize what's happening.

"No," You hear yourself saying. Steve's hand tightens around yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. "I'm okay."

You trust Steve enough to get you safely where you need to go like how you've always trusted him with everything.

"Then let's go get you a giant stuffed animal."

It takes him twelve tries before he gives up.

"M'not giving up!" He insists, all while he drags you away from the booth with a glare aimed over his shoulder at the game attendant. You try to keep a straight face as you nod. "We're taking a break. A snack break."

As promised, you have a tray of fries and a blue raspberry slushie in your hand soon enough, courtesy of Steve, who sits across the table from you now, chin in his palm and a scowl on his face.

"Don't get so down on yourself, bud. It's a really hard game," You say, nodding solemnly.

Steve scoffs, kicking you under the table. "Don't patronize me. Stupid game's rigged anyways."

"That ten year old won something."

"That was not a ten year old! And the girl at the game probably thought he was cute and helped him, or something, I don't know!"

"Are you just mad because she didn't think you were cute?"

"I am cute!" He protests. The way he says it so seriously, you can't help but dissolve into a fit of giggles. "No, stop fucking laughing at me! I didn't mean it like that, I just meant—you know what? Whatever."

"No, I'm sorry. Steve, seriously, I'm sorry! I'm done laughing. See? Done." You bite back your laughter but keep the smile, which seems to tide Steve over. Then, on a more serious note, you reach across the table, fingers wrapping loosely around his forearm. "You don't have to win me the lion. Honest to god, I don't care. And I don't mind having to look after some kids again. I see how much you care about these boys and want them to have fun, and I love it. I love—"

You. I love you.

And there it is. The thing that, deep down, you think you've known all along.

You pause, suddenly hyperaware of the words threatening to spill off the tip of your tongue. Out of all times and all places, this would quite possibly be the worst one to let it slip how you feel about Steve. You inhale sharply, switch directions.

"How kind you are," You finish lamely. Despite the obvious, Steve smiles softly.

"Thanks, sweetheart," He says, voice fond. "Means a lot coming from you. Your tongue is blue, by the way."

"What?"

"It looks like you frenched a Smurf!"

You roll your eyes, flicking his hand with a huff. "Way to ruin the fucking moment, Steven!"

"I'm sorry, but it does!"

"I'm never complimenting you ever again."

"Oh, come on! Don't be like that, I love it when you shower me with praise!" He snags a fry out of the tray, popping it into his mouth with a big grin.

After the much needed snack break, Steve manages to convince you to let him try again at the ring toss game, one more time, just to see if he can win the damn thing. It's more for his ego than anything else at this point, but you'll let him have one more go at it before convincing him it's a lost cause.

Rings in hand, he rolls his shoulders, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a runner about to steal second base. Narrowed brown eyes focus solely on the task at hand—five rings, five bottles.

If you weren't so endeared by him and his competitiveness with nobody but himself, you'd probably laugh. Instead, you just watch.

Ring one falls neatly around the neck of the bottle. Easy.

Rings two and three wobble a little bit around the opening, but make their marks.

Ring four is a near miss, but still, it lands.

On ring five, Steve glances back at you.

You've got your hands clutched to your cheeks, eyes wide at the prospect of him actually making good on his promise. You meet his gaze and nod reassuringly. He's got this.

That seems to steel his nerves. He turns back, sets his feet in a ready position.

Ring five seems to soar in slow motion as it leaves his fingertips. Your breath catches in your chest as you watch it fly towards the array of bottles. It bounces off the lip of one bottle, flipping in the air.

Once…twice…

And lands.

"Holy shit!" Steve exclaims, whirling around to face you. The grin on his face is nothing short of delighted, pure pride at finally winning the big prize after all these years of trying. "I did it!!!"

You throw yourself into Steve's arms, wrapping your arms around his neck with a gleeful laugh. "You did it! Oh my god, Steve, I could kiss you!"

You aren't sure what had possessed you to say it. In fact, you don't know you said it until Steve freezes.

Quickly, you backtrack. "That's weird. I wouldn't, um, I wouldn't do that. 'Cause we're not—"

"You could. If you wanted," He interrupts, shoulders to his ears in a shrug. You make a confused noise and he licks his lips almost nervously. "Kiss me."

"You want me to kiss you?"

"No! I mean—if you wanted to, I wouldn't…say no to it," He finishes awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's—shit, yeah, maybe just forget I said anything."

How are you supposed to forget that Steve basically just gave you the okay to kiss him if you wanted to?

Does he know about your feelings for him and pity you for them? Does he share those feelings?

All these questions that you don't know the answer to, but you do know one thing. If you kissed Steve, he wouldn't mind if you did.

And with the way he's looking at you right now, a mix of embarrassed and sheepish with a dash of hope, it makes your brain go all fuzzy.

Fuck it.

You surge forward, pressing your lips against his before you can talk yourself out of it. And it isn't a long kiss by any means. On the contrary, you can only manage one, maybe two seconds before reality catches up to you.

Your mouths separate with a soft click.

Steve's eyes flutter open, lips parted, looking dazed.

You slide your hand into Steve's a little shyer this time, gauging his reaction carefully. His gaze flits down to your joined hands and back up to meet your eyes, a swoop of soft brown hair falling over his brow.

A message passes between the two of you without either of you even having to say a word. I like you.

The game attendant passes him the stuffed lion, which Steve offers to you with a soft smile.

It stands for something different now, something other than a fulfilled promise for a favor done by a friend. Now, this lion represents the start of something new, hopefully something that will last a long time.

And as Steve tugs you through the crowd in search of somewhere where you can be even a little bit alone, you'll never let it go.

"Steve, baby, you do realise I work at the movie theatres?" you asked, boxing up popcorn for someone who had brought tickets.

"Yeah, and I work at family videos, still wanna see you."

You had to admit, with the both of you in between jobs and babysitting gigs you somehow always got roped into it had been hard to get alone time together. But date night at the place you worked wasn't your idea of magic.

But Steve had turned up, his family video vest still hanging on only half an hour or something after his shift because he wanted to spend a night with you.

It was also humanly impossible to say no to Steve. "Fine. Weekend at Bernie's is on tonight at seven and that's one I haven't actually seen yet."

"Perfect," he grinned. "I'll pick you up when you're done here, drop you off at yours so you can get ready then I'll pick you up for six-thirty."

"Steve, that's too much driving, I can get the bus back."

"The bus?" he gasped dramatically. "I'd never have my girl on a bus." Steve pushed himself over the counter, pecking your sweet and salty lips from the popcorn you swiped between customers.

So at seven on the dot the two of you were walking through the cinema. The perks of working there was the tickets and treats you got on discount that Steve still insisted on paying for. He had Reeses and Boppers while you had the largest box of popcorn that Steve wasn't even sure was an option for regular customers.

You settled into your seats in the rather packed cinema and Steve threw an arm around you as the previews started.

"See, this is nice," he uttered to you. "Just you and me, date night."

Even if this was a room you swept more than fives times a day even you could admit, it all felt different with Steve.

You laid your head back on his arm. "Yeah."

Steve admire you. "I love you."

His lips were as soft as always as they kissed you, not daring to go any further while sitting in the middle of the cinema. If it was the back row, on the other hand-

"Shit, shit, I can't see,"

"Dustin, just move,"

"I am, geez, I just paid for this popcorn I am not spilling it,"

"You're walking like a grandma,"

"Grandma Henderson is spry for her age, asshole!"

Steve's nose brushed yours as he pulled back, dread marking his features. "It can't be."

Your heart sank. "No."

"Holy shit, hey guys!" said Dustin Henderson.

There was a chorus of surprise from them all: Dustin, Lucas, Max and Will. They piled in, pushing and shoving each other on the row below you.

"Huh, what are the chances?" Dustin grinned.

Steve laughed through clenched teeth. "Ha ha, tell me about it."

Lucas frowned at you. "Hey, I thought you worked here."

"I do."

"So don't you see movies on shift? You know, for free?"

"Woah, genius, I hadn't thought about that."

Max rolled her eyes, tugging on Lucas's arm. "They're on a date, leave them alone."

"Oh- oh!" said Dustin in loud exclamation. He apologised to those around him. "Sorry, sorry. We'll just take our seats, don't worry, you two carry on, you won't even know we're here."

Steve and you were not convinced even before they sat down. They sat down right on front of the two of you, the curls of Dustin bouncing as he tried to situate himself with his large soda and even larger popcorn.

Lucas and Max were arguing over who sat where while Will took the seat on the end, quietly munching on his popcorn and watching the preview intently.

"He's my favourite kid," said Steve to you.

Dustin's head turned back. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

Steve pushed his head around. "I wasn't talking to you."

"Oh right, yeah," Dustin apologised. "Not even here, we're not even here."

The movie started and they seemed on their best behaviour for all of five minuets. It was really Steve that started it, un-able to stop himself when he saw Lucas yawn and dramatically stretch out his arms until one of the laid across Max's shoulders. He couldn't not lean in to tell you that was his move.

"It's a classic," he whispered to you. "I've taught all of them that but Lucas executes it flawlessly."

Lucas looked back to the two of you and Steve threw a very proud thumbs up.

The quiet of the cinema room was interrupted when Will opened a large pack of chips. A collective 'shh' came from every party in the room.

Will lit up in red. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Hey, Will," Dustin tried to call as quiet as possible which for Dustin was not quiet enough. Another round of 'shh' started. "Shh yourselves."

"Dustin," you lectured.

"What? I just want some chips!"

Will took some before passing along the bag, letting Lucas take a generous hand full before handing it over to Dustin. The crinkle of the bag as he dove in was louder than the movie.

Dustin turned around to the two of you. "Any for yourselves?"

"No," said Steve. "Turn around."

"Alright, alright, was just asking!"

The rest of the movie went more like that. A passing of snacks and whispers that led to glares from everyone trying to watch the film. Every time you and Steve tried to settle in with each other, his arm around your shoulder or you leaning into his side, Dustin would turn to look at the both of you, seeing if you guys were laughing at the right times or Lucas poking you in the knee to have some popcorn.

It turned into just a regular baby-sitting gig.

When the movie finished everyone seemed happy to be up from their seats.

The four were ahead of you and Steve, talking about their best parts and throwing the last of their snacks away.

"Can't escape them for two hours, huh?" said Steve, fingers entwining with yours as he swung your arms back and forth.

"No, I guess not."

"Hey," he tugged at your arm, stopping you. "I'm sorry about them, we'll get a quiet night, I promise. How about my place, Friday? My parents won't be home."

You grinned. "I guess it's a date."

Steve's lips curled up as he kissed you, hand sliding to the back of your neck to keep you there, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip practically begging for enterance-

"Ew, gross!" Will complained.

"Steve, c'mon!"

Max huffed. "Leave them alone!"

"Steve, can give us a lift home!"

Steve pulled away, his hand curling in on itself on the back of your neck but his thumb was still loose to sooth you. "Shitheads-"

You couldn't help but chuckle. For all the complaining he might give you knew Steve loved those kids like they were his own. Just as you did. You couldn't really be angry at them if you tried. "Take them home, I'll go see Stacy, she'll be finishing up. I'll hitch a ride with her."

"What? No, no, no what kind of boyfriend would I be? Those little a-holes can bike home," he said, hands running up and down your arms.

"Steve," you said. "You'll be a great boyfriend- and even better one- if you take them home. Please, for me." It never did sit right with you that the kids were fine biking home in the dark. What with all the monsters you've already faced.

Steve couldn't say no to you so he decided he wouldn't even try. "Okay, fine but take this-"

The kids awed and cooed as they watched Steve peel of his jacket and drape it over your shoulders.

You rolled your eyes. "Steve-"

"The walk to the car will be cold." He draw you in, pulling at his jacket to do so to kiss your popcorn lips.

"Steve!" Dustin yelled.

"I'm gonna kill him, I swear," your boyfriend mumbled against your lips. He pecked them once and fetched the keys from his pocket before pulling it closer around you. "Call me when you get home, I love you!" he called, trotting back to the kids.

"I love you!" you called after him.

Max turned back, winking. "Yeah, love you too!"

You held your middle finger up to her, with affection.

Lucas clasped his hands over his chest as Steve pushed the kids ahead. "Oh Steve, I love you so much, mwah mwah-"

Dustin and Will laughed, the former making obscene kissing noises while rubbing his arms up and down himself.

"Cut it out!" Steve whacked him on the back of the head.

Really, after all this time, should the kids have been surprised at how the two of you were?

The next Friday came around with sweltering heat. Steve had turned on all the fans he could in his house but he had something better.

A swimming pool.

You'd stripped to your bikini almost immediately, sliding into the water that instantly cooled your body while Steve was upstairs trying to find his trunks and if you knew him getting distracted by his hair in the mirror for an extra ten minutes.

You swam a lap or two before relaxing on the side, arms slung out and head tilted back, letting the droplets of water slide down your neck. The pool stilled, the sun beamed-

"Cannonball!"

Before you could react Steve bombed into the pool splashing you in the process and sending shock waves through the water.

"Steve!"

He popped back up to the surface, shaking his hair out like a dog and wiping down his face. "Oh, now that feels good!"

You laughed. "You're ridiculous."

Steve found you once all the water was out of his eyes, heading your way. "You're beautiful," he said, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in. "So beautiful, sexy-"

"Steve-" he kissed along your shoulder, playfully nipping at the skin.

"-mine."

You hummed when he kissed you eagerly, as if he hadn't greeted you the same way when you walked through the door. It had been a hassle enough to get to the pool without Steve un-dressing you then and there.

You wrapped your arms around his waist as Steve's hands cupped your backside, fingers digging into the flesh as if there were no bikini bottoms there. The two of you moved back through the water until you gently hit the wall of the pool.

You gasped at the feel of the tile.

Steve broke away at once. "You okay, baby?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Your legs squeezed around him, bringing him in until his lips were on yours again, starving.

His hands sort out your back, travelling the expanse and toying with the straps of your bikini top-

When the sound of his backdoor closing alerted you both, followed by the sound of six voices struggling.

"I told you Steve would have ice, you didn't need to bring a bag!"

"Well shit Mike, it's for the cooler."

"Maybe Steve's got some beer for us?"

"He has nice wine," said Max. "y/n told me he has nice wine."

The two of you were still practically entwined at the edge of the pool.

"Please tell me I'm not gonna turn and see what I think I'm gonna see," said Steve, pulling away enough so you could hear him.

The kids, that being all of them, waved at the two of you when Steve turned to look.

Dustin was already throwing an inflatable bed thing into the pool while Max, El and Mike were setting down bags on the lounge chairs Steve had, Mike helping El out with lying out her towel.

"Lucas?" Max called over, clearly wondering if he was gonna make sure she was comfortable.

Lucas was already filling up water balloons with Will's help.

It was as if they hadn't even realised you and Steve were there... at his pool.

"Hey!" he yelled. "What the hell are you doing?"

Dustin grinned. "Hey Steve!"

The rest of them copied his grin at the two of you, waving and greeting you.

Stunned, you held your hand up in a wave.

"I repeat- what are you doing here?" Steve asked.

"You gave us a key!" said Dustin.

"Yeah, for emergencies!"

"This was an emergency!"

"What?" you asked, immediately jumping into action. You pushed yourself out the water, grabbing a towel that wasn't too far and started to dry yourself off. They were all too calm in the face of an 'emergency' "What emergency? Is everything ok?"

"No," said Lucas.

"Well what, what is it?"

"None of us have pools in our back yards."

You deflated.

"Are you serious?" asked Steve, sending a splash of water over to Lucas and Will.

"Hey."

"You can't just waltz in here and make yourselves at home!" argued Steve, reaching out to you to try and pull you back in the pool as you got to your feet.

"It's hot!" said Dustin.

"So hot," added Mike.

"And we needed to cool down!" said Max.

"We were almost dying," said El, "it was really sad."

You smirked to yourself, knowing that if Max and El pulled out the pouted lips and puppy dog eyes, he was done for. The girls were his weakness.

"Yeah... well..." Steve wasn't even trying to argue when he looked up at you.

The red bikini that framed your curves perfectly, the little droplets of water that slid down your body. He tracked each one doing down, rolling down your sternum and further down your legs-

"Steve!" yelled Dustin.

"Wh-what?" he reluctantly forced his gaze away from you to look at him.

Dustin gestured to the floaty that was drifting from him. "Hold it steady!"

"My god," he grumbled.

You had your towel, patting yourself down and sitting with Max and El as Mike went to join Lucas and Will's efforts. You sat with them in the shade.

"Nice suit," said Max. "Pretty sure Steve's eyes were about to jump out his sockets."

"Oh, ha ha," you rolled your eyes. "You guys got swim suits?"

El nodded. "We went shopping."

"Show me!"

Steve was, once again distracted by you. Sure, it was annoying not getting a spare second alone with you. Really he should have pulled you into his room and made it quick before getting in the pool. But the kids meant best... he hoped and the way you were with them, especially Max and El who deserved kindness more than most, warmed his heart.

He could just picture you with the children he hoped to have with you one day. The care that you had, the love. And of course the way of making babies was not lost on him-

"Okay, okay," said Dustin as he stood at the edge of the pool, clearly thinking of the best ways to get onto the float. "Hold it steady... hold it steady..."

"I'm holding- I'm holding it steady!" said Steve.

"Steady!" yelled Dustin.

Steve held it for him but at the last second- when he realised Dustin was going to jump on it- he moved it, sending Dustin crashing into the pool.

The group of them were left laughing as he broke through the water, paddling around. 'Shit! Shit!'

After that you and Steve got busy. It was summer break, so people wanted films all the time and ran Steve off his feet, his days dragging. By the time he picked you up from your shift (which he insisted on) he could sneak a kiss before dropping you off, or sometimes you'd stay with him but the two of you were always too tired for anything. A quiet meal, watch a show then go to bed to do it all again.

Any small moment was special, Steve just wished they'd last.

One day he was at work, fixing up messy shelves and updating the posters at the windows when the door opened.

"Hey Steve!" El and Max called, rushing to two different sections.

El to romance and comedy.

Max to action but Steve knew she'd watch any romance El wanted.

He smiled and was ready to greet them when you practically fell through the door next, arms overflowing with bags.

"Hey!" you smiled, breathless.

"Hey, hey," Steve was in front of you at once, kissing your cheeks and looking down at all the bags. "What's this? You finally moving in with me?"

"Girls day."

Girls day had ran you dry, clearly. You were leaning on the door, feet aching.

"Shopping, snacks and now a film," you said. "And I wanted to see you."

Steve grinned. "Well isn't that sweet." He kissed you deep and slow, dragging the moment out to last.

"Oh gag me!" Robin called from behind the counter. "Porno's are over there, people!"

El peeked up from a shelf. "What's a por-no?"

Max went red in the face, laughing wildly as she turned to you and Steve. "Yeah guys, what's a porno?"

Steve blushed and stuttered.

"Nothing, El, hurry up and get a movie, we need to catch the bus back."

Steve turned back to you. "Bus?"

"Not again," you rolled your eyes.

Steve didn't have an aversion to the bus. He had an aversion of you getting a bus when he could've been using that time to spend a few extra precious minutes with you. "No, no, tell you what, we're almost done here-"

"No we're not!" said Robin.

"Well, we'll close up and I can take you all back and we can all enjoy girls night, how about that?" he asked, inviting himself and Robin along.

Your cheeks ached with the smile Steve brough to you.

Max thought less so. "No, no, no, this is a girl's night, Steve. No boys allowed."

"Yeah, no boys," Said El, joining her friends side.

"Guys c'mon, it's Steve," you argued.

"I couldn't bring Mike," said El.

Steve cringed. "Mike's Mike."

El's brows furrowed in thought. "Mike is... Mike?"

You turned to Max, batting your lashes. "Please..."

Max didn't want to be the 'bad cop' but she also wanted a girls night. And perhaps she was worried, after all, besides Steve she didn't have that much of a positive out look on 'man'.

Lucas wasn't there yet.

Steve jutted out his bottom lip.

Max crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.

Steve knew Max, knew her well. It had come with the years of looking out for each of them. "Okay, how about I get us all a tub of each others favourites ice cream? Vanilla and sprinkles for El, Mint choc-ship for Robbin and strawberry for you?"

It worked a treat, you could practically see Max's body melting at the suggestion.

"Fine," she said, still feigning her annoyance. "But you don't get to pick the movie!" she said, rushing off.

Steve scoffed. "Please, I work with movies," he leant down to your ear. "I cannot watch pretty in pink again, please."

You shrugged as Steve's hands ghosted yours. "Tough luck, babe. That's what happens when you invite yourself to girls night."

He shrugged. "Just spend time with my girl, and hey, if you can't beat them, join 'em." His eyes wondered down to your lips before he kissed you again, slower.

"Earth to Dingus's!" called Robin. "You're blocking the door from actual customers!"

The two of you shuffled away from the door, abashed and apologising as a customer awkwardly made their way in.

"Okay, we've chosen," said Max as El signed out her movie with Robin. "So let's go!"

El joined Max's side after sliding the tape into one of your bags, leaving you stumbling with the bags.

Steve was conflicted. If he were with you he would have taken the bags from you in an instant but clearly you were carrying them for the girls so they would be free.

Max's eyes lit up in mischief. "Oh, if only you had a car, y/n. Then we wouldn't have to walk so far," she pouted.

"With such heavy bags," El added, eyes downcast.

You gave the girls a look but it wasn't enough to stop them.

Steve's eyes rolled and he dug into his pockets before you could tell him no. They had him wrapped around their finger. Never mind El could move things with her mind, she get Steve to do just about anything she wanted. Steve looked at you. "Take my car-"

"Thanks!" Max plucked the keys from him instantly, rushing out with El.

Steve followed her, poking his head out the store. "You're not driving!"

You chuckled and stood tall to peck Steve's cheek. "They have you whipped."

His eyes rolled, mocking you. "Drive safe."

And though Steve wished you could have stayed, or he could have gone with you, at least he'd wormed his way into 'girls night'.

Finally, Steve received the invite he was waiting for. Your family out of town, your house all alone... just you and him.

It wasn't like he'd never been alone in your home with you but it had certainly been so long. Your house was warmer than his, sign that a family might love you whereas his parents didn't know he was in another dimension half the time.

He had a little night bag in the back of the car for the weekend you would have together. Your favourite sweater of his, along with sweatpants and an extra pair of his clothes for you. Snacks, a film and.... a box of condoms. Steve had big plans.

He sped away from work, not even caring if he hadn't clocked out right and trusting Robin would correct it or berate him for it- either way it could wait. He drove quick through Hawkins but took roads that wouldn't take him by Lucas's house in case he got roped in giving Lucas or Erica a ride. He avoided town in case Mike and El had gone on a date and spotted him. At one point he saw a kid with curls on a bike and he swerved, trying to duck in case it was Dustin.

They were great kids. But the only thing greater than them was getting time alone with you.

Finally, after an extra half an hour de-tour of Hawkins he parked up in front of your house, checking over his shoulder in case one of them popped up.

Steve rattled his knuckles on the door.

It took a moment but you swung it open, breathless. "Hey!"

"Hey," Steve stepped in, hands on your shoulders and pecking your cheek. "I'm sorry I'm late, I took the long way, I didn't want to risk the kids-"

"They're here," you said.

Steve frowned. Was your family back? Was their a maintenance guy around. "What? Who's here?"

"The kids."

At your word there was a crash from your kitchen.

Your head whipped around. "Shit- shit-shit- no, no, no!"

Steve was hot on your heels.

Lucas and Dustin stood over a pie that now laid in pieces along with the dish it was in.

"Oh, come on!" Steve deflated against the wall with all his hopes and dreams.

"Sorry," said Lucas.

"It's fine," you sighed, reacting quickly when Dustin went to clean it. "Careful, you'll cut your hands!"

Steve surveyed the area. Max and Mike were having an argument about... well, with them it could have been anything. On the sofa Will was watching the film with El who painted her nails on the coffee table. "Are you serious right now?"

Dustin and Lucas went back to searching through your cupboards, assuming it's for a snack.

Steve knelt next to you, helping you clean the shards and crumbs up. "How did this happen?"

"I don't know," you whispered. "I knew El was coming around for some nail polish but I didn't think she'd bring Max and then Lucas followed her and he radioed Mike who was with Dustin and Will-"

"And you answered the door every time?"

"It was that or they break a window climbing in!"

"Y/n!" Max called.

Your head sagged but you quickly perked up when Max and Mike stood in front of you.

"Can you please tell Mike that Jean Grey is obviously more powerful than the Scarlet Witch!"

Mike spluttered. "What? Wanda Maximoff is literally a Nexus being and can warp the minds and reality around. She created children with nothing but her mind-"

"Jean Grey has the Phoenix force!"

"Like that means shit!"

Their argument started up again and Steve pulled you up, tugging you back into the corridor while everyone was distracted in their own chaos.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you rambled at once. "I wanted it to just be us, I did, but then El started to paint her nails and Max starting opening up about how hard things have been and I've been trying to get her to open up and then Lucas appeared and you know things have been tough between them and then the others came and I couldn't throw them out without kicking them all and they're good kids and-"

Steve grasped your cheeks and kissed you. Only partly to stop your rambling, and the other because he'd been wanting to kiss you all day. He let himself indulge a moment too long before pulling away. "It's fine. We babysit tonight and then tomorrow, we're not leaving your bed, deal?"

You licked your lips of the taste of him and smiled. "Deal."

Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead as the stairs creaked.

"Oh hey Steve," greeted Robin as she casually walked down the stairs as if he hadn't left her at Family Video not long ago. "I didn't know you were coming tonight too." She pat his back and moved past him.

Steve wondered if Jonathon and Nancy were lurking somewhere in the garden. It seemed half of Hawkins knew you had the place to yourself.

"Oh fuck, Steve!"

"Yeah, yeah baby, you like that?"

Steve had made sure of his promise.

The night ended at midnight exact when Steve realised you had fallen asleep on the sofa. He draped a blanket over you and quietly but urgently shoved all the kids away, putting them on their bikes or cars (their parents collecting them) and sending them on their way.

Steve didn't want to wake you so he carried you upstairs and fell asleep with you.

The next morning you were up early to make breakfast, dressed only in one of Steve's flannels and panties. Just to drive him mad. You were half way through pancakes when Steve's arms wrapped around your middle and all but threw you on the sofa, flattening you there.

That's how you both ended up naked on your parents sofa, you in his lap, his cock stretching inside of you and moans bouncing off the walls.

You mewl into his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulders.

Steve rocked his hips into yours as you continuously grinded down on him. "Wanted you so long, baby, was- was going mad."

"I know, I know!" You groaned, pulling back and holding his face in your hands, laying your head against him.

The two of you bodies sweat together, the cushions on the sofa already fallen off the floor and your clothes thrown anywhere other than around you.

Steve meant what he said. He kissed you, all tongue and teeth, desperate to get as deep inside of you as possible and then some more.

You pulled back, Steve's lips dragging down your neck, collecting your sweat and pulse. "Ah, St-Steve!"

His hand held the small of your back, pushing you deeper into him leaving you biting down on your lip to stop screaming out. "You feel me there, huh? Feel me deep?" he all but whined.

You nodded. Your back arched, cunt squeezing him harder as you leant back, hand on his thigh to steady yourself. "Steve- Steve- I'm gonna-"

There was a sudden pounding at the door.

Your whined but not in the way Steve wanted as he felt your climax escaping him.

"No, no, no baby, focus," he cupped your chin, forcing your gaze on him. "Focus on me baby, let them knock."

You both had already guessed who it was.

Steve's eyes screwed shut as he rutted into you quick but the knocking was just as insistent.

"Steve! Y/N, we know you're in there!" Dustin called.

Steve shook his head, rocking you against him. "They-they don't- arg-"

"Steve! We can see your car outside!" added Lucas.

You sat up on him, a hand on the back of the sofa and another on Steve's shoulder. "Steve-"

You both knew you'd never have the day to yourself if they were there, knocking at the door every time you were going to finish.

Steve looked at the door and back to you.

"Maybe there's a spare key?" suggested Will.

"That's it!" Gently Steve helped you off him and almost regretted it at once at the sound of your small whine and the sight of his hard cock leaking and everything coming out of you-

Quickly, Steve grabbed a blanket and tied it around his waist, brushing his hair back as you picked up another discarded on the floor to cover yourself.

He kicked his jogging bottoms out the way as he went and swung open the door, catching the gang of them scrambling for a spare key under the flower pots.

Dustin noticed the hair on his chest and the sweat first, chuckling. "Damn, Steve, all that hair got you stressing-" he realised half way through just why he was sweating and standing there in only a blanket.

"No!" he said. "You cannot have either of us today!"

Will had the decency to blush and look away, Max's jaw was on the floor at what they'd clearly interrupted.

"We just want-" Mike tried.

"No! Nop! None! Zero! We are closed today!"

"Well, actually you seem pretty open-"

"You want to finish that sentence, Sinclair?" Said Steve. "All I want is a day alone, of peace with my girlfriend, and yes that means doing adult things."

El frowned. "Adult?"

Sometimes he forget El didn't know all the ins and outs of the world.

And sadly they'd caught Steve on the precipice of bursting (literally).

"Sex! Yes, that is what happy and loving couples do, that is what we have been trying to do but we keep getting interrupted! So, no, you cannot come in and no you cannot go to my house to eat snacks or go in the pool cause guess what? We're gonna do it there to!" he actually had no plans for that but he just might. "So please, please just move along and let us get to it!"

Lucas chuckled.

Dustin cleared his throat, his voice stuck in a higher pitch. "Okay. We'll er... we'll just... move on."

"Yes, thank you!" Steve waited at the door, waving them down and watching them go all the way down the street. Every time one of them looked back, he waved. He saw El leaning into Mike and his ears going red but he decided he'd let Mike deal with that one.

When he was sure they'd got far enough, Steve slammed the door, locked it and put a chain on for good measure.

You were laughing, face hidden in the blanket when he returned, standing over you with his hands on his hips. "I cannot believe you just did that."

You’d been at the Squawk with Steve and Robin, the three of you crammed into the booth like always. Robin, as usual, was rambling about something while Steve laughed and bumped his knee into yours under the table, grounding you without even trying. 

By the time the clock crept past 8:30, the air outside was already dark and heavy, that familiar tightness had started curling in your chest; one that always showed up when it got late.

You’d told yourself you could handle it, that you were fine and you weren’t helpless, but you still asked Steve to accompany you home anyway, too afraid to go on your own.

“Can you come with me?” you’d asked casually, “or at least drive me home?”

Steve frowned, glancing at Robin. “Baby, you’ll be fine. You can go on your own. I’ll be back in like an hour, okay? ”

You nodded and kissed him goodbye, then you walked out to your car telling yourself you weren’t a scared little kid, and that nothing can harm you anymore.

Only to realize halfway down the lot that your coat was still inside.

So you turned around.

That was all; a forgotten coat, a stupid, normal thing, and you would have been in and out in seconds if not for your name cutting through the noise in the squawk as you heard Steve mention you to Robin.

You shouldn’t have listened, you knew that. You were raised better than to hover at doors and steal pieces of conversations that weren’t yours to hear, but your body didn’t listen to reason anymore.

Your feet stayed planted, your lungs forgot how to work as panic washed over you so fast and so violently that for a second you weren’t in Hawkins at all.

You were back in the Upside Down.

Back in that choking red sky, where  the air is thick and cold. You could feel all over again the vines slick and alive under your hands as you ran, heart tearing itself apart inside your chest. 

You could still feel the demobats, the weight of them, the wet snap of their wings, the sound of flesh ripping, the blood, so much blood, everywhere you looked there was bloodbloodbloodbloodblood—

—the combined screams of yours and Eddie’s. You remembered the way his body had gone still, the way Steve had dragged your bloodied body away as your entire abdomen was ripped apart, shaking so badly you couldn’t even scream.

You remember the way you’d thought you were going to die there with your throat ripped open and your bones scattered across that fucked-up place.

You hadn’t felt safe since.

Four months, five months? however long it had been, it didn’t matter. Fear had latched onto you like a parasite and refused to let go.

Everything startled you now, doors, clocks, cold air on your neck, cars backfiring, footsteps too close behind you. The world felt like a nightmare, and the night was only much worse.

Steve was the only place that didn’t feel like that.

Steve made it quiet. Steve made it stop.

You hadn’t even realized you’d started clinging until it was already done, until your body had decided he was shelter, that he was protection, that if he was near then nothing could touch you. 

And now you were standing outside a door, listening to him talk about you.

“I don’t know, Robin,” he says again, voice rough and worn down, like he’s been chewing on the same thought for weeks and it’s finally gone bloody. “She’s just… different. Ever since.”

Robin leans back against the counter, arms crossed, watching him carefully. “Yeah,” she says, slow and measured. “No shit. She went to literal hell, Steve.”

“I know that,” he snaps too fast, immediately regretting the edge in his voice. He exhales, drags a hand down his face. “I know. I do. That’s the problem. I know, and I still feel like shit about how I feel.”

She waits. Robin’s good at that. At letting him talk himself into the truth.

“It’s like,” he starts again, quieter but faster, words tumbling over each other now, “she’s everywhere. All the time. Wherever I go, she’s already there or tryin’ to be. If I grab my keys, suddenly she needs to leave too. If I’m sittin’ down, she’s sittin’ down. If I say I’m tired, she’s tired. It’s like she can’t exist unless I’m right next to her.”

Your stomach drops where you stand, frozen just outside the door, fingers clenched tight around the strap of your bag.

“I’m serious,” Steve keeps going, oblivious, frustration bleeding through every word. “If I’m goin’ to see Dustin, she’s got a reason to come. If I’m headin’ to the Squawk, somehow we’re paired up for drills again. She doesn’t do anything alone, Robin. Never. She’s just… latched onto me.”

He laughs humorless. “And I sound like a dick sayin’ it, I know I do, but it’s fuckin’ suffocating.”

Suffocating. Like he’s drowning because of you.

Robin doesn’t answer right away. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer, more careful. “Steve. That’s not weird, matter of fact it's a normal response given what she's been through. That’s her brain trying to keep her alive.”

“I know,” he says, rubbing at his neck like it physically hurts to admit it. “I know she’s not doing it on purpose.”

“She nearly died,” Robin presses. “She watched Eddie die right in front of her. She got dragged into the Upside Down and came back with scars all over her body. She wakes up screaming, Steve. You’re the only thing that makes her feel safe.”

“I didn’t say she was the bad guy,” he snaps, voice cracking despite himself. “I’m just sayin’ I’m overwhelmed. She’s so clingy, Robin. You saw her tonight. She didn’t wanna leave without me. I had to practically beg her to go first.”

Your vision blurs. You press a hand to your mouth, swallowing hard.

“It’s like I gotta make up excuses just to be alone,” he admits, quieter now, stripped bare. “I need space. I need to breathe. And I can’t say that without soundin’ like a heartless asshole because yeah, she’s traumatized, and then suddenly I’m the villain for wantin’ five goddamn minutes to myself.”

Robin scoffs, pushing off the counter. “Steve, you idiot. You said it yourself. Your girlfriend is traumatized.”

“Yeah,” he shoots back, voice rising, “but how the hell do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off without destroyin’ her. How do I say ‘hey, I love you, but you’re smotherin’ me,’ and not absolutely fuck her up more than she already is.”

“You don’t call her clingy,” Robin says immediately. “For starters. That word is banned and most girls, including Vickie, hate it.”

Steve lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Well, she is.”

Robin gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. “Oh nooo,” she mocks, voice high and obnoxious. “I’m Steve Harrington and my girlfriend loves me so much. Oh noooo, she feels safe with me. My life is helllll.”

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, shoving her shoulder.

“Oww, you asshole!” Robin shoots back, swatting him in return, then sobers as she gets all serious again. “You’re not wrong for being tired. You are wrong for talking about her like she’s a burden.”

Steve goes still. “I don’t think she’s a burden,” he says quietly, and this time it sounds like the truth. “I just… I don’t wanna be the only thing keepin’ her together. What happens if I fuck up? What happens if I leave?”

Robin sighs. “Then you talk to her. You communicate, dingus.”

You step back before they can see you, heart pounding, every word replaying in your head on a brutal loop. Suffocating. Clingy. Everywhere.

You don’t grab your coat when you leave.

You don’t even realize you’re driving until you’re already halfway home, knuckles white on the steering wheel as every memory crashes into you at once. Begging him to stay while you showered because you were convinced something would crawl out of the drain. Nights you woke up screaming, clinging to his shirt like it was the only safe place left in the world. Training days for the crawl where you stuck close, too afraid to be alone, grateful when you were paired with him again.

You could see it all, every single little thing you had leaned on him for, flashing through your mind like some god-awful horror slideshow.

Steve’s words had been like a bucket of ice water dumped on you, shocking you into clarity whether you wanted it or not. 

Maybe you had been too sensitive. Maybe you had been unbearable. Maybe you had been so clingy that it wasn’t fair for him, and maybe you needed to let go, at least a little. 

It wasn’t as if you had been the only one stuck in the Upside Down. Will had survived a week in that hell, seen things that should have ripped him apart, and yet he had come back and carried himself with a strength you couldn’t even muster. 

Dustin had lost Eddie too, but he hadn’t latched onto anyone, hadn’t made himself a burden. Eleven had been tortured, exploited, experimented on, broken in ways that should have left her crushed, and yet she still managed to find herself amidst everything, to stand and breathe and continue on. 

And here you were, the only one who seemed incapable of moving past it, of finding even a fragment of independence, still tethered to Steve as if without him you would fall apart.

Somehow, without realizing it, you had arrived at your shared home with Steve, parked your car in the driveway, and walked inside on autopilot, your body carrying you through familiar motions while your mind carried the full weight of guilt, shame, and heartbreak.

You stripped off your clothes in the bathroom, letting the water hit your skin in a rhythm you used to find comfort in, and prepared some dinner. You heated up leftovers, the smell of food filling the kitchen like it always had, but this time there was no laughter, no shared commentary on who had eaten what, no teasing Steve about his obsession with ketchup. 

By the time Steve arrived, the house was quiet. You were already in bed, tucked under the covers, something you hadn’t done alone in months because for months you hadn’t slept unless his arms were wrapped around you. 

But tonight, the house felt empty, and he found himself standing in the kitchen, fork in hand, staring at the warm meal you had prepared for him, and realizing that for the first time in an eternity, you weren’t waiting for him.

The next morning only deepened the silence. Steve woke to an empty bed, the sunlight spilling across rumpled sheets that smelled faintly of your perfume, and felt a prickling, cold panic he couldn’t name at first. 

You were already dressed, shoes on, ready to leave.

“Where are you heading?” he asked, voice rough.

“Going to get some stuff from the store,” you replied dryly.

“Want me to come with you, sweetheart?” His words carried that familiar gentleness, but you couldn’t look past it without feeling like a burden.

“No,” you said simply.

It was such a small, simple word. It shouldn’t feel like this. Except it made Steve sit in bed alone, blood running cold, realizing far too late that you were beginning to avoid him.

You leave early and don’t come back until the sky is already dimming, the house dark except for the kitchen light that Steve has turned on and off three times now like it might summon you home faster.

By the time you unlock the front door, he has been pacing a groove into the living room carpet, heart in his throat, mind running through every worst case scenario he promised himself he wouldn’t think about anymore. The second the lock clicks and the door opens, he’s there, crowding your space before you can even hang up your coat.

“Where the hell were you?!” he blurts, voice tight and frantic, eyes scanning you like he’s checking for blood. “You’ve been outta the house for nearly six hours. Six. I was losin’ my goddamn mind. I thought somethin’ happened to you.”

You sigh, slow and tired, and for a split second when you really look at him, at the pure unfiltered worry etched into his face, you almost break.

Almost step into his arms, almost let yourself melt into him and admit how badly you missed him, how those six hours felt like six days without his voice or his hands or the steady reassurance of his presence. 

If six hours did this to him, then the space you were forcing had been tearing you apart twice as badly.

But then your brain betrays you, replays his words in his voice, clingy, suffocating, always there, and you harden.

“I was out, Steve,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, no shit,” he fires back, following you as you walk toward the kitchen. “Out where?”

You open the fridge, more for something to do than because you’re hungry, and shrug. “With Nancy. We hung out and I accidentally lost track of time.”

The tension drains out of him immediately, shoulders sagging in relief. “Jesus,” he breathes. “Why didn’t you tell me, huh? I was freakin’ out. Is everything okay? Did somethin’ happen?”

You shake your head. “No, nothing happened, don’t worry.”

He nods quickly, like he’s trying not to push. “Okay. Okay. I won’t pry.” He hesitates, then softens. “Hey, I was thinkin’ dinner. You want lasagna or pizza?”

“I’m not hungry,” you say, already turning away. “I’m gonna go sleep, okay.”

He frowns. “But I thought we could just hang out a little, I mean we barely saw each other toda—”

“Maybe another time, alright? Goodnight, Steve.”

He exhales, defeated. “Goodnight,” he says softly. “I love you.”

You pause just long enough to whisper it back before disappearing down the hall. “I love you too,”

The days after are worse.

Steve wakes up and barely gets a word in before you’re already pulling on shoes, mumbling something about a jog. If he waits, you need a shower. If he waits longer, you’re late to see your nana. 

If he suggests the Squawk, you’re already going with Nancy. It’s like every time he reaches out, you slip through his fingers a little more, like trying to grasp smoke.

Not long ago, you haunted him with your presence. You were everywhere, constant, inescapable, but now you ghost him with your absence. He doesn’t know where you go or what you do, only that the house feels emptier even when you’re technically still there.

That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of the bed tonight, waiting for the bathroom door to open, heart pounding like he’s bracing for bad news. When you finally step out, hair damp, towel slung over your shoulder, he looks up like he’s been holding his breath.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says gently, like he’s testing the word to see if it still belongs to him.

You glance at him in the mirror and give him a small, careful smile. “Hi, Steve.”

He lingers there for a second, then steps closer, hands hovering before he settles them lightly at your waist, afraid you might flinch. He leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs. “You’ve been out all day. Didn’t even see you at the Squawk.”

Your body betrays you before your mouth does, a shiver running through you at the sound of his voice, the warmth of him behind you. For a heartbeat you let yourself feel it, the pull, the ache. Then you pull away, just enough to break the contact, reaching for your hairbrush like it’s a shield.

“Yeah,” you say lightly. “Nancy asked me to go shopping with her again.”

“Oh.” He straightens, nodding, trying to keep his tone easy. “Was it fun? I figured you’d come back with, like, ten bags or somethin’.”

You shrug, brushing through damp hair. “Didn’t need anything.”

He watches you in the mirror, the way you won’t quite look at him, the way your answers land flat and stop short. He clears his throat as heshifts his weight.

He hesitates, then clears his throat, trying again, voice low and careful. “Uh. We trained today. Me, Hopper, and El. She shaved her time down again.”

You pause only briefly, tugging at your hair with the brush.

“Thirty-three seconds,” he continues, a little brighter despite himself. “Last week it was thirty-six. She’s pissed about it too, which I guess is good. Means she knows she can do better.”

“That’s good,” you say quietly.

He nods, even though you’re not looking at him. “Yeah. She’s gettin’ scary strong again. In a good way.”

“Mhm.”

Steve frowns. He leans back on his hands, searching your face even though you’re facing away now. “We could all hang out this weekend. Just us, or maybe the kids too. Whatever you want. Thought it might be nice.”

“I’m actually quite tired,” you say quietly.

“Okay,” he says quickly. “Yeah. That’s fine. We don’t have to do anything big.” He pauses, then softly asks. “Hey. Are you okay? Like, really okay?”

You swallow. “I’m fine, Steve.”

There’s a beat of silence where he clearly wants to say more as his mouth opens and closes like he’s rearranging words that never come out right. 

He tries again, desperate now. “Did I do somethin’? Because if I did, I swear I’m not tryin’ to mess this up. I just need you to talk to me, okay.”

Your chest tightens. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Steve,” you say softly, cutting him off before he can dig himself deeper, “can you turn off the light, please?”

He gets the hint; you don’t want to talk.

He freezes for a second, then nods once. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He stands, reaches for the lamp, and the room falls into darkness. He lingers there for a moment longer, like he’s hoping you’ll turn back around, say his name, give him something to hold onto.

You don’t.

“Night,” he says quietly.

“Night,” you reply, barely audible.

He lies down beside you, careful not to touch, staring up at the ceiling with the awful, sinking realization that this is what losing you looks like..

As the days passed, then quietly turned into weeks, you built a new routine that did not include Steve in it at all. It happened slowly enough that it almost felt reasonable at first. 

You learned how to time your mornings so you were out the door before he woke up, learned how to come home late enough that conversation felt unnecessary, learned how to smile just enough to keep him from asking questions that you did not have the strength to answer.

Avoiding him became second nature. Lying became easy.

You spent most of your days outside, anywhere that was not the house and not around him. Sometimes you sat beside your nana’s hospital bed for hours, holding her hand and watching the rise and fall of her chest just to remind yourself that people stayed alive even when everything went wrong. 

Other days you walked until your legs ached, wandering neighborhoods you barely recognized, letting exhaustion drown out thought. Occasionally you called a friend, anyone who would answer, and let the hours blur together in cafes and parking lots and friendly conversations that never went anywhere deep enough to hurt.

It got to the point where you could not remember the last time you had kissed him without forcing yourself to think about it, and when you did, the number made your stomach twist. Four days. Four whole days since his mouth had been on yours, since his hands had found your waist without asking, since you had slept tangled together instead of inches apart. 

There was a time when five minutes apart felt unbearable, when you haunted each other in hallways and kitchens and doorways, hands always reaching, always searching.

You grew used to the distance. 

Steve though, did not.

His patience thinned in ways that showed. It did not help that things with Dustin were already strained. Steve started snapping again and retreating into old habits he thought he had outgrown. 

He tried to pull himself back every time he felt it happening, tried to reach for you like he always had.

And every time he did, you stepped further away.

That was how he found himself one late afternoon sitting on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the front door. 

You had been gone all day again, supposedly with Nancy, doing whatever it was you told him you were doing now. 

Steve knew you were close to her, knew you trusted her, but not to the point where you would spend hours every other day together. Still, he told himself not to judge. Girls were odd in their friendships, and he did not want to be the guy who questioned everything.

But his mind would not shut up.

Every instinct in him was screaming that something was wrong, that he needed to do something instead of sitting there waiting. He was snapped out of his thoughts when the doorbell rang.

Steve was on his feet instantly, relief and fear colliding in his chest as he rushed to the door. He yanked it open, already ready to say your name.

Instead, Nancy Wheeler stood there.

For a split second, his brain refused to process it. Then panic slammed into him so hard it stole the air from his lungs. If you were supposed to be with Nancy, then why is she standing here alone?

“Where is she?” he blurted out, voice sharp and scared. “Is she okay? What happened?”

Nancy blinked in shock at his reaction, taking in the way his shoulders were tight, the way his hands were already shaking like he’d been holding himself together by sheer force of will. “Whoa, Steve, hey,” she said quickly. “Slow down. What’s going on?”

“What,” he shot back, breath uneven, eyes already scanning the driveway behind her like you might suddenly appear. “Where’s she? Why are you here without her, Nancy?”

Nancy frowned. “Without who?”

“Y/N,” he snapped, panic bleeding into anger because fear always did that to him. “I’m talking about Y/N.”

Her expression shifted immediately. “Yeah,” she said slowly, “that’s actually why I’m here. I haven’t heard from her in weeks. I just wanted to check in.”

The words hit him like a punch straight to the chest.

“What do you mean you haven’t heard from her?” he said, quieter now, like saying it louder might make it real. “You were literally  together today?”

Nancy let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Steve, no. I’ve been with Jonathan all day. He’s waiting in the car right now. I just stopped by because I was worried about her.”

The color drained from his face so fast it scared her.

“Steve,” she said carefully, stepping closer, “you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”

He swallowed hard, throat tight like it was closing in on itself. “She’s been telling me she’s with you,” he said. “Every time she’s gone. She says she’s with you.”

Nancy stared at him. “Why would she lie about that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, voice cracking despite how hard he tried to keep it together. “That’s the thing, Nance, I don’t know. One day she was everywhere. Everywhere. I couldn’t turn around without her being there, couldn’t breathe without feelin’ her next to me, and then suddenly it’s like she vanished. We didn’t fight. I–i didn't do anything. At least not that I remember.”

Nancy sighed, rubbing her forehead, her tone firm but not unkind. “Steve. You don’t just wake up one day like that. Something must've happened.”

“No, no, no” he said immediately, shaking his head. “No, I would know. I would remember if I fucked up that bad.”

“And you didn’t think to ask her?” Nancy pressed.

“I did,” he snapped. “I tried. Every time I tried she’d shut it down, say she was tired or busy or fine. What the hell was I supposed to do, corner her?”

“She was clingy, okay. I’ll say it. I couldn’t go anywhere without her, couldn’t get a second alone, and then suddenly it’s like she was gone.”

Nancy’s head snapped up. “Don’t,” she said sharply.

“What?” he shot back.

“You do not call her clingy, Steve!” Nancy said, anger flaring now. “You don’t get to use that word with Y/N out of all people!”

He bristled. “Oh come on, Nancy. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, you did,” she said. “And even if you didn’t, it doesn’t matter. In case you’ve forgotten, Harrington, we’re all wrapped up in this upside down bullshit because we have to be. I do it because of Mike and Barb. You do it because of Dustin. Guess what? She doesn’t have to be involved in it!”

Steve opened his mouth, then stopped.

“That girl is fucking traumatized, and she went through that shit because you dragged her into it!” Nancy continued, voice steady but fierce.

“She nearly died. She was attacked by monsters that shouldn’t exist. She watched Eddie die just like the rest of us, and she doesn’t get to talk about it with anyone outside this circle. She can’t go to her friends or her family and say, ‘hey, I got slimed by an interdimensional monster and almost got ripped apart.’ The only person she feels safe enough to lean on is you!”

His jaw tightened, guilt creeping in through the cracks.

“So yeah,” Nancy went on, “maybe she leaned too hard or she  didn’t know how to be alone after that. But that doesn’t make her clingy, Steve. That makes her scared.”

He dragged a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know,” Nancy said. “But intent doesn’t erase impact. Something you said or did made her feel like she was too much, like she was a burden, and instead of yelling or crying she did the only thing she could think to do. She disappeared.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. “She’s been lying to me, Nancy.”

“She’s protecting herself,” Nancy said. “You need to see things in her light”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

“So what,” he said finally, voice raw. “What if she’s just… done? What if she realized she doesn’t need me?”

Nancy softened then, stepping closer. “Steve. She needs you. She just doesn’t think she’s allowed to anymore. And that’s on you to fix.”

He looked at her, eyes glassy. “How?”

“You talk to her,” Nancy said simply. “Really talk. Don't accuse her or get defensive. Listen to her.”

She glanced back toward the driveway. “I’ll stop by tomorrow and check on her too, okay? But you can’t let this sit. Whatever’s going on, it’s clearly eating both of you alive.”

Steve nodded faintly, chest aching. “Yeah.”

Nancy opened the door, then paused. “And Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Snap out of it,” she said firmly. “Before you lose her for real.”

With that, she left, heading back toward Jonathan’s car, while Steve stood alone in the doorway.

Ironically, barely ten minutes after Nancy and Jonathan pulled out of the driveway, you came home.

The house was dark. Too dark.

Your stomach dropped immediately, panic flaring hot and fast as you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. No lights. No TV. No noise.

For a split second, every worst-case scenario you’d trained yourself not to think about came crashing in all at once.

“Steve?” you called out, voice tight.

Footsteps shuffled, and then he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, lit only by the faint glow from the stove light.

“Hey,” he said, like nothing in the world was wrong.

You froze for half a beat. “Oh. Hi.”

There was something awkward in the air instantly, like you’d both stepped into the same room carrying entirely different weights. He leaned against the counter, trying to look casual.

“How was your day?” he asked.

You shrugged, slipping your shoes off. “It was… alright.”

His eyes drifted to the bag clutched in your hand, the crinkled plastic catching his attention. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” you said quickly, glancing down at it. “I stopped by the pharmacy to get the cream. For, uh… you know. The scarring.”

He nodded, softer now. “That’s good.”

Neither of you said anything else as you walked down the hall together. The bedroom felt smaller than usual as Steve sat on the edge of the bed while you set the bag down.

“Um,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you want me to help you apply it?”

You hesitated for a second. Then you nodded and handed him the bag.

He unsealed the ointment while you slipped your shirt off and sat cross-legged on the floor, your back to him. You were suddenly acutely aware of every scar—deep, jagged reminders carved across your back and abdomen from the demogorgon attack. Old wounds, but never really gone.

Steve didn’t react the way you always feared people might. He never did.

His hands were warm as he scooped some of the cream, spreading it carefully across your skin gently. He worked it into your shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly as he massaged your shoulders.

You let yourself breathe.

He kept going until he was done, smoothing the last of it in with quiet focus. As you started to shift, ready to stand and pull your shirt back on, you felt it—

Two soft kisses. One pressed over each long scar crossing your back.

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

You stood quickly, sliding your shirt back on, suddenly unsure what to do with all the space between you. You were halfway to the door when his voice stopped you.

“Uhm, Y/n.”

You turned. “Yeah?”

He reached out, fingers wrapping gently around your hand, and tugged you a step closer. “Can we talk?”

He keeps hold of your hand when you hesitate.

“Talk about what?” you ask quietly.

Steve doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the familiar gravity that’s always pulled you in whether you wanted it to or not. His hand tightens around yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.

“I know I’ve been shitty,” he says again, like repeating it might finally make it land where it needs to. His voice is low and rough, scraped raw by guilt. “I know I’ve been so far away from you. I know you felt it. I saw it, even when I pretended I didn’t.” He swallows hard. 

“And I know you’re going through things—things I can’t even fully understand—and I hate that instead of being the person you could come to, the person who made it easier, I—”

He cuts himself off with a sharp breath, hand lifting to his face like he can physically stop the words from spilling.

Your chest tightens so painfully it almost steals your breath.

“I panicked,” he rushes on, panic bleeding straight through his words now. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Knowing someone was dependent on me, really dependent on me, not just for rides or babysitting or stupid shit like that, but emotionally.” His voice wavers. “I thought I was gonna screw it up. Thought I already was screwing it up. And instead of dealing with that like an adult, I freaked out.”

He laughs once, sharp and broken. “God, I thought I needed space. I thought if I pulled back, things would calm down, that we’d both breathe easier. But fuck—” His voice cracks hard on the word. “This is so much worse. You being gone is so much worse than you being everywhere. I’d give anything to have you hovering around me again, asking if I’m okay, touching my arm, sittin’ too close on the couch.”

He steps closer, hands shaking as they come up to your sides, not quite touching like he’s scared you’ll flinch away.

“Please,” he whispers, forehead nearly brushing yours now, eyes glossy and wrecked. “Please, sweetheart. Don’t stop being dependent on me. Don’t stop needing me. Don’t stop loving me.”

Your breath stutters, a broken sound caught somewhere between your chest and your throat.

“I need you to need me,” he says, the words spilling faster, desperate and unfiltered. “I didn’t realize it until you pulled away, but I do. I need it. I need you. Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t wake up every day wondering if you’re okay and knowing it’s my fault you don’t tell me.” His voice drops to a whisper. 

“I can’t do this without you.”

That’s when you break.

The sob tears out of you violently, ripping through your chest like something finally gave way. Your knees nearly buckle as you fold into him, crying so hard your body shakes, hiccups jerking through each breath. 

Steve reacts instantly, arms wrapping around you tight, crushing you to his chest like if he lets go you’ll disappear for real this time.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, voice breaking completely now. “I’m so sorry. Fuck—fuck, baby, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

His hand moves up and down your back in slow, steady motions, grounding and familiar, his chin pressing into your hair. You cry into his shirt until it’s damp, until your throat burns and your lungs ache and you feel wrung out and hollow.

Eventually, trembling, you pull back just enough to look at him.

“I heard you, Steve,” you say, the words tripping over themselves.

He freezes. “You… heard what?”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms like you deserve the sting. “A few weeks ago. At the station. I left early and forgot my coat.” Your voice wobbles badly now. “I came back, and I heard you.”

The color drains from his face so fast it scares you.

“You were talking to Robin,” you continue, tears spilling again. “You said I was clingy. You said I was suffocating you.”

“Oh—no,” he breathes, panic exploding across his features. “No, no, no, baby, please—”

“I didn’t mean to be,” you sob. “I swear I didn’t. I wasn’t trying to trap you or make you feel stuck. I just—” Your breath breaks, the words barely making it out. “I only felt safe with you. And everyone else was doing okay. Everyone. And I wasn’t. I was falling apart and I didn’t know how to be alone with that.”

You swallow hard, voice dropping to something small and raw. “And somewhere along the way, it started to feel like you weren’t loving me anymore.”

Your eyes lift to his, shining. “It felt like you were just… tolerating it. Tolerating me.”

Steve’s hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your tears away like each one physically hurts him.

“Baby,” he says fiercely, voice shaking as his arms tighten around you. “You can cling to me as tight as you want and as long as you want. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to pull away to protect me.”

His voice drops, thick and aching, the words pressed straight into your hair. “I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much it scares me, and instead of owning that, I ran my mouth and said something stupid and careless. And I hate that it hurt you. I hate that I made you feel like you were too much when all you ever were was… you.”

He presses his forehead to yours, breath shaky. “You were never suffocating me. I was just scared of how much I needed you back.”

You search his face, eyes swollen, chest still hitching with quiet aftershocks of sobs. He looks wrecked and earnest and painfully open, like every wall he’s ever built has finally come down.

“It’s okay, Steve,” you whisper, even though the words wobble on the way out, even though they don’t quite feel solid yet.

He shakes his head immediately, curls bouncing with the movement. “It’s not. It’s really not.” His hands slide up your back, holding you close. “But we’re gonna fix it, okay? I will fix it. I promise. I don’t care how long it takes.”

His forehead presses against yours again, like he’s grounding himself. “Just… don’t pull away from me ever again.”

You nod, slow but sure, arms wrapping around him fully now as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you like he means it this time, rocking you gently, big hands warm and steady like they’re reminding you that he’s real, that he’s here.

You breathe him in.

And then—

Grrrgrgrgrgrgr.

You freeze for half a second.

Then you pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes still wet, face scrunched, and you burst out laughing—broken, hiccupy laughter that comes out of you mid-cry.

“Are you—” you sniff, laughing harder, “—are you hungry?”

Steve’s face goes bright red.

“I—” he stammers, mortified. “I was gonna wait for you to come back, okay? I didn’t wanna eat without you.”

That just makes you laugh more. You press your face back into his chest, shoulders shaking, and he lets out a breathy laugh too, embarrassed but relieved, his arms tightening around you again.

“God,” he mutters. “Timing, huh.”

You tilt your head up and kiss him. He kisses you back immediately, like he’s been starving for it just as much as food. When you pull away, barely an inch, he leans in again and kisses you harder this time and deeper, pouring everything unsaid into it.

He breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh, forehead resting against yours. “Missed kissing you.”

You smile. “Me too.”

He exhales, then straightens suddenly like he’s had an epiphany. “You know what?”

“What?” you ask.

“I am starving,” he says, dead serious. “And I’m pretty sure you are too.”

You blink. “Steve—”

“Come on,” he says, already grabbing your hand and tugging you gently toward the door. “Grab a coat.”

“Wait,” you laugh, stumbling after him. “Where are we even going?”

He grins over his shoulder, that familiar boyish smile you fell in love with. “Enzo’s.”

Your eyes widen. “What? No, Steve, that place is expensive. And you need a reservation and— I can just heat something up, it’s fine—”

“Nope,” he cuts in immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Steve—”

“I gotta spend the next year or so making it up to you,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Minimum.”

You gape at him. “But—”

“Too late,” he says cheerfully, already opening the door.

You stumble as he leads you out to the car, the night air cool against your skin. He opens your door for you like always, and excitedly smiles at you. As the engine starts and the house disappears in the rearview mirror, you lean back in your seat, heart full and sore and warm all at once.

Deep down, you know it again: Steve will stay by your side. He’ll wait while you heal. He’ll hold you steady until you’re strong enough to take steps on your own.

And Steve knows, wholeheartedly, that he’ll be the one clinging to you just as tightly. Because you’re the only one he’s ever loved enough to spill his heart to.

Across the field, practice is in full swing. Kids swarm the infield, shouting over one another, cleats kicking up clouds of dust. A bright, metallic clang rings through the air, signaling a clean hit. The whole team erupts into cheers as little Johnny Peters takes off for first, freckles flashing beneath his helmet.

You smile, eyes following the chaos fondly.

“God,” Sharon mutters, gaze fixed entirely elsewhere, “I know he’s young, but does he really have to look like that?”

“How old is he, anyway? Twenty?” another mom asks.

“Twenty-two,” Sharon corrects promptly. “I asked.”

Kelly snorts. “Of course you did.”

“Huh. And he’s not seeing anyone?”  

“Apparently not.”

You take a slow sip of your coffee, keeping your expression neutral. You’ve gotten very good at that lately.

“It’s the whole authority thing, right?” Kelly says after a pause. “Give a guy a whistle and suddenly—"

“—suddenly he’s attractive,” another mom finishes.

“Well,” Sharon adds, “I think it’s a little more than the whistle.”

A soft ripple of laughter moves down the row.

Just then, the sharp blast of a whistle cuts through the air.

The effect is instantaneous.

It’s like Pavlovian conditioning, the sudden hush that settles over the stands. Conversations drop off mid-sentence. Heads lift in near-perfect unison. Like suburban meerkats sensing a storm, all eyes snap toward the field.

Every mom here knows exactly what that whistle means.

Coach Steve Harrington steps out from the dugout, lips still wrapped around the whistle, hands signaling a time-out as he jogs toward the pitcher’s mound. His cap is pulled low, shades perched on the bridge of his nose. The top two buttons of his Dodger-blue jersey are undone—as usual—revealing tanned collarbones and just the faintest tuft of chest hair.

He calls out a few pointers to the team, then leans over the plate to demonstrate a perfect, controlled swing.

The pivoting motion tugs his shirt upward, flashing a patch of sun-warmed skin at his stomach. It also strains the fabric of his pants, those khakis clinging to his ass in a way that’s a little snug for a public park.

A very un-subtle sigh rolls through the bleachers.

“Jesus,” Sharon mutters. “I mean, that’s just unnecessary.”

“He’s gotta know, right? There’s no way he doesn’t.”

“That shirt’s always like that. Never fully buttoned.”

A chorus of murmured agreement follows.

You press your lips together, managing to school your expression just as you hear a pair of little cleats pounding toward you.

“Mom! Mom!”

Toby skids to a stop in front of you, panting with effort, helmet crooked, knees grass-stained. He wedges himself between your legs and you reach up instinctively, straightening his helmet before it tips again.

“Mom, did ya see me? Did ya see that throw?”

“‘Course I did, honey! You were amazing!”   

His grin goes blinding. “Coach Steve said I got way better this week. He said I’m really fast. Like, like, maybe fast enough to be a pro!”   

“Yeah?” you smile, brushing a smear of dirt from his cheek. “You’ve been working so hard. I’m so proud of you.”

Toby nods so vigorously his helmet nearly slips again. He takes a quick gulp from the water bottle you hand him, then darts back to the dugout.

Across the field, Steve is crouched near home plate, murmuring low encouragements as he adjusts another kid’s grip on the bat.

After a moment, he straightens.

Flicks his cap off, rolls his shoulders, then lets his eyes roam over the bleachers.

When he finds what he’s looking for, he flashes a quick, casual smile.

From this distance, it’s broad enough to be meant for no one in particular.

And yet.

You look away immediately, pretending to study the condensation sliding down your coffee cup.  

“Oh my god,” Kelly whispers beside you. “I think he looked over here. Sharon, was that at you?”

Sharon scoffs, though the corner of her mouth quirks up. “Please. He smiles at everyone.”

“Mm, not like that.”

You keep your gaze fixed firmly on the cup.

⚾︎

“Alright, Cubs! Awesome job today! Make sure to grab all your stuff. I’ll see you back here Tuesday, yeah?”

A chorus of okay, Coach! and bye, Coach Steve! follows.

The bleachers wake up all at once. Moms rise in unison, purses scraping against aluminum, lipstick caps popping open for quick, totally casual touch-ups meant for no one in particular. Kids spill off the field in excited clumps, chatter overlapping as they relive every hit, every near-catch. Toby’s voice cuts through it all, loud and proud as he recounts a grounder he almost snagged.

You’re stuffing a water bottle into your tote when a voice behind you makes you freeze.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

You turn.

Steve stands there, casual as ever, bat slung over his shoulder, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. His jersey’s still hanging half-open, collar darkened with sweat.   

“Hi.”

You purse your lips, stifling a smile. “Hi.”

He stares for a beat too long before he shakes himself, clearing his throat.

“Uh—I just wanted to say Toby did really great today. Kid’s a natural. Solid throw, great hustle. And..." his eyes flick briefly toward the chaos of children behind him, voice dropping a notch, “...he actually listens.”    

You laugh softly. “That last part’s news to me.”

Steve grins. Takes a step closer.

His voice slides into a familiar cadence you’ve come to recognize, warm and teasing. “So... I heard you might be on snack duty next week.”

You raise a brow. “You did, huh?”

“Yep. And, you know, I run a pretty serious operation here. Snack’s are a very important part of team morale. So I thought maybe we should… discuss our options.”

You can’t hide the smile this time. “Oh? And what exactly were you thinking, Coach?”

“Well…” he leans closer, eyes glinting. “We might need to talk details. You know… what kind of chips to get, how many… make sure everything’s perfect.”

“Mm,” you nod solemnly. “Sounds important. Why don’t I—”

“Mom! Mom!”

Toby barrels toward you, juice box clenched in his hand like a trophy, still buzzing with post-practice adrenaline.

“Mom, can I sleep over at Jackson’s tonight?”

You blink. “Tonight?”

“Yeah! He’s got the new Super Mario game! And, and, he said we can have pizza while we play!”

You glance up to see Jackson’s mom waving from a few yards away, already herding kids toward her van.

“You sure, baby? I made that lasagna you like.”

“Nooo, Mom, please? Everyone’s going.”

You give in with a smile, smoothing his hair back. “Okay. You want me to bring your stuff over?”

“Nope, he’s got extras!”

“Alright. Be good at Mrs. Miller’s, okay? And say thank you.”

“I will!” He vibrates in place just long enough for you to bend down and kiss his cheek.

“Okay, bye Mom! Love you! Bye, Coach Steve! See you next week!”

“Bye, buddy,” Steve waves. “Great job today. Let me know how that game goes, yeah?”

Toby nods furiously before sprinting off.

When you turn back, Steve’s grinning at you.

Hand shoved in his pocket, rocking lightly on his heels.

He's more boyish than ever, looks downright fucking pleased.

“Well,” he starts, tilting his head, “I don’t know about Toby, but…”

He shrugs, eyes flicking to you with warmth and something unmistakably like intent.

“I could definitely go for some lasagna.”

⚾︎

“You know all the—mmph—the moms are... t-talking about you, right?”

Even with your face shoved into the pillow, words muffled, jaw slack and drooling, you know exactly the kind of shit-eating grin that’s hovering behind you.    

“Yeah?” His voice comes perfectly level, lazy with a familiar taunt. Like he’s not ramming you within an inch of your life. “What’re they saying?”

“Mm, Shar... Sharon thinks you’re—fuck, Steve!”  

There’s no warning, just the sudden crush of his weight shoving you flat onto the mattress, pinning your stomach against the sheets. His hips snap forward, driving all the way to the hilt in one, long thrust, your body jolting up the bed from the sheer force of it.

You let out a strangled yelp, hands flailing back instinctively, scrabbling at his arms, his hips. You squirm desperately for leverage, clawing at the Dodger-blue fabric bunched around his waist, but he pins you easily, weight sinking down like an anchor. A thick forearm comes around to hook under your chin, wrapping around your neck to hold you there.

“She thinks I’m what?” he breathes, lips pressed to your temple.  

“She... she...”

He allows you a moment of merciful reprieve, thrusts slowing to a teasing grind, hips rolling in deep, languid circles against your ass.

“Into her,” you manage. “S-she thinks you’re into her.”

“Huh,” he pants, thoughtful. “Mrs. McIntyre?”

You nod weakly as he adjusts his grip around your neck, pressing up until you can feel your own pulse thundering along the column of your throat.

Then, before you can find your next breath, the weight over you lifts, the pressure around your neck releasing. You suck in a long, trembling gulp of air—the first real one in what feels like forever—just as you feel a pair of hands wrap around your hips, flipping you swiftly onto your back.

You hit the pillows with a startled gasp, chest heaving, legs splaying open instinctively.

Your cunt glistens between your thighs, weeping a slow, sticky trail into the sheets. It’s twitching uselessly, clenching around open air as if it could pull him closer.

From between your knees, your man watches.

The late-afternoon sun cuts through the room in slanted gold, draping his body in warmth and shadow. You take him in helplessly, all the familiar lines of him—the sloped planes of his shoulders, thick biceps and a toned chest that melts into the soft curve of his stomach. The pale-white scars that shimmer along his sides, stark and beautiful against flushed skin.

He’s naked except for that blue jersey. Hanging open at the front, hem brushing over his hips. The last two buttons are gone, thanks to your handiwork.

It’s a miracle his shirt’s stayed intact at all, what with the way you were climbing over each other the moment the door slammed shut.

Savage, open-mouthed kisses giving way to ragged gasps as you staggered through your living room, tripping over the ottoman, narrowly avoiding a vase as you dragged each other toward the bed. His dirt-stained khakis discarded mid-stride, he barely managed to tear your clothes off before hauling you onto the mattress.

Predatory.

It’s the only word to describe the way he’s looking at you now, honey-brown eyes darkened with intent, burning hotter than the molten orange sunset bleeding through the curtains behind him.

He takes his sweet time.

Holds your gaze, unblinking, as he shrugs the jersey the rest of the way off, letting it drop away. He raises a hand up to his chest, palm flat, and drags it slow across his skin. Slides it over his ribs, his stomach, the trail of coarse hair running below his navel, reaching down, down, down, until his fingers brush against the sticky patch of curls at his base.

A pleased, knowing smile spreads across his face as he drinks in your reaction.

“Mrs. McIntyre, huh? I had no idea.”

And even this fucked up—dazed and boneless from the way he’s been drilling his cock inside you for the better part of an hour, buried so deep you can feel him in your stomach—a tiny part of you can’t resist pushing back.

Just enough to test him, to see how far he’ll let you go.

“Don’t act like you’re surprised…” you murmur, words slurring. “You were smiling at her today.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then a low, incredulous laugh.

“At her?”

The hand on his stomach moves lower, thumb and four fingers splayed to form a wide ‘V’ as he cradles the imposing monument he calls a cock. The head of it’s all swollen, leaking, skin flushed from friction and glossed all over with your arousal.

“Huh,” he intones mildly, gaze flicking down between your legs, tongue gliding slow across his bottom lip. “Did I make my girl jealous?”

You scoff, pushing weakly against his shoulders as he makes his way back down, boxing you in between his elbows. “You wish, Harrington.”

He laughs under his breath, soft and playful, before he slams his lips against yours in a filthy kiss, tongues clashing until you’re left panting for breath.

Pulls back with a wet smack, eyes hooded, blazing with amusement.

“Sorry, honey,” he breathes, head tipped in mock sympathy. “Had no idea.”

You roll your eyes, instantly betrayed by the tremor in your voice. “I don’t care.”  

“Mm,” he smiles, dipping his head to nuzzle your cheek, mouthing along your jaw while he reaches a hand down without looking. “I think you do.”

His cock drags against your inner thigh as he positions himself against your opening.

“And I think,” he adds softly, “you mean Coach Harrington.”

You laugh despite yourself, breathless, feeling him bury a smile of his own against your neck.

“Nice try... ‘m not calling you that in bed.”

“Worth a shot.”

“Uh-huh.”

Your amusement quickly dies on a moan when he nudges the head of his cock against your swollen clit, dragging it down in a slow, wet schlick to your entrance. The pressure makes you clench, whining when he rubs insistently against your folds without pushing in.

“Steve—"

“Shh, I know, baby,” He smooth a warm palm up the inside of your thigh, pushing it back, spreading you wider. “I got you.”

In and in and in, he bottoms out in one stroke, stretching you endlessly until his pelvis is flush against yours. You take him well—pussy warm and slick from earlier rounds—but the weight of him, the sheer girth pressing into you, draws a low whimper from your throat.

“Yeah?” he breathes. “Is that good?

His lips trail soft, lingering kisses across your neck, one hand coming up to smooth your hair back, cradling the top of your head to shield it from bumping against the headboard.

It all runs so counter to the way he’s thrusting—slamming inside in quick, deep thrusts, hitting your g-spot with such merciless accuracy that your eyes prick with tears.

“God,” he huffs, brow furrowed in pleasure, jaw going slack as he starts hitting that rhythm proper, “You have any idea how hard it was to behave today? Couldn’t stop fucking staring at you. Couldn’t... couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

His eyes roam greedily over the fresh trail of bruises he’s already mapped across your body: deep wine-reds that bloom just underneath the skin, running down your neck, your collarbone, the soft underside of your tits.

“You were looking at me too, huh?” he murmurs, already knowing.

Head lolling back against the pillow, you can only nod, too dizzy and breathless to do more.

“Yeah, baby, I know you were,” he coos, dropping his forehead to yours, lips brushing in a slow, teasing ghost of a kiss. “Sitting up there… looking so pretty. Bet you were making a mess out of the bleachers, huh? Getting yourself all wet.”

You groan, arching against him. “Steve—”  

“Tell me,” he grunts, voice rough with need. “Tell me how good this feels. Tell me how much you need this cock.”

“I—fuck—I need it. I’s so good. Feels... feels so good.”

He lets out a guttural groan, pressing down harder, pulling you closer.  

“Drives me… drives me fucking insane, you know that? Acting all polite out there, ‘Yes, ma’am…’ ‘Oh, he did just great today...’ When all I want—” He draws his hips back, slamming back inside to punctuate his next words “—is this.”

“Fuck, Steve—!”

The pleasure is blinding, a violent flash-bang to the senses that knocks the breath straight out of you. You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping onto his shoulders for dear life as you tip into your third orgasm of the day. He fucks you through it, murmuring praise, hips pistoning so hard it makes the mattress squeak, the headboard rattle.

And even as the high fades, he doesn’t relent. Light, shallow thrusts that leave you whining, twitching, your clit jolting each time he brushes against your tender g-spot.

“Mm…” you squirm, legs trembling against your will. “Steve...”

“Hm?”

“Can’t... ‘s too... too sensitive...”

“Just one more, baby.” He pants, lifting himself up on his hands. The playful edge in his eyes replaced by a look that’s all earnest now, all intent. “Want you to come one more time for me.”

You groan weakly, shaking your head. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he leans in close, nudging his nose against yours, pressing a soft peck to the tip. “Just one more. One more, baby. For me?”

Your response breaks into a loud groan when his hand slides down to your clit, middle and ring finger pressing slow, firm circles across the sensitive nub, making your cunt spasm around him with each pass.

“Come on, honey,” he whispers, voice soft but insistent, almost petulant in its coaxing. “I never get to take my time with you. Never get to have you like this.”

And even in this state, you can’t stop the wet, fucked-out laugh that escapes you. “You... you had me like this two days ago.”

The memory hits in a dizzying haze. He’d invited you over to his place before practice on Tuesday. Fed you a surprisingly excellent omelet first, then wasted no time bending you over the counter, and then the couch, and eventually his bed—both of you panting and laughing by the end of it, scrambling to get dressed once you realized how much time had passed.

“But we were still rushing then,” he counters, and you can’t muster the energy to argue that three and a half rounds don't exactly count as ‘rushing,’ but maybe for Steve Harrington they do.

“Please, baby,” he murmurs, still thrusting gently. “We’ve got all night today. Wanna see how many times I can make you come.”

“Fuck...” you sigh, head tipping back as another shudder rolls through you. You were convinced you’d come up against a wall, but the moment he angles his thrusts upward, fingers continuing their precise, coaxing swipes over your clit, the smoldering tension in your stomach catches kindling.

The high starts climbing back, somehow, sharper and brighter than ever.

“God, you’re so pretty... so fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, driving in a little harder. “Can’t believe you think I’d look at anyone else when I’ve got you.”

You whine weakly at his words, at the way his voice dips on the words I’ve got you, unmistakably possessive yet so bruisingly tender.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he mumbles against your lips. “No one gives it to you like this, hm?”

Your response is a trembling, breathless gasp, mouth brushing against his on every thrust, pressed so close it’s impossible to tell when you’re not kissing.

“Yeah? Say it, then. Tell me.”

“Yours, yours, ’m yours... fuck, don’t stop... mmph—"

Long, slow, filthy passes of his tongue as he pries your lips open, gliding into your mouth; he craves this point of connection, always. Every sound you make is swallowed eagerly, turned into something shared.

He breaks easiest when you’re this close, when the air between you disappears and his control gives way to raw, aching need. Instinct pulling him toward a singular desire to stay close, to share breath and spit and praise while he takes you.

“Oh... oh my god—Steve, I’m—"

“Yeah, that’s it, honey. Let go, I’ve got you.”

It almost hurts, this time around.

The slow, exquisite, endless pull of pleasure, cruel hands of a thousand little deaths come to strangle you off. Every nerve in your body feels raw and frayed, tears leaking freely when you shut your eyes tight. You bury your face into his shoulder, nails pressing hard enough to break skin, clinging desperately to his words for some fragment of relief.

“Good girl... ah, shit, s-squeezing me so tight. That’s it. Keep coming, baby. There you go.”

Your cunt spasms uncontrollably around him—long, drawn-out pulses that keep him from pulling back out. He ruts the last few inches inside before spilling deep, groaning against your neck.

“Fuck, yes, just like that. God, baby....”

He always stays inside you afterward, for as long as he can. Kissing, kissing, always kissing, like he just can’t help himself, lips roaming over any patch of skin he can reach. When he finally draws his hips back, he does so carefully, softening the distance with more kisses when you whine at the loss of him.

“C’mere,” he pants, breath still ragged as he rolls onto his side, tugging you in until you fit flush against him. “I’ve got you.”

Warm, gentle strokes against the curve of your back as you level out together, syncing your breaths. The window’s cracked just enough to let the evening air roll in, cooling against heated, buzzing skin.

“You okay?” he murmurs after a while.  

You hum in response, nodding once as you tuck your nose closer to his chest, breathing him in. Citrus cologne. Sweat. Steve.

“Wow,” he exhales, half a laugh caught in his throat. “What was that, three times?”

“Four,” you mumble, words muffled against his skin.

“Oh my god,” he laughs fully now, warm and boyish, chest vibrating beneath your cheek. He dips his head to press a quick kiss to your temple. “We’ll do five next time. Promise.”

You groan softly and shove at his shoulder, rolling away to hide your face in the pillow.

You hear him chuckle behind you as he slides off the bed. The soft pad of bare feet follows, sliding across hardwood, then the click of the bathroom light. Water trickles quietly from the sink.

You’re still catching your breath when the mattress dips again.

His fingers brush the backs of your legs, gently coaxing you to turn onto your back. You do, cheeks burning as he carefully swipes the warm, damp towel between your thighs, focused and attentive.

It’s something he’s done countless times before.

And still, it’s the part that always makes your chest tighten.

You push yourself upright once he’s done, settling against the headboard. He tucks the sheets around your waist, smoothing the fabric over your hips before reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand.

Brings it to your lips.

“Steve,” you laugh softly, still flushed, “I don’t need you to hold it.”

“Ssh,” he murmurs, lips quirking. “Small sips.”

You narrow your eyes at him but drink anyway, hands folded uselessly in your lap while he keeps the glass steady. When you’re done, he takes a long drink himself before setting it aside.

He turns back, catches you staring.

“What?”

You shake your head, smile faint. “Nothing.”

He studies you for a beat longer, searching your face, but doesn’t push. Instead, he stretches with a low groan, shoulders rolling until something pops.

“God,” he mutters. “You hungry?”  

“Sure. I could eat.”

“You said there’s lasagna, right?”

“Uh-huh.” You start to scoot toward the edge of the bed, but his hand lands firmly on your arm.

“Woah, hey. Where are you going?”

“To... get the lasagna?”

He shakes his head, already moving away. “Nope. Just tell me where it is.”

“Steve, it’s fine, I can—”

“Not happening.” He nudges you back against the pillows, then tucks another one behind your back for good measure. “I got it.”

You open your mouth to argue again, but he’s already pulling his boxers on.

“Is it in the oven?” he calls over his shoulder.

“...Yeah.”

“'Kay. Be right back.” He leans in for a quick kiss, lifting a finger at you as he backs toward the door. “Don’t move, alright?”  

You purse your lips, watching him go.

He’s back not ten minutes later, balancing two plates in his hands. Steam curls from the lasagna, edges crisp and bubbling.

“You gonna feed it to me too?” you ask dryly as he settles beside you.

He doesn’t even blink. Just picks up a fork and starts cutting into one of the slices.

“Jesus, Steve,” you laugh, grabbing the plate from him. “I was kidding.”

He hands it over with a grin, watching you take the first bite before digging into his own.

“Oh, hey,” he asks after a while, swallowing around a mouthful. “Did Toby like the new glove? Didn’t see him with it today.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “He loves it. I think he’s saving it for when the old one gives out.” You hesitate before adding, quieter, “Thank you, by the way. You really didn’t have to do that.”

Steve pauses mid-bite, fork hovering for half a second before he lowers it, lips pressing together.

“Yeah,” he nods softly. “Of course.”

You glance down at your plate, tracing a smear of sauce with the tip of your fork. “You know… if he knew it was from you, he’d probably never use it. He’d want to put it on a shelf or frame it or something.”   

He snorts quietly. “Guess it’ll be our secret then.”

“Hm,” you nod, the sound coming out thin.

You don’t eat much after that. Staring at nothing, just pushing the food around, lost in thoughts much heavier than hunger.

Steve notices.

He looks up from his plate, cheeks full, a smudge of tomato sauce at the corner of his mouth. He chews slowly, studying you over the rim of his fork.

“Hey,” he says once he swallows. “You okay?”

You blink. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He watches you for another beat, then sets his plate aside and slides closer. His hand settles on your knee, rubbing small circles.

“Did I, uh…” He glances down, then back up, eyes sheepish. “Wear you out too much?”

You nudge his ankle with your foot, managing a small smile despite the ache blooming in your chest. “No. It’s not that.”

“Okay,” he says softly, not quite smiling back. “Then what is it?”

“It’s... it’s nothing. Stupid.”

“Baby,” he reaches for your hand before you can pull away, fingers threading through yours. He shuffles closer until your knees press together. “Talk to me.”

You close your eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath, then another. Your chest tightens on the exhale.

“Is... is this about…?” His voice trails off, gentle, circling the truth carefully.

You sigh and turn your head, but he follows, refusing to let the space grow.

“’Cause if it is,” he rushes on, urgency bleeding into his tone, “I’m ready. Whenever you are. I mean it. I want to—”

“Steve, stop,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You can’t.”

He freezes, lips parting like he wants to argue. The light in his face shifts: eyes drooping, brows pulling together. So young, stripped of his usual bravado, it hurts to him look at him like this.

“Why... why not?”

“Because I can’t ask you to do that.”

He shakes his head, grip tightening as he pulls your hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart.

“Ask me to do what? Be part of your life? Be around your kid?” He shifts closer, trying to catch your eyes. “I… I wouldn’t—look, I care about Toby. I really do. And I care about you. I lov—”

His voice falters. He swallows hard, throat working around the word.  

“I love you.”

You stare at a spot on the sheets, blinking hard, vision going blurry at the edges.

“Baby,” he murmurs, thumb sliding gently under your chin. “Look at me. Please.”

You do. Lashes heavy, eyes shining despite your efforts. He smiles at you then, soft and steady, certainty radiating in a way that makes your chest ache.

“I love you,” he repeats. “I want… I want to be with you. Wake up next to you, go to sleep next to you. Take you places.” He lets out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, that old caravan I bought is a total mess, but... I thought we could fix it up together. Travel a little. Go see the country.”

His smile softens, expression sobering a bit. “And I want to be there for Toby. I know what it’s like to have a shitty dad. I would never do that to him. Ever.”

You make a small, broken sound and turn away, but he doesn’t let go. His thumb keeps tracing the same soothing path over your knuckles.

“And I’m not saying we should get married or—or move in or anything. Just… maybe a couple nights a week? I could come over, help with homework, hang out with him, just be there however you need m—”

You surge forward, pressing your lips to his in a desperate, trembling kiss. He freezes for a heartbeat, then melts into it, arms winding around your waist and lifting you onto his lap with careful, fluid strength.

You cling to each other, kissing in a messy, gasping rhythm, until the salt of your own tears brushes against his lips.

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling back, gently drawing your face into his chest. “It’s okay, it's okay."

You let yourself fold into him, cheek pressed against his bare skin.

"We’ll figure it out. We'll be okay, I promise."

You melt against him, surrendering to his warmth, letting the steady, gentle strokes of his hand calm the storm of thoughts in your head.

Eventually, a small, wet laugh slips out.

“Toby’s gonna lose his mind.”   

Steve pulls back a little, meeting your eyes. “You think he’d be weirded out by it?”

You shake your head, a smile breaking through. “No, he’d love it. He already worships you. And then you two would just… gang up on me every day.”

Steve laughs, thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. His gaze is unwavering, soft and intent as he lingers over the lines of your face, like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling. “I’m pretty sure I’ll always be on his mom’s side.”

⚾︎

epilogue

Toby sits at the very end of the dugout bench, where no one else is sitting.

He’s six and a half years old, not a baby anymore, but his legs still don’t touch the ground when he sits. They just kick the air, swinging back and forth, back and forth, cleats cutting little half-circles in the air. He scoots down an inch so the tips of them can scrape the dirt, and he finds a small pebble near the bench post. He nudges it with his toe, then nudges it back, careful not to kick it too far.

Everyone else is out on the field.

There’s the loud crack of a bat, and all the kids start shouting at once: “Mine!” “Run!” “Heads up!” The ball pops straight up into the air, and bonks Nathan Foster on the head when he tries to catch it. Everyone laughs. Even Nathan laughs, rubbing the back of his head like it didn’t hurt, even though it probably did.  

Coach Steve says that kind of thing is okay. Messing up is how you learn.

Coach Steve knows a lot of things.

He knows how to line your fingers up on the bat, and how to breathe out when you throw so the ball goes straighter. He says baseball is supposed to be fun, even when you strike out, even when you’re not the best player on the field.

But Toby isn’t having fun.

He keeps his glove in his lap, hugging it tight with both arms like it might slide off if he lets go. It’s new. It's the one Coach Steve bought for him, even though his mom said his old one still worked fine. This one is stiff and smooth and smells good—like a store, or like the inside of Coach Steve’s car. Toby presses his fingers into the leather and traces the thick stitches with his thumb, over and over.

It helps a little.

There’s a worry sitting in his chest. Heavy and squishy, like when you step in mud and it won't let go of your foot right away.

He hasn’t told anyone about it. Not Miss Collins from art class. Not his mom. He didn’t even whisper it to his glove, even though sometimes he tells the glove things—like how fast pitchers make him freeze, or how scared he was on his first day of school.

Today, the worry stays stuck inside, pressing down.

A part of Toby thinks maybe he shouldn’t be worried at all.

Coach Steve said that everything would stay the same. Normal. And most of the things Coach Steve says turn out to be true. So maybe this will be too.

But Jeremy Miller said something different.

Jeremy knows stuff. His dad’s a doctor, and doctors are smart. They do important things.

Toby kicks the pebble a little harder than he means to. It skitters across the dirt floor and disappears under the bat rack with a soft clack.

“Hey, buddy.”

Toby looks up.

Coach Steve is standing at the opening of the dugout, blocking out part of the sun. His whistle hangs from his neck like always, bumping softly against his chest when he steps closer.

“You hiding from me?” he asks, grinning. “’Cause if you are, this is kind of a bad spot.”

Toby shrugs and drags the toe of his cleat through the dirt, making a crooked line. He sort of misses the pebble he kicked away. “I’m not hiding.”

Coach Steve comes in and sits down beside him, the bench creaking under his weight. His knee bounces once, then goes still.   

“So,” he says, leaning his elbows on his thighs, looking out at the field. “I was kinda thinkin’ today might be the day you show off that rocket arm.”

The heavy feeling in Toby’s chest squishes tighter.

The words fall out before he can stop them.

“Are you and Mom gonna get married?”

Coach Steve freezes.

Just for a second, but Toby notices. His grin fades, and he blinks like he forgot what he was about to say. His hand comes up and rubs the back of his neck.

“Uh…” he clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, we are, buddy.”

Toby nods. He already knew that. Mom had told him. Coach Steve had told him. Grandma cried a little on the phone when they both told her together. Still, hearing it out loud again makes his stomach feel all twisty.

“Is that…” Coach Steve says, then stops. He presses his lips together. “Is that still okay with you?”  

Toby sighs and draws another line in the dirt next to the first one, pressing hard so they match.

“I guess.”

Coach Steve moves a little closer, his arm brushing Toby’s. He rests a hand on his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze, thumb rubbing slow circles like he does when Toby’s nervous before a game.

“Hey, if you’re feeling weird about me and your mom, that’s okay to say.”

Toby swallows. His throat feels tight, like when he’s about to cry but doesn’t want to.

“No, it’s just—” He stops, frowning. “I just want you to be my coach, still.”

Coach Steve turns his head sideways, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I still be your coach?”

Toby’s shoulders curl in. “’Cause Jeremy said that if you’re family, sometimes you can’t do stuff for each other.”

 “Jeremy Miller?”

Toby nods. “Yeah. His dad’s a doctor. Jeremy had to have surgery ’cause his ap-pen-di-sigh-tis was broken, and his dad couldn’t do it. They didn’t let him.”

Coach Steve lets out a slow breath through his nose. “Oh.”

Toby grips his glove tighter. “So, if you’re my family… you can’t be my coach anymore, right?”

Coach Steve’s face goes a little funny. His eyebrows pull together, and his mouth does this wobbly thing, like he’s trying to smile and can’t figure out how. He reaches out and gently pushes Toby’s hair back, his thumb brushing across his forehead.

“Toby,” he says softly, “that’s not how that works.”

Toby frowns. “But Jeremy said so.”

“I know, bud. And sometimes grown-up rules are really confusing.” He lets out a small huff of a laugh. “Doctors have rules like that. Coaching’s a little different.”

He waits until Toby’s looking at him.

“I’m always gonna be your coach, Toby.”

Toby wants to believe him. He really does.  

“…You promise?” he whispers.

Coach Steve’s face scrunches up more, eyes shiny like maybe some dust blew in from the field. “Yeah, buddy. I promise.”

Toby sticks out his pinky. He doesn’t do that at school anymore, because he’s a big first-grader now, but he still knows it’s the strongest kind of promise there is.

Coach Steve smiles, hooking his pinky around Toby’s, giving it a firm shake.

Satisfied, Toby launches forward. It’s all of him at once, knocking the air right out of Coach Steve.

“Oof, okay—” Coach Steve laughs, arms coming up to catch him. He pats Toby’s back, holding him closer as he rocks him side to side.

Toby squeezes back just as tight. The heavy feeling in his chest lifts, like taking off his backpack full of books at the end of the day.

He pulls back, smiling now, and says the thing he's been scared to say since the day he talked to Jeremy.

“Love you, Dad.”

Coach Steve goes very still. Then he clears his throat and quickly blinks up at the sky, like he definitely got some dirt in his eyes that time.

When he looks back at Toby, that funny, wobbling smile is back.

“I love you too, buddy.”

Toby grabs his glove and hops off the bench. His feet hit the ground, solid and steady.

Coach Steve stands too, quickly scrubbing the dirt from his eyes before turning back to him.

“So. You wanna go show your mom that throw we’ve been practicing?”

Sweat lines your brow, little droplets that cling to your scalp and dampen the cushion below. A blanket, now kicked off, lays around your ankles like you moved in your sleep, overheating with your fever. You’re trembling a little now, from cold or weakness he can’t tell.

“Hey…” he whispers, jostling your shoulder a bit, “are you sleeping?”

A sound passes through your chapped lips. Breathy, not words, not really, more like a wheeze. A rattle. As you shift, a deeper inhale fills the room, the kind that sounds like it feels like a knife drawing through lungs and flesh.

Fear claws up his throat, heart hammering like a little hummingbirds in his chest as your eyes finally crack open in the slightest. Unfocused, not quite meeting his own. “School is already out?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little shakily this time, “you’ve been asleep since I left?” A whole day gone and spent sleeping, something you never do. Ever.

Your head shakes back and forth slowly. “Not sure…”

He winces. “You look bad. Like bad bad.”

“Thanks, buddy,” you rasp, trying to draw in another breath that ends up in a rattling cough, “I’m fine. Just needed to rest.”

You’re not. He’s not foolish enough to believe it either. He remembers what momma used to do when you were little; fingers brush at your hairline, spreading against your forehead. It’s hot. Burning hot, and he whips his hand back.

“You’re burning up,” he croaks, glancing wildly about the room, unsure of what to do. And then he remembers, “water. You need water. That’ll fix it.”

He nearly trips over his feet rushing to get to the sink. The cabinets are higher than he is, so he clambers on top of the counters like he knows you hate, but it’s not a moment to care. He’ll face the grounding later. His fingers tremble against the sink as he twists and water starts to fill the glass. It sloshes as he runs back into the living room, half of it ending up on the floor, holding it up to your lips where you lay.

“Come on, you have to try,” he pleads, trying to help you sit up, grimacing as you struggle to prop yourself up onto some pillows. The water you try to sip spills onto your chin, and he gasps out a pitiful whimper. “Come on, just…just try, okay?” The water just spills and spills and stains your shirt even further. And he knows it’s useless; he feels useless. He wishes he was older, smarter. Maybe then he could do something. Maybe then.

Your eyes trail up to take in his features, and you must see the fear there because your tired face softens, and you gently reach up to brush at his cheek. “Hey, hey. Please, don’t look at me like that.”

He snuffles. “Like what?”

“Like you’re going to cry,” you whisper, letting out another cough, “I’ll be fine, I just need five more minutes…”

“Hey!” He shouts, to no avail, as your head slumps and you fall back into whatever sick slumber he found you in. He shakes your shoulder once, twice, three times.

Only this time you barely move, breath coming in and out too slowly, too weakly. He backs out of the room on shaking legs, looking about for anyone to call. Any number. Anything. And then he remembers Steve lives just a few blocks away, easily manageable by bike.

He whispers up a plea to his parents, to not take you too, to leave you here. Throws up a promise to not pester you or call you bad names too for good measure.

And then he’s rushing out the door and hopping on his bike, pedaling faster than he ever has in his life.

Steve will know what to do. Steve who drives him around to baseball practice. Who always comes over with extra groceries he just happens to find in his fridge. Steve, who just fixed the kitchen sink the other day when you told him there was a leak. His coach, who stays probably a little too long after he drops him off after practice, even when he knows you won’t be home for another hour or two.

Davie doesn’t even have time to think as he tosses his bike to the side when he pulls up to Steve’s apartment door. He pounds his fist so hard the neighbors dog starts barking, and then the owner, yelling at him to quiet down out there.

The door opens slowly, Davie’s fist still in the air, his eyes wide as he breathlessly lets out, “Something’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Steve’s crowding him against his side, thumb sweeping against Davie’s trembling shoulders as the boy gasps to catch his breath from the effort of biking.

“My sister,” he wails, tugging on Steve’s arm urgently, trying to drag him in the direction of home, “she’s really sick. We need to go. Now.”

“Hey, hey. Slow down. What do you mean sick?” Steve drops down to look him in the eye.

Davie can only shake his head. “She’s hot and she was coughing and I tried to give her water but she fell asleep and wouldn’t wake up.”

Something crosses Steve’s gaze. A mirror flicker of the panic pumping in Davie’s blood, and then he’s reaching into his apartment to grab his keys and rushing out the front door.

“Bike in the trunk,” Steve orders, popping it quickly so Davie can run over and toss it inside. Steve marches over to the car and whips his door open. “Get in and buckle up.”

Davie doesn’t even wait.

-

He’s not sure why it worries him so much. Why someone he’s known a couple months means so much. Somehow even still, you’ve wedged your way into his heart, a close friend and someone he genuinely enjoys spending time with.

His fingers tighten around the steering wheel as he races the two blocks down the road to Lark. Davie is stoic beside him, his hands toying with a string dangling on the edge of his shirt. He’s seen his own kids, the party, in various states of distress over the years. Can only imagine the war in Davie’s mind this time. He’s lost so much so young, a pain he shouldn’t have to know, and now he fears he’ll lose another. The thought alone has Steve pushing the pedal down further, well over the speed limit for this part of town.

The house, like Davie warned when he came practically beating down the door, is quiet upon entering. The sort of quiet that disturbs Steve. He rushes into the kitchen first to try and grab a towel, anything to maybe try and bring down your fever a little, running it under cold water while Davie rushes to your side. On the kitchen table are various bills, some stamped in red, notices of varying degrees of lateness.

He wonders how long it’s been like that, how long you’ve been struggling, how long you’ve been doing everything if only to stay afloat. You’re always happy, maybe on the surface, putting your best foot forward. But he knows, he knows how hard it is on his own to survive on a teacher and coaching salary, so he can only imagine doing it all alone with a kid to raise on top of it.

His heart sinks as he shuts the tap off, pushing aside his newly attained knowledge as he darts over to the living room.

He only needs to take one look before he’s swearing under his breath. Tosses the useless towel to the side, because it’s clear Davie wasn’t overemphasizing just how clearly sick you are. Whispering your name, Steve kneels on the ground, running his fingers down the inside of your wrist, resting over the place where he knows he should find a steady pulse. It’s weak, the sort of gentle flutter that worries him. Your breathing is worse. Rattling whooshes of breath in and out of tight lungs, a sort of wheeze that sends a fresh wave of terror down his spine.

“Hey,” he whispers, thumb trailing over your likely sore bicep, given the scalding temperature of your skin, “for someone who always has something to say, you’re really quiet right now.”

It’s teasing and light, and when he only gets a moan and an incoherent babble, his stomach sinks even further. Davie looks up at Steve with those wide eyes, light a deer caught in headlights. There’s a brief moment of understanding that passes between the two.

“She needs the hospital,” Davie insists, sounding much older than his ten years, “I told her she needed to go to the doctor and she didn’t listen! She never listens!”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. Nods. Wishes he understood exactly what Davie’s words mean, if only to understand how dire the situation is better. “Closest one is fifteen.”

Steve’s working on helping you up and off the couch, pushing your arm up and over his shoulder, wincing at the groan that pours from your lips. Your eyes flutter, just barely, and he clutches tighter at your side, worried you’ll sink to the floor like an anchor if he doesn’t.

“She doesn’t have insurance,” Davie says as the older man begins to move, clutching at Steve’s forearm, like he’s suddenly been reminded of the fact. As if it would change the fact you’re in desperate need of medical attention.

“That’s…we’ll worry about that later, okay?” Steve assures him, as Davie rushes to your other side and helps Steve practically drag you to the car. “Right now your sister needs a doctor. And medicine. And things that we don’t have here in this house. Insurance is the least of our problems.”

Davie nods, jumping into the back seat after helping to buckle you into the seat beside Steve.

“Buckled?” Steve asks, looking in the rear view mirror.

Davie nods, reaching over to clasp your shoulder reassuringly. Your eyes flutter again at the nearness of your little sibling who is your whole world, tired eyes looking up through lashes at Steve. “M’okay, Steve. No doctors. Please. Just five more minutes.”

Steve shakes his head, fingers sliding over your palm, clasping it tightly. His dark eyes lock with yours, and he finds only a tired sort of fear there. He can only imagine how many things swirl in your mind, knowing what he does about your life and situation. “I know you’re going to be mad. I know I’m overstepping, and you can hate me for it later, but you’re going to a hospital. Now.”

When you’re too weak to argue with him, Steve knows he’s made the right decision, and pushes his car into drive.

-

March 27, 1986…

It’s a birthday party for one of those cousins you see once a year. The kind where there’s too many sweets consumed and too much alcohol drank by adults who already have fragile relationships to begin with, and it’s only a matter of time someone starts fighting.

Yet you don’t mind, sitting against the wall as your brother plays an intense card game with one of the younger cousins. They’re shouting, but it blends in with the music pouring out of a radio speaker, and mixes with the chatter of adults pouring their third glass of wine or cracking a new can of beer.

“Go fish!” Davie shouts, vibrant laughter from him filling the room.

“No!” Kevin yells back, shaking his head vehemently, “you go fish! You definitely have my cards.”

“I do not,” Davie argues, “see?”

Kevin falls back against his seat with a loud groan. “This stupid game is rigged.”

You glance up from the book you’ve brought along to keep you company for the evening, tabbing the page you’re on. You shake your head, laughing, “Not rigged, just your bad luck.”

Kevin narrows his eyes at you, opening his mouth likely to tattle on you, when the ground starts to rumble. Heads all about the room glance up, the photo frames along the walls, various cups atop different tables and stands, beginning to shake all around you.

The intensity only grows, the house trembling as though a train is driving right through the building. Adults shout to get down around the room, your parents appearing in the doorway leading to the dining room.

You start to crawl over to David’s side, the world trembling and groaning around you, as the ground starts to separate. To rip like a mouth yawning, amber light seeping into the room.

It happens suddenly, your parents, family friends, falling through the ground. Falling through the earth.

It’s a mere blink, a second, and then Davie is screaming, his hand whipping out to claw at yours as he rolls towards the gaping hole. You catch him hastily, tugging him close to your body, shielding him from the ruin around you.

“Run!” you shriek, shoving your brother along to safety, your cousin along.

Those able to run pour out of the house, cries of fear and anguish rising up from those in homes all around you as you race to safety, to where the ground doesn’t try and swallow you whole.

“Mom!” Davie is crying, “Dad!” Over and over as you tug him along, your heart thundering as your cousin’s home falls through the hole in the ground that wasn’t there moments ago.

He screams it. Wails it over and over again as he breaks, as you fall to your knees, praying for the world that just took your parents to swallow you whole too.

Because in the wake of chaos, there is only nothingness.

A sort of cold emptiness as ambulances start to pour into Hawkins, as cops litter the streets, military begins to make their presence known.

You’re bombarded with question after question, asking you to recount those moments.

Asking you to repeat over and over again how one moment your parents were there, and the next they were gone.

Ripping open the gaping wound in your heart that bleeds and weeps and aches.

Four people went to a party, and only two made it home.

-

The dream starts to dissolve, the sounds of Davie crying for his mother and father start to fragment and break off, like wispy clouds behind your eyes fluttering away in the wind. The world starts to form behind your eyes with it. A slow blink and you see a ceiling. Another and you see white walls. One more and you note the white sheets laying low against your hips.

There’s a steady beep, beep, beep sounding from somewhere in the distance. Like a metronome or a heartbeat. Heartbeat. A steady thrum, thrum, thrum, as the room starts to materialize before you.

Steve is sitting at your bedside, his eyes immediately locking with yours as you start to shift in the bed, body aching from even the slightest effort. “Hey, hey. Slow.”

“Steve,” you croak, wincing at the pain in your muscles, sore from fevers, “I can’t be here.”

“You need to lay down,” he urges, a hand at your shoulder, guiding you back against the pillows lining the bed.

Davie sits in the corner of the room on a rickety plastic chair, his feet kicking back and forth, not quite touching the ground yet.

“Davie,” you say, though it comes out as a breathy rasp. “Hey buddy, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, dipping his head, “Steve got me a soda and a snack.”

You smile briefly at Steve, noting where his hand is wrapped around yours again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. That’s also when you notice the hospital bracelet around your wrist. Reality sparks to life like a live-wire, reminding you of the many reasons as to why being in a hospital is absolutely not in the budget at all.

Noticing your rising panic, Steve notes quickly, “The doctors think you have pneumonia. They’re running tests. You didn’t tell me you have asthma—that you’ve been neglecting your treatment of it.”

Something you’re sure is meant to assuage your anxiety only raises it, the heart rate monitor picking up speed. “Asthma costs money. Inhalers cost money. Tests cost money. Money I don’t have. I don’t have insurance. Sometimes the light bill has to come before anything else, or the oil bill, or new tires for my car. Sometimes Davie needs new clothes—”

“I know,” Steve says, a little solemnly this time, “Davie told me. But you don’t neglect yourself to do all of that, sweetheart.”

You’re so frustrated the pet name doesn’t even register in your mind. “Are they going to admit me?” Steve doesn’t say anything, which therein lies your answer. “I can’t do this. I was just catching up, and now this happens and I ruin it all.”

Davie, who has been silent thus far, jumps up from his chair. His eyes narrow. “You’re not ruining anything.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, as Davie glares down at the floor, the fear and hurt rolling off his form in waves. He’s scared, you know he’s scared. Can only fathom the way he found you earlier when he came home from school.

“Hey buddy, let’s just…cool off and sit down, okay?” Steve suggests, patting Davie’s shoulder as he settles back down on his chair. Steve pauses, his features hard…and a little nervous, which is out of character for him. “There might be a solution…”

You let out a weak laugh, breaking off into a cough. “I don’t suppose you have a few thousand dollars in your pocket, do you?”

“I’m a public school teacher,” he says, as if you don’t already know this about him.

You squint at him. “I know, Steve.”

“I don’t get paid a lot, but what I do have is health insurance…” he begins, turning to look at you, “and…it’s decent insurance.”

Your stomach plummets, understanding where this is going. “Steve, no.”

“If we were married, you’d be covered. Spouses are covered.”

“Married?!” Davie exclaims, breaking up the silence that stretches between you two.

“No, Davie. Steve has gone insane,” you scoff, coughing, “We’re not getting married.”

“I know,” Steve says immediately, “I know it sounds insane, but if you just think about it—”

“You’re talking about a marriage. We’re not even dating.”

“I know.”

“You’re my friend. A good friend. I can’t thank you enough for everything you do for me, but proposing in a hospital is crazy.”

Steve’s eyes flash at that word. “I’m not proposing. I’m offering a solution.”

You huff a laugh. “A solution isn’t marrying your friend because she’s gotten herself into a crappy situation.”

“People marry for even less,” Steve says, still firm despite your hesitance.

“And they likely regret it,” you point out.

“Is Steve going to be my brother?” Davie asks, coming to stand beside Steve.

Steve looks back at Davie, then at you. “You’d be able to at least afford to take care of yourself, without the fear of another medical bill. You’d get your prescriptions. You could take care of yourself so you can take care of Davie.”

It’s a low blow, but you know he’s correct. And you hate that the insane idea of a hasty marriage sounds so attractive.

“I just hate watching you refuse help. I know you can do it on your own, trust me I know you can. I’ve never seen someone work harder. But you don’t actually have to do it all on your own.”

“This is insane.”

“I know,” Steve agrees.

“It would change everything,” you say softly.

His thumb rubs the back of your hand. “I know.”

“I’m not saying yes tonight.”

Steve nods. “I don’t expect an answer tonight. If ever. I’m just…laying an option out there.”

“Okay,” you whisper, glancing over Steve’s shoulder to see Davie staring up at you, a fresh flicker of hope in his eyes, the idea lingering in the spaces between the three of you, suddenly so very real.

-

A doctor knocks on the door to enter some hours later. Davie is curled up on a little couch, his hand dangling off the side, Steve’s jean jacket a pillow for the boy. The man is older, graying hair around his temples, a clipboard in hand that he reads through quickly before approaching your beside.

“Alright,” he says gently, “let’s take a listen.”

You sit up with Steve’s helping hand, every moment driving that pain in your chest even deeper. The doctor asks you to breathe as the cool disc rests against your back, each harder than the last, a hacking cough that has his mouth tightening.

He leans back, draping his stethoscope around his neck, writing something within your chart. “Based on what I’m hearing, reviewing your vitals, and your chest x-ray, we’re looking at pneumonia. I’m going to admit you until your high fevers go down and you start to respond to the antibiotics.”

Davie starts to stir at the doctor’s words, his head lifting up off his makeshift pillow. You glance his way briefly, turning your attention back to the doctor. “I can’t stay. I don’t have insurance, I can’t afford—”

“Stop,” Davie interjects, just as the doctor excuses himself to allow a moment of familial privacy.

“Davie…”

“Just stop trying to be the hero for once.” And then he rushes to your bedside, crying into your shoulder. “I already lost mom and dad. I can’t lose you too.”

“Hey…” you coo, lifting his head, wiping at the tear streaked face of your little brother, “I’m just sick. I’ll get better, okay? I’m going to be fine.”

“Not if you don’t let them help you get better.”

Steve awkwardly shuffles closer, resting a hand on Davie’s shoulder. “Your sister isn’t leaving you, buddy. We’ll make sure of it, okay?” Davie nods, and Steve turns to you, quietly so Davie can’t hear, “I’m serious, we can fix this.”

“I told you it’s crazy,” you whisper back, a little too harshly.

“Please just think about it.”

You do.

You do think about it as the day passes, as you fall asleep and wake in that same hospital bed, eyes heavy when Steve announces he has to head in for work and that he’ll drop off Davie at school so you can rest. The only response you can give is a nod, before falling back to sleep. Hours pass like that, morning on the second day in the hospital passing in a blur of dreams and vital checks by nurses, with new antibiotics and a fresh inhaler.

The next day is more or less the same, giving you time to think. To really think.

Steve’s idea is crazy, but the look of worry in your brother’s face was a dose of reality you never once considered. What happens if you’re gone? What happens if it had been worse, if you left him afraid and alone? He’s already lost so much, too much, and there’s no part of you that ever wants to put him through that terror again if you can help it. And if you’re being honest, you’re tired. Tired of doing it on your town. Tired of fighting against a moving current trying to drag you down.

Sun streams through the hospital window as Steve and Davie coming barreling into the room, both laughing about something you have no inkling of. The growing closeness between them has your chest burning, and it has nothing to do with your current diagnosis.

“You two look like you’ve had a fun day,” you tease, reaching over to hug Davie as he slams into your side.

“Steve let me get McDonald’s on the way here.”

“Kid was hungry,” Steve says, shrugging, before pulling out a bag behind his back, “I also snuck us in some food. Figure it’s still not the greatest, but definitely better than whatever they’re feeding you here. I also heard someone might be discharged today. I guess antibiotics do work.”

“Hardy har,” you taunt, sticking your tongue out at him.

Grabby hands extend toward his bag of food, and Steve tuts, “She makes fun of me and then expects me to give her food.” Davie laughs, and Steve tosses the food your way. “Save some fries for me, will you?”

The three of you eat in comfortable quiet. Little chatter is shared about your days, yours the least eventful of the group. Steve had tests to grade for his health class, Davie spoke about how him and Holly successfully planned their next campaign, requesting to spend Saturday afternoon at the Wheeler’s house to play with his friends. And before long, the doctor gives you a final once over before deciding you’re well enough to head back home and finish your antibiotics and getting better in the comfort of your own bed.

The car ride brings with it a new wave of emotions. Thousands of thoughts swirl, decisions looming over your head. Davie sits in the back seat, forehead pressed against the glass as Steve pulls up in front of your home.

There’s a beat of silence and then, “Davie, can do you mind running inside and making macaroni and cheese for us?”

“For Steve too?” he asks, practically beaming for the first time in two days.

“Stay for dinner?” you ask, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Sure,” he agrees.

“You’re in luck! Macaroni and cheese is my specialty,” Davie muses, reaching over to take the house keys out of your extended palm, “thanks! Love you!”

“Love you too,” you call back, waiting until the door is closed to break the silence, “Okay.”

Steve’s brows arch. “Okay?”

“I’ll…do it.”

“Do what?” He blinks.

“Please, Steve. It’s already crazy enough for me to agree, don’t make me say it.”

“Are you proposing marriage to me?” Steve claps a hand over his chest, gasping in mock shock.

“Steve!” Coughing fills the car, and his palm comes up to rub between your shoulder blades. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And we’re engaged.”

You balk. “We are not engaged. We’re entering into a highly questionable marriage agreement.”

Steve’s lips spread into a wide grin. “Can I buy you a ring at least?”

“No.” You shake your head.

“How are we going to sell it then?”

“A cheap ring. Maybe,” you concede. He lets out a whoop. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“I’m enjoying that you’re smiling.” And it’s then you realize you are. There’s a lightness you’ve been missing, the kind of lightness that comes around when he’s near.

“We’re still us,” you tell him, biting at your lip. “We don’t change.”

“Exactly. You’re you, and I’m me. Just…we gain some fancy new paperwork and legal benefits.”

“Right.”

“I am going to have fun telling people you’re my wife. ‘She totally loves me, don’t let the scowl fool you.’”

“Steve!” You playfully thwack him on the shoulder, grinning like mad at the laughter that bubbles up from him. “If I’m getting health insurance, what are you getting out of this?”

“I mean…I love Davie. You guys are also pretty great.”

“Spill it, Harrington.”

“My lease on my apartment is up soon. There’s a place I’ve been saving for, I don’t have enough yet but I will soon—”

“I have a spare room,” you interject. “You’ll move in. To sell the…marriage.”

“Cool. Cool.” Steve nods. “And you’re not just getting insurance. You’re getting help and time to do things for yourself again. Maybe even get afloat.”

You don’t even know what that looks like, but the idea sounds wonderful. “But if you tell anyone you proposed to me in a hospital, I’ll kill you Harrington.”

“Anything for you, future wife.”

“Steve!”

-

Upon entering the home, the two of you find Davie standing on a chair in the kitchen and swirling a spoon in a boiling pot of water. Normally you’d yell for him to get down, but the adrenaline of the day is wearing off.

Sensing this, Steve rests a hand on the middle of your back and leads you to the stairway. “Okay. Bed to lay down now. No arguing.”

He loops an arm around your waist and you protest weakly, “I’m not that weak.”

“Let me,” he urges, helping you up the stairs, “I’m practicing for our marriage vows.”

“You’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you?”

“Way too much,” he says, steering you toward your bed, propping up a pillow behind you. He rests your antibiotics and inhaler on the bedside table. “You keep your inhaler nearby and you follow the doctor’s instructions for your medicine. Okay?”

“Someone is bossy.”

Steve settles down beside you on the bed, suddenly serious. “You scared me. When I found you like that…”

You glance down at your hands, sorrowful. “I know.”

“Don’t do it again, okay? Davie needs you,” he says, not teasing now. No joking in his tone.

“Okay.”

“I’m serious. Don’t push yourself like that. Let me help, let friends help, let people in.”

“Because you’re going to be my fake husband?” you laugh, a little watery.

“No,” he says, looking you in the eye, “because you’re my friend. And I care about you.”

His tone is so gentle, so sincere. “Okay,” you agree.

“Rest a little, okay? I’ll let you know when Davie is done cooking us our five star dinner.”

You laugh. “Okay.”

“Tomorrow we can talk…details.”

“Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow then.

-

Similarly, you were there through his horrible prepubescent hormones, his growth spurt hitting later in life. You tripped Christy Morris after she called him short, embarrassing him in front of the class. Her accident overshadowed his embarrassment when she went crying to the office, chocolate milk staining the front of her white dress. Steve’s eyes met yours across the lunchroom, and you sent him a simple shrug. It was mindless, the urge to protect him. It went both ways. It was soon clear to everyone in Hawkins that the two of you would do anything for the other.

Steve held your hand when your dog died, letting you sob into his shoulders. He came to your house the next day, a bundle of picked dandelions in his hand. It was the first time a boy brought you flowers; he told you that you deserved them every day since it made you smile. And you believed him. When his parents got a new job, leaving him at your house or with strange relatives, he’d hide his face in your pillow, pretending tears weren’t racking his body. You’d run your tiny hands through his hair, and once he was done, you’d force him to watch movies with you. Making him laugh so hard that he no longer felt the absence of his parents. He would never be abandoned, because you’d never leave him. 

The summer before high school, the two of you made a pact. Bound in the blood of scraped knees and years of friendship. 

“We’re gonna be friends forever, you know that, right?” Steve asked, both of your backs pressed against the hot fabric of the trampoline. His hair was getting longer, his voice already deeper. 

You had changed, too, your body developing in ways that made boys in school look at you longer. You started caring more about your appearance, making Steve call you gross every time you’d put on lip gloss. In the same way, you’d smack him with the hairspray can he stole from you. 

“Of course I know that,” You said, “Why?” 

He huffed, throwing his arm over his forehead in an attempt to quell the Indiana heat. “High school is just scary. What if we make new friends?” 

You shrugged, not really thinking too much about it. “We both have other friends already.” 

“But none of them are like you.” He said the meaning of his words wouldn’t come to him until much later. 

“I know.” You smirked, kicking his shin with your foot. “Even when the world changes, our friends, school, and even when we change as people. It won’t matter because our friendship never will. We’re unchangeable.” 

He laughed at your word choices, pushing your foot away from his playfully. “Growing up is scary.” He admitted after a brief moment of silence. 

You hummed in agreement, reaching your hand down to grab his. Lacing your fingers together as if you’ve done it a thousand times, because you have. 

“You make it not so scary.” You smiled, the two of you staring at the clouds. 

“Pinky promise?” Steve asked, his voice betraying him. You just smiled, bringing up your other hand that wasn’t in his, holding out your pinky. He did the same, lacing your two pinkies together in an unspoken vow. 

Time is a fickle thing. Nothing ever happens as you plan it; it’s the only consistency in the world. When the two of you stepped foot into Hawkin’s High, it was inevitable that things would change. He made the basketball team, coming over to your house with his jersey in hand. Jumping up and down, swearing you needed to join the Cheerleading team. You smacked him upside the head for even entertaining the idea. He made fun of you for joining the library club, a realization coming over you two that your High School experiences were heading into different directions. You promised to go to each of his games, and he said he would read one book a year for you. A compromise of sorts. 

At his first basketball game, Trina Robbins kissed him courtside, her pom poms shaking wildly at her sides. It was the first time you saw him as a man, not just the little boy who’d help you catch fireflies in the backyard. You ran to him after the game, arms slinging around his shoulders in congratulations. He spun you around, his joyful laugh ringing in your ears. 

“I’m so proud of you!” You gawked, his arms still wrapped around you. It wasn’t until you heard a loud cough from behind you. Trina and her friends were standing behind you, evil smirks on their faces. 

“Y/n! This is my girlfriend Trina.” He smiled widely, his arm leaving your body quickly. He walked over to her, his arm slinging across her shoulders. “Babe, this is my friend I grew up with.” 

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched, “Oh? Steve didn’t mention you.” 

You hoped the sound of the rowdy gymnasium covered the sound of your heart shattering. He didn’t even tell you he had a crush, let alone a girlfriend. Then he didn’t mention you at all. You knew Steve, your Stevie, would never do this. You brushed it off, a hopeless, dumb teenage boy in love. It was fine. 

You braved it with a smile, ignoring their judgmental glares that Steve seemed oblivious to. “Well, nice to meet you, Trina. You did great.” 

“I know.” She smirked, pulling Steve away. “Come on, I want ice cream.” And he was dragging her out the door. 

He turned back, waving at you. “I’ll see you around!” 

You sent him a wave back, riding your bike home in pitiful silence. Absent was the sound of his bike pedaling next to yours, his incessant complaining about assignments and practice. 

It was just a simple interaction, one you tried not to dwell on. But little did you know it would be the first crack in the glass. Your interaction with Steve at school was becoming little to none as the weeks passed. Trina was glued to his hip, and when she wasn’t, his mean older teammates were. You still saw him some weekends, helping him study for his English tests. Inevitably, doing the assignments for him. He was still the same Steve you knew and loved, but something was different. 

He no longer reached for your hand as much as he used to, and there were no more hugs goodbye. You knew this would happen when the two of you started dating, but soon the phone calls stopped. The weekend hangouts in his parents' basement were replaced with him going to parties. He no longer rode with you to school, biking halfway across town to let Trina ride on his pegs. You passed each other in the hallways, soft smiles and waves were all you got for the majority of the year. 

It was the week before Summer break, and you were excited. You and your friends had planned a slumber party, painting nails, hair rollers in, and the stereo in your room blaring your newest cassettes. Preparing your future Summer plans. Celebrating the end of finals, gossiping about going into your sophomore year. You were flipping through a magazine, ready to point out a pair of shoes, when there was a loud tapping at your window. 

The girls jumped, eyes wide at the sight of none other than Steve. His arms were clinging to the ledge, tapping on the glass. It feels like it has been ages since you’ve spoken to him, let alone seeing him, ready to climb into your room. 

“What the hell?” Imogen yelled, her hand cradling her chest. 

You rolled your eyes, ripping open the window. “What are you doing?” 

“I just wanted to-oh oh, hi ladies.” He paused, looking past you to wave flirtatiously at your friends. 

Your fingers flicked his forehead, “Out with it.” 

“Mom wants you over Sunday night for dinner. Said it’s been too long. Still thinks she loves you more than me. Also, just wanted to see you.” He cheesed, to which you pretended it didn’t make your heart pound. 

“Okay. You could've called.” 

“Can’t see your annoyed face through the phone.” 

You glared at him, making him cower. “Okay, okay. See you Sunday!” Then he was off, his feet hitting the ground with a thud. You lay back down on the floor, content to skim through he magazine once again. Trying to calm the thud of your heart. But your friends were not letting it go. 

“You have the Steve Harrington sneaking through your window?” Jessica gawked, running and watching where he ran back to his bike. 

“He’s my best friend.” You laughed nervously, watching her and Imogen stare at each other. An all-knowing look in their eyes. “He could’ve used the front door; he probably just wanted to show off.” 

“Does that happen often?” Jessica asked, her line of questioning not done. 

“Not as much as it used it. Sometimes I’ll go to his, but I’ll use the front door like a normal person. “ You shrugged mindlessly, “His bed is comfier anyway.” 

What you thought was an innocent moment turned out to be anything but. When you walked into school the last day, you were met with too many eyes on you. From the moment you walked to your locker, the whispers were evident. Your palms were sweaty as you stumbled, unlocking the combination lock. 

“Y/n.” Imogen rushed towards you, out of breath from seemingly running to you. “I’m so sorry. I told Jessica not to say anything, but she really wants to be on the cheer squad next year-” 

“What?” You sputtered, “Say what?” 

Before Imogen could spit it out, the school doors slammed open. Everyone’s eyes are on you. There stood Trina, complete with her group of friends. Her face was red, anger evident. You had zero idea what was happening, assuming Steve broke her heart and she was coming to take it out on you. 

“Hey, you whore.” Trina spat, getting in your face within seconds. Your back pressed against your lock, eyebrows raised. Imogen had run off, muttering something about being back. You were left alone, nothing but a pissed off squad of cheerleaders at your neck, with half the school watching. You felt like you were in a bad 70s movie, living out your worst nightmare. 

“What’s your fucking problem?” You asked, fingers clutching your stack of books like your life depended on it. 

“I knew from the moment Steve introduced us that you’d be a problem. With your pathetic “poor me” face. You just couldn’t accept that he wanted me, huh?” She spoke, your mind still reeling. 

“I literally have no clue what you’re talking about.” You tried to push past her, her friends pushing you back roughly into the lockers. Your books going flying from your hands. 

“We’re talking about you fucking my boyfriend.” She spoke slowly, “I heard that you guys crawl into each other's windows and you spread your legs for him.” 

Jessica. That fucking bitch Jessica. Your heart ached; you thought she was your friend. She knew nothing was happening between you two. 

“I never fucked Steve.” A blush crept up your neck at your words, “He’s just my best friend. I’ve known him since I was in diapers.” 

“Bullshit. You can lie to me, but she saw him literally hanging from your window.” 

You didn’t know where the bravery came from, clinging to your pride as much as you could. “You know, Trina, I know no one ever wants to be around you unless you’re putting out, but there’s this thing called friends-” 

Her hand backhanded your cheek before you could finish, the sting making your eyes water. On instinct, you raised your hand back, unable to get anything in before one of her friends kicked you in the shin. The other’s joining in. Pain bloomed through your body as you fought back, getting outnumbered within seconds. It was a blur; in seconds, they were on you, only stopping when they heard a yell down the hallway. 

Imogen was running back, Steve in tow. He was in his gym clothes, his eyes wild. 

“Get the hell off her.” He barked, his arm coming up to pull Trina’s shoulder back. “What the hell is your problem?” 

Her other friends scattered, leaving you slumped on your feet. Arm cradling your stomach, which was bound to be covered in bruises. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but you felt his worried gaze on you. 

“What’s my problem? My problem is you. Cheating on me with this loser?” She screamed, getting the attention of teachers who slowly poured into the hall. 

“Y/n? Nothing happened. God, she’s like my sister.” It wasn’t the first time the comparison had been made, but it was the first time Steve had said it. He didn’t like the way the words shaped in his mouth, his throat going dry before he spoke back up again. “Y/n is my best friend. I told you that.” 

He pushed her aside, dropping to his knees to look over you. He cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Unshed tears were heavy in your eyes, blinking them away when he checked you over for injuries. 

“Are you okay?” He whispered, helping you stand upright. You didn’t answer, keeping your gaze on the floor. Willing yourself to wake up from this nightmare. 

“Steve, I’m sorry.” Trina whimpered, watching her social status flash before her eyes. Steve pushed you behind his back, his eyes wild with fury, while looking at her. 

“You know what, Trina. I don’t think you have the right to call anyone a whore, considering you put out on our first date.” Steve’s words were cruel, an ice to them you’ve never heard before. “You can go to hell. If you ever come near her again, you or your bitchy friends. I will ruin your life. Understood?” 

He was met with silence, tears falling down her cheeks. Little did Hawkins know this was the start of the infamous King Steve. 

“Matter of fact, if anyone has issues with her, they come to me.” He yelled, right before the teachers swarmed in, grabbing Trina by the arm. 

Steve held your hand in silence to the nurse’s office, his eyes squeezing shut when you showed the nurse your reddened skin. 

“It’ll probably bruise, nothing bad enough to go to the hospital for.” She said, snapping her gloves off. “I’m gonna have the office call your parents up here.” 

All you could do was nod, picking at the skin around your nails harshly. 

“Y/n…” Steve whispered, his hand finding yours. You let him lace your fingers together tightly. It had been so long since you held his hand, but it still fit perfectly in yours. “I’m so sorry.” 

You shook your head, “S’my fault. I made a joke to Jessica about how your bed is comfier than mine. I didn’t think she’d take it wrong, definitely didn’t think she’d tell half the school about it.” 

“No, no. It’s not your fault. I haven’t been the best of a friend lately.” He admitted, letting his thumb rub over the top of your hand. “Can’t believe I let a stupid girl get in between us.” 

His pained laugh made you roll your eyes, “Don’t care if you get a girlfriend, Stevie. Just want you to still talk to me.”

“I promise. God, I promise it’ll never happen again.” He laughed shakily, pressing soft kisses to your hand. 

Things had still changed, changed so much sometimes it seemed like you were lifetimes apart from the two kids that sat hand in hand on that trampoline. But you’d accept any change, as long as he was still in your life. Without him, there was a hole in the shape of him, lodged in the middle of your chest. You felt the hole close, each moment Steve grinned at you. Promising to take you out for ice cream as soon as your parents show up. 

Sophomore year rolled by so quickly, you wished you could have grabbed time, and begged her to slow down. Steve had grown a new reputation in school. King Steve, they called him, claiming him the royalty of Hawkins High. Little did they know the king of Hawkins made you blow-dry and hairspray his hair every morning. His girlfriends, or trysts as you liked to call them, all knew you. Whispers of the Trina incident followed every relationship of his; he just smiled and told them you’d always be more important than them. They either accepted it or they didn’t. 

Dating for you didn’t come nearly as easily; most of the boys at school were so scared of Steve they steered clear of you with a ten-foot pole. It only got worse when he began hanging out with Carol and Tommy G. You hated them, despised how they fed into Steve’s ever-growing ego. They were kind to you, most of the time. It was clear they tolerated you only. 

Every time Steve would grab you by the shoulders, pulling you into a hug in the hall, they’d groan. 

“Gotta hug my girl.” He’d shrug, kissing your forehead goodbye before going off to class. Imogen would just roll her eyes, swearing up and down that the two of you just needed to start dating. You’d cringe, shaking her off. He was just your best friend you’d tell her. When she’d swear her and her best friend didn’t act like that, all you could do was shrug. “That’s just me and Steve.” 

You didn’t have your first official boyfriend until the summer before Junior year, and Steve hated him. Hated him for reasons you were still unclear about. He was on the debate team, the most innocent, nerdiest of boys who had captured your heart. So when he broke your heart three weeks into the year, Steve had held you in his arms as you sobbed, brushing your hair down, swearing he’d kill him. 

“I really will, I promise. I’ll use the beamer. Catch him on a foggy night and just boom,” Steve spoke, making your chest rattle with laughter. “Blood and guts everywhere.” 

“It would ruin your nice and shiny car.” You pouted through your tears. For his 16th birthday, Steve’s dad had presented him with the infamous burgundy BMW. He’d almost spun the tires out pulling into your driveway. That night, the two of you went through a whole tank of gas, driving everywhere around town. You couldn’t imagine your ex-boyfriend's murder ruining that car. 

“Would be worth it to see you smile.” He said, watching your puffy cheeks as you sat up. 

“He was such a dickhead.” You frowned, rubbing your tired eyes. “I really thought what we had over the summer was good. Then he sees Rebecca in chemistry and thinks she’d be a better lay than me.” 

Steve’s brows furrowed, “Did he say that?” 

“It was implied.” You grumbled, fumbling with a loose thread from his shirt. “Can’t believe I lost my virginity to someone who asked if he was going to put it in the wrong hole.” 

A loud laugh tore from his chest, “Wait, what?” 

“He wanted to make sure, and I quote: “Is it in your vagina or your pee hole?” You burst out laughing, rubbing your face. 

The two of you laughed until your chests hurt, Steve going on and on. “Dude, poor fucking Rebecca,” 

“Poor Rebecca.” You wheezed, taking a deep breath in. It was good to laugh. It was good to be in Steve’s arms, the two of you lazily lounging in his bed. 

“Hey,” Steve spoke up, “Do you wanna order pizza and disgrace his yearbook picture?” 

You scoffed, “I’m offended you’d even ask Stevie.” 

The two of you did just that, you ended up falling asleep on his bed. The two of you waking up in a tangled mess of arms. His body pressed against yours. In an awkward shuffle, you pulled away, and he nearly flung off the bed. Stuttering that he had to go to the bathroom, the door slammed shut. All you could do was laugh. 

He drove you to school that morning, and you walked alongside. When you passed by Nancy Wheeler and her friend, Barb, Steve paused, sending a flirty wave her way. Your eyes squinted, waiting to speak until you got to his locker. 

“Nancy Wheeler, huh?” You asked, ignoring the blush creeping up on his face. 

“We’ve just been talking a little.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. You hadn’t seen him this flustered before. Not over a girl. You ignored the weird sinking feeling in your stomach, smiling teasingly at him. 

“Oh, so someone has a crush.” You sang, making him shush you. Looking around, like everyone would hear. 

“Just because my love life failed this year doesn't mean yours has to; ask her out.” You encouraged him, closing his locker for him. 

He gave you a sympathetic look, patting your cheek gently. “Just because that loser broke your heart doesn't mean you can’t try again. Now I don’t think any men in this town deserve you, but I do want you happy.” 

You nodded against his hand, mourning the loss of warmth when he pulled away. 

“Go get him, tiger.” You smirked, watching him run down the hallway. 

It was no surprise you were once again regretting your words a few weeks later, doing your best to avoid where Steve had his tongue shoved down Nancy’s throat in the middle of the hallway. 

“They’re disgusting.” Barb had spoken; you didn’t know the girl well, but as Nancy joined your orbit, she had followed. 

“Sometimes I wonder if she ever gets tired of him slobbering all over her face.” You said, causing Barb to giggle. 

“Hey, you and Sam aren’t much better. Staring longingly at each other in homeroom.” She teased, making you roll your eyes. Sam was your friend, just a friend. There had been a few moments you thought something more could bloom between the two of you, but you shrugged it off. Unsure if you wanted to deal with another inescapable heartbreak. 

“Y/n! Barb.” Nancy stuttered, just now realising the two of you were standing next to her. Her face was flustered, and Steve stood there unbothered as usual. “What are you talking about?” 

“How Y/n needs to woman up and ask Sam out,” Barb said. 

“No, don’t ever ask a man out. That’s the man's job.” Steve shook his head, pulling Nancy to his chest. 

“I think if she wants to ask him out, that’s fine. Cute even. I have art with Sam, he’s really sweet.” Nancy smiled, staring nervously at you. You were friendly with Nancy, but the two of you didn’t have much in common, it felt like sometimes. Steve went on and on about how Nancy thought you hated her. 

“I’m not asking anyone out, but thank you, Nancy.” You sighed, your head hitting the locker. “I’m just gonna die alone.” 

“Little Y/n not able to get laid?” Tommy’s shrill voice ruined the moment the four of you were having. 

“That’s not what your dad said last night.” You squinted your eyes at him, Carol responding with a sarcastic laugh. 

“You kiss Steve’s ass with that mouth?” He asked, making Nancy tense. You didn’t miss it, Steve did. 

“He has this running joke that I feed Steve’s ego blindly, that’s why we’re friends. Tommy finds friendship as this impossible-to-grasp concept. One could only wonder why.” You told her with a smile, “He also thinks he’s much funnier than he actually is.” 

“Hey, cut it out. God, you two fight like animals.” Steve sighed, “While we’re all here. My house. Tonight. Parents are gone.” 

“It’s Tuesday.” You deadpanned, not ready to get roped into another one of the Harringtons' infamous get-togethers. 

“It’s Tuesday.” Tommy mocked, grunting when Steve elbowed him in the stomach. 

“A party?” Nancy asked, her innocent face looking up at Steve. 

“Ding, ding!” Carol laughed, making you roll your eyes. 

While they broke into conversation about the party, your eyes followed Nancy’s. Watching Jonathan Byers tacking up missing posters for his brother. 

“Oh, God, that’s depressing.” Carol snickered, and Barb walked away before the conversation got worse. You didn’t blame her; every time the couple spoke, it made your skin crawl. 

“Should we say something?” Nancy asked, eyes full of empathy. You knew her little brother was friends with his. 

“I don’t think he speaks.”

“How much you want to bet he killed him?” Tommy laughed, your head turning to meet Steve's. 

You scoffed, “Your friends are fucking assholes. You know that?” And with that, you stormed off, determined to find Sam. You were going to ask him out; you deserved your own happiness. Your own life outside of Steve’s little bubble. 

-

Your fingers twirled in the phone cord, “Y/n, please. Tommy said he’s sorry. Please just come.” Steve begged through the phone. You could hear them snickering in the background. He wanted you at this stupid party; he cleaned his pool out and everything. Even got your favorite wine coolers. 

“I’m with Sam.” You blurted out, The man you spoke of caught your eye. He was sitting on your bed cross-legged, shirt askew. Maybe you did decide to ask him out and sneak him in through your window. 

“So bring him,” Steve said after a brief pause. “Barb is here. If she’s here, there’s no reason you can’t be. Please.” The begging in his voice made your resolve crumble. Sucking you right back in. 

About an hour later, you were stalking into Steve’s backyard, hand in hand with Sam. Sam was beautiful. Taller with shaggy hair, you couldn’t help but immediately notice how different he looked from Steve. Wondering why your brain forced you to compare the two. There was no time to dwell on that. 

You introduced him to everyone, making sure to flip Tommy the bird while doing so. 

“Steve. I  heard a lot about you, man.” Sam spoke, holding his hand out for Steve to shake. It took Steve a moment to shake his hand. Probably gripping harder than he needed to. 

Once that was out of the way, you all found a good rhythm, chatting and drinking cheap beers. You're sipping on your strawberry wine coolers, Carol cringing with each sip of beer. 

“No fair, why did she get nice drinks?” She whined. 

“Because she doesn’t drink beer. They’re her favorite.” Steve laughed, a billow of cigarette smoke falling out of his mouth. 

You couldn’t help the smirk that graced your lips, leaning back into Sam’s chest. As much as they loved King Steve, none of them knew him the way you did. He knew you like it was the easiest thing in the world, while Tommy and Carol barely scratched the surface. They knew it too. Nancy was different; you knew she really cared for Steve. You just worried he’d break her heart; you warned him if he did, he’d never hear the end of it. She was different from the other girls. 

“It’s different this time, Y/n.” He swore, flicking his pencil on the library table. 

“What, like you love her?” You asked. 

He paused, thinking for a moment. “I think so. Not as much as I love you, and not in the same way. “ He hummed. 

“Aww, wait, so you’re really falling in love with her?” You cooed, “What happened to King Steve?” 

“Oh shut up.” He grumbled, right before the two of you were shushed by library goers. 

When your brain came back into focus, they were shotgunning beers, your eyes rolling at the dick measuring contest Steve and Tommy were perpetually in. You looked back at Barb, forcing her to join you and Sam’s little group. 

“When they’re around women, they turn into animals. Everything is a contest.” You said, making the first smile appear on her face this night. 

“Sam, you don’t wanna join?” She asked, making his chest rumble in laughter. 

“I don’t think I need to chug a beer to impress Y/n. She’d probably call me a meathead.” 

“You know me so well.” You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

A large splash made you gasp, watching Carol come up from the pool. Tommy was standing there with a smirk on his face. 

“What the hell, Tommy?” She shrieked, him jumping in beside her. It was then Steve’s turn to copy him, throwing Nancy and himself in the deep end. 

“I broke my arm in this pool when I was 6. Don’t get any ideas.” You told Sam. 

“So you’ve known Steve a while, huh?” He asked, watching the couples play about in the water. 

“Since we were babies. We grew up together.” 

“You guys couldn’t be more different.” He said it was an innocent comment. But it made you feel weird, frowning slightly. 

“I guess I’m a little boring. A lot nicer to look at, though.” 

“Disagree with the first part, but agree to the last.” He said, nuzzling his head in your neck. 

“Hey, lovebirds,” Steve yelled, ruining the moment by splashing water at you two, “Get in.” 

You shook your head, “I’m not ruining my shirt.” 

“So take it off.” Tommy whistled. Carol smacking him upside the head. 

“Didn’t know you wanted to see me shirtless that bad.” You teased back, Sam’s arm draping across your chest. 

“I think everyone would enjoy the show, some more than others.” He whistled, Steve’s eyes shooting daggers into his skull. 

“At least get in with us, Y/n,” Nancy spoke up, a smile on her face. 

You turned to look at Sam, “I’ll get undressed if you do.” He teased. 

“Fuck you all.” You grumbled, sitting up. You let Sam’s hands travel to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head. 

“Fold it, it’s cashmere.” You muttered to him, watching him place it gently in one of the chairs. Leaving out the part where it was a Christmas present from Steve’s parents. 

Sam tugged his own shirt over his head, ignoring the hollers of the boys. You ignored the gazes, keeping your shorts on. Clad in those and a plain black bra. Thankful it at least wasn’t white today. 

“Okay on-” You started, readying yourself for a countdown before you saw Sam running at you full force. 

“Wait-no.” You squealed, being pushed into the pool. The cold water shocked your body, coming up with a shriek. “Fuck that’s cold.” 

Sam’s hair was dripping all over his face, swimming over to hold you in his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. 

“We should play a game,” Carol spoke up, a devilish grin on her face. 

The group of you didn’t stay in the pool much longer after that, a few games of chicken before you were all shivering. There were only so many times you could push Carol into the water aggressively before someone got mad. 

“I’m so cold.” Carol’s teeth were chattering while you wrapped the towel around yourself. 

“I heard his mom’s room has a fireplace.” Tommy’s eyebrows waved suggestively at her. 

“Gross, Steve, you’re gonna let them fuck in your parents' bed?” You groaned. Steve turned back, his eyes locking onto yours for what felt like the first time that night. This was while Nancy and Barb had a heated exchange, Barb storming off. You felt bad, making a mental note to bring her a muffin tomorrow morning in homeroom to apologize. 

“Unless you and Sam want it first.” He said, making you cringe. 

“We’re probably gonna head out.” You sighed, bidding them a goodnight. 

“Hey man, thanks for inviting me,” Sam said to Steve, Steve responding with a tight-lipped smile. All you could do was squint at the man, watching him walk into the house. 

“I guess we should head back.” You mumbled as soon as the two of you were alone, his hands resting on your hips. 

“I guess,” He sighed playfully. “Or we could take advantage of his empty backyard.” 

You gasped, “I’m not fucking you in my friend's yard.” 

He shook his head, “I didn’t say all that.” He pulled you to one of the beach chairs, laying you down against the cold plastic. 

Your heart was beating out of your chest, his lips pressed against yours hungrily. You kissed him back with fever, letting his tongue enter your open mouth. You gasped against him, feeling his hands cup your chest. Squeezing them before his hand trailed south, popping open the buttons of your soaked shorts. 

“This okay?” He grumbled against your lips. You weren’t sure if it was the wine coolers or the warmth of his body against yours, but you nodded. 

His hand slipped into your underwear easily, fingers finding the spot that had your back arching against the chair. Your eyes fluttered open when he hit that sweet spot inside you. 

Your gaze accidentally landed on Steve’s window, the curtains open and wide. The warmth in your stomach grew as, watched his bare back ripple on the bed. There was no doubt what he and Nancy were doing. You looked away quickly, pressing your lips to Sam’s again. Pretending you didn’t just come around his fingers, looking at your best friend. You prayed he didn’t see it, the guilt radiating off of you. You shoved it down, focusing on his body against yours. 

Little did any of you know that Johnathan Byers was in the woods just feet away, snapping photos of all of you. 

-

Barb was absent from homeroom, and Sam swore to you that there was no reason to be worried. The roads were hard to navigate on Steve’s road, especially at night. It was more likely that she was too embarrassed or tired to come in. It still made a weird, nagging feeling bloom in your chest. 

At lunch, you reluctantly joined the band of misfits again. Sam’s arm was lying against the back of your chair, Steve sitting across from you. Tommy was convinced he got frostbite from the pool, putting his disgusting foot on the lunch table, making you gag. 

“Hey, Y/n.” You turned around, watching Nancy walk up to the table on a mission. “When you left, did you see Barb?” 

You shook your head, Tommy cutting you off. “What?” 

“Barbara. She’s not here today.” Nancy spoke, her patience running thin. 

“I seriously have no idea who you’re talking about.” He shrugged. 

“Come on, don’t be an ass, man. Did you...Did you see her leave last night or not?” 

“No, she was gone when we left,” Tommy answered, Carol leaning over the table. 

“Probably couldn’t stand listening to all that moaning.” She moaned, beginning to moan Steve’s name loudly. Tommy joined in mocking Nancy loudly. 

Steve kicked him under the table, telling them to cut it out. You rolled your eyes, “I was worried this morning, but I think maybe she’s just skipping. We were out late last night.” 

“Yeah,” Sam perked up, “She’s not usually a party goer, you know? Not used to running on a few hours of sleep.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Nancy said with a tight lip. 

After lunch, you were excited to finally go home, kissing Sam goodbye when he left for his art club. It was then that you saw Steve walking towards you in the hall, grabbing your arm harshly. 

“Steve, what the fuck?” You asked, letting him angrily drag you into the parking lot with him. “What’s going on?” Carol, Tommy, and one of Carol’s friends, Nicole, followed along. Steve’s sights were on Jonathan Byers as he walked to his car. 

“Steve, if you’re going to be an asshole to him, I’m not-” You were cut off by Carol, looking at you for the first time with genuine sympathy in her eyes. 

“Y/n. Apparently, he was taking pictures of us last night.” She said, your eyes widening. Nicole simply nodded. You turned your head back to the disaster that was waiting to unfold. 

“Hey, man,” Steve shouted, his voice wavering in anger. You don’t think he was this angry when Trina had you pinned against the lockers freshman year. 

“What’s going on?” Jonathan stuttered, looking at all of you with wide eyes. 

“Nicole here was, uh, telling us about your work.” He said Carol and Tommy agreed. Swearing, it sounded like the coolest art in the world. 

“And we’d just love to take a look. You know, as... connoisseurs of art.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He lied, Tommy snatching his backpack off of him, tossing it over to Steve. 

“Please, give me my bag.” He pleaded, Steve, ignoring him. Rifling through it to pull out a stack of photos. You leaned against his shoulder, watching him shuffle through the photos. Your heart fell into your stomach, seeing photos of you all getting out of the pool. Then Nancy upstairs, undressing in the window. Then his focus was on you, Sam’s hands down your pants. Your head tilted back in pleasure. Tears stung in your eyes, ripping the photos out of his hand. 

“Let me see,” Tommy said, snatching a few from Steve’s hand. He and Carol taking turns looking through them. “Yeah, this isn’t creepy at all.

“I was looking for my brother.” He tried to defend himself, unable to look any of you in the eyes. 

“No. No, this is called stalking.” Steve spoke, “Not only did you trespass, but you took perv photos of my best friend and my girlfriend. On my property. During private moments.” 

Nancy took the perfect moment to walk up, her face concerned, watching the tears in your eyes. “What’s going on?” 

“Here’s the starring lady.” Carol smirked, “One of them, anyway. I have to say Y/n, looks like he was rocking your world.” 

You crushed the photos in your hand, shoving them frantically into your bag. Steve shot Carol a look that could kill, “Shut the fuck up for once, Carol.” 

“This creep was spying on us last night,” She said, ignoring Steve’s outburst,  handing Nancy a photo. “He was probably gonna save this one for later.” 

Her expression matched yours, one of embarrassment and disgust. 

“See, you can tell that he knows it was wrong, but…” Steve reached out to wipe Jonathan's sleeve, the boy flinching. “Man, that’s the thing about perverts... It’s hardwired into ’em. You know, they just can’t help themselves.” 

You couldn’t watch this; the whole situation made your stomach turn. 

“So…We’ll just have to take away his toy,” Steve said, grabbing the camera. 

“Steve…” Nancy warned. 

“No, please, not the camera,” he begged, watching Steve pretend to give it back. Your whole body cringed when Steve dropped the camera, the lenses shattering on the asphalt. 

He stepped into Jonathan’s face again, pulling him by his collar. “If I find out you have pictures of her anywhere on that thing, it’ll be the last thing you see.” He spat, pushing him back roughly. Steve didn’t have to specify who he was referring to by the way he looked at you, before storming away. 

You and Nancy were frozen, watching the ripped-up photos crumple to the ground. 

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Nancy spoke quietly, eyes on the broken camera. 

“Please don’t make me verbally agree with Carol and Tommy.” You begged, “He wasn’t just creeping on you. There are pictures of me on there, too.” 

“Yeah, almost seems like Steve’s more upset about those than mine.” She mumbled under her breath. 

“What do you mean by that?” You stopped her, grabbing her arm. 

She jerked it away, snatching up the rest of the pictures. “Nothing. Just nothing, Y/n.” 

You were left standing there, dumbfounded. You looked back between Jonathan and the remains of his camera. 

“I hope you find your brother.” You managed out, walking back towards the group. Steve’s arm wraps around your wrist, pulling you to him. 

“You still going to the game?” He asked, his skin still warm from frustration. You shook your head no, pulling away from his grasp. 

“I’m just gonna head home.” 

He looked down at you, concern lacing his features. “Call you later?” 

All you could do was give him a weak smile. He paused, holding out his pinky. You stared at his finger; you hadn’t done a pinky promise with him in years. You laced yours with his, “Promise.” 

You avoided Nancy’s stares when you walked away, holding your hand close to your chest. 

-

They found Barbara’s car in a ditch a mile from Steve’s house, 3 days later. In a ditch you passed on the way home that night, unknowing that her body was pinned inside the vehicle for days. 

A week later, they found Will Byers alive in the woods, malnourished and traumatized, but alive. You were thankful there was at least one positive to the recent events in Hawkins. Nancy was in hysterics at Barb’s funeral, and Sam held you through the guilt. The two of you eventually made it official. Dating him was easier than it had been before, almost too easy. Sometimes it felt like you were putting on a show, living your life as you were taught you were supposed to. 

Time passed, as it often did. Senior year was full of jobs and college applications, and getting swept up in talk of the future. Despite your insistence on Steve studying and you doing half of his English assignments, his grades weren’t good. You held his hand, swore to him it would all be fine. But you knew his dad, and you knew the type of son his dad wanted him to be. Somehow, Halloween had crept up on you; flyers to Tina’s party floated around the halls. 

Despite Steve’s incessant begging to get you to join the pair, Sam was out of town visiting family, and you weren’t interested in third wheeling. Nancy had already been distant with you ever since the Jonathan incident; the last thing you wanted to do was make it worse. Late that night, you stayed in bed, only being roused by your phone ringing. You tried to ignore it, but the caller was only calling again. You rolled over, angrily gripping the phone off the hook.

“Hello?” You barked.

“Y/n..” Steve’s faraway voice came in through the phone. 

“Steve?” You questioned, confused as to what number he was calling you from. 

“Y/n. I need a ride. Nancy left me.” He mumbled. 

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head at his words, jumping up to slip on some clothes. 

“You at Tina’s?” He responded with a mumbled yes. 

“I’ll be there in 15. Please do not go anywhere.” You made him promise, not holding drunk Steve to anything. You sped there, parting drunken bodies to find Steve. Sunglasses still perched on top of his head, his eyes hazy. 

“Guys, it’s my best friend.” He laughed, flinging his body onto yours. You pushed him off with a grunt, grabbing him by the arm. Dragging him out into the yard. Using all your strength as he kept going, deadweight on his feet.

This wasn’t the first time you had to pick a drunk Steve up from somewhere, but this was the worst. 

“Bullshit.” Steve slurred, his body slumping more in your hold. 

“What?” You were exasperated at this point, just barely able to toss his body into your passenger seat. 

“Bullshit. Nancy said it was all Bullshit. Didn’t love me.” He whined, his face pained with each word. 

Your brows furrowed, “Nancy loves you.” That was all you could manage to say, reaching over him to buckle him in. 

“No, no, she doesn’t.” He whined by the time you started the car, driving him slowly to his house. You only had to pull over once for him to throw up, thankful he didn’t ruin your floorboards. 

Getting him up into his room was easy, seeing as he threw up a portion of the alcohol in his system. 

“Come on, Joel Goodson, let’s get you to bed.” You sighed, taking the sunglasses off of him despite his protests. He took his own shirt off, not bothering with his pants, as he curled up in the bed. You watched his eyes flutter closed, his chest rising and falling. He looked peaceful, the frown lines he had earlier melting away. You moved the blanket over him, ready to leave before he stopped you. 

“Please don’t leave me.” He whimpered, not even opening his eyes. 

Your heart splintered open in your chest, crawling into bed with him. He nuzzled into your side, probably going to drool all over your sweater. That was fine, as long as he got some sleep. 

“Thank you,” He mumbled, “M’loving me. Wish it was you.” 

“What?” You asked, your heart falling into your stomach. The only response you got was his gentle snores. You didn’t get any sleep that night, content to lie on your back. Brushing your hands through his hair, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he meant. Or if he’d even remember. 

That wasn’t something you had the time for, deciding to push it into the back of your mind. 

Safe to say he didn’t when you woke up to him throwing up in his side table trash can, making you cringe. You did what you did best, taking care of him. He told you the story of what happened between him and Nancy, not liking your response. 

“I don’t think she deserves you, Stevie.” 

“Come on-” 

“I mean it, I know she’s going through a lot, but you didn’t kill Barb. It was an accident.”

He was quiet for a moment, hesitant to say the rest of the story. “She also thinks I’m in love with you.” 

The mood in the room shifted, the tension thick. “W-what? Why would she think that?” You stuttered out. 

He shrugged, not meeting your eyes. “I didn’t defend her honor enough with Jonathan, which is funny considering she forgave him.”

“She forgave him?” You scowled, trying to do your best to forget that night ever happened. The pictures were burnt in your fireplace, alongside photos of you and your ex. 

“Told her she wasn’t allowed to do that since he took pictures of you, too. She didn’t like that.” 

“What a bitch.” You mumbled, grabbing his hand in yours. 

“Dating is hard.” He gave you a sad smile, to which you nodded. “How are you and Sam?” 

You shrugged, “Fine. I think it's a little too fine. Sometimes I feel bad that he’s too sweet, too forgiving, too- I don’t know, is it mean to say boring?” 

“He does seem a little lame,” He teased, you hitting his chest playfully. He winced, holding his head, “I might throw up, don’t do that.” 

“He’s not lame. I just think something is wrong with me. Sometimes it feels like I can’t love him like I’m supposed to. Like I'm broken.” You admitted, watching his eyes soften at your admission. 

“I think you love me just right.” His words were quiet, heavier than before. “You’re not broken, Y/n.” 

“You don’t make it easy.” You joked, unraveling your hands. Maybe one day you’d explain to him that loving him was the easiest thing in the world, because you never had to think twice. From the moment you were born, there was an invisible thread tying you to him. Instead, you pushed it down, slapping his chest playfully. 

“Especially when you smell like an expired liquor store.” 

“Hey!” He whined. 

It was all fine, everything was fine. He went to shower, and you went home. He was going to buy Nancy flowers, and you were going to wait by the phone, waiting for Sam to call. So why did it feel so wrong? 

-

You got a call from Steve the next afternoon, asking if you’d come over. You obliged, only to be godsmacked by his bruised and bloodied face. 

“Oh my god? What the fuck?” You asked, rushing inside the door. 

“Am I an asshole?” He asked, ignoring your concerns. 

“What?” You muttered, dragging him into the bathroom. You immediately grabbed the first aid kit, ready to wipe his face with an alcohol pad. He stopped you, grabbing your wrist loosely. 

“Am I an asshole?” He repeated, his dark brown eyes heavy with sadness. 

“I mean, sure sometimes,” You’d never lie to him, “But you aren’t an asshole, you can just act like one.” 

“I did something really stupid.” He admitted. 

“Oh, really? I can’t tell.” You snarked, pressing the pad to his face. Making him wince in pain while you cleaned off the dried blood. “Let me guess, Nancy.” Her name tasted bitter on your tongue. 

He cocked his head to the side, “You don’t like her?” 

“I’m starting not to Stevie.” You admitted, bandaging the cut under his eyes closed. 

“Went to apologize to her with flowers for the other night, Jonathan Byers was in her bed. Tommy and Carol convinced me to spraypaint some bullshit at the theatre about her being a slut, he kicked my ass.” You took a moment to soak in his story, finishing with one last pink bandage. 

“Well, I guess you deserved a small ass kicking, but not this bad.” You winced. “Am I allowed to beat her ass?” 

“Y/n..” 

You threw your hands up, “Sorry, sorry!” 

In the silence, you cleaned up the bloodied paper, washing your hands in the sink. He stayed still, his brows furrowed in thought. A frown line forming into the crease of his forehead, you wanted nothing more than to rub your thumb over it. Releasing all the tension from him. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, placing your hand next to his on the counter. Propping yourself up next to him, your arms brushing.

“Do you ever think about it?” 

“Bout what?” You asked, oblivious to what thoughts were rolling around in that head of his. 

“How much easier it would be if we were in love.” 

Who would have thought 11 words would tilt your world on its axis? You must have been silent for longer than you thought. Steve speaking up again, “I mean, imagine how easy it would be. We’re already basically a couple anyway. Imagine if we were in love.” There was a subtle hopefulness in his voice; you told yourself you were reading into things. 

“Yeah. Imagine.” Your voice felt foreign to you. 

The silence was thick again, Steve’s eyes heavy on you. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He copied you, his arm rubbing against yours, intentionally this time. Like he needed your touch to ground himself with each word he spoke. The sensation makes chills go up your spine. 

“I think,” You cleared your throat, “That you just got hit in the head a lot. You need ice.” 

If Steve was going to speak, you didn’t hear, too busy gliding out of the bathroom into the kitchen. Your hands shaking with adrenaline as you get him an ice pack ready. 

“Y-yeah.” He laughed, “Probably have brain damage or something.” 

With your doctoring, you gave Steve a clean bill of health, leaving him with instructions to ice and call you if his head hurt any worse. The entire drive home, all you could think about was Sam. 

Sam made you feel steady, like you were safe on the shore. Feet planted in the sand, a war, breeze flowing through the air. Why wasn’t it enough? Why didn’t it make you feel alive? 

-

Adulthood snuck up on you, graduation coming and going. You were ashamed to admit you were relieved he and Nancy were finally done. He seemed sad, but lighter. You had Dustin to thank for that, the kid he semi-adopted, despite him claiming he didn’t. The kid adored him. When he went off to summer camp, Steve nearly shed a tear, swearing you to secrecy that you’d never tell him that. He’d never live it down. 

When the mall opened up, it was the perfect opportunity for ‘real world experience’ as Steve’s father called it. Scoops Ahoy had hired him on the spot, complete with the cutest little outfit to go with it. You found a simpler, less embarrassing job at a bookstore at the end of the hall. The two of you were still able to spend too much time with each other. 

His co-worker Robin became your best friend, much to Steve’s chagrin. If he thought you were picking on him, each time the two of you were together, it was Steve’s own personal level of hell. 

Today’s topic of discussion was his horrible flirting skills. Being back on the market had made him rusty, fumbling around every single girl that walked in. Robin’s ‘You Suck’ board had made you cry out of laughter when she showed you. 

“Ladies, 3 o’clock,” Robin whispered, pulling your head down behind the window. The two of you are ready to spy on him. 

“Ahoy, ladies! Didn't see you there. Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I'll be your captain. I'm Steve Harrington.” He spoke, too high a volume for the quiet store. The girls cringed with each word. 

“Oh my god, he’s hopeless.” Robin sighed. 

You couldn’t help but agree, “It’s like a car crash. I can’t stop watching.” 

He stumbled his way through offering ice cream samples, the girls taking their scoops awkwardly and leaving in a fit of giggles. Steve closed his eyes, “I don’t wanna hear it.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna hear it.” 

-

Steve’s freckled shoulders were underneath your hands, your fingers digging into his muscle. 

“God, you feel so good.” His voice was raspy, the moan coming deep from his chest. He was deep inside you, his hips rutting frantically against your own. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room. The headboard slapping the wall. 

“Steve, Steve.” You moaned his name like a broken record, his lips nipping at your neck. His name fit perfectly on your tongue. 

“There you go, honey, you gonna cum around me?” He asked, looking down at you. Your eyes meet his as you.. 

You woke up in a hot sweat, fingers twisting in the sheets. There was a thin layer of sweat covering your body, chest rising and falling. Sam lay next to you, as still as a board. You let out a shaky breath, the throbbing between your legs reminding you of what you just experienced. Slipping out of bed silently was easy, grabbing a glass of water with shaky hands. The fantasies your mind conjured up played like a highlight reel as you stared into the dark room. 

“What the fuck.” You breathed, laying your head down on the cool counter. Hoping the granite would quell the fire blooming through your body. 

Steve’s words from last fall echoed in your mind. 

“Have you ever thought about us?” 

You felt queasy, content to head back upstairs. Crawling into bed with Sam as if nothing had happened. It was fine; you can’t control your dreams. There’s no such thing as bad thoughts, only actions. And nothing had happened, nothing will happen. 

-

The dream was haunting your every move, every time Sam tried to initiate anything, his face blurred with Steve’s. It’s like you were cursed. You began to see Steve in everything. Every place around Hawkins you frequented, memories lingered on all of your clothes. You couldn’t escape him, and a sick, cruel part of you didn’t want to. 

“You okay?” Sam asked, his hand still steady on your hips. Sam. He was kissing you; he wanted you. You blinked away the faraway look in your eyes, nodding weakly. 

“Just got distracted.” 

You refused to be haunted by make-believe, bringing Sam down to your level. Kissing him hard. Fingers pressed into his shoulders. Your brain continued terrorizing you, flashing you images of your dream. Before you realised it, you were mirroring the exact position. You moaned and twisted your body every which way, fighting for that feeling. When he slipped inside, all you could think about was Steve. Would he touch you like this? 

“Is that good?” Sam interrupted your thinking, noticing how quiet you had been. His hips slowing down. Catching onto your wood behavior. 

“Y-yeah.” You lied, smiling up at him. “Maybe just a little harder?” 

He obliged, the headboard creaking against the wall. Your eyes fluttered shut again, letting yourself indulge. Just for a moment. You told yourself it was to test your theory, but you knew what it was. It was the carnal urge to let yourself crave him. Just once, to let your mind wander into the feelings you’ve pushed so far back in your mind. 

You thought about his plump lips, the way his hair falls on his forehead after basketball practice, the swell of his biceps, and the happy trail you see when he stretches. Steve. All you could think about was Steve, every neuron in your body lighting up at the mere thought of him. 

“You like that?” Sam asked, watching your back arch. 

All you could do was nod, watching a highlight reel behind your eyelids. You imagined what his body would feel like against yours, heavy and slick with sweat. How he’d feel pressed inside you. How attentive he would be. You couldn’t take it, your legs shaking around his hips. 

“Stev-Sam.” You stuttered, covering it up with an obnoxious moan. Pushing it down, pushing down every single thought of him that made you feel alive. Your eyes stayed shut when he came, scared your eyes would tell him everything. 

“God baby, you really liked that, huh?” He yawned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

That night, you cried in the shower, scrubbing every inch of your body raw. Doing everything you could to feel clean, the sin and disgust clinging to your skin like a bad perfume. 

-

The next day at work, your hands were shaky. You were spacy, constantly zoning in and out. The mall patrons only occupied you when they had questions. Working at a bookstore was the ideal place for peace and quiet, but now it felt like your own personal hell. Trapped in these walls. 

When the clock hit noon, you were running through the mall, nearly knocking down entire families in your path. 

The familiar Scoops Ahoy sign made you sigh. Steve would be on break right now. At least you didn’t have to face him. Your body collided with another, his cologne alerting you to his presence before he did. 

“Where’s the fire?” Steve laughed, his hands falling to your hips. That was normal, that was something that happened. But now it felt like the fire was inside of you, burning you from the inside out. 

“Uh, I just need to see Robin. I’m out of girl things. Pads, tampons, you know.” You stuttered out a lie, trying not to watch the way his lips parted when he spoke. 

“I have some in my car for you, you know.” He started, you cutting him off. 

“Yes! Thank you. Can you go get them?” Your eyes were wide, your voice too loud, and he just squinted at you. 

“Okay..I don’t remember your period making you this weird.” He grumbled, letting go of you. “I’ll be back. I can get you some chocolate from Bon Bon?” 

“I’d love that.” Your face softened, feeling horrible for lying to him. As soon as his back disappeared amongst the crowd of people, you jumped over the counter, Robin’s scooper flying out of her hand. 

“What the hell?” She asked, eyeing your disheveled appearance. 

“Hey Robin.” 

“Hey, Y/n.” She mocked your cadence.

“Can I tell you something, if you swear on your life to never mention it to another living soul?” Her face got serious, noticing your expression.  

“Yes, of course.” 

You took a deep breath, saying the next sentence so quickly that only someone like Robin would have been able to understand it. “I had a sex dream about Steve last night, and that’s never happened before, ever. I’ve never thought of him that way, maybe once or twice in passing as a curious teen, but never seriously, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

Her eyes were wide, your chest heaving from the speed at which you word vomited at her. 

“A sex dream?” Her jaw was on the floor, “Steve? Your best friend since birth, Steve?” 

You shushed her, spinning around the empty Scoops Ahoy like a woman on a mission. 

“Yes.”

“I mean, I’ve had a sex dream about Smurfette once, so I wouldn’t think too much about it.” She offered, watching your still panicked face. 

“Wait,” She paused, “What do you mean you can’t stop thinking about it?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You grumbled, knowing Robin wasn’t going to let it go. 

“Nope, you can’t drop a bombshell on me and not elaborate.” 

You grabbed her arm, pulling her into the backroom. Watching through the window anxiously as if he was going to materialize at any moment. 

“I just keep thinking about it. Like earlier, he was speaking, and all I could think about was that my dream lips had touched his dream lips. Then I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him.” You rambled, “Then I look at him and feel guilty. Like I’m dirty and sinful because I can’t stop thinking about, dreaming about him naked. And inside of me-” 

“Whoa! Too much information-” Robin cut you off. 

You ignored her, “And he’s my best friend. My Stevie. So what do I do? I can’t even look him in the eyes anymore.” 

“Do you like him?” She spoke slowly, like she was poking a frightened bear. 

You stopped your anxious pacing, tears welling up in your eyes. You were so overwhelmed you could barely think, and you shook your head. “N-no?” 

“Babes, you didn’t sound too confident there.” 

“Can I tell you something else awful?” You whispered, there was never a filter between you and Robin. There probably never would be. 

She nodded softly at you to speak. 

“When Sam and I had sex the first time, I almost called him Steve. A-and I thought maybe I just you know? Two S names and all,” You laughed manically. “Then the dream, so I’m wondering if it’s always been subconscious. So when Sam and I had sex last night, I closed my eyes and imagined Steve. And I did it again.” 

When it was off your chest, you felt lighter, albeit dizzy. 

“And?” She added, her eyes wide. 

“I was really sad to open my eyes and see Sam.” You cried, tears pouring down your cheeks now. “And Sam was like Wow, you’ve never been so into it before and I’m so awful. I’m such a bad person.” 

Robin was the only person in the world you could trust to tell. You liked Sam, you really did. But you couldn’t feel a fraction of what you felt just thinking about Steve with him. You felt broken, stringing the man along because you couldn’t face the music. 

“Honey.” Robin frowned, pulling your shaking frame into her arms. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. I just think you’re in love with Steve.” 

You shook your head frantically, “I can’t be. Can’t. It’ll ruin everything.” 

Robin’s lips tightened in a straight line, choosing her words carefully. The entire Summer Robin has had to endure similar conversations with Steve. How they still didn’t see it was beyond Robin. The entirety of Hawkins thought they had been dating for years. 

“But there’s that chance he could feel the same way. You won’t know unless you try.” 

You were saved by the door busting open. Steve’s arms are full of various bags. Pads, tampons, and various snacks. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, just got one of everything. Robin, I got you some gummies-” He rambled, looking up to see the two of you embracing, tears pouring down your face. 

He held out the bags to you nervously, “I’m sorry your vagina is bleeding.” 

The moment the words left his mouth, you and Robin fell into each other laughing, Steve’s face going red.

 “Women.” He muttered, tossing the bags onto the table with a thud. 

-

Robin’s words sat heavily on your mind, but instead of listening to her sound advice, you ignored it. Ignored the horrible feeling in your gut and prayed it would go away after some time. Now you were walking up to Steve’s front door, Sam’s hand in yours. 

The kids had conned him into hosting a movie night, complete with all the junk food you all could gather. You, Sam, Robin, and Steve were the designated chaperones. Although it’s not like they actually listened to anything any of you said. You were bombarded when you walked through the door, getting tugged in different directions by various kids. The girls wanted your advice on something, Dustin needed you to convince Steve to let them swim after dinner, and the rest of the boys were screeching about some game. 

“Go ahead,” Sam had chuckled, “Love you.” 

That was another new development. Sam had told you he loved you multiple times now. Each time you sent him a tight-lipped smile, no words escaped your mouth.  It broke your heart that you couldn’t love him. You loved being loved by him, and you were selfish enough to drag him along. 

“That was awkward,” Max muttered. You ignored it. Letting them drag you into the house. 

After the kids had run you ragged, you found Steve in the kitchen setting up the multiple boxes of pizza. 

“Remind me again why I signed up for this?” Steve sighed, gesturing to the gaggle of children currently destroying his living room. 

“Because they were getting sick of the mall. It’s summer break.” You laughed, “And you are the one who designated yourself as the babysitter.” 

He sighed, “Still..” 

“And you love me?” You giggled, grabbing a stack of plates from the cabinet. 

“That I do.” He said, his eyes meeting yours before they caught Sam’s hovering behind you. 

“I love you. Love you enough to tell you that I’m not helping you clean this up tomorrow.” 

Sam cleared his throat, and you whipped around. Startled by his presence. 

“Hi-” 

“Can we talk?” He cut you off, shooting Steve daggers behind your back. 

“Okay?” You stuttered, taken off guard. Steve excused himself, patting your arm gently before he slid past you two. Leaving you both alone in his kitchen, Sam’s eyes dark on yours. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked. 

“Why do you let him do that?” 

Your brows furrowed, “Let who do what?” 

“Steve. You let him give you those pathetic puppy dog eyes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh come on,” He laughed, the tension growing thick, “He glares at me like I’m going to attack him at any second, then he looks at you like a kicked dog. He touches you whenever he gets the chance. And you just let him.” 

“Sam, it’s-” You stuttered, “It’s how we’ve always been.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s getting sort of ridiculous, Y/n.” He scoffed, spinning around to head for the door. 

You followed, ripping the door open behind him. “What is?” 

“You!” He yelled, his hands waving in front of you. With all the commotion, you gave it a few minutes before Steve and Robin followed you outside. No doubt the kids had their ears pressed to the door. What an embarrassing disaster this night has turned into

“Sam-” 

“Have you just been playing in my face for over a year?” He asked, his voice thick with emotion. 

You shook your head quickly, tears welling in your eyes. “No, no Sam no. I would never.” 

“So you love me?” 

You went silent, your bottom lip wobbling. 

“You can’t even fucking say it.” He spat. “That’s all I wanted from you, but you can’t even give me that.” 

“Is this because I told Steve I love him?” You whimpered, willing the tears not to fall. “We’ve been telling each other we love each other since we could speak.” 

He shook his head, “No. Something changed. Either you’re too blind to see it or-” He cut himself off, letting out a heartbroken laugh. The front door opens behind you. You knew who it was, without turning around. Steve would always come for you; he always has. What you’ve truly wanted has been right in front of you, and you never realized it until now. 

“There’s your knight and shining armor.” Sam scoffed, rubbing his mouth with his hand. 

“Y/n, are you okay?” Steve ignored Sam’s words, his soft voice speaking to you only. The voice he used before kissing your bandaids over scraped knees. The voice that got you through the darkest times. The same one that asked you that night, he asked if you’d ever thought about it. 

“She’s fine. We’re talking, can we please have a moment?” Sam spoke when you didn’t, tears falling freely down your cheeks now. 

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Steve responded, his hands on his hips now. 

Sam laughed, a cruel one. “I know you can’t fight Harrington, so don’t bother.” 

“Stop.” You spoke weakly, turning around. “Steve, just give us a second.” 

His eyes met yours, the two of you having a silent conversation with your eyes. He was ready to turn inside, but this only angered Sam further. 

“Actually, no, Steve, you should stay.” Sam’s voice chilled you to your bones, your eyes snapping to his. Despite your protests, he continued. “We were just talking about how Y/n doesn’t love me. Apparently, you’re all she can think about.” 

“Bullshit-”

“You’re dreaming about him, Y/n! You have repressed your feelings so far down that you don’t even realize how pathetic it is. God, it’s so fucking embarrassing being with you, watching the two of you dance around each other.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You cried, confused as to how he would even know about your dreams, your feelings. 

“You say his name in your sleep. You say his name during sex.” He let out in a heartbreaking laugh, “You think I didn’t hear you? You think I don’t see that faraway look in your eyes? When you look disappointed to see me there?” 

It was as if you could feel your world falling apart all around you; you wanted nothing more than the world to swallow you whole. Steve’s eyes were burning into the back of your head; you couldn’t face him. Not when Sam was laying it all out in the open, flaying your heart open right here for Steve to see. 

“That doesn’t mean I never cared for you.” You sniffled, “Sam, I could love you, I could.” 

“I wish I could believe that. I really do.” He sighed, shuffling his feet. 

Steve stayed quiet, unsure of what to do. He was stuck against the door, his heart aching for you. Even for Sam. 

“You know what the worst part of all of this was?” He laughed, tears filling his eyes, “I always knew this would be how it ended. You, running into his arms. Everyone warned me, but I loved you too much to listen.” 

“I’m so sorry.” You blubbered, your arms wrapped around yourself. This was it; you couldn’t go back from this. 

He shook his head, “No. Not really, you’re not..” Were his last words as he turned around, speeding off down the road in his truck 

Everything you had ever known was dissipating in front of your eyes. All the plans you had made. That metaphorical box of feelings you had been cramming to the brim finally crumbled underneath its own weight. You were scared you were going to drown. The unknown picking up your body and dragging you to sea. 

“Y/n..” There was that voice again, your forever anchor. You shook your head, wiping away your tears. You couldn’t face him, you couldn't do this. 

“We gotta talk about it.” His voice was thick, “We gotta get it out.” 

“I can’t.” You whimpered, hiding your face in your hands. 

He stepped forward anyway, grabbing your wrists in his hands. Pulling them away to expose your tear-stained cheeks. 

“It’s just me. It’s just me.” He reassured you, holding your face in his hands. He held you as if his whole world was resting upon his palms, because it was. 

“That’s the problem.” You cried, eyes still squeezed shut. If you opened your eyes and saw him, it would all be real; the weight of this would crash on your shoulders. But you knew he’d be there to catch you. 

He let you steady yourself, pressing his forehead to yours. Waiting for your frantic breaths to match his, your shaking hands gripped his jacket. Searching for a lifeline. 

“All this time….” He cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Your eyes shot open at his words, his eyes glossy, full of a thousand unsaid words. 

“I've spent so many years dancing around it. Pushing it down and just praying it would go away. If I thought about it too hard, if I let the idea cross my mind, it would never go away. So I couldn’t. Couldn’t lose you.” You cried. 

“You’d never lose me. Look at me, Y/n Y/l/n.” He promised, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. He wasn't going to let you look away, not now. 

 “The love I have for you,” his voice cracking, “The love I have for you transcends every possible doubt you have in your mind. I look for you in every room, every time I need you, you are right there, you’ve always been right there. Through it all. If I could go back, I'd kick myself for letting you get away from me for so long, but it doesn’t matter. Because we’re right here. And I'm not going anywhere. However long it takes, whatever it takes. You’ve always been my girl.” 

You nodded, “Pinky promise?” It came out as a pathetic whimper, tears slipping down Steve’s cheeks, matching your own. 

“Yes,” He gave you a teary laugh, “Pinky promise.” His hand came up, his pinky finding yours. He leaned down, kissing your knuckles. Suddenly, you were both 13 again, the same Indiana sun beaming down on you two. 

“I choose you and me, religiously. Through everything, everyone in my life. Not because I felt like I needed to, but because I wanted to. There was no one else, god, there was never anyone else I’ve loved as much as I love you.” He cried, his forehead pressing harshly into yours, “It’s always been us. You hear me?”

“Steve..” 

“I love you, Y/n, you’re my best friend, and I am helplessly, unequivocally in love with you.” 

“That’s a real big word for you.” You laughed through the tears, making him beam. 

“It is a huge word for me, only I even know it because of you.” He sighed, “There are no words to explain just how much I love you. 

“I think I’ve loved you my whole life.” You whispered, your noses brushing. “It’s the only thing that’s ever come easy to me.” 

Steve’s smile could rival that of a thousand suns, his lips brushing yours. “Can I?” His voice was meek, unsure. 

You didn’t even have a chance to nod, closing the gap between you. Your lips pressing softly to his. He kissed you like he was coming home, and you kissed him back as you needed him to survive. The two of you are drowning in the kiss, hands clenching each other tightly as if both of you would wake up from a dream. 

When you pulled apart for air, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark. What a mess the two of you looked, tear-stained and blushing in the middle of his driveway. 

“I love you.” You said, just to say it. Just because you could. 

“And I love you.” He pressed a longing kiss to your forehead, pulling back to look at you. 

“This has been so embarrassing. Can’t believe I ruined movie night.” You sniffled.

“Those kids are fine. Robins probably distracted them by now with some ridiculous scheme.” Steve said, kissing away the tears running down your face. You both had a lot to talk about, you needed time to think, and grieve. But the crushing weight of your feelings was finally off your shoulders, and Steve didn’t run away. He ran towards you, holding your hand just like he always had. 

You were thankful for the kids who acted oblivious, throwing popcorn at you the moment you walked back in the door. Making you pay for having to listen to Robin monologue about Gremlins, before even pressing play on the tape. 

Steve simply shrugged, pulling you down against him on the couch. His arms are around your chest. It wasn’t anything different from how he’d held you before, but it was also so different. New intentions, a new feeling sparking every time you two touched. 

That night, neither of you was able to sleep, content to tiptoe over the sleeping children. Steve nearly slips on Mike’s blanket, making you have to cover your mouth to stop the laugh from slipping out. The sliding glass door creaked as you two descended into the night. Steve practically pulling you into his backyard like a man on a mission. 

“What are you doing?” You giggled, watching the old trampoline come into view. Your heart ached; it must have been in his garage collecting dust. 

“Made the kids pull it out.” He answered you before you even asked, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Robin asked if we wanted candles and rose petals, but I told her this was perfect.” 

“It is.” You whispered, your hands running over the rusted springs. 

Steve helped hoist you up, the two of you plopping down on the worn-out plastic. Both of you bouncing into each other. 

In a rushed fit of giggles, you pulled him down next to you, your head nuzzling into his chest. With his arm around your waist, he held you close. The stars were bright tonight, a rare, clear night this time of year. 

“I never thought this would happen,” He admitted, “Always thought you were too good for me. That I’d never deserve you. I still don’t think I do.” 

“I didn’t think you’d ever choose me. I mean, out of all the girls in Hawkin’s you’ve been with, and there’s been a lot,” You teased, “I didn’t think I had a shot in the dark.” 

“Honey, you are my girl. Everyone knew.” He smiled, thinking back to all the times everyone said you two were practically dating anyway. Looking back, it was painfully obvious; the only oblivious ones were you two. 

“Guess I just thought you were fulfilling some pinky promise we made as kids. Like out of some weird obligation to the weird girl who started following you around one day and never stopped.” You admitted sheepishly. 

“That’s ridiculous, honey.” That was all he could say, humor lacing his words. 

“I mean, looking back, it was kinda obvious,s huh?” You laughed, your mind giving you a highlight reel of the past few years. All the girlfriends of his you hated, the boyfriends of yours he wouldn’t even give a chance. Everyone’s whispers, both of your parents, calling it from a young age. It was always inevitably going to end here, no matter how bumpy the ride. 

“Dude, our moms are gonna flip.” 

“Ugh, they’ve probably already planned the tackiest wedding imaginable.” You groaned. 

“You wanna marry me, honey?” He teased, poking your side. 

“Shut up.” You grumbled, your cheeks warming. 

“I think,” He said, eyes going back up to the stars, “I think I'd marry you right now if you said yes.” 

“I’d say yes.” You admitted, “I’ve never been so sure about something my whole life.” 

Suddenly, he was jolting up from the trampoline, leaving you bouncing in his absence. 

“What are you doing?” You laughed, watching him stumble around in the dark, hands brushing through the grass. If you knew any better, you’d have thought he finally lost his mind.  

“Wait, wait. No! Yes, fuck yes okay.” He muttered, ripping something out of the ground, running back up the trampoline. He was illuminated by the moonlight, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at you. He was on one knee, holding up a dandelion he’d folded into a ring. 

“Are you proposing?” You laughed, unable to keep a straight face. 

“Yes, not for real, but also kinda?” He chuckled nervously, “Will you, Y/n Y/l/n, take me, Steve Harrington’s hand in marriage? In probably about a year or so from now??” 

“You are ridiculous.” 

He tsked, “That’s not an answer.” 

“What are my options?” 

“Yes, and uh.. Oh yeah, yes.” 

“God, lots of decisions to think over.” 

You smiled down at him, holding out your left hand. “Steve Harrington, yes, I will marry you.” 

“Fuck yeah.” He cheered, slipping the weed onto your finger. With the yellow flower against your skin, all you could think about was his bouquet of dandelions he brought you when you were a kid. 

“Come here.” You whispered, dragging him back up with you. Your lips meet his. This kiss was different than the first; this was hot and heavy. Your mouth opened, letting his tongue explore. You straddled his hips, pinning him down as best you could while the two of you bounced with every movement. 

“Baby.” He groaned, your lips trailing down the side of his neck. 

“Hmm?” You hummed, your hand crawling under his shirt. Finally touching the rough patch of hair you dreamed about. His soft stomach underneath your palm. 

“Don’t think there’s anyone in the woods with a camera, do you?” He asked, making you fall off of him in a fit of giggles. 

“Oh, that’s fucked up.” 

“Sorry, I had to.” He threw his hands up, “I mean, weirdly, he’s a cool guy. He and Nancy make a good couple.” 

“I think we make a better couple.” You cheesed, pressing another kiss to his lips. Then another, and another. You’d never get sick of it. 

“I agree.” He laughed in between kisses. “I also think we should take this upstairs.” 

You met his hungry eyes, taking his hand in yours, letting him lead the way. This was one of those times you were thankful for Steve’s rich parents. His room was upstairs on the other end of the house from everyone else. 

You had been in Steve’s rooms countless times, even slept in his bed more times than your own. But suddenly it was real; none of this was some dream you found yourself lost in. He was right here in front of you, his hands leading you to his bed. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He spoke calmly, nerves radiating off of you. You looked up at him, the hunger in his eyes matching your own. 

“I want this,” You whispered, “I want you.” With every fiber of being, this was all you wanted. 

The rest was a blur, messy kisses, hushed moans, and trembling hands as clothes floated to the floor. He hesitated against your bra strap, staring deep into your eyes when the clasp came undone. Pulling it off your body as he was unwrapping a delicate vase. 

“You,” His mouth went dry, his eyes still on yours. “Are the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.” 

You were burning alive for him. His hands touched you gently, his thumbs rubbing over your peaked buds. With each gasp that left your lips, Steve watched, memorizing every single touch that left you reeling. 

“This okay?” He whispered, his face leaning down into your ribcage. 

“Yes, Please.” 

This was all he needed, his lips trailing wet kisses down your sternum. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, flattening before he took it into his mouth, Sucking ever so softly, while his other hand gripped your other tit, massaging the flesh. 

“Oh my god.” 

You could barely breathe, the pressure between your legs growing with each wet trail of his tongue. He pulled off with a lewd pop, his lips glossy. He didn’t stop there, his kisses trailing down your stomach, until he was perfectly settled between your hips. Arms caging your body in. 

“How are you feeling?” Ever the worrier, Steve was going to stop every few seconds, asking if you were okay. Your body was trembling underneath his, in anticipation and nerves. 

“Good. I love you.” You panted, his fingers curling in the sides of your underwear. 

“Gonna take these off now, that okay?” 

You frantically nodded, lifting your hips for him. When he threw them alongside the pile of your other clothes, your legs fell shut on impulse. 

He looked up at you, a silent question in his eyes. 

“C-can you take your shirt off?” You asked, feeling underdressed. He flung the shirt off quicker than you’ve ever seen before, smiling wildly at you. His bare skin was warm against your legs as he settled himself back in position, hands gripping your thighs. 

“Open up for me, honey.” 

You let out an embarrassed squeal, “Wait.” 

Steve paused, watching your face scrunch with nerves. “S’what wrong?” 

“I’ve never…” You trailed off, choking on your embarrassment. 

“What?” He asked, taking a minute to put two and two together. He looked down at your clamped legs, and back up to you like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Are you serious?” His voice had lowered an octave, hands clenching. “No one’s ever gone down on you.” 

“They all said it was g-gross. So I didn’t bother you, know?” You flushed, “You don’t have to.” 

He stopped you, unclenching his jaw. “Gross? Baby, I have every right mind to go track them down and beat their ass.” 

A squeak escaped your lips, “You’re hot when you’re mad.” 

“I am mad, mad because there’s no reason any of those men deserved you. I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you for years, and they just-” He cut himself off, hand rubbing small circles on your calf. “Baby, do you want me to go down on you?” 

You nodded sheepishly, “Just nervous.” 

“Don’t be. You just talk to me, okay? If there’s anything you don’t like, anything you want. Need you to promise you’ll tell me.” 

“Okay, yeah. Promise.” You leaned back, bracing yourself on his pillows. 

“Good.” He grabbed your tights gently, “Open up for me, pretty girl.” 

You obliged, letting your legs fall open for him. A shock went through you at the sensation of your wet cunt hitting the cold air. Steve’s eyes were locked on you. Practically drooling at the sight of you. 

“Gorgeous.” He babbled, pressing kisses up and down your inner thighs. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Gonna put my mouth on you, okay?” 

You nodded, your body jerking the moment his wet mouth came down on your clit. He took it slow, letting his tongue draw circles over you. You were over the moon, letting out choked moans of his name. You didn’t know it would feel this good. 

His tongue flattened, teasing your entrance before suckling your clit into his mouth. He ate you out like a man starved, moaning against you. The sensations had your legs shaking, overwhelmed by new feelings that licked up your spine. 

“Steve..” 

“How’s it feel, baby?” He panted, your wetness covering the bottom half of his mouth when he came up for air. His hand curled around to your entrance.  

“S’good. Bab,y it feels so good.” You basically sobbed, your cunt welcoming in his thick fingers. Stretching you out with each curl of his fingertips. His mouth wrapped around you, and that was all it took; your back arched off the bed. Grinding into his mouth messily as you came. He held your hips still, stroking out each morsel of your orgasm. Sweat clung to your forehead, your chest rising and falling quickly. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.” You sighed dreamily. Steve had a shit-eating grin on his face, wiping his face on his discarded shirt before crawling back up your body. His lips met yours, kissing you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue, moaning weakly when he pulled apart. 

“I will do that all day, every single day.” He swore between kisses. His hips pressed against yours; the only thing separating you two was the thin fabric of his boxers. You could feel his hard length pressed against you. 

“Can I return the favor?” Your teeth came down to bite your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to run your tongue down his happy trail straight to his cock. 

“Another time?” He smiled, speaking before you frowned, “I need to feel you.” 

“Just for a second?” You pleased, giving him your best doe eyes. He knew he could never say no to you. His boxers were pulled off, his cock slapping against his stomach. He was huge; your mouth salivated at the idea of wrapping your mouth around his pulsating tip. He fumbled around in his drawer, holding up a condom in his hand like it was a winning lottery ticket. He lay next to you on the bed, letting you switch positions. 

Your hand wrapped around him slowly, barely fitting. He gritted his teeth before you could fully pump him. The length twitching in your hand. 

“O-okay, baby-” He winced, his head hitting the headboard when your lips wrapped around him. Licking the precum off of him, savoring the salty taste of him. His hips jerked up, his cock sliding into your mouth deeper. 

“Fuck, okay, nope. Nope.” He hissed, gently pulling you off of him. This time, it was your turn to have a shit-eating grin on your face. 

“What? Can’t handle it?” You teased, squealing when he gripped your hips. Flipping you back onto your back with a thump. 

“Nope, my girl has a perfect fucking mouth,” He smirked, “But I wanna feel this pretty pussy more.” 

Your core throbbed at his words, hips rutting against the air for relief. He sat up between your legs, sliding the condom over his length. 

“Ready?” He asked, to which you nodded frantically. 

“Yeah, baby.” 

His tip circled your entrance a few times, spreading your wetness around for him. Before he braced himself, sliding himself in slowly. Your hands found his shoulders, fingers creating half-moon indentations as you welcomed the stretch. 

“Doing so well.” He praised, pressing kisses up and down your neck and chest. “Taking me so well. So fucking tight for me.” 

When his hips bottomed out against yours, tears sprang in your eyes. You were so full, emotions overwhelming you.

He noticed your eyes fluttering shut, his hand moving to cradle your cheek. “Eyes on me. Eyes on me.” He cooed. 

You were scared, so scared you’d open them, and it was just another dream. “I’m real. I’m here.” He reassured, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. They fluttered open again, and you stared at your brown-eyed lover. Drinking him in, every freckle, every imperfection. You wanted to count his eyelashes and memorize the patterns in his irises. 

“I love you.” Your voice was raw, the words spilling out heavier than ever before. Despite the countless times the two of you said those three words to each other over the years, this was the one that meant the most. That held the most weight. It carried every emotion you’ve pushed down over the past decade. Now it poured out of you, oozing from your very being. 

His smile was infectious: “I love you so much.” Another kiss on your lips. Something you’d never get sick of, his plump lips against yours. Moving with a passion that can only be built from years of secret glances and repressed feelings. 

You both moved as if the other was going to slip through your hands like water. Hands frantic, but focused. Memorizing every bit of each other’s bodies as your body welcomed him in. 

“You can move.” You sighed, the discomfort turning into pleasure. He did an experimental rock of his hips, hitting a spot deep inside you that had you mewling. 

“Oh, already, baby?” He cooed, using the hand that wasn’t propped up to rub circles on your cheek with his thumb. 

“S’deep.” You slurred, with each expert movement, your body was on fire. The wet sounds of him dragging in and out of your cunt only fueled the burning. The bed creaked when he sped his movements up. 

“I love you. I love you.” Steve grunted, his fair falling meassily on his forehead. His eyebrows scrunched up, staring down at you, watching you come apart underneath him. Committing every second to memory. 

Your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him even closer if that was possible. His thick patch of hair sits above his cock, rubbing deliciously against your clit, his tip hitting your cervix as he fucked into you. 

“I’m gonna cum. Baby gonna cum.” You whined, feeling the tension coil deep in your gut. Steve nodded with a grunt, grabbing your legs and spreading them wide. The new angle had you screaming his name, his fingers rubbed your clit messily while you spasmed around him. Coming so hard your ears began to ring, legs shaking in his hold. 

He fucked you through it, keeping you spread wide for him. “That’s it. Take this cock, baby. Feels good? Feels so good.” He muttered, his hips stuttering. 

“Come inside me,” You babbled mindlessly, paying no mind to the condom between you two. 

“Oh fuck.” Steve gasped, emptying his load into the condom with a gasp. Falling slack against your body with each twitch of his cock inside you. 

Your hands curled in his hair, his panting breaths hitting your chest as the two of you came down. Relishing in the sounds of each other’s breathing, and his skin on yours. 

After a while, he pulled out of you with a hiss, disposing of the condom and cleaning the two of you up. He crawled back into bed, beckoning you to lie on his chest. 

You didn’t hesitate, curling yourself up against him. Letting his hands find your scalp, massaging your head. You cooed into him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You sighed dreamily, Steve’s fingers expertly combing through your hair. 

“My thoughts are worth more than a penny.” He teased, making you roll your eyes at him. 

“I have a kiss, take it or leave it.” 

“Oh, I’m taking it alright.” He leaned down, pecking your lips gently. 

“Okay, pay up.” You ordered, letting his hands go back to caressing your scalp. 

“Just thinking about you. Our future.” He hummed, like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

You sat up a little, “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah, big house. You’ll have a garden out back. We’ll have a pool. So I can watch you lounge outside while I grill. A couple of dogs running around, maybe ten kids?” 

“You’re out of your mind, Stevie.” You gasped. 

“Okay, what about six?” He compromised, pulling his face down to yours once again. 

“Maybe let’s slow down, become real adults first. Then… yeah, maybe I’ll give you a couple kids.” 

He smirked. “I knew it.” 

Your mind conjured up images of little versions of you and Steve running around. Growing up alongside the battalion of aunts and uncles downstairs. 

“You’re gonna have to buy a minivan if you want that many kids. Can you imagine us taking home a baby in the beamer?” 

“Our first two babies are definitely coming home in the beamer, babe. It’s when we get to 3, then we need to start looking into minivan territory.” 

“If you’re doing the heavy lifting...” You shrugged, imagining Steve in dad jeans. Pulling carseats out of his car. Your children running around the two of you. Family dinners, vacations, and the stable parents that neither of you were afforded growing up. 

“Of course.” He scoffed, not believing you’d think otherwise. 

“Guess we gotta find better jobs to support this million-dollar idea, huh?” You laughed, Steve pausing for a minute. 

“God, I guess you’re right.” He slumped, trying not to think too hard about the stress of that lingering on top of his shoulders. 

“Hey,” You whispered, “It’s all gonna work out, we have each other. That’s all that really matters.” 

“Yeah.” He smiled wistfully, “You haven’t been able to get rid of me this long, don’t even try now, babe.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Speaking of dreams….”

Without knowing it, you only had a few good months before your parents would step in and lecture you about what's proper and how ladies don't close the door when there's a boy in the room.

By thirteen, you'd have to stop letting him in your room altogether. He'd be relegated to the living room under your parent's watchful eyes. No sharing blankets, one cushion between you on the couch, stiff side-hugs only. He would go from walking through the woods to your window, to going up the path to your door. All formality.

But, for the time being, Steve was in your room, and Steve was your best friend. And you had the top item on your wish list.

You exchanged the small gifts you'd managed to buy each other from the dollar store. You got Steve a Muppet Show lunchbox, and he got you a stuffed bear. Steve snuck you slices of fruitcake, which you both hated, and cups of eggnog, which were disgustingly spiked. Everything was warm and nice and it felt like the best night of your life.

Next year, you'd start middle school. Steve would meet Tommy Hagan, who would steal away most of his attention. And the year after, you'd meet Carol Perkins, who would steal away most of yours.

"So, who do you like?" She'd ask, laying on your bed while her fingernail polish dried. Her parents had dropped her off with ten bucks for the two of you to spend at Melvald's, which you'd splurged on candy and makeup.

"I dunno," you replied with a shrug. Really, no one at school caught your eye. You'd rather spend time with friends than worry about dating. Even at fourteen, your mother was already belaboring the fact that you were a dreaded late bloomer.

Carol's expression lit up. "We can play MASH and figure it out," she suggested. She grabbed your precious Snoopy stationery and a ballpoint pen, and quickly scribbled out your future.

"Magic number?" She asked. You closed your eyes and tried to will the universe, or god, or fate, or whatever to speak through you.

"Ummm… Nine."

A few minutes later, Carol sat up with a smug grin. "Okay, the oracle has spoken," she said with all of the grandeur she could muster. "You're going to be a doctor, have a pet turtle, have two kids, and live in a house with… Steve."

The searing, gut wrenching heat of embarrassment flooded your system. Married? And to Steve? "That's so stupid," you replied, but Carol kept digging.

"Aw… you're totally blushing!" She teased, as your face grew hotter and hotter. If you could have, you would have crawled under your bed to die. "No, it's sweet! No wonder you don't have crushes on anyone. You're totally crazy for Steve."

You didn't think that was true. Steve was a gross boy. He spat on the sidewalk and puked up Slurpees on your shoes over the summer and when the weather turned he got really snotty and disgusting.

Sure, you hadn't really had any crushes yet, but that was because you were such good friends with Steve, and it was hard to find someone who you'd rather spend time with. What was a crush if not a really good friend? A friend who you'd want to kiss?

Had you ever wanted to kiss Steve? Had you wanted to kiss anyone yet?

"I don't want to have two kids with Steve either," you argued, but Carol just grinned.

"Do you even know how it works?" She questioned. At your silence, she laughed. It didn't feel mean, just that she was grateful to finally know something you didn't already. "Aren't your parents doctors, or something? They're totally sheltering you. It's fine, I can tell you. My sister told me all about it. She says it's the best thing in the world."

Freshman year, you discovered that you did want to kiss people. Steve. You wanted to kiss Steve.

Steve had gotten taller over the summer, and his voice was deeper, and just being around him had started making you dizzy. You stole your mother's Avon perfume and begged her to order you more after Steve commented on how nice it smelled. Carol snuck you makeup, which you had to put on in a tiny mirror hidden inside of your locker, and take off before your parents got home.

Because of the constant surveillance, you spent more time at his house. His parents didn't care if he brought over girls, and they figured since he'd known you since you were both in grade school, nothing would ever happen. You tried not to feel insulted.

So you sat in Steve's room and listened to your favorite records. And after all of this time, you still loved the Bee Gees. Steve still preferred Queen.

"What are you wearing to Carol's birthday party?" He asked from behind a copy of Sports Illustrated. "And what are you gonna get her? Girls are so hard to buy for."

You looked up from your spot by the window, where you had lost yourself staring out into the woods. "Uh… I bought her some eyeshadow and nail polish," you said absently. "It's kind of hard, she's so different than me."

Steve grinned. "That's 'cause you're still a baby," he said, and you hated the way your stomach twisted at the words. You knew he didn't mean anything hurtful by them, but it still made you feel a little pathetic. "Speaking of… Tommy said Brian's coming. And he told me that Brian thinks you're really pretty."

You fought back an expression of disgust. Brian was in your biology lab and got detention for tying the poor dissection frog's limbs to pencils and playing with it like a marionette. Brian was a stupid meathead, and he wasn't even very cute.

"Brian is disgusting," you said weakly. "And everyone Tommy tries to set me up with is a total dud. I wish he'd just stop trying.

Steve put the magazine down and sighed. "Tommy's just trying to help," he insisted. "He doesn't want you to feel left out."

There was a lump in your throat that you couldn't swallow down. "I'm not left out," you said, but it felt so defensive and pathetic. "The only people dating right now are Carol and Tommy. You're single too."

Steve made a face then, but you tried to ignore it. Baby, baby, baby. Your inexperience was beginning to feel like a scarlet letter, not that Steve would have understood the reference if you tried to explain.

You loved Steve, and Carol, and Tommy, but a lot of the time you felt like you were just dead weight around them. The baby of the group. The responsible one. The stick in the mud.

Carol's birthday was supposed to change that. Her parents were out of town, and her older sister, Debbie, bought her wine coolers since Carol had promised not to snitch the next time she snuck out to go be with a boy.

The wine coolers gave you a little liquid courage, Carol let you know that you'd all be playing seven minutes in heaven later, and she'd rigged it so you and Steve would go into the closet together. Foolproof, in her eyes. Terrifying in yours.

Steve went into the closet first, blindfolded because Carol thought it would be more fun that way. His cheeks were pink, and everyone jeered as Carol tied the bandana over his eyes.

She held up the next name silently, winking in your direction. There were giggles and snickers, but you stood, wiped your sweaty palms on your jeans, and stepped into the closet. This was it, you thought. You'd kiss Steve, he'd immediately realize it's you, and you'd be boyfriend and girlfriend.

The door shut, you took a shaky breath. You felt like you were going to pass out, or something. Your mouth tasted sickly sweet like the wine coolers, and you could hear a crowd gathering around the door. Footsteps and giggles.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Steve's voice cut through the dark of the room. You swallowed hard and leaned forward.

It was a simple, if not a little boring kiss. But you really didn't know any better. A chaste, prolonged peck. Mouths closed, hands at your side.

You pulled back, heart racing eyes wide in the dark of the room. You could barely make out the shape of him.

"Y/N?" He pulled off the bandana, brows knit. "You didn't have to do that. We can just talk."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Even in the dark, he was so handsome. You wanted to tell him that you wanted to kiss him, that you wanted to try again, if that was okay.

But Steve beat you to the punch. "Man, I wish I got paired with Lisa," he mumbled. "No, offense. I just mean, you're my friend, and we don't like each other that way."

Then softer, "Was that your first kiss?"

It was a miracle that the closet was dark enough that he couldn't see the sparkle of tears in your eyes. Humiliated, mortified tears.

There were five minutes left that you used to collect yourself, but everyone outside knew how it had gone. When Lisa giggled at your forlorn expression, Carol pulled her aside to bitch her out and send her home.

That was Carol— she'd never let someone hurt you. Not on purpose, at least.

By Monday at school, Carol told Tommy everything, which meant his expression held an amount of pity in it that made you sick. Steve was sitting with Lisa at lunch, which made it all worse.

"It's just a tough break," he said, with that typical boyish attitude. He believed everything he'd been told growing up— Walk it off, Hagan. Be a man. "You know how Steve is. The sooner you get over him, the sooner things'll be back to normal."

The implication behind his words was clear enough— Steve's not interested, so move on, or suffer through. What choice did you have but to move on? To shed your cocoon and fit in with your friends?

But you knew well enough that each time you told Steve about a new date or a guy you were interested in, it was all with the hopes of making him burn with jealousy. Steve didn't burn for you, he just wanted you to be happy.

Steve was your friend. That's all he'd ever be, all he wanted to be. You could learn to live with that. You tried to live with that and shove every bitter, nasty feeling down deep.

Sophomore year, you came into your own. A few months at summer camp with Carol meant a world of development. Your first perm, and all of the trials and tribulations of learning to style the big, bouncy curls. A cabin of girls who loved nothing more than teaching you the right ways to apply makeup. Your figure finally took shape, and Carol's sister was happy to pass along hand-me-downs to accentuate it.

Danny Miller was your first real boyfriend. He was co-captain of the swim team with Steve, and, sure, he wouldn't have been your first pick, but he was a cute guy. Despite attending all of Steve's swim meets, you had never paid attention to him before. You doubted he noticed you until then either.

"Danny is a total tool," Steve told you over a plate of cheese fries from Benny's. You made a face, and stole a bite from his plate, but he doubled down. "Hey, I'm serious! He's dumb as rocks, you're way too smart to be with him. What do you even talk about?"

You scoffed. "I dunno," you said with a shrug. "Same things we talk about, I guess. Everything? I don't know."

Steve scowled, rolling his eyes. "He's a total loser, I'm serious. You're so out of his league it isn't even funny. You shouldn't waste your time with a guy like him. Don't even let him touch you, alright? I mean it."

Your face wrinkled in annoyance. His protectiveness felt stifling and infantalizing. You weren't a baby, you could make choices about your love life without Steve butting in.

Besides, Danny was a total sweetheart. He brought you flowers, and walked you to class. Sure, he wasn't the brightest bulb in the bunch, but he was good to you, and that's all you could really ask for.

And, really, It felt nice to be into someone after spending so long pining after Steve.

By your junior year, you'd gotten pretty serious. Steve still hated to hear you talk about Danny, just like you never liked any of the girls he brought around. The only difference was that Danny had staying power, which just pissed him off even more.

"You used to tell me stuff," he said one weekend, when you sneaked away from a neighborhood party to avoid your parents in the woods. Smoke curled from his lips on the exhale as he smoked a cigarette. A new nasty habit that had developed over the summer, which only drew attention to how full and kissable his lips were.

He was only getting more handsome, which you needed to stop thinking about for Danny's sake. "Why didn't you tell me that Daniel Miller popped your cherry?" He grinned, and you could smell the beer on his breath from your spot beside him.

Your eyes widened and you nearly choked on your wine cooler. "Oh my god, Steve," you gasped. "Jesus, don't say it like that."

"Aw… don't be embarrassed," he teased, nudging you clumsily.

It wasn't like you were actually embarrassed about it. What was there to be embarrassed about? You slept with your boyfriend of nearly a year, which was longer than anyone else you knew had waited. You felt sure, and you really did care about Danny.

"It's just… personal," you said. You crossed your arms, wrapping them around yourself, and looked anywhere but at Steve.

"You used to talk to me," He said, and the hurt was evident in every syllable. "Why didn't you tell me? I mean, I had to find out from Tommy. How the hell does Tommy know more about my best friend than I do?"

"Well, I didn't tell Tommy," you insisted. "I told Carol and Tina. And, I mean, I guess I should have known Carol would tell Tommy, and that Tommy would tell you. But… I dunno, I thought it would be weird to talk about with you. You can't stand him anyway."

And there was that word he'd said. Best friend. For a while, you had wondered if that was even a fair title to put on each other. If you were honest with yourself, Carol had been your best friend since you were both thirteen. And Steve was more like a safety blanket from childhood— comfortable, familiar, safe. You had grown apart since you were kids.

"Yeah, maybe," he replied, and took another swig of beer. You leaned against a tree and drank your stolen wine cooler. It tasted sickly sweet and made your head feel a little fuzzy. Steve definitely had the better tolerance of the two of you, but even he was pretty buzzed by now.

"It was kind of lame, honestly," you admitted. "Nothing to write home about. Carol says it'll get way better."

Steve wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, on second thought, I really don't want to talk about it." Fair enough. You stole his cigarette and took a drag. It sucked, but it gave you something to do.

When you looked back, you'd find it hard to remember what started the fight. It had been a few weeks since the block party, and things had just felt off.

And Steve, being Steve, was flaking on your plans. The Hawk had finally gotten Eddie and the Cruisers, and he had promised he would go with you. And, sure, it wasn't a huge deal. They'd have showings for the next month at least, but something about it just really pissed you off.

"I can't believe you're bailing on me for some girl, Steve," you pressed. "This is so typical, you know that? All you do lately is think with your dick."

"Oh my god," he groaned, throwing himself back on his bed with exasperation. "I'm going on a date with a girl I really like, not screwing some hooker. Not that you seem to care."

You bristled, brows drawing together. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Steve threw a hand over his eyes, rubbing at his temples like it was giving him a headache to even entertain the argument. "You get weird every time I have a girlfriend, like you want me to just ignore them for you or something. And it's been like this for a while, and I never say anything because Carol always tells me to drop it."

A scoff of disbelief escaped you as you shook your head. What? You'd been totally supportive of all of his stupid, pointless, dead end relationships. And he was talking shit to Carol? "You are such a goddamn liar, Steve," you argued. "I'm always so welcoming and nice to all of the girls you bring around. Like Becky, Laurie, Amy, Stacey—"

"Oh, right! Stacey. The same Stacey that you, Carol, and Tina told everyone had chlamydia? That Stacey?"

Your face felt hot. "Well, one, that was actually true and she only got treatment after we called her out, so she should be really grateful. And two, it wasn't my fault she was a total skank."

Steve had a problem. He picked women like an act of self-sabotage. Becky was beautiful, but was really using him to make her ex boyfriend jealous. Laurie seemed sweet at first, but was a total social climber. Amy seemed really perfect when they first started going together, but her laugh was ridiculous and she totally harshed the vibe at every party. And, well, Stacey maybe, allegedly, potentially had chlamydia.

Maybe he should have just picked better.

Or maybe you were the problem. The bitchy, judgemental friend who never saw any of them as good enough for Steve, because none of them were you. You knew the answer, even if you would never admit it to him.

Steve rolled his eyes, and you watched the flutter of muscle in his jaw as he bit back whatever it was he wanted to say. It fucking infuriated you.

"What?" You demanded. And you doubled down, because the alternative would be to admit you had been sabotaging his love life any way you could. Starting rumors, whispering in his ear until he convinced himself that something was wrong. "You're just mad because you know I'm right and you totally abandon our friendship whenever you start fucking around with whoever is next on your roster."

"Abandon you? Jesus Christ," he muttered. "Like you didn't totally toss me to the curb when you started dating Mr. Perfect last year."

Your face twisted in annoyance— a little furrow between your brows, a frustrated scowl. Steve always said you looked adorable when you were pissed off, but he didn't look too fond of you now. "What the fuck is your problem with him, huh?" You demanded. "You act like he's this horrible guy, but you can never tell me why you think he's so terrible."

Steve rolled his eyes and finally sat up to meet your gaze. "Okay, fine. He's annoying. His laugh makes me want to blow my goddamn brains out. He always smells like chlorine because he doesn't shower after practice, and sometimes it makes you smell like chlorine. And when he doesn't smell like chlorine, it smells like he bathed in cologne. Also, he thinks that he's so much better than me, when he barely beat my record in freestyle."

Steve paused, like he was debating whether or not to really round it out and say what he was thinking. Finally, he laughed and met your gaze. "Or maybe it's just that you don't really love him and it's really obvious to everyone but him," he said. "Or maybe, you should just accept that the person you really want doesn't want you back."

A sick feeling rose in your gut. There was something in his expression, in the mean cut of his stare, the sharp way he held his mouth. Like he knew. Carol would never say something, but Tommy…

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, but even you didn't believe that. You liked Danny, but you didn't love him the way Carol and Tommy loved each other, even as tumultuous and messy as that could be. And the most frustrating part of all was that you wanted to love Danny, but your frustrating infatuation with Steve had burrowed into you and festered into a romance-killing parasite.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Steve insisted. Your heart thrummed, and you felt dizzy with embarrassment and hurt.

Had he known the entire time? Didn't he owe it to you to shut you down sooner? Of course not. Of course Steve would milk your doting affection for him until it got inconvenient for him.

"You know what? I don't have to put up with this shit. I don't have to put up with you."

You grabbed your bag and headed for his door, but you wanted him to stop you. But he just ran a hand over his face and sighed. "Yeah, go ahead. I have to get ready for my date anyway. You know the way out."

Carol thought it was stupid. She told you as much over the phone, as you cried into the receiver about how permanent the argument felt. Sure, you'd fought with Steve over the years, but it never felt so personal.

All you'd learned from the argument was that you were always going to put Steve first like a total chump. And you'd known for too long that he wouldn't do the same. Well, and that he was totally uninterested in your girlish fawning anymore.

"You're probably mad because he's right," Carol said. "Not about everything, but about you not being super into Danny. You know you don't have to just stick with him because he's nice and he's into you, right?"

You sighed, lip wobbling. Your other choices seemed to be waiting for lightning to strike Steve and change his mind, or being alone forever. "I guess," you mumbled.

"I'm serious, you're a total catch, and you don't need to stick with the first good guy to give you attention." You could hear the smack of bubblegum on the other side of the line. "Just don't do it right away or it'll make Steve think he's right."

You laughed, a weak, watery sound. "When do you think he realized?"

Carol sighed. "Look…" He said, trailing off. The quiet on the line felt tangible and thick until her voice cut through again. "He's mentioned it to Tommy a few times since Sophomore year, but Tommy would have never said anything. But maybe he has a point about moving on."

You swallowed hard around the lump in your throat… or tried to. "Yeah," you murmured. "Maybe. Maybe I just need a break from Steve to clear my head. Like, a week or two, or something."

"Aw, hon…" Carol trailed off. "Hey, I'll go see the movie with you! I was supposed to go over to Tommy's for dinner, but this is way more important."

A few days later, some kid went missing in the woods. Then Benny died and your favorite burger place in the world shut down. Steve had a party that he didn't extend an invite to, and his new girlfriend's friend went missing too.

Then there was the fight with Tommy and Carol, lashing out after he got cheated on, or when he thought he got cheated on. It was hard to know when everything was secondhand from Carol.

"He had a real attitude, I'll say that much," Carol muttered. You both curled up in her bed, staring up at the sticky stars on her ceiling. "He's probably freaked because the cops told his dad about the drinking, and Barbara went missing after his party, so… I mean, you know how his dad is. Me and Tommy tried to cheer him up, but he got mad at us for that too. I dunno, I think we all just need to cool off."

You didn't need to cool off. You threw yourself into Danny, hoping you could prove Steve wrong and make yourself fall for your boyfriend with distance.

Even without seeing Steve, his words echoed in your brain. Skipping lunch to make out in Danny's car, you nearly gagged on the smell of chlorine as it flooded your senses. And god… his laugh really was ear-splitting. Like a cackle.

By the start of senior year, Carol and Tommy had pretty much made up with Steve, but Steve was dating Nancy, who didn't want anything to do with the pair. You were newly single, but still giving him the cold shoulder.

It was nice, to see him in the halls and feel nothing. Not the tug of attraction or the spark of interest. You looked at him from your locker and just saw plain old Steve Harrington. Steve who was just as flawed as anybody else.

You took comfort in that.

Senior year passed like any other. Carol didn't care to apply for colleges, and Tommy had a job lined up at his dad's dealership. You got accepted into a state school on scholarship, and you told your parents that you were going to study nursing, just like they had, but you had no clue if that's what you really wanted.

Carol and Tommy decided to get married in June of 1985. They'd been dating since 1979, so even though it was sudden, you figured it was about time.

"Shotgun wedding," Carol explained. Well… that made more sense. "The doctor says it was conceived on Valentine's Day. What a gift, right?" She rolled her eyes.

Your bridesmaid dress was pink, with big princess sleeves and a full skirt. Carol loved it… you tolerated it. That's what a maid of honor was for.

Carol was a beautiful bride, though, and you just wanted her to be happy. Which is why you didn't say anything about Steve being the best man. You could tolerate him for Carol and Tommy's sake. It was a small town, anyway, and you had learned that he was totally unavoidable.

"You look nice," Steve said at the reception. He'd cornered you at the dessert table. You knew that was objectively untrue— you looked ridiculous in your bridesmaid's dress and your perm was just on the wrong side of too crispy.

Steve, on the other hand, looked great. It was annoying how much more attractive he'd gotten. Broader, and just older. He'd grown into every feature, and he looked so handsome you couldn't stand it. "You got highlights," you said, because it was easier than complimenting him back.

"Uh… no, it's just… I've been in the sun," he said. Liar. He tried to recover, bless his heart. "Tommy told me you're going to study to be a nurse," he tried again. "That's… y'know… kinda cool. You can practice on me, if you want. I'm always managing to get myself hurt."

You closed your eyes and sighed. Carol's dad was a recovering alcoholic, and she was knocked up, so it was a dry wedding. You wished there was at least some champagne. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He swallowed. "Are you mad at me?"

You scoffed. It would have been embarrassing to say yes so far removed, but the answer wasn't entirely no either. You weren't sure how you felt about Steve in that moment. Maybe you were still the same jealous, bitter girl you had been at sixteen. "I'm not mad."

"Yeah you are, you have your mad crinkle," he accused. He poked you between your brows with a familiar smile on his face, which made you feel hot all over. Anger? Excitement? Who's to say. "You are mad. What are you mad about?"

With a huff and a roll of your eyes, you grabbed a slice of wedding cake. Steve did the same, and followed you back to the table for the wedding party. You took a bite and enjoyed it as best you could while still maintaining the annoyed furrow in your brow.

"I'm not mad," you repeated. "We just don't have anything to talk about."

His brow knit and his expression twisted in confusion. He took a bite of his cake, and you could see the way his expression softened at the taste. God, it was really good cake. "We haven't talked in almost two years, so I think there's a lot we can talk about."

"Fine, I don't want to talk to you, is that better?" You asked. It was a miracle that you didn't have to school your expression or your volume. The lights were low and the band onstage was doing their best not to butcher Duran Duran… very loudly. "You were a total dick to me."

That seemed to strike a nerve. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about," he pressed. "I was a great friend to you. I don't think one stupid argument changes that."

"One stupid argument is so rich," you pressed. "You knew I was, like, in love with you and you just let me dote on you like a lovesick puppy until it got inconvenient. You could have shut me down when we were fourteen."

"I thought I was," he argued back. "But, yeah, maybe I thought it was cute how into me you were. I was an asshole who liked the attention, alright?"

He ran a hand through his hair, and you could feel the irritation rolling off of him in waves. The band was now butchering Cyndi Lauper, which only seemed to irritate him further. He turned away from you, scowling, but didn't leave.

Why wouldn't he just leave you alone?

"And, okay, fine. I was a dick about Danny, but you were actively sabotaging every single one of my relationships," he said. "So I think we're even."

You were, notably, not even. As you sat, angrily stabbing the delicious wedding cake that you wouldn't be finishing, Tina approached with a wary expression. She looked ridiculous in her bridesmaid's dress, so you were sure you looked equally clownish. Her eyes flicked between you and Steve, briefly, before she pulled two flasks from her clutch.

Your eyes brightened at the sight. Like an oasis in a goddamn desert.

"Paul and I snuck in flasks for the rest of the bridal party. Can I trust you two?" You nodded and immediately reached out, but she pulled back. "I don't want you guys to do anything to ruin this for Carol and Tommy. Promise?"

You glanced at Steve, who was already looking at you. "Yeah, Tina, we promise," you insisted.

When you looked back on that night, the first sip of whatever liquor Tina and Paul had poured into the flasks was the beginning of the end.

It was an hour later, with a bitter taste on your tongue and heat burning through your veins, that you found Steve on the dance floor. The wedding was already dying down, giving the last few feeble twitches of energy like a dying animal. Carol's little cousins were dancing to Paula Abdul, or requesting Weird Al songs to no avail. A few of Tommy's cousins were getting a little hot and heavy on the dance floor which was odd for a dry wedding.

Carol had one final request before she got to head off to the honeymoon suite at the Holiday Inn off the interstate. The only pictures I have of you and Steve are the awkward wedding party photos you two took this morning. Can you just dance with him or something so the photographer can get some candids?

After a deep breath to steel yourself, you tapped Steve on his shoulder. "Can I cut in?"

He turned, brows furrowed. "You're only supposed to say that if I'm dancing with someone," he replied, but without saying anything, he eased his arms around your waist.

Carol whispered something to Debbie's newest boyfriend, who was manning the sound system in the absence of the live entertainment. You watched curiously as she fumbled through 45s, until a new song crackled over the speakers.

Crazy for You had been the final slow dance at prom. Carol had sworn that you and Steve were the only people to resist the pull of the dance floor, but she had a penchant for exaggeration. And a sick sense of humor.

You looped your arms around Steve's neck and swayed to the music. He was hot at his neck, hair curling and damp beneath your fingers. You braved a look up at him and felt a rush of ice through your veins and into your rapidly beating heart.

"What was in your flask?"You asked, trying to think of the least offensive topic of conversation that you could. "I got bourbon, or whiskey, I think. I smell like Mr. Holloway from the country club."

"I think I got gin," he said, and your nose wrinkled in distaste. Your first taste of gin had been at ten years old after you stole his mother's martini at a country club party. Neither of you had much interest in stealing drinks after that— not for a while, at least. "It's disgusting, but being sober at a wedding should be illegal."

You would drink to that if you could stomach it. You both moved in a soft cadence— step, hold, step, hold. There was something about the comforting pressure of his skin against your body. The way his hands slid from your waist down to your lower back, just above the bustle of bows at your hips, the pressure of your chest against his body. It made everything else sort of melt away.

You weren't sixteen anymore. You didn't have to keep holding onto your childish grudges. So, Steve Harrington wasn't madly in love with you? What was it your mother used to say? Life's not fair, and then you die. You were both dumb kids, but things could change. Life wasn't fair, and you didn't know if you wanted to keep existing without Steve somewhere in your life.

"Your hair looks nice, actually," you said, after swallowing your pride. "It's really long, actually. I can't believe your dad isn't on your case about it."

He laughed and shook his head. "Well, I'm giving him plenty of other things to totally hate me for." He paused and met your gaze, hesitating. You watched the slow twitch of a smile on his lips, then a tiny eye roll as he got over his own ego. "And it's not highlights. It's sun-in. What about you, huh?"

"Me? Oh, this is all Darlene at Hair Flair. My usual stylist was out, and Darlene is really new to perms. She promised it would be fine, but…" You blew a very crisp curl from your forehead. "I think I'm done with perms forever."

He shook his head. "It's not so bad," he insisted. "You should see my new uniform for work. That's pretty bad. If you're sticking around for the summer, you might even get to see it."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't fight the amused smile on your lips. This was the Steve that you missed— charming, goofy Steve. But it was also the Steve that gave you butterflies and made you feel like a girl with a stupid crush. It was absolutely devastating how quickly a brief conversation could dig up all of those buried feelings.

"Yeah, well, if it's that bad I have to," you said, biting down on your bottom lip to fight a giddy, girlish smile.

It was hard to look in Steve's eyes for long. You could easily get lost in the softness of them, the earnestness. You had before, until he snapped about how you weren't even listening and you had to clumsily string together what he had said with the odd words that crept through your trance. His lips twitched into the tiniest smile, and you couldn't help but mirror it. You had really missed him.

A camera clicked— once, twice, three times. Some kid Tommy got cheap for the job since he worked for the school paper and was building his portfolio. Steve spun you until you laughed, then pulled you back in. The photographer walked away, satisfied. Your heart thrummed, pulsing, pulsing.

Steve. Wedding. Bourbon. Madonna.

"Hey, do you want to sneak out for a smoke?"

You sat on the trunk of his beamer, satin heels kicking mindlessly. You took a slow drag and relished in the subtle head rush before you exhaled. Steve's hand brushed yours as he took the cigarette from you.

"I don't really do this anymore," he said, holding the cigarette between his teeth. But he took a drag of his own, and blew the smoke out of the side of his mouth. "Nancy thought it was gross, and this kid who hangs around me all the time is on my ass about cancer and secondhand smoke, so… y'know."

"I don't really smoke either," you said with a tiny grin. "Just wanted to get out of there."

He nodded, stepping forward until his leg brushed the bumper. "Yeah? That's fair." He took another drag before handing it back. You watched him as you placed the filter between your lips, where it was already stained pink with your makeup.

Earlier, he had mentioned that there were two years worth of conversations you could be having, but in that moment, your head was woefully empty.

Steve was standing so close, and the cigarette could only last so long. "You look really beautiful tonight," he said. "I mean it, seriously. I'm glad you're not mad at me anymore so I can actually tell you."

You raised a brow, blowing out a thin plume of smoke. "I could still be mad," you insisted, cigarette dangling between your hot-pink nails.

"Your crinkle is gone." He stepped closer, so his knee was between yours, and smoothed his thumb between your brows. "Not mad."

His hand moved into your hair, until he was cupping your jaw. You wondered if he could feel the way your pulse was racing against his fingers. A tiny bit of pressure at your jaw, and he had your face tilted up to meet his.

The moment his lips pressed against yours, you could have sworn you were fourteen and back in Carol's basement, with all the same fluttery, yearning feelings.

And then his tongue slipped past the barrier of your lips and those butterflies turned molten in the pit of your stomach. Heat licked down every nerve, until your entire body felt alive with excitement and need.

He moaned into your mouth, one arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you to the edge of the trunk so your bodies were flush against one another.

It felt like you were on fire— burning up from the outside in. Each lap of his tongue against yours, each moan buzzing against your lips, it just made you feel alive. Sure, you'd been kissed before, but it had never felt quite like this.

The dull thrum of pop music inside of the venue, the June heat persisting even in the dark of the night. His lips tasted like berries and his tongue like gin, and if were possible to get drunk off of that, you would have. You could have stayed there forever, just kissing and kissing until you ran out of air.

"Ah, Fuck," you gasped, pulling back. You dropped the cigarette butt, which had burned down to your fingers, and brought the mildly singed skin to your lips.

You laughed shyly as he stepped back, his lips and cheeks pink as he scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry, I don't know if I should have done that."

"No, no," you said, nodding as you tried to find the words to insist it's totally fine, if your stupid, clumsy tongue would cooperate.

His brows knit together, and he gave a sheepish laugh. "You're nodding, but you're also saying no, so it's kind of confusing me."

You pulled him in by his stupid, pink bow tie, until his nose bumped yours and your lips were barely brushing. "Don't think too hard."

He closed the distance.

You kissed Steve until your lips felt a little numb against his, until his hands were under your skirt, squeezing your soft thighs, pushing them apart so his hand can slip higher and higher.

"Steve," you breathed, his name like a prayer.

He pulled back, pupils blown. "Yeah?" His voice was breathless and a little raspy. You'd never heard him like that before.

"Should we get in your car?"

"Yeah," he says, helping you hop down from the trunk. You had lost one of your satin heels somewhere beneath his car, and stood awkwardly as Steve fumbled with his keys. When he finally got his car unlocked, he opened the door to the backseat with a small flourish that he seemed to immediately regret. "After you."

With the doors closed, the backseat was cramped. The bridesmaid dress was bulky with the tulle underskirt, which made getting comfortable a bit of an issue.

"Maybe if you sit up, I can just…" You pushed his shoulders against the backseat and swung one leg over his lap. "Like this?"

He nods eagerly, and immediately runs his hands up your thighs. He leans in, kissing along your throat with hungry, wet smacks. "You know," he began, sucking just beneath your jaw. "I didn't think this was how my night would end."

"No?" You panted, sitting up to help him work your panties down your thighs. He gave up halfway and just tore them where he could, which sent a thrill through you.

He grinned like a dopey idiot and shook his head. His fingers found your slick, needy core and you both moaned at that first touch— exploratory and revealing. "Jesus, not at all."

Your brows knit as you bucked against his fingers, eyes fluttering as his thumb teased over your clit. You weren't totally oblivious—plenty of Steve's girlfriends had come to you and Carol to spill about their exploits. Steve Harrington knew exactly what he needed to do to make his partner melt into a puddle.

"You're so sensitive," he murmured against your skin. "Wish I could just touch you everywhere."

"We don't have time," you panted, breath stuttering as he slid a finger inside of your cunt. You whined at the intrusion, walls fluttering and clenching. "Have to get back for the send off or people will notice if we're missing."

Already, you wondered if Carol and Tommy had noted your absence. Maybe the excitement of the wedding had distracted them, which would give you a little more time. The thought of being caught fucking around outside of their wedding was a little mortifying.

But Steve wasn't in a hurry. His hand moved between your thighs, working you open on his thick fingers. It was hard to complain about timing when it felt so good.

"We can skip foreplay," You panted, head lolling back. "It's fine."

He shook his head, pulling back to meet your eyes. "Are you always this bossy?" He asked, and curled his fingers to rub against a spot that made your eyes roll back. You watched his lips curl into a smirk.

The smug asshole. "Don't be a dick," you murmured. You unsnapped his stupid cummerbund and tried your best to unfasten his pants, but your stupidly big skirt was in the way.

You huffed, trying to push the tulle layers to the side, while Steve watched with thinly veiled amusement. "Looks pretty annoying," he said. He finally pulled his fingers from inside of you and licked them clean. "You could always take it off."

A laugh escaped you, and you shook your head. "No way. This stupid, ugly bridesmaid dress is staying on in case we get caught."

You finally worked the button and zip of his pants open, and immediately pulled his cock from the confines of his briefs. Your stomach did a goddamn somersault at the sight.

Junior year, Amy Davis had talked to you and Carol at a party after she and Steve went all the way. When you asked how it went, she grinned and said, well, he's really big. You had sorely underestimated what that meant.

"Oh, fuck," you murmured, circling your fingers around the base of him. "My hand barely fits around you. How the hell are you going to fit inside of me?"

It wasn't hard to notice the flicker of pure pride in his expression, the sheer ego boost you'd given him. "Well, that's why I wanted to get you stretched on my fingers first. I was being a gentleman."

You gave a slow glide of your fist, heart pounding in your ears. God, you'd fantasized about this so much, and now it was actually happening. He moaned beneath you, hips bucking into your grasp, twitching and leaking precum with each pump.

"Okay, Jesus," he groaned. His eyes were half lidded as he watched you jerking him off. "Fuck, that's good. Like that, just like that."

Your core ached with need, just listening to him moaning beneath you. You bit your lip as you tried your best to hold up your skirts and position yourself to sink down on his cock. "Fuck, can you hold my dress?"

He obeyed quickly, gathering up your dress and holding it so you could see what you were doing. Your thighs were already shaking, so were your hands. God, you were trembling all over with nerves, anticipation, want.

You sank onto his cock slowly, letting yourself adjust to his size. The stretch was uncomfortable at first, but you were so wet and desperate for it that any ache just melted into background noise. The hand that wasn't holding your skirts wrapped around your waist to support your descent.

"God, look at you," he groaned, forehead pressing against yours. "Taking it like a champ, yeah? You feel so goddamn good." You whined softly, taking the last few inches until his cock was fully sheathed within you. He dropped your skirt and just held your jaw so he could plant soft kisses on your lips.

"Steve," you panted as you began to move against him. It wasn't slow or sweet— it was desperate and hungry and carnal. The beamer rocked on its axles in time with your movements, each glide of your hips sent it careening forward.

Your hands dug into the backseat on either side of him to balance yourself as you moved. He kissed you again, slow and sweet, in total juxtaposition to the needy way you fucked yourself onto him.

"Fuck—" His hands slid down to your hips, guiding your movements and giving himself leverage to fuck into you. "You feel so good. So goddamn good."

The windows had gone foggy, so the street lights outside became a dim, golden glow through the windows. You silenced his rambling mouth with another kiss and relish in the feeling of his tongue lapping against yours.

He pulled back, a dopey smile on his lips before he popped a thumb in his mouth to wet it. "Hold on," he panted as he moved his hand beneath your skirt and rubbed your clit. You cried out softly, tightening around him. You could feel your rhythm going jerky and clumsy with just that simple touch. "That's better, isn't it?"

"God, yeah," you moaned, fingers dimpling the leather of the seats. Your thighs shook with the effort to maintain your rhythm as your body wanted to cave to pure pleasure. He grinned, kissing along your jaw and throat as he played with you. "Fuck, Steve. Feels so good."

He moaned against your throat, nipping gently as you rode him desperately. You were so close, and, god, you'd never felt like this in your life. Danny had been fine— good, even! But Steve was so attentive and affectionate, so skilled. Or, god, maybe skill had nothing to do with it. Maybe the wanting was the important part.

As you got closer, your moans got whinier. Sweat dripped down your spine, disappearing into the low back of your bridesmaid dress. The car felt hot and clammy, and you could see trails where moisture dripped down the foggy windows.

"C'mon," he goaded, nipping at your jaw. "I feel you squeezing around me, I know you're right there."

Your stomach flipped, and you whined as you buried your head in his shoulder. Close. So fucking close. You turned your head to kiss him again, and then you were gone.

Your body trembled with the intensity of your climax, as you moaned and gasped into the kiss. He worked you through it, guiding your hips the way you needed, until he came right along with you with a rough groan against your lips.

"I've missed you," you panted against his mouth, breathing hard as you came down. "I've missed you so much."

He closed his eyes, cheeks pink, chest heaving. He kissed your cheek, soft and sweet, and rubbed your thigh beneath your skirts.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I missed you too."

You stayed there for a moment longer, with Steve still buried inside of you. You kissed his throat affectionately, until you finally climbed off of him.

Both of you were wrecked. The pink sateen of your dress was irreparably wrinkled, and the humidity in the car had deflated both of your hairdos. And that wasn't to mention Steve's cum dripping out of you.

"So," you said, sparing a shy glance. "Tommy said you're sticking around Hawkins this fall."

Steve nodded, still a little breathless. "Oh, um, yeah. It's totally lame, but—"

"No," you insisted. "No, I mean, it sounds really nice to me. Definitely better than going to nursing school. I don't even want to go."

He swallowed, and a flicker of something passed across his features. He sat in the silence for a long moment before he cleared his throat. "We should probably head back in before Carol and Tommy send a search party, yeah?"

You bit your lip and nodded. "Yeah, of course." You couldn't hide the giddy affect to your voice, the hope in it.

Maybe this was just how things were always supposed to be. Maybe you had found each other again at just the right time.

But then a week passed, then another. You waited for him to call, or to stop by your window, or even just give you a sign that something had happened. That what you did meant something to him, the way it meant something to you.

Radio goddamn silence.

Tommy and Carol weren't any help. They hadn't heard anything, apparently, but Steve was busy with work, and there's this crazy stuff with his Dad, and it's probably just not top of mind.

It didn't make you feel any better. You couldn't go to Starcourt without feeling like you were navigating a mine field. You'd see Steve, mopping sticky floors or scooping ice cream, but the second he'd notice you, he would tuck tail and flee into the back room.

What an asshole.

When you finally found the will to visit Scoops Ahoy, you could see Steve hiding in the back through closed, frosted glass window. Very clearly watching you as you waited in line to get to the counter.

"Hi, I'm sorry, but could you tell Steve to come out, please?" You asked the girl, Robin, when you reached the front. You thought you'd had French with her one year, but you couldn't remember exactly.

She sighed and pinched her nose. "Why not?" She said with a shake of her head, then smacked the window so he'd come out. "Can you at least buy something?"

You sighed and handed over two dollars. "Uh, flavor of the month. And you can keep the change."

She sighed and handed you the cone. When Steve didn't emerge, she gave a vague gesture towards the door. "Just go on back, I guess."

The back of Scoops Ahoy smelled saccharine and sweet, like waffle cones and sprinkles. It was plain, with a little table and white boards and boxes of supplies stacked around. You knew you shouldn't have been back there— it was invasive and totally crazy of you to just show up at his workplace.

But then there was Steve, leaning against the window pane separating the back room from the storefront, and your heart did a stupid fluttery thing at the sight of him, even in the dumb uniform.

Steve didn't want to look at you— that much was clear. He stared at the sticky tiled floor and scuffed his feet on the floor. You licked your cone of the flavor of the month and wrinkled your nose. Salted coconut? Disgusting.

"Going radio silent after the wedding was a total dick move," you said finally. "Like, that meant something to me, Steve."

"Look, I screwed up, I—" he sighed, running a hand through his hair. When he finally met your gaze, your heart sank. There wasn't a glimpse of the guy you were with at the wedding there. It was like you were back in his bedroom in Junior year arguing again. "I shouldn't have let it go that far."

Shouldn't have let it get that far? Like he wasn't the one to kiss you first and slide his hand under your skirt.

"Let it?" You challenged. "You initiated everything, Steve. I mean, I thought you had a good time. I thought we both did."

Humiliatingly, your lip began to wobble. There was the awful, sick feeling in your gut of mortification and shame. God, you'd been so easy. You hated him hours before, and you still made it so easy for him to get between your legs.

He sighed and shook his head. "I'm not trying to hurt you," he said. Bullshit. "But it shouldn't have happened. It was a mistake, and we both know that."

"If you thought it was such a terrible mistake, you should have called me and told me," you said, your voice thick with the threat of tears. "And you know what? You were exactly right. It shouldn't have happened. I'm a total idiot."

He didn't make a move to stop you as you left. It was sheer luck that you managed to make it to your car before the tears fell in earnest.

A week later, Starcourt Mall burned in a fire. That night, with smoke pouring into the sky, you watched the light to Steve's window click on through the trees. A faint yellow glow in the distance. You hadn't even realized you were worried about him until you felt like you could finally breathe again. How fucked up is that?

You left for college in August. Tommy and Carol were there to see you off. You promised to call every day so you could swap gossip with Carol, and she made you swear that you wouldn't find some new college girl that you thought was way cooler than her.

It wasn't until finals that you got the call. Carol had gone into labor in the morning. The labor was long, but the baby totally healthy. Samantha Renee Hagan, who, according to Debbie, was kind of wrinkly and red and weird looking, but would hopefully get cuter.

When you met her over winter break, you totally disagreed. Samantha was already beautiful— pink cheeks, big brown eyes, soft fair hair. Sure, all babies kind of had that scrunchy, awkward look for a few months, but she was way cuter by a mile.

You sat in their living room, bouncing her in your arms, marveling at how tiny she was. "You sure you don't want to pick a better godfather for her?" You cooed, smiling as she wrapped her hand around your finger.

Carol just laughed. "I swear, you two are absolutely ridiculous," she said. "Both of you, just…" She shook her head and laughed.

"What is that look?" You asked, shifting Samantha in your arms. She cooed sleepily, and you felt a little bit of pride at the fact that she wasn't screaming and wailing like your little cousins did.

She sighed. "It's not a look, it's just my face."

You rolled your eyes, lips turning into a frown. "No, Carol, it's a look. You want to say something, so say it."

There was a tiny glance between her and Tommy, but she just shook her head. "No, it's… it's just, this back and forth thing you both do is really adorable. You're both just so… serious about it."

God, of course you were serious. Steve was a serious asshole and he seriously hurt you. Again. And sharing a godchild meant an entire lifetime of seeing each other at birthdays and holidays and you didn't know if you could stomach it.

In March, you came home for spring break. A quick trip to visit Tommy and Carol and the baby, and to just get away from the pressure of school for a little while.

And, really, you should have known better. Things were never normal in Hawkins, and they hadn’t been for a long time. There were murders, and then the drug dealer guy you had homeroom with in '84 was the suspect.

Things were fucking weird.

And through it all, you were babysitting. Stuck in Tommy and Carol's little starter home with a three month old who didn't do much other than sleeping and crying for formula. At least she was still young enough that you could get away with watching whatever tapes you wanted.

She dozed in your arms as you watched a VHS tape of St. Elmo's Fire. Rob Lowe was pretty dreamy, but Carol thought Jud Nelson was way hotter. You weren't sure that you could trust her taste if she married a guy who impressed her by burping the alphabet.

After the movie ended, you eased a sleeping Samantha into her crib and turned on the monitor. You laid down on their couch and grabbed a coke from the fridge and watched a late-night game show with a yawn.

Just as you began to doze, the house rattled a bit. You sat up, heart thrumming as the rattle began a full on quake. The baby wailed in the other room, and you tried to keep your footing as you hurried down the hall to grab her.

What were you even supposed to do in an Earthquake? Get in a bathtub? Hide under a table? How the hell were you supposed to know?

So you sat, huddled among all of the bath toys and soap bottles that had come crashing down and held her tightly until the shaking finally stopped.

You ran to the phone once you were sure that it was safe to get out, but the lines were down. A fallen phone line, probably, but it was awfully inconvenient. You wrapped Samantha in a blanket and walked out onto the lawn. Car alarms wailed into the night, but no one knew what was happening.

By morning, you still didn't know, and there was still no sign of Tommy and Carol. All they'd been doing was parking at Lover's Lake to fool around, which, Carol had confessed, was an all-too-rare occurrence with a baby in the house. You just figured they would have rushed home to check on the baby if it were possible.

Maybe there were fallen trees or debris, or something. Maybe they just physically couldn't get home.

One of the neighbors said he tried to drive into town and saw a weird, red chasm in the ground that cut through Olive Street. He said he threw in a brick from his work-truck and it just fell and fell and fell. He didn't even hear it stop.

Another said he saw military trucks coming in, that something bad must've happened, like an attack or something. Who knows? Just another day in Hawkins.

Two days, and you hadn't heard from Carol or Tommy. Their car was missing, and there was a gash through the lake that led into the town.

You put up missing posters with their parents at the Red Cross checkpoint in Hawkins High School. The gym was packed of displaced people, and you kept hoping you'd see a flash of red hair or freckles or just hear Tommy's obnoxious laugh.

Steve saw you first. You felt his eyes before you saw them. He dropped the box of clothes he'd been donating and rushed over, one hand on your arm, one hand on Samantha's back.

"Hey, what're you doing here?" He asked, eyes scanning over your face. "You okay? Why do you have Sammie? Is she hurt? Are you?"

You swallowed, shaking your head. "No, we're fine," you insisted. "We're safe, just… I was babysitting while Tommy and Carol went out, and then the earthquake happened…" Your throat felt tight as you let yourself think the worst for the first time. "No one's seen or heard from them since Thursday. I put up posters, but if they aren't here…"

You both knew what that would mean. You bounced a squirming Samantha. It was noisy and hot in the gym. People were crying, and injured, and everything about it just felt wrong. Like this wasn't really Hawkins anymore. Like you'd woken up in a terrible dream.

"Hey, they brought in the national guard, and FEMA, and shit," he said, giving a weak smile. "I'm sure they're just… a little lost."

He didn't sound very convinced. You didn't feel very convinced either. Samantha cried in your arms, but Steve carefully eased her into his own. "Hey, why don't I take Sammie for a bit? You can go get some rest somewhere. Who's taking her tonight?"

You shrugged and shook your head noncommittally. "Uh, Carol's mom doesn't think it's a good idea for them," you said softly, with a scant glance towards here parents. "Her dad's barely sober… and now with Carol missing…" You cleared your throat, sniffling. "And I know Tommy wouldn't want his baby girl in that house with his asshole dad, you know? So I guess that leaves it to me."

Steve shook his head. "No, that's bullshit," he argued. "Call Debbie and tell her you have to go back to school, and she needs to get her ass back into town."

"No way, Debbie is a total mess," you pushed back. "No. I can handle Samantha. I'm her godmother for a reason. Carol and Tommy trust me to take care of her."

"And me," he insisted. "They trusted both of us. So don't be a goddamn martyr. You go back to school, and I'll take care of Sammie."

You scoffed. "A martyr? Steve, her parents are missing. I'm just trying to do my best to keep her safe and loved and happy. I can re-enroll in the fall after everything in Hawkins is back to normal."

Steve made a face. There was a flash of knowing, of fear there that made your pulse quicken. "I'll stay with you." Before you could argue, he held up a hand. "Don't say anything. I can tell you haven't gotten any real sleep in days. Have you even eaten?"

"No, not really. She's been really freaked out since the earthquakes, she's hardly slept either."

Steve nodded. "Alright. Why don't I handle her, and you can go grab a sandwich from my friend Robin over there?" He pointed across the gym. "Go eat, grab a cot and take a nap. We'll figure everything out when you wake up. Maybe Tommy and Carol will be here by the time you're conscious again."

He gave a weak smile that you couldn't return.

You had the sandwich and sat on a cot, and outside of the window, you watched the sky turn ashen. As you watched the thick gray snow fall from the sky, wondered if you should have taken Steve up on his offer to get out of Hawkins after all.

Thank you for reading!!! This is basically all set up for the rest of the fic, which revolves around them raising Sammie during the events of season 5... and maybe after?

everyone is back at the wsqk radio station, and the faint static noise still comes from the equipment that was never turned off since the failure of the crawl. the group is a mix of exhaustion and fragile relief but the stress of what happened to holly still confuses everyone.

where did she go?

what is above the upside down?

your hand finds steve's, fingers intertwining and you feel his warm palm, calloused, against yours which keeps you calm in the tense environment.

lucas glances your way, with his chest still bandaged from the tunnel fight, and offers a small nod. he is wheeling max around the station, a place she has never been in before while the red-head looks around weakly, her eyes still glassy from the hospital meds vickie given her.

as some of the group disappear down the corridor, you tug steve's hand gently, leading him in the opposite direction toward one of the empty office rooms.

the station's layout is a maze of cluttered desks and faded posters, but this room is quieter, tucked away from the main lounge where the others are gathering.

"nance, i'll be right back," you call out over your shoulder, your voice steady despite the instability happening inside of your mind, nearly nervous about the next conversation that was needed with steve.

nancy looks up from where she's siting with jonathan on a couch, her eyes meeting yours with understanding.

"take your time," she says softly, and most the group nods.

yes, there was no time to chat about things other than vecna and whatever happened to holly. however, there was nobody who was going to tell you to postpone this needed conversation with steve.

before moving, you see hopper clapping jonathan once on the back and dustin standing up with a dry erase marker to already chat about the upside down's layout.

everyone knows this moment is yours, so they left you and steve be.

you push open the door, the hinges creak softly, and you step inside. the room is sparse with a dusty desk, a couple of chairs, and a window overlooking the hawkins daylight. you let steve step in before you close the door behind you.

afterwards, you lean against the door for a second, listening to the muffled voices from the lounge starting up with dustin's voice mainly outlining the next moves against vecna, with hopper's input.

they're distracted now.

you turn to face steve, your heart pounding so hard it echoes in your ears. he's standing there, just a few feet away, with his brown eyes locked on yours with a softness that steals your breath.

it's the way he's always looked at you... like you're the only thing in the world that matters, like he could stare forever and never get tired. now there's something deeper, a tenderness laced with wonder, with his gaze flicking down to your belly and back up full of unspoken questions, and a love so deeply rooted that it makes your chest ache.

tears prick at your eyes immediately as you stutter, "steve, I-i'm so sorry," you whisper, the words tumbling out in a rush, "i should've told you sooner. i wanted to, i swear, but—"

steve steps closer, his hands finding your waist gently, pulling you into him.

"hey, hey," he murmurs, voice low and soothing, "why? what happened?"

you swallow hard, leaning into his warmth.

"because of… you know. vecna. everything's been falling apart again, and i didn't want to add more chaos. i thought if i waited until it was over—"

steve nods slowly, his thumb brushing your cheek as he cuts you off from your sentence, "yeah but vecna's gonna be defeated soon, love. we're gonna end this. you could've told me earlier."

"i know," you say and your voice is trembling, "but i was scared. I was scared everyone would reject the baby because the timing's all wrong. we're so young, steve... you're 21, i'm 20. it's not perfect."

your man's expression softens even more, if that's possible, and he shakes his head, "i know we're young, but it happened, and i would've accepted it right away with no questions." his hands slide lower, palms splaying gently over your small bump, caressing it through the fabric of your slightly oversized green shirt.

the touch is reverent, careful, like he's afraid he'll wake from a dream, "this is the both of us created into one. not even someone like vecna could've taken his happy moment away from me."

you lean into him, with your own hands resting on his arms, feeling the steady beat of his pulse, "i had a doctor's appointment last week," you say softly, the words feeling intimate in the quiet room, "today makes 15 weeks. I have one more week until I hit four months."

steve looks down, his eyes tracing the gentle curve where your belly presses against the shirt, almost poking through. a small smirk tugs at his lips as something clicks.

"wait… so we conceived in july... was it... was it during that moment we had in the car after dustin's birthday party?"

you nearly laugh, the sound bubbling up through the tears, "hey! don't think about that right now!"

steve grins now, that boyish smirk you fell for years ago, his eyes sparkling with mischief and memory, "come on, that sundress you wore? the blue one that matched your skin so perfectly? you looked so sexy—i couldn't resist."

"well, look where that got us," you say, placing your hands on top of his, pressing them firmer against your belly.

the baby flutters faintly, as if sensing the moment which makes you both freeze, sharing a wide-eyed glance.

steve laughs then, a real, warm sound that fills the room, but it's cut short by a tear slipping down his cheek.

he kisses your forehead, lingering there, his lips soft against your skin.

you pull back slightly, wiping the tear away with your thumb.

"how did you know? before… before i could tell you?"

he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing, "in the upside down… i nearly did something stupid... you're gonna kill me, but i tried to play a hero again while crossing into th-this melting stairwell to save nancy and jonathan. dustin... he freaked out, and pulled me back and in order to stop me, he… he spilled it. he said i couldn't die because you're pregnant with my kid."

you sigh, a mix of frustration and ache settling in your chest, "why do you always have to play hero, steve? every time—"

"they were about to drown in that goo," he says quietly, with his eyes pleading for some sort of forgiveness, "i had to try."

you sigh again, "I know, but it scares me."

"hey," he whispers and one of his hands leaves your belly to cup your face, "don't stress it. i'm okay now." steve's voice drops lower too, full of love that wraps around you like a blanket, "i want you to stay calm... for you and the baby."

you nod, but the words keep coming from steve, "i promise to stay safe," he says firmly, "and keep you safe. both of you."

"yeah... but i'm anxious, steve," you admit, "not just about vecna... its just that i don't want to be useless or sidelined in this whole thing. remember 18 months ago? i was right there handling guns, bombs, and fighting in the upside down and I was the only one who did damage to vecna before he nearly killed max. now… i don't want to be dumbed down to just another person in the group because I happen to be pregnant."

he nods, understanding flickering in his eyes, "well, you're not useless. never that.... but there have to be precautions for the baby, love."

"i know," you say, "but i can still be involved—in the planning, at least?"

"deal," he agrees and pulls you closer so your small belly touches his lower stomach, "we compromise. you help plan, i make sure you're safe."

you smile, before resting your head across his chest. for a few second after, a wave of silence comes before steve's face crumples, and tears spilling freely from his eyes.

he steps back slightly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"what's wrong?" you look up and ask, panic rising as you try to pull him back into you.

he shakes his head, smiling through the tears, "nothing. i'm happy. i'm so fucking happy." his voice breaks, "ever since I found out about you I just... I just keep thinking about the failed relationship with my parents and just everything else that went wrong in my life due to my stupid decisions. i thought i'd never have a family or any sense of stability. i felt like a loser after high school since I did not go to college, and I got cut off from parents. i thought vecna was it for me. maybe if i played hero, proved i wasn't 'king steve' anymore, it'd mean something."

he pauses, before he turns and his eyes were locked on yours once again, "but now… i realize i don't need that. i got what i always wanted, which was a greater love with you."

tears stream down your face now too, your heart swelling until it hurts, "steve…"

you pull him into a hug, arms wrapping tight around his neck (while being mindful of your arm injury) as he buries his face in your shoulder, with his body shaking with quiet sobs.

"i promise," he whispers against your skin, "i'll be a good dad. the best dad I can be while being the greatest partner to you.... forever."

you hold him as the world outside seems to fade in your mind to nothing.

minutes pass in that embrace, until you both pull back, wiping each other's tears.

turning around and before opening the door, steve pauses.

"do you know the gender of the baby?"

you shake your head, smiling softly.

"not yet. but i've been reading about cravings and stuff. all the signs point to a girl since I like sweet things, and with my irregular morning sickness patterns."

steve's face lights up, a fresh tear glistening.

"a girl." he breathes it like a prayer, then takes your hand, "come on. we'll talk more later... let's go join them."

you nod, letting him lead you out of the office hand in hand with his thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles. the hallway feels narrower but the muffled voices from the main lounge grow clearer as you approach.

everyone is already gathered around the radio booth window sitting on the couches, where dustin has turned the glass into a makeshift whiteboard with black dry-erase marker.

there’s a free spot on the sagging couch beside murray, who’s perched with his arms crossed and his eyes curious behind his glasses. steve guides you there first, letting you sink into the cushions before he hops up to sit on the backrest, with his right leg dangling beside you.

the man's knee was close to your left shoulder protectively, and steve's right hand immediately finds your upper back, rubbing slow, soothing lines between your shoulder blade. you lean into the touch without thinking, drawing a deep breath to settle the flutter of nerves in your chest.

murray scoots over an inch to give you room, offering a small, knowing nod which gives silent praise for the conversation you just had, maybe, or just acknowledgment that you’re holding it together.

you return a tiny smile, then turn your attention to dustin.

he’s in full lecture mode with his cap pushed back and a marker squeaking against the glass as he redraws the diagram he’s apparently already explained once.

“okay, okay, catch-up for steve and y/n,” dustin says, glancing over his shoulder at you both, “so basically... this bottom circle you see here? that’s hawkins.” he taps the lower loop he’s drawn on the window, “we always assumed the upside down was just some pocket dimension brenner accidentally tore open, right? but it’s not.... it’s a bridge.... more specifically, an interdimensional bridge that rips through space and time.”

your eyes widen, with your mind doing a double take on if you've heard that correctly.

you feel steve’s hand still on your back for a second and you turn your head just enough to meet his gaze... he’s staring at you, brown eyes comically round, mouth slightly agape. you know that look since it’s the same one he gave you in the office when the pieces clicked about july.

you’re both thinking the same thing about what his mentee said.

dustin catches it and grins, pointing at you two with the marker, “see guys? they’re surprised too.”

you shake your head slowly, pushing yourself up from the couch with one hand on steve's knee and the other subtly supporting your lower back. the movement is a little slower than usual, your small bump making balance just a touch trickier.

“dustin,” you say, voice steady as you admit your truth, “i had that theory since last year.”

the room goes quiet.

“wait... what?” hopper blurts, his gaze on joyce breaking as you spoke those last words.

“you did?” dustin’s voice pitches up, open marker frozen mid-air.

you step closer to the window, close enough to see the faint smudges from previous drawings.

“yeah. you know my whole thing with marvel and x-men comics?” you glance around and you see robin's smirk, steve’s lips twitch, and even kali gives a tiny nod.

robin mutters, “nerd,” under her breath, and you shoot her a playful glare before continuing, “i always figured that the upside down wasn’t a separate dimension exactly.... more like the ‘space between.’ i told steve a while ago shortly after what had happened to max and eddie...I said that it wouldn’t surprise me if the upside down was just connective tissue between universes... like... a multiverse bridge, but i thought i was living too much in the fantasy.”

you shrug, a little embarrassed now that every eye is on you. so, you walk a step backwards, feeling steve’s hand on your lower back again as you stand there.

murray beside him gives a low, appreciative hum towards you, with eyebrows raised in clear respect.

dustin looks almost offended that he didn’t know, like his smart brain could not have detected that sooner, “you had this puzzle piece the whole time and didn’t say anything?”

“i thought it sounded insane,” you admit and your voice gets softer, “i didn’t have proof... just comic-book logic.”

mr. clarke clears his throat from the corner, smiling fondly, “comic-book logic has been right more than once in this town, ms. l/n.”

dustin recovers quickly, excitement bubbling over again.

“okay, well—you’re right, but keep in mind the upside down is wildly unstable, held together by exotic matter we found dead center above the lab.” he circles a smaller ring in the middle of the bridge shape he’s drawn, right over where hawkins lab would sit, “in theoretical physics, they call this type of bridge a—”

“wormhole,” you, erica, and mr. clarke say in unison.

the three of you glance at each other and erica smirks, mr. clarke gives an approving nod, and you can’t help the small and proud smile that tugs at your lips.

“yes,” dustin says, a little deflated but grinning anyway, “and this wormhole connects hawkins to here…” he draws a second circle on the opposite side of the bridge, “…another world i’ve coined the abyss.”

robin tilts her head, “any particular reason for the dramatic name?”

mr. clarke answers before dustin can, “a realm of chaos and evil.”

robin blinks, “i’m sorry?”

“d&d,” half the room choruses... lucas, mike, erica, will, and even steve mutters it under his breath.

hopper pinches the bridge of his nose, “jesus christ.”

“wow,” murray mutters beside you and steve, loud enough for only you two to hear. steve huffs a quiet laugh, with his fingers resuming their gentle path up and down your spine.

dustin barrels on, “i believe the abyss is the true home of the demogorgons, the vines, the mind flayer—all the nasty shit we’ve been fighting. it’s where, years ago, you banished henry.” he points at eleven, who sits beside erica with her arms wrapped around herself.

eleven’s voice is quiet as she says, “brenner made me find henry.”

she says it almost defensively, like she’s afraid someone will blame her for everything. your heart twists, knowing they would never do that.

with eleven, you’ve felt protective of her since the moment you met her (with max) at your jcpenny job almost two years ago... you were protective, since this girl had to carry the weight of the world since she was born.

while only five years older than her, you still hate that she’s fifteen and still the center of every plan.

it might be the maternal instinct that you didn’t even know you had, yet. all of it flares hot in your chest since you just want her safe, happy, and free to be a teenager after this is over. you want her to have a real home with more school dances, college, maybe.

anything similar to the life you and steve are only just starting to dream about for yourselves... and now for the tiny life inside you.

“and when you made remote contact with the abyss,” dustin continues, turning back to the window, “the bridge formed. ever since, henry and his monsters have been using it to cross right back into hawkins.”

he caps the marker with finality and steps back, letting everyone absorb the drawing.

the room is silent for a long beat.

you sink back onto the couch slowly, with the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders, yet steve’s hand never leaves your back, with thumb tracing the same comforting pattern.

you take a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. the exhale is loud, which makes multiple heads turn towards your direction at once. all you notice is nancy’s worried eyes, robin’s furrowed brow, hopper’s concern, and even eleven glancing over with quiet sympathy.

you realize how loud that sigh must have been and crack a small, tired smile, lifting one hand in reassurance, “I'm okay... this is just… overwhelming.”

steve leans down a little, “you sure?”

you nod, reaching back to squeeze his knee, “yeah.... just processing.”

dustin caps the marker again, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he can’t contain the energy inside of his mind and mouth at once, “we kicked vecna’s ass last year. well... eleven with her powers and y/n with that damn flamethrower in particular... but he just fled across this bridge and back into the abyss to lick his wounds.”

“what a pussy!” erica calls from the center couch, arms crossed, with her voice dripping with twelve-year-old disdain.

a surprised smirk tugs at your lips before you can stop it while steve’s hand pauses mid-circle on your back, then resumes, his quiet huff of laughter vibrating against your shoulder.

even hopper’s mouth twitches at the out-of-pocket callout.

joyce, sitting forward on the edge of the center couch, frowns softly, “so all this time… vecna’s been hiding in the sky?”

“that explains why every crawl led to a dead end,” nancy says, arms folded tight, eyes on the diagram like she’s memorizing it.

eleven nods beside erica, “and why i can’t find him in the bath.”

“and why holly came from the sky,” jonathan adds quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

hopper’s jaw tightens, almost locked, “yeah, but why is he taking kids up there?” he is angry, the kind of anger that comes from imagining something unspeakable happening to a child... especially one he’s come to care about like family.

the room stills and max's soft breathing is suddenly the loudest sound.

will steps forward, “for the same reason he took me.” his voice is steady, but you can hear the light tremor underneath, “the minds of children are weaker, right? more easily molded and controlled. so he channels his thoughts and powers through me to amplify his abilities… and he’s going to do the same to those kids.”

hopper turns fully toward him, “amplify his abilities? to do what?”

you feel the words rise in your throat before you can stop them, “to create an incursion.”

every head swivels toward you. steve’s hand stills again on your back as you lean forward slightly, with your elbows on your knees while the small weight of your belly shifts with the movement.

“or in the comics… crashing one world into another.”

hopper stares, “are you serious?”

“she is,” max says from her wheelchair near the door, voice flat but certain, “holly… she said henry told the kids they would help him draw the worlds together.”

your eyes widen as you sit up straighter, ignoring the twinge in your lower back, “i didn’t understand what it meant at the time,” max continues, “but hearing y/n and dustin—”

“he wants to move the abyss,” mike cuts in, voice rising with realization, “and crash it here into hawkins.”

“no—not crash!” will corrects sharply, surging forward.

he moves around the couch, snatches the marker from dustin’s hand and starts drawing frantic lines on the window with arrows from the abyss circle pushing toward hawkins, “merge! henry wasn’t licking his wounds in the abyss... he was making rifts! he is weakening the abyss like he weakened hawkins. so when the abyss and hawkins collide, they become one.”

the marker squeaks loud in the sudden silence.

steve finally speaks, his voice a little hoarse... he’s been quiet since the office, mind clearly split between the end of the world and the beginning of a family.

he shifts beside you, “okay, uh… how long would this take? to move worlds? like-” he smacks his hands together sharply, the clap echoing, “or is this gonna take some time?”

mike exhales hard, running a hand through his hair.

“well this better take some time, because if this is all correct we have to get two thousand feet into the air, find our way into the abyss, free holly and the kids, and kill vecna before our worlds collide.”

lucas, leaning around max, shakes, “and if my theory is right… he’s gonna move the worlds tonight.”

the room seems to shrink since joyce’s hand tightens around herself, nancy’s eyes flick to the windows behind her like she’s already searching the sky and eleven’s nose starts to bleed again, just a thin trickle she wipes away without comment.

robin mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “fan-fucking-tastic.”

you feel steve’s fingers resume their path up your spine, slower.

two thousand feet into the air. tonight.

your free hand drifts to your belly, settling over the small curve hidden beneath your green shirt. it has been fifteen weeks and your child is a life barely the size of a peach, with their heart beating steady inside you while the world prepares to end above everyone’s heads.

soon, the group starts talking at once with hopper barking questions and plans. dustin is already theorizing entry points and Nancy starts pulling out maps... but you stay quiet since this is not just hawkins and not just holly and the kids in your mind.

this is future you and steve only just dared to name.

anyways, hopper takes charge and thinks about a plan. one involving another kidnap. he stands by the window and holds the dry erase marker, “we kidnap a chopper from the base, fly straight up the wormhole, drop in hot, grab the kids, take out vecna. simple.”

dustin throws his hands up, “this rotor's are like 40 feet wide," he argues, gesturing wildly at the diagram, "it's too big, it is not gonna fit."

robin, standing beside mike with her arms crossed, catches your eye at the exact moment dustin says “too big.” since her mouth twitches with immaturity.

she flicks her gaze to steve perched beside you on the couch back, then back to you, that familiar devilish spark lighting up her face.

“steve hears that all the time from a certain individual,” she calls out, her voice cutting through the argument, “yet he goes in anyway. don’t you, steve?”

you smack a hand to your forehead, muttering, “robin?” in mock offense, but the smirk tugging at your lips betrays you.

steve scoffs at robin, almost offended, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

murray, sandwiched between you and the armrest, lets out a low, appreciative chuckle, “okay, that was funny.”

you elbow him lightly, still grinning despite the embarrassment. everyone in the room knows exactly what robin’s implying... especially now that the pregnancy news is out.

there’s no hiding the evidence of what you and steve do in your private time anymore.

hopper pinches the bridge of his nose, “everybody shut up.” his voice booms, “look—if somebody else has some magic bean that i don’t know about, i’m all ears. if not, it’s a risk we have to take. we fly, or we die.”

“we fly,” murray drawls, dragging the word out like he’s tasting it.

“well i guess we die,” dustin snaps back.

“we’re not gonna die if we commit to a plan!” hopper waves a hand, frustration felt deep in the lines of his face. at the time voices rise again mostly between dustin and hopper. it’s all noise, overlapping with everyone grasping at the same thin strands of hope.

you feel something twisting in your stomach... a cold, tight knot that has nothing to do with the baby and everything to do with a little girl lost in that red-black sky.

holly’s out there, trapped, and every raised voice feels like time slipping away.

before you could overthink, you feel a gentle poke on your shoulder.

you turn your head and steve’s looking around with his brow furrowed deep in thought, and his lips pressed together like he’s chewing on an idea. your man's eyes flick to you, hesitant, almost like he’s waiting for permission to speak up about a plan.

your eyebrows lift and a tiny, fond giggle bubbles up despite everything. you lean back just enough so only he can hear and whisper, “steve, you’re smart. if you have a magic bean plan, say something.”

steve's mouth quirks and he’s moving, hopping down from the couch back in one fluid motion.

“we don’t need a magic bean to climb,” he says from behind you, voice steady but not loud enough to cut through the arguing.

no one hears him since hopper’s gesturing again, and dustin’s talking over him.

steve tries again, louder, “we don’t need a magic bean!”

the room snaps to attention and all eyes turn to him. he lifts both hands in a small, apologetic gesture.

“sorry… we just… we don’t need it.” he steps forward, closer to the table, confidence growing as he speaks, “we’ve got a beanstalk right here.”

ten minutes later, the lounge empties slowly since everyone follows steve into the adjoining storage room where he talks about the correct plan to get into the abyss. he sounds smart, and it makes you smile as voices overlap in agreement.

as the conversation flows more roles get assigned, and the plan steve laid out is starting to take shape.

max is going to help with eleven and kali, erica and mr. clarke will be at the MAC-Z monitoring, and everyone else is pointed out and posted to go into the abyss.

one by one, everyone finds their place. joyce and murray will handle transport and extraction. hopper, nancy, lucas, jonathan, mike, dustin, robin, steve... they’ll climb the tower, cross into the abyss, and end this.

what shocks you is when silence falls when the assignments are done since you’re still standing behind nancy while beside robin with your hand resting low on your belly, feeling oddly outside of everything.

the knot that’s lived in your stomach since holly vanished tightens further.

“guys,” you say, voice quieter than you mean it to be. you step one stop forward, standing between nancy and robin.

everyone turns to you, “where… where am i in all of this? you never said my name for a role?”

the question hangs and you hate how small it sounds since nobody wants to speak up.

“i feel quiet,” you admit and the words are scraping out, “and lost right now.”

lucas starts, “well... um... you can come with us on the—”

“no!”

the refusal comes from nearly every adult at once and in sync. it comes from robin, nancy, hopper, joyce, murray, vickie, and loudest of all, steve.

meanwhile the chorus of it hits you like a wall, almost offensively.

you try to swallow the sting, but pregnancy hormones are cruel and efficient which makes your tears prick instantly, almost embarrassing in your mind.

that mind twists their protectiveness into something uglier... that you’re not needed and you’re fragile now.

useless.

“y/n,” nancy says softly, stepping closer and turning while reading the hurt on your face.

you lift your chin, “i am the only non-superpowered person in this room who has fought vecna 1v1 without getting cursed or broken into pieces. no offense, but i stood in that attic with a shotgun and a molotov and helped burn him. i’ve earned my place in this fight!”

“yes,” hopper says carefully, “but you’re pregnant.”

the word lands like a verdict.

you laugh, but it’s bitter, “yeah. sure. if thats the reason then I'll stay because i guess i’m just dumbed down to the pregnant woman who can’t do anything anymore.”

you know you’re not being fair.... you know it the second the words leave your mouth.

even max... in her wheelchair... has a crucial role in the fight and you’re being relegated to what? caretaker?

you turn before anyone can answer, bolting out of the room. your vision blurs with angry tears as steve calls your name. your man's footsteps are quick behind you, but you duck into the small staff bathroom down the hall, slam, and lock the door.

immediately as knocks come at the bathroom door, you sink onto the closed toilet lid with your elbows on knees, face in your hands, and finally let the sobs come.

it is quiet, choking, the kind that shake your whole body. you hate crying like this since you hate feeling benched and you hate that part of you knows they’re right and the rest of you feels erased.

“y/n?” steve’s voice is soft through the door, worried, “baby, please open up.”

“just leave me alone,” you manage.

there’s a pause for a minute..... then the lock clicks anyway.

you look up, indignant since you did not stand up to unlock the door.

when the door opens, you see steve before you see eleven behind him, with her hand lowered as she silently mumbles a “sorry,”

steve slips inside and shuts the door behind him, locking it again manually this time. he crouches in front of you immediately, hands gentle on your knees.

“hey hey,” he says, “look at me.”

you do, reluctantly. your face is a mess with tear-streaked mascara running down. he doesn’t care about your looks, since he cups your cheeks as his thumbs brush the wetness away.

“i’m not okay,” you whisper.

“i know.” he pulls you forward into his chest, arms wrapping around you tight. you resist for half a second, then fold with your face pressed to his shoulder, fresh tears soaking his shirt.

“look, please don't think that this is about you not being capable,” he murmurs into your hair, “this is about everyone, especially me, not surviving if something happened to you or the baby. i can’t—and I won’t risk that.”

you cling to him, the fight leaking out with every sob.

“i don’t want to be useless, steve.”

“you’re not. you’re never useless.” he pulls back just enough to look at you, “you’re carrying our kid. you’re keeping them safe just by breathing. that’s not nothing.”

before you could speak further, there’s a soft knock and nancy’s voice filters through.

“lovebirds? y/n, please come out. we do have a plan for you.”

you sniff, wiping your face.

“it’s not a pity role, is it?”

nancy opens the door slowly, and steve nods permission for her to fully open it.

“no. in fact, i thought of it the second you told me about the baby in the hospital.”

she gestures for you to follow her and curiosity overrides the hurt enough for you to stand. steve keeps your hand in his as you trail nancy to the smaller armory room down the hall.

after ten steps, steve lets go of your hand, and walks away leaving you with nancy as she leads you in the armory room. robin and vickie are there with robin halfway into camo pants and a long-sleeve, as vickie helps her lace boots.

nancy kneels by a black duffel bag and pulls out your sawed-off shotgun from last year... the one you wielded in the creel house attic like it was an extension of your arm.

then she hands you the flamethrower pack, fuel canister still half-full, nozzle scorched black from when you lit vecna up.

your breath catches since you take the shotgun when she offers it. the weight is familiar.

“you’re staying here,” nancy says, her voice steady but so kind, “since you’re guarding max.”

you open your mouth to protest, but she keeps going.

“yes, i know that’s not what you want... but we can’t risk you... or the baby two thousand feet up and in another dimension. if vecna sends anything back here for max again... demodogs, or bats even... everyone trusts you the most to handle it. you’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.”

robin finishes zipping her jacket, steps over, and bumps your shoulder.

“plus, someone’s gotta keep max from getting too bored. you’re the only one who can match her sarcasm.”

you look down at the shotgun in your hands, then at the flamethrower. it’s not the front line, and it’s not the abyss.... but it’s not nothing.

“that’s my first motherly sacrifice for this baby, huh? not being able to jump into a physical fight?” you say, half-joking, voice still wobbly.

nancy smiles, stepping close and resting both hands gently on your small bump, “yeah... and it won’t be the last.”

“y/n... i can’t believe you’re someone’s mother,” vickie says, awed.

“that’s not even shocking, honestly,” robin adds, pulling her own hair back with a blue hairclip, “you and steve have been the group parents for years... and that is skipping the girl-talk details you’ve shared…” she winks, “and now look at you. one beautiful young mama who’s growing her baby while still helping save the world.”

she wraps you in a tight hug, and her camo rough against your body.

you hug back hard, breathing her vanilla scent in. when you pull away, you walk back to the main room together.

steve is there, freshly changed into dark green cargo pants, with a dark shirt, a darker jacket, and that old black backwards cap with a few strands of hair escaping around the edges.

the whole look is… unfairly hot.

your hormones hit like a bus since heat floods you from chest to toes, and you have to bite your lip to keep from staring at steve too obviously.

however, some logic kicks in when you see him fumbling with a grey pistol, trying to load the magazine and clearly having no idea what he’s doing.

you jog over, laughing despite everything.

“hey, hey.” you catch his arm, “you haven’t shot a real gun before, have you?”

steve gives a sheepish grin, “well, not all of us are as cool as you... but I've shot... like… bb guns.... flare guns.... and duck hunt.”

you snort, taking the pistol and sliding the magazine in smoothly, racking the slide with practiced ease, “we’ll get you a shotgun. less finesse required.”

he watches you, eyes soft, then leans in and kisses you... slow like he’s memorizing the feel of you before he leaves.

you pull back just enough to rest your forehead against his.

“also steve... just an fyi,” you say, bright and sarcastic, “if you go up there, play hero, and die… i will revive you and then kill you again myself.”

“and i’ll join in,” robin calls from across the room, slinging a flare gun holster over her shoulder.

steve chuckles, but his eyes are serious, “i won’t die. i promise.”

he drops to one knee suddenly, pressing a soft kiss to your belly through the green shirt.

“your dad’s coming back,” he whispers against the fabric, “both of us are.”

you roll your eyes playfully at him, but your throat tightens when he stands, squeezes your hand once more, then heads over to dustin to finish gearing up.

you walk to max, settling into the chair beside her wheelchair with your sawed off shotgun across your lap, and a flamethrower tank propped nearby.

yes, you are on guard duty as an armed babysitter, or the hundredth time.

it’s not the abyss, but it’s something.

an hour passes by and the station feels too big and too empty now that everyone’s gone. the lounge lights are dimmed to conserve power, casting long shadows across the mismatched furniture but the only noises are the occasional crackle of static from the walkie on the coffee table.

you’re stretched out on the sagging black leather couch, one arm draped protectively over your small bump, and the other hanging off the edge near the sawed-off shotgun propped against the side table. your leg bounces restlessly, heel tapping an anxious rhythm against the floor.

you’re trying to rest with doctor’s orders, and steve’s pleading eyes before he left... but sleep won’t come, and it shouldn't at this exact time.

every time you close your eyes you see the tower, the rift, the red sky, and you see steve’s face when he promised he’d come back. you need him to come back more than anyone else up there, and you need him safe and whole and walking through that door so you can stop feeling like your heart is being squeezed in a fist.

vickie paces the length of the room for the hundredth time, with her nurse shoes scuffing softly against the worn floor. the girl's hands twist together, then release, then twist again. the motion is making your own nerves fray faster.

so, you close your eyes for a couple of minutes and nearly slip into darkness.

“y/n.”

max’s voice cuts through the quiet and you open your eyes and turn your head. she’s parked her wheelchair at the end of the couch, facing you, red braided hair catching the faint glow from the exit sign.

“i know you don’t want to be here right now,” she says, a smirk tugging at her lips, “but i’m not sure if sleeping is a good option.”

you huff a tired laugh, pushing yourself up on one elbow, “sorry, ms. legs, pregnancy is tiring.”

max snorts, “tell me about it... i’ve been in casts for months and i’m still exhausted.”

there’s a beat of comfortable quiet as you sit up fully, swinging your legs off the couch, and rub at your eyes.

“you know,” max says softer, “i missed you a lot.”

you blink at her, “you missed me? but you were… in the trance.”

“yeah,” she shrugs, looking down at her hands for a second, “but i was still trapped in that cave in henry's mind, just wishing to be back here.... I mean... you were the third person i missed the most.”

you scoff, half offended, half fond, “third?”

max’s smirk returns full force, “lucas first, obviously. eleven second. you third. don’t take it personally.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now, “well, who am i to think i rank above lucas and eleven.”

max’s grin widens, genuine and bright, the kind you haven’t seen from her in too long.

unfortunately vickie’s voice breaks the moment, “ughhh, okay what is taking them so long?” she’s pacing again, faster this time, arms wrapped around herself.

you like vickie... she’s sweet, funny, and matches robin’s energy in a way that makes your best friend light up... but right now her spiraling is not helping.

“i don’t know,” max answers dryly, “maybe something to do with the fact that it’s a five-hundred-foot tower and they’re trying to cross into another dimension.”

vickie stops, cheeks flushing, “right. yeah. sorry.”

“if something’s wrong, they’ll contact us, vick,” you say, trying to sound calm even though your own leg has started bouncing again.

“yeah, no, yeah,” vickie nods too fast, “i mean—unless they’re already dead!”

“don’t put that out there,” you groan, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes.

“okay—i’m sorry!” vickie winces, “i’m stressed and stress gives me the munchies, so um—” she looks between you and max, “do you guys want anything?”

you drop your hands, “anything that does not have peanut butter, nor soy, please.”

max shakes her head, “i’m good.”

vickie nods and hurries off toward the small kitchenette area, clearly grateful for something to do.

you watch her go, then turn back to max... just in time to see her eyes roll back, whites showing, body going rigid in the chair. your heart lurches before remembering that this is the plan for her.

kali and eleven are linking with her through the void, using her connection to vecna’s memories to guide the team. however, seeing max with her face slack and her head tilting back still sends ice down your spine.

you’re on your feet in an instant, shotgun snatched from the table, while racking the slide with a sharp metallic cha-chunk (lol).

adrenaline floods your system, sharpening your senses to the hum of the lights, to the distant clatter of vickie rummaging in the kitchen, and the soft rise and fall of max’s chest proving she’s still breathing.

you start pacing around the station slowly with deliberate loops around the lounge, eyes scanning every object, every doorway, every window.

the flamethrower tank is propped near the couch... you keep it in your peripheral as you move on guard duty so you won’t fall asleep.

unfortunately, you walk around for thirty minutes in suffocating silence.

you’ve migrated to the kitchenette, pacing in slow circles with an apple in hand, biting into it more for something to do than actual hunger. the crisp snap of each bite echoes too loud in the empty station since vickie opted to stay quiet around an unconscious max.

your shotgun leans against the counter within arm’s reach, a constant reminder of your role tonight since you were prohibited to go into the abyss.

however, nothing happens here in the station. there is no growls from the shadows and no bats snaking through cracked windows. there is only static from the radio waiting for a check-in that hasn’t come.

you press a hand to your belly, feeling the faint flutter there like the baby knows you’re on edge.

“they’re okay,” you whisper to the quiet room, more for yourself than anyone else, “they have to be.”

vickie’s still making a path on the floor in the lounge, muttering numbers under her breath about how long it should take to climb, how long to cross, how long to fight. max sits motionless in her trance, head tilted back slightly, eyes pure white.

you take another bite of the apple, juice running down your chin. once you walk to the opposite side of the building, vickie suddenly bolts to you with her face pale as a blanket sheet.

“y/n.. there are vans outside. military vans.... lots of them coming!”

your stomach drops and the apple slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud as you run to the window three strides, peering through the blinds and floodlights sweep the parking lot.

“fuck,” you breathe, “the fucking military!”

this wasn’t the plan.

you were ready for demodogs, for bats, for vines of vecna's arms bursting through the walls. it is the supernatural you can fight since you have grown to learn how to survive the supernatural.

humans with guns and orders, you cannot survive now.

a year ago you would’ve grabbed the shotgun, taken a stand, rained hell on anyone trying to intrude on your plans but now your mind drifts instinctively to your belly... now there’s another being to consider.

“we need to hide now,” you say to vickie, urgently.

thankfully, there’s an emergency hideout spot robin showed everyone earlier. it is a false panel behind a tall bookshelf in the storage room. small, cramped, but concealed.

vickie’s already moving, wheeling max’s chair as gently and quickly as she can. max’s body is limp in the trance, with her head lolling as you ditch the shotgun since it is too noisy, and too bulky. you decide to prop it behind the counter where it won’t be immediately seen then you sprint ahead, flinging the bookshelf open with a grunt.

the false wall yawns behind it, a narrow crawlspace barely big enough for three. you help vickie maneuver max inside first, wheelchair and all... it’s tight, but it fits. afterwards vickie and you go through before the shelf is pulled shut behind you with the hidden latch.

as you sat silently, the smell of dust and old paper hit your olfactory nerves. you sit behind vickie with max’s wheelchair taking up most of the space in front of you. your knees are drawn up, one hand braced against the wall, the other resting protectively over your bump.

outside, the front door splinters with a sharp crack with boots thundering across the floor. there are muffled commands along the lines of “clear,” “check the back,” and “secure the radios."

looking down, you can see flashlight beams sweep under the bookshelf crack, painting thin lines of light across your shoes.

you hold your breath as vickie’s hand finds yours in the dim light and squeezes hard as you squeeze back.

five minutes drag on then max gasps loudly with her body jerking forward when she snaps out of the trance. at that, your heart plummets and your eyes wide at vickie.

the bookshelf wrenches open almost immediately and light floods in. you squint, raising a hand against the glare.

a woman stands there with short-cropped blonde hair, sharp features, and military fatigues. she doesn’t point a gun, all she does is lookdown at the three of you with a calm, almost amused expression.

“hi there,” she says, voice smooth.

behind her, soldiers move in.

one reaches for you with his grip on your upper arm surprisingly gentle, but firm. you stand slowly, legs shaky, and quietly ask, “can you loosen it a little? I can't run.”

he does, fractionally.

they march you out to one of the vans parked in the lot. the night air is cold, biting through your green shirt.

you’re helped up into the back as max lifted in her chair while vickie climbs in beside her.

you sit on the bench seat, pulling the seatbelt across yourself out of habit.

the woman with short hair... dr. kay, you overhear someone call her... pauses at the open door, eyes scanning the three of you.

however, gaze lingers on you longest.

you swallow, nervous as she looks at the way the seatbelt crosses your body, which pulls the fabric of your shirt over the unmistakable swell of your belly.

something shifts in dr.kay's expression.

calculation, maybe, or an idea forming.

suddenly, she scoffs softly almost to herself, muttering “never mind” under her breath, like she’s dismissing whatever thought just crossed her mind about you and your pregnant stomach.

she turns away, slamming the doors shut and the van lurches into motion a second later, with the tires crunching over gravel.

you sit in the dark between max and vickie, with your heart hammering and one hand cradling your stomach since you were supposed to fight monsters tonight.

instead, you’re being taken straight into the MAC-Z full of people who’ve been hunting your family for years and you have a gut feeling that are about to get much worse before they ever get better.

and you were right.

the vans slow to a halt at the fortified gate with engines idling low and menacing. your hands won’t stop shaking since through the small tinted window you can see soldiers fanning out, rifles raised, floodlights cutting harsh white beams across the asphalt.

they’re setting up an ambush and waiting for the others to come stumbling out of the gate, exhausted and victorious by defeating vecna, only to be taken.

you feel sick, and even so helpless.

when the doors fly open., you know that means the group arrived back into the real world. you’re pulled out into the cold night air seeing the military swarm your friends. vickie on one side of you, with max ad her wheelchair in-front of you. your legs feel like water, but you stay upright, eyes widened in horror as steve and robin are slammed against the side of a truck almost immediately.

steve’s head knocks hard against the metal and he grunts, struggling. robin swears loudly, kicking out and terrified at the amount of loud men yelling at her.

your heart seizes and you take half a step forward, panic clawing up your throat, but vickie’s hand clamps around your wrist, pulling you back.

“don’t,” she whispers, voice trembling.

you watch in horror as robin pleads for the men to calm down. what happened? is vecna dead? where are all of the kids?

max yelps beside you, “what is she doing?”

at first you think she means dr. kay, the woman with the short blonde hair striding forward like she owns the night.

suddenly, mike’s voice cracks through the chaos with desperate yelling.

when mike runs towards the gate, you turn your head and see eleven standing in the upside down... alone.

she is standing in the fading red slash of the rift, small against the exploding black sky behind her. debris whips around her in violent spirals. there are chunks of metal, rock, ash, and everything the collapsing abyss is spitting out as it dies.

when el doesn’t move, and she stands there in tears, you realize that she’s not coming through. mike is fighting a soldier tooth and nail, screaming her name while trying to free her from sacrificing, “el! el, no! el!”

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

el, don’t.

the wind howls harder as the explosion of the abyss reaches her. the sky in the upside down itself is tearing apart and everyone is screaming now with hopper roaring, nancy’s voice breaking, joyce sobbing mike’s name as he almost breaks free to run towards el.

you can’t move as tears spill hot down your cheeks, freezing in the night air. everything you ever wished for her... safety, peace, a real life... slips away in front of you.

steve’s face across the lot mirrors yours. it is helpless, terrified, eyes wide in horror. the wind becomes a hurricane as the blast wave hits eleven full force.

for one impossible second she’s silhouetted against the firestorm and you close your eyes and turn away, before you could see her fully go.

the screams, mike’s most of all, tell you everything as the wind hits everyone hard. the roaring continues and you kneel on your knees, covering your ears and eyes and anything that can take you away from here.

there is only silence once mike stop screaming. at that moment, you open your eyes to see that the gate is gone... just a destroyed building where the rift had been.

everyone stares at the empty space, frozen in horror as to what had happened.

steve is still with his chest heaving, with his face streaked with dirt.

as if he noticed your presence in that moment, he turns his head and looks past the soldiers, past the trucks, and his eyes land on you.

steve's eyes widen. he hadn’t known you were here and captured by the military. he jerks against the soldier holding him, shouting your name, but the man keeps a hold on him to stay put.

you can’t hear steve calling for you over the ringing in your ears, but you see his mouth form the shape.

you sink slowly on the cold ground, with one hand on your belly, the other pressed to your mouth to hold in the sound that wants to come out.

eleven is gone and she closed the gate.

she ended everything, and she paid the price so the rest of you could live.

part four will be out in a few days

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