Songbird Singing Things

PART THREE → 1986

The first thing you noticed when you got to Hawkins was that it was cold. 

Colder than before, at least. It was the first week of April, and there wasn’t a hint of heat in the air. It was dry, too. Hailing a taxi from the airport was terrifying (how do you even do it? Just stand there and whistle?) and the ride home had been even more horrifying. Nothing awful happened. You just had to run after the driver when he missed you the first time, and on the way, you tried to be polite. 

“Is this, um…the longest route you’ve had today?” you asked. The old man’s eyes never left the road. 

He sighed loudly. “Yes.”

You peered down at your lap and folded your hands there. Okay. 

You had a mission; please Nancy. Jonathan chickened out of a trip back home, afraid to see her, afraid to upset her. It was absolutely ridiculous. If he wanted to stay together, why tear them even further apart? But he was resolute. Being the sister that you are, you offered to go back instead. Visit Dustin or Robin; find something to do. And along the way, somehow convince her that everything was completely fine, and that Jonathan loved her more than anything. 

He did love her more than anything, but everything was definitely not fine. You couldn’t solve all of his problems, but you could do this. This was the main reason for your return. 

You stepped out of the car in front of the motel and slid your heavy suitcase out of the backseat. Paying the driver, you opened your mouth to offer him thanks. He drove off before you got a word out. Hawkins hospitality. 

Your heart thumped in your chest as you approached the motel door. Nancy was short on the phone when you spoke to her. 

“So Jonathan’s not coming? At all?”

“I know… I’m sorry. I’m still coming, though. Not that it helps.”

“No, it’s… That’s okay, Y/N. It will be good to see you.”

You grimaced when she said it. She was only being nice. The two of you had actually become friends over the years, somewhere in between Jonathan pining over her, dating her, and slowly screwing it up. It was nice but odd- you never imagined she would be interested in being your friend. 

Still, you were not your brother. What Nancy wanted was to see her boyfriend. Instead, she was seeing you. 

You swallowed the regretful knot in your throat and entered the motel. A tiny bell rang over your head, chirping like a mouse. At the front desk, the woman crooned- 

“The previous guest in that room won’t be out until tomorrow morning.”

You blinked, easily able to stay polite, but not able to mask your confusion. 

“Oh, that’s- that’s okay. Where should I go, then?”

She scrunched up her nose. “Sorry, honey. You booked the room starting tomorrow at noon, so you’ll have to stay somewhere else tonight.”

Knowing full well you booked the room for tonight, you glanced away and said- “Okay. Thank you.”

Cool spring wind wrapped around your bare arms as you trudged into the parking lot. Dustin’s house was nearby, but you didn’t have your bike. It would still be a long walk. You were wearing a t-shirt, from the high school you attended in Lenora Hills. 

The main reason you came to Hawkins was to help your brother. Deep down, the only place you would ever feel at home was this town, and at least you got to spend one week in it. Joyce could hardly afford to move all of you to California, and the idea of moving back to Hawkins on your own seemed impossible. 

A soft breeze rustled the surrounding trees. Dustin’s house beckoned a few streets away. Swallowing a sigh, you picked up your suitcase and started down the road with a pit in your stomach. 

The air was different. 

. . . 

“Y/N!”

A grin broke out on your face, unstoppable. “Hi!”

Dustin smiled so wide you nearly cringed. His cheeks would be sore all afternoon. Trotting down the porch steps, he wrapped his arms around you and patted your shoulders gingerly.

“This is crazy. What are you doing here? Are you here for Steve?”

Oh, dear god. 

You sucked in air. “No! Just…just for me.”

“Well good! I just thought maybe you had planned on visiting him or something.”

You tried to keep the smile painted on your face. It hardly worked. Softly, you shook your head. 

You hadn’t spoken to Steve in seven months. When you got to California, it occurred to you to call; ask him what the hell happened at the end of the summer and why you two kept doing whatever it was you were doing. But you didn’t have his number. Surprisingly enough, after all that time, you still didn’t have it. And it wasn’t in the phone books. 

Joyce didn’t know it, Jonathan didn’t know it, Will didn’t know it, and El definitely didn’t know it. No one did, so you didn’t call. Neither did he. As the months went by, it was easier to keep thoughts of him out of your mind, but the feelings remained. Ribbons of longing around your ribs, knotted tight. A constant ache. Even when you weren’t thinking of him, he was there. 

“Just carrying your suitcase around?” Dustin snickered, motioning to it. 

“No, actually. I, um… I’m supposed to be staying at a motel, but they won’t let me in.”

He made a face. “What?”

“The lady said I booked the room for tomorrow instead of tonight.”

“Oh. Did you?”

You shrugged a little, flattening your lips. “No, but…it’s okay.”

Dustin made an incredulous face at you and said- “That’s ridiculous.”

You made a defeated face. “I know.”

“I would tell you to come in, but I’m just leaving, actually.” A smile grew on his face, proud and sly. You must have made some sort of face, because he sprung into a speech like he had been waiting all winter to tell you. 

“...and his name is Eddie, and he’s really, really cool. The coolest guy I’ve ever met. And we meet on most weekdays, but tonight is, like, the final round of the campaign, basically? It’s super important. And I’d tell you to just play with us, because we actually needed somebody to take Lucas’s place, but we already got Erica to do it. Sorry.”

“You got Erica to play DND?” you asked. 

“Absolutely.”

“Well, that’s nice,” you responded softly. “I’m happy for you. Eddie sounds really cool.”

“He is cool. The club’s called Hellfire. Maybe you could join, if you asked him. He’s kind of intimidating, but I bet he’d take it easy on you.”

You cast him a perplexed smile. “What? Why?”

Dustin’s expression was perfectly nervous. “You know. You’re just…you know. How you are. You know.”

“You know?” you mocked gently. But, whatever he was trying to say; you weren’t really sure. 

“Whatever. Just- yeah. You could ask him to let you join and I bet he’d say yes.”

“That would be nice of him,” you responded, dropping your teasing. “Have fun tonight.”

“I will. If you need a place to stay for the night, you might be able to stay here. Just come back later and I’ll let you know. But, uh…you know how my mom is. Where are you going, though? For now?”

“I’ll…” you trailed off, stranded in the street. Where were you going to go? “Did you say Lucas had a basketball game tonight?”

Dustin nodded. 

“I’ll go to that.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you started, and stopped yourself before you could say; I bet he would really appreciate seeing a friend in the stands. There was no point in telling Dustin what he probably already knew.

. . . 

Lucas made a basket. 

The stands erupted around you, a booming symphony of screaming and clapping. A quartet of trumpets cried out, playing his victory. You flinched as the man beside you shot up and howled, pumping his fist in the air. The noise was rattling, but Lucas’s smile was bright as the gym lights, wide as Dustin’s when he had opened his door to see you. A grin crept onto your face and you even cheered- albeit a quiet one. 

This was new for you. Doing things alone and not feeling awful about it. There were hundreds of people surrounding you, many of them that you knew, and yet, you cheered anyway. Audible. Noticeable. 

That made you smile even harder. When you glanced at the band, you caught a familiar eye. She tore the instrument away from her lips and shouted- “Y/N!”

Your eyebrows lifted, a little stunned. Robin. She beamed at you, then tilted her head backwards and screamed, “Steve!”

A pang of anxiety hit you instantly. When you followed her gaze, you found him. Standing next to an unfamiliar blonde girl with a friendly smile, cheering loudly. Her teeth glinted as she cast him a beaming glance. 

He was looking at you. Zeroed in, like there was not a single person there other than you, not even himself. The trumpets faded to a dull hum and the roaring crowd became distant. He wore a soft off-white shirt with buttons on the chest, his arms fuller, his stance taller but somehow humbler. The proud grin on his newly matured face was dissipating as visions of Lucas likely melted away, and his brows flicked up, like he was trying to make a polite expression at you. But all he could do was gawk, it seemed. 

He had never looked more like an adult, but he was still beaming at you like he was seventeen; pouring borax over an open flame and singing his skin off just to make you laugh. 

The game resumed. You cast Steve a small wave, careful not to look too long, careful to make sure the girl he was with knew you wouldn’t be a problem. 

All you saw was her. Not the way he looked at you- the intensity of his stare went right over your head. It didn’t matter, because there was a girl. A new girl. Or had she always been around, and you never noticed?

You turned around and sat down to watch the rest of the game, breathing manually, like you had forgotten how. You had to break that loop; the waiting and wondering. There was no reason to be surprised by Steve Harrington anymore. 

. . . 

On the walk back to Dustin’s, something ruffled in the trees. 

Your head snapped up, and you stopped, whirling. Years living in Hawkins trained you not to be flippant about strange noises. Paused along the road, your heartbeat rose to your ears, thumping there like thunder. Shadows scattered across the forest floor. If there were any out of place, you couldn’t tell. It was too dark, and the trees were too thick. 

This was the only part of the walk that was along the interstate. If you could just get back to the sidewalk, you’d feel better. Safer. And the faster you got away from the noise, the better. 

You kept walking, suitcase bumping against your shin. Less than three steps later, there was another sound. Then- the slapping of skin against the blacktop. 

What followed can only be described in plain terms, for lack of words capable of describing the horror before you; a man you had never seen before, pale and slender, rose ten feet into the air- and his bones snapped. 

You screamed and clamped a hand over your mouth. When he fell, your instinct was to lurch forward; reach for him and help. But there was nothing you could do. Moonlight reflected off of the blood dripping down his cheeks, crimson tears staining his lapels. 

No demogorgon had ever done anything like this. 

You ached to stay and help the stranger but logic told you to run. After a moment, you obeyed. There was nothing you could do. Barreling along the interstate, more noises gathered in the trees, whispering and slithering along the dirt like snakes. Maybe you imagined them. It didn’t matter. In all your life you had only ever been more afraid when Will was missing. No fear would ever match the panic you felt that winter; but this came close. 

Light danced along the blacktop. Tears sprung free from your eyes, blaring yellow beams flickering along the road. A car was coming, but it brought you no comfort. It might have been whoever killed that man- though, deep down, you already knew what happened to him couldn’t have been done by any person. 

You ducked into the treeline, hovering in the shallow ditch. Puddles of water sprung droplets onto your jeans, staining your elbows and ankles. It smudged your cheek like paint. Stunned into focus, you sat there and waited for the car to pass. 

You nearly screamed when it did. Steve!

The burgundy BMW barreled by, going far over the speed limit. If the wine red paint didn’t give him away, the driving did. You clambered out of the ditch and back onto the road with your mouth craned open. 

Then you snapped it shut. Oh no. 

You couldn’t scream for him. Who would hear you first? 

Your feet broke out into a sprint before your brain had thought of it. Running, icy wind smacked your cheeks, nightfall bringing even colder breezes than the pale afternoon. His headlights faded into the distant fog. Your heart thumped like a racehorse in your chest, lungs searing with cold.

Steve’s car disappeared. You kept running. 

Two stop signs and one red light later, you saw his car in a parking lot. Relief hit you like a brick and you exhaled in a burst, almost laughing with grief. Your legs wobbled beneath you like sticks as you barreled across the lot, barely stopping to check the neon sign over the brick building. FAMILY VIDEO. 

Manners hit you when you slammed into the store, the door jingling shut behind you. You stood up straight and wrapped your arms around your chest. Trying to stop your hands from rattling, trying to stop your sobbing. When the bell jingled, Robin popped out from underneath the front desk. 

“Hi,” she said dryly, her eyes elsewhere. “We’re closing in half an hour, but you can look around if you want.”

You swallowed the searing feeling in your throat and choked- “Hey.”

She looked over, brows furrowing. Her eyes widened. 

“Y/N?” she breathed. 

You meandered forward, setting down your suitcase and pulling at the short sleeves of your t-shirt. Red overhead lights smeared in your vision, tears blotting them to crimson stars. The air in Family Video was cold as ice. Right under an AC vent, you shivered and tried not to sound pathetic when you sniffled- “Are you okay?”

She made a face at you, half-incredulous and half-horrified. “Yeah, of course, but what- what happened?”

A door creaked open at the back of the store and Steve emerged, entering the area behind the desk through a small latched door. He slid a pile of tapes onto the counter. “We need to log these before we can-” 

His eyes snagged on yours almost instantly. When they did, he went still as stone. His face went flat; like there was no expression horrified enough to match his thoughts. 

“I’m sorry,” you warbled, trying not to cry. You weren’t even sure why you said it. Maybe because you knew how large of a bomb you were about to drop on him. 

Steve was moving before you had even finished the ‘I’m’. He hopped over the desk, sliding over the counter and landing before you. Warm hands gravitated to both sides of your neck and squeezed. His palms spanned the length of your neck and jaw; fingers sliding up to pull the hair away from your cheeks, eyes flickering frantically around your face. 

“What happened?” he demanded. And then, almost instantly, “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered once more- and then the dam broke. He made a short, soft noise when you started crying. An exasperated gasp, like someone had stuck a needle between his ribs. 

“Why are you sorry? Don’t be- are you-”

He grabbed your shoulders and leaned back, taking in your frame. His eyes caught on every smudge and wrinkle, thumb brushing over a mud-covered belt loop. When you sucked in a garbled breath, he shot up. 

“Are you okay?” he repeated, enunciating every word. 

“Steve-”

“No, I need you to tell me if you’re okay. Alright? Just one time, you have to breathe. I need you to tell me. Are you listening?”

His voice was gentle but firm. It didn’t match his gaze; wide and panicked, glossy with tears you never would have imagined seeing in his eyes. You tried to tell him yes but failed, the word catching in your throat. He exhaled like it hurt and turned over his shoulder. 

“Robin, call nine-one-one.”

“Okay, I’m-”

“Now, Robin, do it now.”

You grabbed at his sleeve and pulled him around again. He stumbled before you, taking an impressive effort to hold you upright instead of himself; soft hands sliding up the length of your bare arms. 

“Did you see it?” you managed. 

“See what, sweetheart?” he breathed out, pained. His brows crossed and uncrossed, trying to solve the puzzle on your face. His voice was so soft it was barely there. 

“You didn’t see it?”

“Honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have to- are you hurt?” he prodded gently, trying to simplify his questioning. “Can you tell me that? Did somebody touch you?”

“No,” you sniffled. 

He exhaled loudly, eyes rolling up into the back of his head for a moment. Then he removed his left hand from the cap of your shoulder and slid it around the back of your neck, pulling you to him.“Oh, thank god,” he muttered, rambling it off like he hardly noticed himself saying it. Your face fell into his chest and he held it there. 

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed. 

“Don’t be,” he started. “Don’t be. Alright?”

You could only nod, crying more. He wrapped an arm around your back and squeezed you flat to him, left hand knotting in your hair. His feet walked backwards slowly until he was leaning against the counter, able to drop his jaw in line with your scalp. He murmured, I know, and, you’re good, over and over again until the cops came, even though there was no way to be sure. 

Every breath he took buzzed against your cheek, shaking with fear. 

. . . 

You opened your eyes to find him propped up against the door. 

Sunlight steamed in through the closed blinds. Your eyes burned, swollen from crying and stained with tears. Without moving, you watched him, stunned.

This was Steve Harrington’s bedroom. 

His eyes were open, fluttering open and shutting slowly. Violet rings encased his eyes. His hair was slightly disheveled, like he had been running his hands through it all night. A small paperback book rested in his lap. A green Family Video vest was draped over the chair, Steve still clad in his beige henley and jeans. He flipped a pencil between his fingers and blinked down at the page. 

You were almost too afraid to speak. There was nothing dreamlike about any of it; you were only there because you watched a man die. Still, you could hardly believe it. Any of it. You couldn’t go back to the motel last night, and Steve hovered over you at the police station so much it would hardly have been an option to try and go anywhere else. Not that you would have. 

It almost felt too soon to breathe again. 

“Are you a sudoku guy?” you whispered. 

His head shot up and his eyes flicked to you, wide and warm. 

“Huh?” he jolted, mouth barely open. 

“Sudoku,” you said, pointing to it in his lap. He stood up, and you straightened out against the headboard, pulling the covers up to your shoulders. The walls were an odd shade of tan, capped by old plaid wallpaper. The carpet was thick and soft. It was an apartment, not a house, and clearly, there wasn’t much he was allowed to change about it. 

He glanced down at the book in dismissal and dropped it at the foot of the bed. “I’m awful at it.”

“No...”

He peered at you, like he was afraid his voice would shatter you into a million little pieces. A pit formed in your belly. 

“Do you feel okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded instantly, eager to appear less vulnerable. “Yeah, I feel fine. I felt fine last night, too. I was just scared.”

“Well, yeah,” he nodded, scoffing a bit. Same Steve. 

You blinked a few times, swallowing dry air. 

“Did you sleep?” you asked. 

He made a brief gesture, shrugging and scrunching up his shoulders. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You look…”

He glanced at you and his brows flicked up. “What, huh? I look what?”

You laughed despite yourself and sunk down into the mattress. He didn’t sleep; it was obvious. For a few moments, he just watched you, lips flattening in that signature faux-blank gaze. His pupils darted between yours, down to your nose and back up. His scent was everywhere- on the comforter and in the pillows. In front of you. You were drowning in him. Truthfully, it made you want to curl up and go back to sleep. 

“Did your date get home okay?”

You weren’t even sure why you asked. It just slipped out. And, truth be told, you wanted to know if she was sitting in the kitchen waiting for you to come out, or something equally as horrifying. 

“My what?”

“The girl you were with at Lucas’s game.”

He poked his head out and then shook it. “Oh, no. You…she’s just a friend of mine. Really. Not a date.”

His tone was genuine, but you knew a lie when you heard one. It was a date; even if he had changed his mind about her. 

His brows ticked down. “Hey. What-?”

You felt it then; tears pricking at your eyes. His voice was so soft, so concerned, it only made it worse. You scrunched your eyelids together and rubbed them vehemently, pretending you were just tired. 

His hand fell over your covered ankle. The weight was warm, and he kneaded the blanket there gently. Barely. 

“Can I take a shower?” you blurted, trying to break the spell you were under. “Please? It’s okay if not, I just…” 

I was hiding in a ditch. 

He looked at you like you were crazy. “Of course you can. Why would you say it like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Of course it’s okay. Anything is okay. You- anything you- whatever you…”

He seemed to give up. 

“I don’t know what I’m trying to say, just- yeah, of course.”

Your eyes burned again. Hurriedly, you thanked him and ducked behind the door on the far side of the bedroom, grateful to discover it actually was the bathroom. 

. . . 

Everything felt different. 

You were still you, and Steve was still Steve. But everything else had changed. The wires between you were crossed. You passed him in his kitchen to grab your jacket off the counter, and he sucked in a breath, like you had smacked him or stepped on his foot. With a shaky hand, you slipped on your zip-up. 

The scent of soap curled into your nose. When you peeled the jacket away from you for a moment, glancing over it, Steve motioned to it. 

“I washed it. Sorry- did it shrink, or something?”

“No!” you said. “No, not at all. I just didn’t know…” 

You trailed off, jaw locking. This was unfamiliar territory, not even within the realm of things you had dreamed of happening. It felt weird. To be this alone with him. 

You weren’t sure how to act. It seemed like he wasn’t, either. 

“It smells good,” you shrugged, a little sheepish. 

He made a wry face. “It better. Detergent’s expensive.”

You watched him walk to the fridge and open it, those familiar veins in his forearms. He looked different, more adult, but not any less himself. Like this was how he was always supposed to look; warm and safe. 

Oh, shut up. 

“Thank you,” you said, climbing onto the barstool. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nah. I like laundry.”

“You do?”

“Uh, sure,,” he mumbled, pouring milk into a bowl with comedic focus. “It smells good.”

He probably only said it because you did. After he set the bowl of milk in front of you, he swiped two cereal boxes from the counter; variants of honey oats and fruit loops. 

“Do you like either of these?” Steve asked, holding them up. 

You wrinkled your nose at the bowl a little. “You put the milk in first?”

“Don’t even start, Byers. We don’t have time,” he rambled off, shaking his head at you. 

Byers. Your heart swelled, and you laughed, not stopping to think about it. Too pleased at the sound of your nickname to even think about how long it had been since he called you it. Steve did, too- soft and sheepish. 

“Start what?” you retorted. 

He rolled his eyes. “You know what.”

. . .

The case spiraled. 

There was another body, a boy named Fred; one of Nancy’s friends. They worked together on the school paper. Any hopes you had of convincing her to forgive Jonathan or spend any time with you were gone, but you could hardly blame her. You saw what happened to that poor man. What would it have been like to see one of your friends snapped in half, bled dry before your eyes?

Besides, she wasn't focused on Jonathan. Steve was in town. 

You tried not to think about it, but it was almost impossible. 

He still called her ‘Nance’. You convened in Max’s neighborhood after meeting her at the site of Fred’s death, and he said it. 

“Hey, Nance.”

She shot him a small wave. You stood there behind him on the driver's side of the BMW, listening to Max and Dustin bicker. It had been years since you had to watch the two of them talk face-to-face. 

You’d always assumed, really, that there were two reasons Steve abandoned you at the Snow Ball. One being that he was embarrassed to be seen with you, and two, being; he was still in love with Nancy. 

Who wouldn’t be? She-

“Y/N,” Steve beckoned. 

Your gaze jolted up. Cool spring wind wrapped around your ankles, your jeans slightly too short for your legs. You wound your jacket around your shoulders and replied- 

“What? I’m sorry.”

“We’re gonna’ head out,” he said, lingering between the open driver’s door. “Everything alright?”

No, not at all. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, breathing out and adding a smile. “Yeah, sorry.”

You tried to call home that day, right after lunch. Joyce didn’t pick up. You called again, twice, three times, nine times, and nobody picked up. There was hardly any time to be worried about your brothers, because people were dying in Hawkins, right before your eyes. Of course, you made room. The weight of their safety was on your chest now, too, a constant unanswered fear. And then there was Eddie Munson, falsely accused of murder.  

You felt awful for him. When the five of you found him, he was hiding under a tarp. Steve startled him, and Eddie pinned him to the wall with a blade at his throat. 

A surprised noise burst from you, and you lurched forward instinctively. Robin grabbed your sleeve and hissed your name. Eddie’s gaze snapped towards you. And then, like your face had been all it took to prove Steve was harmless, he held his hands up and said-

“Alright. But watch yourself.”

The back of Steve’s head collided with the wall when Eddie released him, eliciting a jarring clang. You reached hesitantly for the bruised back of his neck. But before you could touch him, he arched his arm around your frame with his back to you, leisurely shielding you from Eddie and his nervous pacing.

Your heart thumped in your ears. A drop of blood beaded at the bottom of his neck. When you swiped it away, he sucked in a breath. 

“What are you doing?”

He whispered it instantly, like you had shocked him. Barely glancing over his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, you just- your head is bleeding. I was try-”

“No, it’s okay,” he rambled off. “S’okay. Sorry.”

“Why are you-?”

The conversation faded into silence as Dustin began talking about more important things; the Upside Down and Eddie’s introduction to it. Chrissy’s death. There were thousands of things more important to talk about that week, which made it easy to forget the way Steve’s sheets smelled just like him, or how he kneaded the back of your neck at the police station while you waited in the lobby; smoothing out the fear you held there and replacing it with his constant vigilance. 

But only when you weren’t alone. Back at his apartment; it was nearly impossible to ignore. 

You had just finished repacking your suitcase in his bedroom. The blinds were open just barely, the lamp on his bedside table bathing the room in a golden glow. Everything smelled like him, or, if it had no smell- looked like him. He made the bed after you got up; blankets meticulously tucked under the pillows, but still wrinkled, from where he probably got frustrated and yanked on them to cover the mattress. His Family Video vest was draped over the doorknob, like he wore it so often there was no reason to put it in the closet. 

The lights were off when you came into the kitchen. 

“Hey,” Steve mumbled, holding a small plastic tin that was covered in frost. “I was gonna heat this up for you. It’s, like, orange chicken or something. But it’s kind of ancient, so I don’t know.”

He was reading the label intently, not looking at you. 

You smiled. “That’s okay. Thanks for offering, I’ll, um…I’ll get out of your way.”

“Do you want to order- you’ll what?” 

He glanced up; the first half of his sentence a nonchalant ramble, the second a pinging interrogation. You straightened out a little bit, surprised. 

“I just meant I’ll go back to the motel. You don’t have to get me food, or anything, I wouldn’t ask you to. You already let me sleep here.”

You laughed a little at the end of the sentence, trying to dispel the obvious discontent between his brows. His shoulders softened slightly and he leaned against the counter, resting his palms on the laminate, but that frustrated stare remained. 

“You want to go back to the motel?” he asked. He looked soft in the light of the kitchen; blue polo snug over the breadth of his shoulders. His hair fell into his eyes a bit, longer and maybe a little blonder than before. Still Steve. And yet, with every tiny change in his appearance or demeanor, you only loved him more. 

“You gotta’ stop doing that, Byers,” he nudged, voice soft as silk. 

You blinked, drawn out of your thoughts. 

“Doing what?”

“Zoning out on me.”

“I don’t zone out on you,” you retorted immediately. Lied. 

His next words were a string of uttered ramblings, barely audible, while he fumbled around the kitchen and put the orange chicken back in the freezer. 

“Fucking- drives me insane. All the time.”

His voice was strained but gentle. He was only ever sharp with you when the argument didn’t matter. When you both were bickering uselessly. This was…different. This was him trying to bicker uselessly, but saying something real instead. What were you supposed to do? Pretend he made sense, that all of his nervous mumbling had meant nothing since your sophomore year?

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

He froze with his back to you. Then he shut the freezer and glanced slowly over his shoulder. 

“What?”

He looked shocked. You never asked him about these things; these little things. Goddamnit, Byers. This sweater really is nice, you know. Of course I want to dance with you, don’t be ridiculous. Oh, you’re working here this summer? This job is going to kill me. Can’t you stay here by the car, where it’s safe?

All the little things. The way he would whip around when you looked at him, like he couldn’t handle it. Running a hand over his eyes every time you said something that worried him. Acting like someone had stabbed him every time you cried. 

If he didn’t love you, if he really felt nothing for you; then why should explaining his behavior be so hard?

You blinked at each other for a moment. He had this look on his face; that faux-blank one that he used whenever words were failing. Whenever he was afraid to use them. 

A similar fear overcame you and you backed down, rattled. 

“Nothing, I just couldn’t hear you. Sorry.”

Still stuck in that awkward, twisted position, one hand gripping the freezer handle, Steve said- 

“You do know, don’t you?”

Every word was chopped, a struggle. Only audible because he forced it to be. After there was only stillness; in his stance and on his face, fear and freedom at the same time. Like he had finally revealed something, only you weren’t sure what it was. 

“No?” you whispered, voice breaking. 

You glanced away, nervous. Steve suddenly straightened out and let go of the freezer. 

“I’ll take the couch, yeah?” he hollered, already in the other room. You followed him with your eyes as your heart sped to a panicked pace. “Stay here.”

You blinked. “All week?”

“All week.”

He tossed a blanket over the old green couch and turned to you, hands on his hips. 

“There’s a murderer on the loose, Byers. I don’t want you sleeping in a motel.”

Thump, thump. Your pulse was loud as a drum. Staring at him. He opened his mouth with that trademark exhaustion, probably to say, you’re doing it again. 

“It’s more of a demon than a murderer,” you commented uselessly. Afraid of anything, of everything that could come next. 

He got this weird look in his eyes then, all dazed and worried. 

“Would you just stay here, please?” he begged. 

It was the saddest sound you ever heard. 

. . . 

You stayed with Steve. One night later, Max stayed with him, too. 

Taking her home after what happened at the cemetery felt wrong. Her eyes were bloodshot red, each of her breaths a stuttered effort. Seeing her hovering above the ground like that topped the fear you felt the night of Lucas’s basketball game; knowing what would come next. The feeling of her pale hands grappling at your sleeves when she came back down, grasping for someone, anyone, was heartbreaking. 

Dustin and Lucas weren’t allowed to stay out, and sending her home with either of them was out of the question, too. The idea popped into your head well before Steve offered. But when he did, it sounded obvious. 

“Max, can you just share my bed with Y/N?” 

You were in the passenger seat of his BMW, worriedly eyeing Max and the boys in the backseat. You met Steve’s gaze there when he asked her, that familiar glint of concern in his eyes. Your heart swelled heavy as a bowling ball. 

“S’fine,” she murmured. Lucas was cradling her head at an awkward angle against his shoulder, clearly desperate to be holding her, however he could. She didn’t ask what Steve meant, or ask how long he would have her; she just trusted him to take care of her. 

A stray tear rolled down your cheek just thinking of it. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor, Max,” you said softly. “The bed is yours.”

She said nothing. Maybe she wasn’t able to, but the tangled expression on her face uncoiled a bit. You smiled at her in what you hoped was a comforting fashion, heart fluttering against your ribs like a bird. 

She took to you that night. Max had never been as brash with you as the others, but she opened up once you got back to the apartment. Or, rather- cracked open. Steve hovered behind the two of you, far enough away to give her space, close enough to catch her if she fell as you guided her to the bathroom. Max leaned against the sink and shivered. 

“Can you help me?” she whispered. 

You could have wept at the sound of it. “Of course. What do you need?”

She sniffled, and her eyes pointed to the bathtub. “I feel like I can’t...lift my arms.”

“Oh,” you breathed. More of a broken noise than a reply. “Of course. I can help with your clothes, too- is that okay? Do you want me to?”

She nodded, lips crumpling into a soundless sob. Before you shut the door, you turned to Steve. His face was awfully hurt, stained by anger and unwarranted guilt. 

“Holler if you need me,” he said softly. 

“I will.”

His brows fluttered together as he looked at you. “Don’t cry, Byers.” 

His words were gentle, entirely commandless. Like he said it more for himself than for you. You cast him the tiniest, tiredest smile and shut the door. 

Later that night, Max sat at the foot of Steve’s bed as you dried her hair, in a pair of your borrowed pajamas. Long red strands ended in dripping water, blotting Steve’s comforter and sheets as you squeezed a fistful of her hair in a towel. Soon, there was a knock at the bedroom door. 

You glanced at Max. “Are you okay with him coming in?”

She nodded, and you got up to open the door. 

Steve filtered in slowly, leaning quietly in the doorway as you got back to drying Max’s hair. When you grabbed a brush from your suitcase, he finally spoke. 

“Feeling okay?” he asked. 

Max sniffed. “Fine.”

“You need anything? Water?”

“I guess.”

He turned instantly and sped to the kitchen, like a soldier at attention. You watched him grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with ice like her life depended on it. Sweet. You snatched your eyes away when he came back and continued brushing, careful not to tug on any knots.

Steve held it out to her, in front of both of you. Her hand rattled as she reached for it. For a moment, it seemed like she would just give up. Her other hand floated up at her side, tentative, like every movement felt unfamiliar. 

Then, gently; Steve took that free hand in his and wrapped the glass of water in her other, clamping her other palm slowly around the glass. He watched her intently with a tiny knot between his brows. 

“Good?” he asked, holding her hands in his. 

Max nodded, clearly embarrassed, and snatched the glass away. “Thanks.”

It took everything in you not to stare at him in awe as he retreated to the doorway. 

“I’ll be out here,” he said choppily, “on the couch. If you…if you need anything. Just holler.”

The two of you locked eyes. His were glossy as marbles, his expression more rattled those past few days than you had ever seen it in the past few years. He made that face at you- the flat-lipped, faux-blank one. You wondered what he was thinking behind the mask. 

“Can you both stay in here?” 

Your focus shot to Max. She glanced over her shoulder, water staining the soft gray sleeves of your sleep shirt. 

Steve poked his head out. “What’d you say?”

“Can you both sleep in here,” she repeated, a little terse. “On the floor, or something.” Then she glanced at you. “And can you stay up here?”

The ‘with me’ was silent. You did your best not to weep at the sight of her face and nodded enthusiastically. Of course, you obliged. She chose the right side of the bed closest to the window and curled up instantly, facing the blinds with shaking shoulders. You laid next to her under the covers, careful not to crowd her, but with a hand draped over the top of her pillow. If she looked up, she would see you there. 

Eventually, her trembling stopped and she fell asleep. Relief poured over you. It had been nearly two hours since you all laid down, and you could finally move a bit- placing your other arm on top of the nightstand. It had fallen asleep squished into your side, but you were too afraid to move it while she was dozing off. 

Steve groaned on the floor. Hesitant, you leaned over the bed, squinting down at him in the darkness. 

“You okay?” you whispered. 

His eyes popped open, frantic gaze flickering up at you from his floor bound blanket cocoon. A wry strand of chestnut hair fell into his swollen eyes. 

“I was sleeping,” he mumbled. 

“No, you weren’t,” you retorted. 

You had been avoiding each other. Not avidly, or even intentionally. But speaking after what happened last night in the kitchen felt wrong. There was so much you missed there, so much that he missed. The wires between you were even more tangled than before, but you had no idea how to fix it. 

You do know, don’t you?

KNOW WHAT! You wanted to scream. But he seemed disappointed when you said no- like you had done something wrong. Prying made you feel even worse. 

So you ignored it; as the two of you often did. 

Steve sniffed. “Shut up.”

You bit back a laugh, not apt to let it out in the first place. Max’s warm shadow at your side was a constant reminder of the danger you were facing. It was still crazy to you that everyone had survived the one lone demogorgon in 1983. Fighting a mind-warping phantom who could kill you from miles away seemed nearly impossible. 

“My back hurts,” Steve muttered. 

You glanced down, brows drawn. “Do you want another pillow?”

“No, keep yours.”

You blinked. “I didn’t offer you mine.”

“You were going to.”

A tiny grin rippled over your face. “You know me so well,” you teased. 

A genuine smile grew on his lips, slow, and then all at once. 

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

His face made your chest hurt. 

“She seem okay?” he asked next, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at Max fondly, happy to see her completely still. 

“Yeah. She fell asleep.”

“Good.” He breathed in slow. “Fucking awful.”

“I know.”

“She must have been ter-”

Just then, Max stirred. A tiny, whining sound fell from her lips as she rolled over in Steve’s bed. Your brows drew in instant worry and you sat up, following her movements with hazy eyes. The world was completely blue outside the window, varnished by a television-like haze. Her outline was fuzzy. 

She settled in beside you, then- her head on your pillow. As you sank down, hesitantly wrapping an arm around her shoulders, you noticed Steve had sat up and was leaning against the nightstand with a worried stare. 

“Is she okay?”

“I think,” you nodded, patting her hair down. You stroked softly; afraid to go too far, to give her too much. You never imagined she would be vulnerable like this. Maybe she never felt safe enough. 

“Yeah,” you added, scanning the length of her frame beneath the blankets. “She’s okay.”

Steve stared at you. 

“Huh,” he mumbled. That one huh, the huh that meant I’m thinking something and I’m not going to say it. 

Annoyance reared through you. 

“What?” you practically snapped. 

He smiled with his mouth closed, eyes still on Max. 

“You would be a wonderful mom,” he remarked sheepishly. A little sarcastically, but only because the notion was so glaringly obvious he didn’t even need to say it. 

The comment had your hands buzzing. “Really?”

He wrinkled up his cheeks. “Of course.”

You glanced back at Max, limbs like jello. “Why?”

He scoffed. 

“Don’t even ask me that.”

“Why!”

“It’s obvious, Byers. Don’t play dumb.”

You glared at him. “I never play dumb.”

His gaze softened, a thin crease of sadness between his brows. “I know.”

You gazed at each other. He was fuzzy in the midnight light, too; but his resolve was hard, firm lines around the lean angles of his shoulders and chest. There was something statue-like about his posture. Like you would fade away if he moved. 

“I hate that you’re here,” he breathed suddenly. 

“What?”

“I’m just- fuck me,” he murmured, rubbing his hands over his eyes. He scrubbed them and then sighed. “This is so fucked. All of it.”

“I know,” you replied instantly, desperate for him to get to the point. Horrified. 

“I wish you’d stayed in California for break. It’s the first time in a year anything’s happened in Hawkins, and it happens when you’re back. It happens in front of you. I hate it. I fucking hate it, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare. He stared down at his lap, defeated, but mostly tense. Rigid with anger in that familiar snappy way he always was. 

“I’m…” you started, unsure. He didn’t even look up. 

You sucked in a breath and let the words fall out. 

“You’ve done plenty,” you whispered. “You went to the police station with me. You let me stay here. You’re letting Max stay here. You’ve done more than enough.”

He shook his head, but his gaze flicked up, now focused on your fingers where they softly patted Max’s hair. 

“I want to do more,” he whispered, like he remembered she was sleeping. “I have to do more. I’m losing my fucking mind,” he murmured, head dropping back onto the nightstand.

You peered down at him, stunned into stillness. He was so close. The freckles on his nose were pinpricks in the dark, long lashes fluttering as his full brows drew in concern. You didn’t mean to stare; but you had to. And then, when you finally worked up the gull to say something, he sat up. 

“I shouldn’t have dumped that on you. Shit. I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shook your head, replying softly. He glanced over at the sound of it, before you could finish your sentence, and your noses came so close you felt the warmth of his skin ghost over yours. 

You both inhaled. Frozen. Your hand stilled on Max’s head as Steve stared at you unblinking, mouth slowly falling open as his gaze teetered between both of your eyes. He shook his head at you slowly. The moment seemed to last for an hour and one second all the same. 

“Byers,” he breathed out, the tiniest cry behind it. “You deserve so much more.”

His breath fanned over your nose. You tensed to keep from shivering. 

“Than what?” you dared to ask.

His gaze fell to your nose for a long time. “Than everything,” he replied, a little dumbfounded. 

His pupils darted to your lips for the shortest second, and you saw it there in his mirror-like gaze that what he had in mind was not what he said. Jarred, too tired to overthink what he really meant, you sunk down into the mattress and leaned towards Max.

You felt Steve’s eyes on you as you tried to sleep, on your fingers as they weaved through her hair. You fell asleep with them on you. In the morning, there was no way to be sure whether he looked at you all night; but he had those same purple rings beneath his eyes from the first night he stayed awake watching you, sleepless in his own home. 

. . . 

There was a gate to the Upside Down inside Lover’s Lake.

Somewhere buried at the bottom, glowing red like an open wound. Bleeding Hawkins. You came upon it in the forest the next night while police searched the woods for Eddie, an old boat lapping against the shore. 

“Will you watch the kids?” Steve asked gruffly. You glanced up where you knelt on the bank, trying to push the boat into the water. 

“Right now?”

“Yeah. While we’re gone.”

Eddie clambered into the boat beside you, ungracefully helping Nancy and Robin slip onto the old deck. You blinked up at Steve, hesitant and a little angry. 

He hissed suddenly. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t…with your eyes, don’t do that.”

He rambled it off like it hurt. You sat there and ‘did the thing with your eyes’ for a moment more- you looked up at him. You had to, you were sitting on the ground. You weren’t even doing it on purpose, when suddenly, he crouched down in front of you and came close to your ear. 

“I can’t do what I need to do when you’re here,” he pleaded, Steve-like and snappy. Heart wrenching, nonetheless. “Do you…does that make sense to you? I can’t do this. You can’t be here, or I won’t get this done.”

“Why?” you begged. Afraid for him to throw himself in harm's way for the thousandth time. 

“All I’m thinking about is you,” he strained. “I’ll get everybody else killed, cus’ all I’ll be thinking about is you. Walking around the Upside Down, marching through hell. Do you understand me?”

His tone was sharp but not angry. He was afraid. He was telling the truth. 

You blinked at him, almost level with his eyes. 

“That’s what you need?” you whispered. 

“Yes,” he nodded instantly. “Yeah, sweetheart. That’s what I need.”

You could have smacked him. He had called you that more than once now; sweetheart. Like he knew it would get you.

You stood up. His nose brushed over your ribs and the top of your thighs, nearly knocking him over. He shut his eyes and went perfectly still. 

You left to stand by Max. 

. . . 

The next time you saw Steve his stomach was slashed. 

You nearly threw up. Your heart was beating in your eye sockets, blaring in your head. He was cradling Nancy in his arms. Vecna got her, he said, but she was fine. She would be fine, she wasn’t dead. Everyone was crying but Steve. 

Back at his apartment, you offered to help him dress the wounds. 

“No,” he shook his head. “No. You can’t.”

“Can’t?” you repeated as he labored to the bathroom. And he responded with this awful look; defeated and guilty, but most of all, yearning. 

“Can’t,” he nodded, practically mocking himself. 

He slept on the couch instead of on the floor beside you. 

. . . 

Eddie hotwired an RV. 

That day was just as dismal, but a little more exciting. You stopped by the gun store to buy weapons for your expedition into the Upside Down, wandering around for a while until your eyes landed on an enormous mallet. The dull metal shined in the fluorescent lights overhead as Robin walked by. 

“Oh shit, Byers.”

You glanced over. “What?”

She smirked. “Nothing. Just looking at your mallet.”

You smiled a little. “Should I get it?”

“Of course.”

You laughed, but her gaze was already elsewhere. As you turned to follow it, you saw a redheaded girl behind a few shelves of bullets, a boy leaning down to kiss her nose. You squinted at the pair. Does she like one of them?

When you glanced back at Robin, the sting in her eyes was obvious. 

“Oh, Robin,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes shot to you, a little wide. 

“What did you say?”

Panic shot through you. “I just said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“You know?” she gushed, stepping towards you. “Who told you? Steve?”

You blinked at her. “Know what?”

She blinked back. And then, just like that, it locked into place. She stared at you expectantly as realization flooded through you. Of course. For a moment, you thought about lying to her, saying you knew all along or something corny like that to make her feel better. Ultimately, what you said was probably best. 

“No, actually,” you replied quietly. “But I do now.”

“Oh, fuck-”

“No, no. Robin. I love you. It’s great. It wouldn’t matter to me either way, but I’m…I’m sorry I accidentally sprung that on you. I didn’t know, but I do now, and I promise I won’t say a word to anyone. If you don’t want me to.”

She stared at you in disbelief. “You won’t?”

“Of course not.” You smiled a bit, unsure of her reaction. “My opinion doesn’t matter, but I’m…it’s great,” you settled on. A bit nervous. “It’s great, and I love you. And I’m sorry. That I found out.”

It’s a moment of choppy apologies and poor congratulations. But Robin sighed like you lifted a boulder from her shoulders. 

“No. Don’t be sorry. This is great. This is fantastic,” she beamed. “For a second I thought you might have remembered.”

“Remembered what?” you blinked. 

“Just…” Her face went pale. “Shit.”

“Robin-” 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about that.”

You opened your mouth to beg for more when Erica breezed by you and whispered, “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Why?” Robin muttered. 

“Jason is here.”

. . .

“I’m coming.”

Steve stared at you from the opposite side of Eddie’s front lawn. 

“I am begging you to do literally anything other than that.”

You did it anyway. 

The plan called for you to join Steve, Eddie, Nancy, Robin and Dustin in the Upside Down; so you would do it. Someone had to be there to run between groups, to relay information, to join whoever fell behind. The plan called for you to be there, plain and simple. 

What Steve failed to understand even after all of your years together was that you worried about him just as much as he worried about you. 

He was guiding the group of you- Nancy and Robin included- up the front porch steps to Victor Creel’s old house when you felt it. A cold, spindling feeling crawling up the back of your neck as you entered the foyer, climbing up to the second floor. You wondered if this was what Will felt like when the Mind Flayer picked at his brain. 

As if summoned by your thoughts, the gelatinous vines snaking up the walls of the Creel house shot out like tentacles and seized Robin’s throat. 

“STEVE!” she screamed. 

All three of you lunged for her. More vines shot out, wrapping around Nancy’s neck and pinning her to the wall. Sense finally slammed into you as you pulled your mallet from your backpack. 

Another wet cord leapt for Steve. You reared your mallet overhead, ready to bash it into the wall; and suddenly you were surrounded by metal. 

You sunk down as your legs folded beneath you. The walls swam and swirled around you, the color of steel pipes and aluminum cans. Steel walls. Where in the Upside Down were there steel walls?

A weight landed on your left shoulder. You should have flinched- but you couldn’t. Everything was heavy. You could hardly see. 

“Still there?” a voice rasped. It clicked instantly, a switch flipped in your brain. You knew him anywhere. 

Steve? You tried to call for him. Instead, something else left your lips. 

“Yeah.”

It was a strangled, exhausted noise. Slurred and messy. You thought to panic but couldn’t. Your thoughts weren’t your own, your feelings weren’t even your own. Like you were witnessing your own life from the outside. 

That weight on your shoulder turned, and a nose nudged into the side of your neck. 

“Too short,” Steve muttered. “For me to sit like this.”

“Why?”

“You are. Not comfy.”

“Huh…”

The swaying of the walls seemed to clear slightly the longer you sat, so when you glanced down, you finally saw the floor. Your ankles were tied to a chair, a little bruised. A graze covered your shin. In your lap was a mass of blue fabric. And behind you- a mass of lean limbs and chestnut hair. 

There was another ankle beside yours, pale and freckled. Not Steve, but Robin. You saw a wisp of her blonde hair out of the corner of her eye. She was sniffling, crying. Happy tears, you realized. She laughed a bit and sighed in relief. Something must have happened. What happened? What had she said?

Robin. Just that day, you found out Robin liked Vicky. Is that what she was happy about? Telling the two of you?

But this didn’t happen that day. This had never happened. Not that you could remember. 

A door flung open beside you and a man marched in, clad in heavy green canvas. A soldier. He reached for Robin, untying her and plucking her from her chair. You and Steve both screamed for her as she was dragged away, the door slamming shut in her absence. 

His head lolled onto your shoulder again. Your vision was pretty clear now, only your thoughts and movements still painstakingly sluggish. 

A tear rolled down your cheek. You sniffled in dry, sterile air. Steve breathed out. 

“Don’t,” he whined. 

“Don’t what?” you managed. 

“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not,” you sniffled. 

“You are,” he strained. His weight shifted, further down your shoulder. His face was buried in your hair. “I can’t. Don’t.”

“Steve…”

“Please don’t. Please don’t.”

His words were slurred, strained. Like he too was swallowing a knot in his throat. You swallowed yours and nodded, diluted panic coursing through you like molasses. 

“I hate feeling like this,” you wheezed. 

“I thought…you would.”

“Why?”

“You are so good.”

“At what?”

“Everything.”

There were no lies between the two of you now; only delayed responses, thoughts rolling in one second too late. Both of you, open books. You should have been relieved, but you were trapped in a Russian bunker underneath a mall. 

Oh. 

Your body was nonexistent in that moment; a claw wrapped around your mind. But if you could have, you would have gasped. This was what happened that night at Starcourt.

You let the memory play out. 

“I don’t want to do this,” you whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“Do what?” Steve said into your ear. His head pressed against yours, backs flat to each other. 

“I don’t want to say it.”

“Say what?”

You started to cry again, audibly. You couldn’t help it. You were so afraid you would blurt it out, then and there; that you loved him. There were tears everywhere and your legs shook as you sobbed. It was miserable. Steve cursed and yanked on the ropes around his wrists. You felt it behind your back. 

“What are you doing?” you sobbed. 

“I can’t-”

“Just stop!” you cried. “They won’t break. You’ll hurt your hands.”

For a moment, it was quiet in the metal room. 

And then Steve cracked. 

His shoulders convulsed as he cried, the chairs creaking between you as he dropped his head down to his chest. You had never heard Steve cry before. It was quiet, unpitched, timid and sheepish. Like allowing himself to cry was a reason to be crying. 

He sat up and you felt his hair brush against yours. 

“This is my fault,” he choked. You tried to whip your head around, horrified at the inclination, but you could barely move. 

“Of course it’s not,” you slurred. “Steve.”

“No, not- fuck, not this, I mean-” He sucked in a breath. “You. You are my fault.”

He spoke again before you could get your mouth open. 

“I feel so much for you I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t do…anything to…you’re just everywhere. All the time. You’re everywhere and you’re all- you’re all I can think about and I let you down.”

“No you didn’t,” you lied. 

“I did. I left you, at that dance. And you were crying.” He stopped, and sucked in a warbled breath. “You were crying.”

“It’s o-”

“I hate it when you cry. I can’t…you should never be crying over…about me. You should never…there’s no reason.”

You stared at the side of his head. “Of course there is.”

Steve let out another sob. 

“I just love you,” he choked.

His head dropped onto your shoulder. The bruise around his eye was swollen and raw, streaked with tears. A stream of blood fell from his nose as he peeled open his good eye to look at you; haunted and pleading.

Steve breathed out. “I just really love you.”

You blinked down at him, one of your tears landing on his cheek. “You do?”

He scoffed painfully, and it moved your chairs over an inch. “So much. All I think about. And it’s- it’s okay. You don’t have to…y’know.”

“No,” you managed. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to pretend to love me, Byers,” he slurred. 

A fresh wave of horror washed over you, waking you up slightly. You dropped your head onto Steve’s shoulder and stared at him, in awe of the boy before you. His eyes scrunched up at your sudden weight, pleased and pained. 

“I know…I’m not enough for you. You should have more. S’why I…I never wanted you to know I liked you. Didn’t want you to feel bad.”

“Steve…” you whispered. 

“I know what you think about me,” he murmured, letting his eyes fall shut. 

“What do I think about you?” 

He let out a long breath. 

“I’m Steve,” he said. Then he laughed, like he knew it was stupid. “Your Steve. Stupid and…careless. With Nance. With you. Your Steve, the one you know. Speed of sound Steve.”

“Speed of sound Steve?” you wheezed, almost overjoyed. He nodded, a few more strangled sobs reverberating down the hard plane of his chest. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I did that for you. I messed up…the grade. For you. I wrote another speech the night before and just…threw it away.”

“Why?”

“So you wouldn’t be nervous.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you strained, the words heavy on your lips. 

“Course I did.” He grinned a little bit. “Had to do it for you.”

The question bubbled out of you before you could stop it. 

“What about Nancy?”

He made a regretful face, brows crossing. 

“I loved Nancy. But you are…you. You’re you.”

“I’m me?”

“Yeah,” he said, turning to face you. You strained your eyes to look at each other, welling up with tears all over again. “You’re you, Byers, and it’s always been you. I knew it the whole time.” He sniffled, and his expression crumpled. “I am really in love with you.”

“Why did you leave me?” you dared. “At the dance?”

“I wanted you to have better. You should have better than me. I thought it was…right thing.” A tear beaded in his bruised eye. “Wrong, I know. But I didn’t…know what to do. I figured I would just…fuck it up even more.” 

You blinked at each other. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Your brows knit together. 

“I do love you,” you pressed, forcing the words out. They weighed more than the two of you combined. “Steve. I love you.”

He hardly had enough strength left to smile. 

“Really?” he replied. Prayed. 

“Yeah. I love you, Steve. Speed of sound Steve.” 

He snorted. 

“My Steve. I love you. Always have.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I do.”

You stared at each other. The ghost of a grin rippled over his lips, every muscle in his face likely sore beyond belief. Then he breathed out, oh, fuck, and started crying all over again. 

The memory at Starcourt wound to a close. Dustin and Erica came for you eventually, Robin close behind. When they untied you, you both clattered to the floor for a moment in a heap of warm limbs and salty tears. Steve slipped a poorly aimed hand under your head to keep you from hitting the floor and slung you over his chest; draped over him like a blanket. 

He wrapped his arms around you and cried some more. You felt him smiling against your ear; ridiculously and incandescently happy as Hawkins collapsed around you. 

Collapsed. 

. . . 

The Creel house snapped back into view. 

You felt the long spindles of Vecna’s fingers retreat from your mind as you wheezed, exhaling loud. You were in another room, somewhere upstairs; an attic brimming with newly lit fire. Leaning against a warm body. Robin and Nancy stood at the top of the stairs, rambling to each other, crying out when they saw your eyes open. 

“It’s done?” you breathed. 

A hand wrapped around your far shoulder and spun you like a rag doll. When you steadied Steve, he gripped your forearms, steadying you in return. 

“You were hovering,” he blurted. “I dragged you up here, Byers. What the fuck was that? Are you-”

“I’m fine,” you breathed. “I’m fine.”

“Why were you-? What happened?”

He clamped his hands down on either side of your face. You rocked to the side and stood upright again, wrapping your hands around his wrists. He held you there, and you held him back, peering into dark wells of his eyes. Knowing. 

It almost made you smile; the idea of an all-powerful monster trapping you in a memory to keep you from splitting his evil vines in half. 

“You bashed that tentacle in half,” Steve scrambled to say. 

Oh!

“Oh, it- I did?”

“Yeah, right before you…whatever it is. Saved my life, probably.”

“Robin and Nancy are fine.”

“Yeah, because I got them down,” he retorted. 

You blinked into the mirror of his eyes, overcome with adoration. It had always been there, but allowing yourself to feel it wasn’t so scary anymore. 

Steve’s brows flicked down. His resolve cracked. 

“Don’t ever do that shit again. Alright? Ever again. I thought I was going to have a heart atta-”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and squeezed. His jacket and bag slipped down over his shoulders a bit, the force almost knocking him over. He steadied himself and gripped your waist like that wasn’t an option; leaning into you, collapsing into you like you did to him. His chin dropped to the top of your head. You held each other up, his scent curling into your nose. Safe in the most dangerous place on Earth. 

You buried your head in his chest for a moment and he exhaled, nose dipping to your forehead. He breathed you in. 

You pulled your head up, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then his lips.

His grip tightened around you as he went stiff. It was soft- everything about him was soft, and his mouth moved to kiss you back before it seemed his brain had even thought of it. He tasted clean, warm like summer. For a moment, he was completely still. Steve opened his eyes and blinked down at you, pulling away slightly. 

“Are you serious?” he pleaded, voice cracking. Like you could break him in two with just a glance. His eyes were glassy with tears. 

“Yes,” you managed. 

He breathed out hard. “Byers- I mean- if you’re not sure, you can’t-”

“I’m serious. I have never been more serious about anything in my entire life.”

“You’re serious,” he retorted in disbelief. 

“Yes, Steve-”

His fingers threaded into your hair and pulled gently, like he was feeling to make sure you were tangible and not just a mirage as he pressed his lips to yours. Locked in. His hands flew back to your neck and pressed there, the tension still in his brows seeming to disperse at the feeling of your pulse against his palms. Dizzying warmth flooded over you as the tips of his fingers cupped your ears, hot as irons against your icy skin. 

“I love you,” he breathed suddenly. Letting go of him felt like snapping out of a mold. “And when you asked me about the girl I went to Lucas’s game with, I thought you…when I said we weren’t dating, you looked like you didn’t believe me. I meant it. I mean, it was a date, I’m sure she was nice, but I was only going on dates because you weren’t here. You know? You are the love of my life. You know, don’t you? You know?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying not to cry. There was no reason to anymore. “I know.”

“That’s what-”

He paused, staring at you. Then he kissed you again, like it couldn’t wait. You gripped the collar of his jacket to steady yourself, feeling him tilt his neck up so there was room for you to lean on him. 

“That’s what I was trying to ask you,” he said, pulling away from you again. “At my place. I asked you, you know, don’t you? That’s what I was asking.”

“I didn’t know then,” you replied.

“But you do now?”

“Yes,” you laughed. 

His face was perfectly serious. “You love me?” And then- “Fuck. You don’t have to. I’m sorry.”

“Steve,” you strained. “Of course I do.”

“You do?”

“I d-”

He kissed you again. You never considered it; that Steve might have been just as afraid of loving you as you were of loving him. Your teeth knocked into his, and instead of letting go, he positioned his hands on the side of your face to pull you back just slightly; enough to keep you from feeling the sting. His palms smashed your hair into your eyes. There were tentacles on the wall and a pile of demon ashes behind you, melting through the floor. 

My first kiss, you realized. But you would tell him that later. 

. . . 

You picked at your yellow gown as they called the name of the graduate before you. 

Clapping rang through the auditorium as they crossed the stage and you climbed up the stairs behind them, hands shaking at your sides. A drop-down projector screen wavered in the light breeze of the afternoon, hanging from two poles driven into the turf of the Lenora Hills High football field. The urge to look for your family was strong, but the urge to look directly at your feet was stronger. 

The announcer cleared his throat. 

“Y/N Byers.”

You forced yourself up the stairs. Sunlight reared in your eyes as you bounded across the carpeted stage, eager to be off as soon as possible. The principal handed you your diploma and smiled, shaking your hand so hard you thought you might keel over. 

The sound of bat-like screeching snagged in your ears. 

When you looked up, Joyce was holding up a sign with your name on it in the front row of the bleachers, screaming bloody murder. Behind her, Jonathan hollered, looping his arms under Will’s shoulders and yanking him into the air. He pumped his fist shakily. 

Beside them, a tall and chestnut-haired boy cupped his hands around his mouth and howled- “YES, BYERS!” 

Steve Harrington. Your boyfriend. 

Your face cracked open into a smile when you met them afterward. Joyce took her time with you; wrapping her arms around you tight and knocking you around like a buoy in rough waters. When she let go, Will tugged at your sleeve, and you hugged him quickly, certain he was ready to get out of the crowd. 

When you let go of him, Jonathan smiled. He hugged you tight and patted your shoulders. 

“I do love you,” he remarked. “Even if I never say it.”

You laughed over his shoulder. “I know.”

Even before Jonathan let go, you were looking at Steve. A few inches away, beaming with a bushel of yellow and white roses in his hands, staring at you like you were the Sun even though it burned bright right behind him. 

Jonathan let go. You meandered over, nervous although you had been together for nearly three months at that point. 

“Miss Byers,” Steve greeted grandly, handing you the bouquet as if to knight you. “Now a graduate.”

“How do you feel about it?” you grinned. 

He cast you an incredulous glance. “How do I feel about it?” he repeated. Steve stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you into the air. “How do you feel about it!” he laughed. You squealed into his shoulder, content. Too content. After he spun you around a few times and set you down, you felt like crying. 

The world wasn’t perfect. People in Hawkins still blamed Eddie for Vecna’s killings, and Max had yet to wake up. There was a rift in the ground, growing wider each day. Only the few of you knew where it led. There was work to be done, eventually. One day soon, you would have to go back and decide what to do. 

Steve placed his palms in their familiar slot on the sides of your neck. You met him there, wrapping your fingers around his wrists. 

He shook his head. “I’ll never get over it.”

“Get over what?”

He grinned and swallowed, glancing down at your lips. 

“You,” he said. “I think I’ll be this corny about it for the rest of my life.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Oh, you don’t?” he replied, leaning in with a thumb swiping over your lips. 

“No,” you grinned. 

“Really?”

He kissed you before you could respond. Every nerve in your body sparked; relieved. Overjoyed. 

Somehow, you just knew you would figure it out. 

◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ HELLO!!! after a corrupted file and two crashed links part three is here. thank u for being patient with me and thank you for reading it means the world to me. i hope you love this last part. it makes me happy. actually i don't even know what to say the idea of anyone reading one of my works until the end is so sweet it makes me want to cry so thank you so so so much for interacting with SOS :((( i am emotional anyways likes reblogs comments just plain thoughts literally ANYTHING is so appreciated and i cannot thank you enough for the love on this fic. i am so happy. ok gn talk soon <3