stranger-stevieee

He gave you that lopsided grin, the one that always sat just shy of confident when it was directed at you. “Hey. Dropping these off before Henderson scratches them. I swear he puts the tapes in the VCR with the same enthusiasm he has for summoning demodogs.” He lifted a paper bag full of rentals and offered it out.

You stepped aside to let him in, taking the bag but not before his fingers brushed yours. The contact sent a flick of warmth up your arm, not the dramatic kind that makes people gasp in books, but the kind that catches quietly under your ribs. You weren’t sure if he noticed, but his hand pulled away a little quicker than necessary.

Dustin shouted something from the back room, loud enough to rattle the vents. Steve huffed a laugh and nudged the door closed behind him as he walked into the living room. He kicked his shoes off like he’d done it a thousand times, because he had. This place had become familiar to him. You’d become familiar to him. And somehow that knowledge warmed you more than the afternoon sun slanting across the carpet.

He flopped onto the couch, elbows over the back, letting his head fall back dramatically. “I swear, every time I pick something up from Family Video, Kline shows up to yell about our shelving. Every time. Like I chose the shelving. Like I personally installed the shelving.” He peeked at you through the fall of his hair, the grin returning. “Anyway. I figured you might need something new to watch, unless Dustin has you trapped in one of his weird sci-fi marathons.”

You settled on the other end of the couch, cross-legged, the tapes set between you. “It’s not that weird,” you said softly, though the smile gave you away. “And you survived the marathons, too.”

“Barely.” He let out a dramatic sigh, then let the act falter as he turned to face you fully. His knee brushed yours in a way that felt almost accidental but never quite was when it came from him. He always hovered near you—not close enough to overwhelm, but close enough that you felt seen. You’d gotten used to it. Maybe too used to it.

There was something different in his face today, something you couldn’t place. Not nerves exactly, but something halfway between steady and uncertain. His gaze lingered on you longer than normal before shifting to the tapes in your lap. “You find anything good?”

Your fingers drifted over the covers without thinking. “Trying to. He mixed everything up again. I’m pretty sure one of these cases has two different movies shoved in it.”

“Classic Henderson,” Steve murmured, but he didn’t seem focused on the tapes anymore. His eyes had softened in a way that made your pulse stumble. He looked like he was about to say something—something real, something heavy enough that he hesitated. “Hey, I was actually gonna—”

Dustin barreled into the hallway, a crash of sound and limbs. “Steve! You’re here! Good, because I figured out what was wrong with the antenna, and you have to see it, it’s so sick—”

Steve deflated in an instant, head dropping back against the couch. The moment snapped like it had never been there at all. Dustin launched himself into the room, completely oblivious, waving a broken piece of metal dangerously close to Steve’s face.

Steve sat up with a tight smile, rubbing his hands over his jeans like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. You felt the shift, that soft invisible thread between you pulled taut before disappearing entirely. He shot you a glance—quick, almost apologetic—before catching whatever Dustin was waving at him. “Okay, okay, dude, relax before you impale me. What’d you do now?”

Dustin launched into an enthusiastic explanation, words tumbling over each other. Steve tried to look interested. Mostly, he looked like a man who’d been shoved out of a doorway he’d just worked up the courage to walk through.

You sat quietly beside him, listening to your brother ramble, but your attention kept drifting back to Steve. It was in the set of his shoulders, the unfinished words still lingering behind his eyes. He’d been trying to tell you something. And whatever it was, he wasn’t done trying.

You weren’t sure what would happen when he finally managed to get you alone long enough to say it. But for the first time in a long time, the thought didn’t scare you. It sent that same gentle warmth rising in your chest—the kind you didn’t quite know how to name yet, but couldn’t ignore anymore.

---

The ride home from the Wheelers’ had always been a cramped, loud, chaotic experience, mostly because Dustin treated the back seat like a moving laboratory. Tonight was no different—he’d tossed a backpack stuffed with papers, wires, and half-built gadgets across the seat before climbing in, muttering about how he needed to reorganize everything “for efficiency.” Steve had glanced at you in the driveway with a weary, amused smile that told you he already regretted offering the ride, but he’d unlocked the car anyway. He always did.

You slid into the passenger seat and buckled in while Dustin slammed the back door shut with enough force to make Steve wince. Once everyone was settled, Steve started the car, the headlights cutting through the warm, late-evening haze that hovered over the quiet street. The windows were cracked just enough to let in the summer air, and you rested your hands in your lap, feeling that comfortable, familiar tension settle between you and Steve—the kind that was never unpleasant, only warm and awkward in a way you’d grown used to.

He glanced over as he pulled away from the curb. “So. Did you guys have fun or did you suffer through another round of Wheeler Monopoly hell?”

The question was casual, but the look he slid you was not. It lingered, soft at the corners, a little nervous in the middle. You felt the weight of it press lightly beneath your ribs. “It wasn’t that bad,” you said quietly. “Dustin tried to cheat four times.”

“Hey!” Dustin snapped from the back seat. “Three times. The fourth doesn’t count because the rulebook didn’t specify—”

“It absolutely specified, dude,” Steve said, shaking his head. “It’s a published game. There are rules. You can’t just invent your own stock market mid-round.”

“I was innovating,” Dustin insisted, already rummaging for something in his bag.

Steve exhaled through a laugh and shot another glance your way. He always did that—threw his jokes toward the air, but aimed his eyes at you, as if checking whether you were smiling. And you were, even if you looked down to hide it.

The road curved toward your neighborhood, streetlamps drifting past in golden streaks. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Steve tap his fingers nervously on the wheel, like he was working himself up to something. His shoulders were tight, his jaw flexing softly the way it did when he was trying to gather courage without drawing attention.

After a moment of silence, he tried again. “Listen, I—” He cleared his throat. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Actually, not tell you, more like… ask you? Or maybe—”

Dustin leaned forward between the seats so suddenly that both you and Steve flinched. “Okay, so imagine this,” he said, breathless with excitement, waving a notebook near Steve’s face. “If I rewire the antenna and get the gain up by just, like, one decibel—”

“Dude, hold on,” Steve said, swatting the notebook away gently. He tried to keep his voice even, but you could hear the frustration simmering underneath. “I’m talking.”

“You weren’t saying anything important yet.”

“I was literally in the middle of talking!”

“To me,” Dustin corrected smugly. “You weren’t saying anything interesting to me.”

Steve inhaled slowly through his nose, gripping the wheel like it might keep him grounded. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing, because you could see the exact moment he abandoned his almost-confession and resigned himself to Dustin’s rambling.

“Just… go back to whatever you were doing back there,” Steve muttered.

“You mean saving science? Already on it.” Dustin retreated to the back seat and immediately started scribbling again.

Steve let out a long, slow breath, the kind he usually saved for demobat stories or Customer Service Nightmares at Family Video. He didn’t look at you yet. You didn’t look at him either. The interrupted moment hung between you, fragile and obvious.

When he finally risked a side glance, the faintest smile tugged at his mouth—a mix of embarrassment and something softer. “Anyway,” he said quietly, “I was just gonna ask if you, uh… had a good time tonight.”

He’d changed his wording at the last second. You heard it. You wondered if he knew you heard it. “I did,” you murmured, letting your gaze settle on him. “It was nice.”

That small smile of his grew a little, warming the dim car. He was about to say something else—you saw the breath he pulled in, the shift of his shoulders—but Dustin cut him off again. “Steve, turn left! You missed the shortcut!”

“It’s literally two minutes longer,” Steve snapped. “Two minutes! We’re talking blocks, man, not a cross-country trip.” You stifled another laugh. Steve shot you an exhausted, pleading look before turning onto the familiar street. When he parked outside your house, he put the car in park but didn’t immediately shut off the engine. His fingers tapped the wheel again, a restless rhythm. “Hey,” he tried once more, turning slightly in his seat. “I wanted to—”

“Steve, can you help me carry my stuff!?” Dustin bellowed as he launched himself out of the back seat, already grabbing for the door to your house. “I need both hands and probably yours too!”

Steve sagged back against his seat like someone had deflated him. He dragged a hand down his face, muttering something that sounded like a plea for mercy.

You reached for the door handle, hesitating for just a heartbeat. “You can tell me whatever it was later,” you said, voice soft enough that only he would hear.

His eyes found yours again. Whatever he’d been trying to say was still there, simmering just under the surface. A slow smile curved onto his lips, small but genuine. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Later.”

You stepped out of the car, the warm summer air brushing your face. Dustin yelled your name from the porch. Steve groaned, climbed out of the driver’s side, and shot you one last look before going to help your brother.

It wasn’t the confession he’d wanted to give you. But it was coming—you could feel it. And judging by the way he watched you walk toward the house, he wasn’t giving up yet.

---

Family Video was quiet in that late-afternoon way that made the fluorescent lights buzz louder than any customer ever could. The aisles were empty, the return bin was half-full, and Steve was leaning over the counter like a man whose soul had been wrestled out of his body. He kept folding and unfolding the same tape return slip, eyes unfocused, jaw set in that defeated angle that Robin recognized instantly. She flicked a pen cap at his shoulder. “Okay, what’s with the tragic slouch? Did someone rent all the good horror movies again, or are you just being dramatic for attention?”

Steve didn’t look up. He just made a noise that could’ve meant many things: frustration, embarrassment, existential collapse. Robin sighed, circled around the counter, and planted herself across from him with the posture of someone preparing for an interrogation. “Talk,” she demanded, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

He swatted her hand away. “Stop. I’m not a dog.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered. “Now spill it. Your energy today is… weird. And not the usual ‘I’m pretty but tired’ weird. This is ‘something happened and I’m repressing it like a coward’ weird.”

Steve groaned, then let his forehead drop onto the counter with an audible thunk. “I tried to talk to her again.”

Robin perked up instantly. “Oh! Finally! Great! So what’d you say? Did you ask her out? Did you actually form a full sentence? Did you—”

“I didn’t get that far,” he mumbled into the countertop. “Dustin wouldn’t shut up.”

Robin blinked once. “Like… interrupting you?”

“Like climbing over the front seat of my car with a notebook to show me a sketch of an antenna while I was trying to confess my feelings.” Steve lifted his head, eyes hollow with dramatic suffering. “It was like being attacked by a hyperactive raccoon.”

Robin snorted so hard she almost choked. “God, that’s beautiful. Horrible. Hilarious. But mostly horrible.”

“Thank you for your support,” he said dryly.

“Oh, I’m supporting you,” she assured, tapping the counter rhythmically. “Just not your terrible strategy. You need to stop trying to talk to her when Dustin is within a three-mile radius. He’s like a tiny tornado with opinions.”

Steve pushed his hair back with both hands. “I know, I know. I just thought maybe he’d… I don’t know, fall asleep? Or get distracted? Or explode?”

“He’s Dustin,” Robin reminded him, eyebrows raised. “He gets more energized as the day goes on. By midnight he’s seconds away from achieving orbital lift.”

Steve sighed again and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed tight. “I just… I’m not good at this stuff, okay? She’s not like those other girls I used to date. I don’t want to rush it or freak her out.”

“That’s sweet,” Robin said. “But also incredibly stupid.”

He glared at her. “How is that stupid?”

“Because you’re overthinking it, dingus,” she said, flicking his forehead as punishment. “She already likes you.”

Steve froze, blinking. “She—she does?”

“Oh my god.” Robin pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “You’re helpless. You’re actually helpless.”

“That’s not an answer!” he hissed.

Robin dropped her hands and stared him down, speaking slowly for maximum effect. “She. Likes. You.”

Steve stared back, a flush creeping up the side of his neck. “You don’t know that.”

“I absolutely do.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You get all flustered and stupid around her, and she gets all quiet and wide-eyed around you. It’s like watching two baby deer try to merge onto a highway.”

Steve let out a despairing noise. “I can’t believe you compared me to a deer.”

“Oh, you’re both deer,” she insisted. “Deer in love. Pathetic. Adorable. Infuriatingly slow.”

He ran a hand over his face again, groaning. “I just… I want it to be the right moment. And every time it almost is—”

“Dustin blows it,” Robin finished. “Because that kid has zero awareness of anything except science and snacks.”

Steve laughed, but it was tired around the edges. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Robin planted her hands on her hips like she was about to deliver a lecture. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to ask her out. Soon. Not ‘eventually’ or ‘when the universe aligns.’ Soon. Before Dustin adopts you into his personal schedule for the week.”

“I’m working on it,” he insisted.

“No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re waiting for signs and moments and dramatic lighting. What you need to do is open your mouth and say, ‘Hey, I like you. Want to go out?’”

Steve looked deeply scandalized. “That’s—no, that’s too blunt. I can’t just say it like that.”

“Well, you definitely can’t say it while Henderson is crawling on the car seat like a feral goblin.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

Robin leaned her elbows against the counter, eyeing him closely. “Be honest. Are you scared because she’s quiet?”

He hesitated before nodding once. “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. She’s been through… a lot. We all have, but she… you know.”

Robin softened. “Yeah. I get it. But trust me, she’s not scared of you. She’s scared of… saying the wrong thing. Or being too much. Or not enough. You two speak in the same dialect.”

Steve’s breath stalled at that, chest tightening with something warm and nervous. “So… what do I do?”

“What I’ve been telling you from the start.” Robin shrugged, smirking. “Ask her out, dingus.”

The bell above the door chimed as a customer wandered in, and Robin gave Steve one last pointed look before heading into the aisle to help. Steve stayed behind the counter, resting both palms flat on its surface, grounding himself. He took a deep breath and whispered to no one, “Okay. Ask her out. I can do that. I can do that.”

But even as he said it, he already knew one thing for sure: if Dustin showed up again, this plan didn’t stand a chance. And somehow, that made him smile anyway.

---

The Henderson garage always smelled faintly like dust, motor oil, and whatever science experiment Dustin had last abandoned on the workbench. That afternoon, the air was warm enough that the open door let in a slow spill of sunlight, brightening the cluttered space in strips. You stood beside one of the folding tables, sorting through the mess of screws and wires Dustin had dumped out “for easier access,” which, in reality, only made everything harder to find.

Steve hovered nearby with a half-hearted attempt at organization. He picked up tools, put them down, nudged wires into a neater line, and occasionally wiped his palms on his jeans like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. You noticed the way he kept drifting closer, every few seconds glancing at the house as if waiting for an opening that hadn’t come yet.

Dustin had barreled inside moments earlier shouting something about a “crucial component” and promising to return quickly. Experience had taught you that “quickly” usually meant at least fifteen minutes. The sudden silence left the garage feeling strangely private, a pocket of quiet neither of you were used to sharing without your brother’s voice filling it.

Steve leaned a hip against the table, crossing his arms loosely. “You’d think for someone so obsessed with organization, he’d, I don’t know… actually organize things.”

A soft laugh slipped out of you before you could hide it. “He says he has a system.”

“Yeah, well, his system is ‘pile everything in the same place and pray.’”

You didn’t mean to meet his eyes, but when you did, the warmth there caught you off guard. He smiled—not the big, charming grin he saved for customers or jokes, but the smaller one he used when it was just you. Something quieter, something that made your stomach tug downward and your breath lift higher at the same time.

For a moment you thought he might look away. Instead he took a step closer, letting his fingers trail lightly over the table until they stopped near yours. He didn’t touch you, but the space between you shrank until it was impossible not to feel the gravity of him. “Hey,” he said softly, more serious now, “can I ask you something?”

Your pulse jumped. He didn’t try to hide the nerves this time—his voice was careful, his eyes steady but uncertain, like he was testing thin ice. You tucked a loose screw back into the tray just to have something to do, but you nodded. “Yeah. What is it?”

Steve drew in a slow breath, shoulders rising, then dropping. He shifted so he was standing directly across from you now, close enough that you felt his warmth even through the small distance. “I’ve been… trying to find the right moment to say this. Probably overthinking it. Definitely overthinking it,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But every time I try, something happens, and then I lose the nerve, and—”

He stopped, hands falling to his sides. His gaze flicked to your lips before returning to your eyes, almost apologetically, like the glance had slipped out by accident. “I really like—”

He didn’t get the rest out because Dustin slammed the back door open so hard it ricocheted off the wall with a loud crack. “Found it!” he shouted triumphantly.

Steve jolted back like someone had yanked him by the collar. You startled, the sound hitting you like a small explosion in the otherwise quiet garage.

Dustin sprinted inside with a fistful of random parts, not noticing the way Steve took two hasty steps backward or the way your breath had caught halfway up your throat. He launched straight into an explanation, words tumbling over each other at impossible speed.

“Okay, okay, okay, so remember last week when the signal strength dropped? I swear it wasn’t my fault, but I triple-checked, and it turns out the grounding was off by like a millimeter, but I fixed it, and then I realized if we attach this—this right here—” He shoved the piece of metal inches from Steve’s face. Steve blinked rapidly, stunned, trapped in the whirlwind of Dustin’s enthusiasm. “—then the whole thing works even better! Isn’t that awesome?”

“Yeah,” Steve croaked, the word paper-thin. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, buddy. That’s—uh. Great.”

Dustin looked between the two of you, oblivious to the tension he’d vaporized. “Come on, we have to test it. Steve, you hold the end with the clamp. And don’t drop it this time.”

You watched as Dustin pulled Steve by the wrist toward the other table. Steve threw you a look over his shoulder—a silent, desperate I was so close—before letting himself be dragged into whatever experiment Dustin was constructing.

You swallowed, grounding yourself against the table as the adrenaline slowly ebbed. You replayed the moment in your mind, the warmth in his voice, the way he’d leaned in like he was finally ready to say the thing he’d been dancing around for weeks.

You didn’t need the rest to know what he’d meant. And even though the confession had shattered midair, it left a soft, glowing heat in your chest that didn’t disappear.

Steve shot you another look while Dustin explained the next step, his expression full of apology and frustration and wanting. He wasn’t done trying. And now, for the first time, you knew that for certain. Even if Dustin was determined to make it the longest confession in history.

---

The Wheelers’ basement was the kind of cramped, mismatched space that should’ve felt chaotic, yet somehow always managed to settle into its own kind of rhythm. Blankets draped over the back of the couch, half-finished board games littered the coffee table, and a small mountain of snacks threatened to avalanche off the folding card table by the wall. The worn carpet muffled footsteps, and the single lamp cast the whole room in a warm amber glow that made everyone look a little softer, a little more like themselves.

Mike sat cross-legged near the TV, fiddling with the dials like he was performing surgery. Will had his sketchpad propped on his knee, quietly drawing as he waited. Lucas and Max were arguing over whose movie pick was superior—which mostly meant Max was calling Lucas boring and Lucas insisting she had no taste. Eleven sat beside Max, combing her fingers through a bowl of M&M’s in strict color order. Nancy leaned against the far wall, arms crossed as she offered periodic commentary, half amused and half exhausted by the group’s indecision.

Robin stood behind the couch drumming her fingers along the backrest, eyes drifting toward you with the kind of knowing smirk that made you want to hide under a blanket. She’d been watching Steve all night like she was tracking wildlife behavior for a nature documentary.

And Steve—Steve had claimed the floor beside you the moment everyone settled. He hadn’t even pretended to consider another spot. He’d just dropped down next to you, close enough that your knees brushed whenever either of you shifted. Every now and then you felt the light press of his shoulder barely grazing yours, the warmth of him almost magnetic. He looked relaxed, but you’d known him long enough to recognize the tension coiled beneath the easy slouch. He wasn’t just sitting near you; he was waiting.

The chaos around you built into its usual storm of voices, and you let yourself sink into the noise until it felt like background static. You were comfortable like this—surrounded by people you trusted, tucked into a corner where nothing demanded too much of you. Steve must’ve sensed the way your shoulders unknotted, because he leaned in slightly, voice pitched softer than the rest. “Hey,” he murmured, letting the word drift just for you. “You holding up with all these maniacs fighting about cinema like it’s life or death?”

You smiled, looking down at your hands for a moment. “I’ve witnessed worse. Dustin tried to convince me Star Wars counts as a Thanksgiving movie.”

Steve snorted, head tipping just a little closer. “He tried that on me too. Henderson logic is a dangerous thing.”

The way he said it—soft and amused, with that small, private grin—made your cheeks warm. You felt it before you could control it, and you ducked your head slightly, pretending to focus on Max and Lucas arguing in the middle of the room. Max pointed her movie case at Lucas like a weapon. “This is a classic. You have no taste.”

Lucas folded his arms. “You say that about everything you like.”

“That’s because I’m right.”

Robin leaned closer to Nancy and muttered, “I’m taking bets on when this turns into a wrestling match.”

Steve laughed under his breath, then looked back at you. The basement noise faded as his attention settled directly on you, the air shifting in that fluttery way it always did when he got close. His knee nudged yours—gentle, deliberate. You looked up, and the moment your eyes met, something tender flickered across his face.

He angled toward you fully now, ignoring the group entirely. “Hey,” he said again, quieter this time, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to—”

“Oh my god.” Dustin’s voice ricocheted down the stairs like a missile.

Steve closed his eyes, shoulders slumping in a despair that bordered on spiritual defeat. You startled just slightly as Dustin burst into the basement carrying two bags of popcorn and a bowl of something that was probably too sticky to be allowed near the carpet.

“I got snacks!” Dustin declared triumphantly. “Mike, move over! Will, stop drawing sad trees! Everyone, I have news!”

Robin groaned. “Here we go.”

Nancy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do we want to know?”

Dustin ignored everyone and marched directly toward you and Steve. “Okay, so, you’re all gonna think this is genius, because it is,” he announced, setting the popcorn in the middle of the floor like it was an offering to the gods. “I mixed extra sugar into the caramel corn so we can stay awake through Lucas’ boring movie pick.”

Lucas sputtered. “It’s not boring!”

Max kicked him lightly. “It’s very boring.”

Steve tried to inhale, tried to restart the thing he’d been about to say, but Dustin plopped down between the two of you before he could get a syllable out, wedging himself with a full-body flop. Steve’s head snapped toward the ceiling like he was pleading for divine help.

“Dude,” Steve said weakly, “I—I was literally talking—”

“Great, you can finish later,” Dustin chirped while shoving popcorn into Steve’s hands. “Right now we need someone to test if the caramel-to-corn ratio is perfect.”

Robin snickered from behind the couch. “That’s the face of a man in agony.” Steve shot her a death glare. Robin only winked.

You sat very still, aware of how drastically the moment had shifted. Steve’s knee no longer brushed yours. His shoulder was no longer angled toward you. His expression, however, still carried that raw, half-exposed something he’d tried so hard to reveal before the interruption.

He looked at you again, a brief, fragile glance over Dustin’s head—apology, longing, frustration, all tangled together. You smiled gently, a small reassurance even if the moment was lost. His chest eased, just a bit.

Dustin, oblivious, leaned back between you both. “Okay! So. Who’s ready for a triple-feature?!”

Mike groaned loud enough to shake dust from the ceiling. Eleven offered a polite but confused nod. Will kept drawing. Nancy debated walking out. Lucas and Max started another argument. Robin leaned over the couch, whispering something at Steve that made him mutter a threat with no real bite.

And you sat there, tucked between your friends and your brother, with Steve only inches away behind an accidental Dustin-shaped barricade.

Another moment ruined.

Another truth postponed.

But Steve caught your eye again, a small promise resting quietly behind the frustration. He wasn’t giving up. Not yet. Not at all.

And you found yourself hoping—maybe for the first time—that Dustin might eventually take a snack break long enough for everything to finally fall into place.

---

A Saturday afternoon at your place was usually a safe bet for quiet, especially when Dustin wasn’t home. He’d taken off earlier with Lucas and Mike, something about a “high-stakes campaign planning session,” which meant you finally had a few hours where the house wasn’t vibrating with teenage enthusiasm. Steve had stopped by under the guise of “checking on that toolbox he left in the garage,” even though you both knew he’d left it on purpose the last time he was here.

You were sitting beside him on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, a gentle buzz of nerves threading through your chest. He was closer than usual—not subtle about it, either. His knee brushed yours whenever he shifted, and he kept glancing over with this determined little crease between his brows. You could tell he’d spent all morning psyching himself up to try again.

He cleared his throat and leaned toward you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he needed to keep them steady. “So I’ve been thinking,” he started, voice softer than the TV hum filling the room. “There’s something I’ve, uh… wanted to ask you. For a while.”

Your breath caught, your pulse fluttering. You met his eyes, and the look there—hesitant, hopeful, warm—made the room feel smaller. You felt him gather courage, felt something inside you answer it without needing words.

His knee bumped yours again, this time deliberate. “I just— when it’s us, like this… I feel—”

The front door slammed open so hard the hinges squealed. “There you are!” Max’s voice echoed down the hallway.

Steve’s shoulders sagged with the kind of dramatic despair that would’ve been funny if your heart hadn’t been thumping so hard a moment before. You both sat up straighter as Max stormed in, Eleven close behind her, both flushed from the walk and carrying enough urgency to power the whole house.

“Okay,” Max announced breathlessly, hands on her hips, “we need a ride.”

Eleven nodded with solemn intensity. “Very important.”

Steve blinked. “Why… why do you need a ride?”

“Because Robin said it was a good idea,” Max said, as if that answered everything.

You frowned. “Where is Robin?”

A beat later, Robin burst in through the still-open door, out of breath and dramatically pointing at the girls like an indictment. “They asked me first. But I don’t drive. And I told them that. Repeatedly.”

Eleven stepped forward with wide, pleading eyes. “Mall?”

Steve groaned into his hands. “Right now?”

Max crossed her arms, fully annoyed. “Yes, right now. We need new tape for Eleven’s headphones, a book I have to return, and Robin wants pretzels. Also, I’m bored.”

Robin raised a finger. “The pretzels are a necessary part of this trip. Not optional.”

Steve exhaled, long and pained, rubbing his face like fate had personally wronged him. You watched him, and even though frustration drew tight lines around his mouth, you saw the faint flicker of something else—desperation. Not for escape, but for the moment he’d been trying so hard to build. He’d almost done it this time. He had been right there, the words practically in the air between you when the cavalry burst in.

Max stepped closer. “Can you take us?”

You opened your mouth, but Steve sat up quickly, eyes wide. “Wait, she doesn’t have to. I can—”

“Nope,” Max interrupted. “We saw your car on the street. There’s a giant metal pipe sticking out the window and it looks like someone attacked your backseat with a screwdriver.”

Steve blanched. “That was Dustin’s… whatever. I told him not to—”

Eleven nodded solemnly. “It is broken.”

“It’s not broken,” Steve protested weakly, then looked at you with a kind of pleading horror. “Please don’t let them make you drive them. You don’t have to—”

Robin clapped her hands together. “You’re literally the only one here with a functioning car and a valid license.”

Max added, “also the only one we trust with directions.”

Eleven finished with, “Please? Please, please?”

Their combined staring was intense enough to melt steel. You sighed softly, looking at Steve with an apologetic tilt of your head. “It’s okay. I can take them.”

Steve’s mouth opened like he wanted to protest again, but something gentler ran through his expression. He softened, sitting back a little like he didn’t want to push. “Only if you want to,” he said quietly, voice low enough for just you.

“I don’t mind,” you said, even though part of you did—not the drive itself, but the interruption, the way the moment had slipped through your fingers again just when it felt like it might finally settle.

Max grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the door. “Yes! Thank you.”

Robin followed, muttering about soft pretzels and cinnamon sugar. Eleven smiled at you like you were the solution to every problem she’d ever had. You moved toward the doorway, keys in hand, but paused when you felt a gentle touch on your wrist. Steve had stepped after you, stopping you with light fingers that traced warmth across your skin. “Hey,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours with that same earnest something from earlier, “when you get back… can we finish that conversation?”

The question hit you softly, settling under your ribs in a place already warm for him. You nodded. “Yeah. We can.”

A slow, relieved smile spread across his face, not the charming one he used to flirt or joke, but something smaller, realer—something just for you.

Robin’s voice echoed from outside. “Let’s go, I’m starving!”

You stepped away from Steve and toward the chaos gathering around your car, but you looked back once. He stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, trying and failing to hide the way he was smiling. This time, you knew the moment wouldn’t slip away forever. It was waiting for you. So was he.

---

The mall on a Saturday was a maze of sound — laughter echoing off tile, music thumping faintly from different stores, the squeak of sneakers on polished floors, the chatter of people weaving around one another like they were all part of some vast busy hive. The second you stepped inside with Max, Eleven, and Robin, it felt like stepping into a warm wave of noise and movement. Max immediately scanned the storefronts like a general surveying a battlefield, Eleven stayed close to your side with quiet determination, and Robin pointed at the pretzel shop with the single-minded hunger of someone who had already been thinking about it for hours.

The girls moved quickly, practically dragging you along, their energy sweeping you forward before you even realized you were fully inside. The light overhead was bright, reflecting off the glossy floor, and you adjusted to it slowly, breathing in the smell of cinnamon sugar and perfume samples drifting from the nearby department store. Even with the crowd, the moment felt surprisingly calm—nothing like the monster-hunting days, nothing like the chaos of Dustin’s science experiments or the loud clusters of voices in the Wheeler basement. Just… the mall. Just a typical weekend afternoon.

Max took the lead, weaving down the walkway toward the bookstore. “This won’t take long,” she promised, even though her tone strongly suggested she planned to browse. “I just need to drop off the return, maybe look at the new releases, maybe check the comics—"

Robin groaned dramatically. “I’m going to starve before the pretzels. And then who’s gonna explain to Steve that you let me die of hunger in a suburban mall? He’ll never forgive you.”

Eleven blinked up at you. “She needs pretzels first,” she said with the same seriousness she used when discussing mind flayers.

You smiled because you knew it was hopeless to try changing their priorities. “Okay. Pretzels first, then the bookstore.”

Robin fist-pumped like she’d just won a war. “Yes. Justice prevails.”

You led the way toward the food court, letting the steady hum of conversation settle around you. Eleven walked close enough that her sleeve brushed yours every few steps, her eyes darting between the crowds with a watchfulness that came from experience, not fear. Max strode ahead, confident and unbothered, her ponytail swinging behind her with each purposeful movement.

When you reached the pretzel stand, Robin stepped forward eagerly. “Four pretzels,” she told the teenager behind the counter. “One cinnamon, one butter, one salted, and one mystery pick for Eleven.”

The kid blinked, confused. “Mystery pick?”

Robin waved broadly. “Dealer’s choice. Make it fun.” Max rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Eleven seemed excited by the idea, gaze fixed on the warming racks with awe.

You helped gather napkins and drinks while everyone else debated who got which pretzel, though Eleven’s mystery pretzel was so coated in cheese that Robin declared it a masterpiece of culinary chaos. You all found an empty table near the railing overlooking the lower floor, and the four of you sat down, the air filled with warmth and chatter that felt strangely comforting.

Max took a bite of her pretzel before pointing it at you. “So what were you and Steve talking about before we barged in?”

Robin inhaled sharply and kicked Max lightly under the table. “We don’t ask those questions.”

“But I just did,” Max said, completely unapologetic. “I’m curious.”

Eleven tilted her head. “You and Steve were sitting very close.”

Heat crept up the back of your neck, and you tried to hide it by taking a long sip of your drink. “We were just talking,” you said softly, though you felt the weight of the truth under your ribs. You were almost talking about something else—something bigger—and that weight felt warm in a way that wasn’t unpleasant at all.

Max watched you knowingly, like she was piecing together a puzzle she’d already solved. “Uh-huh. Sure. Talking.”

Robin sighed with the posture of someone carrying too much knowledge. “We’re not interrogating her. We’re here for snacks, not emotional espionage.”

You wanted to thank her, but before you could, Eleven leaned in with genuine curiosity. “Do you like him?”

Your breath caught, and the world seemed to soften—not collapse, not tighten, just… soften. The noise of the mall blurred into a distant hum, and your hands stilled around the napkin you were folding subconsciously.

Max kicked her under the table. “El! You can’t just ask!”

Eleven frowned. “Why not? If she likes him, she should say.” Robin groaned but didn’t disagree.

You set the napkin down slowly, heart thumping against your ribs in that quiet, fluttery way it always did whenever Steve said your name a little too gently or leaned just a little too close. “I… I don’t know,” you said, though that wasn’t the truth. You knew. You just weren’t used to saying it out loud. “Maybe.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Maybe yes?”

You exhaled, looking down at your hands. “Maybe… yes.”

Robin slapped her palms on the table and grinned like she’d been waiting for this revelation for months. “Finally. Emotional progress. Steve is going to combust when he hears that.”

You stared at her. “Robin!”

“What? He’s still alive. Mostly. Probably pacing in your living room right now practicing a speech.”

Eleven smiled brightly, lifting her pretzel. “I am happy,” she said, content and certain.

Max leaned back in her chair with smug satisfaction. “Called it.”

Despite the embarrassing warmth on your face, you felt something untangle inside you—something quiet, hopeful, and strangely steady. Saying it aloud didn’t feel as terrifying as you’d expected. If anything, it felt like you’d opened a small door that had been waiting for too long.

Robin nudged your foot under the table. “Finish your pretzel,” she said playfully. “We should get back soon. Wouldn’t want to keep loverboy waiting.”

You groaned, but a smile tugged at your lips anyway.

And across the mall, beyond the noise and the shining floors and the crowds moving in every direction, you found yourself thinking not about monsters or interruptions or whatever chaos awaited at home—but about Steve.

And the conversation he’d asked to finish.

---

Dustin had invited Lucas, Mike, and Will over with the promise of “the most important campaign decision of their lives,” which meant the basement was already cluttered with graph paper, dice, snack wrappers, and an unnecessary number of pencils. They were mid-argument about whether the party should take the mountain pass or the hidden forest trail when Steve wandered down the stairs, hands shoved in his pockets, pacing with a restless energy that immediately caught Dustin’s attention.

“Why are you down here?” Dustin asked, squinting at him suspiciously from behind his Dungeon Master screen. “Aren’t you supposed to be home? Or at work? Or not pacing around my basement like you’re trying to burn a hole into the carpet?”

Steve ignored him, and that alone was weird enough that Mike, Lucas, and Will exchanged glances. Steve never ignored Dustin. Not unless something had gone very, very wrong.

Steve raked a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. He crossed the room, turned around, crossed it again, muttering under his breath. “She said we’d talk later. Later. Which could mean anything. What if something happens? What if she changes her mind? What if—”

Will’s pencil rolled off the table as he slowly lowered it. Mike froze mid-chew with a pretzel rod sticking out of his mouth. Lucas leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. Dustin set his pencil down slowly, staring at Steve with an expression that drew gradually from confusion into dawning horror. “Why do you look like you’re waiting for the apocalypse?”

Steve stopped pacing. “I mean—it might be. For me.”

Mike slapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh. Lucas elbowed him hard. Will quietly slid his chair just a few inches farther away from the table.

Dustin rose from his seat like someone being pulled upward by invisible strings. His voice dropped to a deadly calm. “Steve. What did you do.”

Steve swallowed. “Okay, so don’t freak out—”

Instant freak-out. Dustin threw his hands up. “Why would you say that? Why would you say that unless there is something to freak out about?”

Will stood. Mike stood. Lucas stood. It was like watching prey animals rise together, ready to bolt.

Steve ran both hands down his face and groaned. “I didn’t do anything. I tried to do something. But, like… the universe hates me. Every time I get close, someone interrupts. Mostly you. Actually, almost always you.”

Dustin blinked twice. “Interrupts what?”

Steve held up a finger like he was about to explain something complicated. “Okay. Just listen. I wanted to talk to her—”

Will paled. Lucas’s eyes widened. Mike mouthed oh no under his breath.

“—because I really like—”

“No.” Dustin cut him off, both hands raised like he was physically blocking the words. “No. No, no, no. You’re not—you can’t—that’s my sister!” He said it like it was a curse, a prophecy, and a threat rolled into one.

Steve exhaled, bracing himself. “Yeah. I know. Believe me, I know. But I—”

Mike took a step toward the stairs. Lucas followed. Will whispered, “should we… leave?”

Mike nodded slowly. “We should leave.”

But Dustin wasn’t paying attention to anything except the tidal wave of emotion crashing over him. He advanced on Steve like a general ready to declare war. “You can’t like her!” Dustin yelled, jabbing a finger into Steve’s chest. “She’s my sister! There are rules!”

Steve threw up his hands. “What rules?”

“The unwritten ones!”

Lucas tugged Will toward the stairs. “Back away slowly.”

“Already doing that,” Will whispered, clutching his sketchbook to his chest.

Mike didn’t even whisper. “Steve, this is gonna be bad. Good luck,” he said before sprinting up the stairs and abandoning him entirely.

Dustin kept going, and Steve kept retreating until his back hit the wall. “You can’t—you can’t just date her! What if you break up? What if things get weird? What if she gets hurt? What if you hurt her? I can't—I can’t be stuck in the middle of that!” Steve opened his mouth to respond, but Dustin didn’t give him a chance. “And I swear—I swear— if you ever hurt her, I will kill you.”

Steve blinked. “Dustin, you can’t even reach my neck.”

“I’ll use a ladder!”

Steve threw his hands up. “Oh my god—listen! I would never hurt her. Ever. I like her. I’ve liked her. For a long time. Okay? That’s why I’m freaking out. That’s why I’m pacing. Because I’m terrified. Not of you—”

“Oh really?” Dustin snapped, crossing his arms.

“—but of her.”

Dustin paused. “Her?”

Steve nodded emphatically. “Yes! Do you remember the demogorgon? Because I do. I watched your sister take a baseball bat with nails in it and swing so hard the thing went flying. I have nightmares about that moment sometimes. She was feral.”

Dustin hesitated. “…okay, yeah, that was cool.”

“It was terrifying!”

“Also cool,” Dustin corrected, but the fire behind his words had dimmed. He stopped pacing, shoulders dropping slightly as the panic drained from his face. “She really was awesome that day.”

Steve softened, his voice calmer now. “I like her because she’s… her. And she deserves someone who actually pays attention. Someone who cares about her, and wants to make her feel safe, and doesn’t push her to be someone she’s not. I’m trying to be that person. But every time I try to tell her how I feel, you interrupt and drag me to test an antenna or fix a wire or—”

“That was important,” Dustin muttered weakly.

“It really wasn’t!”

Dustin went quiet. He looked at Steve, really looked at him, as if seeing him differently for the first time. The frantic defensiveness slowly melted into something begrudging, conflicted, but not outright hostile. After a long silence, Dustin let out a tired breath. “You really like her.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. I really do.”

“And you’re not gonna screw it up.”

Steve shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”

Dustin pressed his lips together, thinking hard, weighing his loyalty to you against his loyalty to Steve. Eventually he let out a groan loud enough to shake dust from the ceiling. “Fine! Fine. But I swear, Harrington, if you hurt her—”

“I know,” Steve said quickly. “Ladder. Got it.”

Dustin pointed at him one last time. “And my point still stands!”

“Which point?”

“That she’s scarier than I’ll ever be.”

Steve actually laughed, shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. “Yeah. She is.”

Dustin huffed, then turned toward the stairs. “I need a snack. And time to emotionally process this.”

From the top of the stairs, Mike’s voice drifted back down. “Is it safe to come back?”

“No!” Dustin shouted, slamming the door behind him.

And Steve let out a long, relieved breath—because the hardest part was over. Now all he had to do was actually talk to you.

---

You returned home before sunset, the sky outside tinted gold and pink as the heat of the day finally began to fade. The girls piled out of your car with arms full of pretzels, shopping bags, and the chaotic energy of teenagers loose in a mall. Max jogged ahead toward the front door, Eleven lingered close to you with a quiet smile, and Robin walked backward while lecturing both of them about “the importance of proper snack distribution in a household ecosystem.”

But the moment you stepped inside, the energy shifted. Something hung in the air—not tension, exactly, but a strange, anticipatory stillness. The lights in the living room were on. The TV was off. Steve was perched on the edge of the couch like he’d been waiting for hours and didn’t know what to do with his hands, his posture, or his entire existence.

Dustin stood beside him, arms crossed, nodding solemnly like he had just finished delivering a very long speech. All three girls froze mid-step.

Steve shot to his feet the second he saw you. “Hey. You’re back.”

You blinked, half smiling. “Yeah. We—"

“You,” Dustin interrupted loudly, pointing at Steve with one hand and at you with the other, “need to talk. Now. Immediately. Right now.”

You stared at him. “Dustin?”

Dustin nodded with the seriousness of a courtroom judge. “I’ve… reflected.” He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “And I have decided that I am granting you two permission to have a conversation without interruptions.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Oh god. He found out, didn’t he.”

Max elbowed Eleven and whispered, “told you.”

Steve’s face turned the shade of someone who had been emotionally waterboarded all afternoon. “Reflected,” he muttered. “He screamed at me for twenty minutes.”

Dustin glared at him. “Emotional reflection is loud sometimes.”

Robin snorted. Max barely held in a laugh. Eleven leaned close and whispered, “he must’ve been very loud.”

Dustin cleared his throat theatrically and stepped forward like he was taking center stage. “Anyway,” he said, arms spreading with dramatic flair, “I am officially leaving the premises. As are the rest of you.” He pointed toward the door like a tiny general evacuating troops. “Go. All of you. Get out. I need this to happen so my sister stops looking at Steve like a kicked puppy and Steve stops pacing grooves into our floor.”

Your face went hot. “Dustin!”

“What?” he said. “It’s embarrassing. For both of you. Fix it.”

Steve groaned into his hands.

Max shrugged and headed for the hallway. “Come on. Let’s leave the awkward adults alone.”

Eleven nodded gravely. “Important moment.”

Robin gave Steve a long, slow, knowing smirk. “Don’t choke, dingus.”

And just like that, the girls disappeared down the hall. Dustin lingered one more second, squinting at Steve like a overprotective watchdog. “Remember,” he warned, “I will absolutely end you if—”

“I know!” Steve snapped. “Ladder. Got it.”

“Good.” Dustin huffed, then looked at you, softened, and squeezed your arm gently. “He’s nervous. Be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” you murmured.

Steve made a strangled noise. Dustin pointed at him one more time, then marched off after the others. And then there was silence. The house felt suddenly huge. The space between you and Steve felt even bigger. He let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at you with a dozen emotions flickering across his face—fear, hope, determination, affection. “So,” he said, voice rough but warm, “we… finally have a minute.”

You stepped farther into the room, closing the door behind you. “We do.”

He didn’t sit. He didn’t pace. He stayed exactly where he was, like moving even a step might break whatever fragile, shimmering moment had finally landed in his hands. “Look,” he started, letting his arms fall to his sides, “I’ve been trying to tell you something for—actually, I don’t even know how long anymore. Weeks? Months? A while. And I kept messing it up. Or people kept messing it up. Mostly Henderson.”

You breathed out a soft laugh. “He does that.”

“He does,” Steve agreed. Then his expression shifted—softer now, more sure. “But I’m glad he’s not here right now. Because I… I don’t want to keep dancing around this.”

You looked up at him, and the way he stared back made your chest tighten with something warm and heavy and sweet.

He took a steady breath. “I like you,” he said simply, without theatrics or stumbling, every word shaped with sincerity. “I really, really like you. More than I meant to. More than I planned to. Definitely more than I told Dustin when he cornered me today.”

You blinked, startled. “He cornered you?”

“Oh yeah. Full interrogation mode. I thought he was gonna map out my emotional failings on a chalkboard.” He shook his head, then took another step toward you, closing the distance until he was right in front of you—close enough to feel the quiet warmth radiating between you.

Your breath caught.

Steve swallowed, voice dropping softer. “And I know you’re… you. You get quiet. And nervous. And sometimes I can’t tell what you’re thinking. But I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes. The same way I probably look at you. And I just—I needed you to know. Even if it freaked you out. Even if it scared me to say it.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, skipping unevenly as you tried to gather your voice. “It doesn’t freak me out.”

He smiled—small, startled, almost relieved. “No?”

You shook your head, letting your eyes meet his without dropping away this time. “I… like you too.”

The warmth that spread across his face was immediate—bright, soft, disbelieving in a way that made something inside you loosen and settle all at once. He let out a breath he had clearly been holding for far too long, his shoulders dropping as tension melted from them.

He reached for your hand slowly, giving you room to pull back. You didn’t. His fingers brushed yours, then curled around them gently—warm and steady, not asking for anything more than the space you chose to give. “I was really scared you’d say no,” he admitted quietly.

“I was scared you’d get tired of trying,” you whispered.

He laughed under his breath—a soft, breathless sound—and shook his head. “Not a chance.”

The moment stretched comfortably, a soft glow settling between you both like something that had been waiting a long time to finally land. Then, from down the hall, “is it safe yet!?” Dustin shouted.

Steve groaned, squeezing your hand. “He’s going to make this so complicated.”

You smiled—full, warm, a little shy but no longer afraid of the feeling settling inside your chest. “We’ll handle him.”

Steve grinned. “Yeah. We will.”

And this time, nothing interrupted the moment you shared—warm hands, quiet breath, and the certainty that this was only the beginning.

everything taglist: @clxt-lamb1 @person-005

The way you can’t sleep in your own bed anymore because it’s too quiet, too still, and your brain keeps insisting something’s about to crawl out of your closet. The way the Fourth of July fireworks made you hit the ground in the middle of the street, hands over your ears, while everyone around you cheered and you tried not to throw up. The way grocery stores feel too bright and too loud, and you have to leave your cart in the middle of the cereal aisle because some kid popped a balloon three rows over, and suddenly you’re back in Starcourt, back in the tunnels, back in…

Yeah.

That after.

Hawkins looks normal.

Hawkins is not normal.

It hasn’t been normal since Will Byers came back from the dead in ‘83, and it sure as hell isn’t normal now.

But everyone pretends. That’s what you do here. You pretend the mall fire was just a mall fire. You pretend the town curfew is just a precaution. You pretend you’re fine.

You’re all so good at pretending.

So when Steve Harrington, in all his exhausted, bat-wielding, self-appointed babysitter glory, suggested that maybe you guys should stick together for a while, just until things felt less weird, you’d said yes.

Not because you needed him.

Obviously not.

But because the kids needed supervision, and Steve’s house was bigger than yours, and his parents were never around anyway, and it made logical sense.

That’s what you told yourself.

That’s what you’d been telling yourself for three weeks now.

Three weeks of falling asleep on his couch, of midnight conversations that felt too honest and too raw, of Steve circling the house with a flashlight at 2 AM like some kind of paranoid guard dog. Three weeks of pretending this was temporary, that you’d go back to your normal life any day now.

Any day.

Just… not today.

You woke up on Steve’s couch on a Saturday morning in mid-September, and your first thought was that your neck was going to hurt for the rest of your life.

Your second thought was that you really, really needed to invest in a chiropractor.

Your third thought, the one that actually got you to open your eyes, was that the house was too quiet.

The living room looked like a tornado had torn through a nerd convention. Blankets everywhere, tangled and bunched up in weird formations. Empty Coke cans forming a small, sticky pyramid on the coffee table that you were definitely going to make the kids clean up later. A half-finished bag of Doritos spilled across the floor. Someone’s jacket, Mike’s probably, crumpled in the corner.

And the kids.

God, the kids.

Dustin was drooling on a Dragon’s Lair manual, one arm flung dramatically over his face as if he’d died in a Shakespeare play. His hat had fallen off at some point in the night, and his curls were plastered to his forehead. Max was half inside a sleeping bag, only her mess of red hair visible, one pale hand hanging out and resting on Lucas’s shoulder. Lucas had somehow wedged himself between the couch and the wall, which looked deeply uncomfortable, but he was snoring anyway, so apparently it was fine.

Mike was flat on his back in the middle of the floor, mouth hanging open, looking literally dead. You’d checked on him twice last night just to make sure he was still breathing because he slept like a corpse.

And El—El was the only one who looked peaceful. She was curled up in the armchair, her head resting on a pillow, still wearing Mike’s jacket over her shoulders like a blanket. Her face was relaxed in a way it so rarely was when she was awake, and something about that made your chest hurt a little.

These kids.

These stupid, brave, impossible kids who’d saved the world and were now just sleeping in a pile on Steve Harrington’s living room floor like this was a completely normal slumber party.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to orient yourself.

The VCR clock on the TV said 6:47 AM, the red numbers glowing faintly in the dim room. The curtains were still drawn, but you could see daylight starting to creep in around the edges, that soft grey early-morning light that meant the sun was thinking about rising but hadn’t committed yet.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

That’s what had woken you up, you realized. Not a noise—the absence of noise.

Because Steve was always awake before you. Always. And usually, you could hear him moving around. The coffee pot gurgling in the kitchen. The creak of floorboards as he did his rounds. The soft click of locks being checked, windows being tested, doors being rattled just to make absolutely sure they were secure.

But right now?

Nothing.

You sat up slowly, your spine crackling in protest, and looked around.

That’s when you saw him.

Steve was in the other armchair, the one directly facing the front door, and he was awake. Completely, utterly awake. Still wearing the same clothes from yesterday: jeans that had seen better days, his old Hawkins High sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, white socks with a hole forming near the toe that he kept meaning to throw out but never did.

His hair was a disaster, sticking up in about seven different directions, and there were dark circles under his eyes that looked like bruises.

But that’s not what made you freeze.

It was the way he was sitting.

Perched on the edge of the chair, spine rigid, shoulders tense. His hands were gripping his knees, knuckles white. And his eyes—his eyes were locked on the front door with the kind of intensity usually reserved for horror movie protagonists who know something’s coming but don’t know when.

The bat was propped against his knee.

The bat.

That nail-studded baseball bat that had become Steve’s security blanket, his weapon of choice, the thing he kept within arm’s reach at all times now. You’d tried to get him to put it away last week, said it was making the kids nervous, but he’d just looked at you with those hollow eyes and said, “What if something happens and I don’t have it?”

And you hadn’t brought it up again.

Because you got it.

You really, really got it.

“Steve,” you whispered, your voice rough with sleep.

He flinched. Like, actually flinched, his whole body jerking before his head snapped toward you. For just a second—less than a second—you saw something wild in his face. Something cornered and afraid.

Then it smoothed out.

Like a mask sliding into place.

“Oh,” he said quietly, and his voice sounded like gravel, like he’d been awake for hours and hadn’t said a single word until now. “Hey. Didn’t know you were up.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

“Steve,” you said again, softer this time. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just…” He gestured vaguely at the door, then seemed to realize how that looked and dropped his hand. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d just, you know. Keep watch.”

“Keep watch,” you repeated.

“Yeah.”

“For what?”

His jaw tightened. “Just… in case.”

“In case of what?”

“I don’t know, okay?” It came out sharper than he probably meant it to, and he winced, dragging a hand through his hair and making it even worse. “I just—I thought I heard something. Earlier. Like three hours ago. And I checked, and it was nothing, but then I couldn’t stop thinking about what if it wasn’t nothing, what if I missed something, what if—”

He cut himself off.

Took a breath.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

But his hand was shaking where it rested on his knee, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against denim, and his leg was bouncing in that way it did when he was trying really hard to hold it together and failing.

You knew that feeling.

God, did you know that feeling.

“Steve,” you said, and you pushed yourself up off the couch, careful not to step on anyone as you crossed the living room. Your legs were stiff, protesting the movement, but you made it to his chair and crouched down in front of him so you were eye level. “You didn’t hear anything.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually. Because I was awake too.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and you saw the moment he processed that. The guilt that flashed across his face.

“You were awake?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because you need to sleep, Steve.”

“So do you.”

“Well, neither of us are very good at it, so.” You shrugged, trying for lightness and probably missing by a mile. “Guess we’re both disasters.”

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Guess so.”

You looked at him—really looked at him. At the exhaustion carved into every line of his face. The way his shoulders were hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller. The white-knuckle grip he still had on his knees, like if he let go he’d just float away.

This was the guy who’d fought a Demogorgon with a nail bat and won. Who’d taken a beating from Billy Hargrove and kept getting back up. Who’d been tortured by actual Russian soldiers and still managed to crack jokes while his face was still bleeding.

Steve Harrington, Hawkins High’s former king, the guy who threw parties and broke hearts and made it look easy.

Except none of that was who he actually was.

Not anymore.

Maybe not ever.

“Come on,” you said, standing up and holding out your hand. “If you’re not gonna sleep, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He blinked at you. “Useful how?”

“Coffee. You’re making coffee.”

“It’s six in the morning.”

“Yeah, and we’re both awake, so we might as well commit to the bit.”

He stared at your outstretched hand for a long moment, and you could practically see him thinking about arguing. About insisting he was fine, he’d just sit here and keep watching the door, just in case.

But then he sighed.

And took your hand.

His palm was warm and calloused and steady, and for just a second, you let yourself hold on tighter than necessary before pulling him to his feet.

He grabbed the bat automatically, his other hand still wrapped around yours, and you didn’t comment on it.

You just led him into the kitchen.

Steve’s kitchen was weirdly homey in the early morning light.

It was something you’d noticed over the past few weeks, spending so much time here. During the day, with the kids running around and the TV blaring and chaos in every corner, it was easy to see this place as just Steve’s house. Big and empty and a little cold, the kind of house that was built to impress people at dinner parties, not to actually live in.

But in the mornings, when it was just the two of you and the sun was barely up and everything was quiet?

It felt different.

Softer.

The counters were clean. Steve was weirdly meticulous about that, always wiping things down, putting dishes away immediately, like he was trying to maintain some sense of control in a life that had spun completely out of it. There was a little stack of mail by the toaster, bills and flyers that he’d sorted through, and a grocery list stuck to the fridge with a magnet that said “Hawkins Hardware.”

And the Polaroids.

God, the Polaroids.

They were scattered across the fridge door, held up with magnets, a collage of moments from the past few months. Dustin in his Thinking Cap, grinning like he’d just solved world peace. Max mid-skateboard trick, red hair flying, mouth open in a laugh. Lucas and Mike arguing over something, probably D&D. El holding up a waffle like it was a trophy, her face so serious it was adorable.

There was one of you and Robin at Benny’s Burgers, both of you mid-laugh, and you didn’t remember Steve taking it but there it was.

And then, tucked in the corner, half-hidden behind a pizza coupon, there was one of all of you.

You, Steve, Robin, and the kids, crammed into a booth that was way too small, all grinning at the camera. Dustin had taken it. You remembered because he’d been so proud of himself, insisting it was “for posterity” and that one day you’d all look back on this and be grateful he documented it.

At the time, you’d rolled your eyes.

Now, looking at it, you felt something twist in your chest.

Because you all looked happy.

Tired, sure. A little roughed up. Steve had a fading bruise on his jaw in that photo, and your arm was still in a sling from where you’d dislocated your shoulder in the tunnels.

But you were smiling.

All of you.

And Steve had kept the photo.

He’d put it on his fridge.

“You gonna stare at my fridge all morning, or are we doing this coffee thing?”

You jumped, spinning around to find Steve leaning against the counter, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. The bat was propped in the corner now, within reach but not in his hands, which felt like progress.

“I wasn’t staring,” you said.

“You were definitely staring.”

“I was observing.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s really not.”

His mouth twitched again, that almost-smile that you were starting to recognize as Steve’s version of actually smiling when he was too tired to commit to it fully.

“Okay,” he said, pushing off the counter and moving toward the coffee maker. “Observing what, exactly?”

You shrugged, trying to look casual and probably failing. “Just… you have a lot of pictures.”

“Yeah, well.” He pulled the coffee tin down from the cupboard, popping the lid off and scooping grounds into the filter with the kind of precise focus usually reserved for disarming bombs. “Turns out when you almost die a bunch of times, you start wanting to remember the times you didn’t.”

He said it so simply.

Like it was obvious.

Like it wasn’t the most devastating thing you’d heard all week.

“Steve…”

“Don’t.” He held up a hand, not looking at you, still focused on the coffee like it was the most important task in the world. “Seriously, don’t. It’s too early for… whatever that face is.”

“What face?”

“The face you’re making right now. The ‘oh no, Steve has feelings’ face.”

“I’m not making a face.”

“You’re absolutely making a face.”

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“I can feel you making the face.”

You bit back a laugh, and he must’ve heard it because his shoulders relaxed a little.

The coffee maker started gurgling and hissing, filling the kitchen with that rich, bitter smell that was starting to feel like home.

When had that happened?

When had Steve’s kitchen started feeling like home?

“So,” Steve said, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms again. He looked more settled now, less like he was going to bolt at any second. “You wanna talk about why you were awake at three in the morning?”

“Not particularly.”

“Cool. Me neither.”

“Great.”

“Awesome.”

You stared at each other.

“Nightmares?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated.

Then nodded.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “You?”

“Yeah.”

Of course. Of course he had nightmares. You all did. How could you not, after everything?

The coffee pot beeped, and Steve turned to pour two mugs, handing one to you without asking if you wanted any. You wrapped your hands around it, letting the warmth seep into your palms, and took a sip.

It was perfect.

Of course it was.

Steve made annoyingly perfect coffee, which was unfair because he was already good at too many things and he didn’t need this too.

“Your coffee’s better than mine,” you said.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to sound so smug about it.”

“I’m not smug, I’m just correct.”

“That’s literally the same thing.”

“It’s really not.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now, and so was he—an actual smile this time, small but real.

And for just a moment, standing in Steve Harrington’s kitchen at 6 AM on a Saturday morning, holding a mug of coffee that was too hot and probably too strong, you felt something that almost resembled peace.

Almost.

Then Dustin’s voice came from the living room, loud and sleep-rough and way too energetic for this hour: “IS THAT COFFEE? ARE YOU MAKING COFFEE WITHOUT ME?”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit…”

“BETRAYAL!” Dustin shrieked. “TREASON!”

“It’s six in the morning!” Steve called back.

“I DON’T CARE! COFFEE IS COFFEE!”

“You’re fourteen, you can’t have coffee!”

“THAT’S AGEISM!”

You were laughing now, actually laughing, and Steve looked at you like you were insane.

“This is your fault,” he said.

“How is this my fault?”

“You made me make coffee! Now he’s awake!”

“Pretty sure Dustin was going to wake up anyway.”

“He sleeps like the dead!”

“Not anymore, apparently.”

Dustin stumbled into the kitchen, hair sticking up in every direction, one sock missing, looking like he’d been recently electrocuted. “Coffee,” he demanded, making grabby hands.

“Absolutely not,” Steve said.

“Steve. Buddy. Pal. Friend of mine.”

“You’re not getting coffee.”

“I saved the world.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“I saved the world multiple times.”

“Dustin—”

“I was tortured by Russians.”

Steve’s face did something complicated. “That’s… you can’t just… that’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair. Coffee. Now.”

You snorted into your mug, and Steve shot you a betrayed look.

“You’re not helping,” he said.

“I’m not trying to help.”

“Clearly.”

He sighed, dragged a hand down his face, and poured Dustin half a mug of coffee, which Dustin accepted like he’d just won the lottery.

“You’re the best babysitter ever,” Dustin said, taking a sip and immediately making a face. “Oh my god, this is disgusting.”

“Then don’t drink it!” Steve said.

“No, no, I’m committed now.” Another sip. Another face. “This is like… bitter sadness in a cup.”

“That’s what coffee is, dude.”

“How do adults drink this?”

“Very tiredly,” you said.

Dustin looked at you, then at Steve, then back at you, and something shifted in his expression. Something calculating.

Oh no.

“So,” he said slowly, that dangerous tone creeping into his voice. “You two are up early.”

“Yeah,” Steve said warily. “So?”

“Together.”

“We’re in the same house, Henderson. Kind of hard to be up separately.”

“In the kitchen. Alone. Drinking coffee.”

“Again, same house.”

“It’s very domestic.”

“I’m going to pour your coffee down the sink.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Steve reached for the mug.

Dustin yelped and danced backward, clutching it to his chest. “This is abuse! This is babysitter abuse!”

“You’re not even supposed to have coffee!”

“And yet here we are!”

The commotion must’ve woken the others because suddenly Max appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. “Why are you all yelling?”

“Steve’s trying to steal my coffee,” Dustin said.

“Steve made you coffee?” Max looked genuinely surprised.

“No!” Steve said. “I mean—yes, but—he guilted me into it!”

“I used facts and logic.”

“You used emotional manipulation!”

“Same thing.”

Max looked at you. “Is it too early to go back to sleep?”

“Probably,” you said.

“Damn.”

Lucas appeared next, then Mike, both of them looking disoriented and confused. El was the last one up, still wrapped in Mike’s jacket, her hair a mess around her face.

And just like that, the kitchen was full.

Full of kids and noise and chaos and life, and Steve immediately shifted into crisis management mode—telling Mike to stop leaning on the fridge, asking Lucas if he wanted toast, reminding Max that there was orange juice if she wanted it.

He was good at this.

Really good at this.

The whole mom-friend thing that everyone gave him shit for, it wasn’t a joke. It was just who he was. Who he’d become, maybe, after everything.

Someone who kept people safe.

Someone who made sure everyone ate breakfast.

Someone who put pictures on his fridge and made coffee at 6 AM and checked the locks twice because he couldn’t stand the thought of missing something, of failing, of losing anyone else.

You watched him move around the kitchen, handing out food and drinks, and felt that thing in your chest again.

That dangerous, terrifying thing that you’d been trying really hard not to think about.

“Hey.”

You blinked.

El was standing next to you, looking up with those big, serious eyes.

“Hi,” you said.

“You okay?”

The question caught you off guard. Coming from El, who’d been through more than any of them, who’d lost more than any of them, it felt heavier somehow.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’m okay. You?”

She considered this, tilting her head slightly. Then nodded.

“Better now,” she said simply.

And something about that, the simplicity of it, the honesty, made you want to cry.

Because yeah.

You were better now too.

Not fixed. Not healed. Probably not even okay, not really.

But better.

And maybe that was enough.

Breakfast devolved into the usual chaos—Dustin and Mike arguing about whether Empire Strikes Back or Return of the Jedi was better (a debate that had been raging for weeks now with no end in sight), Max trying to convince Lucas that skateboarding was a legitimate sport, El quietly eating her Eggos and watching everyone with that small smile she got sometimes.

Steve made toast.

You helped.

Well, you tried to help, but mostly you just stood next to him at the counter and stole bites of his toast when he wasn’t looking, which made him swat at you with the butter knife.

“You have your own toast,” he said.

“Yeah, but yours tastes better.”

“It’s literally the same toast.”

“No, see, yours has that special Steve Harrington magic.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It’s absolutely a thing.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and when you stole another bite he didn’t stop you.

This was nice.

God, this was so nice.

Just… normal. Easy. The kind of morning that felt like it belonged in someone else’s life, someone who hadn’t seen the things you’d seen, someone who got to just exist without checking over their shoulder every five seconds.

But you’d take it.

You’d take every single moment of this, for as long as it lasted.

Which, apparently, was about another ten minutes.

Because that’s when Dustin stood up on his chair—because of course he did—and announced: “Okay. Everyone shut up. I have an idea.”

The room went quiet.

Well, relatively quiet. Mike was still mid-sentence about Ewoks, but Max elbowed him, and he shut up.

“This better be good, Henderson,” Steve said, crossing his arms.

“Oh, it’s good. It’s so good.” Dustin’s grin was absolutely diabolical. “We’ve been here for three weeks, right? And it’s been fine. Great, even. But—”

“Oh no,” Lucas muttered.

“We’re bored.”

“We’re not bored,” Mike said.

“We’re extremely bored,” Max corrected.

“Thank you, Max. We’re extremely bored. And you know what bored teenagers need?”

“Therapy?” you suggested.

Dustin ignored you. “A competition.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of competition?”

“A babysitter competition.”

Silence.

Then Steve laughed. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Is it though?” Dustin said. “Is it really? Because I think what’s dumb is that we’ve been sitting around pretending that you”—he pointed at Steve—“are the best babysitter, when clearly she”—he pointed at you—“has been pulling equal weight.”

“I never said I was the best babysitter,” Steve protested.

“You literally call yourself the babysitter,” Mike said.

“That’s different!”

“How?”

“It just is!”

You were trying not to laugh. You were failing.

“So here’s what I’m thinking,” Dustin continued, really getting into it now, pacing back and forth like he was presenting a thesis. “We come up with challenges. You both compete. We judge. And at the end, we crown the Supreme Babysitter.”

“Supreme Babysitter,” Steve repeated flatly.

“We’ll make a crown and everything.”

“A crown.”

“Out of pizza boxes, probably.”

Steve looked at you.

You looked at Steve.

“This is insane,” you said.

“Completely insane,” he agreed.

Dustin was practically vibrating with glee. “Oh my god. This is happening. This is actually happening.”

Max high-fived Lucas.

Mike looked at El. “This is going to be hilarious.”

El nodded seriously. “Good.”

And just like that, you were committed.

You and Steve, staring at each other across his kitchen, both of you too competitive for your own good, both of you absolutely not backing down.

“Hope you’re ready to lose, Harrington,” you said.

His grin was sharp and bright and absolutely infuriating. “Hope you’re ready to get destroyed.”

“Bring it.”

“Oh, I’ll bring it.”

“Cool.”

“Great.”

“Awesome.”

Dustin clapped his hands together. “Okay! First challenge starts in twenty minutes. Everyone to the living room. This is going to be legendary.”

The kids scattered immediately, already whispering and planning and scheming, and you were left standing in the kitchen with Steve.

Still staring at each other.

Still grinning like idiots.

“This is so stupid,” you said.

“The stupidest,” he agreed.

“We’re gonna do it anyway, aren’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

You shook your head, laughing, and started to head toward the living room.

But then Steve’s voice stopped you.

“Hey.”

You turned back.

He was standing there, backlit by the morning sun coming through the window, his hair a disaster and his smile soft and real and so, so dangerous to your carefully maintained emotional distance.

“Yeah?” you said.

“Just so you know,” he said quietly, “I’m glad you’re here. Like… here. Not just for this weekend. For all of it.”

Your chest did something complicated.

Something warm and terrifying and impossible to ignore.

“Yeah,” you managed. “Me too.”

He nodded.

You nodded.

And then Dustin yelled, “ARE YOU TWO COMING OR WHAT?” and the moment shattered, but you held onto it anyway.

Twenty minutes later, the living room had been transformed.

And by “transformed,” you meant it looked like a game show had exploded.

The kids had pushed all the furniture to the walls, creating an open space in the center. Someone, probably Max, had strung up a bedsheet between two lamps like a makeshift curtain. El had made a sign using notebook paper and way too many markers that said “SUPREME BABYSITTER CHALLENGE” in big, slightly wobbly letters, and she’d decorated it with little drawings of what you thought were supposed to be crowns but looked more like deformed triangles.

It was chaotic and ridiculous and kind of perfect.

Dustin stood in the middle of the room, holding a clipboard.

A clipboard.

“Where did you even get that?” Steve asked.

“I came prepared,” Dustin said ominously.

“You’ve been planning this.”

“I’ve been planning this since Tuesday.”

“That’s—actually, you know what, I’m not even surprised.”

“You shouldn’t be.” Dustin clicked his pen, because of course he had a pen too, and looked down at his clipboard with the seriousness of a judge presiding over a murder trial. “Okay. Let’s go over the rules.”

“There are rules?” you asked.

“Obviously, there are rules. What kind of competition doesn’t have rules?”

“The fun kind?” Steve tried.

“Wrong. The fun kind has rules, structure, and a clear points system.” Dustin adjusted his hat. “Over the whole day—”

“The whole day?” Steve interrupted.

“Did I stutter?”

“I just—it seems like a lot.”

“Steve. Buddy. We have been cooped up in this house with nothing to do but watch you two make weird eyes at each other for three weeks. We’ve earned a day of entertainment.”

Your face went hot. “We don’t make weird eyes.”

“You absolutely make weird eyes,” Max said from her spot on the couch.

“Like, constantly,” Lucas added.

“It’s honestly painful to watch,” Mike muttered.

El just nodded.

Steve’s ears were bright red. “Can we please just—can we focus on the competition?”

“Great idea,” Dustin said, grinning like the cat that got the canary. “As I was saying. One day. Multiple challenges. Each challenge is worth points. Whoever has the most points at the end wins the title of Supreme Babysitter, plus this.” He gestured dramatically at the crown El was holding.

It was made of pipe cleaners twisted together, covered in aluminum foil, with what looked like bottle caps glued to it as jewels.

It was hideous.

You wanted it immediately.

“I love it, El,” Steve said desperately. “It’s perfect. I’m going to treasure it forever when I win.”

“When you win?” you repeated.

“Yeah. When.”

“You mean if.”

“I meant what I said.”

Dustin cleared his throat loudly. “Are we done? Can I continue explaining the rules that I worked very hard on?”

“Please do,” Max said, looking way too entertained by all of this.

“Thank you, Max. You’re my favorite.” Dustin consulted his clipboard. “Challenge categories include: crisis management, snack preparation, emotional support, creative problem-solving, and, this is important, general vibes.”

“General vibes?” Steve repeated.

“Yeah, like, who has better babysitter energy.”

“That’s completely subjective!”

“All of this is subjective, Steve. We’re the judges. That’s how judging works.”

Lucas raised his hand. “I have a question.”

“Yes, Lucas.”

“Are we allowed to sabotage them?”

“No!” you and Steve said in unison.

Dustin considered this. “Mild sabotage is acceptable.”

“Dustin!”

“What? It makes it more interesting!”

“It makes it unfair!”

“Life is unfair. Also, you both literally saved the world multiple times. I think you can handle some fourteen-year-olds messing with you.”

He had a point.

You hated that he had a point.

“Fine,” you said. “But if anyone tries to sabotage me, I’m sabotaging back.”

“Same,” Steve said.

“That’s the spirit!” Dustin made a note on his clipboard. “Okay, any other questions before we begin?”

Mike raised his hand.

“Yes, Mike.”

“What do we get if we help the winner win?”

Dustin’s eyes lit up. “I’m so glad you asked. We’re splitting into teams. Team Steve—” Max, Lucas, and Mike immediately groaned. “—and Team, uh…” He looked at you. “Do you have a cool nickname?”

“No.”

“You should get a cool nickname.”

“I’m not getting a cool nickname in the next thirty seconds, Dustin.”

“Fine. Team Her. We’ll workshop it. Anyway, winning team gets to pick the movie for the next three movie nights AND gets out of dish duty for a week.”

“Sold,” Max said immediately, standing up and walking over to you. “I’m Team Her.”

“Traitor!” Steve gasped.

“You made me do the dishes last night even though it was Mike’s turn.”

“Because Mike was asleep!”

“Not my problem.”

Lucas stood up too, hesitating for a second before joining Max. “Sorry, Steve. But she’s right. You’re weird about dishes.”

“I’m not weird about dishes! I’m responsible about dishes! There’s a difference!”

Mike looked between you and Steve, clearly torn. Then El tugged on his sleeve and whispered something in his ear.

He sighed. “El says we should be on your team.”

“Yes!” Steve pumped his fist.

“But I’m only doing this because El asked,” Mike added quickly. “Not because I think you’re going to win.”

“I’ll take it.”

Dustin checked his clipboard. “Okay, so teams are set. Max and Lucas are Team Her—we’re still workshopping the name—and Mike and El are Team Steve. I’ll be the neutral judge and scorekeeper because I’m the only one with organizational skills.”

“You literally lost your retainer twice last week,” Lucas pointed out.

“That’s different. That’s an object. This is a system.” Dustin clicked his pen again. “Now. Let’s begin with Challenge One: The Snack Preparation Challenge.”

He said it with such gravity that you almost laughed.

“You have twenty minutes,” Dustin continued, pulling out an actual timer from his pocket—because of course he had a timer—“to prepare the best after-school snack you can manage with the ingredients available in Steve’s kitchen. You’ll be judged on taste, presentation, creativity, and whether or not anyone gets food poisoning.”

“That last one seems important,” you said.

“It’s happened before,” Dustin said darkly.

Steve’s head whipped toward him. “When?!”

“Summer of ‘84. We don’t talk about it.”

“You can’t just say that and not explain!”

“No time! The challenge starts…” He held up the timer dramatically. “Now!”

And then chaos erupted.

You and Steve both bolted for the kitchen at the same time, nearly colliding in the doorway.

“Move!” Steve said.

“You move!” you shot back.

“I live here!”

“That doesn’t give you special kitchen privileges during a competition!”

You hip-checked him out of the way and made it to the fridge first, yanking it open and scanning the contents. Okay. Okay, you could work with this. There was cheese, some deli meat, apples, peanut butter, jelly, bread—standard stuff.

Behind you, you could hear Steve rummaging through the cabinets, muttering under his breath.

Max appeared in the doorway. “Need any help?”

“Aren’t you supposed to stay out of this?” you asked, pulling out the peanut butter and apples.

“Dustin said mild sabotage was allowed. He didn’t say anything about mild assistance.”

You grinned. “What’s Steve making?”

Max peered around the corner. “Looks like… sandwiches? Really boring sandwiches.”

“Perfect.”

Your mind was already racing. Okay, if Steve was going traditional, you needed to go creative. Something that looked impressive but was still actually edible, because knowing these kids, they’d revolt if you made anything too healthy or weird.

Apples. Peanut butter. You could work with that.

You started slicing apples quickly, arranging them on a plate in a fan pattern. Then you grabbed the peanut butter and a spoon, creating a small bowl in the center for dipping. That was too simple, though. You needed more.

“Max, what else is in the pantry?”

“Uh… pretzels, chocolate chips, some granola—”

“Grab the chocolate chips and pretzels.”

She darted off and returned thirty seconds later with both. You scattered them around the plate artfully, creating a little dessert charcuterie situation. It looked good. Really good, actually.

“Shit,” you heard Steve mutter from the other side of the kitchen.

You glanced over. He was making what looked like fancy grilled cheese—not a bad choice, actually. The bread was already in the pan, butter sizzling, and he was layering cheese with the focused intensity of a surgeon.

Competitive Steve was kind of hot.

No. Nope. Not thinking about that right now.

You turned back to your plate, adding a few more touches—some granola for texture, a strategic drizzle of honey you found in the back of the cabinet.

“Thirty seconds!” Dustin called from the living room.

“Shit!” Steve flipped his sandwiches frantically.

You stepped back, surveying your work. It looked like something out of a Pinterest board. The apples were arranged in a perfect circle, the peanut butter bowl was centered, the chocolate chips and pretzels created visual interest—

“Time!” Dustin yelled.

You grabbed your plate.

Steve grabbed his—and immediately dropped it because it was too hot.

“Fuck!” He juggled the plate, nearly sending sandwiches flying, before managing to secure them. His face was red. “I’m fine! It’s fine! Everything’s fine!”

“Real professional, Harrington,” you said sweetly.

“Shut up.”

You both carried your creations into the living room, where the kids had arranged themselves on the couch like judges on a reality show. Dustin had his clipboard. El had produced a notebook from somewhere and was holding a crayon, ready to take notes.

This was absurd.

This was the most absurd thing you’d done in weeks.

You were having so much fun.

“Present your snacks,” Dustin announced.

Steve went first, setting down his plate with a flourish. “Grilled cheese sandwiches. But not just any grilled cheese sandwiches. These are made with three types of cheese—cheddar, swiss, and mozzarella—on sourdough bread with butter. They’re golden brown, perfectly crispy, and scientifically proven to be delicious.”

“Scientifically proven?” Lucas repeated skeptically.

“I watched a cooking show once.”

“That’s not how science works.”

“It’s food science!”

Mike picked up a sandwich and took a bite. His eyes widened. “Oh shit. That’s actually really good.”

“Language,” Steve said automatically.

“You literally just said ‘fuck’ in the kitchen.”

“That was different. That was a crisis situation.”

El tried a bite next, chewing thoughtfully. Then she nodded. “Good,” she said simply, which from El was high praise.

Your turn.

You set down your plate, and there was an immediate reaction.

“Whoa,” Max said.

“That looks fancy,” Lucas added.

“It’s not fancy,” you said. “It’s an apple snack plate. You’ve got sliced apples for dipping in peanut butter, chocolate chips and pretzels for variety, and a little granola and honey for extra flavor. It’s healthy-ish but still fun, and nobody has to turn on the stove.”

“The stove is not a problem!” Steve protested.

“You literally burned yourself just now.”

“On the plate! Not the stove!”

Max grabbed an apple slice, dragged it through the peanut butter, added a chocolate chip, and took a bite. “Oh my god.”

“Good?” you asked hopefully.

“Really good. Like, really, really good.”

Lucas tried it next, then made the same face. “Steve, I’m sorry, but she’s winning this round.”

“What?! My grilled cheese is perfect!”

“Your grilled cheese is great,” Mike said diplomatically. “But this is like… I don’t know, it feels less like babysitter food and more like mom friend food.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“It’s really not.”

Dustin was scribbling notes furiously. “Okay, scores. For taste: Steve gets an 8, she gets a 9. For presentation: Steve gets a 7, she gets a 10. For creativity: Steve gets a 6, she gets a 9. For avoiding food poisoning: both get a 10 because nobody’s dying yet.”

“Yet?” Steve repeated.

“It’s only been two minutes. Give it time.” Dustin tallied up the scores. “Final score for Challenge One: Steve, 31 points. Her, 38 points. She wins!”

“Yes!” You pumped your fist while Max and Lucas cheered.

Steve stared at his grilled cheese like it had personally betrayed him. “I can’t believe I lost to apples.”

“Not just apples,” you said smugly. “Apples with presentation.”

“I hate this. I hate this competition.”

“You’re just mad because you’re losing.”

“I’m not mad, I’m motivated. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

He pointed at you with a spatula that he was still holding for some reason. “Next challenge. I’m coming for you.”

“Bring it, Harrington.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Dustin interrupted your stare-down by clearing his throat. “Okay, lovebirds, save it for the next challenge. We’re moving on to Challenge Two: Crisis Management.”

“Lovebirds?” you and Steve said simultaneously.

“Did I stutter?” Dustin checked his clipboard. “This one’s going to be fun. Here’s the scenario: Mike just called from the Wheeler house. He’s locked himself in the bathroom, there’s a spider the size of a dinner plate, and he’s crying. What do you do?”

Mike’s jaw dropped. “I would never—”

“It’s hypothetical, Mike.”

“It’s character assassination!”

“Do you want to be on Steve’s team or not?”

Mike crossed his arms and slumped back on the couch, muttering something about defamation.

Dustin continued: “You have five minutes to talk through your crisis management approach. Judges will score based on practicality, speed, empathy, and overall effectiveness. Steve, you’re up first.”

Steve set down his spatula—finally—and crossed his arms, getting into what you were starting to recognize as his Problem-Solving Stance. “Okay. First, I’d call him back and tell him to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

“He’s crying,” Dustin interjected. “He can’t calm down.”

“Then I’d tell him to breathe anyway. Slowly.”

“The spider is moving toward him.”

“Then I’d tell him to throw a towel over it.”

“He’s in the bathroom. He can’t reach the towels without getting closer to the spider.”

“Then…” Steve paused, thinking. “Then I’d tell him to use toilet paper. Bunch it up, trap the spider, flush it.”

“Interesting approach,” Dustin made a note. “Pros: practical, uses available materials. Cons: requires Mike to get very close to the spider, which given his current panic state seems unlikely. Also, possible plumbing issues.”

“Okay, fine. Then I’d get in my car and drive to his house.”

“It’s a fifteen-minute drive.”

“Then I’d drive really fast.”

“That’s illegal.”

“Hopper’s not going to pull me over for saving Mike from a spider!”

“Hopper absolutely would pull you over.”

Steve dragged a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. “Fine. Then I’d call Mrs. Wheeler and ask her to help.”

“She’s not home. No one’s home except Mike.”

“This is an impossible scenario!”

“That’s the point. It’s crisis management.” Dustin turned to you, grinning. “Your turn.”

You thought about it for a second. “Okay, first, I’d stay on the phone with him the whole time. Keep him talking, keep him distracted.”

“Good start,” Dustin said.

“Then I’d ask him what the spider’s doing. Is it moving? Is it just sitting there?”

“It’s sitting there,” Mike supplied, now invested. “On the wall. Above the door.”

“Perfect. So it’s not an immediate threat. I’d tell him that most spiders are more scared of us than we are of them, and this one probably just wants to be left alone.”

“He’s still crying,” Dustin said.

“Then I’d tell him a joke. Or ask him about the campaign he’s working on. Something to get his mind off it.”

“While he’s trapped in a bathroom?”

“He’s not trapped. He can leave anytime. The spider’s above the door, not blocking it. So I’d walk him through it—count to three, open the door fast, duck under where the spider is, and get out.”

Max nodded. “That’s actually pretty smart.”

“And if the spider moves?” Dustin pressed.

You shrugged. “Then I tell him it’s okay if he needs to wait until someone gets home. I’d stay on the phone with him. Put on a movie at the same time so we’re watching together. Make it feel less scary.”

Dustin scribbled more notes, nodding slowly. “Okay. Scores. Steve: practicality 7, speed 6, empathy 5, overall effectiveness 6. Total: 24.”

“A five on empathy?” Steve protested.

“You told him to calm down while he was crying. That’s literally what not to do.”

“I—okay, fair.”

“Her turn.” Dustin tallied the numbers. “Practicality 8, speed 7, empathy 10, overall effectiveness 9. Total: 34. She wins again!”

“Yes!” Max and Lucas high-fived.

Steve looked genuinely stunned. “How are you winning everything?”

“Because I’m better at this than you.”

“You are not.”

“Scoreboard says otherwise, Harrington.”

He stepped closer, that competitive fire sparking in his eyes again. “This isn’t over.”

“It really isn’t,” you agreed. “Because you’re still losing.”

“Challenge Three!” Dustin announced. “Starting in ten minutes. This one’s going to be good.”

The third challenge was “Emotional Support,” which sounded ominous and was somehow worse than it sounded.

“Scenario,” Dustin said, reading from his clipboard with way too much glee. “Lucas and Max just had a fight. They’re not talking to each other. Lucas is sulking in the basement, Max is rage-skateboarding in the driveway, and the rest of us are stuck in the middle. How do you fix it?”

Lucas and Max immediately started protesting.

“We don’t fight that much!” Lucas said.

“Yes we do,” Max said.

“Okay, yes we do, but we don’t need a scenario about it!”

“It’s for educational purposes,” Dustin said primly.

“It’s for humiliation purposes,” Max muttered, but she was smiling a little.

Steve went first again, and you could tell he was taking this one more seriously. He sat down on the coffee table, hands clasped, and actually thought about it.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “First, I’d talk to them separately. Give them space to vent without making it worse.”

“Good start,” Dustin said.

“I’d ask Lucas what happened from his perspective. Let him explain. Not take sides, just listen.”

“And then?”

“Then I’d do the same with Max. Hear her side.”

“And if their stories completely contradict each other?”

Steve hesitated. “Then… then I’d point out that they’re both probably right, from their own perspectives. And that it’s okay to see things differently.”

Mike was nodding. “That’s actually decent advice.”

“Then I’d—” Steve paused, looking uncomfortable. “I’d probably tell them that fighting happens. It sucks, but it’s normal. And that they’re both too stubborn to stay mad at each other for long anyway.”

“Would you make them apologize?” Dustin asked.

“Not right away. I’d let them cool off first. Maybe put on a movie, order pizza, let them sit on opposite sides of the couch until they naturally gravitate back together.” He shrugged. “They always do.”

It was sweet.

It was genuinely sweet, and from the look on Max and Lucas’s faces, it was also accurate.

Dustin made notes. “Okay. Solid approach. Your turn.”

You took a breath, thinking about all the times you’d played mediator with the kids over the past few weeks. “I’d start the same way—talk to them separately. But I’d also ask them what they think would help. Like, what do they need from each other right now? An apology? Space? A do-over of the conversation?”

“Giving them agency,” Dustin said. “Interesting.”

“Yeah. Because sometimes people don’t want you to fix it, they just want to be heard. So I’d validate their feelings—tell Lucas it’s okay to be hurt, tell Max it’s okay to be angry. And then I’d ask if they want help talking it out, or if they’d rather work through it on their own.”

“And if they want help?”

“Then I’d sit with both of them and let them talk. Keep it from escalating. Remind them that they care about each other when they start forgetting that.”

El was watching you with those intense eyes of hers. “That’s what you did. When Mike and I fought.”

You blinked. “When—oh. Yeah. I guess I did.”

“It helped,” she said simply.

Your chest did that warm, tight thing again.

Dustin was tallying scores. “Steve: 28 points. Her: 35 points. She’s still winning!”

Steve dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it,” you said, trying not to sound too smug and definitely failing.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I’m enjoying it exactly the right amount.”

He looked up, and despite the competitive frustration written all over his face, he was smiling. Really smiling. “Okay. Okay, fine. You’re good at this.”

“I know.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

“Challenge Four!” Dustin interrupted. “And this one’s the big one. The tiebreaker, if you will.”

“It’s not a tiebreaker if she’s winning,” Steve pointed out.

“It’s a dramatic reveal. Work with me here.” Dustin straightened his shoulders. “Challenge Four: General Vibes. Also known as the popularity contest.”

“Oh no,” you said.

“Oh yes. Each team gets to explain why their babysitter is the best. You two can’t say anything in your own defense. This is all about what we think.” He looked at Max and Lucas. “Team Her—we’re still workshopping the name—you’re up first.”

Max stood up like she was about to give a speech at the UN. “Okay, here’s the thing about her.” She gestured at you. “She doesn’t try too hard. Like, Steve’s great—”

“Thanks?” Steve said.

“—but he’s always in Dad Mode. Always worrying, always checking on us, always acting like we’re going to die if we’re out of his sight for five minutes.”

“Because you might!” Steve protested.

“Let her finish,” Dustin said.

Max continued: “But she’s different. She worries too, but she also treats us like actual people. She asks our opinions. She doesn’t freak out when we want to do something slightly dangerous—”

“Define ‘slightly dangerous,’” you interrupted nervously.

“—and she’s funny. Like, genuinely funny, not just dad-joke funny.”

“My jokes are funny!” Steve said.

“Your jokes are painful,” Lucas said, standing up to join Max. “But yeah, she’s cool. She doesn’t make a big deal out of stuff. And she’s not always trying to be the hero, you know? She just… is.”

Your face was hot. You hadn’t expected this to feel so sincere.

“Also,” Max added, “she always takes my side when I’m arguing with the boys.”

“That’s blatant favoritism!” Mike called out.

“It’s called having good taste!” Max shot back.

Dustin made notes, nodding. “Compelling arguments. Team Steve, your turn.”

Mike stood up reluctantly, dragging El with him. “Okay, look. Steve’s annoying.”

“Great start, Mike,” Steve said flatly.

“But he cares. Like, really cares. He’s driven into literal hell multiple times to save us. He’s taken beatings for us. He’s—” Mike’s voice cracked slightly. “He’s always there. Even when we’re being annoying or ungrateful or whatever. He doesn’t give up on us.”

Steve’s expression softened.

El spoke up next, her voice quiet but steady. “Steve makes me feel safe. When things are scary, he’s there. He protects us.” She looked at Steve directly. “You’re a good friend.”

The room went quiet for a moment.

Then Dustin cleared his throat, looking suspiciously emotional. “Okay. Scores for Challenge Four…” He scribbled some numbers. “This one’s close. Really close.”

“How close?” Steve asked.

“She’s still winning overall, but you pulled ahead in this round.” Dustin looked up. “Final scores: Steve, 95 points. Her, 107 points. She’s the Supreme Babysitter!”

The room erupted.

Max and Lucas were cheering, shouting about their victory. Mike was arguing that the scoring system was flawed. El was watching everything with that small smile. And Steve—

Steve was looking at you with this expression you couldn’t quite read. Pride, maybe? Amusement? Something softer underneath it all?

“Congratulations,” he said, holding out his hand.

You shook it, his palm warm and solid against yours. “Thanks. You put up a good fight.”

“Not good enough, apparently.”

“Hey, you got ‘good friend’ from El. That’s basically worth more than any crown.”

His smile went crooked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Dustin thrust the hideous pipe cleaner crown at you. “Your prize, Supreme Babysitter!”

You took it, turning it over in your hands. It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

You loved it.

After dinner, after the kids had been wrangled into cleaning up (with minimal complaining because you’d invoked your Supreme Babysitter privileges), after the dishwasher was loaded and the counters were wiped down and someone had spilled juice on the floor and cleaned it up, everyone migrated back to the living room.

Movie night was a sacred tradition now.

It took twenty minutes to agree on a movie—The Goonies, finally, because it was the only thing that didn’t have someone vetoing it—and then another ten minutes to get everyone settled with blankets and pillows and optimal seating arrangements.

You ended up on the couch next to Steve, because of course you did.

The kids were sprawled on the floor in their usual nest formation, already yelling at the TV even though the movie had barely started.

“This is the best part!” Dustin announced as the opening credits rolled.

“The movie just started,” Lucas said.

“Yeah, and it’s already the best part!”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“You don’t make any sense!”

Steve leaned over, his shoulder pressing against yours. “They’re gonna argue through the whole movie, aren’t they?”

“Absolutely,” you whispered back.

“And we’re just gonna let them.”

“Obviously.”

His smile was soft in the flickering TV light. “Good.”

You should’ve moved away. Put some distance between you. The couch was big enough that you didn’t need to be sitting this close, your thighs touching, his arm warm against yours.

But you didn’t move.

And neither did he.

The movie played on, and gradually, the kids started to settle down. The arguments faded into occasional commentary, then into sleepy silence. One by one, they started to doze off—Dustin first, always the first to fall asleep during movies, then Lucas, then Mike.

Max lasted longer, fighting it, but eventually her head drooped onto Lucas’s shoulder.

El was the last one awake, but even she was fading, curled up against Mike.

“Out like lights,” Steve murmured.

“Every time.”

“You’d think they’d learn to pace themselves.”

“They never do.”

You were both whispering now, careful not to wake anyone. The movie was still playing, but neither of you were really watching anymore.

“So,” Steve said quietly. “Supreme Babysitter.”

“I know. It’s a lot of responsibility.”

“How are you handling the power?”

“With grace and humility.”

He snorted softly. “Right. That’s exactly what I’d call you. Humble.”

“I’m humble! I’m the most humble person you’ve ever met.”

“That’s not how humility works.”

“Sounds like something a sore loser would say.”

He turned to look at you, and suddenly he was very close. Close enough that you could count his eyelashes, see the little flecks of gold in his brown eyes, notice the tiny scar on his chin from god knows what fight or accident or brush with death.

“I’m not a sore loser,” he said.

“You kind of are.”

“Okay, maybe a little.”

Your breath caught. “Steve—”

“You were really good today,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper now. “With the kids. You’re always good with them.”

“So are you.”

“It’s different. You make it look easy.”

“It’s not easy. Nothing about this is easy.”

“I know. But you make it look like it is. And that’s—” He stopped, swallowed. “That’s really something.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

The TV cast blue-grey light across his face, and you were suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting. How easy it would be to just lean in a little more. Close that gap.

How much you wanted to.

“Steve,” you said again, softer this time.

He was looking at your mouth.

You were definitely looking at his.

This was happening. This was really happening. After weeks of dancing around it, of pretending you weren’t feeling what you were feeling, of late night conversations and shared looks and moments that felt too big to fit in your chest—

Dustin snored. Loud and sudden and completely momentum-killing.

You both jumped apart like you’d been electrocuted.

Steve cleared his throat. “I should—we should probably get them to bed.”

“Right. Yeah. Definitely.”

“Before they wake up with neck injuries.”

“Good thinking.”

But neither of you moved for a long moment, just sitting there in the TV light, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Then Steve stood up, running a hand through his hair, and started the process of waking up kids and herding them toward sleeping bags and blankets and whatever makeshift beds they’d claimed.

You helped, of course.

And if your hands brushed when you were both tucking a blanket around El, neither of you mentioned it.

You woke up on the couch again the next morning, the pipe cleaner crown somehow still on your head, digging into your scalp at an uncomfortable angle.

The house was quiet. Properly quiet this time, the kind that meant everyone was actually still asleep and it was genuinely early.

You sat up slowly, your neck protesting, and squinted at the VCR clock. 6:23 AM.

Great. Your body had apparently decided that six-something in the morning was just your wake-up time now, regardless of how late you’d stayed up or how little sleep you’d gotten.

You pulled the crown off, setting it carefully on the coffee table—you’d won that thing fair and square, you weren’t about to crush it—and looked around.

The living room was a disaster zone. Again. Blankets everywhere, empty popcorn bowls, someone’s shoes in the middle of the floor. Dustin was drooling on Mike’s shoulder. Max was somehow upside down in her sleeping bag. Lucas had migrated halfway under the couch, which seemed both uncomfortable and structurally impressive.

El was sitting up in the armchair, wide awake, watching you.

You jumped about a foot in the air, pressing a hand to your chest. “Jesus—El. How long have you been awake?”

“A while,” she said simply.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

She shrugged. “You looked tired.”

That was… actually really sweet.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to force your brain into something resembling consciousness. “Can’t sleep?”

“Bad dreams,” El said quietly.

Your heart clenched. “You want to talk about it?”

She considered this, tilting her head in that way she did when she was thinking hard about something. Then she shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Okay. But if you do want to talk, I’m here. You know that, right?”

“I know.” She paused. “You’re good at that. Listening.”

“Thanks, kiddo.”

“That’s why you won yesterday.”

You smiled. “I don’t know about that. I think I just got lucky.”

“No.” El was very serious now, looking at you with those intense eyes that always felt like they were seeing more than they should. “You won because you care. And you don’t try to fix everything. You just… stay.”

Something about that hit harder than it should have.

“Yeah, well,” you said, your voice coming out rougher than intended. “You guys make it pretty easy to stay.”

El smiled—small and genuine—and then turned her attention back to the sleeping pile of kids. “Steve was awake too. Earlier.”

“Was he?”

“He checked the doors. Three times.”

Of course he did.

“Is he asleep now?” you asked.

El nodded. “In the kitchen. At the table.”

You sighed. That sounded about right. Steve probably couldn’t make it back to his actual bedroom, so he’d just… passed out at the kitchen table like some kind of exhausted dad who fell asleep doing the bills.

“I’m gonna go check on him,” you said, standing up and stretching. Your spine made concerning cracking sounds. “You good here?”

“Yes.”

El was right.

Steve was slumped over the kitchen table, one arm pillowed under his head, the other hanging limply at his side. He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes—jeans and that Hawkins High sweatshirt, now even more rumpled than before. His hair was a complete disaster, sticking up in every possible direction.

The nail bat was leaning against his chair.

Of course it was.

For a moment, you just stood there, looking at him. At the dark circles under his eyes, visible even in sleep. At the tension that never quite left his shoulders. At the way his hand was curled into a loose fist, like even unconscious he was ready to fight something.

Steve Harrington, Hawkins’ reluctant hero, currently drooling slightly on his own kitchen table at six thirty in the morning.

Your heart did that stupid fluttering thing again.

You were so screwed.

“Steve,” you said softly, walking over and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Wake up.”

He jerked awake with a sharp inhale, his hand immediately going for the bat before his eyes were even fully open.

“Whoa, whoa!” You stepped back, hands up. “It’s just me!”

Steve blinked rapidly, trying to orient himself, his chest heaving. Then recognition dawned, and his whole body sagged. “Shit. Sorry. I—sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I could’ve hit you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could’ve—”

“Steve.” You moved closer again, keeping your voice gentle. “It’s okay. You didn’t. I’m fine.”

He dragged a hand down his face, and when he looked up at you, he looked so tired. Bone-deep, exhausted tired. “What time is it?”

“Early. Six thirty-ish.”

“Why are you awake?”

“Why are you asleep at the kitchen table?”

He looked around like he was just now realizing where he was. “I was… I was checking the perimeter. Must’ve sat down for a second.”

“Steve, you can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This.” You gestured at him, at the bat, at the whole situation. “Not sleeping. Staying up all night checking doors and windows. Running yourself into the ground.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You just tried to hit me with a bat.”

“I didn’t actually—”

“Steve.”

He went quiet, jaw working like he was trying to find the right words and coming up empty.

You pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. “When’s the last time you actually slept? Like, really slept. More than a couple hours.”

“I sleep.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I sleep enough.”

“Also not an answer.”

He was quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands on the table. Then, so quietly you almost missed it: “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t sleep. Not really. I try, and I just…” He made a frustrated gesture. “I see it all again. The tunnels, the Russians, the—everything. And then I’m awake and I can’t stop thinking about what if something happens while I’m sleeping? What if something gets in and I don’t wake up in time? What if—”

He cut himself off, his hand curling into a fist on the table.

You reached out slowly, carefully, and put your hand over his. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re right. I don’t. But Steve—you can’t protect everyone all the time. You can’t stay awake forever.”

“I can try.”

“You’re going to kill yourself trying.”

The words came out harsher than you meant them to, but they were true and you both knew it.

Steve’s jaw tightened. “I’m not going to—”

“You fell asleep at the kitchen table. With a nail bat. After checking the doors three times.” You squeezed his hand. “Steve, that’s not sustainable. That’s not… you can’t live like this.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Let someone else help. Let me help.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and his eyes were so raw it hurt. “You’re already helping. You’re here. That’s—that’s more than—”

His voice cracked, and he looked away quickly, like he was embarrassed.

“Hey.” You waited until he looked back. “You don’t have to do this alone. You know that, right? You’re not—we’re in this together. All of us. Me, Robin, the kids. You’re not the only one who’s responsible for keeping everyone safe.”

“Feels like I am sometimes.”

“Well, you’re not. And I’m not gonna let you burn out because you think you have to be some kind of solo superhero.” You stood up, tugging on his hand. “Come on.”

“What—where are we going?”

“You’re going to bed. Your actual bed. Not the couch, not the kitchen table. Your bed.”

“I can’t just—”

“You absolutely can. The kids are asleep. I’m awake. I’ll keep watch.”

He started to protest, then stopped, something shifting in his expression. “You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay.”

“And if something—”

“Then I’ll wake you up. But nothing’s going to happen, Steve. It’s Sunday morning in Hawkins. The most dangerous thing happening right now is Dustin’s snoring.”

That got a small smile out of him. Tiny, but there.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Okay, but just for a couple hours.”

“However long you need.”

“A couple hours,” he insisted.

“Sure, Steve. A couple hours.”

You both knew that was a lie, but he let you pull him to his feet anyway.

Steve’s bedroom was on the second floor, down a hallway lined with family photos that looked staged and impersonal. His room was surprisingly normal—a double bed with navy blue sheets that were actually made, a desk with homework he’d probably never finished scattered across it, a dresser with cologne and loose change on top. Posters on the walls: a couple of bands, a sports car, a Risky Business poster that made you snort.

“Don’t,” Steve said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking it really loud.”

“I’m just thinking that you have very interesting taste in movies.”

“Everyone loves that movie.”

“Everyone loves that scene from that movie. There’s a difference.”

He was too tired to argue, which was probably for the best. He just kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the bed fully clothed, face-first into the pillow.

“You’re not even going to get under the covers?” you asked.

“Too much effort,” came his muffled response.

You rolled your eyes, grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed, and threw it over him. He made a sound that might’ve been “thanks” or might’ve been just general exhaustion.

“I’m setting an alarm,” he mumbled. “Two hours.”

“You’re not setting an alarm.”

“Yes I am.”

“Steve, you can barely move.”

“’M fine…” His words were already slurring. “Just… couple hours…”

You sat down on the edge of the bed, and his hand found yours in that automatic way that was becoming familiar. His fingers threaded through yours, holding on even as his breathing started to even out.

“Stay?” he asked, barely conscious now.

“I’m staying.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good…”

And then he was out.

Like actually, completely unconscious in the way only truly exhausted people can be. His face relaxed, the tension finally bleeding out of his shoulders, his hand still holding yours but looser now.

You should’ve left. Should’ve gone back downstairs, kept an eye on the kids, let Steve sleep without you sitting here like some kind of creepy sentinel.

But you stayed.

Because he’d asked you to. Because he looked so peaceful like this, more peaceful than you’d seen him in weeks. Because some part of you needed to make sure he was okay, even though you knew that was ridiculous.

So you sat on the edge of Steve Harrington’s bed, holding his hand, watching the morning light creep through his window, and thought about how completely and utterly screwed you were.

You meant to stay for just a few minutes.

You really did.

But Steve’s bed was comfortable, and his hand was warm in yours, and you were so tired, and it had been such a long few weeks, and before you knew it you were listing sideways, then lying down on top of the covers next to him, and then—

You woke up to whispering.

Very loud, very obvious whispering that was clearly meant to be quiet but was failing spectacularly.

“Oh my god.”

“Dustin, shut up—”

“Are they—they’re totally—”

“If you wake them up, I’m going to kill you.”

“Max, we need photographic evidence—”

Your eyes flew open.

Five kids were standing in Steve’s bedroom doorway, various expressions of delight, shock, and smugness on their faces. Dustin had a camera. Max was grinning like the Cheshire cat. Lucas looked vaguely uncomfortable. Mike seemed caught between amusement and horror. El just looked pleased.

It took you a second to remember where you were.

Steve’s bed. You were in Steve’s bed. Still on top of the covers, still fully clothed, but definitely, undeniably in Steve’s bed.

And Steve—

Steve was pressed against your back, one arm slung over your waist, his face buried in your hair, still completely dead to the world.

You’d fallen asleep.

You’d both fallen asleep.

Cuddling.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

The camera flashed.

“DUSTIN!”

Steve jerked awake with a startled “What—” and immediately tried to sit up, which just resulted in him rolling off the bed and landing on the floor with a solid thud.

“Ow. Fuck. What—” He was blinking rapidly, hair sticking up in every direction, looking completely disoriented. Then he saw the kids. “What the hell are you all doing in my room?”

“Bearing witness,” Dustin said solemnly.

“Witnessing what?”

“Your feelings,” Max said, like it was obvious.

Steve looked at you, still lying on his bed. You looked back at Steve, currently on his floor. Both of you were blushing so hard you probably looked sunburned.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Steve tried.

“It looks like you two were cuddling,” Lucas said.

“We weren’t—we were just—she was—”

“I was making sure he slept,” you said, finally finding your voice and sitting up. “That’s it. He hasn’t been sleeping, so I made sure he actually slept for once.”

“By cuddling,” Dustin said.

“By staying in the room—”

“While cuddling.”

“We weren’t cuddling!”

“You literally had your arm around her, Steve,” Mike pointed out.

Steve opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I was asleep! I didn’t know—I wasn’t consciously—”

“So you unconsciously cuddled,” Max said. “That’s actually even better. That means it’s instinct.”

“Oh my god,” you said, dropping your face into your hands.

“Oh my god,” Steve echoed, still on the floor.

El stepped forward from the group, and everyone went quiet. When El wanted to say something, people listened.

She looked at Steve, then at you, then back at Steve.

“It’s okay,” she said simply. “We already knew.”

“Knew what?” Steve asked warily.

“That you like each other.”

“We don’t—” you started.

“You do,” El said, with the kind of certainty only El could have. “It’s obvious. You’re always together. You look at each other a lot. Steve makes you coffee the way you like it without asking. You fixed his jacket collar on Tuesday. Mike does the same thing with me.”

Mike’s face went red. “El—”

“It’s nice,” El continued, ignoring him. “You should just tell each other.”

The room went silent.

You were pretty sure you’d stopped breathing.

Steve was staring at El like she’d just announced she could read minds—which, honestly, maybe she could. You wouldn’t put it past her at this point.

“I—” Steve started, then seemed to lose all his words.

You weren’t doing much better. Your brain had just completely shut down. Blue-screened. Error 404, thoughts not found.

Dustin cleared his throat. “So, uh, just to confirm for the records: are you two dating or…?”

“No!” you and Steve said simultaneously.

“But you want to be,” Max said. It wasn’t a question.

More silence.

Lucas whispered to Dustin: “I think we broke them.”

“Okay!” you said, suddenly finding the ability to move again and standing up from the bed. “Okay, this has been a delightful morning ambush, but I think it’s time for everyone to go back downstairs. Now.”

“But—” Dustin started.

“Now, Henderson.”

“Fine, but this conversation isn’t over!” he said as Max physically dragged him out of the room.

Lucas and Mike followed, Mike still looking embarrassed but unable to hide his smile. El was the last to leave, pausing in the doorway to look back at both of you.

“It’s okay to be happy,” she said quietly. “You both deserve that.”

And then she was gone, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Leaving you and Steve alone.

In his bedroom.

After you’d been caught cuddling.

After El had basically announced to everyone that you had feelings for each other.

“So,” Steve said from the floor.

“So,” you echoed.

“That happened.”

“Yep.”

“El might be psychic.”

“That would explain a lot, actually.”

He laughed—sharp and surprised—and then pushed himself to his feet, running a hand through his already disastrous hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I was asleep, I didn’t know I—”

“Steve, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, you were just trying to help and I made it weird—”

“You didn’t make it weird.”

“I literally cuddled you in my sleep!”

“Unconscious cuddling doesn’t count!”

“How does unconscious cuddling not count?!”

“Because—” You stopped, took a breath. This was ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous. “Because I didn’t mind.”

Steve froze. “You… didn’t?”

“No. I didn’t.” Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Mind. Would you have minded? If you’d been awake?”

He stared at you for a long moment, and you watched his expression shift through about seven different emotions before landing on something that looked like determination.

“No,” he said finally. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

You were standing in the middle of Steve’s bedroom, the morning sun streaming through the window, kids probably eavesdropping on the other side of the door, having the most awkward conversation of your entire life.

And somehow, it was perfect.

“So,” Steve said, taking a step closer. “El thinks we like each other.”

“Apparently.”

“And that we should tell each other.”

“That’s what she said.”

“And you didn’t disagree with her.”

Your mouth went dry. “Neither did you.”

He took another step closer, and suddenly he was right there, close enough that you could see the flecks of green in his eyes again, close enough that you could count the moles on his neck, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he said, voice low and rough and honest.

Your breath caught. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I also really don’t want our first kiss to happen right after I fell off a bed and got ambushed by teenagers, so—”

You kissed him.

Just leaned up and closed the distance and pressed your mouth to his, cutting off his rambling in the best possible way.

For half a second, he froze, surprised. Then he made this small sound in the back of his throat and kissed you back, his hands coming up to cup your face, gentle and sure and perfect.

It was soft. Careful. A little bit awkward because all first kisses were a little bit awkward, but also somehow exactly right.

When you pulled back, Steve’s eyes were still closed, his lips curved into a smile.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay, that was—”

“Yeah.”

“We should probably—”

“Yeah.”

“But later, right? We can talk about this later?”

“Definitely later.”

His smile widened, and then he kissed you again, quick and sweet, before stepping back. “Okay. Okay, cool. That happened.”

“It did.”

“And you’re—you’re okay with that?”

“Steve, I literally just kissed you. Yes, I’m okay with that.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay.” He was grinning like an idiot now, and it was possibly the cutest thing you’d ever seen. “We should probably go deal with the kids before they break something.”

Aside from you, him, and the night nurse tucked behind the registration desk, the hospital waiting room was a total wasteland. Steve hadn't known it was possible for Hawkins to have so few emergencies. And, terrible as he knew it was, he actually wished there were a few more right about now.

He needed noise. Something to distract him from your erratic footfalls and the dull hum coming from the TV hanging in the corner, playing outdated commercials on a loop.

Reach out and touch someone, coaxed the pretty housewife in an AT&T ad.

Steve curled his fingers into the sides of his shirt, nails scraping over his ribs. Can't you see that's what I'm trying not to do? he wanted to ask her.

He wanted to reach out.

He wanted to lay a hand on your arm. Give you his sweetest smile. Promise that everything would be okay.

It didn't matter that he didn't know that for a fact. That his medical license was nonexistent and his track record as a successful psychic was, well, also nonexistent. He would promise anyways. And if things turned out to be not okay, he would find a way to make them okay.

But Steve liked having fingers. And touching you without permission was a surefire way to lose a few.

So he kept his arms folded over his stomach. Watched your shoes bounce, ignored the housewife's bad advice, and slipped into the molasses-thick torment of his own never-ending thoughts.

How well do you have to know someone before you can offer comfort that helps instead of hurts? Steve would've guessed Vaguely-Acquainted-via-Small-town-Lifestyle-and-Shared-Trauma-at-the-Hands-of-Freaky-Nightmare-Creatures would've been well enough, but had no doubt you would disagree.

He stole a glance at you from the corner of his eye.

God...was it weird to think you looked beautiful like this? Legs bouncing, gnawing on your thumbnail? Glaring holes through the double-doors labeled Authorized Personnel Only like they'd just smashed your brother's camera, and you were definitely about to kick their ass for it.

Steve was familiar with that glare.

Steve dreamed about that glare.

That was the moment he'd started trickling into love with you, he was pretty sure. When you found him two days after the camera incident, caught the front of his polo in your fist and pulled him so close that the tips of your noses nearly brushed. His face was already bruised from Jonathan's right hook, and with the way you were growling at him, he should've been worried that Little Byers had come to make the damage permanent.

But he hadn't been worried.

He had been too focused on the cute way your upper lip curled with every threat. How every hue in your eyes swirled together to make his new favorite color.

And when you walked away, he knew — knew — that from that moment on, he would do anything to stay the subject of your attention.

Steve frowned at the double-doors. Was it weird to feel jealous of a couple of hunks of wood and steel?

Uh, yeah, he answered himself. Totally insane, actually.

Before he could try to shake any further sense into himself, you slammed your Chucks down on the linoleum hard enough to make him flinch. To no in particular, you shouted, "Holy shit — is everyone here just fucking terrible at their jobs or does it actually take two-fucking-hours to figure out if someone's dying?"

Steve fought the urge to smile at you. Mouth like a sailor and a heart like a man-eating mermaid. You were the whole package, really.

Unfortunately the night nurse didn't seem to agree. She paused mid-crossword puzzle to shoot you a sharp look through her colorful, thick rimmed glasses before slamming the frosted divider shut.

In his head, Steve could hear the gritty voice of his old basketball coach during a bad fourth quarter. You're up, Harrington! Blow it and this whole team goes to hell.

Double unfortunate, since Steve had a bad habit of blowing things when it came to you.

"Hey..." His voice was practically a whisper, his hands pinned firmly against his ribs as he watched you for any sign of reaction. "No one's dying, okay? Will's a strong kid. He's gonna be just fine."

Your head snapped his way. The look on your face was terrifying enough to make the demogorgon blush.

"Oh yeah? And when did you earn your doctorate, princess? Before or after finishing high school with a negative GPA?"

Youch.

He took a long, steadying breath. This was fine. You had a right to be upset right now, and Steve had experience dealing with childish outbursts.

"Kids get sick," he told you calmly. "It's probably the flu! Dustin had it a few weeks ago. Maybe Will picked it up from—"

"Did Dustin sweat literal buckets, all but vomit up his own intestines, and then pass out on your bedroom floor?"

"Well, no, but—"

You cut him off with a razor-thin smile. "Then shut up."

You slumped back into your seat. The double-doors won your attention back and your dirty Chucks resumed their worried beat.

Steve felt like an idiot. Good news was that if he was an idiot, then Dustin was, too.

This whole thing had been the kid's idea anyhow.

"She's terrified!" Dustin cried when Steve answered his call, so loud he winced and pulled the phone back from his ear. "Apparently she already checked the Wheelers' and Jonathan's not there, and their mom's working another late shift and you already know that Melvald's phone doesn't work for shit."

Steve hadn't known that, actually, but he did interrupt with a stern Language, Henderson! that Dustin decidedly ignored.

"She wanted to see if I could get Mom to take 'em, which honestly speaks v o l u m e s about how terrified she is, because I've always thought she kinda hated my mom for all those comments about the holes in her jeans, which like, fair, ya know? Anyways, she wanted Mom to come get them, but I told her that wouldn't work because its already past eight, so you know Mom's already down at the library with her fellow knitters." Steve didn't like what it said about his social life that he did know that much. "I told her I could try calling, but that the odds of any of those old bats hearing the phone were pretty much slim to—"

"Dustin."

"Hm?"

"Not that this isn't riveting stuff, buddy, but maybe you should take us back a few steps and tell me what's got her terrified?"

The past few years had prepared Steve for something World Ending Awful. Who was dying? How many of the kids were involved? Did he have time to get his bat? Had demodogs somehow infected all of Hawkins with demorabies or something?

So, when Dustin had simply replied with "Will's sick," Steve had been a little shocked.

Not so shocked that he didn't immediately reach for his keys, though.

"Now's your chance!" Dustin cried before Steve hung up. "Saddle up, cowboy! Show her your good side! Make her love you!"

Steve hadn't bothered reminding him that all his sides were good. Maybe because he didn't believe it. Maybe because he knew you wouldn't, either.

At the risk of getting his head bitten off, Steve sighed and sat up straight. "Hungry?" he asked you.

"Nope."

"Thirsty?"

"Nope."

"How about—"

Your Chucks stopped bouncing. "You were on the swim team, right?"

Steve hesitated. This was a good sign, right? Changing topics, showing interest in him?

"Uh, yeah. I was, actually."

You nodded your head real slow. "Makes sense."

"What does?"

You gave him another smile, sickly sweet, yet sharp enough to cut straight through his chest. "Why you ask such stupid questions," you told him. "All that time spent holding your breath must've fucked with your brain."

Double youch.

Forget feeling like an idiot. Steve felt like a kid again, ashamed and embarrassed, learning to forge his parents' signatures so they wouldn't see his report cards or discipline letters and wonder why their little boy was so damned bad at everything.

Not that his parents would've ever been home long enough to sign anything for him anyway.

Nor would they have ever called him their little boy.

Steve pushed to his feet. Refused to look anywhere but at you, equally entranced and terror-stricken by that glare he never stopped dreaming about. Push me all you want, he wanted to tell you, but you'll never push me away.

Steve didn't know why you still hated him. But he knew what it was like to be too afraid to let people close to you — and how disappointing it was when no one cared to put in the effort to try.

"Come on," he said.

You gave him a look. "If you think I'm leaving Will, you're out of your goddamn—"

"We're not leaving." He wasn't as close to Will as he was the other kids, but he'd never leave any of them anywhere. "But we are going to the cafeteria. So come on, get up and get moving, tiger." When you still didn't move, staring at him like he just suggested going out back to swallow a family of porcupines, he added, "Now."

You stood up. No protests, no Fuck you, princess.

Steve hoped he did a good job masking his shock.

"Do you even know where the cafeteria is?"

Nope.

But that hadn't stopped Steve from leading the way, letting his (yep, very much so nonexistent) psychic intuition guide the two of you down several empty white halls, silently hoping to come across a directory.

"It's gotta be around here somewhere," he said. Because yeah, it did have to be somewhere.

You clicked your tongue. "Astute observation, genius."

Steve sighed and kept walking. He didn't know what else to do.

You were several feet behind him, and had been since leaving the waiting room. At first Steve had thought that maybe he'd been walking too fast; Dustin often told him as much, though rather than fall behind like you were, the little asshole would usually just shout out: Hey fartwaffle! My legs are shorter than yours, remember?

A growing knot in his stomach had told Steve that any insult you came up with would've been far less loving than Fartwaffle.

So, in an effort to avoid the much unwanted sequel to Oxygen Deprivation is the Reason for Your Obvious Faults, he'd slowed down so you could catch up.

You'd started walking slower, instead.

Following him around a corner into yet another long, white, empty hallway, you asked him, "Are you even hungry?"

"Starved," he lied.

When Dustin had called saying you and Will needed a ride to the hospital, Steve had actually just finished dinner. A TV dinner on a TV tray, pulled right on up to — you'll never guess it — the TV.

The American dream, he thought miserably, cold mush and bad sitcoms.

For a good minute, there was only the scuff of your shoes dragging over linoleum. Steve imagined you were glaring at the back of his head — maybe thinking about how good his hair looked, but probably not — flipping through potential insults to use against him like they were options in a jukebox.

He was starting to look forward to hearing what you'd pick. Would it be an attack on his brains or his personality? Definitely not his looks. If he was lucky, you might even pick something that would piss you off enough to grab him by the shirt again. He wouldn't mind having you touch him.

In his head, he could hear Dustin making a sound caught between a laugh and a scoff. You need therapy, dude.

But when you finally spoke, it was with nothing more than casual curiosity. "Is the cafeteria even open this late?"

Huh. He hadn't considered that.

"I don't know," he admitted. Then, spinning around to face you, walking backwards with a charming smile on his face: "But hey, bright side! Even if it's not, vending machines are always 24/7, right?"

You didn't look impressed by his optimism. Or his ability to walk backwards without stumbling.

"You do know we've passed about a dozen of those already. Right?"

You were mocking him. And grossly exaggerating the number of vending machines you'd passed.

Steve decided to let both things slide. "None of 'em what I wanted."

You snorted at him. "And what's the princess in the mood for?" you taunted. "A five-star meal and a bottle of chardonnay?"

His smile faltered first. Then he turned around, kept walking, walking, determined not to bite. They just have to get it out of their system, he told himself. It's not about me. They're just worried about Will, and I'm as good a target as any. Except maybe it was about him, at least a little bit. Not just any target, their favorite target...

You kept going. "What, is chardonnay not good enough for you? Too lowbrow?"

He kept walking.

"How about champagne?"

He kept walking.

"Or is that even lower brow?"

He kept walking.

"Maybe you should just ditch Will and I."

He stopped walking.

"Find some place nice," you drawled, "tell 'em to whip you up something fancy, like a Negroni with orange peels imported from—"

He turned to face you. And his expression must've been serious enough, because it got you to stop talking. "I don't drink," he said, a tinge of annoyance slipping through; he hadn't had a drop since babysitting had become more important (and fulfilling) than partying every weekend. "And unless you consider a nuked Swanson meal to be five-stars, the 'princess' isn't eating any better than the peasants, alright?"

"Are you calling me a peasant?"

"No!" But he'd certainly stepped right into that one, hadn't he? "No, because in this scenario—" he motioned a bit too wildly between the two of you, frustration trumping sanity "—you would be the evil witch who lives in the woods and makes stew out of innocent children, convincing alllllll the townsfolk that every nice guy is secretly out for their turnips or something!"

Your brows pinched together. "Wait, what? Why turnips? An why am I making stew? Why not pie, or casserole, or—"

"Because no one likes casserole!"

"I like casserole!"

Steve threw his hands up, laughing, like that was his last straw. "Of course you like casserole. Of course!"

You drew a breath through your nostrils. "Fine," you said, clearly offended. "I'll make pie, then."

"Fine! You're an evil witch who makes pie out of innocent children and I — without any ulterior turnip motives! — wander through the woods with Chef Swanson wondering what in the ever-loving hell I'm supposed to do to make the witch forgive me for—" what, exactly?

He'd already apologized to Jonathan for the camera incident. Had even bought him a new one to smooth things over!

But there was something else. There had to be! Something he'd done that had made you hate him so much that nothing, absolutely nothing he did could ever make you feel anything for him but pure vitriolic loathing.

You were going to hit him.

He was sure of it — more sure than he'd ever been of anything. Your pretty hands were already curled into fists at your sides. And honestly? Fair. Steve was man enough to admit he'd maybe lost his cool a little, calling you a child-eating witch or whatever. If Dustin were here, he'd probably tell him he'd graduated from Fartwaffle to Diarrheamuffin in a second flat — and Steve would have to agree.

So he closed his eyes. Waited, and hoped you hadn't inherited your brother's nasty right hook.

But the hit never came.

He only heard you sigh. "You're such an idiot, Steve Harrington."

The words played on a loop in his head. Not the idiot part, surprisingly, but his name. Steve Harrington. He was pretty sure this was the first time you had ever said his name. And he was absolutely positive that he would remember for the rest of forever how your voice had curled around every consonant, making every letter sound prettier than it was.

He peeked an eye open to find you wearing an expression he couldn't read. "Uh, yeah," he said. "You may've mentioned that before."

Your snort came dangerously close to a laugh. "Clearly not enough." Placing a hand on your hip, you asked him, "Do you really not remember?"

Steve tried to think.

But all he ended up thinking of was those scammy game shows Dustin's mom liked, where whenever a contestant got an answer wrong they'd sound off that huge, embarrassing buzzer.

If the two of you were in some brightly colored studio instead of a dim hospital hallway, Steve was sure the look you were giving him —annoyed, vaguely pitying — would've definitely been the sound guy's cue to hit the buzzer.

You sighed and shook your head. "Forget about it," you said. "Let's just find the—"

"I'm sorry."

Did those words mean anything on their own? Steve didn't think so. They were empty until you gave them meaning, and he had full intent to give them meaning, but his mind was moving so fast and words started spewing up his throat like holding onto them for even another second would kill him.

"For everything, alright? All the stuff with your brother and his camera and—I don't hate Jonathan! And him and Nance are great together, alright, so there's no bad blood or ill will or anything, okay? I'm even sorry for hating on casserole! And for calling you a witch, because you're not a witch, and even if you were you'd probably be some really pretty witch who makes all the other witches wish they could do something about the boils on their noses, alright? So just..." He dragged a hand through his hair, catching a breath. "I'm sorry. Really sorry."

In his head, Dustin's groan of Oh, brother! overlapped with Robin's hiss of Stop talking, dingus! And Steve was sure they were right. He'd blown this, just like he'd blown everything else with you.

But then it happened.

One corner of your mouth curved upwards. Not much. Not enough to count as a real smile, but...close.

And Steve knew. Knew that he would keep talking for the rest of his life, say all the dumbest stuff he could come up with, if it meant you'd keep almost-smiling at him.

He took a half step closer to you.

You didn't back away.

"Tell me," he promised, "and I'll say I'm sorry as many times as you need me to."

Every hour, every minute, every second. He'd apologize until his tongue felt like sandpaper and his throat ached around every syllable. And when his failed, he'd write it out over and over and over again in his best handwriting.

Because you deserved that much.

Because even if you didn't, he would've still wanted to do it for you.

Because he admired you, dammit. How you would do anything to keep Jonathan from being the butt of a joke. How you were always there for Nance and Robin and all your other friends. How you had taken all this Upside Down bullshit on the chin, constantly swallowing fear by the mouthful to keep Will safe.

He even admired how you hated him. Because at least you were consistent.

Steve liked consistency.

You drew a long breath through your nostrils. Wrapped your arms tight around your middle and stared down at your Chucks in a rare display of uncertainty.

Steve prepared himself for the truth. To learn whatever egregious, unforgivable sin he had committed against you.

"It happened in first grade."

Oh, sweet mother of—

"Seriously?" Steve was trying not to laugh. But to find out that mean Little Byers had been nursing a grudge against him since the days of Froot Loops and sappy cups? Oh, that was just too rich. Double chocolate cake with extra icing type rich!

"So you hate me," he clarified, "because of something I did when I was, what, seven?"

"It was a bad thing!" you cried, cheeks already turning red.

He nodded thoughtfully. "For sure, for sure; cause everyone knows seven year olds are evil little devils known for committing emotional warcrimes with crayons and fart jokes."

You scoffed at him. "You know what, if you're just gonna be a dick about it—" you went to turn around.

Steve caught you by the elbow, sputtering, Waitwaitwait!

"No more jokes." He lifted his free hand in a solemn three-finger vow. "Scouts honor."

"Were you even in the Boy Scouts?"

No. "Maybe."

You rolled your eyes at him. "You're lying."

He couldn't help but smile. He loved that you could tell.

"C'mon." He gave your elbow a light squeeze, surprised when you didn't immediately yank it away from him. "Tell me about first grade."

You did.

It had been the year of the Lovebug Boogie Bash. The two of you'd had different teachers, and yours had decided to make her whole class cut out heart-shaped cards from pink construction paper, write their very original poem inside, and give it to whoever they wanted to ask to be their date.

"Worst part," you told him, "is that I was actually sort of excited about it. I spent all morning on that stupid card, and I even liked the stupid poem I wrote."

Steve didn't like how sad you sounded.

He didn't like that even though he had no memory of it, he already knew who you'd asked to the Lovebug Boogie Bash.

You gave him a thin smile. "I gave you the card at lunch. You read it, then got up on the table and recited my poem for the whole school. Apparently you ripped it in half after that, but I don't know if that's true; Jonathan pulled me out into the hall before you'd even finished reading, so."

Shit.

Steve didn't know how long he stood there. Mouth open, still holding your elbow, trying to think of something, anything, to say.

"I—"

"Ms. Byers!"

The air shifted, the hallway suddenly far less intimate as a doctor rounded the corner behind you. You spun to face him. When you didn't immediately bombard the guy with questions about Will, Steve wondered if you were also hung up on how much the guy looked like Orville Redenbacher.

"Good news," announced Dr. Movie Theater Butter. "Your brother is awake and keeping fluids down."

You visibly sagged with relief. "Do you know what's wrong with him?"

"A simple flu," he answered kindly.

Since you weren't facing him anymore, Steve didn't bother hiding his I told you so grin.

Redenbacher went on, "Now, to err on the side of caution, I would like to give him another IV to stave the effects of dehydration. But afterwards he'll be all ready to go home, so if you would like to head back to the waiting area to get started on his discharge paper—"

"Can I see him?" you asked.

Dr. Movie Theater Butter gave no objections. Having offered to show the two of you to Will's room, Steve followed at a distance until he spotted a directory on the wall, where he then quietly slipped away to find his way back to the waiting room.

Those discharge papers weren't going to fill themselves out.

Will was asleep within seconds of Steve helping him from the wheelchair into the back of his BMW.

You were worried about how exhausted he was, but Dr. Movie Theater Butter had assured you this was normal for the flu. At that, Steve had wanted to tell him about the anomaly that was Dustin Henderson, who — when sick with the same strain, more than likely — had seemed even more hyper than usual.

He relented only because Will was already dozing off, and you were giving him that pursed-lip smile that said Go on, princess, brag on Dustin like you're his little soccer mom.

Steve closed the car door as gently as he could.

When he turned around, he found you looking down at your dirty Chucks, toeing a loose chunk of asphalt.

Moonlight shined over your face. A soft breeze rustled your hair.

It wasn't weird to think you looked beautiful like this.

Steve thought you looked beautiful all the time.

Eventually you muttered, "Thanks."

"For?"

You opened your mouth, then paused, as if a thousand words had rushed to the tip of your tongue and you had no clue how to actually say any of them.

"Everything," you decided. And everything was more than enough.

But Steve decided to feign consideration anyway. "I don't know." He clicked his tongue. "I don't think that's good enough."

Your head shot up, brow furrowed.

He explained, "I'm mad at you. See, you—" he pointed "—had access to all sorts of goodies to prep for the Lovebug Booger Bash—"

"Boogie."

"—but I," he touched a hand to his chest, "was extremely limited. So basically what I'm saying is that if this sucks, blame Tonya, okay?"

Steve wasn't sure he'd ever seen you look so confused. It was cute, though no more than your usual man-eating grimace. "Who the hell is Tonya?" you asked.

"Mean night nurse whose crossword you interrupted. Once I finished Will's discharge papers, I had to ask her for a piece of copy paper. And scissors. And a pen. And a dictionary so I could try to find something that rhymed with 'rose,' but..." He pulled the paper from his back pocket. "Dictionary was a no-go," he warned you, "so have a little grace, yeah?"

It was, unarguably, a very bad card.

The scissors Tonya had given him were so dull that cutting felt like a job for He-Man, making it look less like a heart and more like a brand-new shape no one had ever heard of before. He'd drawn more hearts on the front to try zhuzh it up, and stars that, no matter how hard he tried, kept coming out sort of wonky. It probably didn't help that it was littered with chicken-scrawl patient notes from Tonya — a HIPAA violation, probably.

But on the front in his very best handwriting, he'd written: Picked your nose in the last ten years?

You took the card.

Opened it.

Read it.

Steve tried ignoring the sound of his own heart racing. Tried to wait for you to collect your thoughts, to be the first to speak, to decide on your own how this interaction ought to go.

He failed miserably.

"I know we never found the cafeteria, but if you want me to lift you up on top of the car, you could—"

You started reciting the poem he'd written on the inside. "Roses are red, violets are blue. I know I'm a decade late, but I'd like to pick your boogers too." Your eyes lifted to his, totally unreadable.

Steve chucked while rubbing the back of neck. "Ol' Willy Shakes would probably kill for lines like mine."

"Shakespeare's rolling his grave." You held the card up. "This is awful. Like, finding out Leia is Luke's sister type awful!"

"Who?"

"Return of the Jedi?"

"Return of the Whosawhatsit?

You looked more aghast at that than the card. "You've never seen Star Wars?"

Of course he had; one didn't graduate from the Dustin Henderson School of Babysitting without a minor in George Lucas. But it was more fun to get under your skin, so he shrugged instead of saying that.

You shook your head, reeling, before discarding that argument for another. "And what's with the booger talk? You do know there's a difference between boogie and booger, don't you?"

"Pretty sure they're synonymous."

"No they're not."

He stepped closer, playfully bumping your arm with the back of his hand. "Remember when I asked for grace?"

"Remember when you humiliated me before the Lovebug Boogie Bash?"

"Nope, but the Booger Bash rings a few bells."

You laughed, and Steve wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or having the best night of his entire life. "There's no hope for you," you said, "is there, Harrington?"

He felt his cheeks getting warm. "Probably not," he admitted.

Your fingers absently traced over the card's jagged edges. Steve studied every inch of your face. Admiring it, searching it, wondering what clues Nance looked for to be able to read Jonathan so well.

Did you forgive him? Had he at least a taken a step in the right direction?

You pressed the card against your chest, then glanced through the back window at Will's sleeping form. "We should get going," you said softly.

Steve nodded and opened the car door for you. Forgiveness could wait another night.

He'd wait a million if that's what it took.

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

a/n | ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

probably ooc, probably a million errors, but i'm just vibin.

When you finally got into freshmen year, you already knew Steve was the most popular guy in school, always boosting about it at the dinner table, father always saying how proud he is for Steve being the captain of almost every fucking imaginable sport. You looked up to Steve, you really did look up to your brother… Until you crossed those forsaken high school doors, and the only face your brother sent you was that of disgust and turned his back on you.

And that sets your fate.

Now as a Junior, your brother finally graduates this year. Ever since he started dating Nancy who is in the same year as you, he has relatively changed. At home, he now tries to invite you to hang with him at the mall, or tell you to have dinner together when your parents aren’t home… You declined his invitation every time. You prefer to eat dinner in your bed, alone, while he drives away to be with Nancy. Just you, your books, and some good music. You are fine. 

It doesn’t help the fact that you have just one friend at school, and she’s not even always with you because she is Nancy’s Best Friend. Barb was always nice to you, and it’s the only one you talked to in class, because then in cheerleading practice, which you had to enter because you needed extracurricular credit because your parents said so, you were given the cold shoulder by every teammate there. You didn’t participate in the cheers really, you just wear the uniform every now and then and pass them bottles of water.

You just have to survive one year, just one more year and you can go to college, probably start anew, meet people, meet someone. You fixed your glasses on the bridge of your nose as you took notes while sitting at the bleachers, hearing the squeak of the tennis shoes of all the boys in the basketball team just going around. You hear a thump, making your eyes look up to see your brother laying on the floor, making you frown.

Then it made sense, as Billy Hargrove smirked, helping your brother stand up again. 

You knew that he wanted to take Steve’s position as the most popular guy at school, getting prom king and all that shit. You have heard your brother complaining about him on the phone sometimes, maybe to Nancy or to one of his friends. From what you’ve seen, Billy looked like a tough and irritating guy, and there is no need for you to get close to him at all, and you really could care less about what he does to your brother.

And that is basically your everyday life. Invisible, and you’re fine with that.

You’re fine. 

“Hey, can you believe that guy?” Your head snapped up to see your brother at your door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. You raised your eyebrow at him, looking back down at your book. “If he takes away my captainship in the team, I will– Dad will fucking cut my head off.” 

“That’s what you get for following his dreams from day one.” You mumble in a low tone, but he caught onto it, frowning at you.

“I have my own dreams. I don’t follow his.” You nodded at that while still not looking at him. You really could care two shits about all of this. 

“Maybe Nancy can help you with this kinda stuff. I'm busy.” You heard shuffling at the door and then a sigh. You heard steps and you raised your head to hear him slam his door shut, and you knew he was probably getting ready to go to a party or something because of the music he started playing on his radio. Not once you were invited to one of those, not even by your own brother. He had hosted parties before, and you were commanded to stay in your room all night. The only time you came out of your room was to the bathroom to pee, and even then you had to wait because people were always making out inside. 

You got up from bed, closed the biology book to then set it on your desk, looking over to your library of VHS’s tilting your head to check what to watch tonight. You picked Terms of Endearment and Sixteen Candles. Your collection was full of romance and dramatic movies because it’s just your favorite genre to watch. Same with your books, your favorite being Sense & Sensibility. 

Steve left after a few minutes, and you made your way down to start your Friday movie night, and tomorrow will be the same, next weekend too. You should get more movies, you are on a roll of rewatching stuff by now. But it was at this moment, when you put the cassette into your player, and you finally sat down and started watching Sixteen Candles that it all simply fell apart.

Your rough facade crumbles down as you see the romance of the characters on screen, the friendship that is displayed in these movies, late calls with friends, kicking your feet because the guy you liked kissed you, or even called you to spend time with you. You stare absentmindedly at the screen as you see the kissing scene finally happening and your fingertips brush over your lips, just softly, tracing the shape of them.

After a few hours Steve finally returns home, completely sober and cursing under his breath. He sees the light of the living room turned on and some blue light shining on. He walked inside to find you asleep on the couch with the TV still on. He sighed, walking over to turn it off but then his eyes looked at your form, making his face completely fall down.

He bent over your figure to see the dried tears on your cheeks, falling down onto the couch. He looked over to the coffee table to look at what you were watching, getting hold of the case. You watch the same movie every Friday night… And every Saturday night. He rubbed his mouth with a frown to his face as he looked back at your frame. And he always repeats the same action every Friday night and every Saturday night.

He stands up to grab the blanket that’s over the couch to put it over your body, and with tears in his eyes he bends over to press a soft kiss at the top of your head with a quiet whisper that he always repeats and that you never hear, not that you would believe him anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

Monday came way faster than you expected, and the morning was even quicker. Your parents were still away on their business trip, but Steve and you knew they were just out on vacation by themselves. Why have children when you just push them aside? 

You take out the lunch bag with your sandwiches in it, and you walk out of the school doors and into the football field which was deserted because it was lunch time, so it always gave you the best opportunity to head behind the bleachers to have some peaceful time for yourself, and that was until you almost dropped your bag as you screamed and flinched when you saw someone already there who snapped his head back at you.

Billy Hargrove.

Your breathing was heavy and your eyes were still trying to focus from the scare but as soon as they did you realized that Billy’s eyes were filled with tears, one or two might have escaped because you could see the glistening trail that they left behind on his cheeks. You were trying to talk to him, but then his eyebrows furrowed together, a tight angry look on his face.

“The fuck you looking at Harrington?” You flinched back at that, annoyance switching inside of you instead of fear. This guy was crying and has the audacity to sound threatening?

“Oh, right, sorry, it’s just seeing Billy Hargrove actually having feelings is a sight.” His eyes snapped wide at your response, surprise crossing his features while he stared at you this time. “Who’s staring now?”

“Oh, right, sorry, it’s just that hearing you fucking talk for once is a sight.” You were taken aback by his response, mimicking yours. You sucked on your right cheek in annoyance as he wiped his cheeks away.

“Well, off you go.” He snaps his head at you, a frown on his features to then letting a smirk spread on his lips.

“I came here first. You go.” You scoff at that, shaking your head at him.

“No, I always come here at lunchtime, it’s my place.” 

“Well, that’s lonely as fuck.” You know that. You fucking know that, he doesn’t need to say it to your face, not the heartthrob of the school. Before your heart could turn in pain you nod at him.

“Fine, take it for today.” You turn to finally walk away. Maybe you can eat at the picnic table in the forest? But sometimes the stoner would go there to deal, and you weren’t judging Munson really, you gotta do what you gotta do to survive. 

“Wait.” You stopped on your tracks and slowly turned around to see Billy slumping down on the ground, his back resting against a column of the bleachers while he rested his forearms on his bent knees. “You can stay here if you don’t tell anyone you saw me like this.” 

Who would you even tell this to? He might be scared that you would tell Steve about it, but Billy seems to not know you don’t actually have a good relationship with your brother, and you have just one casual friend in this school. You look in between the bleachers and towards the woods and then you look back at Billy, giving a sigh and finally sitting down with your legs crossed. 

It was silent between you two, almost uncomfortable but not quite. You were eating your sandwich and you took out a bottle of water out of your bag too. You glanced once at him, and he was looking at the distance, just breathing slowly. You wanted to know what happened to him, because he didn’t seem like the guy that would cry easily. He looked at you, raising an eyebrow up at you.

“Why do you eat here?” He asks and you clear your throat, taking a sip of your water.

“Why were you crying?” 

“Touché.” You gave a nod in understanding. You weren’t going to talk to him if he wasn’t going to talk to you. You looked inside your bag to grab onto the other sandwich, and you handed it to him. He looked at it with a frown and then back at you.

“If you’re here it means you didn’t eat. Basketball players need food.” You calmly say to him and he looks down at the sandwich, taking it from your hands, and then taking a bite out of it, grimacing in disgust.

“What the fuck is in this?” He looks down into it and you smirk at him, finishing off your own.

“Mustard and pickle sandwich.”

He ate the sandwich anyway. It was nice to eat lunch with someone for once, even if that person was Billy Hargrove and it would be a one time thing in your life… Though, it wasn’t. Billy was back behind the bleachers almost everyday after that. He wasn’t at all that persona that he was with everyone else with you. The cocky insufferable bastard you knew was all a mask, and you could see it when he told you about how Tammy Thompson tried to hide a fart with her cough in class.

“You’re fucking kidding…” You were giggling, covering your mouth as you both sat in front of one another, and the closeness slowly shrinking as two weeks went by of eating lunch with him.

“I am not, she actually thought it was discreet, but I heard it. Not that I said anything about it, but it was a total boner killer.” You raised an eyebrow at that, swallowing your apple that you were having as dessert.

“What, girls can’t fart Hargrove?” He rolls his eyes at you and then raises his hand to flick your forehead, making you wince and rub the skin he left in a red state.

“I didn’t say that. When you trust someone enough to do it in their face, sure. Not in the middle of class, and much less when you are a chair in front of mine.” At that you let out a laugh, throwing your head back. He chuckled and took a swig of his cigarette, blowing the smoke to the side so it wouldn’t hit your face.

“God, I really don’t pay attention to shit like that.” You took another bite of your apple and Billy was still looking at you, clearing his throat, making you look up at him.

“What do you do on Friday nights? I mean, your brother is at every single party but you are nowhere to be found.” He asks you and you feel your cheeks flush slightly at that. You look down at your apple and swallow your bite.

“I often watch movies. Have my own movie nights, sometimes with popcorn, and if I am feeling fancy, S’mores.” You gave him a small smile as you took another sip of water but Billy was still looking at you with a frown to his eyebrows.

“By yourself?” And you suddenly felt embarrassment washing over you. How pathetic were you? He is a guy that has every student in this school eating at the palm of his hand, plans of going out somewhere almost everyday, a date every single night, and you just watched movies and read books for company.

“I– I have to go.” You suddenly blurt out, standing up abruptly to then wipe your jeans from the dirt of the floor. Billy was following suit, doing the same thing, and about to stop you, but you were already walking away. You didn’t need the reminder of how stupid all of your life sounded. You didn’t need it from him. You were always reminded of it by your father, saying that you should be more like his son. Your mother says that at her age she already dated someone and had tons of friends. Steve showing off his new relationship and friends to you, keeping you in the shadows from everyone.

You didn’t need more reminders.

So when you got home, and realized Steve was already out of sight, probably at Heather’s party, you took your time to shower, put on some comfy sweatpants, a white t-shirt and a gray hoodie, and you grabbed your movies and went downstairs. Maybe they will cheer you up from all the stuff that has happened with Billy today. It’s stupid, you both don’t talk to each other all day, yet at lunch you just talk non-stop.

Sweet popcorn was today’s choice and you were already salivating at the smell of it all. Once it was done you put it in a bowl and headed over to the living room, turning the TV on, and putting Pretty in Pink in your VHS. Steve must be getting drunk with his friends by now, dancing to Roxette or something like that. You popped a single popcorn in your mouth and you were about to press play but you were interrupted when glass knocking was heard from the sliding door to the garden.

You jumped up in fear, eyes widened as you quickly turned your head and saw Billy fucking Hargrove outside the doors. You blinked once, twice, three times. Wasn’t he at Heather’s party too? You stood up from your seat, blushing at your attire but he already saw you in it, no time to actually go change. You fixed your glasses at the bridge of your nose as you walked towards the doors to finally unlock them and open a side for him.

“What the fuck are you doing here Billy!” You almost screamed at him, but he raised his hands up in a surrender mode and chuckled at you.

“By that yelling I am assuming your parents are still gone. Let me in, I’m fucking freezing.” He walks past you and you scoff at the nerve of this man. You close the door and you see him looking around with his hands inside his black leather jacket. Your eyes trailed downwards for a second, taking in how tight his pants were, but you snapped out of it, walking around him so that you were facing him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask again and he simply shrugs, still looking all around your house. 

“Party was lame as shit, and you said there was a movie night here tonight. That seemed far more interesting than Tommy trying to do a keg stand and falling onto it, breaking his nose.” He walks to the couch, sitting down on it and he immediately grabs the bowl of popcorn from the coffee table. Your mouth hangs open again at this, going to the couch and sitting down next to him.

“You– I don’t need your pity.” You say to him, looking down at your hands as you played with the hem of the sleeves of your hoodie. He chuckles at that and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, I don’t pity anyone. The party was really fucking boring.” He takes a popcorn in his mouth and he hums at the sweetness. You raise an eyebrow to look at him. You never thought Billy Hargrove would be on the sweet side of stuff. “So, what are we watching?”

A smirk formed on your lips. He was gonna fucking hate it, that’s what he gets for barging in your house.

Yet–

“I fucking hated Duckie.” You were wide eyed at him. He had paid complete attention to the movie, even giving small commentary that he really liked the fact that the girl stood up for herself. He turns to look at you, a frown coming to his eyebrows. “What?” 

“I just… I didn’t think you like this genre of movies.” You reply to him, a little bit nervous for some reason and he smiles at you and then looks back at the screen.

“I never watched one of these. They have a lot of plot, and they’re interesting.” Your eyes sparkled in excitement and you grabbed his shoulder, which made him look at you alarmingly.

“You’re in for a ride.”

Billy came back again the next day, taking the chance that Steve was out at Nancy’s for the night. He then sneaked into your room while Steve slept and you played Grease on your small TV and VHS that were on top of your dresser. He actually enjoyed it, but despised it because it was a musical. The next time, he actually came through the front door, and you both finally watched Sixteen Candles together. Now, Saturday Night, Steve was at Nancy’s for a family dinner and Billy was taking out two beers from the six pack he came with.

“I don’t drink…” You say to him and he raises an eyebrow up at you. 

“Daily or weekly, but you have tried alcohol. One beer is not going to kill you Sweetheart.” You nodded at that and you grabbed onto the can, sitting back down on the couch. You opened it as Billy walked towards you and plopped down with a huff, already taking a swig out of his can. You grimaced at yours and you took a tentative sip, lowering the can to look at him, completely disgusted by the taste and he simply threw his head back in laughter.

“Disgusting.” You say to him and he shrugs at you, sending a smile your way.

“It’s an acquired taste baby, you just keep drinking it, if you feel fuzzy you can leave it.” You felt your heart accelerate at him, feeling the butterflies exploding in your stomach. You didn’t know when your relationship with Billy took a turn for the better, but he actually sends a smile your way this time when walking down the halls, he sometimes greets you when you pass by him in the hallways, like he is not making it seem like he doesn’t know you.

So it was hard not to fall for him. It was undeniable at this point, and even if he was strong and mean, and an ultimate bully to everyone else, he comes here to your house, watches romantic comedies with you, eats popcorn with you, and you two talk about nonsense all evening. Nobody knows about this, and you’re happy to have this secret between the two of you. You can live in the fantasy a little bit longer.

“What did you bring?” You look at the cassette he got and you look at the front of it. You grimaced again and showed it to him. “The terminator?” 

“Classic sweetheart, it’s an action movie, you gotta expand your movie knowledge a bit.” You didn’t want to complain, it was the first time Billy suggested to watch something he likes, and in reality you were interested in knowing it, and hopefully like it the way he does.

News flash, you didn’t like it.

“Why are there so many guns?! It's unnecessary!” You complain, your beer gone and you do feel a little fuzzy but not too much. You just felt giddy. He laughed at your side and shook his head as he drank his second can.

“That’s what action movies are, baby, they are irrational, little to nothing of plot, and shooting everywhere.” He says and you sigh at that, shaking your head. The room filled with silence as Billy looked forward, his smile slowly disappearing. “You know why I come here often?”

You straightened at that, blinked with confusion as you turned to look at him. You frowned when you saw how serious he got, just out of nowhere, and your belly turned for him, not in a romantic way, but more of a worry kind of nervousness. 

“Because parties now bore you?” You ask him and he gives you one chuckle and then shakes his head, resting it on the backrest of the couch, looking at the ceiling.

“You help me distract myself.” He took a deep breath in as you kept looking at him and you knew it was something he was having a hard time talking about. “The day you saw me crying… I was actually afraid.” 

“What?”

“My father… Let’s just say he has– a rough hand. Any slip up I make, I just get a punch out of it… I’m just so angry all the time, so unlike my fucking self and who I actually am when I am at school. I just let out my anger towards people, because I cannot take it out on my own father.” You could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and you knew he was trying to choke back tears as he talked. Your heart just knotted at seeing him like this, feeling helpless, not knowing what to actually tell him.

“Billy–”

“And you… I tried to be mean to you… And you actually had the guts that no one had at this school yet. Talk back to me.” His head turned to finally look at you again and your eyes burned at his confession. “I couldn’t be mean to you… With you I can— I can be calm, watch a movie, talk about how creepy that Creel house is and how we should sabotage it– I mean, the only thing I talk with the people from school? Chicks, sex, cars, alcohol.” 

You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your lips, turning your whole body to face him, your legs coming to rest on top of the couch too, bending them and resting your side on the backrest. 

“Well, I am glad I could help in some way… My house is always open for you Billy.” His eyes were just staring into yours now, the only thing being heard in the room were your breaths, until he finally talked.

“Can I kiss you?” 

What?

There is no possible way you heard that from him. This is a dream, it has to be a dream. There is no way Billy Hargrove, your now friend, your crush, the guy you like has asked to actually kiss you. This only happens in movies, in books, and it never happens in real life, at least, not to you. 

“W-Why would you want to kiss me?” And Billy’s features turned into saddened ones at your words. Don’t you realize how beautiful you are? He straightened up on the couch, his body turning to face you as well as both of your hearts jumped out of your chest.

“Why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?” was his short answer. Your belly turned in pure nervousness now as your body grew a cold sweat. You never kissed anyone, and Billy seemed to know how to do it, and you were just too inexperienced. A flush came over all of your body as you fixed the glasses on the bridge of your nose and you looked down to avoid his gaze.

“I– I never–” You gulped, not being able to finish the phrase from how stupid it sounded. A warm hand was pressed on your cheek, making you lift your head up to look at him again, and you didn’t realize how close he got to you, his blue eyes staring into yours.

“I ask you again… Can I kiss you?” And you finally give him a nod. You weren’t going to miss this chance, not for one second. He still wants to kiss you despite you not knowing what you were getting yourself into. He smiled at you and grabbed onto your glasses, pulling them off your face and setting them on the coffee table. “They were just going to get in the way.” 

You took a shaky breath in, his hand still on your cheek as he slowly leaned down towards you. You closed your eyes and his remained open to remember your features as he finally does what he has been wanting to do for the past weeks. At first it was a simple attraction of course, but he knew it was more than that, and he was scared as shit about it… But he never wanted someone as much as he’s been wanting you.

His lips connected with yours in a soft peck, brief, and you let a breath go out of your lips, only for another peck to land. Then another, then another that lingered there a bit more, and then the next one he just stayed there, and suddenly started moving his lips, guiding you as your heartbeat made you deaf in your ears. How do people do this and not faint at the spot?

The lip smacking was heard in the room as your hands finally were brave enough to travel, one scanning his bicep, the other one moving towards the back of his neck, feeling his skin under your fingertips. His free hand landed on your waist, not pressing too hard so that you know that he is being mindful of you. At this point, Billy would already be inside someone, satisfying his needs, but with you… He wasn’t going to do that, at least not now, not yet, and that is if you let him. 

He wants to take care of you.

He pulled away for a second, his lips touching yours still as your breathing mixed with one another’s in soft pants. You were feeling as if you were burning all over, not knowing what was happening with you. You never felt like this before, and maybe it has to do with the fact that not only was Billy good looking, but you also feel more than just friendship for him.

“You okay?” You nod frantically at him, wanting more, giving him a peck on the lips making him chuckle in a low tone. “Sorry baby, but I need more.” 

He suddenly pushed you back on the couch, crawling over you and you didn’t even think, you just wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he kept his bottom half away from yours, even if it pained him on his thighs from the strength he was doing to keep himself up. His lips connected with yours again, rougher this time, more desperate, the kiss suddenly turning into a very heated one as he suddenly licks your bottom lip a few times.

The butterflies in your belly explode as you open your mouth and his tongue finally slides in. You gasp at the feeling, your hands finding his biceps through his blouse, and you felt his chain hitting your neck at every movement. One hand was still gripping on your waist, while the other remained at your nape, pulling you deeper into the kiss. 

You really can’t believe this is happening, not to you, not with Billy, it doesn’t make sense that he looked your way, it doesn’t make sense that he actually wants to kiss you, not when he has Heather on his tail all the time, or Carol even if she is dating Tommy. Or Janet. You always hear them talking about him in the bathroom, always planning their move on him, and this feels you with a sense of power, with a sense of accomplishment and pride in yourself. 

Your hands ran through his hair and he groaned into the kiss, and that ignited so many things inside of you that you never felt in your life, and you wanted to hear more of it. Billy was trying his best to keep himself in a hovering position with you, but he was finding it harder and harder to do so. He can’t go on, at least not today when it was your first kiss. He didn’t want to scare you, even if your urges were the same as his, because he could feel your need to pull him even closer.

The door suddenly clicked and both of your eyes snapped wide open, pulling away, looking at one another, panting heavily. Best scenario, it's your parents, and they would be thrilled that you actually, and finally, have someone over at your house… Now, worst case scenario–

“What the ACTUAL FUCK?!” You both sat up on the couch to look over at Steve, who was standing there in the living room, wide eyed, and his face reddened bit by bit. Shit.

“Steve–” You started talking but he raised his hand at you, to then point a finger at Billy.

“Get the fuck off my sister.” You wanted to roll your eyes at this, because why is he acting all protective now? You finally got some action in your fucking life and he wants to take it away from you.

“I don’t think she wants me to leave.” Billy dares to say, glaring at your brother who took a look at the coffee table, seeing the cans of beer. His mind started racing, and Billy followed his gaze, his mouth opening to talk but Steve was running up the stairs already. Your eyes widened and you pushed Billy off, standing up quickly and urging him to do the same.

“You have to leave!” You were trying to push Billy towards the front door but his feet were still planted against the floor with a frown to his face, and your head snapped to the stairs to see Steve running back down with his baseball bat in his hands. Billy’s eyes widen when Steve starts to approach him with a swinging motion.

“Taking fucking advantage of my sister is something I won’t take from you Hargrove, so get the fuck out of my house before I crush your skull in!” 

“Shit, Harrington– Fucking listen for a second–” Steve’s baseball bat hits the backrest of the couch, and you could see the dent of the wooden under it that he created. Billy ripped himself off you and gave you a look as if asking if you were okay.

“I’ll talk to him, you go.” You tell him and he gulps, looking back at Steve with a threatening look on his face which Steve only scoffed at.

“I’ll talk to you later.” Billy says with a small squeeze to your hand as he walks out of the house, passing by Steve. Your brother follows him to the front door and he doesn’t walk back inside until Billy drives away with his Camaro. After the roaring engine can be heard in the distance, Steve slams the door shut, throwing the bat at the floor and stomping back into the living room where you were standing there with a glare on your eyes as if you were about to kill him.

“When I saw his fucking car out in front of the house I thought it was a stupid coincidence, and I come in here to see you about to have sex with the sluttiest man in the goddamn school! What are you thinking!?” You frown in anger at that, stepping towards him.

“I am his friend! I wasn’t going to have sex with him, and he wasn’t taking fucking advantage of me! I drank ONE beer, ONE!” You yell back at him and he fake laughs as he runs his hand over his face.

“The first time you have a guy in this house, and it is Billy FUCKING Hargrove. The one guy that I am fighting with for Captain at our basketball team, the one guy that gives me the hardest fucking time of my life at the moment, and you want me to just accept that he wants to be with you because he WANTS TO?” Your chest hurt at those words, your own coming out in soft stutters at Steve’s blind rage.

“He even asked me if I wanted to, and I said yes–”

“God, you cannot be this fucking stupid! He hates me, makes my life a living hell, and you seriously think that he is a nice guy!? You really think there is no ulterior motive!?” He yelled at you and his words were stabbing you in every part of your body, your head already spinning from how harsh he was being with you.

“Why? Is it impossible that he actually wants to be with me?” You try to say loudly at him, even if your fingers start to feel numb. He scoffed at that, looking at you.

“Yes, and I don’t think you are dumb enough to not see that.” He was referring to so many other things, and it was regarding Billy’s persona, in Billy’s actions, in his rivalry with him… And when he saw your tear rolling down your face, his anger evaporated as if water was being thrown at him.

“Okay…” Was your defeated response. You turned around to retrieve your glasses from your coffee table and Steve winced, clenching his eyes tightly together as pain rushed through his body. 

“That wasn’t what I meant– Hey, listen to me, I really didn’t mean it to sound like that–” But you weren’t listening, putting the cassettes back into their cases and turning off the TV. You grabbed them and walked past him, going up into your room. Steve stood there, knowing he hurt you once again, not knowing what to do but run a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath as he started pacing back and forth.

He didn’t mean it to sound like no guy would want you, he didn’t mean it at all like that, yet the words coming out of his mouth betrayed him, completely. He doesn’t know how to make it up to you, because if he had given you the chance to go to the parties with him when you asked in your freshman year, many times, and told you yes instead of no, you would have more experiences, you might even have friends. If only he had let you come out of your room at his own parties when you asked him, almost begged him to let you participate, but he declined each time. Then in your sophomore year, you didn’t ask anymore, just accepted that he wasn’t going to tell you anymore about them, and you automatically locked the door whenever he hosted a party. 

This year, he tried to invite you, many times. You always declined. You didn’t even want to eat dinner with him, and he knows you want to leave the house as soon as possible thanks to him. Even with your parents. For the past two years he had been so blind because of his father’s approval and the one of all the students in Hawkins High that he didn’t notice how your parents didn’t ask you stuff at dinner. All questions were always directed to him. He noticed this year, and he tried to tell them you had nailed your exams, and the only thing you got from your father was ‘As she should.’

He was the cause of who you were now. Not at all the bubbly and animated girl that asked him to raise her up like an airplane in their backyard, not at all the small girl that put makeup on him pretending she was a stylist, not at all the middle school girl that got excited to see him whenever she got home from school to tell him about what she learned that day. 

He walked up the stairs and raised his hand to knock on your door, only to hear soft sobs on the other side, muffled. He wonders if you had also cried when he denied you all those times. He doesn’t know how to even make it up to you. He doesn’t know if he even can. 

So the next day, when you didn’t come out of your room, he let you have your alone time. Now on Monday he tried knocking on your door, only to receive the notice that you felt sick. He tried walking in but your door was completely locked. His eyebrows twitched and his mind had come up with a plan. A plan he will terribly hate. A plan that might end up badly for him. But it’s what he deserves for what he did to you. 

Billy looked everywhere for you, and even asked Barbara Holland where you could be. She told him that she hadn’t seen her at Science that day either, so his best guess was that you had skipped school. His jaw clenched when he asked other people about you and some of them didn’t even know what you looked like. He waited for the bell to ring, and he was going to tumble Steve down if he had to in order to see you. He didn’t care.

But when he walked out of the school doors to rush to his Camaro, he was surprised to see Steve Harrington sitting on his trunk with his arms crossed. Billy’s eyes hardened at the sight, walking towards him, tilting his head in question at the brown haired boy who was looking at Billy with a mix of emotions behind his eyes.

“Harrington. Get off my fucking car.” He says and Steve gulps as he looks to the side.

“I fucked up.” At that Billy’s eyebrows turned into a frown, but his fists started clenching as Steve kept talking, telling him everything, everything he did to you, and what he had said to you that night when Billy left. 

While this was happening, you were combing your hair after the shower you took while sitting on your bed. You had taken a shower because you were greasy from yesterday already, and you really didn't want to get up, but you didn’t have a choice. Ever since Steve said that, you didn’t have the guts to actually call Billy because at some far away place in your mind, it made sense. 

You were invisible, and suddenly you were noticed? It doesn’t sound real. 

So maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it really was to get into your pants to mess with your brother, and that was honestly the most reasonable explanation for it. You frowned when you heard the door open downstairs, your door was left open so you could hear some drawers being open, to then hear steps coming up the stairs. Your eyes widened when you saw Steve slamming himself against the door frame of your room.

His eye was completely inflamed from a punch received to the face, his nose was bleeding and he was holding some ice covered in a rug to soak the blood in it. From what you could see, his lip was busted as well and his breathing was coming out of his mouth, almost in a pant.

“Steve, what happened?” Even in your hatred for him, seeing him this way made your heart fill with worry, pushing all of the other feelings aside. You were about to rise from the bed until Steve raised his hand up at you.

“I deserved it.” He looked towards the hallway and your eyes widened when you saw Billy coming into view, a pack of frozen peas on his right hand, his eyes glaring at Steve as he passed by him and into your room. His eyes turned to yours and you couldn’t help but look up at him, completely stunned. Steve groans and closes the door for you two as he heads downstairs. 

“What… Did you…?” You stutter as you sit back on your bed, seeing Billy’s injured hand as he sat on your bed too, nodding as he looked at you.

“I sure as hell did. Fucker deserved it. He told me everything, from the very beginning, and also what he said to you on Saturday night right after I left.” You feel your face flush with embarrassment and you look down at your hands again. You are not understanding what is going on, nor why Steve would go and tell your life story to Billy. “Though I have to say… Your brother does care for you.” You scoff at that.

“Right. Like he cared for me the past two years.” You reply with venom in your voice and you feel Billy scoot closer to you.

“He knows. He knows what he did to you. Your freshman year was the punch on the eye, your sophomore year was on his lip… And what he said on Saturday was the one on the nose.” He lets out a chuckle and you feel mixed emotions to that. You were happy that he defended your honor, but Steve was still your brother and you didn’t want physical harm to come to him.

“Don’t punch him again… Please.” You slowly looked up at Billy and his blue eyes were already looking at you. Your heart rate picked up the longer he stared at you.

“Do you really believe what he said to you that night?” He asks you, a small worried tone behind his voice. You feel yourself gulp and you look away in embarrassment or nervousness, you no longer know.

“I– After years of feeling this way, it was a very possible scenario.” You say to him in a low voice, your fingers playing with each other. You see him put the bag of peas away, and his hands look for yours. You look down to see his right hand completely bruised up, some skin completely chipped off on his knuckles. You gasp at that and his hold gets stronger on you, making you look up at him. He was closer now, making your breathing get stuck in your throat. 

“How can I prove to you that I want you? How can I prove to you that I like you, that I like you very much that I drive myself insane with this fucking feeling, because god knows I am not good with relationships…” For the first time you see a blush come to his cheeks, and his gaze looks down at your connected hands, like how you do when you get nervous. “But I wanna try that with you.” 

Your heart leapt out of your mouth almost, not truly believing what was happening, but the bruised knuckles made it more real, the blush on his cheeks made you realize it was no dream at all. This man in front of you wants you, despite it all, and you both have so many broken pieces to pick up inside one another, but you figure that you can help each other. You can mend his heart back, as he can mend yours.

“I think… The first step would be a date…” You say to him almost in a whisper and he chuckles as he looks up at you. He squints slightly at that as if in thought as your smile grows on your face while looking at him.

“I have an idea for it. I think they are showcasing the new Rambo movie.” He says to you with a smirk to his face and your mouth fell open at that, shaking your head.

“I am not watching an action movie on our first date!” He chuckles at that, his face coming closer to yours slowly, and you feel magnetized to him as you both leaned into one another. 

“Oh, I bet you prefer the one where the bad boy goes for the intelligent and perfect girl, that genre, right?” You squint at him, pretending to be offended by his words.

“Don’t act like you don’t like those movies Hargrove.” At that he chuckles, his left hand snaking to the back of your neck to pull you closer to him, a soft breath hitting your lips as he talks.

“I might have a thing for romance.” His lips touched yours again, and you smiled through the kiss, your own hands resting on the back of his head to pull him deeper into the kiss, to taste him even better. Your lips moved along with his, taking in eachother’s breaths, bodies coming closer at each second.

“Don’t fuck my sister, I draw the line there. Not today, not with me here.” You both heard Steve’s voice behind the door, making Billy groan in annoyance and pull away from you to glare at the door as the steps could be heard and another door closes down the hallway.

“I am punching him again.” Billy says and you were glaring at the door too.

“My turn.”

I felt good about you 'til I didn't Crossed lines, past lives, clear vision Felt good about you 'til I didn't Surefire trainwreck omission

You have been through a lot throughout the last three years. With psychic girls, alternate dimensions, monsters from the alternate dimensions, and so much more.

The one good thing to come out of it was the people you had grown closer to like Jonathan, Nancy, El, Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, etc. But the person who became most important to you was Steve Harrington.

He was there when you fought the Demogorgon with Jonathan and Nancy. He was there when a demo dog left scratches on your right thigh. He was there when you got taken and almost tortured by the Russians.

He was there through it all. You couldn't escape him because he was everywhere. Eventually, your friendship evolved into a relationship.

And everything was great. Until it wasn't.

Got what you demanded, Picture perfect like you planned it Can’t believe the way we landed, fallin’ through

You could feel everything falling apart. Ever since the whole mall fiasco he had been acting different. You didn't understand where it went wrong.

Everything you did was for him. You wanted the relationship to be perfect knowing how Steve's relationship with Nancy ended. And so You loved him in every way possible.

Even with everything you did, he kept pulling away.

Held my breath for your reaction, Like the first time that we happened We were fightin' more than laughin', black and blue Felt good about you 'til I didn't Fell hard, thеn I lost your interest

"Are we okay?" you held your breath waiting for his response. It wasn't your first time asking this question, so you could understand why he was looking at you the way he was.

Steve stood there with an annoyed look on his face and sighed before saying, "Of course we are. How many times do I have to tell you?"

You couldn't help your need for validation from him. You loved him so much and didn't want to lose him any more than you already had.

"Right. I just feel like you're pulling away from me. I want you to talk to me. I can't fix it if you don't talk to me."

"There's nothing to fix, Y/n"

You fought against the urge to scream and demand him to tell you what was going through his head. But you wouldn't do that. Because you don't want to lose him for good.

"It seems like all we do is fight anymore and I'm sick of it! Just tell me how to fix it." You whispered the last part

"You want to 'fix it'? You can start by leaving me alone!"

Steve knew how much you loved him and he knew that what he said hurt you a lot, but he couldn't help it. He had been through so much from getting beaten by Russians a few months ago, to almost dying from fighting a Demogorgon, he's been preserved as a hero.

The younger kids basically worship him and everyone turns to him for answers whenever there's a problem but sometimes he just needs a break from everything.

Sometimes he wanted to sit in his house and enjoy the peace and quiet which, at one point in time, made him feel lonely. Now all he craves is to have some time to himself but he can't.

He just didn't have it in him to keep up a relationship right now. So he decided the best thing to do was to push you away and let you come to the conclusion that he couldn't do it anymore.

"Steve if you don't wanna do this anymore just say it."

"I don't wanna do this anymore" he whispered but you heard him. Loud and clear.

Felt good about you 'til I didn't Bad nights, new girls, misgivings

Summer left, Fall came, and eventually it was spring. Spring break was about to start and you were dreading it.

School was your escape from everything that had happened within the last few months... years. If you weren't in school you were at home doing homework or at your job downtown.

Without school, you would be forced to hang out with everyone which would inevitably lead you to seeing Steve face-to-face for the first time in a while.

You had heard from Robin about all the dates he's been on since he broke up with you and even though it hurt to listen to you still asked about it every time.

Really got me thinkin', future plannin' for no reason There were nights I skipped out sleepin' 'cause of you

It kept you up at night wondering how it was so easy for him to move on so soon after the break up while you would sit in your room crying just thinking about it.

You couldn't understand. You were already thinking about your future together. He would mention marriage and kids and it made you so happy. Knowing he was thinking of a future with you.

But he had to go and ruin it all.

His name rips from your mouth. “Steve!” 

The bats sink their fangs into his stomach. His legs kick out, he gasps for breath, choking on his pain. Your legs threaten to give out as you stumble towards Steve. Quickly your fingers find the knives you always carry with you just as a bat lunges towards you.

Barely having time to dodge its quick attack, you swat at the creature, but your knives slide off its skin easily. Your heart drops; their flesh is too thick to cut through. The bat screeches at you, its teeth bared, and you throw your body weight against it onto the ground. Angling your knife, you pierce the inside of its mouth, killing it. 

“Shit!” Another bat crawls towards you. Your elbow scrapes the ground as you roll out of its path, slicing into the creature’s maw. 

Steve screams again, this time even louder as even more bats surround him. Frantic, you jump to your feet. Without thinking, you grab the tail of one of the bats, its face buried in Steve’s stomach. When you start to pull, Steve shakes his head violently and throws his arm out at you. “Go!”

You don’t bother answering; you’re not leaving him. 

The bat’s tail cuts your palms as you pry it off of Steve’s flesh, but as soon as it’s removed, it latches onto your upper thigh. “Fuck!”

Razor sharp pain shoots through your entire body. The bat loosens its jaw to only tighten it more; you can feel its teeth hit your bone. Screaming, the white-hot pain blinds you. Your knees give out and you fall before you can catch yourself.

“Y/N!” Steve chokes out, desperate. He clenches his jaw, tries to get up. More bats screech overhead, circling you, and Steve knows you only have seconds before you’re dead. But the vines around his neck constrict even more. His airway closes, another bat takes the other one’s place on his stomach. 

“Motherfucker!” You stab at the bat, but then a second one slams against your body and your shoulder explodes with pain. “Fuck-no,” you try to twist around, to use the last of your strength to remove it from your own skin, but it’s no use. The bats tear at your skin, ripping through muscle and ligaments. 

Lightning flashes, its light red mars the endless dark blue sky. Above you, a bat screeches, signaling its descent, before it dives towards you at full speed. Your eyes close, you hope death will be quick. 

“Get fucked!” Someone screams, a sickening thud following. Opening your eyes, you see the creature’s body get thrown into the air. Eddie stands above you, smiling wickedly, but as soon as he sees the two other bats gnawing on you, he brings his oar over his head and swings. 

You look away, scared he’ll miss, and see Nancy and Robin a few feet away. Nancy holds the other oar, working with Robin to kill the swarm of bats that encase Steve’s body. Seeing them makes you want to cry in sweet relief. 

The sound of the bats’ pained cries echo in your ears. It takes several attempts before Eddie manages to get them off of you. The bat’s teeth cut deeply with every attack, causing you to cry out in pain. It’s fucking agonizing. Warm blood follows a sickening tearing sensation in your leg.

When Eddie has killed both bats, he helps you stand up. “Jesus, you alright?”

“Talk later,” you grunt, already rushing to go help Nancy and Robin. “Fight now.”

Eddie doesn’t stop you. He swings his oar again and Robin begs you to help. She has a bat pinned down while Nancy pounds her oar into its face, but it won’t fucking die. Its tail has wrapped itself around Steve’s neck and he’s paler than you’ve ever seen him. 

But before you can gut the piece of shit creature, another bat pounces on Nancy. Its claws tear her skin and she yelps. You scream her name and catch her before she falls. “I got you.”

Nancy’s hands clutch your body as you stab the bat. “Get it off me!”

“I’m trying!” The bat won’t let go, screeching with every pull. Biting down, you ignore the searing pain as your palms get cut up even more. Robin tries to help, but you scream at her. “No! Help Steve!”

She nods quickly and it’s a mess of fighting and screeches and blood. Steve bites down on the bat’s tail, its jaw opens as it squeals, giving him just enough time to escape. As he rolls to the side, Robin throws the bat’s body onto the ground. 

Seeing Steve safe reinvigorates you, and with one final scream, you use everything within you to pull the bat off of Nancy’s back. It releases her skin with a squelching pop. You force your knife down its throat and pin the creature to the ground. It writhes beneath you. “Now, Nancy!”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Go to hell!” Her oar slams down, killing it.

Behind you Eddie kills the remaining few bats that circle overhead. Steve stands next to you, slamming the final bat into the ground. The body lands with a loud smack against the concrete and Steve rips the carcass in half. 

Blood drips from his mouth and he messily spits it away. He’s panting, his stomach is on fire, he’s stuck in some alternate dimension with no way out, but all he can focus on is you. 

Flesh hangs from your shoulder, leaving behind a gaping wound of exposed muscle. Your thigh is torn clean through. There’s blood everywhere. The white of your tanktop is now soaked in red. But you’re here, you’re alive. He hasn’t lost you. Not yet, at least.

“Y/N–” Steve practically falls against you, and you’re no better yourself. You’re crying, snot runs down your face as you grab desperately at him. His hands are all over you as he tries to stop the bleeding, but there’s so much blood. 

“I-I’m here.” Your hands are all over Steve’s body, too. They cup his waist, there are so many bite marks on him, but at least his flesh is warm under your skin. He’s still here, he’s still yours, and now all you want to do is calm him down. Steve is panicking, holding you as if he’s afraid you’ll die in his arms any second, and the fear on his face makes your chest ache. 

“Are you guys okay?” Nancy asks, tentatively touching your shoulder. A wince slips from her lips when she sees the flesh that is no longer there. “Jesus, Y/N.”

Steve wraps his hands around your thigh, it’s bleeding the most and you can barely put any weight on it. “I’m fine, but they took a fucking pound of flesh from her.”

“You’re no better,” you’ve placed your own hands over his stomach, his blood warm against your fingers. “I think you lost your appendix.”

Steve laughs, but almost immediately his laugh turns into a groan. “God, don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

You apologize, kissing his shoulder. Light catches your attention and you see Robin crouched down next to one of the bat carcasses. She looks up at everyone. “Uh, do you guys think these bats have, like, rabies?”

“Robin, if we have rabies, please promise me you’ll shoot me.” You tell her, dead serious. Rabies has always terrified you. When you were younger, a rabid fox made its way onto your grandparents' farm. It had killed all the chickens, attacked the herding dog they had, and you remember how distraught your father had been when he had to kill both the fox and the hound. 

“I’m sure you and Steve don’t have rabies.” Nancy says, sensing your growing fear. But before she can say anything else a small group of bats descend from the sky.

Steve pushes you behind him. They land near the gate you fell through, screeching at the five of you. They’re a small enough group, Steve voices what you’re all thinking: you can handle them. Flicking your knives out, you prepare for what’s about to come. 

Until a swarm grows larger in the distance. There’s easily hundreds of them, they cast a shadow below where they fly. There’s too many to fight. 

“You were saying?” Robin breathes out, eyes never leaving the sky.

Steve is speechless, he doesn’t know what to do. His hand tightens around you, protective, but thankfully Nancy has a plan. She tells everyone to run towards the woods and none of you hesitate to follow. Steve swings your legs over his arms, picking you up with ease despite the bite wounds that litter his skin. Like hell he’s letting you run right now; you’re too torn up, you can hardly even walk. 

As Steve runs with you in his arms, he’s careful to avoid the vines that creep over the ground. It’s a dizzying rush. All you can do is hold tightly onto him, trusting that Nancy knows where she’s taking you. 

Deep into the woods, Nancy calls over her shoulder, “Over here!”

Lifting your head from Steve’s chest, you realize, as you always do, that Nancy Wheeler is a goddamn genius. She’s taken you all to Skull Rock.

The giant boulders form a small alcove, just big enough to hide under as the bats fly overhead. She instructs everyone to crawl under and Steve sets you down gently, positioning you so that you’re sitting with your back against the rock. As soon as you’re secure, Steve’s hand goes back to your thigh.

The sound of the bats is almost deafening. No one dares to speak. They fly over at such a gruesome speed, their screeches echoing off the trees. You lose count of how many there are. All you can do is wait for the last of them to leave.

More lightning strikes above. It shakes the ground, the sound reverberates in your skull. You can’t believe you’re here. You’re in the Upside Down. The place you’ve only ever spoken about, the entity that haunted your nightmares and took the ones you loved from you.

It’s so much colder than you imagined it to be. Everything is darker, more twisted. The dimension is exactly as Will once described to you: this is Hawkins, it’s your home, but different. Colder, scarier. These woods are the woods you walked through, the woods where you fell in love, and yet the trees loom over you in a threatening way. Their branches form spikes, the dirt recoils against your feet. 

Nothing here feels warm. The darkness is never ending. 

This is where Will was, all by himself, for a week. 

He had only been twelve. 

When the nightmare swarm of bats is finally over, Robin carefully pokes her head out from the alcove. “Okay, that was close.”

Eddie agrees, kicking at a rock. Steve offers you his hand to stand, but the moment your skin touches his, you feel sick. All the adrenaline from earlier leaves you. All the blood you’ve lost catches up, leaving your body weak. Stumbling, your vision tunnels and your eyes roll back. 

“Woah, hey.” Steve breaks your fall, snapping his fingers in your face to bring your attention back to him. He’s weak as well, he has to lean heavily against the rock to steady himself. “Y/N-shit!”

“Steve?” Nancy turns around, finding you and him moments away from collapsing. She curses, rushing over. When she sees all the blood that still pours from your thigh, she gags. “Oh, fuck.”

“Keep… keep talking. Please.” Your breathing is labored, you can hardly form any words. “Keep talking to me. If-if I faint… embarrassing.”

“I think she’s losing it.” Eddie whispers rather loudly to Robin. 

Nancy grazes Steve’s chest, silently asking him to move your body aside. She wants to get a closer look at his wounds as well, she can’t help you if he’s bleeding out himself, but he refuses. “No, no we need to help Y/N.”

“Steve, you’re also losing blood–”

“I don’t care.” Steve pulls you even closer to his chest, he needs to feel your rib cage rising and falling. He needs to feel you breathe. “Help her, Nancy.”

His outburst startles Nancy. She takes a step back, alarmed, but clenches her jaw. There’s no getting through to Steve; she knows she’s lost the fight. “At least sit her down.”

Steve collapses, sliding back against the rock with you tucked to his chest. With shaking hands, he forces you to sit next to him. You wince with every movement, it’s getting harder and harder to stay awake.

“Stay with me, angel.” Steve murmurs to you, motioning to Nancy to look down at your thigh. The wound is bleeding the most, the teeth sunk in the deepest. 

“Don’t wanna faint,” your head sags to the side, exhausted. “So embarrassing.”

Nancy places her hands unsurely to your thigh. The blood squelches, soaking through your jeans. She exhales shakily. “You’re not-you’re not going to faint, okay? Just keep talking, Y/N.”

“Hate bats.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, but it seems to settle Nancy’s unease and Steve’s worry. “Little fuckers hurt.”

Nancy tears the end of her shirt, her nimble fingers gently lift your injured leg. She ties the piece of fabric tight around your thigh, quelling the bleeding. Steve helps with the knot, though really he just needs something to do. 

“If you want some good news, I’m pretty sure wooziness is not a symptom of rabies.” Robin crouches next to you, smiling despite how terrified she is. “So that’s something, right?”

You yelp when Nancy tightens the tourniquet. Biting your tongue, you force a smile to Robin. “Hooray.”

“There,” Nancy wipes her hands of your blood. The tourniquet isn’t much, but already the bleeding has subsided. “But I think you’re going to need stitches.”

“I’m tired of hospitals,” you whine, but you’re already feeling a bit better. You’re weak, sure, but at least your body isn’t slowly draining itself out. “Thanks, though.”

Nancy nods, smiling softly, before her eyes land on Steve’s stomach. “Can I finally patch you up?”

Steve doesn’t even look at her, instead cups your face. Even though you’re covered in blood and sweat and tears, even though your cheek is scabbed and your lip is split, he doesn’t think he’s ever found you more beautiful. “You alright?”

“Been better,” you admit, squeezing his arm. “But let’s worry about you now.” Turning to Nancy, you extend your arm. “Got any more torn pieces of clothing?”

She bites her lip. The only thing covering your body is your tank top. She’s seen the cuts all over your palms. She doesn’t think you’ll be able to wrap the cloth around Steve, if she’s being honest. But she also knows Steve and how fiercely he loves you. He won’t let anyone near him but you. 

Finally, she sighs. Tearing off more of her shirt, she hands it to you. “Yeah, here.”

You thank Nancy again, and she gives you a curt nod before backing away, giving you and Steve some space. Once she’s gone, you tend to Steve’s injuries. When he moves his hand away and reveals raised, angry flesh, you inhale sharply. “Steve…”

“Just a flesh wound.” He jokes, but you can hear the pain in his voice. 

Though you’re still dizzy and weak, you manage to lift Steve’s body enough to wrap the makeshift bandage around him. Luckily he isn’t bleeding as badly as you are, but the sight of him injured still leaves you nauseous. 

Tying the fabric around his torso, you’re careful not to hurt him any more. The moment is familiar, reminiscent of the years before. Back in the junkyard when a Demodog nearly tore open your rib cage, Steve had been the one to take care of you. He had so carefully wrapped your cardigan around your chest, been so delicate with you, and now it’s your turn to do the same for him. 

“We always end up here, don’t we?” You say softly, it still takes a lot of energy for you to speak. You finish tying a knot to secure the bandage and Steve looks at you oddly. He doesn’t understand, and you shrug. “You and me, patching each other’s wounds up.”

Steve’s eyes soften. It doesn’t matter where he could be, in what situation he could be stuck in, you always somehow remind him of how loved he is. “Kinda wish the bats had eaten my ribs instead. We could’ve had matching scars.”

You laugh, eyes shining with tears. Fresh pain explodes all over your body, but you laugh anyways. You don’t know why you’re laughing or why tears run down your face. The exhaustion and pain from today must finally be catching up to you. “How romantic.”

Steve laughs as well, the pain of it bearable when he hears your laughter mixing with his. “I love you, angel.”

“I love you, too, honey.” It’s so cold in the Upside Down, but the warmth of Steve’s love feels like sunshine kissing your skin. 

Robin clears her throat. “Uh, not to ruin this cute moment, but I just wanted to say that if either of you start feeling aggressive, please let me know. Because, ya know. The threat of rabies still.”

“I kinda wanna punch you.” Steve looks at her pointedly, annoyed. 

You poke his cheek and smile apologetically at Robin. “He didn’t mean that.”

“Sense of humor is still intact, that’s a good sign!” She cheers, then, as an afterthought, she takes off her flannel and hands it to you. “Also, figured you’d want this. Not that you aren’t totally hot right now in only a tiny tank top and blood all over you, it’s just freakishly cold down here and you technically have an exposed wound on your shoulder and who knows what sorts of awful flesh eating diseases there are here.” 

You accept the flannel gratefully and thank her. Then, together, you and Steve stand up. The process is difficult, you only have one functional top and bottom, and you walk in a slow manner together as you lean against the other. 

Up ahead, Eddie is standing on one of the boulders, staring out into the vast dimension. “So, uh. This place is like Hawkins, but with monsters and nasty shit?”

“Basically.” You respond, grunting as you support Steve’s upper body. 

Eddie nods, defeated, and before he can step down, Nancy tells him to be careful of the vines. “It’s all a hive mind.”

When Eddie doesn’t understand, Steve tries to explain it to him. “All the creepy crawlies here, dude. They’re like, one or something.”

“They’re all interconnected. They can feel each other’s pain, feelings, whatever.” You say, remembering how Jonathan had described Will’s agonizing screams when the vines had been burned in the tunnels.

“Step on a vine, you’re stepping on a bat, you’re stepping on Vecna.” Steve finishes grimly. 

Eddie smiles sarcastically, obviously displeased with this information, but he’s careful not to step on any vines on his way down. 

“But everything from our world is still here, right? Except people?” Robin asks.

You nod. “According to Will, yeah.”

This pleases Robin, and she starts explaining her plan. If everything's the same in the Upside Down, then you should be able to use the guns stored away at Hawkins’ police station. With the ammunition stored there, it’d be more than enough to kill the bats that guard the gate back to Hawkins. 

“I highly doubt the Hawkins PD has grenades, Robin.” Steve says skeptically. “But guns? Sure.”

You shake your head. While Robin’s idea is good, there’s still the issue of going all the way downtown from Skull Rock. The five of you barely made it half a mile without getting killed. There’s no way you’d survive three. “But the police station is downtown. That’s too far from here.”

Robin deflates, but Nancy furrows her brows. After thinking for a moment, her eyes light up. “We don’t have to go all the way downtown. I have guns. In my bedroom.”

God you love her.

Eddie scoffs in disbelief. “You, Nancy Wheeler, have guns… plural? In your bedroom?”

“Full of surprises, isn’t she?” Robin says with pride.

“And this is why we always listen to her.” You sing along, high fiving Robin. 

Nancy doesn’t acknowledge you or Robin, but her cheeks flush with slight embarrassment. “A Russian Makarov and a revolver.”

“Yeah, you almost shot me with that one.” Steve reminds her, though his tone is gentle, almost teasing.

You laugh, remembering how terrified he had been when Nancy pointed the gun at him. You all had been so much younger, more naive. All he wanted to do was apologize to Jonathan for their fight earlier. Steve had just wanted to make things right, and that’s why you stepped in front of him that night. “Luckily for you, I was there to save your life.” 

Steve looks down at you fondly. He pulls you close, his eyes are full of so much love. He remembers everything. The night that started it all. “And then I saved yours.”

To think that a sprained ankle and a bat full of nails would lead you to here: Steve’s warm chest against you, so full of love.

Lost in your warm memories, neither you nor Steve see Eddie throwing his vest at Steve’s face until it’s too late. The material smacks against him, cruelly bringing the two of you back to reality. 

“What the fuck, Eddie?” You sneer at him, deeply annoyed. 

He waves at you flirtatiously, a devilish glint in his eyes. “I’m protecting your boyfriend’s modesty for you.”

Before you can retaliate, the ground beneath you starts to shake. The force of it is so sudden, so strong, that it sends you and everyone else falling. Steve catches himself on a rock, holding you tightly to his chest, and you manage to catch Nancy before she falls as well. Eddie grabs onto Robin, stuck on the ground together.

The tremors are violent. There’s a cracking sound, branches fall behind you as the earthquake destroys whatever it can. Steve holds you through it, he whispers reassurances to try and calm you. When it’s over everything is quiet for a moment, before a loud, heart stopping shriek cuts into the night.

It doesn’t sound like any creature you’ve faced before. Far too loud to be a Demodog’s, far too large to be a bat’s. The thought of what it could be almost paralyzes you; it could’ve been the Mind Flayer. 

“Guns seem like a pretty good idea to me.” Eddie finally says, panting. 

Robin quickly agrees, and you swallow down the bile that rises in your throat. “Yeah, okay. I can be okay with guns.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Steve puts Eddie’s vest on, twirling a flashlight in his hand. He nods to himself, tries to convince himself that he’s as confident as he sounds. He extends his other arm towards you, helping you steady your balance. “Let’s go.”

And you follow. 

– 

It’s a long walk from Skull Rock to Nancy’s house; it’s an even longer walk when you’re in the Upside Down, hiding from demonic bats. With every branch that snaps beneath someone’s foot, you all jump. The croak of whatever creature nearby sets everyone on edge. 

“Couldn’t we have tried a road or something just slightly less creepy?” Robin complains, jumping over a vine. 

Leaning against Steve, you groan. “Anything would be less creepy than this.”

“I think we’re getting close,” Nancy tries to sound convincing, but even she’s uneasy. “We’re almost out of here. Don’t worry.”

Robin nods at the reassurance, but you can’t help but wonder what could possibly come next after you find Nancy’s guns. It’d be two guns, two critically injured members of the group, two oars, and one switchblade against an army of bats.

Not the best odds. 

Nancy and Robin wander further ahead, leaving you behind with Steve and Eddie. None of you talk, more so because you’re putting all your energy into not falling on your face and Steve is busy helping you stay upright.

Walking is difficult and painful and you’re so frustrated by it all, especially after you trip over your fourth tree root. If it weren’t for Steve’s quick reflexes, you’d be long dead by now.

Eddie must recognize this, too.

“Here, let me just–” He comes next to you and throws your arm over his shoulders before either you or Steve can protest. Immediately the pressure on your injured leg lessens. You sigh in content, and Eddie smirks. “There ya go, princess.”

“Don’t call her that.” Steve snaps, but even he has to admit that Eddie’s help is needed. With him carrying half your weight, Steve is able to breathe a little easier. You’re better balanced this way. He’s no longer straining his injuries to support you. 

Eddie winces. “I’m sorry, just… trying to lighten the mood, I guess.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but the silence stretches on and you feel bad for Eddie. He really is trying. Despite the fact that he’s Hawkins’ most wanted, he still tries to make everyone else laugh. He has to know that he’s never getting out of this alive, and you admire the strength it must take to continue laughing anyways. 

So you try to for him as well. “Thank you, by the way. You saved our lives back there.”

Eddie looks at you funny, he hadn’t expected you to acknowledge it. “Shit, Steve saved his own ass, man.”

“That’s true,” you laugh. By the time the fight finished, Steve had somehow managed to fight his way out by himself. “It was impressive.”

“No it wasn’t.” 

Eddie scoffs at Steve’s dismissal. “Please, that was a real Ozzy move you pulled back there.”

“Ozzy?” Steve looks at you, silently asking for some type of explanation, but you shrug. 

“All I know is that he’s in Black Sabbath.” Jonathan occasionally listened to the band whenever he was particularly angry, but not enough for you to understand Eddie’s obscure reference. 

Eddie makes a surprised, but pleased, sound. “Honestly surprised you even know Black Sabbath, but c’mon. Ozzy Osbourne, he bit a bat’s head off onstage. You seriously haven’t heard about that?”

You and Steve stare at him blankly, and he sighs. “Well, it was very metal. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Steve scoffs again, but deep down you know he’s preening. It’s not everyday someone commends his strength or recognizes how well he can hold his own. Steve has come a long way since his first fight with Jonathan back at the alley. 

“I think I finally get why my brother likes you so much,” you tell Eddie, looking up at him curiously. “You know a lot of weird facts. He goes crazy for them.”

That, and you’re finding that Eddie isn’t so bad when he isn’t surrounded by his goonies. He’s actually… decent when he isn’t putting on a show for everyone. It’s almost reminiscent of how Steve had once been, back when he was the King. 

But if you ever pointed out that similarity to the boys, you know they’d be deeply offended. 

The corners of Eddie’s mouth tilt up. “Yeah, well. The kid adores you and practically worships Steve.”

“He does?” Steve almost sounds bashful at the idea of Dustin worshiping him. It makes your heart constrict. You both miss your brother terribly. 

Eddie nods. “Oh yeah, it’s kinda annoying, to be honest. Especially when all he talks about is Y/N. If he isn’t talking about you, he’s talking about her.”

“I doubt that’s true,” you shake your head. “He doesn’t need me anymore, he’s practically counting down the days until I leave.”

“Nah, man. Dustin tells me all the time how much he’ll miss you when you leave.” Eddie tells you, voice firm. “Kid always talks about how much you look out for him, that he doesn’t know what he’ll do when you’re gone. In a way, it’s annoyingly endearing. He frets over you just as much as you fret over him. I can see the Henderson charm in him that made you Hawkins’ sweetheart.” 

Everything that Eddie tells you leaves your throat sticky with tears. You didn’t know, you couldn’t know all Dustin said about you. For the longest time you thought he’d grown to hate you, to resent you the way kids often do with their family. You would’ve never blamed him; sometimes people just grow up, grow apart, but here Eddie is, telling you that your brother will miss you when you’re gone. 

Unable to say anything in fear that you’ll cry, the only response you give Eddie is a curt, short nod.

Steve rubs your side tenderly, understanding all you’re unable to say. Eddie feels the touch against his own side and he clears his throat. He knows you want him to change the subject. “Admittedly, I got a little jealous. Hearing the little shrimp talk about you as if you hung the goddamn stars yourself.” 

The irony of it all crashes upon you. While you had been jealous of Eddie, he had been jealous of you. The two of you spent months quarreling over Dustin, you’d been uncharacteristically mean to Eddie, and yet the entire time you envied the other. 

Abandonment can make people cruel. 

“I was jealous of you, too.” You finally reveal to Eddie, meeting his eyes for the first time tonight. 

Eddie stares back at you, his expression softens with understanding. He seems to have pieced together what you have: your anger had never been cruel, only defensive. Protective of your brother the way only a sister would in fear of losing him. 

“Guess that makes us both idiots, huh?” Eddie teases gently, accepting the offering of truce that you present to him. 

You laugh, looking away. The moment of truce is nice, pleasant almost, until the beat of silence becomes too unbearable for you. You’ve revealed enough of yourself tonight. Awkwardly clearing your throat, you lift your arm from Eddie’s shoulder and pull away. “Robin is probably missing me right now. She hates the dark, these woods are her worst nightmare.”

Steve catches your arm before you leave. You’re still unsteady on your feet, but he understands what you’re trying to do. He’s come to learn that you shut away when you’re vulnerable. While you wear your heart on your sleeve, Steve knows that it can be exhausting for you. 

“Need me to call her over?” He asks you quietly.

“No, I can manage.” You kiss Steve’s cheek, thanking him without having to say it. Eddie smiles at you as you leave, tight lipped, but kind nonetheless. 

The two teens watch you slowly make your way over to Robin, who happily welcomes your presence. She wraps her arms around you and holds you tightly, giggling slightly, before holding you close and helping you walk. 

“I’ll bring her back in one piece!” Robin calls to Steve, giggling under her breath. Steve waves his hand sarcastically, but doesn’t argue. Turning to you, Robin’s face shines in the blue moonlight. “You here to save me from this totally creepy, absolutely horrid woods?”

“Duh,” your laughter reflects hers. “I’m your knight in shining armor, babe.”

Robin squeezes your hand, resting her head against yours as you walk together. It’s been a long time since you’ve held each other like this. The realization makes you guilty. “How’ve you been holding up?”

Robin shrugs, the motion jostles your head, but you don’t mind. “We’re in the Upside Down, some guy named Vecna wants you and Max dead, and you refuse to admit that you’re scared.”

You bite your lip. Robin is just as worried for you as Steve is, she’s just hidden it better, and you wish that you could spare her the worry. She’s put up such a strong front for you. Between Steve, Dustin, Lucas, and Max, Robin knew you didn’t want yet another person coddling you.

So she stepped back, gave you the space you wanted, but you’re still her best friend. Robin won’t let you forget that.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to her, holding onto her as tightly as she holds onto you. 

Robin shrugs again. “Nothing to forgive, pretty girl.”

And it’s as simple as that.

Though Steve can’t hear your conversation, he watches you and Robin fondly. The two of you sway together, laughing occasionally. Eddie notices the way Steve looks at you and laughs to himself. 

“You know, I was jealous of you, too.”

Steve raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“I was jealous of you and Henderson, the little one, I mean. Guess I couldn’t accept the fact that Steve Harrington was actually a good dude. I mean, rich parents, popular, chicks love him, not a douche? No way dude. That like, flies in the face of all laws in the universe and my own personal Munson doctrine.”

Then Eddie motions towards you. “And when you started dating Y/N? C’mon, man. Everyone knows Y/N Henderson is like, God’s gift to selflessness. I watched her tutor kids in the library like goddamn Gandhi, and suddenly she’s dating you? There isn’t any law in the universe to explain that. Fucking unfair.”

Though he knows he should be offended, Steve finds himself laughing. If he’s being honest, he’s relieved that someone else is questioning whether Steve deserves you. From the moment he met you, you’ve tried convincing him that he’s always deserved you. But Steve knows better, and he can’t believe it’s Eddie Munson who sees this, too. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I also don’t know why Y/N chose me.” Steve confesses, catching Eddie’s attention. “Honestly, I don’t think I ever would’ve been someone she even liked had we not been dragged into the Upside Down together. I was a douchebag. She hated me for years, but I guess saving her life a few times earned me some brownie points.” 

Eddie snorts. “Surprised you’re not claiming it was your ‘stunningly good looks’ that made Y/N fall for you. Oh how humble you’ve become.”

“Y/N changed me.” Steve’s eyes find your body again. They will always draw towards you no matter where you are.

The sincerity in Steve’s voice surprises Eddie. Licking his lips, he sighs. “Well whatever she did, I never would’ve jumped in that lake to save your ass, not under any normal circumstances.” A branch snaps, Steve and Eddie turn to its source, but there’s nothing there. Sighing again, Eddie continues to walk. “Outside of DnD, I’m no hero. I see danger and I just turn heel and run… at least, that’s what I’ve learned about myself this week.”

Steve doesn’t know where Eddie is going with this. “Hey, give yourself a break, man.”

Eddie points to you, Robin, and Nancy walking up ahead. “No, you see. The only reason I came in here was ‘cause those ladies came in straight after you. I was too ashamed to be the one who stayed behind. But Y/N? She dove in the second your head went under. Nearly tore Robin’s arm off trying to get to you.”

Something heavy settles in Steve’s chest. There’s a shift, there’s something that simmers deep into his rib cage. 

Eddie forces Steve to look at him. “I don’t know how you did it, but she loves you. The way she was screaming your name, it was an unambiguous sign of true love that these cynical eyes have ever seen. And if someone like Y/N Henderson loves you… then I figured you must be worth saving.”

Steve’s breath stutters. He looks up at you again, the warmth that cascades his veins whenever he sees you overwhelms him. Steve loves you more than anything. To be told how deeply you love him by someone else is almost too much. 

You and Steve have been fighting so much recently. He’s said awful things to you, you’ve hurt him in ways he hadn’t known he could hurt. All the unspoken words, all the uncertainty and fear, and yet you dove in to save Steve without hesitating. 

And isn’t that all that love is? To love without expectations, without hesitancy. Love is the inability to separate your breath from the person’s lungs; you took all the air out of Steve’s chest the moment you smiled at him. 

You’re the best goddamn thing that has ever happened to Steve. He’s always known this, he’s always known that what the two of you have is special. It’s something more than just young love. 

So what if the future you envision doesn’t align with Steve’s? How could something so small, so miniscule as compared to forever with you, be what Steve allows to drive you away? You deserve more than just his insecurities. You’ve already decided that Steve deserves your love, what more can he want from you?

He already has you; Steve won’t let you walk away from him. Not this time, not when what you have is rare and real and raw. 

Steve almost wants to laugh at how funny it is. He’d been so worried about losing you, that he almost lost you in the process. What’s even worse: it took a five minute conversation with fucking Eddie Munson to even realize it. 

“Y/N, she’s–” Steve begins, but the ground starts to shake again and he’s falling. Eddie curses, sick of these earthquakes, and Steve braces himself as the rumbling continues. 

Robin struggles to hold onto you as you cower together under the earth’s violent shaking. Instinctively your head turns toward Steve to make sure he’s okay. You find him on the ground next to Eddie. Sensing your eyes on him, Steve looks up and nods reassuringly at you. Relieved, you breathe against Robin. 

“Second on my list of least favorite things,” she says, voice shaking. “Earthquakes. Seriously, I’m unsteady enough as it is.”

“At least you have two working legs.” You quip.

Robin shushes you, but her voice raises when she sees Nancy stand and take off. “Nancy!”

Squinting at the darkness, you see the girl’s figure disappearing into the treeline. She’s running alarmingly fast, way too fast for anyone to catch up in time, and your heart lurches. None of you should be splitting up right now. It isn’t safe. “Fuck! Someone stop her!”

Robin quickly throws you onto your feet and you call after Steve and Eddie to follow. If running was difficult with a bleeding out leg, it’s almost impossible with the ground shaking beneath you. But if Nancy’s in trouble, you need to get to her as soon as you can. Leg be damned.

Breaking through the treeline, you find her standing at the edge of a clearing. There are fallen trees everywhere. Red lightning illuminates the Wheeler house before you. By some miracle, you’ve made it.

“Come on.” Nancy breaks the silence, chin held high. She isn’t giving up now, not when you’re all so close. 

She starts to walk, never looking back, and you look at Steve. He grabs your hand. You take a deep breath. You fucking hope Nancy’s plan works. 

This is your only chance of going home.

– 

The Wheeler house is exactly how you remember it, only vines and debris maims its usually pristine appearance. Nancy walks through the door first while Steve shines a flashlight. Particles float everywhere. You try not to think about the fact that you’re inhaling them.

Your foot catches on a stray vine, its tendrils flail angrily at you. Stomping your foot away, you look wearily at Nancy. “Love the decor.”

She rolls her eyes while Robin echoes you. “Might be time to get a maid, Wheeler.”

Ignoring the two of you, Nancy ushers everyone upstairs. While her voice is level, the unease in her body is apparent. She doesn’t like seeing her home this way. Sympathetic, you start to follow Nancy, but for a split second you think you hear Dustin’s voice.

It’s faint, mostly incoherent, and you think you’ve finally gone crazy. That’s it. Vecna has won, you’ve lost the remaining sanity you had left. 

But then Steve suddenly freezes next to you. His bewilderment tells you that he hears Dustin, too. That’s your brother. You’d know his nasally voice anywhere.

Sharing a look with Steve, you simultaneously begin running around the house, trying to follow the sound of Dustin’s voice. You remember Will telling you how he could hear Joyce’s cries for him while he’d been trapped in the Upside Down. It had been the only way Joyce could communicate with him. What if this is the same?

“Start screaming,” you command Steve, limping over to one of the walls. 

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s what Will did, he-he screamed for his mom and Joyce was able to hear him.” You press our mouth close to the wall and shout, “Dustin!” 

He has to hear you. You don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t.

Steve wastes no time following along, screaming Dustin’s name at the top of his lungs as well. You know the two of you must look like complete idiots, but you’re desperate.

“Dustin! Dustin Henderson you have five seconds to answer me!” You yell, throat burning.

“Hello? Answer us!” Steve stands in the center of the kitchen, crouched down as if getting ready to bolt. 

This is how Nancy, Robin, and Eddie find you. The three of them stare at you and Steve in concern, though none of them want to get any closer. Robin ducks her head down, whispers, “Maybe they really do have rabies.”

“What are you guys doing?” Nancy demands, fed up. 

“He’s here,” Steve whips his flashlight around, facing them. “Henderson. That little shit, he’s here. He’s like-he’s in the walls or something. Just listen.”

Dustin, predictably, is quiet the moment Steve tells everyone to listen. 

You pound on the wall. “Oh, now you’re quiet?” Everyone looks at you skeptically and you rub your face tiredly. “Look, I know this all sounds crazy, but I can hear Dustin, alright? It’s him.”

“Dustin!” Steve continues to screech, not helping your whole “we aren’t crazy” argument. 

Only Dustin’s voice returns, and thankfully Nancy and everyone else hears it. Together you all search the house, calling your brother’s name out. Yet now matter how loud you scream, he doesn’t respond.

“Alright, either this kid can’t hear us or he’s being a total douchebag.” Steve drops his flashlight.

You blow hair out of your face. “Normally he’s a douchebag, but not nearly to this extent.”

Nancy stands next to you. “But Will found a way to make Joyce listen.”

“When Joyce couldn’t hear him anymore, she used the Christmas lights.” You look at her. “Do you think…?”

She’s already running to the nearest lamp in the kitchen. Flicking the switch, nothing happens. You suggest trying a different light, though you know it won’t make a difference. When the lights remain unlit, you slam your palm against the table in frustration. 

“Guys?” Steve gets your attention. He’s shining his flashlight at the chandelier that hangs over the Wheeler’s dining table. “You seeing this?”

Where Steve points his flashlight, a warm, evanescent glow emits from the chandelier. You gasp at its beauty, you’ve never seen anything like it. Nancy steps towards the light and slowly puts her hand into the loose waves that flow between the lights. It’s encased in small orbs that float gently into the air. 

Nancy’s fingers dance in the light. A path of gold leaves a trail where her fingers have been. The particles in the light surround her hand, pulled in by her presence. Breathless, you reach out as well. The light kisses your hand, and the sensation is soft, almost ticklish. 

“This is insane,” you murmur in awe, face illuminated. You never thought you’d encounter beauty in such a place as the Upside Down. But at least Will found the beauty, too. “This must be how Will did it.”

Robin, Steve, and Eddie copy you and Nancy, putting their hands into the light as well. The five of you twirl your fingers around, causing the light to flicker with every movement. 

Steve’s pinky reaches for yours. “It… tickles?” 

“It kinda feels good.” Mumbles Robin, making figure 8’s with her finger. 

Nancy then lowers her hand and asks if anyone knows morse code. She mostly looks at you when you ask, and you bitterly tell her no. You’d think after everything you and the party have been through, you’d at least learn morse code by now. 

“Wait, does SOS count?” 

Eddie’s stupid question makes you hit his chest. “Of course it counts!”

“Ow!” He shoves you away from him, straightening his leather jacket. “A ‘yes” would’ve sufficed.”

Nancy shushes the two of you and instructs Eddie to start typing out the code. With a huff, he listens, and soon he begins the pattern for SOS. A soft buzz accompanies every flicker of the light. With each letter combination, you can practically feel Dustin getting closer and closer to you. 

It’s almost an indescribable feeling. Somewhere, in another universe, Dustin is standing right where you are. You aren’t sure how you know, maybe you’ll never be able to find the right words, but your brother’s presence settles over your own. 

This must be how Jonathan felt when Joyce was in the Upside Down. He whispered her name so softly when he followed her with the lights. Their love for one another tethered them; now it’s your love for Dustin that tethers him to you. 

“Dustin,” his name comes out whispered, relieved. He’s okay, you can feel that he’s safe. 

“Y/N?” Dustin’s muffled shouting fills everyone with relief. Steve and Eddie high five, Nancy lets out the breath she’d been holding, and Robin cheers while you hastily wipe your eyes. The SOS worked. “Is that-is that you?”

“Yes!” Steve screams into the chandelier, though you know your brother won’t be able to hear.

Anxious to get to Dustin as fast as you can, you shove your hands into the chandelier’s light and send a long, bright beam of light. More muffled screaming can be heard on the other side, only this time laughter accompanies it.

“Holy shit!” Dustin exclaims in awe. The amazement in his voice makes you miss him even more. There’s a murmur of other voices, you can only assume one of them is Lucas’, before Dustin shouts even louder, “We’re gonna find you a better light source. Don’t move.”

You roll your eyes. “Like we can go anywhere else.”

Dustin leaves again, but he’s back within minutes. Through loud screaming, he tells you to find Holly’s Lite Brite and go to Nancy’s room. Him and Lucas will meet the rest of you there. 

The moment Dustin leaves again, Nancy shoves everyone upstairs. “I’ll find the light pad, the rest of you go. Now.” 

And that’s how you find yourself restlessly staring at a child’s light up toy on Nancy Wheeler’s bed with Steve’s chest pressed against your back. He leans close to the toy, mumbling under his breath, “Come on, little Henderson.”

The Lite Brite suddenly comes to life. You throw your hands up triumphantly, giddy. “Yes!”

“You guys seeing this?” Dustin asks, to which Nancy responds by putting her hand into the light. Dustin squeals in excitement. This must be a scientific dream for him. “Okay, we’re not moving it, but we’re gonna unplug it. Stand by.”

The light fades away and Dustin prompts someone to spell something. Everyone turns to you. He’s your brother, you should be the one to make first contact. 

Carefully, you use your pointer finger to spell out D.U.S.T.

Eddie cocks his head. “‘Dust’?”

“He’ll understand.” 

When your mom first brought Dustin home from the hospital, he’d been so small. Immediately you fell in love with the small baby, but his size had confused you. You’d never seen anything so tiny before. 

“He’s small,” you informed your father, making a face at the yawning baby before you. “Like dust.”

You were only three, but you can still remember the way your dad had laughed. For years afterwards you never referred to Dustin by his actual name. He was only ever “Dust” to you. Your father joined, the nickname stuck, though your mother came to prefer “Dusty.”

It was only after your father left that you stopped calling your brother Dust. 

“Dust!” Dustin laughs excitedly. “I’m Dust! Yes!” He raises his voice louder, he can’t believe you remembered the old childhood nickname. “That worked, guys!”

Everyone cheers, Eddie even throws in his own enthusiastic “hi” to the Lite Brite. Your face aches from how hard you smile. Turning the toy over to Nancy, you nod at her. “All yours, Wheeler.”

Her eyebrows knit together as she thinks for a moment. There’s so much to tell Dustin and the others, but the Lite Brite is small and too many words to keep track of. “What should I write?”

“‘Help’ would be a pretty good place to start.” You suggest to her. 

Instead, Nancy ends up spelling “stuck”. Which is pretty fitting, all things considered. Gets the message across well. 

“You can’t get back through Watergate?”

Steve questions whatever the hell watergate is and Robin has to explain the wordplay. While she does so, pride swells deep within your chest. “Dustin’s a little genius that I love so much.”

“It was pretty clever.” Eddie admits. 

Nancy tells Dustin that the gate you all came through is guarded. However, never missing a beat, Dustin tells you that he thinks they have a theory that can help. “We think Watergate isn’t the only gate, that there’s one at every murder site.”

You jerk your head up, eyes widening. It all makes sense now. “Wait, I think he’s–”

“Does anyone have any idea what he’s talking about?” Nancy asks tiredly. Everyone gives her equally tired no’s, but you nod viciously.

“Yes! We already know there’s multiple gates, we just didn’t know how, but Dustin might’ve figured it out. It’s all connected to the murders.”

Nancy looks skeptical. “I don’t know…” Before you can argue with her, she sends a “?” back to Dustin. 

Who, predictably, doesn’t take it well. “Seriously? How many times do I have to be right on the money before you guys just trust me?”

Steve grimaces. “Jesus Christ. This kid’s gotta get his ego checked out.” 

“It’s his tone, right?” Eddie butts in.

You shove them both. “Shut up. Both of you. Dustin can be annoying and frustrating, but he’s right. He’s always been right. Now if you guys would actually listen, he’ll get us out of here.”

Looking pointedly at everyone, you start to explain. “There was a gate in Lover’s Lake, which we obviously found,” your arms wave behind you. “The same lake where Patrick died. Now, where else has a dead body been found?”

“Eddie’s trailer,” Nancy straightens, understanding where you’re going with this. Looking at Eddie, she asks him how far it is. 

“Seven miles.” 

Your head drops. “Why couldn’t you have lived closer?”

“I’m sorry I’m… poor?” Eddie looks at you incredulously. 

You flick a dismissive hand at him, but Robin cuts in between you two. “Nancy, I know your house here is, like, weirdly, creepily frozen in time and shit–”

“It’s what?” Obviously you missed some important details. 

Robin holds her hand up. “I’ll explain later. Anyways, haven’t you always had bikes?”

You and Nancy share a look, both thinking the same thing: the bikes would be perfect. That, and they’re kinda your only option at the moment. 

– 

Since you’re in no condition to bike (your thigh has only just stopped bleeding) and there’s only four bikes anyways, Steve has you wrap your arms around his chest and stand on his pegs. He claims it’s so that you can avoid putting any weight on your leg, but you honestly think he just wants you to hold him. Pressing your body close to his, you look around at the houses you pass.

In a strange, twisted way, it’s exhilarating biking through an Upside Down Hawkins. Everything, and yet nothing, is the same. The houses you pass are frozen in time, empty, ghostly. Robin, Nancy, and Eddie bike alongside you and Steve. The scene is almost reminiscent of the night you biked Will home, wind in your hair and the night sky before you. 

Everything has changed since then.

Somewhere along the route to Eddie’s, you bike past the Creel house. Your arms tighten instinctively around Steve. A chill runs through you, the house is just as haunting in the Upside Down as it is back in your universe. Your head throbs being so close to it, as if warning you, but Steve is turning into Eddie’s neighborhood before you can think much else of it. 

“That’s gotta be a Guinness World Record.” Robin throws her bike down, breathless. “Most miles traveled interdimensionally.”

Steve coughs, swatting at the particles in the air. “Just inhaled a bunch of that crap.”

“I’ve been trying not to think about how much of the Upside Down we’ve ingested since being here.”

“It’s stuck in my throat, Y/N.”

“Again, I’m trying not to think about that.”

Eddie opens his trailer door and, just as Dustin predicted, there’s a gate. It’s just like the one in Lover’s lake had been: illuminating red light, vines all around its edges. An open wound. 

“This is where Chrissy died.” Eddie stares up at the gate, which resides in the ceiling. He swallows heavily. “Like, right where she died.”

“I’m sorry.” Your hand finds Eddie’s arm. You don’t know much about what their relationship had been, but he seems to have cared about the girl a lot. 

Eddie gives you a tight lipped smile, his eyes shining slightly. As he looks at you, Robin sees something moving in the gate. “I think there’s something in there.”

Something starts to protrude from it, causing the gate to swell rapidly. The vines almost seem to snarl at the intrusion. An ominous, unsteady croak emits from the gate. The sound sets your nerves on edge and Steve shoves you behind him protectively. Hand on your knives, you raise them, bracing. 

The gate explodes, spewing liquid and vines everywhere. You all scream, jumping back, as something rips through the membrane-like material. Unable to tell what’s just happened, you squint up at the ceiling.

Nothing jumps out at you, no bats come to feast on your flesh. Finding Steve’s eye, you silently ask him if you should walk closer. Nodding, he grabs your hand, and together you creep towards the remains of the gate.

When you look up, you find Dustin’s smug, joyous face staring back at you. Only he’s upside down with Max, Lucas, and Erica, all just as in shock as you are.

You’ve never been more relieved to see them in your life. Dropping your hands to your knees, you bend over and finally breathe. “Oh, thank God.”

“No way…” Steve waves at them, and they wave right back. “Hi.”

“Dustin!” If your leg wasn’t hanging by a thread, you’d be jumping up and down right now. Instead, you opt for waving like a madman at your brother. The entire situation is so fucking bizarre, but you don’t even care anymore. “You did it!”

“I did it!” Dustin giggles. “Bada bada boom!”

After some heated discussions and a few arguments, Dustin and the others come up with a way to get the five of you out of the Upside Down. Using Eddie’s bed sheets as a makeshift rope had been the easy part. What caused nearly a fist fight between Max and Dustin had been figuring out a soft landing pad for you guys. 

“I, uh. Have a mattress?” Eddie finally suggested when he noticed Max’s fist clenching. 

She glared at him. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Well, I mean. It’s-uh. Minor details?”

But none of them had time to question Eddie’s sudden shyness regarding his mattress. Dustin got straight to work tying the bed sheets together while Max and Lucas worked on dragging the mattress out of Eddie’s room. 

However, the moment it landed on the ground, all eyes went to the giant stains on the bed. Cringing in disgust, you eye Eddie.

Seeing your disapproving look, he swallows. “Those stains are, uh…” He tries to come up with an excuse, but eventually he realizes it’s better to just accept defeat. “I don’t know what those stains are.”

“Would we want to know even if you knew?” You ask him, already knowing the answer.

“... Probably not.”

Dustin tosses the bed sheet rope up, or rather down, through the gate. “Not quite sure how these physics are gonna work, but here goes nothing.”

Miraculously, it lands perfectly in front of you. Dustin tugs at the rope before letting go of it completely. You gasp. The rope stands on its own, stiff but secure, and Dustin lets out a pleased laugh. “Abracadabra.”

“I’ve never understood physics.” You say, pulling at the rope. It doesn’t move. “But even I can admit that this is cool.”

Dustin high fives Erica and Robin steps up first. “Guess I’m the guinea pig.”

“Please be careful.” You tell her, already dreading your own ascent. Your shoulder still aches and you were never the best at climbing the rope for gym. You preferred soccer, track, anything that involved leg coordination. Not upper body. 

Robin slowly climbs up, and when her body hits the disgusting mattress back in your dimension, you let out a breath of relief. “That was kinda fun,” Robin giggles slightly.

Then Eddie stares at you, Steve, and Nancy. He waits for someone to move, obviously not wanting to be next. But when no one does, he shakes his head. “Alright, I guess I’ll go.”

Steve holds the rope steady and Eddie falls onto his mattress safely. He sits up, exhilarated. “That was fun.” He echoes Robin. 

Steve gestures for Nancy to go next. “I’ll help Y/N up after you’re done.”

She gives him an uncertain look, eyeing your injuries, and you try to smile at her reassuringly. “Go, I’ll be fine. Promise.”

Knowing it’s as good of an answer she’ll get from you, Nancy takes a deep breath. “See you on the other side.”

You grab her waist and help hoist her up alongside Steve. She’s swift, her strength impresses you. She’s almost reached the top before you hear the first chime. 

It’s loud, deafening. The chime of a grandfather clock.

Another chime follows, then a third, a fourth. It wracks your skull with its force. 

You turn, gasping, expecting to find the grandfather clock that Max had seen in her vision. Only you’re met with darkness. You can’t see anything, you can’t find a way out. You can’t feel Steve next to you, your hands try to find his in the dark, but all they’re met with is air. 

“What–” Panic chokes you. None of this is right, you don’t know where you are, you don’t know what’s happening and you can’t feel Steve and–

The sensation of sunlight kissing your face stops you. 

Your eyes open. You’re no longer in Eddie’s trailer. 

You’re outside, there’s sunshine all around you. In front of you is a field of dandelions, their sweet yellow reflects the gold of the sun above. The grass beneath your feet is soft, lush and green. A bee flies past your head and someone calls your name.

You’ve been here before. In the distance resides a small house on a hill. The blue door and white frames of your childhood home welcomes you. You’re back in Virginia. Someone calls your name again.

The voice is familiar. 

It’s your father, calling you home. 

The realization knocks all the air out of your lungs. None of this is real. You know it isn’t real, but to hear your father’s voice, so sweet and saccharine again, it makes you weak. But it isn’t real. Your legs begin to move, you’re running before you can think of anything else. 

This is a vision. The scent of oak trees and strawberries isn’t real. The wheat that skims your thighs as you run doesn’t exist. “This is a vision,” you try to talk to yourself, your fingers dig into your pockets for your walkman. 

You know you’re supposed to always have it on you, that’s what Dustin told you, but there’s nothing there. Panic swells within your chest once more. “No, please–”

Distracted as you look for your walkman, you don’t see the body in front of you.

Colliding into your father, he steadies you. “Woah, there.”

His calloused hands are rough and familiar. He’s laughing, his voice is the same gruff voice that used to sing you to sleep. Your father looks down at you and your entire body freezes when your eyes meet his. 

You haven’t seen him ever since you were twelve. He looks the same as the day he left. His smile is the same, the crooked teeth charming. Your father’s nose still points up ever so slightly. The only indication that he’s aged are the wrinkles that line his face, years of sunlight etching them. 

But it’s his eyes that hurt you the most. They’re still kind. 

“What are ya runnin’ from, ladybug?” Your father asks you, his southern drawl liquid honey to your ears. 

Tears build within you hearing the childhood nickname. You were his ladybug for as long as you could remember. When he used to call, he’d whisper the name over the phone as an apology for everything he’d done to you. 

Because you can’t help it, because you’ll never be able to do this again, you hug your father. He lets out a soft chuckle at the impact, his arms hold you as they’ve always done. Your face buries itself into his rough t-shirt.

You’re a little girl who needs her daddy right now. 

“I.. I missed you, daddy.” Voice breaking, you begin to cry. 

Your father’s palm rests against your hand. He hums, soothing the ache in your bones. “You know you can never outrun it.”

The words unsettle you, there’s something about them that causes you to pull away. “Outrun what–?” “The guilt, ladybug. It will always find you.” Your father’s smile twists into a sickening grimace. The muscles in his face conjoin, his eyes darken as his voice becomes gravel. Deeper. Until it isn’t your father’s voice anymore, but someone else's. “I will always find you.”

Too late do you realize that it’s Vecna who now has you. You start to scream, thrashing in your father’s arms to escape, but he only grips you harder. He’s laughing, but it’s no longer your father’s laughter. 

Suddenly you’re thrown into the lake behind you. You fall, screaming, as you descend deep into a pitch black void. Your arms reach out, you try to find anything to grab onto, but there’s nothing. It’s just endless emptiness. 

You land harshly on your back, all the air gone. You gasp, choke on whatever air remains in your body. The impact leaves you coughing, clawing at the ground beneath you to breathe. Soil scrapes under your nails, your palm gets cut on a root.

You’re in the woods. 

Scrambling to sit up, you realize you’re in the same part of the woods that Will went missing in. Fear cuts through your veins. Why would Vecna take you here?

“Will?” You’re on your feet now, cupping your hands over your mouth as you shout his name. Does Vecna have him? Have you lost him again? “Will!”

“He needed you that night.” Vecna’s voice taunts you, the sound like rocks grinding together. “Where were you?”

You’re running now. Branches cut your face as you break through them. You have to find Will. You can’t lose him again. You can’t do that to Jonathan, to Joyce and El and Dustin and Mike and everyone else. You’re the one who lost Will that night.

He had needed you. Isn’t that what Vecna said?

“Nancy!” Sobbing, you call for someone, anyone. But no one answers. Your vision blurs with tears, there’s someone running behind you. Chasing you. Terrified, you scream for the person you need the most. “Steve!”

Saying his name must trigger something, because suddenly the scene changes. You’re no longer in the woods. You’re on the ledge of someone’s roof, overlooking a window sill. A large, bay window that you’ve spent countless slow mornings residing on. 

Steve’s house. 

He’s standing in front of his bed, facing the window, facing you, but he doesn’t look at you. Not how he always does; his gaze lacks warmth. 

“Steve!” You pound on the glass, you try desperately to get him to acknowledge you, but he doesn’t. His eyes are on Nancy, who sits on the bed before him. He leans down, brushes her hair out of her face, before bridging the distance between them.

You watch as Steve kisses Nancy. He cups her chin the way he cups yours. Bile rises in your throat; you can’t turn away. Their kisses become heated, Steve is tugging at Nancy’s hair and her clothes. She tugs at him as well, he helps her remove his shirt.

Nancy’s lips trace the expanse of Steve’s neck and his eyes, once closed in bliss, now open. He looks right at you. 

“Did you really think I’d forget her, Y/N?” His voice digs into your ears. Nancy nips at his neck and he moans. He throws his head back, looks at you again. “I can’t. At least, not as easily as your dad forgot you.”

You stumble back, crying so hard you can barely breathe. Steve laughs seeing your heartbroken reaction. It’s cruel and awful. He’s cold. You’ve never known his voice to hold so much malice. Not towards you. Not towards anyone. 

He’s wrong. Steve doesn’t love Nancy, not anymore. Vecna is the one saying this, you know it isn’t Steve. He would never say any of this to you, he could never be so cruel to you. He loves you. You know he does. 

“N-no! This isn’t-this isn’t real–”

But the hatred in Steve’s eyes causes your foot to catch on the edge of the roof. You don’t have time to catch yourself; your body is weightless again, only this time it’s a much shorter fall. You land on concrete. Ripping your eyes open, there are domed walls around you. 

Nancy stands above you. 

Hyperventilating, you crawl away from her. You’re in Steve’s pool, only it’s empty, infested with vines, and your fingers stain the ground with blood. Everything in your body is screaming at you to run.

“Y/N–” Nancy tries to stop you, but you scream at her, kicking. She only barely avoids your fury. Holding her hands up, she lowers her voice, softens it. She’s crying, her terror the same as yours. “Y/N, it’s me, okay?”

Your body trembles with exhaustion. You close your eyes, tired of fighting. “Please be real.”

“I’m real.” Nancy swears to you, carefully reaching for you. When you allow her touch, she helps you stand up. 

The memory of her having sex with Steve is burned into your mind. You can’t look Nancy in the eye. She breathes heavily next to, looking around for a way out, when she sees something. A strangled cry leaves Nancy’s lips.

Barbara Holland’s corpse sits on the other side of the pool.

You cover your mouth with a gasp, choking slightly at the sight. Nancy cries out in pain, in grief, seeing her best friend’s body dismembered by vines. You stumble towards Nancy and hold her as she sobs. 

“Do you remember what you did, Nancy? Or have you already forgotten?” Vecna’s voice shakes the pool. “Don’t worry, I showed Y/N. When I kill someone… I never forget.”

A sob collapses in your chest. Barb’s death hadn’t been Nancy’s fault. Yet to place her in the same pool Barb was killed in, to show Nancy her corpse, is unrelenting cruelty. 

All around you, blood pours from the vents of the pool. It comes out quick, thick, at a dizzying speed. Nancy tugs at your hand and practically throws you up the ladder to escape. But when you reach the top, you’re met with a red hell.

It’s exactly how Max drew it.

Fragments of stairs, jagged pieces of wood, a grandfather clock, they all drift through the air painted with blood-red. Somewhere there’s screaming, the sound only drowned out by lightning. A clock ticks over and over again. Its metronome is maddening.

Nancy holds your hand and neither one of you lets go. Having nowhere else to go, you’re forced to walk down the stairs you arrived at. The clock chimes again and your heart stops.

“I see you’ve been looking for me, Nancy. And Y/N…” Vecna pauses, preying on you. “I’ve been watching you for quite some time.”

Everything stops.

“All the guilt, all the pain.” 

It comes to you in flashes. 

How Will used to smile at you, before his childhood was taken from him. Max’s blue eyes, shining with youth and happiness, before grief killed her. Billy, how he would be kind to your mother at the pool. Hopper, the way you’d bicker with him just to get him to smile.

It’s all gone because of you; you can’t remember how to breathe. 

Vecna feeds on your fear. “How fragile you’ve become… like a dandelion.” 

The wording, it’s too specific to not mean anything. Dandelions were once one of your favorite flowers. Before a nightmare from last summer changed everything. The dandelions had filled your mouth with razors and choked you. Someone called your name in the distance, they’d been too late to save you.

The dream had felt so real. You’d woken up with tears in your eyes.

And now you know it had been Vecna all along. Even back then. He’s been watching you for far longer than you realized. The realization chokes you, the fear overwhelms you. He’s been here all along.

Nancy yanks at your arm, you can barely hear her over the roaring in your head. “Y/N, listen to my voice.” 

She’s shaking you, trying to bring you back to her, but you’re lost. Hyperventilating, you struggle to catch your breath. You feel too vulnerable. Raw. Exposed. There are corpses strung up by vines in front of you. Fred’s broken jaw. Chrissy’s snapped neck. Patrick’s empty eye sockets. 

The same will happen to you. 

You’ve spent so long trying to be strong, trying to keep everyone safe. You’ve devoted your entire life to protecting others, helping them. But Vecna has been watching you for almost an entire year, maybe even longer, and you hadn’t noticed.

It’s why he’s targeted Max. He watched you take care of everyone you loved. Vecna watched you raise the girl. He knew it’d hurt you the most to lose her. It hadn’t been a coincidence. It’s all your fault. It’s always your fault. Will went missing because of you. Billy died because you hadn’t said anything. Max will die because you hadn’t seen the signs sooner. 

Nancy’s screams fall deaf on your ears. She shakes you, begs you to come back, but why should you?

This is all your fault. 

It’s always your fault. 

It’s always your fault. It’s always your fault. It’s always your fault. It’s always–

You feel your body lift. 

Everything fades to black.

-

⌑ series masterlist

Look at me now Said I wouldn't do it, but I hunted you down Know you had a girl, but it didn't work out

Steve Harrington was very sought after. Every girl wanted him and every guy wanted to be him. You tried very hard to not fit into that stereotype but you failed miserably.

There was just something about him that drew you in. You told yourself that you wouldn't fall at his feet like every other girl at Hawkins High but you couldn't help it.

Now, Steve wasn't really known as a relationship guy. He was more of a "let's go out once or twice, have sex, then onto the next girl" type of guy (he was called "King Steve" for a reason after all) so it was a shock to everyone when he started dating Nancy Wheeler.

You were sad, just like every other girl, that you had lost your chance with him but when you heard about their breakup after a year of being together, you couldn't help but feel like you actually had a chance.

I'm not proud Guess I'm just scared of you shootin' it down You can just talk, and I'll stare at your mouth You could be bad, but I wanna find out,

Giving in to him wasn't your proudest moment but it was inevitable. You had decided that if you wanted him, you would have to go get him.

See that's what all these girls were doing wrong. They would wait for him to come to them and ask them out, when in reality if they wanted a chance they would have to take it. So that's exactly what you did.

You were in your history class that you happened to share with Steve and the teacher had just announced a research project that would take all month to complete.

Picking a partner would've been easy had your only friend in the class been there that day, but sadly she had stayed home for whatever reason. The bright side was, now you could take a chance.

You got up out of your seat and walked straight over to his. You were a bit nervous but decided it was now or never.

"Hey, Steve!" You spoke loudly due to your nerves but luckily he found it funny.

"Hey..." he paused

"Oh, it's Y/n," you said embarrassed that you had been fawning over this man that didn't even know your name.

"Right! That's right, I- I knew that"

"Yeah," you laughed it off, "So do you have a partner yet? For the project, I mean?" You stuttered over your words a bit, albeit scared of the potential recegection coming your way.

"No, actually, I don't"

"Okay, cool... do you wanna work on it together? Maybe?"

'Here it comes' You thought 'He's gonna say no, laugh in your face and...'

"Sure."

'Oh. Well, that was easy.'

And I wake up in the middle of the night With the light on, and I feel like I could die 'Cause you're not here, and it don't feel right

It's 4:28am and you can't stop thinking about him. You woke up from your dream almost 30 minutes ago and haven't been able to get back to sleep.

This dream just messed everything up because now you've come to the conclusion that you're in love with Steve Harrington.

This wouldn't be your first time loving someone but it is your first time being in love. There's a difference. You tend to love rather quickly and when you love, you love hard.

It takes a while for you to stop loving someone. But you have a feeling things will be different this time.

You think about what it would feel like if he were with you in that moment. But he's not, and it sucks.

God, I'm actually invested Haven't even met him Watch this be the wrong thing, classic God, I'm jumpin' in the deep end It's more fun to swim in Heard the risk is drowning, but I'm gonna take it

A couple weeks into working on the project and you still barely knew anything about him. The only thing you both talked about was the project and how it's coming along. You were getting nowhere.

"Hey, what do you think about coming to my place today?"

You had been digging through your locker looking for a specific book for your next class when Steve came up to you and it's safe to say that his words shocked you.

"What?" you asked

"Do you want to come work on the project at my place today?" Although he didn't sound like it, he was nervous asking you to come over.

"Sure!"

'Maybe she is interested in me' he thought

His heart fluttered at the sight of your excited smile.

Isn't it fun thinkin' I'm right when I'm probably wrong? Holding my breath like I met someone Knowing damn well that I haven't been touched by you In my head, you're in the car, and you're comin' to me And you get to my door, and you can't even speak But I think that it's sweet, yeah, I think that you're sweet

You knew Steve was rich, but you didn't know he was this rich. Standing in front of his house you were a bit worried about what was to come.

Once you finally worked up the nerve, you lifted your fist to knock on his front door. Inside Steve had seen your car pull up and stood by the door waiting for you to knock.

When he finally heard it, he waited a few seconds, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

"Welcome..." he sighed "Sorry I don't know why I said that, that was weird, let me start over... hey."

You had a small smile on your face trying not to laugh. "Hi... can I come in?"

"Oh, yeah of course."

"Thanks," you let out a little giggle

You walked in and looked around in awe. His house was 2x the size of yours. "Your house is amazing," you whispered.

"Yeah, it's great I guess. It does get lonely sometimes but... anyways we should probably finish the project."

He walked you over to the dining room where he already had his textbook laid out. You both sat down, took out everything you needed, and got to work.

After an hour of working you had finally finished the project and it had only taken you about 3 weeks. Even though you were finished, Steve didn't want you to leave yet so he suggested having an early dinner.

"I wouldn't have pinned you as a cook, Harrington," you said with a small smirk on your face.

"Yeah, well when there's no one around to cook for you, there's only two options. I can cook for myself or get takeout, and I obviously have to stay healthy so takeout's not ideal. Gotta stay in shape for the ladies, you know?"

'Maybe he isn't interested in me' you thought

"The ladies. Right." you let out a nervous laugh.

Too soon to tell you "I love you" Too soon to tell you "I love you" Too soon to tell you "I love you"

Steve could tell you were nervous to tell him something. You were standing in front of him on his front porch unsure if you were ready to say what you wanted to say. But you knew you couldn't keep it in any longer.

It had been months since you both finished the project and you had become even closer than before.

Ever since that day at his house, you've fallen for him more and more each day. And even though it might be too soon, you have to tell him.

"Umm... can I talk to you?"

"Sure, come in." He said stepping out of the doorway to let you in. "So, what's up?"

"Uh, so, I just wanted to say that... you've been an amazing friend."

Steve let out the breath he was holding and sighed with disappointment. That is definitely not what he wanted to hear. The exact opposite actually, but he let you continue anyway.

"But I can't just pretend that that's all I want to be. I love you and I know it's probably too soon to be saying this but—"

Steve suddenly stepped forward and brought his hand up to cup your face which shut you up quickly.

“Is it ok if I kiss you?” he whispered

“I would like that very much.”

He leaned in and connected his lips with yours and, if it was even possible, you fell in love with him even more. The kiss was soft and tender, way different than what you thought it would be.

It was the first time your lips were meeting, but you immediately knew that it wouldn’t be the last.

Steve was the first to pull away and as much as he didn't want to he knew he had to.

"I love you too, by the way"

"Good"

“Are you sure Ms. Bote is nice?”

“Yes.”

“And that Mr. Cune won’t question the hat?”

“Yes, Dustin.”

“And you’re absolutely sure we have lunch together?”

“Yes.” You tighten the straps on your mary janes and give your brother an exasperated look. All morning he’s been freaking out about his first day of high school. You understand his fear, it’s scary starting at a new school, but you’ve answered all his questions a million times by now and Steve is supposed to be here any second. “We need to go, buddy.”

Dustin shoves a pancake into his mouth, wiping his face with the back of his hand in a disgusting manner. “Wait, but what about my backpack–”

“I have it, Dusty!” Your mother walks into the kitchen and hands it to him. She kisses his mess of curls and strokes your cheek. “Are my darlings ready for their first day of school?”

“No.” You and Dustin say at the same time, which your mother frowns at. 

Dustin adjusts his backpack and gives you an odd look. “Why are you nervous? It’s not like you’re being blindly thrown into a den of hormonal creatures out for blood. You’re old now, they’ll leave you alone!” 

“Trust me, the college admissions process is a worse monster than school bullies.” You grab your own backpack and start heading towards the front door. “I have to start planning what to write, I–I need more clubs, and projects, and–”

The anxiety overwhelms you. It always starts like this: talk about college, you fall down a hole of uncertainty and dread and fear. It’s been like this ever since Jonathan moved away. The minute the Byers moved, you threw yourself into preparing for college. Rationally, you know it’s your poor way of coping with all the sudden change in your life. You don’t need a psychological research journal to tell you that. In a futile attempt to control your future, you’ve become obsessed with college. 

New York University, specifically. 

Jonathan has always dreamed of attending, and when you met him, it became your dream, too. 

“Okay, dear. Settle down, now.” Your mother places a hand on your shoulder and laughs nervously. She has about five seconds before you collapse into a mess of college admissions rambling and despair. “Let’s go outside and find that wonderful Stevie!”

Your body is shoved out the front door alongside Dustin’s. Steve’s car is parked, he stands outside it, arms crossed and a grin on his face. Your body relaxes when you see him, the buzz of anxiety dims. He’s wearing his Family Video vest, the green makes his tanned skin glow.

“She’s doing it again.” Dustin tells him, tossing his backpack into the backseat.

Steve winces. He knows exactly what your brother is referring to. He’s been at the other end of far too many anxious phone calls at three in the morning. “College?”

“Yeah, she almost had a meltdown in the kitchen.”

“I can hear you both, you know.” Though you try to seem fine, keep up the annoyance, you stand next to Steve and rest your head on his shoulder anyways. He wraps an arm around you and kisses your forehead. 

Steve rubs your arm and makes a sympathetic noise. Your mother, seeing how he holds you, squeals. “Oh, stay just like that, hold on!”

“Mom, what–” But your mother ignores you and runs back inside the house. You look at Dustin, terrified. “She’s not…”

He shakes his head at you. He leans against the car next to you and crosses his arms, mimicking Steve’s earlier stance.  “She’s mom. Of course she is.”

“What are you guys talking about–” A flash of light momentarily blinds Steve, and he flinches. “Woah, alright.”

“Smile, kids!” Another camera flash, and your mother coos as you, Steve, and Dustin awkwardly shuffle into frame. It’s not that the three of you dislike being near the other, it’s the fact that it’s seven in the morning and neither you nor Dustin are ready for the day ahead. Steve smiles, though. “That’s it! Everyone say, ‘happy first day of school’!”

A mess of incoherent mumbling follows your mothers command, but she doesn’t let it bother her. She takes a million pictures, preens when she sees Steve smile even wider, and she has to hold back tears. Her babies are all grown up. Dustin is a freshman now, and you’re a senior.

“Alright, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve has to quickly blink, trying to regain his eyesight. He adores the woman, he knows he’s become her favorite, but he really needs to get you to school before his shift at Family Video starts. “I have no doubt you’ve already taken the best picture ever.”

“Aw, just one more–”

“Mom.” Dustin clears his throat, urging her to stop, and she sighs. 

Your mother kisses Dustin’s head, then yours, and wishes you a good first day before getting into her own car to drive to work. “Bye, kids!”

You all wave at her, and Steve opens the car door for you. Once you’re seated, he goes to the driver’s side and tells Dustin to get in the back. The engine starts, soft music plays from Steve’s radio, and soon the three of you are driving towards Hawkins high. 

“No Robin?” You ask Steve after a few minutes of silence. He’s grown rather close to the girl, working together all summer, so you had expected her to drive with you guys to school. When you and him officially got together, Robin made the two of you promise that you wouldn’t abandon her. It was an irrational fear, you love Robin dearly, but you made sure to spend time with her and Steve equally anyways. 

“She has band practice this morning,” Steve responds. “So it’s just me and the Hendersons today.”

Dustin shoves his head in between the two of you. His seatbelt strains against his chest, but he doesn’t care. He’s on a mission to get as much information as he possibly can. He refuses to go into high school blind and pathetic. “Steve, you were once popular.”

“Why the past tense? I mean, I’d consider myself still pretty well liked–”

“I need you to tell me what you did that led to your demise so I can avoid doing the same.”

You snort and Steve sighs. The kid really keeps him humble. He stops at a light, looks at Dustin through the rearview mirror, and shakes his head. “What makes you think it was anything I did?”

“Kid’s got a point,” you say from the passenger seat. Steve gives you an offended look and you raise your hands in surrender. “Hey, all I’m saying is that I also don’t really know what happened. You’ve got a track record of pissing off the wrong people. One minute you were King Steve, the next you were shunned.”

Steve groans. “You people have no faith in me.” He can feel you and Dustin staring at him, unbelieving. He hates when the two of you team up against him; it makes it harder for him to lie. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to tell you what happened. Not because he’s embarrassed, or ashamed, even. 

He knows it will only upset you. Reopen wounds. 

But you and Dustin keep staring at Steve and there’s still at least ten minutes left of the drive. Weighing his options, Steve figures it’s best if he just tells the truth. Like ripping off a bandaid, knowing the pain will be there regardless of how long you stall. “Okay, fine.” He scratches his nose, clears his throat. “It was, uh. Because of Billy.”

The temperature in the car drops. It’s suddenly ice cold. 

Dustin slowly leans back against his seat. Steve faces ahead, eyes on the road, but he watches you from his periphery. No one has mentioned Billy since his death, at least not in front of you or Max. 

Especially Max. 

They wait for you to react. To tense up, ball your hands into fists and wipe away tears. They expect the guilt you’ve barely kept hidden to resurface, but you don’t do any of that. Instead, you surprise them. “Can’t believe you let a mullet defeat you.”

Steve isn’t sure if he’s allowed to laugh at first, worried it’s some bizarre test of yours. But he sees the smile on your face, albeit forced and terse, but he knows you’re trying. So he plays along, relieved that you’re doing what you can. “I don’t know, I thought the mullet looked pretty good.”

“Get a mullet and see how fast I leave you.”

Dustin nods in agreement, Steve shakes his head with a laugh, and the temperature in the car returns. There’s still a slight chill in the air, there will always be a slight chill, but you pull your jacket tighter around you and ignore it. 

When you get to the school, Dustin stares at the hounds of teens all walking through the parking lot. He gulps, tightens his hands around his backpack, and you try to ease his apprehension. 

“Hey, look at me.” He does, and you extend your arm, offering a handshake. Dustin eyes you wearily, but reluctantly he shakes your hand. You nod at him, hand firm around his. “It’s just you and me. And Lucas. Max, too. Unfortunately, possibly Mike. Copy?”

“Copy.” Dustin releases your hand and salutes you. He pushes his hat down, takes a deep breath, and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Let’s go.”

“Good luck, little Henderson.” Steve salutes him as well before turning to you. He presses his lips to yours, hums, a soft smile on his face. “And good luck, angel.”

Ignoring Dustin’s dramatic gagging in the back, you squeeze Steve’s hand and smile back at him. “Thanks, honey. Have a good day at work.”

Dustin nearly falls out of the car with how fast he scrambles out of it. He’s about to ban all forms of physical affection between you and Steve. It’s disgusting. No one wants to see any of that. You follow after your brother and exit the car.

You only make it a few feet before Steve rolls down the car window and shouts, “I love you!”

A few students in the parking lot turn, and their faces contort into shock when they see none other than Steve Harrington. He waves at them, cocky as always, and you’re both mortified and so in love. He may have lost his crown, but he will always be the king. While Dustin ducks his head down in embarrassment, you wink at Steve. “I love you, too!”

“You’re going to be the reason I end up getting thrown into a dumpster on my first day.”

“Aw, is Dusty-bun jealous?”

“Go die.”

–

The entire day it feels like you’re missing something. 

When you get to homeroom, there isn’t a seat saved for you at the front. When the physics teacher drops his chalk five times within the first five minutes, there isn’t anyone to tease you for your poorly contained snicker. In the library, you’re forced to sit in a corner because there’s no one to share the plush sofa with. 

There’s no one who whispers answers to you during calculus. No one who hooks their foot around your desk’s leg. No one who doodles in your notebook just to get you to laugh. 

Jonathan’s absence is palpable. 

You knew it would feel weird, starting senior year without him, but you didn’t think it’d feel so lonely, either. Empty. Unfinished. 

By the time lunch comes, you’re slowly losing your mind. You need someone to talk to. Robin and Nancy don’t share any classes with you, Jonathan had been your only real friend at Hawkins, and now you’re paying the price. 

You’re the first one at the lunch table, which you figure is a good thing. Earlier in the week you and the party had all agreed to sit together at lunch, you’d been excited to finally share the same school building as them. However, you hadn’t wanted to hover over them. You wanted them to branch out, meet new people, so lunch was your agreed upon time with them. 

The lunch room fills with students and you wait anxiously for the rest of the party. You’re excited to see them, ask how their days are going, maybe even gossip about the freshmen, but when they arrive it’s almost as if a tornado rips right through you. 

“There you are!” Dustin finds you first and slides into the seat next to you, nearly causing you to face plant into the ground. “Look, we gotta talk.”

You frown. “Okay, is everything–”

“We can’t stay and eat.” Mike cuts to the chase, not even bothering to sit down. Lucas stands behind him, quiet and nervous.

“What, why?”

“Eddie Munson wants to meet us.” Dustin says the boy’s name as if you should know him. But you don’t, and now you’re really confused. What does he have to do with any of this?

“Eddie…?”

Mike rolls his eyes at you. “Eddie Munson, Hellfire club, DnD?” When he sees that nothing he’s saying makes any sense to you, he huffs. “Seriously, do you not know anything?”

You throw a chip at him, hurt. “I was in choir, not some stupid DnD club.”

“Hellfire club isn’t stupid–”

“Anyways!” Dustin cuts the fight short. There isn’t time for you and Mike to argue right now. “Eddie is the dungeon master, and he’s recruiting us to join his party! We–we gotta go and meet him, Y/N. He doesn’t just let plebe freshmen like us join.”

“He’s legendary.” Mike says, and sadly you know he means it. It’s not often someone has the boy’s full admiration. Mike is hard to impress, and this Eddie guy seems to have him wrapped around his finger already.

Dustin stares up at you, eyes pleading to understand, and you know you can’t ruin this for him. Only hours ago he had been terrified of his first day, and now he’s almost vibrating with excitement over the possibility of joining some club. There will be people there like him, others interested in what he loves, and you can’t let your own loneliness ruin that. 

“Well,” you clear your throat, try to appear excited for the boys. “Go see Eddie, then.”

“You sure?” Dustin doesn’t want to just leave, he knows you were looking forward to lunch today. He’ll stay if you need him to, he’s sure Mike can talk his way in with Eddie. 

You smile at him, force your voice to be light. They’re growing up. You all are. “I’m sure, it’s your first day. You’re supposed to be joining a bunch of clubs, it’s a good way to make friends. I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

Dustin isn’t entirely convinced, but Mike has already grabbed his arm to go and find Eddie. He turns to Lucas, beckons him to follow. “C’mon, dude.”

“I’ll-uh. Follow in a sec.” Mike gives him an odd look, but Lucas is already sitting down next to you. Seeing this, Mike gives up and leaves with Dustin. As soon as they’re gone, Lucas lowers his voice and leans in close to you. “Hey, do you, uh. Know Jason Carver?”

The scent of chocolate ice cream infiltrates your nose, the sound of it colliding into the teen’s pants rings in your ears. The memory of it is tangible, and you have to hold back a laugh. Yeah, you know Jason Carver. “I mean, we aren’t friends, but we know each other. Why?”

“Do you…” Lucas looks around, making sure Mike and Dustin really are gone, before he continues. “Do you think he’d let me join the basketball team?”

You’re surprised. Sure, Lucas has always shown an interest in the sport. He plays with Steve sometimes, they trade cards, but you didn’t think he’d be interested in the school’s team. “Oh.” Then, you realize why he’s stayed behind. “You don’t want to join Hellfire, do you?”

“I know I’m just a freshman, and–and Mike would probably call me dumb for wanting to even try out, but. I don’t know. I think… I think I could be really good on the team. Might make high school easier.”

“Then you should go for it,” you reassure Lucas. He’s always been so careful to not upset others. He’s loyal, down to his very core, you understand the fear that doing something for yourself brings. “Jason isn’t so bad. A bit much, but kind. He’s a team player, and I think they'd be lucky to have someone like you.”

Lucas smiles shyly at you. “Really?”

“Really. Now, go and find the guy. Ask him when try-outs are, and I’ll talk to Steve about practicing more with you. How’s that sound?”

“You’re the best!” Lucas gives you a quick hug, already getting out of his seat, and runs right into Max. They collide, he manages to save her from falling, and he laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, you okay?”

Max nods, silent, and immediately you and Lucas know that today is one of her bad days. Her eyes are sunken in, it doesn’t look like she got any sleep last night. She sits down next to you, and you nod at Lucas, signaling to him that it’s okay if he leaves. You’ll take care of her. 

Lucas hesitates, unsure, but reluctantly leaves when you nod at him once more, urging. If it was anyone else, he would stay, but it’s you. Besides Lucas, you’re the only other person Max talks to. You’ll stay with her, Lucas deserves to go and branch out like Mike and Dustin are.

“So, did you know about Lucas wanting to join the basketball team?” You turn to Max once the boy has left. She shrugs, picks at the food in front of her. It’s the most response you’ll get from her, and you sigh. “You don’t want to be here either, do you?”

She looks up at you, alarmed that you caught on so fast, and you just shake your head at her. You dig into your backpack, take out some cookies you baked the night before. They were supposed to be for all the kids today, but they’ve all left and Max needs them more right now. “Here, take these. Go to the left stairwell, next to the choir room. No one goes there during lunch, it’s quiet.”

“Thank you,” Max exhales with relief, taking the baked goods from you. Tears lump in her throat, she doesn’t know how you always manage to do this. To see through her, always say the right thing. 

“Of course, my dear.” You risk touching her face, she’s cold, but she closes her eyes and breathes in at the comfort. “I expect to see you at Bookstrordinary after school today, though.”

Somehow Max laughs, and the action hurts her to do so. It’s becoming harder and harder to bear the sound of her own happiness. But she nods at you, understanding that it’s an order she can’t disobey, and leaves. 

Then it’s just you at the lunch table. Alone. 

Nancy is at yearbook, she’s told you all about her grand plan of reforming the club into something more than just homecoming polls and gossip panels. Robin is at yet another band practice, preparing for the annual back to school pep rally later this week. Steve is at Family Video, bored out of his mind, both of you wishing he were here instead. 

And Jonathan is across the country, at an entirely different school, aching to be near you again. 

The thought of him in California only intensifies the loneliness that you feel. The feeling overwhelms you, and before it can swallow you whole, you dig through your backpack once more. Your fingers shake as you rustle through the notebooks and textbooks, and they clutch desperately at your walkman when you finally find it. The mixtape Jonathan made for you before he left sits within it. 

You quickly place the headphones over your head, muffling the sounds of the cafeteria around you. Your fingers find the play button with practiced ease, and soon the beginning notes of the Beatles play through the wire and into your headphones.

The song soothes you, it quiets what you don’t want to hear; it makes you smile. The mixtape is all you’ve been listening to ever since Jonathan left. Though it can never replace his presence, it’s enough for now. 

You stare at the empty seats around you. John Lennon’s voice floats through your ears. 

Welcome to senior year.

– 

Miraculously, it’s Nancy you lean on the most as the autumn leaves turn orange and the summer’s heat dies down. She finds you later during your first week, grabbing lunch from your locker, and she stops you. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to spend another lunch alone.” Nancy has never been one to greet someone. She always gets straight to the point, a quality that you normally admire.

However, you feel embarrassment rise within you, slightly off put by the cruel words. Sure, you’re not necessarily thrilled that you’ve spent your first few days of senior year alone, but you didn’t need Nancy reminding you of that. “Hello to you too, Nance.”

“Shit, I didn’t mean to offend you.” She holds her notebook close to her chest and looks down in shame. It’s weird, there’s a distance between you that has only seemed to widen despite how hard the two of you try to bridge it. For a while things were good, great, even. She was genuinely your friend, but sometimes insecurities can hurt the ones people love the most. 

“Not really sure how I was meant to take that.” You close your locker and try to excuse yourself. You’re exhausted, you hardly slept the night before. “Look, I should go. I stayed up all night working on stupid college applications and I just… I’m tired.”

Nancy’s posture straightens, eager to grab onto any opportunity to amend things with you. “I can read over whatever you have.” When you raise your eyebrows at her, she quickly backtracks, worried she’s overstepped. “I–I mean, that is, if you want. Not that you need the help! It’s just–”

She forces herself to stop. She’s rushing her words, messing it all up. Her shoulders drop, Nancy takes a deep breath and looks you in the eye. She never apologized for her words earlier this summer. The way she sneered venom at you, but she’s carried the guilt of it ever since. “I’m… trying. I promise I am.”

Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers have never handled vulnerability well. It’s what made you stand out against them, set you apart, and you can’t help but find this quality in them endearing. You know that Nancy is trying to go back to how things were, before one phone call between the two of you revealed the unspoken resentment she held. 

You never blamed her for any of it. But you know she blames herself, and Jonathan’s absence doesn’t help; both of you miss him, neither of you can afford to lose anyone else. 

So you try as well.

“I’ll let you read over what I have only if you let me read what you’ve written as well.” You nudge her shoulder with yours, getting her to finally smile. “I’m curious to see what that brain of yours has thought of already.”

Nancy laughs, relieved. “Definitely nothing as creative as whatever you’ve written.”

“We’ll see about that, Wheeler.”

Soon you find yourself in the yearbook room. Nancy introduces you to some kid named Fred, who moons over her the entire time you’re there, though she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy reading through your ideas, and you find yourself admiring her side profile. The way her eyelashes kiss her brows, the soft cherry on her lips.

Nancy is beautiful. You understand how Jonathan and Fred and Steve and countless other guys in Hawkins have lost their minds over her. 

You read through portions of Nancy’s writing, and the two of you sit quietly side by side editing the essays. She marks some things down, crosses out some lines, and you do the same. It’s lovely, being by her side again. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed her following the events of this summer. 

“So, New York University, huh?” Nancy eventually breaks the silence.

You nod, humming as you skim over a line that you particularly like. Circling it, you respond. “Yeah, it’s been my dream school ever since I was young.”

Though you’re applying to other schools as well. A few state schools, some in Virginia, close to your father. But New York is truly where you hope you’ll be next fall.

“Jonathan mentioned that you like psychology, right?”

“Yup,” you cross out an extra word. “Particularly child psychology. Figured that after everything we’ve been through, especially the kids, it’d be useful if at least one of us has any idea what’s going on inside our minds.”

Nancy chuckles. “Fair.”

It falls quiet again, but you don’t want the peace to end. “I heard from Jonathan that you’re looking into Emerson.”

“He tells you everything, doesn’t he?” Though this time Nancy’s question is asked with fondness, slight exasperation and humor mixed in.

“Mhm, we’re a package deal. You tell one of us something, then the other is bound to know eventually.” You look up at Nancy and lightly touch her arm. “Though he still keeps some things from me when it comes to you, don’t worry.”

She laughs again, and finally you allow the silence to settle upon you. It’s a comfortable one. There isn’t a tension underlying it. For the first time in a long time, you’re able to simply sit next to Nancy and feel that she wants you there with her. 

After that day, you and Nancy spend almost every lunch period helping each other with your applications. 

Steve helps you, too. In his own ways. 

While he can’t help you write the essays, he lets you call him at two in the morning to rattle off application ideas so you won’t forget them. He doesn’t complain when you wake him up and he has an early shift the next day. Instead, he listens. Steve offers you his own tired input and indulges in whatever you need to feel that you’ll succeed; he’s the most doting, patient boyfriend you could ever ask for. 

And, secretly, Steve adores it. Especially when you call him some nights just to have him come over and hold you. 

Those are his favorite nights. Tonight is one of them.

“Why does college exist?” Your cheek is pressed against Steve’s chest as you lay in your bed together. The steady rise and fall of his breathing is melodic. 

He plays with a strand of your hair, you feel him shrug. “‘Dunno, but you’re almost done.”

“Yeah, just have one more application to send before I get to spend four agonizing months waiting to find out if I even get in. How fun.” Sarcasm drips from your lips. You’ve spent the last two months obsessing over it all, which words to write in your essays, which clubs to join, which teachers to beg for recommendation letters. 

And now you have one application left. Then you’ll be forced to wait, without any control of the inevitable outcome. 

You’ve never been someone comfortable with letting go of control. 

“Everything will be fine, angel. NYU would be stupid not to let you in.” Steve reassures you with a kiss to your temple, then to your cheek, the tip of your nose, the dip of your brows. As he kisses you, he envisions doing this a year from now, in a small, rundown apartment with sirens wailing outside and a fire escape that creaks in the wind. The song of New York City. 

Eventually Steve’s lips will find yours, and the conversation will be long forgotten. It’s how most of your nights end now, lost in the kisses as his breath mixes with yours. Hands will wander. Sighs will leave parted mouths. Quiet, soft, aware of the precariously thin walls. 

You haven't slept with Steve, at least not yet. Though you’ve been together a few months now, it still feels too soon. He’s your first boyfriend, your first kiss, your first real love, and Steve doesn’t want to rush you. If all you ever do together is lazily kiss and breathe each other in, then Steve will happily part your lips with his and draw soft sighs out from you.

In the morning you’ll awake with Steve’s lips on your neck, his eyes shining up at you, and in the morning sunlight, before you’ve fully woken up, the air between you is sacred. 

–

“I sent in my final application,” you’re whispering, not wanting to wake up your mom who has fallen asleep on the couch. It’s nearly midnight in Indiana, but in California it’s only nine and Jonathan has just finished his school work for the night. “NYU, it’s done.”

On the other end you hear shuffling as Jonathan leans against his kitchen wall. Will sits at the table with El, he sketches the early stages of a painting and she studies grammar. Jonathan watches them, his mom is in bed, and he forgets for a moment that he’s on the phone with you.

“Bee?” You say the childhood name so softly, so tenderly with concern, and it brings Jonathan back to himself. 

“I’m here, sorry.” He clears his throat, his head is still slightly muffled. Jonathan met a guy in woodshop this week, his name is Argyle, and somehow during lunch he found himself in the back of the guy’s van with a blunt hanging loosely from his lips. The smoke dulled the ache of missing Nancy, of missing you. Jonathan can’t tell you this, though. You’d kill him, and he hates disappointing you. “What were you saying?”

You frown slightly, he sounds different. There’s something in his voice, it’s raspy and he sounds distant. The sound is lonely, he sounds lonely. Jonathan isn’t really here, despite the fact that he’s talking to you. The last few phone calls have been like this. You don’t know what to do.  

When Jonathan left, the two of you promised to call each other every Friday, a compromise. A way to create distance, yet tether you to each other. Jonathan calls you every Friday, Nancy gets him every day the rest of the week, and it works. This is how it’s always been ever since early September.

At first you guys would talk about how your weeks had gone. Jonathan would complain about the California heat and you would tell him about how Mike and Lucas had crashed your date with Steve one night. Laughter would float over the telephone lines. Teasing, whispered “I miss you’s” and spoken goodbyes with the promise of talking again next week. 

But last week when you called, the teasing was gone. The laughter was minimal. You had complained about an exam that day and Jonathan had given one word responses that had worried you. It had been odd, but you thought that maybe he’d been tired that day. Everyone has a bad day, you know this.

Yet it’s Friday again and Jonathan couldn’t feel farther away from you.

“I mailed my NYU application in, bee. You send in yours yet?” Voice light, cheery. You do what you can to try and keep him afloat. You try to grasp at the good that’s left between you. Remind Jonathan that you’re right here, still with him, without scaring him away. “You remember our plan, right? Me and you in New York, together.”

Since you were kids the plan has always been to go to college together. Back then, neither of you could fathom a reason to ever be apart. You were invincible, the same way all kids think they are before the world tells them otherwise. 

But you and Jonathan aren’t invincible, you never were. 

You can hear the way your question suffocates him. The breath that he holds, stilted and torn, suffocates you as well. 

Nausea punches Jonathan, the smoke from earlier suddenly fogs his throat. He doesn’t know what to do. Nancy wants him to go to Emerson with her, he promised you NYU when he was twelve, and California has his mother and Will.

“Yeah, yeah. I–I mean, I sent mine in. Last week.”

Jonathan is lying. You’ve known him for almost six years; he always stumbles over his words when he lies.  

Part of you wants to ask him why he’s doing this, lying to you and pulling away. Another part of you, the larger, more naive part, doesn’t want to believe it. You clear your throat, swallow down the hurt, and choose naivety. “Oh,” your tone is too pinched, too put together. You clear your throat again. “That’s–that’s great! I, um. Surprised you didn’t read the essays to me. Have me edit them, like we’ve always done.”

Jonathan leans his head against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s never been able to lie to you, he knows you’re desperately trying to overcompensate, as you always do. He hates it. He hates himself. “Yeah, well. Got excited, I guess.”

You hum, words failing you, and the line goes silent.

Dread replaces the laughter that night.

– 

Before you know it, it’s Halloween and the party has infiltrated Steve’s house. 

The holiday falls on a Saturday, and the party deems itself too old to trick or treat. When they find out that Steve’s parents won’t be home that weekend, they demand to spend the night at his house and watch horror movies.

Steve fights back, complains that he doesn’t want them taking over his living room, but his complaints fall on deaf ears. That, and Dustin ropes Robin into their plans. 

“Oh, God. Don’t open the door!” Dustin shrieks, throwing popcorn at Steve’s TV as he covers his eyes with a blanket. He cowers against Lucas, who shoves him off, and Mike snickers. Max sits on the couch, outside of their fort, and watches the boys. None of them try to get her to sit with them. They know they’re lucky that she even showed in the first place. 

“I can’t look.” Robin’s voice carries over, you can almost picture her cringing as she holds a pillow to her chest. Mike chose a particularly gory movie, and the kid’s mind frightens her.

A loud crash sounds, then a woman screams. You figure the protagonist did open the door and has now died, though you can’t be sure. You’re in the kitchen with Steve, taking out the final batch of oatmeal raisin cookies from the oven. The smell wafts through the home, bringing warmth to a house that Steve has always found cold, and he places his hands on your hips. 

“You spoil the kids too much,” he presses his nose against your cheek and kisses you. “They invade my home and you bake them delicious goods.”

You set the tray of cookies down onto the counter. “As if the cookies aren’t for you, too.”

“That isn’t important. We’re focusing on my hostage house, Y/N.”

“‘Hostage house’, quite the alliteration there.”

Steve now kisses your neck, distracting you as you plate the cookies. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.” 

“Don’t make me come in there!” Dustin screams, and Robin echoes him with her own disgusted yelling. 

You laugh at their theatrics while Steve rolls his eyes. He really hates that his house has become the party’s source of entertainment. He just wants to compliment his beautiful girlfriend in peace. Who would punish a guy for that?

In his moping Steve almost misses you walking back into the living room. He follows, stumbles over his feet, never wanting to be more than a few inches away from you. You’re magnetic, always pulling him in. 

Mike is the first to grab a handful of cookies. Lucas and Dustin follow quickly after. They shove the food into their mouths and you scoff at their lack of manners. They’re such boys, growing taller every day, and they’re just as disgusting as they were when they were kids. 

“Want one, Max?” You hold the plate up to her, noticing that she hasn’t moved from her seat. She shakes her head at you, eyes never leaving the screen. Lucas and you share a look, the same concerned expression on your faces. 

The moment is broken by Robin, who grabs a cookie and practically melts. “Holy shit, Y/N. You bake these regularly?”

“Usually once a week,” you shrug at her. “Though I once baked six batches during finals week.”

“God, that was a good week.” Dustin hums, lost in the blissful memory.

Robin grabs your arm, eyes wide with enthusiasm. “I will give you my firstborn child in exchange for my own batch of cookies.”

Steve pokes her shoulder. “You already promised your firstborn to me after I agreed to cover your weekend shift.”

“I can have twins.”

You laugh at her. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

Robin sticks her tongue out at you, causing you to laugh even more, and Mike puts the next movie on. Everyone settles back down, you lay with Steve in the lovechair with Robin in front of you. Max has the couch to herself, the boys are sprawled on the floor in a mess of pillows and blankets, and for the first time in months you feel a certain warmth having your family together. 

Sometime during the night the clock strikes twelve. 

It’s November 1st, 1985. 

Steve’s nineteenth birthday. 

Robin snores softly on the ground, arm underneath her head as a makeshift pillow. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas are all curled up against one another, their faces young again. Max sleeps softly on the couch, her hand dangles over the edge, grazing Lucas’ outstretched arm and open palm. 

Steve lays beneath you, he isn’t quite asleep yet. You’ve come to learn the rhythm of his breaths as he sleeps. The way they slow, the pattern steady. You lift your head up, wanting to admire him, and find that he’s already looking at you. 

“Hi, angel.” He whispers, smiling sweetly. 

You smile back, you always smile back at him. “Hi, honey.” Doing your best to remain quiet, you crawl up the length of Steve and nuzzle your way into his neck. You kiss the dip just above his collarbone, causing him to shiver. “Happy birthday.”

Arms encase you, pull you deeper into the body you lay on. Steve’s body heat warms your face, warms your bones, and you wish you could stay like this forever. In Steve’s arms, the scent of him overwhelming your mind, his touch calming you. 

“Thank you,” he kisses the top of your head. He lingers, his lips soft. The two of you stay like this, his head against yours, your chin tucked into the alcove of his neck. Your breathing syncs with his, his fingers trail up and down your spine. Your fingers splay over his chest, warming his ribs. 

In the morning, Max wakes everyone up. 

“My mom will be worried,” she kicks Mike, nudges Lucas’ shoulder. “Wake up, idiots.” 

Steve groans, squinting his eyes against the morning light. He tries to roll over and block it out and nearly shoves you off the seat in the process. “Steve!” He manages to catch you in his sleepy state, but his movements are slow. 

“Sorry!”

You clutch your chest, heart pounding. “You’ve done that way too many times now. I’m starting to think you want to throw me onto the ground.”

“Lucas once promised he could catch me if I jumped into his arms.” Max says, then she points to a scar on her knee. “Turned out he couldn’t.” 

“Hey!” Lucas sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I really thought I could do it.”

Mike stretches. “Your fault for trusting him, Max.”

Lucas shoves him and the two start to wrestle on the floor. They’re a tangle of lanky limbs, knocking into Dustin who still hasn’t woken up yet. They roll on top of the boy, and he wakes up to Lucas’ knee in his face. “What the hell?”

Dustin joins the fighting now, and Robin throws a pillow at them. “Guys! It’s too early for this!”

They don’t listen. 

It takes a lot of pleading, negotiating, and bribes in order to break the fight up. It takes even longer to wrangle the kids out of Steve’s home, much to his dismay. They leave a mess of strewn popcorn all over the carpet and pillows missing feathers. You stay behind, offering to help clean the mess, and Robin rushes out an apology and happy birthday to Steve as she runs out the door to get to work. 

Soon it’s just you and Steve. You work around one another, anticipating each other’s next move, never getting in the way. Soft music plays from the record player that sits in the den. Steve puts on one of his father’s old records, gentle rock and delicate jazz. You hum to yourself, he hums with you, and it’s a peaceful morning.

Until Richard and May Harrington walk in.

Neither of you notice them at first. Steve is too busy spinning you around, playfully dipping you as the music comes to a grand crescendo. You’re laughing breathlessly, but soon your laughter turns into a yelp when Steve sees his parents standing in the doorway and drops you.

“Dad!” Steve immediately bends down to pick you up, endlessly apologetic. He ducks his head, eyes on you, though his body doesn’t turn from his father. “I’m sorry, angel. You alright?”

You reassure your boyfriend that you’re fine, more worried about the fact that you’re dressed in clothes from yesterday with horrendous bedhead meeting his parents for the first time. Richard eyes you in Steve’s arms. He has a look of disinterest on his face. “Son.”

“What, uh.” Steve clears his throat, curls a protective arm around your waist. He didn’t mean for this to happen. His parents were supposed to be gone until Tuesday. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” 

“Right.”

Father and son stand in front of one another. Neither speaks. Steve feels like a little boy again, scrutinized underneath his father’s intense gaze. Never good enough. Never worthy of anything other than berating and lectures. 

You wring your hands nervously, unsure what to do. The air is thick. Steve looks so much like his father, it’s almost uncanny. They have the same build, the same moles that dot along their handsome faces. Only his father is dressed in a suit, the lines in his face are hard, weathered. He’s who you picture Steve would’ve been, in a different universe where you were never his friend. 

May Harrington gave her son all of her delicate features. The soft turn of his nose. The plush, pink lips. His doe eyes, his smile. The only feature that separates her from her son is her honey blonde hair. She’s beautiful, elegant and poised, and when she steps towards you, you can smell lavender perfume. “You must be Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Harrington.” You’re quick to meet her where she stands. You’re nervous, you have to discreetly wipe your hand on your pants before shaking hers. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. Your banana bread is lovely.”

The woman smiles, it’s so much like Steve’s that you want to cry. “Thank you, dear.”

“Of course, and I apologize for meeting like this. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Richard makes a mean, gruff sound. He shakes his head, steps next to his wife. He doesn’t like you, you can feel it by the way he blocks his wife’s view of you. “Oh, no. I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Dad–” Steve steps forward as well, blocking his father’s view of you. He’s angry, his shoulder blades close together. He doesn’t like how the man is treating you; you’re too good for such cruelty.

“What did I tell you about bringing your hookups to the house, son?” Richard sneers, turning his nose up at you. That’s all he sees you as. Just another one of Steve’s flings, one of the girls from his past. 

“Y/N is not just some hookup,” Steve clenches his jaw, tries to steady his breathing. He doesn’t want to fight with his dad in front of you. Not when he was having such a good morning, spending his birthday with your hands wrapped around his neck and your giggles singing in his ears. “She’s my girlfriend, and I love her.”

Richard chuckles, he doesn’t believe his son. “Okay, you love her. I’m sure your mother and I will walk in on you with some new girl next week.”

“Dear,” May places a hand on her husband’s shoulder. She sees the way you shrink into yourself at the man’s words. The insecurity that he brings. She sees how her son’s eyes ignite with fury, she watches as he does whatever he can to put the flame out for her sake and your’s. “It’s Steve’s birthday today.”

“Is that why you insisted on coming home today?” Richard turns to her, she has his full attention now. His eyebrows are drawn together, annoyance paints his body. “You told me you had a board meeting tonight.” 

“Why don’t we talk about this upstairs?” May suggests, relieved that she’s turned her husband’s anger onto herself rather than her son. Richard sighs, but he doesn’t argue as he marches up the stairs without so much as a second glance towards you. When he’s gone, May smiles at you sympathetically. “I apologize for my husband’s behavior. We had a long flight, I’m sure he’s simply jetlagged.” 

“Yeah, that’s why he’s such an asshole.” Steve scoffs, tired of his mother’s excuses for her husband. He can be cruel to Steve, he doesn’t care. He’s been cruel to him his entire life. But if his father so much as breathes near you again, Steve will hurt him. 

Your hand reaches for Steve’s, sensing what he’s thinking. You return May’s smile, you’re not at all angry with her. “It’s okay, really. I was an unexpected guest, and I should go.”

Steve pulls you into his chest. “What, no–”

“You may leave, if you’d like.” His mother gently interrupts him. “Though I must admit, I really do wish to know you better. If you’d allow me to, that is.”

“I’d love that more than anything.”

“Then I will plan a dinner for the next time my husband and I are in town.” May tells you, admiring your honesty. She can see why Steve has become so infatuated with you. There’s nothing hidden within you; you wear your heart on your sleeve, your sincerity a welcomed rarity. She turns to her son, rests her palm delicately against his face. “Happy birthday, my beautiful boy.”

Steve leans into her touch, weak for his mother as any son is. You turn away, it doesn’t feel right to watch this moment between them. 

In the car Steve profusely apologizes for his father’s behavior. Over and over again, he laments how sorry he is and that you’re more than just some fling to him. “You’re everything to me, angel. I love you so, so much.”

“I know, honey.” You grab his hand that rests against the stick shift. His father’s words had hurt, but you knew that they weren’t true. Steve is your’s, he has been for longer than either of you realize. Nothing will ever undo the love he has for you, the foundation of trust it was built upon. “You’re everything to me, too.”

When Steve pulls into your driveway, you tell him to park and come inside. His birthday gift is in your room. You had planned to give it to him later tonight, but his parents’ unexpected arrival had soured things. “I know you have to go home, but…”

“I’ll never say no to you.” Steve’s already unbuckling his seatbelt to follow you inside. He greets your mother with a kiss to her cheek, ruffles Dustin’s hair as he sits at the dining table doing homework. His movements are easy, leisurely. You notice now how at home he is in yours, far from the boy who cowered before his father only twenty minutes ago. The realization is bittersweet. He deserves to feel at home in his own house, not just yours. 

Inside your room Steve sits on your bed and holds his hand out, eager. “Okay, wow me, Henderson.”

“You really know how to talk to a woman.” You tease him, rustling through your drawer to find the gift you’ve hidden. Steve is nosy, he’s been trying to find his gift for at least two weeks now. When you’ve found it, you clutch the gift in your hand and hold it behind your back. “Alright, you know the drill by now. Close your eyes.”

Steve complies with a smirk, biting back suggestive comments. He loves this tradition with you, making the other close their eyes before their gift. Something light is placed in Steve’s hand. It’s circular, sturdy. He thinks he can smell leather.

“Okay, open.”

In his hand is a bracelet. It’s a simple strip of leather, nothing embellishes it besides a button to secure it. Though it’s plain, Steve can tell that it’s expensive. The leather is supple, its color is dark and polished. The silver button that clasps the two ends together is heavy.

He loves it, he does, but he can’t help feeling like that there must be something more to it.

As if reading his mind, you gently prompt Steve to turn it over in his hands. “Look what’s on the inside, honey.”

He does, and his heart stops.

The leather has been stamped. The word constants is spelled out across the length of the band. It’s a hidden message, only for Steve to know, and while he’s sure you have your own explanation for why you chose the word constants, he loves it already. “Oh.”

You sit next to him and laugh softly. “You’re my constant, Steve. Everything in my life has changed, or will change, but you… You’ve always been there, I know you’ll always be there. With me. My love, my lucky charm, my constant.”

Tears well in Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t bother wiping them away, too busy admiring the bracelet in his hand. He can’t believe you’re real, that you’ve thought of this for him. That you see a future with him… It’s everything he could’ve asked for. A security he’s always longed to have. His entire life he’s been told he’s too much, too overwhelming, and yet you want him to stay anyways. 

“And you’re my constant?” He asks you, fingers grazing over the letters again.

You nudge his shoulder with yours. “Well, I’d like to think that I am.”

He laughs, wet and full of love, and he can’t take it anymore. Steve throws his arms over you and you collapse into your bed, laughing together as he presses his lips wherever they can reach. 

“You are,” he says in between kisses. Your laughter lights him. “You’re my constant, too.”

–

The autumn leaves fall and the trees are barren as winter arrives. 

You spend winter break trying to maintain your promise to Joyce. After finishing the hell that was applying to college, you have so much unexpected free time that at first you don't know what to do. But then her words echo in your mind, the promise to live the life that you deserve, so you start doing things for yourself.

Slowly you read through all the books in your room that you hadn't had time for before. You start running again in the mornings, the winter air crisp in your lungs. You and Dustin do homework together at the kitchen table, making sure neither of you get left behind. You try new recipes to bake, delivering the treats to the ones you love. It’s nice, rediscovering the pleasures you once had long before the Upside Down came into your life. 

Christmas comes and you do your annual rounds, delivering everyone’s favorite treats on Christmas Eve. It’s during your run to the Sinclair home that Lucas asks you to come inside to talk. 

“What’s up?” You ask him, unwrapping your scarf and warming your hands in your sleeves. Lucas gestures to his kitchen table, silently asking you to sit. When you do, he takes a deep breath and joins you. 

Something’s bothering him. You can see it in the way he carries a weight on his shoulders. How they droop as he sits, exhausted. You reach across the table and grab his hand, offering whatever comfort you can give him. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

“It’s…” Lucas purses his lips, his breath shakes. “It’s Max. I’m–I’m worried about her.”

He tells you everything. He tells you how distant she’s been, more than she’s ever been before. He tells you how she’s missed dates he’s planned for her, how she refuses to talk to him anymore. She hasn’t been to any of the party’s hangouts, Mike and Dustin haven’t seen her ever since winter break started.

Max has had bad days, weeks, even months since losing Billy. But she’s never had the bad days without at least one good day following. To break the monotonous cycle of self-loathing and grief and guilt. She would always come back, even if for a moment, alive and bright and reminiscent of the girl had been. 

“I can feel her slipping away,” Lucas looks down at the table. He’s afraid that if he looks at you then he’ll start crying. He doesn’t want you to worry, he knows how much you already deal with and do for them, but he’s terrified. “I know… I know that you helped Will, after he was flayed. Do you think you could maybe talk to Max? Just… Remind her that we’re here for her? I can’t–I can’t lose her.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours, trying to stem the stream of tears he fought so hard to force down. Lucas loves Max with everything within him. Anyone can see that. You’d do anything to bring the girl back to him, to bring her back to all of you. “I’ll talk to her.”

I’ll keep an eye on her. Watch her when you can’t. 

Lucas hears it. He exhales, nods his head.

You leave. Max was the next one on your list of deliveries anyways. 

It’s nearing dusk by the time you get to the trailer park. You haven’t seen Max’s new home, she’s only recently moved. She had been too embarrassed to tell anyone that her mother lost their old house. The only reason you even know she moved in the first place is because Lucas and Dustin stalked her walking home. 

A dog barks as you bike past. Snow has started to fall, tomorrow will be a white Christmas.

“Oh, hello, Y/N.” Susan Hargrove’s skin is pale, her eyes sunken in when she answers the door. Her voice is thin, her frame is strained. The death has been hard on her, too. Billy’s father leaving only made everything worse. 

“Hi, Mrs. Hargrove.”

The woman winces. “Please, Mayfield will be fine.”

You immediately correct yourself, apologetic and ashamed, when Max’s voice calls from within the home. “Just let Y/N in, mom.”

Susan sighs, and you wish you could do more. Instead, all you can offer her is the container of coconut bites you’ve made for them. Max told you they remind her and her mother of California, and you always make sure to have some ready every week for them. Offer some semblance of joy in the gray of their lives.

Max sits at the kitchen table. Her head is down as she works on something. She has her walkman next to her. Susan leaves the two of you alone, excusing herself to go lay down after a long shift. 

You sit next to the girl and take a deep breath. This won’t be easy. Max is prideful, stubbornly independent, and has never accepted sympathy from anyone. You’ve always admired her fiery personality, but the fire has dimmed and the smoke is beginning to choke her. Talking to her will be like pulling teeth out. 

“Brought you your favorites.” You shake the container in your hands. It serves as a peace offering, almost a bribe to start the conversation. 

“Thanks.” Max doesn’t look up. 

You swallow, tuck your hair behind your ears. “Of course. I was doing my usual delivery rounds. I, uh. Stopped at the Sinclair’s.”

The pencil in Max’s hand freezes. Her knuckles tighten, though the shift is subtle. She’s always been too smart for her own good. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Erica likes my brownies. Mrs. Sinclair, too.”

“And Lucas?” She knows why you’re here.

“I made him chocolate chip cookies. You know how much he loves them.” Max doesn’t respond. Of course she knows how much Lucas enjoys chocolate chip cookies. She knows everything about him, but she doesn’t say anything and goes back to writing. Faintly you hear music coming from the walkman. You point at the device. “New song?”

“Kate Bush.”

“Oh.” This is going worse than you imagined. “Look, Max–”

She doesn’t waste any time. “I know Lucas sent you. I don’t care.”

“He’s just worried about you, we all are–”

“I’m fine.” The tip of the pencil snaps. “Shit.”

“Max.” You’re pleading with her to listen. Her skin is fluorescent now, paler than you’ve ever seen. The bags underneath her eyes are swollen, dark and ghostly. She’s lost weight. You can’t remember the last time you saw her eat. “Please.”

“What do you want me to do?” Though there’s anger in her voice, Max’s eyes plead with you, too. Her mask slips for just a moment, but you see it. Underneath her indifferent exterior, she’s just as terrified as everyone else is. She can feel herself fading, the guilt of Billy’s death slowly eats her alive. She doesn’t know what to do, though. How do you continue to live after death has infiltrated your home?

The chair beneath you scraps against the hardwood floor. You stand up, walk over to Max and kneel in front of her. You keep your movements slow, worried you’ll scare her away if you get too close too suddenly. “I think you should talk to someone, honey.”

Max turns away. She can’t. If she told anyone what goes on inside her head, they would never forgive her. You would never forgive her, and it would break her. 

Your hand falls to Max’s knee. The warmth from your palm combats the ice in her veins. You’re looking at her as if she’s worth something. As if she didn’t wish for her brother’s death. As if she hadn’t sent a grieving father into a spiral, a desperate mother into a trailer park. But Max allows your touch, so you try to get through to her again.

“You know, I was actually talking to Ms. Kelly a few weeks ago. The school’s guidance counselor.” She had met with you to discuss your grades and college options. When she had seen how you picked your nails until they bled, she suggested seeing her every few weeks. Alleviate some of your never ending stress. You had denied, uncomfortable with the idea. But maybe she could help Max. “She seemed nice enough. I’m sure she would be open to talking with you.”

“I don’t want to see some shrink.”

“Hey, I want to work with kids your age someday. Don’t call future me a shrink.” You poke Max’s leg playfully, and the corners of her mouth twitch. She doesn’t want you to see that it’s working. “C’mon. Have at least one meeting with her. When winter break ends, all I ask is that you try. For me and Lucas. We’re your favorites, after all.”

“If I agree, will it get you to shut up?”

You’re fine with this. It isn’t ideal, you aren’t sure Max will even actually try to open up to Ms. Kelly, but it’s a start. For too long now you’ve stayed silent, allowing Max to grieve on her own. Grief is hard, it takes and it takes and it takes. Yet it’s been almost six months and you’re not sure how much left grief can take from Max. “I think I can be okay with that.”

You’ll take whatever you can get. You’re worried. You got too caught up in your own life, you had gotten lost in your own haze of grief and anxiety. Missing Jonathan, grappling with change and growing up as you applied to college. You weren’t there for Max like you should’ve been.

But you’ll fix this. You always fix things. It’s what you do. It’s what you have to do. It’s how you love; you take care of those around you.

And who are you if you can’t?

–

Jonathan calls you high for the first time in late January. 

Though he doesn’t tell you that he’s high, you know. His words are slurred, slowed, incomprehensible. It’s late in California, even later in Indiana, and the stark feeling of guilt slices into your ribcage the same way the Demodog’s claw did. The feeling cuts deep into your skin, nicks your bone. 

“Jonathan?” You hope your voice brings him back to you. You try to cut through the smoke that fills his mind, that leaves him stumbling over his words. “Bee, can you hear me?”

“‘M here.” Jonathan sniffs, smacks his lips, yawns. “Where’re you? Can’t find you, bug.”

You close your eyes. He’s looking for you, and you aren’t with him. “I’m in Hawkins.”

“Thas’ far.”

“Yeah,” you choke out a laugh. It constricts in your vocal chords, but you can’t let Jonathan know how much it hurts to hear him so disoriented. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. California sucks.” He hiccups, you’re surprised he’s managed to call you tonight. Even in his drugged up state, he still somehow remembered to call. “Don’t think Nance will like it.”

He’s referring to the spring break trip. Nancy told you about it earlier today, how she and Mike will spend the week in California to see Jonathan and El. She had been a bit hesitant to tell you, afraid you’d be upset for not being invited, but you reassured her that it was okay. 

You’ve had a road trip planned with Jonathan ever since you were fifteen. The moment the two of you graduate, you’ll drive all across the country for one final adventure before college. 

Nancy can have spring. Summer will be yours. 

“She’ll love California because you’re there.” She talked about the trip nonstop today. Her glow had come back, momentarily, her eyes alight. She truly loves Jonathan, she misses him even more than you do. 

“Only disappoint her.”

“What do you mean?” You’re not sure where this is coming from. You know Jonathan is high, that his thoughts may not be coherent, but he sounds distressed about Nancy. You thought things had been good between them. They were planning a future together. 

“Is’ hard, with her.” Jonathan manages to get out, but his speech is becoming harder and harder to understand.

You frown. “What’s hard, bee?”

The line disconnects. Jonathan doesn’t bring the conversation up again, the next time you call. You don’t ask him what he meant. You don’t think you want to know. There had been something deeper behind his words.

Will calls you a few days later in tears. The kids are meaner in California than they are in Hawkins. They tease El, make her life hell, and he’s upset that he can’t do anything to stop it. He cries to you, his tears soak your face through the landline, and the guilt creeps back in. 

It will never truly leave.

You do your best to console him, offer him advice, but that’s all you can do. All you have are your words. Will and El are hours away, hundreds of miles separate them from you. It's nauseating, feeling so useless. For as long as you’ve known Will, you’ve always been able to protect him. To help him, dry his eyes.

You’ve always been there for your boys, for Jonathan and Will. For El. But you can’t get to them, they’re too far away, and it kills you. You’re sixteen again, trapped in Jonathan’s car and frantically trying to keep yourself together as everything around you falls apart. 

Steve becomes your lifeline. 

He always answers when you call. Every time Jonathan, high and lonely, hangs up your conversations, you call Steve. He answers, he hears the exhaustion in your voice, and he always sneaks in through your window later that night. He knows it’s the only way you’re able to sleep these days.

He sings to you when you wake up from a nightmare. They’ve become about Max, losing her. She’s only met with Ms. Kelly a few times, but you can tell that she already wants to stop. That you’re pushing her too far, pushing her away from you and everyone else. 

Steve takes you for drives when you get blisters from pacing your room, anxiously waiting for your college decision letters to come in. Soon your entire life will be decided for you by one single piece of paper. 

Two weeks before spring break, Jonathan calls you. He’s sober.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve spoken to him sober. The thought alone depresses you, makes you yearn for childhood again.

“I think Nancy wants me to come to Hawkins,” he tells you. “Would you… would you like that?”

More than anything.

You press the phone against your ear and imagine that it’s Jonathan’s hand instead. Your skin hasn’t forgotten how his felt against it. “Of course I want you to come to Hawkins, bee.” But it can’t be that easy, you know nothing ever comes easily. “Can you afford it, though? I–I mean, God. I miss you, you know that, but I know it’s been hard for your family these last few years.”

Jonathan’s head falls back against the wall behind him. You always understand. He hates it, sometimes. “It’s worth looking into if it means I get to see you and Nance.”

There’s an air of authority in Jonathan’s voice, as if he truly believes what he’s saying, and it surprises you. He’s taking initiative after months of floating away. Hope sparks within you, the cold hand of dread lessens its grip around your neck. 

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic.” You say. Jonathan laughs, you’ve missed the sound. It’s been so long since you last heard it. 

Conversation drifts after that. You tell him about the latest Spider-Man arc you’re reading, he inserts his own opinions, and it’s lovely. You haven’t had Jonathan like this in months, all to yourself, his smile aligned with yours. Sober, steady. 

The phone call with Jonathan reminds you of all the good that is still yet to come. 

College decision letters arrive next week. Your best friend might be visiting for spring break. Your boyfriend has planned a picnic for your six month anniversary tomorrow. You have your first meeting with Ms. Kelly the following day. It was your idea, figuring it was only fair that you see her since Max has agreed to keep going. 

And Joyce made you promise that you’d live your own life. You’re trying to get better, you really are. 

It just takes time. 

-

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The group whirls around, startled by your sudden appearance. 

“Y/N! Hey!” Steve says. He angles his body so you can’t read the computer. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my shift, same as you,” you say. You crane your neck to get a better look at the screen. “So, does he have mega late fees or something?”

“Who?” Robin asks innocently.

“Who else? Rick Lipton, the guy you’re looking up.” 

“It’s nothing like that,” the curly-haired boy with them says. He’s Dustin, one of Steve’s closest friends. 

The name of the girl, with plaited red hair and sharp blue eyes, escapes you. Margie…Melanie…Meg…it starts with an M. You’re certain of that much. 

“Max and Dustin were just leaving,” Steve says, giving them a look.

Max! That was it. 

“But we need you to drive us,” Max says to Steve. 

“Drive to Rick’s?” you guess. “Why?”

Steve looks different than you’ve ever seen him. He’s agitated. Not the kind of agitated you’re used to: frustrated with Keith’s many demands or annoyed with his role as resident carpool king. No, he seems…scared. 

“Rick and Dustin have a mutual friend,” Steve says coolly, attempting to assuage your curiosity (and failing). “We just need to check up on him, that’s all.” 

“And it’s a time-sensitive matter,” Dustin says. “So we need to go now.”

He starts dragging Steve and Robin toward the front doors, Max on their heels. 

“Can’t it wait?” you say. “I can’t run the store myself!”

“Sorry!” Robin says with an apologetic grin. “We’ll make it up to you! I’ll cover any shift, promise!”

Steve wrenches free from Dustin’s grasp. He returns to the counter, and you think he’s going to say he won’t leave you alone. 

Instead, he reaches under the counter to grab his jacket and car keys. 

“I’m so sorry to ditch,” he says quietly. “Seriously, I know this is a dick move.”

“Mm-hm,” you say, eyes narrowed.

“But it’s important. Dustin’s friend might be in danger.”

“What kind of danger?” 

“I can’t tell you.”

You scowl.

“Please don’t be pissed,” Steve begs. “It’s a slow day, and Keith will be around later. You’ve got this!”

You’re mad. But you’re also a bit worried. Steve’s very responsible and wouldn’t leave unless it was important. And he still looks so scared…

“Steve…what’s really going on?” You step closer and lower your voice. “Is everything okay with you? I mean, I know you’re worried about Dustin’s friend, but—“

“I’m fine,” Steve says. He kisses your temple. “I’ll call you tonight. Okay?”

You nod and force a smile, watching him race out of the store and unlock his car for his friends. They pile into the BMW and zip away. 

Someone clears their throat. You snap your head to the right, where a punk kid with spiky hair stands by the cassettes. 

“Do you have the newest Madonna tape?” he asks, shocking you with his music taste, considering his whole vibe. 

“Uh, yeah,” you say, thankful for the distraction. “I’ll help you find it.”

***

Steve doesn’t call you that night. Or the next morning. 

And when you arrive for your next shift, you’re greeted by Keith at the counter, not Steve or Robin. 

“Where’s Steve?” you ask. 

“Your loverboy called in sick,” Keith says, before taking a huge bite of a breakfast burrito. You wince as he continues talking with his mouth full: “Buckley is sick too, so it’s just you and me today.”

“Great,” you say flatly. Both Steve and Robin being sick the same day isn’t inherently suspicious—they are best friends and hang out all the time. But after what transpired yesterday, their absence is fishy. 

That, plus the fact that Steve had the time to call Keith and not you, sours your mood. 

“And since they’re out, I’ll need you to work a double.”

“Fantastic,” you snap. “That's exactly how I wanted to spend my Sunday.” 

“Hey!” Keith says. “No sass. Family Video employees must remain upbeat and positive at all times. We want our establishment to be a welcoming place. Not a dark hole of pessimism…like Blockbuster.”

You plaster on a big, fake grin.

“Much better,” Keith says smugly, before disappearing to the back room to file some paperwork. 

The day drags on. There isn’t much traffic to the store, due to the announcement that not one but two Hawkins High students were killed. People seem too scared to go anywhere or do much of anything. 

On your lunch break, you call the Harrington house. No answer. Either Steve is too sick to reach for the phone on his nightstand, which frightens you, or he’s off with his friends.

You wonder if Dustin’s friend, the one they went to find, is one of the victims. The thought makes your stomach twist. Maybe that’s why you hadn’t heard from Steve or why he wasn’t home—he needed to comfort the younger boy through his grief. 

When it’s finally closing time, you decide to drive by the Harrington house to check in. No BMW in the driveway confirms that he’s definitely not home sick. 

You feel a bit sick yourself wondering where he is and what’s going on. 

***

The next day is your day off. You call Steve first thing when you wake up. You also drive by his house again after breakfast. It’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth…

…until you take a shortcut down Maple Street and see his BMW parked at the Wheeler’s house.

You haven’t heard from him in two days, and his car is at his ex-girlfriend Nancy’s house. You feel numb. 

Steve didn’t seem like the type of person to stoop to infidelity, but you haven’t known him for that long. And he (and his friends) are definitely keeping something from you. Maybe all that “Rick Lipton” stuff was a cover-up so Steve could hang out with his friends and cozy up with his ex. 

You hate how jealous you feel. You hate how it makes you want to cry, scream, and throw a brick through the BMW’s windshield.

Against your better judgment, you park by the curb and stomp toward the front door. You aren’t usually a confrontational person, but you feel a spark of anger that won’t be tamped down unless you get some answers. 

You ring the doorbell and knock, for good measure. A tired-looking, middle-aged man opens the door.

“Can I help you?” Mr. Wheeler drawls.

“Is Steve here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

“The troublemakers are in the basement,” he says. He sarcastically adds, “We already have enough guests to legally be considered a hotel. What’s one more?” 

Mr. Wheeler opens the door a bit wider and allows you in, pointing you in the direction of the basement door. You thank him before charging down the steps. 

Dustin and Max are down there, along with their other friend Lucas. Max scribbles furiously at the desk while the boys sit on the sofa, heads bent low while they discuss something with hushed voices.

“Where’s Steve?” you demand, scanning the room as if you expect him to pop out from behind a corner. 

“Whoa!” Lucas says. “How’d you get in here Y/N?” 

“Mr. Wheeler let me in. He’s a real peach. So. Steve?” 

“He’s upstairs in Nancy’s room,” Dustin says. 

Your eyes widen.

“Not like that!” Dustin says quickly, sensing the miscommunication. “They’re just talking!” 

“Talking alone in her room?” 

“To be fair,” Lucas says, “Robin’s there too, so it’s not like it’s romantic.”

“And it wouldn’t be!” Dustin says. “Steve only has eyes for you. He told me so.”

“You, and Phoebe Cates,” Lucas corrects.

“Right. You, Phoebe Cates, and maybe Cindy Crawford.”

“Definitely Cindy Crawford,” Lucas says. “Have you seen her?”

Max turns in her seat and glares at Lucas. He gulps.

“I mean, Cindy’s not my type. But Steve loves her.”

Your turn to glare.

“Not as much as he loves you!” Lucas says. He turns to Dustin. “We’re making things worse, aren’t we?” 

“Yes,” you say. “I’m gonna go talk to him.” 

“You can’t,” Dustin says. “They’re a bit preoccupied. And I know that sounds suspicious, but I promise. Steve isn’t cheating on you.” 

“Then what is he doing?” you say. “And why hasn’t he called me?” 

“All good questions,” Dustin says. “But I can’t answer them.” He gestures to an armchair nearby. “You can wait for Steve if you want. I’m sure he’d love to see you.” 

You consider it, but this whole situation is weirding you out. What are Steve, Robin, and Nancy so preoccupied with anyway? Does it have to do with the murders? And why won’t anyone just tell you what’s going on?!

“I have to go,” you say, voice clipped. “Just tell him to call me.” 

You storm up the stairs and out of the house. A sense of dread overwhelms you—dread that threatens to swallow you whole. 

***

At around 11 o’clock that night, someone knocks at your apartment door. 

In a half-asleep stupor, you stumble to it, gripping your baseball bat. No one should be visiting this late, unless—

“Y/N? It’s Steve! Can we talk?”

You huff and put the bat down, opening the door for your (sheepish-looking) boyfriend.

Your facial expression remains stony as you study him. 

“Hey,” he says. He clears his throat. “Can I come in?”

In lieu of a response, you turn on your heel and stomp to your couch. Steve locks the door behind him and follows.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, sitting next to you. He reaches to put an arm around you, and you pull away. He deflates. “Babe—”

“Is this the part where you say you can’t tell me what’s going on?” you snap. “And you promise to call me tomorrow, but then you don’t, and the only reason I’ll know you aren’t dead is because I’ll see your car at your fucking ex-girlfriend’s house?” 

Steve closes his eyes and sighs.

“I deserve that. But it’s not what you think. Whatever you think is going on, I promise, it’s not that.”

“So, what is going on?” you say. 

He turns away and rubs his face.

“I—”

“You’re sorry,” you deadpan. “Why don’t you throw in one more? Best things come in threes, you know.” 

You’re being unfair. You know this. Steve’s obviously very upset about something, and you’re being too harsh. But the way he’s acting, and the way he’s not giving you a real answer why, is driving you insane. 

He hesitates and reaches for your hand. You allow him to take it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. His eyes are wide and mournful and desperate. “But I just can’t talk about it. Not right now. I’ll make it up to you. Anything you want me to do, I’ll do it.” 

You take a deep breath and feel your anger evaporate at his sincereness. 

“You could start by kissing me?” you say.

Steve’s face splits into a grin and he leans in, kissing you softly.

Well, it starts soft. The heat picks up a bit too fast for your liking, and you push him away. 

“Whoa buddy,” you say. “I’m so not in the mood for make-up sex right now.” 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, blushing. “I didn’t mean to push.”  

“I actually need to get some sleep,” you say. “Care to join me?” 

“I really should be getting back,” Steve says, glancing at his watch. “Max is going through a really hard time right now. She needs as much support as she can get.”

You want to know more details, so you try not to be too specific and ask, “Do you think she’ll be okay?” 

Steve nods.

“She’s strong,” he says. “She’ll be fine. She has to be.” 

He kisses you goodnight and leaves. 

This time, he doesn’t promise to call. You aren’t sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

***

The next night, Steve shows up again much too late, looking as if he’s seen a ghost.

He’s wearing the same navy polo and jeans from yesterday. You don’t know how you feel about that, as the reminder that Max and the group are staying at Nancy Wheeler’s house rattles around in your head.

“How’s Max?” you ask, pouring Steve a cup of tea.

“She’s a bit better,” he says. He rubs his eyes. “It’s sort of…touch and go.”

You sit across from him at the table with your own mug and ask, “I hope I’m not being insanely nosy, but is she…sick?”

“Not really sick, exactly. At least, not physically.” Steve hesitates before adding, “She’s grieving. She lost her brother Billy at Starcourt. She hasn’t been the same since then.”

The Starcourt Fire of 1985. It was a big stain on Hawkins history, along with the myriad of disappearances, deaths, and government conspiracies that marred the town’s legacy. 

You aren’t sure how to respond. You settle for drinking your tea in a slightly uncomfortable silence. 

“You know,” you say after a beat, “I have a bunch of old board games and movies. I could bring them over to the Wheeler’s place tomorrow if Max wants to check them out. It might lift her spirits.”

“No,” Steve says quickly. Off your hurt look, he says, “No, sorry. I mean, we won’t be at the Wheeler’s tomorrow. We’re going for a drive.” 

“A drive?” 

“Yeah, a drive in the…in the countryside. So Max can clear her head.”

He’s lying to you. He’s lying to you and he’s bad at it and it makes you sad and mad all at once. 

“Please, for the love of god, cut the bullshit,” you say. You slam your tea down harder than intended and it sloshes across the tabletop. “What are you guys actually doing?”

Frustration flashes across his features.

“I told you, I really can’t tell you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Don’t say that! It’s not!” Steve says, voice raising. He stands from the table. “I can’t tell you! Why can’t you just accept that?”

You stand as well, crossing your arms.

“You’ve got to at least get your story straight if you’re going to lie, deceive, and leave me out!” you yell. “What is this really about? Because first it was all about Dustin’s friend, and now it’s Max. Or does it have something to do with the murders?” 

Steve goes ghostly pale at the mention of the recent killings.

“I won’t tell you,” Steve says firmly, a fraction more calm than he was moments before. “It’s too dangerous.”

“So it does have to do with the—”

“I have to go,” Steve says, storming toward the front door.

“Steve Harrington, you get back here!” you call, following him. 

Too late. He’s out the door, slamming it behind him. 

As soon as he’s gone, your resolve just crumbles. You cry. You cry, because your sweet, sensitive boyfriend is acting like a different person. You cry because he’s obviously hurting and in some kind of trouble but won’t talk about it, making it impossible to help him. You cry because you don’t want to lose him, because you’ve only been dating for a short time but you might love him. Because you aren’t sure how much longer you can do this.

***

You’re back at the Family Video the next day, working alongside Keith and Randy, a former employee home from college on spring break. Randy’s a pretentious film student who won’t shut up about movies you’ve never seen. It makes you wish you were working with Steve today, despite last night’s argument. You aren’t even sure if Steve wants to be your boyfriend anymore, and that thought tortures you all day. 

“The Godfather is a perfect film,” Randy drones as the two of you log returns in the computer. “Have you seen it?” 

“No, I prefer comedies.” 

Randy scoffs. 

“Oh, that drivel?”

“Comedy is not drivel!” you protest. “People need to laugh sometimes.” 

You spend the rest of your shift defending your favorite movies, and you seriously consider whacking Randy upside the head when he insults The Muppets Take Manhattan. 

Again, you drive past Steve’s house, and are surprised to see his car parked in its usual spot. 

“Steve?” you call, banging on the door. “It’s Y/N. Are you home? Can we talk?” 

You continue knocking and shouting for him to answer, to no avail. Eventually, his next-door neighbor yells for you to shut it, so you leave. 

At 2:30 in the morning, your phone rings. You mumble a “Hello?” into the receiver, wondering if you’re dreaming.

“Hey, Y/N.” 

It’s Steve. You figured as much. Who else would call so late? 

“Hey,” you say, feeling more awake than you did before. 

Part of you wonders if this is evidence of some kind of shift in your relationship. Maybe Steve doesn’t want to actually date you anymore. Maybe he just wants to sleep with you, and that’s why he’s only been visiting and calling late at night, and not talking about what’s going on. You don’t like that thought. 

“I’m so glad to hear your voice,” Steve says with a deep sigh.  

He sounds weary, and almost hoarse. This panics you. Under normal circumstances, you’d think he was just sick. But now, you aren’t sure what to think. 

“Steve, where are you?” 

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does! Are you okay? You sound weak.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it as an insult! Seriously. Do you need me to come get you? Or call an ambulance, or something?”

“I’m fine, Y/N. Just tired. Tired, and missing you.” 

“Well, then, why don’t you come over?” you say. You tamp down your worry and try a different tactic: “Maybe we can finally give that make-up sex a try.” 

You hear a chorus of “Ew, gross!” and “Gag me with a spoon.” 

“Sorry, I should’ve told you,” Steve mumbles, “I’m not alone.”

“Yeah, I got that now. Is Max doing okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. We're at her place now. I just wanted to…no, I needed to call you and say sorry. These past few days, I’ve been really shitty to you.”

“You kind of have been,” you say. “But I haven’t been very supportive. I’m sorry too. Whatever’s going on, I hope it, um…gets better.”

“Thanks,” Steve says. “Oh, and about the make-up sex—can we get a rain check?”

“I’ll see if I can pencil you in my busy social schedule,” you tease. “Call me tomorrow night?” 

“I will,” Steve says. His voice wavers and he adds, “I promise.” 

***

The next night, he does call. Still wearing his gear from the Vecna battle, he calls your house from the hospital payphone minutes after Max is wheeled into surgery. 

“Pick up, pick up!” he grumbles. “Why aren’t they answering?!” 

“Have you tried calling Family Video?” Robin says. “It’s inventory night. Keith always makes us stay late for inventory.”

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says. He looks at Robin with panicked eyes. “We were supposed to be there for inventory. Did you remember to call out for us?”

“I thought you did!”

“Here’s some more quarters,” Nancy says, appearing from around the corner with a handful of coins. “After you call Y/N, I need to call Max’s mom and the Sinclairs. Robin, have you called your family yet?” 

Steve dials the Family Video number and waits with bated breath. He groans when the call doesn’t connect. He needs to hear your voice, to know you’re okay after the earthquake. 

Unfortunately, you are far from okay. 

You’re at the store doing inventory with Randy, listening to more of his dry takes, when the earthquake hits.

Randy immediately begins to panic.

“There’s no tub!” he screams over the sound of the rattling earth.

“Huh?!” you yell back, holding onto the counter for dear life.

“In an earthquake, you’re supposed to hide in a tub!” He scans the room and gasps. “Or a doorframe!”

He darts toward the doorframe that leads to the back room. 

“Randy, stop running!” you scream. “You’ll hurt yourself!”

You notice a tall shelf of tapes tip forward and you surge ahead, pushing Randy out of the way as the shelf hits the ground. In the scuffle, one of your legs gets pinned underneath it. 

A bloodcurdling scream echoes through the store. It takes you a minute to realize the sound is coming from you and not from some banshee.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Randy yells. “Y/N, are you okay?” 

The earthquake slows, the violent shaking making way for a quiet rumble. He runs back to you and tries to lift the shelf off of you, with no luck. 

“It’s too heavy,” he says, face pinched with fear and a bit of guilt. “Can you move your leg at all?” 

You wince and shake your head, tears running down your face.

“I can’t move it,” you say. You sniffle. “It hurts really really bad.”

“I’ll call for help!” Randy says. He grabs the phone off the counter and curses. He tries the second phone, and then races to Keith’s office to try the third. “No signal. I guess the quake took out the telephone lines. I’ll go get someone!” 

“Don’t leave me!” you cry out. “Please!” 

“I’ll be right back,” Randy says. “I promise! And I’ll reevaluate my stance on comedies, just for you.” 

“I appreciate that,” you say through sobs. 

Randy rushes out into the night, and you hear him shouting, “Hey, hey! We need an ambulance!” 

As you lay alone in the video store in unimaginable pain, you worry. You worry about Steve and his friends, hoping they fared better than you in the natural disaster. You worry about your leg, wondering if you’ll ever be able to use it the same again. You worry that you wasted your time being upset with Steve, and—in a particularly dark moment—you worry that you may never see him again. 

After what feels like an eternity, Randy returns with a group of paramedics.

“Hey there,” one of them says. “Are you Y/N?” 

“The one and only,” you say through gritted teeth. “I can’t feel my leg anymore. Are you going to have to amputate it? Please say no.” 

“Amputations are rare,” another paramedic reassures you. You breathe a sigh of relief. “Let’s get this thing off you and get you to the hospital, yeah?” 

***

The rest of the night is a blur for you. The paramedics free your leg and pump you full of so many painkillers, it’s hard to focus on much of anything. 

You don’t feel fully like yourself again until the next morning, when you wake up in a hospital bed with a bright blue cast on your leg. 

A soft snore to your left indicates company. You are so relieved to see it’s—

“Steve!” you shout, startling him awake. “What happened to your neck?!” 

“Y/N, oh my god,” Steve says, jumping from the armchair he was uncomfortably squished into. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

“Did someone choke you?” you say, sitting up against your pillows. “Who do I need to fight?”

“You aren’t fighting anyone until that’s gone,” Steve says, pointing to your cast. He gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, careful of your leg. “Geez, I was so worried about you. I called and called, both the store and your house, and then I saw some paramedics bring you in on a stretcher, and I just panicked. I was so afraid I was going to lose you.”

You reach over and hold both of his hands with yours. He smiles at you, but his eyes are sad. 

“I’m here,” you say. You wince. “My leg hurts like hell, and I’ll probably never walk, run, or swim as fast as I used to, but I’m here.” 

“I’m so glad you are,” he says quietly. He sucks in a breath. “Max got really badly hurt in…in the quake. She’s unconscious and they don’t know when…if…she’ll wake up.” 

“Oh, Steve, I’m so sorry.”

You pull him into a hug, and he holds you tightly. 

You know you should keep your mouth shut and just be in this moment with him, but a nagging thought in your mind won’t leave you alone.

“Steve,” you say quietly, pulling away. “I don’t usually believe in ultimatums, because things aren’t usually so black-and-white. But I’m about to give you one. Please don’t hate me.” 

Worry flashes in his eyes. He shakes his head. 

“I could never hate you,” he says, voice cracking. 

You squeeze his hands and say: “If you can’t be honest with me about what’s going on, I think we have to break up.” 

Steve’s eyes widen. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, before he can say anything. “I know that’s so unfair. But what’s a relationship without honesty and communication, and we just…don’t have that at the moment. I have the sneaking suspicion that this earthquake and the killings are connected, and I think you know more than you’re letting on. The earthquake did this—” You gesture to your leg. “And I feel like I have a right to know the truth. To know what’s hurting you. Please, Steve. Just tell me.” 

You watch his facial expression. Unreadable emotions flick across his features, and you can tell he’s brainstorming. Thinking hard, trying to determine the right thing to say next. 

“Y/N,” he says, voice low. “It’s dangerous. Really dangerous. I don’t want to involve you if I can help it.” 

“Steve—”

“I don’t want you to get hurt—”

“I already got hurt!”

“I won’t put you in any more danger,” Steve says. He looks about two seconds from sobbing, but he says, “Ignorance is bliss, right?” 

It guts you to do so, but you gingerly drop his hands. 

“Okay.” 

“Y/N, can we just—”

“I think you should leave.” You can’t even look at him as you say it, instead staring at some wilting daisies on the windowsill. 

Steve opens his mouth as if he’s going to protest, but closes it and nods.

“If that’s what you really want, I’ll go,” he whispers.

You nod, despite the part of you deep down screaming for him to stay. 

He hesitates before walking out. 

***

A day and a half later, you’ve been discharged from the hospital. From your perch on your couch, you watch ash swirling outside your window. The sight is terrifying, and the news is full of weathermen trying to make sense of the strange weather pattern. 

Knock, knock, knock, knock!

You hobble to your feet, clumsy as a baby deer due to your crutches, and open the door.

“Steve!” you say, a bit shocked (yet relieved). He’s got flakes of ash on his head and shoulders, looking like a dusting of snow. “Hey, I was going to call you. I think I made a big mistake—”

“I want to tell you everything,” he blurts out. 

You stumble a bit and he grabs your shoulders to steady you.

“Really?” you say. “Because I thought about it, and you don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” Steve says. “You’re right. I need to be fully honest. And, frankly, I can’t do this without you.”

So you let him in, and you sit on the couch with your injured leg propped on pillows while he tells you everything. About Will Byers going missing, and how he wasn’t just lost in the woods like everyone thought. About how he came back from another dimension but he brought something dark and twisted with him, an evil sort of presence. How that evil presence latched onto Max’s brother Billy last summer and used him as a general of sorts, collecting more soldiers to create a terrifying monster. How the mastermind behind the plan, Vecna/Henry Creel/One, is the real murderer.

“Everyone thinks it was Eddie,” Steve says, looking down at his feet. “But Eddie sacrificed himself so the bats wouldn’t swarm our version of Hawkins. If he hadn’t done that, the casualties would’ve been a lot worse.” 

“And Vecna tried to kill Max too?” you say. The first thing you’ve said since he started his tale. 

“He did kill Max. But she came back, somehow. It’s a miracle.”

You aren’t sure what to say. Monsters and alternate dimensions and evil doctors. It’s all the stuff of science fiction…right? 

Steve huffs out a laugh at the twisted frown on your face. 

“You don’t believe me,” he says.

“No! I do. I’m just…processing.”

“It’s all true,” Steve says. “Every word. And as much as it sucks, I have to help my friends stop Vecna and destroy the Upside Down once and for all. Once we do that, maybe things can get back to normal.” 

“Sounds like a plan. When do we start?”

Steve’s brows pull together. 

“Uh, did you just say ‘we’?”

“I did. I want to help.”

“No way!” Steve scoffs. “I told you because I didn’t want to keep it from you anymore. Not because I want you to get involved in this fight.”

“Steve—”

“Y/N! Seriously!” Steve says. He laces your hands together. “You’re, like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m not going to let the person I love throw themselves into this mess. I need you to be safe.” 

He looks up and is a bit surprised to see goofy grin on your face. 

“You said you love me,” you whisper.

Steve blushes.

“Oh, right. I hope that’s okay?”

“You hope it’s okay that you love me?” 

“Uh, yeah. And I hope you’ll take me back, but if you feel like you can’t after everything I told you I understand and—”

You grab him by the collar and pull him in for a kiss. He melts into it, wrapping his arms around you. 

“I love you too,” you say, once you finally pull away. “And I am taking you back, and I’ll respect your wishes not to get involved in your monster hunting mission, but you have to promise me that you won’t get killed or something, because that would massively suck.” 

“You got it,” he says. He checks his watch.

“You heading out?” you ask, a bit disappointed.

Steve shakes his head.

“Nope. I have three hours until I’m meeting the others to discuss our next move.”

“Three hours,” you say, eyes sparkling a bit hungrily. “Huh. There’s so much we could do to fill that time…one activity I can’t get out of my head rhymes with ‘take-up schmex.’”

“Y/N. Your leg is broken.”

“The medical term is actually ‘smushed,’ so I’m cleared for sexual activity.” 

“Is that so?” Steve says. “Well, if your doctor says it’s okay…”

In one fluid motion, he scoops you up in his arms. You squeal in surprise as he carries you to your bedroom.

Hawkins had changed overnight. Everything Steve told you makes it seem like a much scarier, darker place. 

But you have Steve, and he has you, and you know that no matter what happens next, nothing is going to change that.

***

Steve Harrington is soft smiles passed your way over the tops of all the children he babysits heads. He is weekend movie nights spent curled up next to one another on his couch, so close that you sometimes think you could become one person if you tried hard enough. He’s not your first relationship, but sometimes when you can’t sleep at night there’s a reoccurring thought that he is going to be your last. Steve has been orbiting around your life since elementary school, close but never within reach. That was the way, only knowing him through rumors passed around the halls of Hawkins High, two passing ships in the hallway between classes. This last year though has brought him into your world, no longer is he a passing comet that you stop to stare at. Now he’s yours and your mom will chide and say it’s just high school love, but you can’t imagine a world where his hand doesn’t stay attached to yours. Call it whatever you want, but something about this just feels too real. The kind of love you hear about in novels, the kind people wax poetic structures about. You’re not sure what you did in a past life, or what karma you collected over time, but you’re thankful for the universe putting the two of you together.

The only bleak part of your future with Steve comes after summer ends. You’ve just graduated, and school is expected of you in a way that you know you can’t turn down. Steve has been more than understanding, it’s a pressure he recognizes from his parents. You have no clue what you want to do but your dad swears that you’ll figure it out when you get there. You manage to get into a good school but it’s 5 hours away from Hawkins. Your parents are ecstatic, they can’t stop talking about all the ways you’re going to grow in this next phase of your life. Your parents are the people who met in college, and even though they won’t say it there’s something about you needing to attend that feels a little like them trying to relive their glory days. You love them but you’re not sure if they know you or if they really listen when you talk.

You find that if you put on a smile and nod along to what they say though it gets you through conversations faster. It’s a small price to pay so you can escape the house and rush to Steve. Steve who you hate to leave behind, sweet Steve who has been there to hold your hand and be your rock through it all. You’re not sure if you’d be able to put up with your parents’ expectations if he wasn’t there with you holding you up. You worry you put too much on him like you weigh him down the same way your parents tend to do. Sometimes you tell him your concerns, and he’s always quick to quiet the fear.

The thing with Steve is he is so soft sometimes, and yet you can’t help but feel protected in his arms. Still though, even as he brushes your hair to the side, as his lips touch yours and he peppers you with affection and reassurance, you make a vow to yourself to try and reduce how much you complain. You can’t stop the anxiety that sometimes spikes up despite his kindness that maybe this all hurts a little too much for him. After all, his family held similar expectations for him. You know that his dad is a different kind of mean and demanding than yours. Your family feels like a small-time problem when put into the perspective of Steve’s parents.

You have a mantra you follow, reminding yourself that school, as daunting as it is, is still months away. You have a whole summer to forget about it all. A whole summer of nothing but your friends and Steve. You know you’ll be right next door at the arcade, your shifts and Steve’s always lining up because of a favor Keith owed you. There are plans in place that will carry you through. There’s the drive-in and their Friday night movie deals, sunny days that will be spent at Lover’s Lake, the regular Sunday brunch at your favorite diner, and so much more. You make sure to focus on those things, knowing that all of it will be enough to get you through that first semester of school once you finally go.

However, like with most things that seem to happen in Hawkins, your good luck runs out. You hate to say it, but you didn’t see it coming. Delusional bliss is apparently where you’ve been living and the rose-colored glasses you didn’t know you were wearing are snatched off your face without a moment of hesitation. Looking back the signs will be there in glaring neon colors, and you will hate yourself for missing them. For missing them to the point that you couldn’t even backtrack to fix where your so-called perfect relationship went off the tracks.

It's a week into summer and things are not at all going to plan. Your parents are pressuring you to cut your summer short and go to school three weeks early so you can settle in for classes. And honestly, it’s not the worst idea and if you were anyone else maybe it would be appealing. However, you’re on a fixed time frame and you don’t plan to give up one ounce of time with Steve and your friends before you absolutely must. Despite schedules syncing up, there’s a distance growing between you and Steve. At the time you understand, there are kids to be driven around and then his parents unexpectedly show up back home. You don’t blame him for the distance, you take it in stride and offer your support just like he’s been doing for you. The future version of yourself, will look back and call you an idiot for not digging deeper. But why would you? In all the time, though maybe it hasn’t been that long, Steve has never once been the cause of your anxiety. Never once has he ever done anything to make you question your relationship, or whether you can trust him or not.

After a week of only seeing Steve in passing and on lunch breaks, you finally get the chance to have uninterrupted time with Steve. He catches you on a break at work and asks if you want to get dinner once your shifts end. He doesn’t carry that same glowing smile he always does when he drops these moments on you, but you brush the thought aside assuming this is the residual damage from his parents. You’re just happy at the prospect of being with Steve so you’re quick to agree, and even quicker to pull him in for a kiss to seal the deal. In your excitement, you don’t notice how this kiss doesn’t feel like a welcomed hello, and later you’ll tell yourself that it was the first sign of goodbye. But in the moment Steve is pulling away, and he’s looking at you like he's tracing and memorizing everything about you. “I’ll see you after work,” is the parting sentence before he’s jogging back to Family Video.

Steve and you meet in the middle of your two jobs, and he holds out his hand just like he always does. He leads you to his car, asking you about your day. You tell him about the party coming in, and about all the different characters of teens who came in. You prattle on and on, all the way to your favorite diner. You ask him about his day and try to get him to talk more. A quiet Steve, with eyes not shining, is a version you hate to see. You want nothing more than to pick him up, hopefully, wash off all the grime that his parents so obviously threw on him in the short week they were home. It’s always hard doing this walk and dance, the scars his parents leave him with always cut deeper than you have an awareness of. But it’s never this impossible, by the time you’re leaving the diner you’re more worried about what happened during this visit home than you ever have been. You’ve learned with Steve that when it comes to his parents you can’t poke too much otherwise, he gets spooked. Normally, he finds a way to talk about it usually when you’re both back at his place and the light is off for the night. When it’s so dark in his room that you can’t see the way his face is lined with grief, and pain that he shouldn’t have to experience. You’re so used to the pattern that you don’t mind the car ride after dinner being just the sound of the radio. It’s not unwelcomed, it’s just a part of the pieces that happen, which is why you’re surprised when Steve parks in front of your house.

“Oh, are we not going to yours?” Your brow is furrowed as you turn in your seat to face Steve. Even when you don’t stay at his place, he still is always looking at you when you turn to leave. This time though Steve’s hands are still holding on to the steering wheel, and he can’t turn to face you when he finally gathers the ability to reply. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

The radio is still on, and your ears pick up Whitney Houston singing a new song that’s been playing everywhere. “What do you mean,” your stomach feels like it’s falling right out of you and your brain is giving radio silence as you try to gain some understanding of what the hell is going on. You watch as Steve takes a deep breath like he’s centering himself before turning to face you. Every time Steve has ever looked at you it’s been with nothing but softness, an unquestioning gaze that always tells you what he’s thinking. The Steve before you though, these are eyes that aren’t that sweet look he normally gives you. Instead, this one is cold, one that you can barely recall. You have to pull at memories from his reign as King Steve to find some type of look that’s like the one you receive now.

“I just don’t think this is working,” he shrugs like this isn’t the biggest thing to ever happen before. Like he’s telling you something that should be common knowledge.

“I don’t understand, Steve.” There’s a burning feeling in the corners of your eyes. The sensation is a warning that if you don’t pull it together, you’re going to start crying. You don’t know how to pull it together because what little Steve is telling you sounds an awful like a breakup.

Steve sighs, something heavy like he’s just so tired of having to explain himself. It’s an odd sound and it rubs you raw because he hasn’t explained anything. How can he already be tired of a conversation that makes no sense?

“Look, I don’t want this to be harder than it is,” you cut him off before he can continue. “So don’t make it hard, just tell me what’s going on and why you’re saying all of this.” You don’t recognize your voice. The pleading tone sounds watery and not at all like what you know yourself to be. You don’t think you’ve ever begged someone in this way before.

“I just don’t feel the same way for you,” it’s so blunt and to the point that it leaves no room for argument.

“I don’t understand,” you’re repeating yourself and you hate that. You’re not stupid, you can usually piece things together faster than this. The phrase, ‘having the rug pulled out from under you’ rattles around in a way that suddenly makes total sense.

“I don’t know how to explain it any better. I don’t want to date you anymore. I don’t want to see you.” You didn’t realize before that the cold tone he was using still allowed for kindness. In this final statement, his words are ice, and you feel like you just took a plunge into Lover’s Lake in the middle of winter.

You have more you want to say, questions that you feel need to be asked. If you stay though you feel like you’re not going to get them, and honestly, it’s taking more energy to keep yourself together than it would be to stay. You’re not sure if you say anything else if there’s some kind of acknowledgement on your part. All you know is that your body is screaming at you to run. Staying in that car doesn’t feel like a place you belong, so you’re quick to get out. You don’t even make it to the door before Steve is peeling off and driving himself home. The action feels like the last break in any resolve you had. Your Steve would always wait until you were inside before leaving. Always telling you he'd rather know with certainty that you were safe before he ever left. It was one of those things that told you how caring he was, that showed how he loved you.

______________________________________________________________

In what will later be referred to as The Aftermath, you have the next day off. Your mom hovers at your door, knocking and knocking. The sound makes your head hurt and forces you to pull your covers over your head like it’ll drown out everything else. If you had anyone else as a mother, you might be able to convince yourself that she’s doing it from a place of concern. The truth is that this is the same woman who when you came in last night, uncontrollably sobbing and barely getting out the words ‘Steve’ and ‘broke up’, your mom was asking if this meant you’d go to school earlier like she and your father want.

The tears had stopped sometime around when you finally found yourself falling asleep. They haven’t picked back up and everything you ever learned in biology screams out you’re dehydrated. There are things you should be doing, things that you have done for yourself when other relationships ended that made it so the person you were dating was nothing more than a faded memory. Maybe if you go through the ritual of it all, the gathering of reminders, and the disposal of memories it’ll make you feel better. There should be phone calls to girlfriends, and movie nights set up to help push you through these feelings.

Instead, you continue to stay in bed. Your limbs feel like lead, weighed down and stuck, too heavy for you to move. Your curtains are drawn so tight that not even the hot Indiana sun comes through to ruffle you into motion. Your wall has your attention, and you find yourself using the texture of the paint to trace all the lines in your relationship with Steve. Maybe if you follow them to the end like a map, they’ll tell you where you are and where you go from here.

In the midst of The Aftermath, in the bed of your grief, you manage to make one phone call. Well… that’s a lie. You make two phone calls. In no surprise to the imaginary audience watching you grieve; the first call is to Steve. The phone rings and rings and rings. Steve never answers and it should be a sign. You get the standard Harrington voicemail. Steve’s mom’s voice becomes the soundtrack to your day. She tells you to leave a message, and that the family will get back to you when they can. You open your mouth, no plan on what to say but surely there’s something there in your head that will tumble out. The answering machine beep is met with your silence though, just your breath coming through, you wonder if Steve will know it’s you even if you don’t leave your name. Does he still have you memorized in all the ways that you still know him? Did he forget about you in just the span of a day? Worst thought of all, did he even really take the time to trace you down in his memory the same way you did him?

You hang up after that last thought, still no name and still carrying the hope that it could be enough. Your second call is made two hours later when there’s still no call back from Steve, even though he should be off today too. Even though, there’s a piece of your mind screaming over and over that he should have heard the silence in the message and been able to read through it. Maybe that’s unfair of you to place that on Steve, but it also feels unfair that he had the power and took action to bring you where you lay now. The second call is to Keith at the arcade, where you know he’s working since you’re off today. The favor you cashed in on is wasted because your request is for him to take back your schedule.

“I can’t work the day shift anymore,” your voice is hoarse and throat sore as the words stumble out.

“That sounds like a you problem,” you grimace as you hear Keith chewing what you know are those stupid cheese snacks he always carries around.

You hold back a groan and tell yourself your next move, while incredibly bratty, is the only way that you return to work. Your parents hate you working at the place anyway, but you like the independence, you like having your own money and you don’t want to give up another thing this summer.

“It’s going to be your problem because I’m not working any shift that overlaps with Harrington. I’ll quit.” You hate how Steve has transformed into Harrington. Hate how removed it sounds, not at all reflective of how close you had been. If you say his first name though, you know you’re going to cry.

Keith whistles, the tone way too low and drags out in a way that makes you feel a wave of creeping anger you’re not used to.

“So, you and Harrington are over then. Knew he was stupid but didn’t think he was that stupid.”

“He’s not stupid,” your defense is soft, it feels telling of where you are. It isn’t harsh in the way that it should be. It’s not your job to defend Steve anymore, he let you go from that position last night after all.

“I’ll change the schedules,” is the response you get back and it’s the nicest thing that you think Keith has ever said to you. However, you know Keith, and this feels a little too easy.

“Is there a catch?”

“Nah, just can’t afford to lose you so consider it your lucky day.” It doesn’t feel like your lucky day, but you don’t say that. Just mumble out a thank you after he tells you that your shift tomorrow will be the closing shift and Harrington will be gone by then.

True to his word, when you pull into the shared parking lot of Family Video there is no sign of Steve’s car. There’s an awareness that it won’t always be this easy, that Hawkins is too small to go all summer without seeing him. And despite Keith’s previous comments on how he couldn’t afford to lose you, there’s also a silent understanding that he’s still going to be an absolute shit about all of this for the rest of the summer. Keith doesn’t know any other way to be, and it’s a moderate price to pay for your ability to at least show up to work without breaking down.

Dustin is the first one you see in The Aftermath, and you can tell by the way he keeps glancing at you in the arcade that he already knows what’s transpired between you and Steve. You’re not sure if it’s the telltale sign of the obvious breakup look you’re sporting, or if it’s Steve’s own admittance to the teen. Could be a combination of the two though. You looked in the mirror before leaving today. You’re fully aware that you look and feel like shit, and there’s no way to sugarcoat that.

Normally, Dustin would come to chat with you. Whether he’s with the rest of the party or by himself, he always says hello. He would do it before Steve, and you hoped that he’d do it after too. Dustin doesn’t say hello though, he avoids your gaze when you catch him looking your way, and even though you know at one point, he should come to you to complain about a machine he just leaves instead. The act makes you sad, it’s the first divide between the friendships you created and thought you would get to hold on to. Dustin might be in high school now, but he’s still a kid. Rationally, a piece of you should be able to string together how his silence speaks more about how he doesn’t know what to say and less about a side he’s choosing. Reality rarely ever plays out as it rationally should, so instead Dustin just becomes the first domino that falls, and you feel like you should have known everyone else would go along with him.

______________________________________________________________

The next three weeks find you oscillating like a fan. Days spent hiding in your room, working up the courage to move and take care of yourself. Then nights of work or spent rummaging through polaroids that catalog your relationship. You always told yourself you put them in a scrapbook, something to hold the years together so in old age you’d have something to shuffle through. It sounds silly now, but the pictures sit in a shoebox of movie stubs from the Hawk, the receipt from your first date together, and the paper menu from the diner that you talked a waitress into giving you. There are notes scribbled on lined paper that were slipped into your jacket pockets when Steve would kiss you goodbye as he dropped you off at school, dried flowers from prom, and so much more. After a week of crying over the pieces, ink smudging thanks to fresh tears your body can create again now that you’re hydrated, you manage to shove the shoe box in the back corner under your bed. You had to slide it back there with the broom, but you know it’s not within reach now and that feels like progress.

You still dodge calls from your friends that you collected outside of your relationship. When they manage to catch you on the phone they whisper sweet condolences, but underneath it’s an unspoken blame of how you should have known. “He was the King of the school, he only knows how to break hearts,” your friend Val tells you over the phone one night. Val pops her gum on the other end of the line, and it sets off a chain reaction of emotions. You feel like you’re going through the five stages of grief in that moment. Val tries to invite you out and reminds you that Hawkins has more boys than just Steve Harrington. She promises you a good time, a night to help you forget all about Steve. You make an excuse and promise to go out next time, but both of you know it’s a promise you won’t keep.

Your parents seem to have set up some game plan amongst themselves. They’ve learned that they can’t tell you that your heartbreak is juvenile. Instead, they preach about how open you’ll be to new opportunities when you head to school. Your dad has the course list, where he got it from you don’t dare to ask. He tries to plan out your future over dinner, but you don’t even know what life you want for yourself. Before this you just saw Steve in the future, you had naïvely assumed you’d have time to sort out the rest. But Steve’s in the rearview now, and your parents want to know what life you plan to have in your passenger seat.

It's three weeks of juggling it all, but you still haven’t seen Steve. It should feel like the universe is still on your side, but really, it’s more of a cosmic joke. It should be finally time for some peace, instead, the world feels the need to implode again. Your parents are out of town, an annual get-together with their old college friends, and you’re home alone. It’s late, you’ve only been off work for 20 minutes when you get to the grocery store. The pantry at home is bare bones and you’ve been putting off the need to go shopping for the last three days. You’ve been supplementing meals through various fast-food restaurants on the outskirts of town. But you’re tired of driving so far away, plus the taste of grease has become less and less appealing as the days have dragged on.

The evening finds you shrugging off your name tag from the arcade and running into Bradley’s to do some shopping before they close for the night. The air conditioning hits you right as the doors open, it cools your skin in a way that summer nights never will. You close your eyes and pause for a moment, maybe you look crazy, but it’s late and you don’t anticipate anyone else is going to be poking around the store. You grab a cart and you’re on your way, trying to be mindful to be quick because you know how it feels to work a closing shift. You wander up and down the aisles of the store, with no real list in mind just grabbing what sounds good. Your diet is still in a post-break-up mode which means you’re either only consuming junk food or pushing food around on your plate still too sad to eat. Which means, it’s time to be gentle with yourself and just grab the food that calls to you. Now is not a time for healthy eating and hitting every food group on that pyramid they went over in health class.

Because of this though you aren’t paying attention to what’s in front of you. You move through the aisles of the store with your eyes on the shelves, still having confidence in the fact that it’s just you and the store clerk in here. But remember, Hawkins likes to implode both literally and emotionally. You swing your cart into the next aisle, already excited to be browsing the cereal options. You only make it a handful of steps forward, eyes already searching for the cinnamon toast crunch which you’re rarely allowed to bring into the house otherwise your mom will complain. Your cart jolts and pushes you back, and you look up to find that you’ve hit another person’s cart.

You feel silly, and your cheeks are warm in an embarrassed flush. “I’m so sorry,” the words tumble out as you drag your gaze up to see what suburban mom you’ve managed to piss off tonight. When you see who it is though you find yourself wishing it was a mom about to yell at you, instead it’s Steve, you find yourself in front of. He says your name, a hint of surprise, and what you might have previously labeled as nervous energy. You must look stupid, both of you really, just standing in silence as the hum of the grocery store lights buzz on and the radio station the store is set to plays out louder than it should. Steve’s cart is full of popcorn, and snacks that you can trace to each teen you know he babysits, there’s even Robin’s favorite chips and the beer that Eddie likes to drink. All of it slides together and reminds you that it’s Saturday, which means movie night at Steve’s.

You don’t know what to say, and you feel like a deer caught in headlights. Frozen so that you can’t even run to escape the impending collision that is about to take place. It’s Robin rounding around the corner, her voice loud and unapologetic in a way you have always admired. “Hey, dingus, should we grab some ice cream for Erica, or do you think…” her voice trails off as she catches sight of you. “Oh,” and you look to Robin, she raises a hand to give a small wave at you and smile. It’s enough to also jump Steve into movement again, saying your name and you don’t wait to see if there’s more.

You don’t say anything as you turn to leave, though maybe you should have, at least to Robin. But she’s the headlights turning off and giving you the freedom to run. You can eat another fast-food burger tonight, and you hate that you’re just leaving your cart in the middle of the cereal aisle. But you can’t, you won’t just sit there and let yourself wonder that store when it’s obviously not a safe place.

The air conditioning hits you again as you run out the doors. No time to pause this time, and you actually seek comfort in the sticky heat that greets you outside of Bradley’s. The crickets sing to you as you rush to fumble with your keys and drive away before your past tries to catch you outside. You got three weeks of no Steve, and you had been lulled into this fantasy of maybe being okay someday soon. This though, this small interaction, where you didn’t even really talk to him, has shown that you’re not close to that. When you finally manage to pull into your driveway, your hand bangs down on the steering wheel. You mumble to yourself, “that was so stupid, you just ran?”

You’ll eventually make your way into the house about 15 minutes later, after you had completely gone over the entire interaction about three times. You know it will continue to replay all night long. It’ll be inside that you realize you never even stopped to get food, too focused on seeking the safety that you can apparently only find in your room these days. Time drags on and you keep opening and closing the fridge and the cabinets hoping that food will magically appear the next time you start looking. It’s late, Bradley’s will have to be a tomorrow you type of goal. You know Steve and the group will be up late tonight which means the morning will be safe.

You’ve resigned that tonight’s dinner will be a pack of saltines you find buried in the back of the pantry when there’s a knock on your door. Your friends know not to show up unannounced, and if your parents managed to come home early, they wouldn’t be knocking. It’s Hawkins, you remind yourself as you creep to the door, but then the additional it’s Hawkins kicks in and there could be anything waiting for you. You grab your mom’s tennis racket from the closet by the front door and peek out the peephole, but your porch light isn’t on, and you can’t see anything. When you open the door, tennis racket at the ready, there’s no one there. Instead, sitting on the mat right in front of your door is three bags of groceries from Bradley’s.

The bags contain all the items you remember dumping into your cart, including the added addition of one box of cinnamon toast crunch. You can’t prove it, there’s no note, but you don’t really need it do you? There are only two people who would have had access to the cart you left behind, and only one of those two would have added in your favorite cereal. An internal debate rages inside of you, one side of you wanting to leave the food on your porch. Hoping that maybe later Steve will drive by and see it still sitting there. Maybe it will be an ounce of the hurt he's inflicted on you. The other part of you though, the part whose stomach is literally just growling at the prospect of food, wins out. You drag the bags inside and spend the night cycling between the incident in the store and what the bags of food on your porch mean.

The next day feels like a relapse, and you find yourself pacing by your phone, the internal debate to call Steve rages on in your mind. The number of times you pick up that phone and start to punch in his number is too many to count. There’s only one time when you get through the whole number, you only let it ring once before you’re slamming the phone back down and rushing off to your room. You throw yourself onto your bed, face first into your pillow, and you scream. It feels like every emotion that’s been building up since that night in Steve’s car just forces its way out of you. You spend the rest of your day in bed, Don’t Dream It’s Over plays on repeat as you stare at your ceiling and only recognize time passing by the light that streams in from your window.

When your parents come back a week later you say that you want to leave Hawkins earlier after all. They don’t even ask why you changed your mind. They don’t press the issue, which you figured they wouldn’t, but it still stings. instead, they celebrate. Your mom pulls you into her arms and excitedly tells you that it’s the second-best decision you’ve ever made. Your dad chimes in about how the first was applying to college in the first place, his hand feels heavy on your shoulder. The smile you wear feels like it was pasted on, like some macaroni art piece a kindergartener does. Your parents don’t notice though, they never do, they move on already making plans about your departure. The choice doesn’t feel right, but then again, you’re not really sure what the right choice is any more or how it should feel.

______________________________________________________________

You spend the rest of your summer forcing yourself into spaces you don’t want to be in, but it feels like you have to. You got to parties with Val, you spend summer days at the pool with your friends as you planned. It may not be all the friends that you had anticipated being with but it’s something. You feel like with each activity you do you’re adding another band-aid to your heart hoping that this time maybe it’ll stay together. There are times, like at the community pool, when you sit with your friends, and you don’t really feel there. It feels like you’re playing a part and you’ve never been a good actress, so you’re still surprised when everyone just believes it.

Time and life keep moving forward and you wish it felt like you were too, but you still feel stuck. Your parents think that time won’t start moving until you’re away at college, and your friends believe that you need to start dating someone new to feel like you’ve moved on. You don’t think any of them are right but again you’re still stuck wondering what the right move is and how it’s supposed to feel.

What you do manage is to only catch glimpses of Steve for the rest of the summer. You see him at the movies dropping the party off, and you catch him one day leaving Family Video when he’s stayed too late. There’s another day at the grocery store, where you find yourself hiding behind a display stand to avoid the awkward run-in. You see him but you don’t think he ever sees you. You’re not sure if that’s exactly what you want, but if it is then why does it still also ache? A week before you leave you seek Steve out. You spend the morning giving yourself a pep talk, you take the time to perfect your outfit and ensure that you look better than you feel. This encounter is in your control, and you want to make sure it all goes off without a hitch.

You march into Family Video. You’ve been waiting for Robin to leave for her break and for a lull in customers to happen. When all the stars align you take a deep breath, shake out the nerves and move forward with purpose. You have a week left in Hawkins and all your teen magazines have told you that if you want to start college off right you need closure.

The bell above the door rings out in a way that feels louder than you remember. You don’t let it stop you though, you move forward and watch with some satisfaction as Steve’s head pops up and surprise washes over his face. Good, you think to yourself, finally, he knows what it’s like to be ambushed. You’ve planned out what you want to say so once you’re at the counter you speak before Steve can completely derail you.

“Harrington,” the last name comes out a lot calmer than you thought it would, you feel confident. “I leave for school next week…”

“Next week?” Steve interrupts, he looks like he has more to say but you send a glare his way which is enough to have him holding back words. If you paused long enough to just stare at him, you might wonder if he's disappointed, but you don't let the silence linger long enough to notice.

“As I was saying, I leave next week for school, and you owe me some type of closure or explanation for what happened. I’ll be at the diner tomorrow night, 7 pm and I expect you to show up.” You’re proud of yourself, your voice has an edge to it that leaves no room for disagreement.

Steve just says your name and he says it in the same soft way he did when you first started dating. You feel ruffled and some of that confidence feels like it’s being washed down a drain somewhere. “No,” you interrupt him. You can feel the tension in your forehead, you know your brows are furrowed and the frown on your face is reflecting your real emotions instead of some mask you’ve been wearing.

“You just dumped me, out of the blue and you gave me no explanation. I’m leaving next week, and you owe me this. You don’t get to dump me, say that you don’t care for me, and then leave groceries on my doorstep, Steve.” Something in your words must hit a soft spot that you know Steve still has inside of him. Even if his feelings for you are long gone, Steve has always been gooey and soft like caramel on the inside.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.” You stare at him a moment longer, trying to figure out if you’re getting an honest response. Once you’re sure you are you nod and turn to leave. When you were dating you never liked saying goodbye to Steve, it was always a see you soon. Now when you leave there’s no goodbye, but it’s more because you don’t want to waste another word on him. Not when you need to prepare for tomorrow.

______________________________________________________________

The next night finds you showing up at the diner first. The waitress recognizes you and tells you it’s been a while since she’s seen you. You don’t have the heart to tell her the reason why, you just smile and walk to the booth that used to belong to Steve and you.

You don’t feel as prepared for your conversation tonight as you would like, but you do feel less fragile. Somewhere between yesterday and today, you’ve managed to slide into the anger stage of your grief. There are times when you’re not sure if you’re going to just hit Steve as soon as you hit him, or worse. Worse is that small intrusive thought that you have about kissing him one last time. It’s weird because you’re so angry, the angriest you think you’ve ever been before. You feel like a pot that was left on a burner too long, just boiling over the edge and sizzling when you hit the stove eye.

And yet, behind all that anger there’s still the part of you that loves Steve. That piece of you can’t even remember the last time you kissed. You have fuzzy memories of when it might have happened. Maybe a goodbye kiss as he dropped you off at home, something that happened underneath his comforter as you both tried to hide away from the world a little longer. Either of those or something more is possible. It’s just... how were you supposed to know you needed to remember it? You think that maybe this time if you knew it was the last, you’d feel more prepared this time. Maybe it’ll help you feel better.

You slide the salt shaker between your hands, watching as it glides over the table as smooth as butter. Another glance at the clock tells you that Steve is late, Steve who was never late to anything that had to do with you before. The heat starts to turn up, and you feel more and more like that roaring boil of the pot. Twenty minutes after the hour he was supposed to be there the bell chimes above the door.

You don’t give in to the urge to look, you watch the salt continue to glide over the table. You know already it’s Steve because that same waitress is telling him that his girlfriend is at the regular booth. Steve doesn’t even correct her, at least not that you can hear. Steve slides into his seat as easily as the salt continued to glide on the table. All the anger you felt feels like it whooshes out of you. You go from feeling like a boiling pot to a balloon that was blown up and then let go before the air could be sealed inside.

As you sit across from him, the silence stretching on like the miles on an interstate you find yourself spiraling. People, mostly your friends and parents, have implied that it was childish of you to assume that your relationship with Steve would be anything long-term. And maybe you were, maybe somewhere in it all you got swept up in teenage fantasies. Sitting across from him though reminds you how it happened. For all the pain he’s caused, Steve Harrington is still the prettiest sight you’ve ever seen.

The people of Hawkins can gather and label you as simple-minded for all you care. Slap a label on you and shelve you in the town library with all the other romance novels, you don’t care. Because for all that they say you saw yourself creating a future with this man in front of you. Sure, maybe you romanticized it all, but God… you would have married Steve if he had given you a chance.

It’s that thought that spurs you back into the anger portion of The Aftermath. Because you didn’t build your relationship up by yourself. Steve was there too, he’s the one that layered the cement for your foundation. Steve with his endless flirting, his soft compliments, his whispered promises of forever. And even at the end, Steve left you with no explanation for this exit he took. And you can’t start your journey until he finally tells you why.

“You never really gave me a why for what happened at the end. I hate that it’s been months and I can’t let go of you, and maybe I’m just oversharing here, maybe I cared more, but I have to know. Steve, what the hell happened to us?” You’re surprised how quickly the words come out, but you’re pleased that they sound so tough. If Steve is surprised that you had to break the silence, he doesn’t show it.

“We’re young, this wasn’t going to be forever.” Steve’s voice isn’t loud, but it feels like it echoes in the diner. You want to sink into the vinyl of the booth, but you know you can’t.

“See, you say that but,” you take a breath to collect yourself to figure out how you say this all. “We talked about plans, Steve.” You look up, it’s easier to stare into the fluorescents than into Steve’s eyes. Your nerves make themselves known as you feel your fingers picking at the dry skin around your nails.

“Maybe somewhere along the way, I was looking farther into the future than you were. And if I was then I guess that’s on me.  But I didn’t even know forever was an option until you gave me the words to use.” You shake your head like it’ll knock away your disbelief. Your gaze drifts from the lights to your hands gathered on the top of the table now.

“There was that time,” You lay your hands flat on the table hoping the action will stop the nerves from expanding. “We had only been together for like 4 months, and it was that really rainy day?” It’s a question, a quick uptake that doesn’t need an answer. You finally look to Steve again, waiting for some recognition to spark in his mind before you bulldoze on.

“We stayed in your bed for hours, wrapped up in one another. It was the laziest and softest day we had since we started dating. And there was that moment, and you told me that you wanted pause time.” A grimace of a smile forms, and it’s a bitter laugh that accompanies it. “You wanted to stay in that moment forever, do you remember that?”

Steve, who has been so emotionless through your every moment since you broke up, seems to finally crack. You watch emotions slide out of him as you wait for a response.

“I remember.” It’s a whisper, a barely audible acknowledgment of your past. If words could hold weight though, if they could carry more than a sound, you think those two would weigh a ton. They sound heavy at least, and for once you’re happy you don’t have to offer to carry them for Steve.

“So, when did that change?” You press on, encouraged by his response.

“I wish I could tell you. I wish there was a day or a time if that would help you. It was slow, and then it was just there and so I ended it.” Steve’s response is a rush of words, and his gaze isn’t even on you. It all collides together like a car crash. And just like a car crash once the collision hits, you can’t look away from it. It feels like a tragedy, and you know you shouldn’t stare, but human nature is human nature, and you can’t change that. Maybe there’s more to say after his confession but instead, Steve leaves without saying goodbye. His departure is quick and you calling his name is the only thing that follows him.

You stay stuck in that booth for a while, Steve’s words rolling around in your head like a tumbleweed. This was supposed to be closure, but it doesn’t feel like anything has been closed. You feel like you’re trying to piece a puzzle together but some of the pieces are still missing. Steve is the only one that has them but he’s refusing to let you see them, so you don’t even know what you’re trying to put together.

A small nagging part of you feels like there’s still more to this. Like something bigger is at play. But if Steve isn’t willing to share with the class despite all your opportunities for him to do so you’re at a loss. You have to, at a certain point, accept the fact that this is an unknown portion that you’ll never get answered. You hate that, hate how bitter it tastes, but you have no other choice than to find a way to work towards it. Because if nothing else, this night has shown that you can’t keep this candle burning when someone is actively blowing it out. It’s time to snuff the flame out yourself. You want to hope that maybe it’ll be easier once there’s some distance between Steve and yourself. Maybe if you’re no longer hiding from him at the grocery store that door that feels like it’s still wide open will start to close and you can move on.

______________________________________________________________

The day before you leave feels like a round of goodbyes. You hadn’t told anyone besides Steve that you’d be leaving early. Your friends are surprised, and you smile and tell them you’re just excited. Steve had always been your secret keeper, the only one that knew the fear you had around going to college. So, you know your lie will go over smoothly with your friends, and just like you’ve been doing for the remainder of the summer your mask of ‘I’m fine’ will help sell the story more.

It's the kids and Robin that you feel the most torn on, the ones that you struggle with when it comes to a goodbye. The breakup fractured a lot of things in your life, and it feels like maybe you lost them all somewhere this summer. They were never really yours though, so how you could have lost them you’re not sure. In the end, you solidify your resolve and even if it means nothing to them it does mean something to you. You’ve already worked your last shift, and yet you sit in the shared parking lot of your former work and the only place you’re guaranteed to find everyone you need all at once. Since the mall is long gone, this is the best place to be on a hot summer day. Unless you want to share the pool water with the rest of the Hawkins. You wait, you let Steve leave for his lunch, and you take that as your moment.

There’s no speech planned, nothing too major in your goodbye. Robin’s surprised face is what greets you when she looks towards the bell ringing. A soft exclamation of surprise escapes her and she looks confused. “I don’t want to waste your time,” you find yourself telling her. This is the quietest you’ve ever seen Robin.

“I just wanted to say goodbye. I know you’re his friend, and we haven’t really talked since… Well, you know when, but sometimes you felt like my friend too and so I just wanted to say goodbye before I left and that I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you before this.”

All your words sound so unsure, and you feel like you should be phrasing questions instead of just statements.

Silence hangs over the store, and you feel like if you don’t leave it’s just going to grow more awkward. “Okay, well then.” You mumble to yourself, and you force a smile and a wave before you turn to go. You make it to the door, it’s open and you are half in the heat and half in the air conditioning when Robin finally speaks.

“I’m sorry,” it’s not what you expect, and you throw a glance over your shoulder. Her face reflects the apology she’s given you. “We were friends, it’s just-” You shake your head and interrupt.

“It’s okay, Robin. He was your friend first, I’m glad that he had you and the kids.” You smile, and it feels real this time. “Maybe when I get back for winter break, we could be friends again?”

 “I’d like that.” Robin matches your smile, and her nod is enthusiastic. You wave one last time and head fully out into the heat, you’ve got one more stop right next door and then your goodbye tour of Hawkins will be over.

The kids are right where you expect them. Tangled together around one of the games, with Max behind the controls. You wait until the losing screen comes on before addressing them. Your goodbye with the kids is just as short as your one with Robin. “You know I’m kind of gonna miss watching you all hold these games hostage,” Your tone is cheerful, not at all scared like you feel inside. The kids are quick to turn around and it’s Will that matches your tone when he calls your name. Will has always been the kindest of the bunch, and he’s quick to hug your side while everyone else smiles and says hello.

Max is the one to break the greetings, always the most impulsive of the group. “What are you doing here, do you work today?”

“Uh no, actually I came here looking for you guys.” You feel like you stumble over your words, especially as Mike gives you the most suspicious look you’ve ever seen him throw your way. He’s always hard to please, but you feel like maybe you shouldn’t have added him to the goodbye tour after all.

“I just wanted to say goodbye, I know we haven’t talked this summer but still.” You find yourself shrugging as you finish talking.

“You’re leaving already?” It’s Dustin this time, and you find yourself surprised. He hasn’t talked to you since the breakup, and you assumed that would carry over to this conversation. His tone sounds disappointed, and you find yourself feeling guilty for a reason you can’t name.

“I leave tomorrow,” there’s a chorus of groans and refusals that leave the kids. Something like regret swells up because sure these were Steve’s kids first, but they were kinda yours too. You knew them before Steve and had a whole weird dynamic with them before you even knew Steve worked next door. A part of you feels like you messed up this summer by not making more of an effort with them.

“I’m sorry about this summer,” the expressions they turn your way feel like they know too much for kids who are too young to be wrapped up in your love life drama. “We’re sorry too,” Lucas tells you. “You have nothing to apologize for okay,” you look at each one of them, the look on your face leaves no room for argument. It’s always worked with the group.

“Maybe when I get home for winter break, we could all do something together?” You offer them the same olive branch that was extended to Robin. Everyone, Mike included you’re happy to note, nods their head. You find yourself ruffling Will’s hair, he’s still the closest to you. “It’s a plan,” you tell them. “I’ll let you get back to the game, make sure you keep that top spot!” Max tells you not to worry about it, a smirk already forming on her face. You give them all one last smile and make your way out of the building.

You think you’re done, and you feel as at peace as you think you can manage under the circumstances of it all. You unlock the door of your car, plans already in mind for what is left to pack up for the trip tomorrow when someone is calling out your name. You look up and find Dustin running towards you. You meet him part of the way, and he’s throwing his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight. There’s a huff of surprise that forces its way out upon the impact, but you don’t hesitate as you return the hug.

His voice is muffled, and you rub soothing circles on his back. “Dustin, I can’t understand you.” You keep your voice soft like you’re talking to a startled animal. It’s just a moment before he pulls back, and you’re met with a teary face. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you this summer,” Dustin’s words are rushed and come out as almost one sound. You find yourself shushing him and pulling him in for another hug. “You’re all good, it’s okay.”

You give him a minute to just feel his big feelings before you push him back. Your hands rest on his shoulders and you find you don’t have to bend down too far to meet his gaze. You wonder when he started getting so tall and remind yourself it was probably sometime this summer.

“Dustin, I’m not mad or upset or anything okay?” You wait for him to nod along to what you’re saying. “I’m sorry you got caught up in all this,” there’s enough stress on sorry that you think it could take off like a jet with the force you’re pushing it out. “Steve and I were the adults, you shouldn’t have been caught up in the middle, okay?”

Dustin looks like he’s going to argue, “No arguments! This was between us, and we should have made that clear.” Dustin stares at you for what feels like a minute before he nods.

“I’m gonna miss you,” is what Dustin tells you next. “Keith is never gonna be as cool as you. Whose going kick all the older kids off the games for me?” You laugh, happy to see him joking with you now.

“I’m going to miss you too, kid.” You give his shoulders a squeeze, “I’m going to give you a secret, use it responsibly, okay?” Dustin gives you an excited look and nods his head quickly, “I promise,” he says.

“If Keith gives you any trouble, just tell him that you know about Lucy.” Dustin has questions you can tell. “Keith won’t ask you to tell him, he’ll be too embarrassed. If he asks how you know, then you just tell him I told you. He’ll do whatever you want.”

There’s a part of you that feels like maybe you’ve given him too much power, but Dustin’s always been a smart kid and Keith has always been a dick to him, so you don’t feel too much remorse. Someone should be benefiting from the information anyway, and Dustin feels like the right one out of the party to hold on to the information.

“With great power comes great responsibility,” You quote to him, it’s a quip he used to tell Steve all the time before you started dating. Something from a comic book if you remember correctly.

Dustin’s smile is blinding, “You were always too cool for him you know, it’s his loss.” You smile and hope it doesn’t come off as sad as it feels. “Thanks, Dustin.”

You ruffle his hair, just like you had done to Will. Dustin bats at your hands and you push him toward the arcade, “Go spend time with your friends. I’ll see you in December.”

Dustin starts to go but turns back just as quickly. “You promise?” The happiness that had been there before has been replaced with worry again. “I pinky promise,” you hold out your pinky to show him you’re serious. Dustin comes back just to seal the promise and then waves goodbye again returning to the arcade.

The next morning, when every spare inch of space in your car is covered in your belongings, you finally feel like you could actually leave this place feeling okay. Things are not at all the way you thought they would be when the summer first started. You also still feel a weird sort of dread about attending college, but it feels like you could conquer it. If you could do this, this weird limbo break-up, then you think college can’t be that bad.

Your parents aren’t going with you. Despite their excitement and all the ways they’ve pushed you into this decision, they have both told you they feel you have to do this alone. Everything is set up for you, your dad has given you a paper with your new address on it and a credit card for emergencies. You know in both their eyes they’ve done their job as your parents. They’ve paved the way for success and now it’s your responsibility to make them proud.