#009 reader

“well, what do you like to do for fun?”

your hair is too short. you’re staring at yourself in the mirror like there’s something wrong with the way you look, and steve hasn’t got the faintest clue as to what that could be—

he thinks you look perfect.

but he can see it, in the way that you run your hand over your little pixie cut, only having grown an inch or two since you’ve gotten out of the lab.

steve makes a mental note to give you some tips— his hair was like his first baby, and he can tell by the way you eye his that you’re a little jealous of it (and you wouldn’t say it to him, but you’re also a little entranced by his hair. it’s very pretty).

he watches as you glance to his reflection in the mirror, indirectly meeting his gaze. you shrug at his question.

you don’t really have a lot of hobbies. but you’ve been out of the lab for three months. the air is cold, dry— January in Hawkins is unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

you hung out with steve on december 15th— when he was sulking over nancy, when you had just watched your sister get dolled up, going to her first dance, a strange sort of bitter jealousy filling your belly, considering how happy for her you were.

but your only plans for the night had been to sit in your room, rereading the copy of romeo & juliet you had gotten years ago— the only luxury you got in the lab. papa had given it to you, a sort of apology for favoring el so heavily while you were left to be trained by one of the younger orderlies.

and because of that, you couldn’t talk very well, your education limited, and your writing skills were subpar— but you knew shakespeare. you studied that book front to back, back to front.

so when steve’s beamer pulled up to the cabin, it had alarmed you, since no one else was home. the knock at the door was even worse, but you were stronger than you looked.

thankfully, you didn’t have to beat steve up. he asked you if you wanted to watch a movie he had gotten— and then held up a copy of e.t.

it took three hours to watch, because you kept having to pause to ask steve about things you didn’t understand. but you paid attention, enjoying the movie, enjoying company. the next week, he came over with a copy of the dark crystal.

so movie night became a thing.

the saturday after christmas, steve came over with a copy of risky business, and a box wrapped in shiny red wrapping paper, a new flannel and pants that properly fit inside, and you handed him a small gift bag with two hand braided bracelets.

steve was your first friend.

but it kills him that while he’s at school or at work, you’re just sitting at home, no one to talk to, nothing to do— he thinks it bothers him so much because it’s not much of a life; why escape an isolating lab just to sit around all day?

“there has to be something you like doing,” he prods, “what do you do while you’re waiting around for me to come over?” his words are light, teasing, but you detect worry in his voice.

so without another word, you get up from the floor of the cabin and walk over to your room, grabbing your book, before walking back and sitting in the same spot & position as before, before handing steve the book.

he takes it, looking at the well loved book.

“romeo & juliet?” he wonders, “you like shakespeare?”

steve got assigned the book in high school. he did not read it. he regrets it now.

you nod.

“papa gave it to me.”

“hopper? he doesn’t seem like—“

“no. papa.”

steve looks at you, realizing that papa must be someone you don’t care to talk about, given the way you won’t look at him. you usually aren’t big on eye contact, but you can at least look at him.

so he decides to ask,

“have you read any of his other stuff?”

you tilt your head.

“other stuff?”

steve’s face twists in confusion before realizing no one has ever told you that the guy who wrote your favorite book was not a one hit wonder, but had changed the literary canon as we know it (although steve phrases it a lot less delicately.)

“oh, dude, he has like, a million books and plays and stuff.”

“a million?” you question, and it makes him smile. you’re like a parrot. it’s cute.

“well, maybe not a million.” he corrects, “but a lot. he’s a popular dude. we can get some of his books at the library, if you want.” he offers.

“..steve?”

“yeah?”

“…what’s a library?”

steve knows you grew up in a lab, but some of the things you ask kind of breaks his heart.

“it’s like..” he sighs, trying to explain stuff that seems normal to him, “a big.. store where you can get books, but it’s free and you have to return them after like two weeks.”

you blink.

“and they have more like this?” you ask, pointing to your book.

steve smiles.

“yeah. plenty more. wanna go?”

“yes, please.”

steve is standing before you even finish.

“c’mon grab your coat,” he says, going to pull his own on. he looks at you, who is still running a subconscious hand over your head. he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a warm knit beanie, a dark green color. “here,” he says, offering to you.

you stare at him.

“c’mon, nines, just take it.” he pushes, “i’d rather you not freeze over a trip to the library.” and when your fingers hesitantly curl around his hat to take it, steve is turning and opening the door before you can say no.

the beanie is warm, protects your ears from the cold, and, yes, smells of coconut and something artificial, like hairspray. it’s comforting.

the drive to the library is short— it’s a friday afternoon, so everyone’s gotten out of school and is excited for the weekend. you people watch out the window, wondering if you could feel as normal as everyone else looks.

steve pulls into a spot in front of the library, climbing out of the car and saying,

“well, this is it, the—“ he glances over to your side of the car, and when he doesn’t see you, he realizes you’re not out of the car yet. he walks over to your side, opening the car door for you, like that’s what you’re waiting for. but you can’t seem to move. he bends down and looks at you, one hand on his hip, one on the top of the car, as he leans against the door. “everything okay?”

you’re not very good at expressing your emotions. but you’re trying to be better at it. you had even made it your ‘new years resolution’ (once steve explained what that was to you), and he’s determined to make you feel better.

“i am scared.” you finally say, only looking at him then. you study his kind brown eyes for what seems to be an eternity before you continue, “everyone will be looking at me, and they will know that i am..”

you let him fill in the blank— weird, creepy, freak.

“so you’re a little poorly socialized,” steve shrugs like it’s not a big deal. he wants you to feel normal. it’s not a lot, but it’s what he knows you crave. “big whoop. you’re gonna get better at going out and being around people the more you do it. ‘sides—“ he holds out a hand. “nothing wrong with doing it scared.”

you search for any sign of malice or manipulation in his eyes. all you can find is that he has very pretty eyelashes.

so, for the first time, but not the last— you take his hand in yours, and let him lead you to the library. he walks with you, as your eyes study the big brown building. he leads you on the steps, as you focus on the way steve’s hand feels in yours. warm. grounding.

inside the library, your attention shifts. a few people linger, a woman sits behind the front desk. and the library’s walls are covered in books. your eyes lock onto them, to the point where you begin to lead steve, instead of the other way around. your fingers graze over the spines of books, reading the titles and the authors.

steve squeezes your hand, begging your attention. you’re happy to give it to him, head turning to him. he leads you right to the wall of shakespeare books that sit in the back— a whole wall of classics.

“choose whatever interests you.” he says, and you slowly let go of his hand (steve clenches his hand when you let go, ignoring the way he misses your warmth), studying all the titles.

you pull out one shakespeare play— hamlet.

you step back and look to him, ready to leave. steve gives you this look.

“just the one?” you shrug. “you can have more than one.” he promises.

“how many?”

“as many as you want. world is your oyster.” you give him this look. “it’s an—“ he sighs, stepping forward to pull out a different shakespeare title— the merry wives of windsor. nancy had told him once that it’s where the expression comes from, and you take the book. “as many as you want.” he promises you.

in the end, you walk up to the desk with about 10 books.

hamlet, the merry wives of windsor, macbeth, king lear, the tempest, othello, a midsummer’s night dream, lord of the rings (a dustin henderson recommendation), 1984 (a jonathan byers recommendation), and an issue of a daredevil comic (a mike wheeler recommendation), the only one the library has.

“steve,” you say as you follow him, the stack of books split between the two of you, with steve carrying more of them. “do we just walk out with—“

“nah, we gotta check em out. here, watch,” he says, placing the stack on the main desk, smiling at the nice looking lady behind the counter. “hi, just these please.”

she looks at steve. and then at you. your fingers itch to find steve’s.

but without a word, she begins to stamp all ten books, including the comic. you watch, fascinated, before she says—

“these are due back a month from today. library card, please?” she asks, and you watch as steve’s hand disappears into his back pocket, opening it and flicking through i.d., credit cards, cash, before pulling out a blue card that has bold letters written onto it— hawkins public library. it’s dusty.

he hands it to the woman behind the counter, and neither of you say a word until you get back to the cabin. he helps carry your books inside and then into your room.

he shifts awkwardly as you pick up one of the titles. he knows you want to tell him to go home, that you want to read. but steve is selfish.

“thank you,” you start, “for taking me to the library.” you smile.

steve smiles back.

“..you know i never read romeo & juliet.” he confesses. “i was supposed to, but i never read any of the books assigned to us in class.” he laughs a little like it’s funny, but he hates the person he used to be. it’s hard to not hate the person he is right now.

“oh.” you shift your weight from one foot to another. “why not?”

steve shrugs.

“i don’t know. i guess i thought it would be too much.” he sees the way your face twists, “i was just.. i don’t read a lot, and the way it’s written, that old timey english..” he sighs. “it’s intimidating. scary.”

you pick the book up off your desk, turning to him, and handing it over. he looks at the book, and then to you.

“nothing wrong with doing it scared.” you remind, and his face flushes when he realizes that you really listen to him. it makes his stomach flip.

his fingers curl around your book, barely brushing against his.

but he doesn’t let go.

he asks,

“well would you read it to me? at least the beginning?” he asks softly, “that way if i have any questions you can answer them for me. considering you’re basically an expert.”

you blush at the idea of teaching steve something. of sharing this part of your soul. it’s strangely intimate.

over the course of the next few hours, you lay in your bed as steve takes various positions on your floor, listening to you read the book that he can tell you love, just based on the way you read it, and the way you’re happy to spend time going over it, answering questions.

he leaves long after the sun has set, with your most prized possession in hand. he falls asleep staring at the way you’ve drawn a heart next to a particular line—

“With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out.”

you're not a particularly talkative person-- maybe you would've been, had it not been for the lab, the experiments, and the inter dimensional monsters.

but steve is watching you pick at the cuticles of your nails like you're mad at it, tearing up the skin around your nails. your brow is furrowed, and you won't even look at him. you hate feeling like this, but you're really not sure what else to do except wonder if you would've been happy and flirty in another life.

except, you think bitterly, there is no other life. only this one. only this one, where your only friends growing up were other experiments, where you go to class and can't seem to keep a conversation with anyone long enough to consider them your friend, and where you can't stop wondering if steve would be happier if he was with someone, anyone else.

this morning, while waiting for steve to clock out of family video, robin had told you that steve used to date nancy. ("i'm just happy he's not pining after her anymore, now that he has you. and you're awesome, i mean, he won't shut up about you, it's just cool to hear about something else for a change, y'know?" no. you did not know, but you nodded like you did.)

and really, you were fine that he had dated nancy. you knew he dated plenty of girls, and you were happy he was still friendly with nancy, but.. you couldn't help but notice everything nancy was that you weren't.

great grades, pretty, smart, and kind-- that might've been the worst part. she was so damn likable. you had gone to her house for a movie night last weekend and she was so sweet, not ignoring you. you would even say she was a good friend.

so why did you hate the idea of steve kissing her so much?

"nines?" steve's soft voice cuts through the room. you're laying on the couch, and he's leaning in the doorway of his kitchen. you finally stop abusing your cuticles and look at him, when he says, "dinner's ready."

you follow him into the kitchen and sit across from him at the table. you stare at the meal he's made for a moment, mac and cheese with cut up hot dogs mixed in, when he starts to explain,

"i know it's nothing special," he starts as he pours you a glass of water (you could do it yourself, but steve hates to make you lift a finger), "but we were talking about comfort meals--"

"we?" you wonder, and he smiles a little as he sits across from you.

"yeah, nance came in to borrow some animated movie she watched as a kid, and we were talking about meals we loved as a kid, and she reminded me of when i used to make this 'cause my parents weren't really home," he explains, and you nod, really trying hard to listen and be engaged in the conversation, but he keeps talking about nancy, and how great she was.

you poke at your macaroni, suddenly not hungry. your eyes grow glossy, as wet, hot tears filled them. you're trying really hard, and steve knows that. you go to school five days a week, you try really hard to talk to people, and every time steve suggests that the two of you go out, you nod and smile and agree.

so why do you feel so bad? why are you crying over your boyfriend's ex, when he does nothing but reassure you how much he loves you? why can't you be normal?

"nines?" steve's voice cuts through your thoughts, through the desire to be someone else. "honey, are you okay?" his voice is soft, but full of worry.

you clear your throat and wipe the tears that escape your eyes.

"yes, yes, i am okay," you lie, and steve clicks his tongue with a 'tsk'.

"liar." he says, and gently pokes your side. "what's wrong?"

"nothin."

steve takes your hands in his, and tries to get you to meet his eyes.

"othello." he says, and you almost groan. 'othello' is a shorthand-- ever since you read the play, saying the word was a code for having to tell the truth, since the phrase 'wear my heart on my sleeve' originated from the play. "c'mon, talk to me, i hate to see my girl cry." he says, his hand coming up to your cheeks, his thumb wiping at a few of your tears, "how can i make it better?"

the words make you cry harder. he's so perfect, and you're so...

his free hand begins to rub comfortingly on your arm. he's trying to ground you, when you manage out a wobbly,

"do you.. ever wish i was normal?"

your words make him blink.

"what? baby, who said you're not normal--"

"no one needs to say it," you try to sound angry, more pissed off at everything, but it comes out in a pathetic, weepy whine, "i did not make meals like this when i was young.. you are my first.. everything and.." you shook your head, even if you thought it was stupid, you know you needed to tell him the truth. "and i am nothing like nancy or any of your girlfriends--"

"woah, woah," he squeezes your hand. "okay. deep breathe for me, yeah?" he guides you to follow him, inhaling deeply and slowly exhaling.

when your tears have come to a slow, steve gives you the wide, loving smile he reserves for you.

"first of all," he starts, "i love that you're nothing like nancy or any of my old girlfriends. the way you see things is refreshing, and if you hadn't had the childhood you did, everything would be different, but i love how things are. okay? i don't want you to be anything except the girl i fell in love with." he brings your hand up to his lips to seal it with a kiss. "second of all, it drives me wild in the best way that i'm your first. it means i get to teach you things, and you get to explore what you like with me. that's.." he grins. "it's special. and baby, i know you never had meals like this, that's why i want to make things like this for you, so you can experience things like this. if you hate this meal, i'll never make it again."

steve's foot nudges against yours under the table.

you look at him for a long time, your insecurities still seeping deep into your bones, but steve's words acts as a soothing balm to them, to the way you wish you could've been someone else.

"thank you." you finally say softly. he nods, before leaning in close, as if to tell you a secret,

"and you've only been out here, really living for like, two years-- a year and a half, if you count the six months where all we did was watch movies. and you're doing such a great job at it, and you're only going to get better at it." he tells you, "one day you're gonna look around and realize you've been out of that lab longer than you were in it." he reminds. you blink.

"i did not think of it that way." you say, maybe a little breathless from the possibility of it all.

"well, if it helps you feel better, think of it anyway you want." he shrugs with a smile.

"will you be there?" you ask, and steve tilts his head looking for a bit more clarification, "when i have been out here, for longer than i have been in there?"

steve beams at you.

"of course i will be." he leans forward like he wants to kiss you, "if you don't get sick of me by then."

you huff and shake your head.

"kiss?" you ask, wondering if he'll still make you ask when you've been out longer than you were in the lab-- when you're married, established in your career, when you have forgotten how it feels to barely know yourself, let alone anyone else, when isolation is nothing except a feeling you're barely acquainted with, when you can barely remember a time without him.