#djo

“You’re gonna burn holes in the back of Jonathan’s head,” you murmur.

Steve startles, blinking down at you. “I… what? No, I’m not!”

“You’re glaring.”

“I’m not glaring,” he mutters defensively, straightening. “I’m… observing.”

“You look constipated.”

He snorts despite himself, shoulders loosening a little. “Wow. Thanks.”

You shrug. “Just being honest.”

You look up at him, really look, and the vulnerable tightness in his expression is impossible to ignore.

“You okay?” you ask quietly.

He hesitates, then gestures vaguely toward Nancy nonchalantly. “She just… used to look at me like that.”

“And now she looks at Jonathan.”

He doesn’t respond and your stomach twists in sympathy—and something else you don’t want to examine too closely.

You nudge him gently with your elbow. “You know… there are ways to make someone remember you.”

He gives a humorless laugh. “What, walk over there and give a dramatic speech?”

“No,” you say, amuse, “something that actually works.”

His brows lift slightly. “…Like what?”

You look away for a moment, gathering the courage, because saying this out loud feels surprisingly intimate.

Then you turn back to him.

“You could make her jealous.”

Steve goes very still.

You keep your voice light, “It works. People don’t usually realize what they’re missing until they think someone else has it.”

He studies your face for a long moment, something soft and uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

“And… how would I do that?” he asks, slow, cautious. “Hypothetically.”

The question sends a pulse of warmth through your chest.

“Hypothetically?” you echo. “You’d need someone to… pretend with you.”

His throat bobs. “Pretend.”

“Fake date,” you clarify, shrugging lightly like your heart isn’t pounding. “Hold your hand. Lean into you a little. Maybe let you put your arm around them so Nancy sees it.”

He keeps staring at you and it makes your skin heat.

“You’d do that?” he asks softly.

You try for a casual tone, even though your pulse is everywhere. “I mean… unless kissing me is some terrible burden.”

A breath of a laugh escapes him, his mouth curving. “No. I wouldn’t call it a burden.”

Something shifts between you.

“So?” you murmur. “If you want the help… I’m offering.”

He looks at you like he’s weighing the whole world.

Like he’s finally seeing something he should’ve seen sooner.

Then, quietly, almost gratefully…

“Yeah. Okay,” he shoots you a faint smile, “let’s try it.”

And just like that, the pretending begins.

Pretending turns into its own sort of torture, because Steve commits.

Hand on your lower back when you walk into a room.

Thumb hooked into your belt loop when he stands behind you.

His palm resting casually on your knee when you sit together.

Little touches that are supposed to be for show.

Supposed to mean nothing.

Except they aren’t nothing.

Not when your body reacts every single time.

He looks at you differently, too.

Like he’s studying your face when he thinks you’re not looking.

Like he’s memorizing your laugh.

Like he’s trying not to cross invisible lines he desperately wants to cross.

And sometimes, when the fake dating act requires a quick kiss to your cheek or your temple, you feel his breath stall. Feel him linger just half a second too long.

You don’t bring it up and he doesn’t either.

But the tension builds, slow and relentless, like water pressing against glass.

And then the crawl happens.

The group is buzzing with nervous energy as plans are finalized. Supplies are checked, flashlights tested, weapons distributed.

Joyce is talking too fast, Robin keeps pacing, Nancy and Jonathan are coordinating routes.

But Steve keeps you close. A gentle touch at your back, a quiet glance to make sure you’re near. The kind of protectiveness that never feels like an act.

Nancy doesn’t say a word when she spots you and Steve standing a little too close near the van, but the shift in her expression is unmistakable. Her eyes flick down to where Steve’s hand rests on the small of your back, casual, but not that casual—then back up to your face, lingering just long enough to read a truth you hadn’t meant to show. It’s not the first time this has occurred, and you hope Steve notices your plan has worked

When the crawl site is declared ready, your stomach tightens.

You’ve been through it before. You know the dark, the vines, the suffocating air. The way the Upside Down swallows sound.

You try to steady your breathing, but Steve sees it immediately. He always sees you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, brushing your arm. “We’re riding in the van. Dustin’s a no-show, come with me.”

You nod, not trusting your voice.

Inside, it’s dim and quiet. A temporary bubble away from the chaos. Steve closes the door behind you, and suddenly it’s just the two of you in the muted half-dark.

He sits across from you at first, elbows resting on his knees.

“You’re nervous,” he says softly. Not accusing. Not teasing. Just noticing.

You swallow. “A little.”

He shakes his head gently. “No. More than a little.”

Your eyes sting, not because of fear, but because he sounds like he cares too much for it to be pretend. He scoots closer, still giving you space to pull away. “Come here.”

You go without hesitation.

He pulls you in, slow and carefully, one arm around your back, the other hand warm at the nape of your neck. Your forehead rests against his collarbone, his chin brushing your hair.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

You clench your fist in his shirt. “Steve…”

His hand slides up your spine, soothing… except soothing is the wrong word. Because every stroke of his fingers sends a shiver down your skin.

He breathes against your ear, voice low and soft:

“I’d get between you and anything. You know that, right?”

You pull back to look at him, and everything changes.

His hands stay on you. Your knees touch.

You’re close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

His gaze drops to your mouth. You see it, no.. you feel it.

The exact second the dam cracks.

“Steve,” you whisper, trying to steady yourself. “This is… pretend.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, featherlight.

“Not right now,” he says, “not for me.”

Your heart stutters.

“And not for you either,” he adds quietly.

Your pulse answers him before you do… and you kiss him.

It’s soft for half a second, just the barest brush of lips, before he exhales sharply and pulls you in like he’s been denied this for weeks.

His hand cups your jaw, the other sliding around your waist, pulling you into his lap. The kiss deepens. Hungry, desperate, starved.

Every tiny piece of restraint he’s shown shatters the moment you open your mouth to him.

He groans into the kiss, low and rough, like he’s been holding it back.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips. “I knew it. I knew the second I said yes to this fake dating thing I was screwed.”

Steve kisses you like he’s already fucked you a hundred times in his head.

Your back hits the bench seat and he follows, mouth devouring yours, hands everywhere at once—your waist, your ribs, the underside of your thighs. His fingers tremble with adrenaline and want, but his touch is deliberate, hungry, carving you into memory.

When he pulls back, both of you are breathing hard.

“Take this off,” he pants, tugging at your shirt.

You lift your arms, and he strips it off like he’s starving for what’s underneath. His eyes drag over your chest, slow and reverent, then wrecked.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmurs, palms sliding up to cup your breasts. “How the hell am I supposed to pretend after this?”

You grab his wrist and guide his hand lower. “You don’t.”

That breaks him and he kisses down your throat, your sternum, then lower.

Nipping lightly, sucking harder, leaving a trail of open mouthed heat over your skin until you’re arching into him. He mouths your nipple, tongue dragging lazily before he sucks, deep and firm. You gasp, threading your fingers into his hair.

“That good?” he asks against your skin, voice smug and breathless.

“More.”

He groans, an animal sound erupts from his chest and his hand slides between your legs over your pants, pressing right where you need him. You cry out and he bites your shoulder gently in response.

“Fuck yeah,” he pants. “Let me hear you. No one else is close enough to hear us.”

That thought alone makes your stomach flip.

He unbuttons your pants with frantic fingers, and you help shove them down. He drags your underwear aside and his jaw drops when he sees how wet you already are.

“Holy shit.” His thumb sweeps across you, slow and claiming, “you’re soaked.”

“Been waiting,” you breathe.

His pupils dilate, “for me?”

You nod, and he curses viciously.

“Get over here,” he growls, tugging you up and onto his lap.

You straddle him, and his hands slide under your thighs, squeezing, positioning you exactly how he wants. His mouth returns to yours. Hot, urgent, wet—and he grinds up into you through his jeans, making your breath catch.

You tug at his belt.

“Get these off.”

“Bossy,” he teases, undoing it with shaking hands. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

You help shove his jeans down, his boxers following. His cock springs free, thick, flushed, already leaking.

Your eyes widen and he smirks., “yeah? You like what you see?”

You wrap your hand around him and stroke once, slow.

Steve’s head drops back. “Oh—fuck—”

You lean in and kiss his throat while your hand works him, dragging your thumb through the slick at the tip.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first time you pulled me against you for show,” you whisper. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

His grip on your hips tightens. “I did… but I didn’t know you wanted me back.”

You line him up, hovering over him.

“Find out.”

He sucks in a breath so sharp it sounds like pain.

Then you sink down onto him.

Slow. Stretching. Inch by inch.

Steve’s entire body locks. His hands seize your hips. He swears—low and broken—eyes squeezing shut like he’s trying not to explode right there.

“Oh my fucking god,” he groans. “You’re—fuck—you’re so tight I can’t—”

You take him until your hips meet, both of you shaking.

You lean forward, lips brushing his ear. “You can move.”

He exhales shakily. “Baby… if I move right now, I’m gonna ruin you.”

“Do it anyway.”

He snaps.

His hands grip your ass and he guides you up his length, then slams you back down. The van rocks hard. You gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

“That—Steve—oh my god—”

“That’s it,” he pants. “Ride me just like that.”

You start moving to the best of your ability in the small space. Lifting, dropping, grinding—using him, taking everything he gives you. Steve’s eyes are glued to where your bodies meet, watching himself disappear into you again and again.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, thrusting up to meet you, “taking all of me like you were made for it.”

Your pace stutters. “Don’t stop—don’t stop—”

He grabs your face and kisses you, filthy and wet. “I’m not stopping until you’re shaking.”

He flips you onto your back so fast you gasp. He mounts you, driving into you deeper than before. Hard, relentless, your thighs shaking around his hips.

Your moans echo in the van. His breath is hot and ragged against your neck. Skin slapping, bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with sex and desperation.

He presses a hand lightly around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, pinning you in place while he fucks into you.

“You feel so good,” you choke out.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he pants. “Cum on my cock. Want to feel you clench around me.”

His fingers drop to your clit, rubbing fast, perfect, ruthless. Your hips lift off the seat, back arching.

“Steve—Steve—I’m close—”

“I know,” he growls, “C’mon babydoll, it to me.”

You break apart, screaming his name, body trembling violently as pleasure crashes through you. Your walls clamp around him so hard he swears, thrusting fast and sloppy, chasing his own release.

“Shit—shit—baby—” He pulls out just in time, stroking himself once before he comes all over your stomach, your hips, your thighs—hot, messy, thick.

He collapses down onto his hands above you, panting like he just ran a mile.

You’re both shaking.

He looks down, taking in the sight of you: legs spread, panting, covered in him, and groans again like he might get hard all over.

He leans down and kisses you slow, messy, devoted.

“I wasn’t pretending,” he murmurs against your lips. “Not once.”

You pull him into another kiss.

Similarly, you were there through his horrible prepubescent hormones, his growth spurt hitting later in life. You tripped Christy Morris after she called him short, embarrassing him in front of the class. Her accident overshadowed his embarrassment when she went crying to the office, chocolate milk staining the front of her white dress. Steve’s eyes met yours across the lunchroom, and you sent him a simple shrug. It was mindless, the urge to protect him. It went both ways. It was soon clear to everyone in Hawkins that the two of you would do anything for the other.

Steve held your hand when your dog died, letting you sob into his shoulders. He came to your house the next day, a bundle of picked dandelions in his hand. It was the first time a boy brought you flowers; he told you that you deserved them every day since it made you smile. And you believed him. When his parents got a new job, leaving him at your house or with strange relatives, he’d hide his face in your pillow, pretending tears weren’t racking his body. You’d run your tiny hands through his hair, and once he was done, you’d force him to watch movies with you. Making him laugh so hard that he no longer felt the absence of his parents. He would never be abandoned, because you’d never leave him. 

The summer before high school, the two of you made a pact. Bound in the blood of scraped knees and years of friendship. 

“We’re gonna be friends forever, you know that, right?” Steve asked, both of your backs pressed against the hot fabric of the trampoline. His hair was getting longer, his voice already deeper. 

You had changed, too, your body developing in ways that made boys in school look at you longer. You started caring more about your appearance, making Steve call you gross every time you’d put on lip gloss. In the same way, you’d smack him with the hairspray can he stole from you. 

“Of course I know that,” You said, “Why?” 

He huffed, throwing his arm over his forehead in an attempt to quell the Indiana heat. “High school is just scary. What if we make new friends?” 

You shrugged, not really thinking too much about it. “We both have other friends already.” 

“But none of them are like you.” He said the meaning of his words wouldn’t come to him until much later. 

“I know.” You smirked, kicking his shin with your foot. “Even when the world changes, our friends, school, and even when we change as people. It won’t matter because our friendship never will. We’re unchangeable.” 

He laughed at your word choices, pushing your foot away from his playfully. “Growing up is scary.” He admitted after a brief moment of silence. 

You hummed in agreement, reaching your hand down to grab his. Lacing your fingers together as if you’ve done it a thousand times, because you have. 

“You make it not so scary.” You smiled, the two of you staring at the clouds. 

“Pinky promise?” Steve asked, his voice betraying him. You just smiled, bringing up your other hand that wasn’t in his, holding out your pinky. He did the same, lacing your two pinkies together in an unspoken vow. 

Time is a fickle thing. Nothing ever happens as you plan it; it’s the only consistency in the world. When the two of you stepped foot into Hawkin’s High, it was inevitable that things would change. He made the basketball team, coming over to your house with his jersey in hand. Jumping up and down, swearing you needed to join the Cheerleading team. You smacked him upside the head for even entertaining the idea. He made fun of you for joining the library club, a realization coming over you two that your High School experiences were heading into different directions. You promised to go to each of his games, and he said he would read one book a year for you. A compromise of sorts. 

At his first basketball game, Trina Robbins kissed him courtside, her pom poms shaking wildly at her sides. It was the first time you saw him as a man, not just the little boy who’d help you catch fireflies in the backyard. You ran to him after the game, arms slinging around his shoulders in congratulations. He spun you around, his joyful laugh ringing in your ears. 

“I’m so proud of you!” You gawked, his arms still wrapped around you. It wasn’t until you heard a loud cough from behind you. Trina and her friends were standing behind you, evil smirks on their faces. 

“Y/n! This is my girlfriend Trina.” He smiled widely, his arm leaving your body quickly. He walked over to her, his arm slinging across her shoulders. “Babe, this is my friend I grew up with.” 

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched, “Oh? Steve didn’t mention you.” 

You hoped the sound of the rowdy gymnasium covered the sound of your heart shattering. He didn’t even tell you he had a crush, let alone a girlfriend. Then he didn’t mention you at all. You knew Steve, your Stevie, would never do this. You brushed it off, a hopeless, dumb teenage boy in love. It was fine. 

You braved it with a smile, ignoring their judgmental glares that Steve seemed oblivious to. “Well, nice to meet you, Trina. You did great.” 

“I know.” She smirked, pulling Steve away. “Come on, I want ice cream.” And he was dragging her out the door. 

He turned back, waving at you. “I’ll see you around!” 

You sent him a wave back, riding your bike home in pitiful silence. Absent was the sound of his bike pedaling next to yours, his incessant complaining about assignments and practice. 

It was just a simple interaction, one you tried not to dwell on. But little did you know it would be the first crack in the glass. Your interaction with Steve at school was becoming little to none as the weeks passed. Trina was glued to his hip, and when she wasn’t, his mean older teammates were. You still saw him some weekends, helping him study for his English tests. Inevitably, doing the assignments for him. He was still the same Steve you knew and loved, but something was different. 

He no longer reached for your hand as much as he used to, and there were no more hugs goodbye. You knew this would happen when the two of you started dating, but soon the phone calls stopped. The weekend hangouts in his parents' basement were replaced with him going to parties. He no longer rode with you to school, biking halfway across town to let Trina ride on his pegs. You passed each other in the hallways, soft smiles and waves were all you got for the majority of the year. 

It was the week before Summer break, and you were excited. You and your friends had planned a slumber party, painting nails, hair rollers in, and the stereo in your room blaring your newest cassettes. Preparing your future Summer plans. Celebrating the end of finals, gossiping about going into your sophomore year. You were flipping through a magazine, ready to point out a pair of shoes, when there was a loud tapping at your window. 

The girls jumped, eyes wide at the sight of none other than Steve. His arms were clinging to the ledge, tapping on the glass. It feels like it has been ages since you’ve spoken to him, let alone seeing him, ready to climb into your room. 

“What the hell?” Imogen yelled, her hand cradling her chest. 

You rolled your eyes, ripping open the window. “What are you doing?” 

“I just wanted to-oh oh, hi ladies.” He paused, looking past you to wave flirtatiously at your friends. 

Your fingers flicked his forehead, “Out with it.” 

“Mom wants you over Sunday night for dinner. Said it’s been too long. Still thinks she loves you more than me. Also, just wanted to see you.” He cheesed, to which you pretended it didn’t make your heart pound. 

“Okay. You could've called.” 

“Can’t see your annoyed face through the phone.” 

You glared at him, making him cower. “Okay, okay. See you Sunday!” Then he was off, his feet hitting the ground with a thud. You lay back down on the floor, content to skim through he magazine once again. Trying to calm the thud of your heart. But your friends were not letting it go. 

“You have the Steve Harrington sneaking through your window?” Jessica gawked, running and watching where he ran back to his bike. 

“He’s my best friend.” You laughed nervously, watching her and Imogen stare at each other. An all-knowing look in their eyes. “He could’ve used the front door; he probably just wanted to show off.” 

“Does that happen often?” Jessica asked, her line of questioning not done. 

“Not as much as it used it. Sometimes I’ll go to his, but I’ll use the front door like a normal person. “ You shrugged mindlessly, “His bed is comfier anyway.” 

What you thought was an innocent moment turned out to be anything but. When you walked into school the last day, you were met with too many eyes on you. From the moment you walked to your locker, the whispers were evident. Your palms were sweaty as you stumbled, unlocking the combination lock. 

“Y/n.” Imogen rushed towards you, out of breath from seemingly running to you. “I’m so sorry. I told Jessica not to say anything, but she really wants to be on the cheer squad next year-” 

“What?” You sputtered, “Say what?” 

Before Imogen could spit it out, the school doors slammed open. Everyone’s eyes are on you. There stood Trina, complete with her group of friends. Her face was red, anger evident. You had zero idea what was happening, assuming Steve broke her heart and she was coming to take it out on you. 

“Hey, you whore.” Trina spat, getting in your face within seconds. Your back pressed against your lock, eyebrows raised. Imogen had run off, muttering something about being back. You were left alone, nothing but a pissed off squad of cheerleaders at your neck, with half the school watching. You felt like you were in a bad 70s movie, living out your worst nightmare. 

“What’s your fucking problem?” You asked, fingers clutching your stack of books like your life depended on it. 

“I knew from the moment Steve introduced us that you’d be a problem. With your pathetic “poor me” face. You just couldn’t accept that he wanted me, huh?” She spoke, your mind still reeling. 

“I literally have no clue what you’re talking about.” You tried to push past her, her friends pushing you back roughly into the lockers. Your books going flying from your hands. 

“We’re talking about you fucking my boyfriend.” She spoke slowly, “I heard that you guys crawl into each other's windows and you spread your legs for him.” 

Jessica. That fucking bitch Jessica. Your heart ached; you thought she was your friend. She knew nothing was happening between you two. 

“I never fucked Steve.” A blush crept up your neck at your words, “He’s just my best friend. I’ve known him since I was in diapers.” 

“Bullshit. You can lie to me, but she saw him literally hanging from your window.” 

You didn’t know where the bravery came from, clinging to your pride as much as you could. “You know, Trina, I know no one ever wants to be around you unless you’re putting out, but there’s this thing called friends-” 

Her hand backhanded your cheek before you could finish, the sting making your eyes water. On instinct, you raised your hand back, unable to get anything in before one of her friends kicked you in the shin. The other’s joining in. Pain bloomed through your body as you fought back, getting outnumbered within seconds. It was a blur; in seconds, they were on you, only stopping when they heard a yell down the hallway. 

Imogen was running back, Steve in tow. He was in his gym clothes, his eyes wild. 

“Get the hell off her.” He barked, his arm coming up to pull Trina’s shoulder back. “What the hell is your problem?” 

Her other friends scattered, leaving you slumped on your feet. Arm cradling your stomach, which was bound to be covered in bruises. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but you felt his worried gaze on you. 

“What’s my problem? My problem is you. Cheating on me with this loser?” She screamed, getting the attention of teachers who slowly poured into the hall. 

“Y/n? Nothing happened. God, she’s like my sister.” It wasn’t the first time the comparison had been made, but it was the first time Steve had said it. He didn’t like the way the words shaped in his mouth, his throat going dry before he spoke back up again. “Y/n is my best friend. I told you that.” 

He pushed her aside, dropping to his knees to look over you. He cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Unshed tears were heavy in your eyes, blinking them away when he checked you over for injuries. 

“Are you okay?” He whispered, helping you stand upright. You didn’t answer, keeping your gaze on the floor. Willing yourself to wake up from this nightmare. 

“Steve, I’m sorry.” Trina whimpered, watching her social status flash before her eyes. Steve pushed you behind his back, his eyes wild with fury, while looking at her. 

“You know what, Trina. I don’t think you have the right to call anyone a whore, considering you put out on our first date.” Steve’s words were cruel, an ice to them you’ve never heard before. “You can go to hell. If you ever come near her again, you or your bitchy friends. I will ruin your life. Understood?” 

He was met with silence, tears falling down her cheeks. Little did Hawkins know this was the start of the infamous King Steve. 

“Matter of fact, if anyone has issues with her, they come to me.” He yelled, right before the teachers swarmed in, grabbing Trina by the arm. 

Steve held your hand in silence to the nurse’s office, his eyes squeezing shut when you showed the nurse your reddened skin. 

“It’ll probably bruise, nothing bad enough to go to the hospital for.” She said, snapping her gloves off. “I’m gonna have the office call your parents up here.” 

All you could do was nod, picking at the skin around your nails harshly. 

“Y/n…” Steve whispered, his hand finding yours. You let him lace your fingers together tightly. It had been so long since you held his hand, but it still fit perfectly in yours. “I’m so sorry.” 

You shook your head, “S’my fault. I made a joke to Jessica about how your bed is comfier than mine. I didn’t think she’d take it wrong, definitely didn’t think she’d tell half the school about it.” 

“No, no. It’s not your fault. I haven’t been the best of a friend lately.” He admitted, letting his thumb rub over the top of your hand. “Can’t believe I let a stupid girl get in between us.” 

His pained laugh made you roll your eyes, “Don’t care if you get a girlfriend, Stevie. Just want you to still talk to me.”

“I promise. God, I promise it’ll never happen again.” He laughed shakily, pressing soft kisses to your hand. 

Things had still changed, changed so much sometimes it seemed like you were lifetimes apart from the two kids that sat hand in hand on that trampoline. But you’d accept any change, as long as he was still in your life. Without him, there was a hole in the shape of him, lodged in the middle of your chest. You felt the hole close, each moment Steve grinned at you. Promising to take you out for ice cream as soon as your parents show up. 

Sophomore year rolled by so quickly, you wished you could have grabbed time, and begged her to slow down. Steve had grown a new reputation in school. King Steve, they called him, claiming him the royalty of Hawkins High. Little did they know the king of Hawkins made you blow-dry and hairspray his hair every morning. His girlfriends, or trysts as you liked to call them, all knew you. Whispers of the Trina incident followed every relationship of his; he just smiled and told them you’d always be more important than them. They either accepted it or they didn’t. 

Dating for you didn’t come nearly as easily; most of the boys at school were so scared of Steve they steered clear of you with a ten-foot pole. It only got worse when he began hanging out with Carol and Tommy G. You hated them, despised how they fed into Steve’s ever-growing ego. They were kind to you, most of the time. It was clear they tolerated you only. 

Every time Steve would grab you by the shoulders, pulling you into a hug in the hall, they’d groan. 

“Gotta hug my girl.” He’d shrug, kissing your forehead goodbye before going off to class. Imogen would just roll her eyes, swearing up and down that the two of you just needed to start dating. You’d cringe, shaking her off. He was just your best friend you’d tell her. When she’d swear her and her best friend didn’t act like that, all you could do was shrug. “That’s just me and Steve.” 

You didn’t have your first official boyfriend until the summer before Junior year, and Steve hated him. Hated him for reasons you were still unclear about. He was on the debate team, the most innocent, nerdiest of boys who had captured your heart. So when he broke your heart three weeks into the year, Steve had held you in his arms as you sobbed, brushing your hair down, swearing he’d kill him. 

“I really will, I promise. I’ll use the beamer. Catch him on a foggy night and just boom,” Steve spoke, making your chest rattle with laughter. “Blood and guts everywhere.” 

“It would ruin your nice and shiny car.” You pouted through your tears. For his 16th birthday, Steve’s dad had presented him with the infamous burgundy BMW. He’d almost spun the tires out pulling into your driveway. That night, the two of you went through a whole tank of gas, driving everywhere around town. You couldn’t imagine your ex-boyfriend's murder ruining that car. 

“Would be worth it to see you smile.” He said, watching your puffy cheeks as you sat up. 

“He was such a dickhead.” You frowned, rubbing your tired eyes. “I really thought what we had over the summer was good. Then he sees Rebecca in chemistry and thinks she’d be a better lay than me.” 

Steve’s brows furrowed, “Did he say that?” 

“It was implied.” You grumbled, fumbling with a loose thread from his shirt. “Can’t believe I lost my virginity to someone who asked if he was going to put it in the wrong hole.” 

A loud laugh tore from his chest, “Wait, what?” 

“He wanted to make sure, and I quote: “Is it in your vagina or your pee hole?” You burst out laughing, rubbing your face. 

The two of you laughed until your chests hurt, Steve going on and on. “Dude, poor fucking Rebecca,” 

“Poor Rebecca.” You wheezed, taking a deep breath in. It was good to laugh. It was good to be in Steve’s arms, the two of you lazily lounging in his bed. 

“Hey,” Steve spoke up, “Do you wanna order pizza and disgrace his yearbook picture?” 

You scoffed, “I’m offended you’d even ask Stevie.” 

The two of you did just that, you ended up falling asleep on his bed. The two of you waking up in a tangled mess of arms. His body pressed against yours. In an awkward shuffle, you pulled away, and he nearly flung off the bed. Stuttering that he had to go to the bathroom, the door slammed shut. All you could do was laugh. 

He drove you to school that morning, and you walked alongside. When you passed by Nancy Wheeler and her friend, Barb, Steve paused, sending a flirty wave her way. Your eyes squinted, waiting to speak until you got to his locker. 

“Nancy Wheeler, huh?” You asked, ignoring the blush creeping up on his face. 

“We’ve just been talking a little.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. You hadn’t seen him this flustered before. Not over a girl. You ignored the weird sinking feeling in your stomach, smiling teasingly at him. 

“Oh, so someone has a crush.” You sang, making him shush you. Looking around, like everyone would hear. 

“Just because my love life failed this year doesn't mean yours has to; ask her out.” You encouraged him, closing his locker for him. 

He gave you a sympathetic look, patting your cheek gently. “Just because that loser broke your heart doesn't mean you can’t try again. Now I don’t think any men in this town deserve you, but I do want you happy.” 

You nodded against his hand, mourning the loss of warmth when he pulled away. 

“Go get him, tiger.” You smirked, watching him run down the hallway. 

It was no surprise you were once again regretting your words a few weeks later, doing your best to avoid where Steve had his tongue shoved down Nancy’s throat in the middle of the hallway. 

“They’re disgusting.” Barb had spoken; you didn’t know the girl well, but as Nancy joined your orbit, she had followed. 

“Sometimes I wonder if she ever gets tired of him slobbering all over her face.” You said, causing Barb to giggle. 

“Hey, you and Sam aren’t much better. Staring longingly at each other in homeroom.” She teased, making you roll your eyes. Sam was your friend, just a friend. There had been a few moments you thought something more could bloom between the two of you, but you shrugged it off. Unsure if you wanted to deal with another inescapable heartbreak. 

“Y/n! Barb.” Nancy stuttered, just now realising the two of you were standing next to her. Her face was flustered, and Steve stood there unbothered as usual. “What are you talking about?” 

“How Y/n needs to woman up and ask Sam out,” Barb said. 

“No, don’t ever ask a man out. That’s the man's job.” Steve shook his head, pulling Nancy to his chest. 

“I think if she wants to ask him out, that’s fine. Cute even. I have art with Sam, he’s really sweet.” Nancy smiled, staring nervously at you. You were friendly with Nancy, but the two of you didn’t have much in common, it felt like sometimes. Steve went on and on about how Nancy thought you hated her. 

“I’m not asking anyone out, but thank you, Nancy.” You sighed, your head hitting the locker. “I’m just gonna die alone.” 

“Little Y/n not able to get laid?” Tommy’s shrill voice ruined the moment the four of you were having. 

“That’s not what your dad said last night.” You squinted your eyes at him, Carol responding with a sarcastic laugh. 

“You kiss Steve’s ass with that mouth?” He asked, making Nancy tense. You didn’t miss it, Steve did. 

“He has this running joke that I feed Steve’s ego blindly, that’s why we’re friends. Tommy finds friendship as this impossible-to-grasp concept. One could only wonder why.” You told her with a smile, “He also thinks he’s much funnier than he actually is.” 

“Hey, cut it out. God, you two fight like animals.” Steve sighed, “While we’re all here. My house. Tonight. Parents are gone.” 

“It’s Tuesday.” You deadpanned, not ready to get roped into another one of the Harringtons' infamous get-togethers. 

“It’s Tuesday.” Tommy mocked, grunting when Steve elbowed him in the stomach. 

“A party?” Nancy asked, her innocent face looking up at Steve. 

“Ding, ding!” Carol laughed, making you roll your eyes. 

While they broke into conversation about the party, your eyes followed Nancy’s. Watching Jonathan Byers tacking up missing posters for his brother. 

“Oh, God, that’s depressing.” Carol snickered, and Barb walked away before the conversation got worse. You didn’t blame her; every time the couple spoke, it made your skin crawl. 

“Should we say something?” Nancy asked, eyes full of empathy. You knew her little brother was friends with his. 

“I don’t think he speaks.”

“How much you want to bet he killed him?” Tommy laughed, your head turning to meet Steve's. 

You scoffed, “Your friends are fucking assholes. You know that?” And with that, you stormed off, determined to find Sam. You were going to ask him out; you deserved your own happiness. Your own life outside of Steve’s little bubble. 

-

Your fingers twirled in the phone cord, “Y/n, please. Tommy said he’s sorry. Please just come.” Steve begged through the phone. You could hear them snickering in the background. He wanted you at this stupid party; he cleaned his pool out and everything. Even got your favorite wine coolers. 

“I’m with Sam.” You blurted out, The man you spoke of caught your eye. He was sitting on your bed cross-legged, shirt askew. Maybe you did decide to ask him out and sneak him in through your window. 

“So bring him,” Steve said after a brief pause. “Barb is here. If she’s here, there’s no reason you can’t be. Please.” The begging in his voice made your resolve crumble. Sucking you right back in. 

About an hour later, you were stalking into Steve’s backyard, hand in hand with Sam. Sam was beautiful. Taller with shaggy hair, you couldn’t help but immediately notice how different he looked from Steve. Wondering why your brain forced you to compare the two. There was no time to dwell on that. 

You introduced him to everyone, making sure to flip Tommy the bird while doing so. 

“Steve. I  heard a lot about you, man.” Sam spoke, holding his hand out for Steve to shake. It took Steve a moment to shake his hand. Probably gripping harder than he needed to. 

Once that was out of the way, you all found a good rhythm, chatting and drinking cheap beers. You're sipping on your strawberry wine coolers, Carol cringing with each sip of beer. 

“No fair, why did she get nice drinks?” She whined. 

“Because she doesn’t drink beer. They’re her favorite.” Steve laughed, a billow of cigarette smoke falling out of his mouth. 

You couldn’t help the smirk that graced your lips, leaning back into Sam’s chest. As much as they loved King Steve, none of them knew him the way you did. He knew you like it was the easiest thing in the world, while Tommy and Carol barely scratched the surface. They knew it too. Nancy was different; you knew she really cared for Steve. You just worried he’d break her heart; you warned him if he did, he’d never hear the end of it. She was different from the other girls. 

“It’s different this time, Y/n.” He swore, flicking his pencil on the library table. 

“What, like you love her?” You asked. 

He paused, thinking for a moment. “I think so. Not as much as I love you, and not in the same way. “ He hummed. 

“Aww, wait, so you’re really falling in love with her?” You cooed, “What happened to King Steve?” 

“Oh shut up.” He grumbled, right before the two of you were shushed by library goers. 

When your brain came back into focus, they were shotgunning beers, your eyes rolling at the dick measuring contest Steve and Tommy were perpetually in. You looked back at Barb, forcing her to join you and Sam’s little group. 

“When they’re around women, they turn into animals. Everything is a contest.” You said, making the first smile appear on her face this night. 

“Sam, you don’t wanna join?” She asked, making his chest rumble in laughter. 

“I don’t think I need to chug a beer to impress Y/n. She’d probably call me a meathead.” 

“You know me so well.” You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

A large splash made you gasp, watching Carol come up from the pool. Tommy was standing there with a smirk on his face. 

“What the hell, Tommy?” She shrieked, him jumping in beside her. It was then Steve’s turn to copy him, throwing Nancy and himself in the deep end. 

“I broke my arm in this pool when I was 6. Don’t get any ideas.” You told Sam. 

“So you’ve known Steve a while, huh?” He asked, watching the couples play about in the water. 

“Since we were babies. We grew up together.” 

“You guys couldn’t be more different.” He said it was an innocent comment. But it made you feel weird, frowning slightly. 

“I guess I’m a little boring. A lot nicer to look at, though.” 

“Disagree with the first part, but agree to the last.” He said, nuzzling his head in your neck. 

“Hey, lovebirds,” Steve yelled, ruining the moment by splashing water at you two, “Get in.” 

You shook your head, “I’m not ruining my shirt.” 

“So take it off.” Tommy whistled. Carol smacking him upside the head. 

“Didn’t know you wanted to see me shirtless that bad.” You teased back, Sam’s arm draping across your chest. 

“I think everyone would enjoy the show, some more than others.” He whistled, Steve’s eyes shooting daggers into his skull. 

“At least get in with us, Y/n,” Nancy spoke up, a smile on her face. 

You turned to look at Sam, “I’ll get undressed if you do.” He teased. 

“Fuck you all.” You grumbled, sitting up. You let Sam’s hands travel to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head. 

“Fold it, it’s cashmere.” You muttered to him, watching him place it gently in one of the chairs. Leaving out the part where it was a Christmas present from Steve’s parents. 

Sam tugged his own shirt over his head, ignoring the hollers of the boys. You ignored the gazes, keeping your shorts on. Clad in those and a plain black bra. Thankful it at least wasn’t white today. 

“Okay on-” You started, readying yourself for a countdown before you saw Sam running at you full force. 

“Wait-no.” You squealed, being pushed into the pool. The cold water shocked your body, coming up with a shriek. “Fuck that’s cold.” 

Sam’s hair was dripping all over his face, swimming over to hold you in his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. 

“We should play a game,” Carol spoke up, a devilish grin on her face. 

The group of you didn’t stay in the pool much longer after that, a few games of chicken before you were all shivering. There were only so many times you could push Carol into the water aggressively before someone got mad. 

“I’m so cold.” Carol’s teeth were chattering while you wrapped the towel around yourself. 

“I heard his mom’s room has a fireplace.” Tommy’s eyebrows waved suggestively at her. 

“Gross, Steve, you’re gonna let them fuck in your parents' bed?” You groaned. Steve turned back, his eyes locking onto yours for what felt like the first time that night. This was while Nancy and Barb had a heated exchange, Barb storming off. You felt bad, making a mental note to bring her a muffin tomorrow morning in homeroom to apologize. 

“Unless you and Sam want it first.” He said, making you cringe. 

“We’re probably gonna head out.” You sighed, bidding them a goodnight. 

“Hey man, thanks for inviting me,” Sam said to Steve, Steve responding with a tight-lipped smile. All you could do was squint at the man, watching him walk into the house. 

“I guess we should head back.” You mumbled as soon as the two of you were alone, his hands resting on your hips. 

“I guess,” He sighed playfully. “Or we could take advantage of his empty backyard.” 

You gasped, “I’m not fucking you in my friend's yard.” 

He shook his head, “I didn’t say all that.” He pulled you to one of the beach chairs, laying you down against the cold plastic. 

Your heart was beating out of your chest, his lips pressed against yours hungrily. You kissed him back with fever, letting his tongue enter your open mouth. You gasped against him, feeling his hands cup your chest. Squeezing them before his hand trailed south, popping open the buttons of your soaked shorts. 

“This okay?” He grumbled against your lips. You weren’t sure if it was the wine coolers or the warmth of his body against yours, but you nodded. 

His hand slipped into your underwear easily, fingers finding the spot that had your back arching against the chair. Your eyes fluttered open when he hit that sweet spot inside you. 

Your gaze accidentally landed on Steve’s window, the curtains open and wide. The warmth in your stomach grew as, watched his bare back ripple on the bed. There was no doubt what he and Nancy were doing. You looked away quickly, pressing your lips to Sam’s again. Pretending you didn’t just come around his fingers, looking at your best friend. You prayed he didn’t see it, the guilt radiating off of you. You shoved it down, focusing on his body against yours. 

Little did any of you know that Johnathan Byers was in the woods just feet away, snapping photos of all of you. 

-

Barb was absent from homeroom, and Sam swore to you that there was no reason to be worried. The roads were hard to navigate on Steve’s road, especially at night. It was more likely that she was too embarrassed or tired to come in. It still made a weird, nagging feeling bloom in your chest. 

At lunch, you reluctantly joined the band of misfits again. Sam’s arm was lying against the back of your chair, Steve sitting across from you. Tommy was convinced he got frostbite from the pool, putting his disgusting foot on the lunch table, making you gag. 

“Hey, Y/n.” You turned around, watching Nancy walk up to the table on a mission. “When you left, did you see Barb?” 

You shook your head, Tommy cutting you off. “What?” 

“Barbara. She’s not here today.” Nancy spoke, her patience running thin. 

“I seriously have no idea who you’re talking about.” He shrugged. 

“Come on, don’t be an ass, man. Did you...Did you see her leave last night or not?” 

“No, she was gone when we left,” Tommy answered, Carol leaning over the table. 

“Probably couldn’t stand listening to all that moaning.” She moaned, beginning to moan Steve’s name loudly. Tommy joined in mocking Nancy loudly. 

Steve kicked him under the table, telling them to cut it out. You rolled your eyes, “I was worried this morning, but I think maybe she’s just skipping. We were out late last night.” 

“Yeah,” Sam perked up, “She’s not usually a party goer, you know? Not used to running on a few hours of sleep.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Nancy said with a tight lip. 

After lunch, you were excited to finally go home, kissing Sam goodbye when he left for his art club. It was then that you saw Steve walking towards you in the hall, grabbing your arm harshly. 

“Steve, what the fuck?” You asked, letting him angrily drag you into the parking lot with him. “What’s going on?” Carol, Tommy, and one of Carol’s friends, Nicole, followed along. Steve’s sights were on Jonathan Byers as he walked to his car. 

“Steve, if you’re going to be an asshole to him, I’m not-” You were cut off by Carol, looking at you for the first time with genuine sympathy in her eyes. 

“Y/n. Apparently, he was taking pictures of us last night.” She said, your eyes widening. Nicole simply nodded. You turned your head back to the disaster that was waiting to unfold. 

“Hey, man,” Steve shouted, his voice wavering in anger. You don’t think he was this angry when Trina had you pinned against the lockers freshman year. 

“What’s going on?” Jonathan stuttered, looking at all of you with wide eyes. 

“Nicole here was, uh, telling us about your work.” He said Carol and Tommy agreed. Swearing, it sounded like the coolest art in the world. 

“And we’d just love to take a look. You know, as... connoisseurs of art.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He lied, Tommy snatching his backpack off of him, tossing it over to Steve. 

“Please, give me my bag.” He pleaded, Steve, ignoring him. Rifling through it to pull out a stack of photos. You leaned against his shoulder, watching him shuffle through the photos. Your heart fell into your stomach, seeing photos of you all getting out of the pool. Then Nancy upstairs, undressing in the window. Then his focus was on you, Sam’s hands down your pants. Your head tilted back in pleasure. Tears stung in your eyes, ripping the photos out of his hand. 

“Let me see,” Tommy said, snatching a few from Steve’s hand. He and Carol taking turns looking through them. “Yeah, this isn’t creepy at all.

“I was looking for my brother.” He tried to defend himself, unable to look any of you in the eyes. 

“No. No, this is called stalking.” Steve spoke, “Not only did you trespass, but you took perv photos of my best friend and my girlfriend. On my property. During private moments.” 

Nancy took the perfect moment to walk up, her face concerned, watching the tears in your eyes. “What’s going on?” 

“Here’s the starring lady.” Carol smirked, “One of them, anyway. I have to say Y/n, looks like he was rocking your world.” 

You crushed the photos in your hand, shoving them frantically into your bag. Steve shot Carol a look that could kill, “Shut the fuck up for once, Carol.” 

“This creep was spying on us last night,” She said, ignoring Steve’s outburst,  handing Nancy a photo. “He was probably gonna save this one for later.” 

Her expression matched yours, one of embarrassment and disgust. 

“See, you can tell that he knows it was wrong, but…” Steve reached out to wipe Jonathan's sleeve, the boy flinching. “Man, that’s the thing about perverts... It’s hardwired into ’em. You know, they just can’t help themselves.” 

You couldn’t watch this; the whole situation made your stomach turn. 

“So…We’ll just have to take away his toy,” Steve said, grabbing the camera. 

“Steve…” Nancy warned. 

“No, please, not the camera,” he begged, watching Steve pretend to give it back. Your whole body cringed when Steve dropped the camera, the lenses shattering on the asphalt. 

He stepped into Jonathan’s face again, pulling him by his collar. “If I find out you have pictures of her anywhere on that thing, it’ll be the last thing you see.” He spat, pushing him back roughly. Steve didn’t have to specify who he was referring to by the way he looked at you, before storming away. 

You and Nancy were frozen, watching the ripped-up photos crumple to the ground. 

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Nancy spoke quietly, eyes on the broken camera. 

“Please don’t make me verbally agree with Carol and Tommy.” You begged, “He wasn’t just creeping on you. There are pictures of me on there, too.” 

“Yeah, almost seems like Steve’s more upset about those than mine.” She mumbled under her breath. 

“What do you mean by that?” You stopped her, grabbing her arm. 

She jerked it away, snatching up the rest of the pictures. “Nothing. Just nothing, Y/n.” 

You were left standing there, dumbfounded. You looked back between Jonathan and the remains of his camera. 

“I hope you find your brother.” You managed out, walking back towards the group. Steve’s arm wraps around your wrist, pulling you to him. 

“You still going to the game?” He asked, his skin still warm from frustration. You shook your head no, pulling away from his grasp. 

“I’m just gonna head home.” 

He looked down at you, concern lacing his features. “Call you later?” 

All you could do was give him a weak smile. He paused, holding out his pinky. You stared at his finger; you hadn’t done a pinky promise with him in years. You laced yours with his, “Promise.” 

You avoided Nancy’s stares when you walked away, holding your hand close to your chest. 

-

They found Barbara’s car in a ditch a mile from Steve’s house, 3 days later. In a ditch you passed on the way home that night, unknowing that her body was pinned inside the vehicle for days. 

A week later, they found Will Byers alive in the woods, malnourished and traumatized, but alive. You were thankful there was at least one positive to the recent events in Hawkins. Nancy was in hysterics at Barb’s funeral, and Sam held you through the guilt. The two of you eventually made it official. Dating him was easier than it had been before, almost too easy. Sometimes it felt like you were putting on a show, living your life as you were taught you were supposed to. 

Time passed, as it often did. Senior year was full of jobs and college applications, and getting swept up in talk of the future. Despite your insistence on Steve studying and you doing half of his English assignments, his grades weren’t good. You held his hand, swore to him it would all be fine. But you knew his dad, and you knew the type of son his dad wanted him to be. Somehow, Halloween had crept up on you; flyers to Tina’s party floated around the halls. 

Despite Steve’s incessant begging to get you to join the pair, Sam was out of town visiting family, and you weren’t interested in third wheeling. Nancy had already been distant with you ever since the Jonathan incident; the last thing you wanted to do was make it worse. Late that night, you stayed in bed, only being roused by your phone ringing. You tried to ignore it, but the caller was only calling again. You rolled over, angrily gripping the phone off the hook.

“Hello?” You barked.

“Y/n..” Steve’s faraway voice came in through the phone. 

“Steve?” You questioned, confused as to what number he was calling you from. 

“Y/n. I need a ride. Nancy left me.” He mumbled. 

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head at his words, jumping up to slip on some clothes. 

“You at Tina’s?” He responded with a mumbled yes. 

“I’ll be there in 15. Please do not go anywhere.” You made him promise, not holding drunk Steve to anything. You sped there, parting drunken bodies to find Steve. Sunglasses still perched on top of his head, his eyes hazy. 

“Guys, it’s my best friend.” He laughed, flinging his body onto yours. You pushed him off with a grunt, grabbing him by the arm. Dragging him out into the yard. Using all your strength as he kept going, deadweight on his feet.

This wasn’t the first time you had to pick a drunk Steve up from somewhere, but this was the worst. 

“Bullshit.” Steve slurred, his body slumping more in your hold. 

“What?” You were exasperated at this point, just barely able to toss his body into your passenger seat. 

“Bullshit. Nancy said it was all Bullshit. Didn’t love me.” He whined, his face pained with each word. 

Your brows furrowed, “Nancy loves you.” That was all you could manage to say, reaching over him to buckle him in. 

“No, no, she doesn’t.” He whined by the time you started the car, driving him slowly to his house. You only had to pull over once for him to throw up, thankful he didn’t ruin your floorboards. 

Getting him up into his room was easy, seeing as he threw up a portion of the alcohol in his system. 

“Come on, Joel Goodson, let’s get you to bed.” You sighed, taking the sunglasses off of him despite his protests. He took his own shirt off, not bothering with his pants, as he curled up in the bed. You watched his eyes flutter closed, his chest rising and falling. He looked peaceful, the frown lines he had earlier melting away. You moved the blanket over him, ready to leave before he stopped you. 

“Please don’t leave me.” He whimpered, not even opening his eyes. 

Your heart splintered open in your chest, crawling into bed with him. He nuzzled into your side, probably going to drool all over your sweater. That was fine, as long as he got some sleep. 

“Thank you,” He mumbled, “M’loving me. Wish it was you.” 

“What?” You asked, your heart falling into your stomach. The only response you got was his gentle snores. You didn’t get any sleep that night, content to lie on your back. Brushing your hands through his hair, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he meant. Or if he’d even remember. 

That wasn’t something you had the time for, deciding to push it into the back of your mind. 

Safe to say he didn’t when you woke up to him throwing up in his side table trash can, making you cringe. You did what you did best, taking care of him. He told you the story of what happened between him and Nancy, not liking your response. 

“I don’t think she deserves you, Stevie.” 

“Come on-” 

“I mean it, I know she’s going through a lot, but you didn’t kill Barb. It was an accident.”

He was quiet for a moment, hesitant to say the rest of the story. “She also thinks I’m in love with you.” 

The mood in the room shifted, the tension thick. “W-what? Why would she think that?” You stuttered out. 

He shrugged, not meeting your eyes. “I didn’t defend her honor enough with Jonathan, which is funny considering she forgave him.”

“She forgave him?” You scowled, trying to do your best to forget that night ever happened. The pictures were burnt in your fireplace, alongside photos of you and your ex. 

“Told her she wasn’t allowed to do that since he took pictures of you, too. She didn’t like that.” 

“What a bitch.” You mumbled, grabbing his hand in yours. 

“Dating is hard.” He gave you a sad smile, to which you nodded. “How are you and Sam?” 

You shrugged, “Fine. I think it's a little too fine. Sometimes I feel bad that he’s too sweet, too forgiving, too- I don’t know, is it mean to say boring?” 

“He does seem a little lame,” He teased, you hitting his chest playfully. He winced, holding his head, “I might throw up, don’t do that.” 

“He’s not lame. I just think something is wrong with me. Sometimes it feels like I can’t love him like I’m supposed to. Like I'm broken.” You admitted, watching his eyes soften at your admission. 

“I think you love me just right.” His words were quiet, heavier than before. “You’re not broken, Y/n.” 

“You don’t make it easy.” You joked, unraveling your hands. Maybe one day you’d explain to him that loving him was the easiest thing in the world, because you never had to think twice. From the moment you were born, there was an invisible thread tying you to him. Instead, you pushed it down, slapping his chest playfully. 

“Especially when you smell like an expired liquor store.” 

“Hey!” He whined. 

It was all fine, everything was fine. He went to shower, and you went home. He was going to buy Nancy flowers, and you were going to wait by the phone, waiting for Sam to call. So why did it feel so wrong? 

-

You got a call from Steve the next afternoon, asking if you’d come over. You obliged, only to be godsmacked by his bruised and bloodied face. 

“Oh my god? What the fuck?” You asked, rushing inside the door. 

“Am I an asshole?” He asked, ignoring your concerns. 

“What?” You muttered, dragging him into the bathroom. You immediately grabbed the first aid kit, ready to wipe his face with an alcohol pad. He stopped you, grabbing your wrist loosely. 

“Am I an asshole?” He repeated, his dark brown eyes heavy with sadness. 

“I mean, sure sometimes,” You’d never lie to him, “But you aren’t an asshole, you can just act like one.” 

“I did something really stupid.” He admitted. 

“Oh, really? I can’t tell.” You snarked, pressing the pad to his face. Making him wince in pain while you cleaned off the dried blood. “Let me guess, Nancy.” Her name tasted bitter on your tongue. 

He cocked his head to the side, “You don’t like her?” 

“I’m starting not to Stevie.” You admitted, bandaging the cut under his eyes closed. 

“Went to apologize to her with flowers for the other night, Jonathan Byers was in her bed. Tommy and Carol convinced me to spraypaint some bullshit at the theatre about her being a slut, he kicked my ass.” You took a moment to soak in his story, finishing with one last pink bandage. 

“Well, I guess you deserved a small ass kicking, but not this bad.” You winced. “Am I allowed to beat her ass?” 

“Y/n..” 

You threw your hands up, “Sorry, sorry!” 

In the silence, you cleaned up the bloodied paper, washing your hands in the sink. He stayed still, his brows furrowed in thought. A frown line forming into the crease of his forehead, you wanted nothing more than to rub your thumb over it. Releasing all the tension from him. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, placing your hand next to his on the counter. Propping yourself up next to him, your arms brushing.

“Do you ever think about it?” 

“Bout what?” You asked, oblivious to what thoughts were rolling around in that head of his. 

“How much easier it would be if we were in love.” 

Who would have thought 11 words would tilt your world on its axis? You must have been silent for longer than you thought. Steve speaking up again, “I mean, imagine how easy it would be. We’re already basically a couple anyway. Imagine if we were in love.” There was a subtle hopefulness in his voice; you told yourself you were reading into things. 

“Yeah. Imagine.” Your voice felt foreign to you. 

The silence was thick again, Steve’s eyes heavy on you. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He copied you, his arm rubbing against yours, intentionally this time. Like he needed your touch to ground himself with each word he spoke. The sensation makes chills go up your spine. 

“I think,” You cleared your throat, “That you just got hit in the head a lot. You need ice.” 

If Steve was going to speak, you didn’t hear, too busy gliding out of the bathroom into the kitchen. Your hands shaking with adrenaline as you get him an ice pack ready. 

“Y-yeah.” He laughed, “Probably have brain damage or something.” 

With your doctoring, you gave Steve a clean bill of health, leaving him with instructions to ice and call you if his head hurt any worse. The entire drive home, all you could think about was Sam. 

Sam made you feel steady, like you were safe on the shore. Feet planted in the sand, a war, breeze flowing through the air. Why wasn’t it enough? Why didn’t it make you feel alive? 

-

Adulthood snuck up on you, graduation coming and going. You were ashamed to admit you were relieved he and Nancy were finally done. He seemed sad, but lighter. You had Dustin to thank for that, the kid he semi-adopted, despite him claiming he didn’t. The kid adored him. When he went off to summer camp, Steve nearly shed a tear, swearing you to secrecy that you’d never tell him that. He’d never live it down. 

When the mall opened up, it was the perfect opportunity for ‘real world experience’ as Steve’s father called it. Scoops Ahoy had hired him on the spot, complete with the cutest little outfit to go with it. You found a simpler, less embarrassing job at a bookstore at the end of the hall. The two of you were still able to spend too much time with each other. 

His co-worker Robin became your best friend, much to Steve’s chagrin. If he thought you were picking on him, each time the two of you were together, it was Steve’s own personal level of hell. 

Today’s topic of discussion was his horrible flirting skills. Being back on the market had made him rusty, fumbling around every single girl that walked in. Robin’s ‘You Suck’ board had made you cry out of laughter when she showed you. 

“Ladies, 3 o’clock,” Robin whispered, pulling your head down behind the window. The two of you are ready to spy on him. 

“Ahoy, ladies! Didn't see you there. Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I'll be your captain. I'm Steve Harrington.” He spoke, too high a volume for the quiet store. The girls cringed with each word. 

“Oh my god, he’s hopeless.” Robin sighed. 

You couldn’t help but agree, “It’s like a car crash. I can’t stop watching.” 

He stumbled his way through offering ice cream samples, the girls taking their scoops awkwardly and leaving in a fit of giggles. Steve closed his eyes, “I don’t wanna hear it.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna hear it.” 

-

Steve’s freckled shoulders were underneath your hands, your fingers digging into his muscle. 

“God, you feel so good.” His voice was raspy, the moan coming deep from his chest. He was deep inside you, his hips rutting frantically against your own. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room. The headboard slapping the wall. 

“Steve, Steve.” You moaned his name like a broken record, his lips nipping at your neck. His name fit perfectly on your tongue. 

“There you go, honey, you gonna cum around me?” He asked, looking down at you. Your eyes meet his as you.. 

You woke up in a hot sweat, fingers twisting in the sheets. There was a thin layer of sweat covering your body, chest rising and falling. Sam lay next to you, as still as a board. You let out a shaky breath, the throbbing between your legs reminding you of what you just experienced. Slipping out of bed silently was easy, grabbing a glass of water with shaky hands. The fantasies your mind conjured up played like a highlight reel as you stared into the dark room. 

“What the fuck.” You breathed, laying your head down on the cool counter. Hoping the granite would quell the fire blooming through your body. 

Steve’s words from last fall echoed in your mind. 

“Have you ever thought about us?” 

You felt queasy, content to head back upstairs. Crawling into bed with Sam as if nothing had happened. It was fine; you can’t control your dreams. There’s no such thing as bad thoughts, only actions. And nothing had happened, nothing will happen. 

-

The dream was haunting your every move, every time Sam tried to initiate anything, his face blurred with Steve’s. It’s like you were cursed. You began to see Steve in everything. Every place around Hawkins you frequented, memories lingered on all of your clothes. You couldn’t escape him, and a sick, cruel part of you didn’t want to. 

“You okay?” Sam asked, his hand still steady on your hips. Sam. He was kissing you; he wanted you. You blinked away the faraway look in your eyes, nodding weakly. 

“Just got distracted.” 

You refused to be haunted by make-believe, bringing Sam down to your level. Kissing him hard. Fingers pressed into his shoulders. Your brain continued terrorizing you, flashing you images of your dream. Before you realised it, you were mirroring the exact position. You moaned and twisted your body every which way, fighting for that feeling. When he slipped inside, all you could think about was Steve. Would he touch you like this? 

“Is that good?” Sam interrupted your thinking, noticing how quiet you had been. His hips slowing down. Catching onto your wood behavior. 

“Y-yeah.” You lied, smiling up at him. “Maybe just a little harder?” 

He obliged, the headboard creaking against the wall. Your eyes fluttered shut again, letting yourself indulge. Just for a moment. You told yourself it was to test your theory, but you knew what it was. It was the carnal urge to let yourself crave him. Just once, to let your mind wander into the feelings you’ve pushed so far back in your mind. 

You thought about his plump lips, the way his hair falls on his forehead after basketball practice, the swell of his biceps, and the happy trail you see when he stretches. Steve. All you could think about was Steve, every neuron in your body lighting up at the mere thought of him. 

“You like that?” Sam asked, watching your back arch. 

All you could do was nod, watching a highlight reel behind your eyelids. You imagined what his body would feel like against yours, heavy and slick with sweat. How he’d feel pressed inside you. How attentive he would be. You couldn’t take it, your legs shaking around his hips. 

“Stev-Sam.” You stuttered, covering it up with an obnoxious moan. Pushing it down, pushing down every single thought of him that made you feel alive. Your eyes stayed shut when he came, scared your eyes would tell him everything. 

“God baby, you really liked that, huh?” He yawned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

That night, you cried in the shower, scrubbing every inch of your body raw. Doing everything you could to feel clean, the sin and disgust clinging to your skin like a bad perfume. 

-

The next day at work, your hands were shaky. You were spacy, constantly zoning in and out. The mall patrons only occupied you when they had questions. Working at a bookstore was the ideal place for peace and quiet, but now it felt like your own personal hell. Trapped in these walls. 

When the clock hit noon, you were running through the mall, nearly knocking down entire families in your path. 

The familiar Scoops Ahoy sign made you sigh. Steve would be on break right now. At least you didn’t have to face him. Your body collided with another, his cologne alerting you to his presence before he did. 

“Where’s the fire?” Steve laughed, his hands falling to your hips. That was normal, that was something that happened. But now it felt like the fire was inside of you, burning you from the inside out. 

“Uh, I just need to see Robin. I’m out of girl things. Pads, tampons, you know.” You stuttered out a lie, trying not to watch the way his lips parted when he spoke. 

“I have some in my car for you, you know.” He started, you cutting him off. 

“Yes! Thank you. Can you go get them?” Your eyes were wide, your voice too loud, and he just squinted at you. 

“Okay..I don’t remember your period making you this weird.” He grumbled, letting go of you. “I’ll be back. I can get you some chocolate from Bon Bon?” 

“I’d love that.” Your face softened, feeling horrible for lying to him. As soon as his back disappeared amongst the crowd of people, you jumped over the counter, Robin’s scooper flying out of her hand. 

“What the hell?” She asked, eyeing your disheveled appearance. 

“Hey Robin.” 

“Hey, Y/n.” She mocked your cadence.

“Can I tell you something, if you swear on your life to never mention it to another living soul?” Her face got serious, noticing your expression.  

“Yes, of course.” 

You took a deep breath, saying the next sentence so quickly that only someone like Robin would have been able to understand it. “I had a sex dream about Steve last night, and that’s never happened before, ever. I’ve never thought of him that way, maybe once or twice in passing as a curious teen, but never seriously, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

Her eyes were wide, your chest heaving from the speed at which you word vomited at her. 

“A sex dream?” Her jaw was on the floor, “Steve? Your best friend since birth, Steve?” 

You shushed her, spinning around the empty Scoops Ahoy like a woman on a mission. 

“Yes.”

“I mean, I’ve had a sex dream about Smurfette once, so I wouldn’t think too much about it.” She offered, watching your still panicked face. 

“Wait,” She paused, “What do you mean you can’t stop thinking about it?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You grumbled, knowing Robin wasn’t going to let it go. 

“Nope, you can’t drop a bombshell on me and not elaborate.” 

You grabbed her arm, pulling her into the backroom. Watching through the window anxiously as if he was going to materialize at any moment. 

“I just keep thinking about it. Like earlier, he was speaking, and all I could think about was that my dream lips had touched his dream lips. Then I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him.” You rambled, “Then I look at him and feel guilty. Like I’m dirty and sinful because I can’t stop thinking about, dreaming about him naked. And inside of me-” 

“Whoa! Too much information-” Robin cut you off. 

You ignored her, “And he’s my best friend. My Stevie. So what do I do? I can’t even look him in the eyes anymore.” 

“Do you like him?” She spoke slowly, like she was poking a frightened bear. 

You stopped your anxious pacing, tears welling up in your eyes. You were so overwhelmed you could barely think, and you shook your head. “N-no?” 

“Babes, you didn’t sound too confident there.” 

“Can I tell you something else awful?” You whispered, there was never a filter between you and Robin. There probably never would be. 

She nodded softly at you to speak. 

“When Sam and I had sex the first time, I almost called him Steve. A-and I thought maybe I just you know? Two S names and all,” You laughed manically. “Then the dream, so I’m wondering if it’s always been subconscious. So when Sam and I had sex last night, I closed my eyes and imagined Steve. And I did it again.” 

When it was off your chest, you felt lighter, albeit dizzy. 

“And?” She added, her eyes wide. 

“I was really sad to open my eyes and see Sam.” You cried, tears pouring down your cheeks now. “And Sam was like Wow, you’ve never been so into it before and I’m so awful. I’m such a bad person.” 

Robin was the only person in the world you could trust to tell. You liked Sam, you really did. But you couldn’t feel a fraction of what you felt just thinking about Steve with him. You felt broken, stringing the man along because you couldn’t face the music. 

“Honey.” Robin frowned, pulling your shaking frame into her arms. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. I just think you’re in love with Steve.” 

You shook your head frantically, “I can’t be. Can’t. It’ll ruin everything.” 

Robin’s lips tightened in a straight line, choosing her words carefully. The entire Summer Robin has had to endure similar conversations with Steve. How they still didn’t see it was beyond Robin. The entirety of Hawkins thought they had been dating for years. 

“But there’s that chance he could feel the same way. You won’t know unless you try.” 

You were saved by the door busting open. Steve’s arms are full of various bags. Pads, tampons, and various snacks. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, just got one of everything. Robin, I got you some gummies-” He rambled, looking up to see the two of you embracing, tears pouring down your face. 

He held out the bags to you nervously, “I’m sorry your vagina is bleeding.” 

The moment the words left his mouth, you and Robin fell into each other laughing, Steve’s face going red.

 “Women.” He muttered, tossing the bags onto the table with a thud. 

-

Robin’s words sat heavily on your mind, but instead of listening to her sound advice, you ignored it. Ignored the horrible feeling in your gut and prayed it would go away after some time. Now you were walking up to Steve’s front door, Sam’s hand in yours. 

The kids had conned him into hosting a movie night, complete with all the junk food you all could gather. You, Sam, Robin, and Steve were the designated chaperones. Although it’s not like they actually listened to anything any of you said. You were bombarded when you walked through the door, getting tugged in different directions by various kids. The girls wanted your advice on something, Dustin needed you to convince Steve to let them swim after dinner, and the rest of the boys were screeching about some game. 

“Go ahead,” Sam had chuckled, “Love you.” 

That was another new development. Sam had told you he loved you multiple times now. Each time you sent him a tight-lipped smile, no words escaped your mouth.  It broke your heart that you couldn’t love him. You loved being loved by him, and you were selfish enough to drag him along. 

“That was awkward,” Max muttered. You ignored it. Letting them drag you into the house. 

After the kids had run you ragged, you found Steve in the kitchen setting up the multiple boxes of pizza. 

“Remind me again why I signed up for this?” Steve sighed, gesturing to the gaggle of children currently destroying his living room. 

“Because they were getting sick of the mall. It’s summer break.” You laughed, “And you are the one who designated yourself as the babysitter.” 

He sighed, “Still..” 

“And you love me?” You giggled, grabbing a stack of plates from the cabinet. 

“That I do.” He said, his eyes meeting yours before they caught Sam’s hovering behind you. 

“I love you. Love you enough to tell you that I’m not helping you clean this up tomorrow.” 

Sam cleared his throat, and you whipped around. Startled by his presence. 

“Hi-” 

“Can we talk?” He cut you off, shooting Steve daggers behind your back. 

“Okay?” You stuttered, taken off guard. Steve excused himself, patting your arm gently before he slid past you two. Leaving you both alone in his kitchen, Sam’s eyes dark on yours. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked. 

“Why do you let him do that?” 

Your brows furrowed, “Let who do what?” 

“Steve. You let him give you those pathetic puppy dog eyes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh come on,” He laughed, the tension growing thick, “He glares at me like I’m going to attack him at any second, then he looks at you like a kicked dog. He touches you whenever he gets the chance. And you just let him.” 

“Sam, it’s-” You stuttered, “It’s how we’ve always been.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s getting sort of ridiculous, Y/n.” He scoffed, spinning around to head for the door. 

You followed, ripping the door open behind him. “What is?” 

“You!” He yelled, his hands waving in front of you. With all the commotion, you gave it a few minutes before Steve and Robin followed you outside. No doubt the kids had their ears pressed to the door. What an embarrassing disaster this night has turned into

“Sam-” 

“Have you just been playing in my face for over a year?” He asked, his voice thick with emotion. 

You shook your head quickly, tears welling in your eyes. “No, no Sam no. I would never.” 

“So you love me?” 

You went silent, your bottom lip wobbling. 

“You can’t even fucking say it.” He spat. “That’s all I wanted from you, but you can’t even give me that.” 

“Is this because I told Steve I love him?” You whimpered, willing the tears not to fall. “We’ve been telling each other we love each other since we could speak.” 

He shook his head, “No. Something changed. Either you’re too blind to see it or-” He cut himself off, letting out a heartbroken laugh. The front door opens behind you. You knew who it was, without turning around. Steve would always come for you; he always has. What you’ve truly wanted has been right in front of you, and you never realized it until now. 

“There’s your knight and shining armor.” Sam scoffed, rubbing his mouth with his hand. 

“Y/n, are you okay?” Steve ignored Sam’s words, his soft voice speaking to you only. The voice he used before kissing your bandaids over scraped knees. The voice that got you through the darkest times. The same one that asked you that night, he asked if you’d ever thought about it. 

“She’s fine. We’re talking, can we please have a moment?” Sam spoke when you didn’t, tears falling freely down your cheeks now. 

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Steve responded, his hands on his hips now. 

Sam laughed, a cruel one. “I know you can’t fight Harrington, so don’t bother.” 

“Stop.” You spoke weakly, turning around. “Steve, just give us a second.” 

His eyes met yours, the two of you having a silent conversation with your eyes. He was ready to turn inside, but this only angered Sam further. 

“Actually, no, Steve, you should stay.” Sam’s voice chilled you to your bones, your eyes snapping to his. Despite your protests, he continued. “We were just talking about how Y/n doesn’t love me. Apparently, you’re all she can think about.” 

“Bullshit-”

“You’re dreaming about him, Y/n! You have repressed your feelings so far down that you don’t even realize how pathetic it is. God, it’s so fucking embarrassing being with you, watching the two of you dance around each other.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You cried, confused as to how he would even know about your dreams, your feelings. 

“You say his name in your sleep. You say his name during sex.” He let out in a heartbreaking laugh, “You think I didn’t hear you? You think I don’t see that faraway look in your eyes? When you look disappointed to see me there?” 

It was as if you could feel your world falling apart all around you; you wanted nothing more than the world to swallow you whole. Steve’s eyes were burning into the back of your head; you couldn’t face him. Not when Sam was laying it all out in the open, flaying your heart open right here for Steve to see. 

“That doesn’t mean I never cared for you.” You sniffled, “Sam, I could love you, I could.” 

“I wish I could believe that. I really do.” He sighed, shuffling his feet. 

Steve stayed quiet, unsure of what to do. He was stuck against the door, his heart aching for you. Even for Sam. 

“You know what the worst part of all of this was?” He laughed, tears filling his eyes, “I always knew this would be how it ended. You, running into his arms. Everyone warned me, but I loved you too much to listen.” 

“I’m so sorry.” You blubbered, your arms wrapped around yourself. This was it; you couldn’t go back from this. 

He shook his head, “No. Not really, you’re not..” Were his last words as he turned around, speeding off down the road in his truck 

Everything you had ever known was dissipating in front of your eyes. All the plans you had made. That metaphorical box of feelings you had been cramming to the brim finally crumbled underneath its own weight. You were scared you were going to drown. The unknown picking up your body and dragging you to sea. 

“Y/n..” There was that voice again, your forever anchor. You shook your head, wiping away your tears. You couldn’t face him, you couldn't do this. 

“We gotta talk about it.” His voice was thick, “We gotta get it out.” 

“I can’t.” You whimpered, hiding your face in your hands. 

He stepped forward anyway, grabbing your wrists in his hands. Pulling them away to expose your tear-stained cheeks. 

“It’s just me. It’s just me.” He reassured you, holding your face in his hands. He held you as if his whole world was resting upon his palms, because it was. 

“That’s the problem.” You cried, eyes still squeezed shut. If you opened your eyes and saw him, it would all be real; the weight of this would crash on your shoulders. But you knew he’d be there to catch you. 

He let you steady yourself, pressing his forehead to yours. Waiting for your frantic breaths to match his, your shaking hands gripped his jacket. Searching for a lifeline. 

“All this time….” He cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Your eyes shot open at his words, his eyes glossy, full of a thousand unsaid words. 

“I've spent so many years dancing around it. Pushing it down and just praying it would go away. If I thought about it too hard, if I let the idea cross my mind, it would never go away. So I couldn’t. Couldn’t lose you.” You cried. 

“You’d never lose me. Look at me, Y/n Y/l/n.” He promised, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. He wasn't going to let you look away, not now. 

 “The love I have for you,” his voice cracking, “The love I have for you transcends every possible doubt you have in your mind. I look for you in every room, every time I need you, you are right there, you’ve always been right there. Through it all. If I could go back, I'd kick myself for letting you get away from me for so long, but it doesn’t matter. Because we’re right here. And I'm not going anywhere. However long it takes, whatever it takes. You’ve always been my girl.” 

You nodded, “Pinky promise?” It came out as a pathetic whimper, tears slipping down Steve’s cheeks, matching your own. 

“Yes,” He gave you a teary laugh, “Pinky promise.” His hand came up, his pinky finding yours. He leaned down, kissing your knuckles. Suddenly, you were both 13 again, the same Indiana sun beaming down on you two. 

“I choose you and me, religiously. Through everything, everyone in my life. Not because I felt like I needed to, but because I wanted to. There was no one else, god, there was never anyone else I’ve loved as much as I love you.” He cried, his forehead pressing harshly into yours, “It’s always been us. You hear me?”

“Steve..” 

“I love you, Y/n, you’re my best friend, and I am helplessly, unequivocally in love with you.” 

“That’s a real big word for you.” You laughed through the tears, making him beam. 

“It is a huge word for me, only I even know it because of you.” He sighed, “There are no words to explain just how much I love you. 

“I think I’ve loved you my whole life.” You whispered, your noses brushing. “It’s the only thing that’s ever come easy to me.” 

Steve’s smile could rival that of a thousand suns, his lips brushing yours. “Can I?” His voice was meek, unsure. 

You didn’t even have a chance to nod, closing the gap between you. Your lips pressing softly to his. He kissed you like he was coming home, and you kissed him back as you needed him to survive. The two of you are drowning in the kiss, hands clenching each other tightly as if both of you would wake up from a dream. 

When you pulled apart for air, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark. What a mess the two of you looked, tear-stained and blushing in the middle of his driveway. 

“I love you.” You said, just to say it. Just because you could. 

“And I love you.” He pressed a longing kiss to your forehead, pulling back to look at you. 

“This has been so embarrassing. Can’t believe I ruined movie night.” You sniffled.

“Those kids are fine. Robins probably distracted them by now with some ridiculous scheme.” Steve said, kissing away the tears running down your face. You both had a lot to talk about, you needed time to think, and grieve. But the crushing weight of your feelings was finally off your shoulders, and Steve didn’t run away. He ran towards you, holding your hand just like he always had. 

You were thankful for the kids who acted oblivious, throwing popcorn at you the moment you walked back in the door. Making you pay for having to listen to Robin monologue about Gremlins, before even pressing play on the tape. 

Steve simply shrugged, pulling you down against him on the couch. His arms are around your chest. It wasn’t anything different from how he’d held you before, but it was also so different. New intentions, a new feeling sparking every time you two touched. 

That night, neither of you was able to sleep, content to tiptoe over the sleeping children. Steve nearly slips on Mike’s blanket, making you have to cover your mouth to stop the laugh from slipping out. The sliding glass door creaked as you two descended into the night. Steve practically pulling you into his backyard like a man on a mission. 

“What are you doing?” You giggled, watching the old trampoline come into view. Your heart ached; it must have been in his garage collecting dust. 

“Made the kids pull it out.” He answered you before you even asked, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Robin asked if we wanted candles and rose petals, but I told her this was perfect.” 

“It is.” You whispered, your hands running over the rusted springs. 

Steve helped hoist you up, the two of you plopping down on the worn-out plastic. Both of you bouncing into each other. 

In a rushed fit of giggles, you pulled him down next to you, your head nuzzling into his chest. With his arm around your waist, he held you close. The stars were bright tonight, a rare, clear night this time of year. 

“I never thought this would happen,” He admitted, “Always thought you were too good for me. That I’d never deserve you. I still don’t think I do.” 

“I didn’t think you’d ever choose me. I mean, out of all the girls in Hawkin’s you’ve been with, and there’s been a lot,” You teased, “I didn’t think I had a shot in the dark.” 

“Honey, you are my girl. Everyone knew.” He smiled, thinking back to all the times everyone said you two were practically dating anyway. Looking back, it was painfully obvious; the only oblivious ones were you two. 

“Guess I just thought you were fulfilling some pinky promise we made as kids. Like out of some weird obligation to the weird girl who started following you around one day and never stopped.” You admitted sheepishly. 

“That’s ridiculous, honey.” That was all he could say, humor lacing his words. 

“I mean, looking back, it was kinda obvious,s huh?” You laughed, your mind giving you a highlight reel of the past few years. All the girlfriends of his you hated, the boyfriends of yours he wouldn’t even give a chance. Everyone’s whispers, both of your parents, calling it from a young age. It was always inevitably going to end here, no matter how bumpy the ride. 

“Dude, our moms are gonna flip.” 

“Ugh, they’ve probably already planned the tackiest wedding imaginable.” You groaned. 

“You wanna marry me, honey?” He teased, poking your side. 

“Shut up.” You grumbled, your cheeks warming. 

“I think,” He said, eyes going back up to the stars, “I think I'd marry you right now if you said yes.” 

“I’d say yes.” You admitted, “I’ve never been so sure about something my whole life.” 

Suddenly, he was jolting up from the trampoline, leaving you bouncing in his absence. 

“What are you doing?” You laughed, watching him stumble around in the dark, hands brushing through the grass. If you knew any better, you’d have thought he finally lost his mind.  

“Wait, wait. No! Yes, fuck yes okay.” He muttered, ripping something out of the ground, running back up the trampoline. He was illuminated by the moonlight, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at you. He was on one knee, holding up a dandelion he’d folded into a ring. 

“Are you proposing?” You laughed, unable to keep a straight face. 

“Yes, not for real, but also kinda?” He chuckled nervously, “Will you, Y/n Y/l/n, take me, Steve Harrington’s hand in marriage? In probably about a year or so from now??” 

“You are ridiculous.” 

He tsked, “That’s not an answer.” 

“What are my options?” 

“Yes, and uh.. Oh yeah, yes.” 

“God, lots of decisions to think over.” 

You smiled down at him, holding out your left hand. “Steve Harrington, yes, I will marry you.” 

“Fuck yeah.” He cheered, slipping the weed onto your finger. With the yellow flower against your skin, all you could think about was his bouquet of dandelions he brought you when you were a kid. 

“Come here.” You whispered, dragging him back up with you. Your lips meet his. This kiss was different than the first; this was hot and heavy. Your mouth opened, letting his tongue explore. You straddled his hips, pinning him down as best you could while the two of you bounced with every movement. 

“Baby.” He groaned, your lips trailing down the side of his neck. 

“Hmm?” You hummed, your hand crawling under his shirt. Finally touching the rough patch of hair you dreamed about. His soft stomach underneath your palm. 

“Don’t think there’s anyone in the woods with a camera, do you?” He asked, making you fall off of him in a fit of giggles. 

“Oh, that’s fucked up.” 

“Sorry, I had to.” He threw his hands up, “I mean, weirdly, he’s a cool guy. He and Nancy make a good couple.” 

“I think we make a better couple.” You cheesed, pressing another kiss to his lips. Then another, and another. You’d never get sick of it. 

“I agree.” He laughed in between kisses. “I also think we should take this upstairs.” 

You met his hungry eyes, taking his hand in yours, letting him lead the way. This was one of those times you were thankful for Steve’s rich parents. His room was upstairs on the other end of the house from everyone else. 

You had been in Steve’s rooms countless times, even slept in his bed more times than your own. But suddenly it was real; none of this was some dream you found yourself lost in. He was right here in front of you, his hands leading you to his bed. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He spoke calmly, nerves radiating off of you. You looked up at him, the hunger in his eyes matching your own. 

“I want this,” You whispered, “I want you.” With every fiber of being, this was all you wanted. 

The rest was a blur, messy kisses, hushed moans, and trembling hands as clothes floated to the floor. He hesitated against your bra strap, staring deep into your eyes when the clasp came undone. Pulling it off your body as he was unwrapping a delicate vase. 

“You,” His mouth went dry, his eyes still on yours. “Are the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.” 

You were burning alive for him. His hands touched you gently, his thumbs rubbing over your peaked buds. With each gasp that left your lips, Steve watched, memorizing every single touch that left you reeling. 

“This okay?” He whispered, his face leaning down into your ribcage. 

“Yes, Please.” 

This was all he needed, his lips trailing wet kisses down your sternum. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, flattening before he took it into his mouth, Sucking ever so softly, while his other hand gripped your other tit, massaging the flesh. 

“Oh my god.” 

You could barely breathe, the pressure between your legs growing with each wet trail of his tongue. He pulled off with a lewd pop, his lips glossy. He didn’t stop there, his kisses trailing down your stomach, until he was perfectly settled between your hips. Arms caging your body in. 

“How are you feeling?” Ever the worrier, Steve was going to stop every few seconds, asking if you were okay. Your body was trembling underneath his, in anticipation and nerves. 

“Good. I love you.” You panted, his fingers curling in the sides of your underwear. 

“Gonna take these off now, that okay?” 

You frantically nodded, lifting your hips for him. When he threw them alongside the pile of your other clothes, your legs fell shut on impulse. 

He looked up at you, a silent question in his eyes. 

“C-can you take your shirt off?” You asked, feeling underdressed. He flung the shirt off quicker than you’ve ever seen before, smiling wildly at you. His bare skin was warm against your legs as he settled himself back in position, hands gripping your thighs. 

“Open up for me, honey.” 

You let out an embarrassed squeal, “Wait.” 

Steve paused, watching your face scrunch with nerves. “S’what wrong?” 

“I’ve never…” You trailed off, choking on your embarrassment. 

“What?” He asked, taking a minute to put two and two together. He looked down at your clamped legs, and back up to you like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Are you serious?” His voice had lowered an octave, hands clenching. “No one’s ever gone down on you.” 

“They all said it was g-gross. So I didn’t bother you, know?” You flushed, “You don’t have to.” 

He stopped you, unclenching his jaw. “Gross? Baby, I have every right mind to go track them down and beat their ass.” 

A squeak escaped your lips, “You’re hot when you’re mad.” 

“I am mad, mad because there’s no reason any of those men deserved you. I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you for years, and they just-” He cut himself off, hand rubbing small circles on your calf. “Baby, do you want me to go down on you?” 

You nodded sheepishly, “Just nervous.” 

“Don’t be. You just talk to me, okay? If there’s anything you don’t like, anything you want. Need you to promise you’ll tell me.” 

“Okay, yeah. Promise.” You leaned back, bracing yourself on his pillows. 

“Good.” He grabbed your tights gently, “Open up for me, pretty girl.” 

You obliged, letting your legs fall open for him. A shock went through you at the sensation of your wet cunt hitting the cold air. Steve’s eyes were locked on you. Practically drooling at the sight of you. 

“Gorgeous.” He babbled, pressing kisses up and down your inner thighs. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Gonna put my mouth on you, okay?” 

You nodded, your body jerking the moment his wet mouth came down on your clit. He took it slow, letting his tongue draw circles over you. You were over the moon, letting out choked moans of his name. You didn’t know it would feel this good. 

His tongue flattened, teasing your entrance before suckling your clit into his mouth. He ate you out like a man starved, moaning against you. The sensations had your legs shaking, overwhelmed by new feelings that licked up your spine. 

“Steve..” 

“How’s it feel, baby?” He panted, your wetness covering the bottom half of his mouth when he came up for air. His hand curled around to your entrance.  

“S’good. Bab,y it feels so good.” You basically sobbed, your cunt welcoming in his thick fingers. Stretching you out with each curl of his fingertips. His mouth wrapped around you, and that was all it took; your back arched off the bed. Grinding into his mouth messily as you came. He held your hips still, stroking out each morsel of your orgasm. Sweat clung to your forehead, your chest rising and falling quickly. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.” You sighed dreamily. Steve had a shit-eating grin on his face, wiping his face on his discarded shirt before crawling back up your body. His lips met yours, kissing you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue, moaning weakly when he pulled apart. 

“I will do that all day, every single day.” He swore between kisses. His hips pressed against yours; the only thing separating you two was the thin fabric of his boxers. You could feel his hard length pressed against you. 

“Can I return the favor?” Your teeth came down to bite your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to run your tongue down his happy trail straight to his cock. 

“Another time?” He smiled, speaking before you frowned, “I need to feel you.” 

“Just for a second?” You pleased, giving him your best doe eyes. He knew he could never say no to you. His boxers were pulled off, his cock slapping against his stomach. He was huge; your mouth salivated at the idea of wrapping your mouth around his pulsating tip. He fumbled around in his drawer, holding up a condom in his hand like it was a winning lottery ticket. He lay next to you on the bed, letting you switch positions. 

Your hand wrapped around him slowly, barely fitting. He gritted his teeth before you could fully pump him. The length twitching in your hand. 

“O-okay, baby-” He winced, his head hitting the headboard when your lips wrapped around him. Licking the precum off of him, savoring the salty taste of him. His hips jerked up, his cock sliding into your mouth deeper. 

“Fuck, okay, nope. Nope.” He hissed, gently pulling you off of him. This time, it was your turn to have a shit-eating grin on your face. 

“What? Can’t handle it?” You teased, squealing when he gripped your hips. Flipping you back onto your back with a thump. 

“Nope, my girl has a perfect fucking mouth,” He smirked, “But I wanna feel this pretty pussy more.” 

Your core throbbed at his words, hips rutting against the air for relief. He sat up between your legs, sliding the condom over his length. 

“Ready?” He asked, to which you nodded frantically. 

“Yeah, baby.” 

His tip circled your entrance a few times, spreading your wetness around for him. Before he braced himself, sliding himself in slowly. Your hands found his shoulders, fingers creating half-moon indentations as you welcomed the stretch. 

“Doing so well.” He praised, pressing kisses up and down your neck and chest. “Taking me so well. So fucking tight for me.” 

When his hips bottomed out against yours, tears sprang in your eyes. You were so full, emotions overwhelming you.

He noticed your eyes fluttering shut, his hand moving to cradle your cheek. “Eyes on me. Eyes on me.” He cooed. 

You were scared, so scared you’d open them, and it was just another dream. “I’m real. I’m here.” He reassured, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. They fluttered open again, and you stared at your brown-eyed lover. Drinking him in, every freckle, every imperfection. You wanted to count his eyelashes and memorize the patterns in his irises. 

“I love you.” Your voice was raw, the words spilling out heavier than ever before. Despite the countless times the two of you said those three words to each other over the years, this was the one that meant the most. That held the most weight. It carried every emotion you’ve pushed down over the past decade. Now it poured out of you, oozing from your very being. 

His smile was infectious: “I love you so much.” Another kiss on your lips. Something you’d never get sick of, his plump lips against yours. Moving with a passion that can only be built from years of secret glances and repressed feelings. 

You both moved as if the other was going to slip through your hands like water. Hands frantic, but focused. Memorizing every bit of each other’s bodies as your body welcomed him in. 

“You can move.” You sighed, the discomfort turning into pleasure. He did an experimental rock of his hips, hitting a spot deep inside you that had you mewling. 

“Oh, already, baby?” He cooed, using the hand that wasn’t propped up to rub circles on your cheek with his thumb. 

“S’deep.” You slurred, with each expert movement, your body was on fire. The wet sounds of him dragging in and out of your cunt only fueled the burning. The bed creaked when he sped his movements up. 

“I love you. I love you.” Steve grunted, his fair falling meassily on his forehead. His eyebrows scrunched up, staring down at you, watching you come apart underneath him. Committing every second to memory. 

Your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him even closer if that was possible. His thick patch of hair sits above his cock, rubbing deliciously against your clit, his tip hitting your cervix as he fucked into you. 

“I’m gonna cum. Baby gonna cum.” You whined, feeling the tension coil deep in your gut. Steve nodded with a grunt, grabbing your legs and spreading them wide. The new angle had you screaming his name, his fingers rubbed your clit messily while you spasmed around him. Coming so hard your ears began to ring, legs shaking in his hold. 

He fucked you through it, keeping you spread wide for him. “That’s it. Take this cock, baby. Feels good? Feels so good.” He muttered, his hips stuttering. 

“Come inside me,” You babbled mindlessly, paying no mind to the condom between you two. 

“Oh fuck.” Steve gasped, emptying his load into the condom with a gasp. Falling slack against your body with each twitch of his cock inside you. 

Your hands curled in his hair, his panting breaths hitting your chest as the two of you came down. Relishing in the sounds of each other’s breathing, and his skin on yours. 

After a while, he pulled out of you with a hiss, disposing of the condom and cleaning the two of you up. He crawled back into bed, beckoning you to lie on his chest. 

You didn’t hesitate, curling yourself up against him. Letting his hands find your scalp, massaging your head. You cooed into him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You sighed dreamily, Steve’s fingers expertly combing through your hair. 

“My thoughts are worth more than a penny.” He teased, making you roll your eyes at him. 

“I have a kiss, take it or leave it.” 

“Oh, I’m taking it alright.” He leaned down, pecking your lips gently. 

“Okay, pay up.” You ordered, letting his hands go back to caressing your scalp. 

“Just thinking about you. Our future.” He hummed, like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

You sat up a little, “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah, big house. You’ll have a garden out back. We’ll have a pool. So I can watch you lounge outside while I grill. A couple of dogs running around, maybe ten kids?” 

“You’re out of your mind, Stevie.” You gasped. 

“Okay, what about six?” He compromised, pulling his face down to yours once again. 

“Maybe let’s slow down, become real adults first. Then… yeah, maybe I’ll give you a couple kids.” 

He smirked. “I knew it.” 

Your mind conjured up images of little versions of you and Steve running around. Growing up alongside the battalion of aunts and uncles downstairs. 

“You’re gonna have to buy a minivan if you want that many kids. Can you imagine us taking home a baby in the beamer?” 

“Our first two babies are definitely coming home in the beamer, babe. It’s when we get to 3, then we need to start looking into minivan territory.” 

“If you’re doing the heavy lifting...” You shrugged, imagining Steve in dad jeans. Pulling carseats out of his car. Your children running around the two of you. Family dinners, vacations, and the stable parents that neither of you were afforded growing up. 

“Of course.” He scoffed, not believing you’d think otherwise. 

“Guess we gotta find better jobs to support this million-dollar idea, huh?” You laughed, Steve pausing for a minute. 

“God, I guess you’re right.” He slumped, trying not to think too hard about the stress of that lingering on top of his shoulders. 

“Hey,” You whispered, “It’s all gonna work out, we have each other. That’s all that really matters.” 

“Yeah.” He smiled wistfully, “You haven’t been able to get rid of me this long, don’t even try now, babe.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Speaking of dreams….”

College, then a career, marriage, and after several comfortable years, maybe children could enter the picture. You were, after all, eighteen, and the prospect of kids had felt astronomically far away.

(Isn’t life funny sometimes?)

Then the car crash happened.

You don’t remember much of it—bits here, pieces there, some flashes if you think hard enough that it makes your head hurt—just that one moment you were in the backseat of your family’s car, buckled in and drifting to sleep, and in the next, you were staring up at the ceiling of Hawkins Memorial.

You had survived with some broken bones and a nasty concussion. 

Your family did not.

You were eighteen and alone, having graduated high school only a few weeks prior. And between all of the injuries that you’d sustained and the sudden lack of family to help pay for tuition, you were forced to drop out of college. Your days were instead spent planning funerals from a hospital bed, handling lawyers and life insurance and inheritance. You threw yourself into physical therapy and, once your leg healed, forced yourself into a car, refusing to let yourself vomit from the anxiety of being behind a wheel once more.

You survived it all, and you came out a stronger person on top.

Different, maybe, but stronger.

And throughout it all—through the long hours in the hospital and longer hours rebuilding your strength—was your boyfriend, Mark Lewinsky.

Mark was sweet. Mark was kind. He filled your recovery room with flowers, and once you were discharged, his parents allowed you to stay at their house as you healed.

But Mark also had a life outside of yours completely crashing down around you, and in August of ’85, he swept off to Purdue without a glance backwards.

And life moved on. Injuries healed, you moved back into your family’s home, and your days were spent with sorting through their belongings, figuring out which items you wanted to keep and which items would be better loved in another home.

Mark called often. Of course he called often! He was your boyfriend, the love of your life, and was even starting to talk about rings and weddings and marriage, and even if your life hasn’t gone the way that you thought it should, at least you could still have the other parts, right?

It was just as things were starting to feel normal again, that you were settling into your new existence, that the earthquake happened.

Mark spent the summer of ’86 bouncing between his parents’ house and your place, filling out the copious amounts of paperwork that the military required for him to be released to go back go college, and before you could wrap your head around it, he was gone.

He was gone, and you were left in this new, strange world by yourself. No Mark, no family, no friends.

Alone.

And it was fine. It was fine.

It was fine up until the military doctor informed you, during one of the mandatory checkups, that you were pregnant.

And then, suddenly, everything wasn’t fine, because it was October of 1986, the military was breathing down everyone’s necks, and you were scared and pregnant and alone and all Mark could say over the phone was, “Babe, are you even sure that it’s mine?”

You seethed. Of course you seethed—you were faithful! You’d been nothing but faithful for two years! You hadn’t even looked at another man, not since Mark asked you out during your senior year! And now you were pregnant with his baby, stuck in a nightmare scenario, he changed his phone number, his parents had moved from town, and you were alone.

Mark, clearly, did not care.

In fact, he didn’t really seem to care until long after you gave birth, not until your daughter, Mia, was nearly two, and he came skipping back into Hawkins after he graduated college, demanding a paternity test.

He demanded a lot of things, really, that you were too exhausted to fight him on. Not with the money behind the Lewinsky name. Not with the way you hadn’t slept for a full night since giving birth. Not with living through a military occupation, abandoned and scared, with a baby who depended on you for everything. 

So you got the test done, and wouldn’t you know it? Mark Lewinsky was, in fact, the father. Except Mark Lewinsky was no longer your boyfriend, and he had a nice, new woman at his side with a nice, new shiny ring on her finger and a nice, new lawyer to demand shared custody.

The only thing you refused to budge on was changing Mia’s last name from yours to Mark’s. You were, after all, the person that carried her in your body, the only parent she knew for the first two years of her life, and you were the one she cried for after nightmares. You were the one that she snuggled up next to after you rented Cinderella from Family Video for the umpteenth time and you knew exactly how she liked her pancakes made. 

She was yours in every way that mattered and nothing was going to change that.

And before you knew it, years passed, and Mia grew faster than you could keep up with. She developed thoughts and feelings and opinions—god, so many opinions that it makes you laugh—and, suddenly, an interest in sports.

(You’re not quite sure where that one came from, seeing as Mark’s athletic prowess had been comical at best and you were too busy in high school with other extracurriculars to even try.)

Which is how you find yourself here, the early June sun beating down on your neck, at Hawkins Middle School with an excitable Mia clutching your hand, surrounded by the newly formed Hawkins Little League Softball Team.

A team that had been spearheaded by none other than Steve Harrington, a familiar face that you hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

Shock spreads across your body at the sight of him jogging towards your ragtag group, and the first thought that crosses your mind is that he looks good. Better than he did in high school, back when the two of you spent a summer fooling around with one another like there was nothing better to do with your time. His hair is a bit shorter than it was back then, a little less styled with the tips curling from humidity, and a white shirt already drenched with sweat sticks to his chest.

Your throat goes dry at the sight of what should be considered indecently short athletic shorts and hairy legs stopping in front of the crowd, and not for the first time, you find yourself regretting that the two of you drifted apart once Mark became a more stable presence in your life.

(Were you ever really friends? You’re not sure, but you gave a piece of yourself to him that summer, and you’ve never once regretted giving it away.)

You rip your gaze away from his legs, tracing the line up his body—which is both so similar and so different from your memory—and find that he’s smiling sunnily at you, recognition crossing his face.

And then, he greets the kids and practice is started.

You make yourself way to the stands with the other parents, watching with no small amount of amusement as Steve corrals a gaggle of five year olds who want to do nothing more than sprint in dizzying circles around him. He takes it all in stride, however, and you find yourself impressed at the everlasting patience he has for the girls with no attention span. 

It would be a lot for any person to handle, you think, but somehow, Steve has a knack for getting the kids to listen to his instructions.

The first practice goes fine. Great, even, for a bunch of hyperactive, uncoordinated five year olds. And even though there isn’t a single kind who actually manages to hit the ball with the stupidly expensive softball bats, but afterwards, Steve gives each and every girl a high five, tells them that he’s proud of them, and reminds them all to drink plenty of water once they get home.

You watch Mia bound over to you, her twin braids flying as she yells, “Did you see? Did you see?”

“I saw!” you laugh, catching the bundle of energy in your arms as she babbles on excitedly about how much fun she had and how much she can’t wait for the next practice.

Your heart sinks, because despite how uncomfortable the metal bench was, you really enjoyed watching her tumble her way across the field. But… the next practice is next week, Mark’s week, and he was already reticent to pay for half of the fees. Would he even stay to watch? Would his wife—a lovely woman in her own right—stay to watch? Will there be anyone to cheer Mia on as she runs in circles? You’re not sure, and it makes your chest hurt to think about that.

Before you can dwell on it too long, though, a shadow crosses over the two of you, and you look up, up, up, to find Steve Harrington in all of his sweaty glory, your name dripping from his lips, and he asks, “Hey! It’s been awhile. How are you doing?

“I’m good,” you say at the same time that Mia, a clingy child on the best of days, does her best to burrow her way into your skin. “I was actually a little surprised to see you here. Didn’t know that you were moonlighting as a coach now, but it looks good on you.”

“Yeah?” he says, a little bashful as he pushes the hair from his eyes. “I coach the baseball little league, too, and was kind of annoyed that the girls didn’t have their own sport, so… yeah. Anyway, is this your niece?”

You open your mouth, ready to respond, but it’s in this moment that Mia chooses to peel herself from your arms and beat you to the punch.

“Uh, this is my mom, Coach Steve. Duh.”

“Mia!” you scold. “God, Steve, I’m so sorry, she’s a little—I mean—”

A booming laugh cuts you off. You watch, stunned, as his head tilts back, the evening sun catching on the column of his throat, the corners of his eyes crinkling from the force of his mirth. Everything about him screams All American Boy as the delight spills from him, and a knot in your chest that you didn’t even know was there eases.

“You’re right, Mia,” he says, holding a hand out to her as a peace offering. “I should’ve known better. Will you ever forgive me?”

Mia sniffs imperiously, eyes him a little warily, but clearly decides that he passes some invisible test when she places her little hand in his large palm. “I guess.”

You take this moment to pry her from your lap, instructing, “Go get a snack from the car, sweets. I’m going to talk to Steve real quick.”

She grumbles something under her breath, shooting you a sour look, but does as told, scampering towards your old sedan.

“So…” Steve starts, hands placed firmly on his hips and his gaze firmly trained on your daughter, as though he’s making sure that she doesn’t run into any trouble in the perilous twenty foot distance between you and her. “Daughter?”

“Long story,” you offer.

He raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”

You pause, thinking, and realize dimly, Oh, he should know. Especially if Mark drops her off next week. “Well… no, actually.”

You give Steve the abbreviated version—as abbreviated as it can be, anyway, for a tale that is both short and rather uninteresting. Knocked up at nineteen, gave birth at twenty, share custody with her father, Mark Lewinsky, so he’ll be the one at practice next week.

If possible, Steve’s brows raise higher at the mention of Mark. 

“The bench warmer?” he asks, then flushes as if he wasn’t supposed to say that.

But it’s your turn to laugh. “Yeah, him.” Glancing to make sure that your daughter is still out of earshot, you add, “Wouldn’t have been my first choice in fathers, but I got Mia out of it, so… Worth it, in the end.”

“She’s a good kid,” Steve says. “Picked up on what to do faster than the other kids. And I’m not just saying that to, like, stroke your ego or anything. She’s smart.”

“Yeah,” you smile. “She is, isn’t she?”

Life persists and summer continues to grow, the heat swells until it presses into every corner of your life, and the humidity wraps itself around you like a second skin. 

As always, Mia is at your house one week, goes to her dad’s the next, and inevitably she returns with her light a little dimmed and a trembling smile on her face, climbing into your bed every Sunday night after her dad drops her off.

(It breaks your heart, but what can you do? It’s not like they’re mistreating her or anything. She just doesn’t like going out over to Mark’s house, especially not since Mark’s wife announced her own pregnancy.)

And, against all odds, Mia sticks with softball, throwing her tiny little body into practice and drills. She takes to spending every evening with her bat in the backyard, swinging it around wildly as she asks, “Do you think Coach Steve can tell that I’m doing this?”

“Of course,” you reply amiably from your spot on the deck, a book propped open on the table next to you. “Coach Steve is very smart, you know.”

She preens under the thought of praise, and you heart clenches with gratitude that you get to be her mother.

Practices get bumped up to twice a week, too, meaning that every other week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, your evenings are spent in the stands at your old middle school, watching your daughter flail across the field with the grace of a newborn kitten.

There’s a certain amount of affection that wells up in your chest whenever you watch Steve interact with her. He corrects her with a gentle efficiency, lifting her elbow into place, showing her how to stand. It’s hard not to notice just how much she blossoms under his roaring cheers from across the field when she manages to hit the ball, her little legs pumping as she sprints to home base. 

And then—faster than you can process it—she slides her way to the home plate. Tries to slide her way to the home plate, and it’s immediately evident that it completely went wrong when a shrill cry pierces the air. Your blood freezes, and in the next second, Steve’s at her side before you can even stand, scooping her sobbing form up. His big hand settles on her small back as he jogs towards the first aid kit. 

You scramble from the stands, forcing your way through the other parents, and as you make your way closer, you hear him say, “I bet it hurts a lot, Mia, but it’ll be okay. See? It’s just a little cut, don’t worry.”

“But—but—” Her lower lip wobbles, fat tears falling from her eyes. “What if I can’t run anymore?”

If this shocks Steve, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he reaches out gently, dragging a thumb across her cheek as he wipes the tears away, promising in a soft voice, “You’ll be able to run again, I promise. You think a little scrape can prevent that? Come on, Mia, you’re a strong girl. You can do anything you want.”

Your heart melts at the assurance as you slip onto the bench next to her, tucking Mia into your side as he finishes cleaning and bandaging her skinned knees, saying, “There, all done. Look! No more blood. How about you sit here with your mom for a bit, okay? If it hurts a little less, you can come back out, but no worries if not.”

She nods, presses her face into your shirt, and Steve offers you a soft smile before turning his attention back to the rest of the team.

You offer her soothing words and squeezes, smoothing a hand down her back throughout the rest of practice, trying desperately to ignore the way your stomach flips at the mental image of her coddled against Steve’s chest.

It’s inappropriate, you think, to feel so electrified after seeing how kind his is with your daughter.

(But is it really your fault? You’ve seen Mark with her when she’s injured, the way he tends to hand Mia off to his wife when all she needs is a hug, a kiss to the forehead, and an assurance that all will be well. Because Mark is awkward and never quite adapted to fatherhood, and Steve—)

(Steve just seems so naturally step into that role, even for kids that aren’t his own.)

After practice, you stay sitting on the bench, watching as the rest of the team disappears in the parking lot and drives off. It’s only once the last family has left that Steve makes his way back over to the two of you, checks on Mia’s knees and opens his arms up. “Will you ever forgive me, Mia?”

She giggles and throws herself at him, wrapping herself tight around his neck as she buries her face into the crook of his neck.

“I guess,” she says in a way that you know, from experience, means yes. 

Your throat tightens at the sight, trying to remember the last time you’d seen her actual father treating her with so much tenderness.

Steve’s eyes, warm and brown, meet yours, and he asks, “Can I make this up to you? Both of you? There’s a new diner nearby that’s supposed to be good, and it’ll be my treat. I should’ve shown Mia how to safely slide before she ever attempted it, and…”

“Oh, Steve,” you say. “You really don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he says firmly. “Please?”

“Please, Mom?” comes your daughter’s muffled voice.

You glance down at Mia, at her face still filled with baby fat tucked into his shirt, and find yourself nodding. “As long as Mia wants to, I’m fine with it.”

The smile Steve sends you is blinding.

He leads the two of you towards his car, having insisted on driving, with Mia held close to his chest after she demanded that he carry her as payment—where she learned that phrase, you’re not quite sure—and you find yourself shocked to find a silvery blue pickup in place of a maroon BMW, and you blurt out, “You got rid of the Beamer?”

Steve pauses where he’s opening the passenger door, glancing back at you with something unreadable on his face. Carefully, with a tinge of sadness in his voice, he says, “Figured that it was time for something better.”

“Still, we had some good memories in that car,” you say without thinking.

Steve coughs.

You freeze, face burning.

“Oh my god,” you say. “I’m so sorry, that just—”

“It’s fine,” he wheezes, his cheeks turning a rosy red. “Can’t say you’re wrong, can I?”

And Mia, ever the nosy child, finally puts two and two together. “Mom, did you know Coach Steve before softball?”

“I did, sweets,” you say. “We were friends in school.”

(Which isn’t exactly the truth, but, well, you’re not exactly about to tell your five year old that you and Steve hooked up between relationships, are you?)

“Your mom was the prettiest girl in our grade,” Steve whispers conspiratorially, easing Mia onto the bench seat and nudging her towards the center.

“Mom’s the prettiest girl now,” Mia asserts.

“You’re right,” he seriously replies. Then, as your brain struggles to catch up with the conversation, he turns to you with a hand held out, saying, “Alright, Prettiest Girl, let me help you in.”

Your face feels hot as you slip your hand into his, an electric shock racing up your arm at the contact. His palms are warm and calloused, assured in the way he grips your fingers as his other hand settles on your lower back, helping you up into the passenger seat.

He lingers for a moment, peering up at you, the setting sun making his eyes appear more honey than brown, and he says, “Not so bad, is it? Not as nice as the Beamer, but she’s a sturdy gal.”

And for a moment, you’re sixteen years old again, having your chin tilted up by Steve Harrington at Mayor Kline’s 1983 Fourth of July bash, his chapped lips brushing against yours at the peak of the Ferris wheel. You’re sixteen, and your biggest worry is whether or not your friends will believe you when you say that King Steve kissed you, and his hands are warm and steady on your waist as you wind your arms around his neck, his voice hoarse as he whispers, “God, you’re beautiful.”

You blink, and you’re twenty-five once more, with Steve Harrington—who has long since fallen from his throne—giving you a shy smile as his hand slips from your back, and for a moment you have the delirious thought that he still sees you as you, not the role you’ve filled for the past five years. He sees you as the teenager you once were, stealing kisses in the summer sun, making the windows of his Beamer fog up. He sees the person who once stole seven of his shirts in one night—shirts that still sit in your closet—and the person who once snorted lemonade out of your nose in his backyard.

And then your daughter shifts next to you, clearly antsy, and his gaze dips down to her, reminding you of the person you are now, before meeting your eyes once more.

As if he can sense your thoughts, he quietly asks, “You alright?”

You force yourself to nod, saying, “Yeah, of course. Just, uh, hungry.”

Because if you don’t, you’re going to ask him, Do you still see me as me? Or do you only see me as a mother like everyone else does?

(You’re not sure if you could handle the answer, no matter what it is.)

The drive to the diner is filled with endless chatter from your daughter as she fills Steve in on how she’s starting kindergarten in the fall, every thought and excitement and fear she has pouring from her body, and you watch. You watch the way his fingers curl around the steering wheel, you watch the way he leans over to ruffle Mia’s hair. You listen to the low, soothing timbre of his voice when he assures her that kindergarten isn’t hard, that she’ll have no problem making friends, that she’ll be okay no matter what. 

And for a moment—

For a moment, you wonder if this is what your life could’ve looked like, in another universe.

But you don’t let yourself dwell on that long, because in another universe, Mia wouldn’t be your daughter, and the thought of that makes your chest crack wide open from pain.

Steve helps the two of you out of the truck, doesn’t comment when Mia grabs his hand as well as yours, and holds the door open to the restaurant, ushering you both in and settling you into a corner booth.

Mia orders a stack of waffles—and you note the anguish that flashes across Steve’s face when she announces this to the waitress, wondering but not asking—and you order a sandwich, cautious of not spending too much despite his insistence to not worry about it.

It’s… it’s fun. It’s fun in a way you haven’t felt in a long time, a burden that you didn’t know was there easing from your bones. 

Steve, clearly, is phenomenal with kids, never flinching when Mia’s voice gets too loud or her stories too rambley. He meets her at her level like it’s the most natural thing to do, and you know from experience that it’s not. She’s a precocious child, too smart for her age and always getting into something, and it’s a common complaint you’ve heard from her father when he drops her off at your house. That she isn’t always controllable, as if it’s a crime to let a child roam free, as if a child is meant to be controlled.

(You can’t think about that one without righteous indignation burning through your veins.)

And when the food arrives, he waves you away when you move to cut up Mia’s waffles, saying, “I got it, just enjoy your meal.”

You think that you could cry.

Dinner passes without incident, and you’re nowhere close to surprised when Mia nods off onto your arm, her snores filling the space between you and Steve. He huffs out a quiet, affectionate laugh, goes to pay the bill, and when he comes back, he leans down to gather her into his arms, asking, “You ready?”

He’s quiet as he takes you back to your own car, contemplative, and he wordlessly helps buckle Mia into her car seat, biceps flexing as he protects the top of her head from bumping against the roof of the sedan. 

It should be odd, you think, to let him do this. To let him take care of your daughter without question.

But it’s not like you don’t know him. It’s not like he’s never treated you with the same gentle reverence, either.

(Because you remember high school. You remember your first big breakup, sophomore year, and Steve finding you crying behind the bleachers in the outfield. You remember him sitting next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling some napkins from his coat pocket to dab at your mascara stained cheeks. You remember his kindness, back when he was King Steve and you were someone on the outskirts of his universe. You remember him driving you home afterwards and helping you into bed. You remember coming into school the next day to see your ex with a black eye and fat lip, and the warmth in your chest that, for the first time, someone had taken care of you.)

“Thank you,” you say, even if it falls far short of anything else you really want to say. “This… this meant more than you know.”

Steve straightens, gently shutting the door. “It’s no problem, honestly.”

“Still,” you say. “You don’t need to be so nice, Steve. I know I’m just your…”

Your former fling. Someone you filled your afternoons with before Nancy Wheeler broke your heart. A person you probably haven’t thought about in years.

“My friend,” he gently finishes. “You’re my friend.”

You blink, taken aback. “But we haven’t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, still in that soft, soothing tone of his. “But I never once stopped considering you a friend. And…” He pats around the pockets of his jeans, pulling out a scrap of paper. “I’ve been trying to figure out a good time to give this to you.”

You take it, looking down to find a phone number scrawled out.

“I live in a place up near Forest Hills Park now,” he continues on. “Up in northeast Hawkins? Not the trailer park that has the same name, it’s on the opposite side of town. So my number’s obviously changed, but if, you know, you ever want to talk, I’m almost always home around eight. To catch up.”

“Oh.” Your throat feels uncomfortably tight. “Oh, this…”

“You don’t have to,” he quickly says. “Just figured I’d offer.”

Something in your chest warms at the thought. Catching up. Even if you’re confident that there’s nothing in your life interesting enough to catch up on, he’s looking at you so earnestly, so ardently, that you can’t deny him.

“I will,” you promise. “I will. And—my phone number never changed, so if you still remember that—”

“I do.”

You pause, smiling. “You can call me anytime.”

A shy, sheepish grin peeks from his face. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah. And for what it’s worth, I’m still living in the same house I did in high school.”

“Really?” he asks, following you around the car as you reach for the driver’s side door. “What’s the story behind that?”

“I don’t know,” you say coquettishly, slipping into the seat. “You’ll have to call and find out, won’t you?”

Sunday comes, and Mia gets whisked off to her father’s house like she always does, and you’re once again left wandering around your house, trying desperately to fill up the time and space that’s usually allotted to parenting. It’s never easy to ignore the way that being a mother has been hardwired into each and every one of your molecules, a small tick tick tick that’s sounding off in the back of your brain like you’re somehow doing something wrong by curling up on the couch, watching reruns on the television instead of reading your daughter a bedtime story.

A few days pass, and Mia calls like she does every night when she’s at her dad’s, telling you about softball practice and feeling the baby kick and what she ate for dinner.

“I don’t think Dad likes Coach Steve,” she whispers over the line. “He always sits in the car at practice and never says ‘hi.’”

This doesn’t surprise you, but you’re not about to tell her that Coach Steve and Dad once got into it over Dad not being good enough at basketball to get off the bench in high school. 

“I’m sure he likes Coach Steve just fine,” you instead say. “Anyway, what else did you do today?

She continues to ramble, you continue to listen, and eventually, Mark takes the phone, saying, “Hey, listen, I had a question for you.”

You sit up straighter. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“I know this is short notice,” he begins. “But my parents bought plane tickets for me, Lisa, and Mia to visit them in Florida next week. They wanted to see everyone before the baby comes, you know? Anyway, I told them that it was your week, but they insisted on it.”

Something in your gut curdles.

And here’s the crux of the issue:

You don’t dislike the Lewinsky's. Sure, they did threaten to sue you into oblivion had you not agreed to the current custody arrangement between you and Mark, and sure, they ignored your calls when you were pregnant, trying to get in touch with Mark after he changed his number. But you can’t forget how they took care of you after your family’s death, either, nor can you forget that they’re your daughter’s family.

(As much as you might think they’re reprehensible people, that’s for Mia to decide when she’s older, and you do your best to keep your opinions away from her.)

You stay silent long enough that Mark says, “And so you don’t lose your time with her, I figure that when we get back, you’ll get the next two weeks before we go back to our normal schedule.”

You purse your lips together. “I’m not happy about this.”

“I didn’t think you would be,” Mark replies. 

“I’ll agree this time,” you say. “But don’t make a habit of it. Have you told Mia? She’s going to be upset.”

“Wanted to ask first,” he says. “Could you pack a bag for her, by the way? I’ll swing by Friday evening to pick it up, and she can say bye to you then.”

“Fine,” you tell him shortly. “Please take some pictures of her while you’re there and send me the copies.”

“You got it,” he says. “I’ll make sure to set some time aside for her to call while we’re down there, too.”

That’s the least you could do, you think bitterly, but force yourself say, “I appreciate it. Give her my love.”

And the line goes dead.

You let out an aggravated sigh, too annoyed to keep sitting. You make your way to the kitchen, aggressively scrubbing the scant dishes you’d left from breakfast. Laundry gets thrown into the wash before you climb upstairs, looking around your daughter’s room as you find a bag, tossing in clothes that Mark’s parents are the least likely to judge, tucking her favorite book in alongside in the fabric, and for a moment, you’re lost.

Adrift.

You’ve never spent two weeks away from your daughter. You had never gone more than seven days without her wrapping her small body around your chest, without hearing her mumble as she dreamed or watching her sleepily walk into the kitchen for breakfast. 

Your life, since May 1987, has entirely revolved around the role of Mom.

Who are you when you aren’t that?

You aren’t sure, and that scares you more than it should.

The rest of your evening is spent aimlessly, listlessly, as you try to find something to fill your time. Your time away from Mia is generally spent catching up on laundry and cleaning and getting ready for her to come back, making sure you have enough food in the house for her lunches and some new books from the library.

What did you do for fun before you were a mother?

You genuinely can’t remember.

Before you can consider it too deeply, your keys are in your hand, sandals are slid onto your feet, and the next thing you know, you’re in the parking lot at Family Video, easing your way inside the familiar store and nodding at the bored teenager behind the register. 

For a moment, you stare at the red curtain in the back, illuminated by the neon sign proclaiming ADULT above it, and you’re tempted. Really tempted. Honestly, when was the last time you had time for yourself like that? But the last time you’d been behind that curtain was the summer that Mia was conceived, when you’d snuck behind it with Mark, giggling like the children you were as you whispered the names of different titles, mocking and young and so, so in love.

If you go back there now, you’re not sure that you won’t meet the ghost of your former self, still being spun in a circle and covered in kisses with not a single care in the world.

So you pivot left, in the opposite direction of the pornos, towards the new releases and ignoring the door opening behind you as you search for something to fill your evening.

Rows of tapes surround you, some sticking out, movies you would’ve rented without second thought for Mia like 101 Dalmatians and The Brave Little Toaster. Films that are kid friendly, ones you can enjoy alongside her as you wait for a re-release of The Little Mermaid and fight half of Hawkins to snag a copy.

Just as a copy of Father of the Bride catches your eye, a warm voice behind you says, “Hey.”

You jump, spinning around, coming face to face with none other than Steve, who’s smiling down at you like it’s the most natural thing for him to do.

“Oh! Hi, Steve,” you say, clutching your chest. “What are you doing here?”

The second the words are out of your mouth, you feel like a complete idiot. What are you here for? What else would someone go into a video store for?

But he only shrugs, saying, “I caught sight of you walking in as I was driving home, so I figured I’d stop in. I was just about to call you, actually.”

Your heart beats harder than it should at the admission as you thump his arm softly. “Okay, creep.”

He laughs, and your gaze snags on his Adam’s apple as he tilts his head back, carefree in a way you haven’t felt in years.

“You got me there,” he admits. Glancing around, he asks, “Is Mia at her dad’s this week?”

“Yeah,” you say. “And, uh, next week, too. Last minute vacation to Mark’s parents’ place in Florida, apparently, so she won’t be at practice.”

There must be something in your tone—a sadness you can’t force away—because Steve catches your wrist, his thumb pressing comfortingly into the pulse point where your heart flutters against your skin, his voice full of empathy as he says, “That sounds rough.”

You nod, blinking back the torrent of emotions threatening to overpower you. “It’s kind of weird having no kid around, if I’m honest.”

“Hence the movie?” he asks, tilting his head towards the racks.

“Yup,” you say. “Hence the movie.” 

An idea pops into your head, then. And, well, Steve is the one who said that he still considered you a friend, right? 

“Hey, uh,” you flounder for a moment. “Would you want to come by for dinner on Friday? If you’re free? I can cook, you know, to make up for you buying our dinner. We could, uh, watch—” Your eyes cut to the tape next to you, and you snatch it from the shelf. “—Father of the Bride together. Maybe drink beer or something?”

His shoulders soften, and he fixes you with a look that has your knees weak and your stomach flipping as though you were a teenager once more.

“I’d love that,” he murmurs, his thumb worrying a path down to your palm. “But let me get the beer, alright? I’ll feel bad not bringing something.”

“I can agree to those terms,” you say, suddenly giddy. “You said you’re usually home by eight, right? Or—if you want to come home—I mean, come by earlier—I get back from work around four.”

“Is five okay?” he asks. “I’m helping a friend build something during the day, so I want to make sure I can shower before I come over.”

“Five’s perfect!” A grin stretches across your face before you can stop it. “You haven’t developed any allergies since high school, right?”

He shakes his head. “No, and before you ask, I do still eat anything that gets put on a plate, so just make whatever you’d usually eat.”

You already know that you are going to make something nice, and you’re pretty sure he can tell, too, but you lead him towards the register, slapping the tape down on the counter and digging through your purse.

But while you’re pulling your wallet out, Steve’s already handed a ten dollar bill over, telling the cashier, “Have a good night, man.”

“I was going to pay,” you say as he leads you from the store. “Seriously, Steve, let me give you money for it.”

“No can do,” he says. “My mother raised me to be a gentleman, honey. She’d rip me a new one if she knew I made someone as beautiful as you pay.”

You stumble, heat coursing through your body, and his hand quickly puts you right, a steadying presence as you choke out, “Hold on, are you flirting with me?”

“I’ve been trying to since I saw you without a ring on your finger,” he confesses. “But I’m glad it’s working now.”

You splutter incoherently. “Steve!”

Embarrassment flushes at your skin, and in the next moment, it feels as though your entire being is overpowered by him. He leans down, his nose brushing against your own as the smell of his cologne, something deep and woodsy, fills your head. Fingers skim down your arm, and you can practically taste the sweat on his skin as he murmurs, “I wasn’t lying when I said that you were the prettiest girl. And, well…” His gaze very obviously drops down to your lips. “I’d like to rectify that and say you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re just saying that to be nice,” you breathe, heart beating erratically against your rib cage.

“Am I?” he asks.

For a moment, you think he might do something more, and you feel like that sixteen year old who spent her summer wrapped up in his arms, but the only thing he does is press a chaste kiss to your cheek.

You touch it gently, blinking up at him, and he whispers, “See you Friday?”

And then you’re left standing in the middle of the parking lot, Father of the Bride clutched in your hand as you watch him drive off.

You don’t remember much of the drive home. You don’t remember much of anything, really, just that the second your front door is locked, you’re climbing the stairs to your bedroom, arousal burning it’s way through your entire body.

It’s been so long since you’ve felt this way—since you had the freedom to feel this way—that it crashes into you all at once, almost blinding you with how much you want. Want Steve, want pleasure, want something.

Your shirt gets shed first, your bra is thrown towards the hamper in the corner, and you kick your underwear and pants off in one fell swoop before collapsing onto the bed. 

There’s no slow buildup the way you might have once done it, no teasing of your breasts, no swirling around your clit, because god, you are wet and aching in a way that you haven’t felt in so long. Too long.

While one hand roughly grabs your own tit, your other creeps down to the apex of your legs, drifting through the thatch of pubic hair to swipe through your slit, gathering slick on the pads of your fingers. 

You remember, suddenly, the first time you ever slept with Steve, a few months after that breakup in tenth grade. How he had gripped your hips with his big, warm hands—hands that were soft and free from callouses at the time—and brought his mouth down to your cunt, licking a stripe from your hole up, sucking your clit into his mouth and hollowing out his cheeks in a way that had you seeing stars. How you had never felt such pleasure before, how you’d never had someone pay so much attention to you wholeheartedly before, and it’s the image if him peaking up at you from over your pussy that has you plunging two fingers inside, using the heel of your palm to grind into your clit.

It’s messy. It’s hot. It’s mesmerizing, becoming reacquainted with a part of your body that has long lived dormant inside you, to have the thrill of desire run so freely through all of your senses. To have your breasts peak in the cold air of the bedroom, to be able to moan loudly and freely, to so unabashedly become reacquainted with yourself once more.

You pinch a nipple between two fingers, twisting it in a way you once remember Steve doing, gasping breathlessly as your hips jerk up into your hand.

It’s intense, and your orgasm builds fast, faster than it usually does in quick, stolen moments. Your toes curl as heat pools in your stomach, your core aching, and with one more circle of your clit, everything explodes.

You lay there, panting, as the aftershocks of pleasure fissures through your limbs, pulling your soaked hand from between your legs.

If there is one thing that you know, you cannot wait for Friday to arrive.

The rest of the week passes quickly, and you find yourself thrumming with anticipation at the thought of Steve coming over.

(Not that you’re expecting anything, but you can’t even find it in yourself to feel guilty for fantasizing about the feelings of his hands against your thighs.)

Mia still calls every evening, and any happiness of the thought of seeing Steve gets doused when she quietly admits, “I wish I could spend the week with you.”

“I know, sweets,” you tell her. “But you’ll have so much fun with Nana and Grandpa. And I’ll take a week off of work, so we can have a whole week to ourselves when you come back, okay? Plus I’ll give you such a big hug and so many kisses when you come to get your bag tomorrow that you’ll be set for a whole week of hugs and kisses.”

“Mom, I don’t think it works like that,” she whines. “Don’t be silly.”

“Uh, it absolutely works like that,” you say. “Are you questioning me? The same person you called the smartest person in the world?”

“You’re not being smart when you’re being silly!”

You sigh dramatically, shaking your head. “I love you too, Mia.”

It isn’t until later in the night when you’ve finished washing your face and have slipped into pajamas that it hits you.

Mark is coming over. Tomorrow. When Steve is going to be at your house.

Fuck.

You scramble for the phone on your nightstand, punching in the number to Steve’s house that’s sat by your alarm clock since he gave it to you, and you hope and pray that it isn’t too late for you to call.

And for once, luck is on your side.

His voice is a little rough when he answers with, “Henderson, I swear to god, I love you, man, but I haven’t gained any opinions on quantum physic theories since you asked me twenty minutes ago.”

“Well, good for you,” you wryly say. “I’m not here to ask your thoughts on quantum physics.”

There’s a silence, a spluttering, and then Steve chokes out, “Yeah, you weren’t who I thought was calling.”

“Clearly not.” You sit down on the bed, running a finger along a fraying thread on your quilt. “I, uh, needed to warn you about something.”

“Ominous,” he says. “Hit me with it, honey.”

Your face warms at the epithet, and you quickly explain the scheduling blunder you made, rushing to say, “Just—if you’re here when Mark and Mia come over, could you—uh—stay hidden? I’m not embarrassed or anything, but, well, you are Mia’s coach, and Mark has been kind of weird when I’ve had men over before—and you two do have a history—and you can park in the garage and everything so Mia doesn’t see the truck, and I’m so sorry to ask this of you, and—”

“Honey,” he gently interrupts. “I get it. You don’t need to worry about offending me.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, worrying your lip between your teeth.

“Am I sure?” He huffs out a laugh, soft and full of affection. “I was sure when we were sixteen and you pushed me into my pool. I was just an idiot back then, but, you know, I had to thump my head a few times to figure it out.”

“I just…” You press your eyes shut. “I haven’t… it’s been a long time, Steve, and I don’t want to mess this up, but… I’m not the same girl you knew then. ”

“You won’t,” he assures. “And I’m not the same boy you knew, either. I want the woman you are now, in whatever way you’ll let me have you.”

Something in your chest eases at the admission, and you whisper, “Okay.”

You can hear the grin in his voice as he says, “Maybe we can talk more about this tomorrow? In person, over some beers?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course. Of course—just—I’ll leave the garage door open for you, okay? And you can come in through the side door. Just shout so, you know, I know when you’re in my house.”

“Anything for you, honey,” he says. “See you then?”

“See you then,” you promise.

The next day passes slowly, and you end up taking a half day, feigning illness convincingly enough that your boss lets you go without complaint.

Your house gets scrubbed from top to bottom, new bedding gets spread across your mattress, dinner is prepped, and you take a gloriously long shower, scrubbing every inch of your body until you’re satisfied.

You make your way back into your bedroom with a towel wrapped around your body, digging through your dresser to find something, well, sexy to wear.

(Not to be presumptuous or anything, but… you didn’t want to be caught off guard, either.)

It’s as you’re dabbing perfume behind your ears when you hear the creaking of the screen door. Seconds later, Steve’s voice calls out, “Honey, I’m home!”

You roll your eyes, affection blooming in your chest, and you call back, “One moment!”

With one more glance in the mirror to make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be, you make your way down to find Steve in the living room, a six pack of beer in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, smiling nervously as you make your way closer to him.

“These are for you,” he says, thrusting the flowers towards you.

You take in the sight of him slowly, savoring it as your fingers brush against his, accepting the bouquet. His hair’s curled at the ends, like he’d taken a shower and didn’t dry his hair all the way afterwards, and he has a nice, linen button down tucked into dark wash jeans, clearly having put effort into looking nice.

For you.

“You look handsome,” you say shyly.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You look beautiful.”

You shake your head, moving past him towards the kitchen. “You have to say that,” you say. “I made you dinner.”

“I’d say that even without the promise of food,” he tells you, falling into step behind you. “But I won’t lie, the food is a motivator.”

It should be a little awkward, a bit uncomfortable, but the only thing you feel is safe.

It’s easy, you think, to share a space with Steve. Even if you hadn’t talked to him in nearly a decade, even if the shape of your life has changed so much since you first befriended him, he still knows you at your core. He knows what makes you laugh and what you like. He remembers how to work your oven, preheating it for the ziti that you prepped, and he slides an open beer across to you without prompt, bumping his foot against yours underneath the breakfast table you’re both sat at as you wait for the pasta to bake.

It’s almost enough for you to forget who you are outside of this small bubble you’ve created, for you to forget the person you’ve become in the years you didn’t see Steve. 

Almost, up until the doorbell rings, and Steve hangs back as you bring the bag of Mia’s clothes to the front porch, easing the door shut behind you.

You’re not shocked when Mia throws herself at you, tears already streaming down her face as Mark taps his foot impatiently behind her, blubbering incoherently about missing and sad and Mom in a way that has your heart shattering into a million, tiny pieces.

“Oh, sweets,” you murmur into her hair, holding her tightly to your chest. “It’s just a week, sweet girl. You’ll be home before you know it, and you’re going to have so much fun.”

“But I don’t wanna,” Mia sobs, little hiccups bubbling from her. “I wanna stay here, Mom, I don’t wanna go to stinky Florida!”

Mark scowls. “Amelia, honestly. This behavior is ridiculous. I’ve already told you that we’re visiting Disney. Don’t you want to meet Minnie Mouse?”

You shoot Mark the nastiest glare you can manage. 

“Not without Mom!” wails Mia, gripping your shirt even tighter.

“Baby,” you try again. “It’ll all be okay. You won’t even have time to miss me!”

“You’re lying,” she shouts, though her words are muffled from the way her face is pressed into your throat. “I always miss you!”

(And if that doesn’t make you want to pull her into the house and lock the door.)

Mark lets out an exasperated noise, glancing towards the idling car, and you know it’s time for them to go. Forcing yourself to stand, you gather Mia up in your arms—even if she’s just a bit too heavy for you to comfortably carry—and make your way towards the backseat.

She screams the entire way, tiny fists pounding on your back as you pull open the door. Mark’s wife, Lisa, gives you a sympathetic look when you’re forced to pry Mia’s hands from the fabric of your shirt, choking back your own tears as you buckle your daughter into her booster seat. You capture her face between your hands, pressing kisses to every surface of her face that you can reach, even as she screeches in protest.

You barely manage to utter out one final I love you so much, sweets before Mark nudges you out of the way, slamming the door shut as he says, “If you didn’t coddle her so much, she wouldn’t act like this.”

There are plenty of things you want to say. You could say, words that have been simmering under the surface for years. Insults, injuries, all sorts of horrible thoughts you’ve buried ever since Mia came screaming into the world on an early May morning, but you choke all of it back, snapping, “Have you considered that, maybe, if you’d wanted to be a father when she was born, she would have more of an attachment to you, Mark.”

“The town was in lock down,” he argues.

You shake your head, not pointing out the fact that he changed his god damn phone number so you couldn’t to reach him. “You could’ve tried, asshole.”

“Yeah, well,” he snips, stomping his way over to the driver’s side. “At least I’m not an uptight bitch.”

The only thing that stops you from losing it entirely is the knowledge that your daughter will hear it, and you refuse to be the parent who does that to her. Instead, you say, “You better call once you’re settled at your parents’ house. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunts, slamming the car shut, effectively cutting the conversation off.

You stand there, waiting in the driveway as he pulls out, memorizing the shape of your daughter’s face pressed against the window, the way her little fingers claw at the glass, and you hold yourself tightly, trying desperately to not let her see just how much pain this situation is causing you.

(You would do anything to prevent her from shedding another tear again, and it kills you to be the cause of her anguish now.)

Once his car disappears from sight, and you force yourself back into the house, kicking the door shut behind you. 

Steve looks up from his place on the couch, takes one look at your face, and opens his arms up in the same way he had for your daughter just a few weeks prior. It’s easy, then, to crawl onto his lap the way you once did in high school, to let yourself be held tightly, to press your ear against his chest and listen to the sound of his steady heartbeat. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks softly, dragging a hand down your back.

You sigh, pressing your eyes shut. “Mark’s just an asshole, and Mia hates spending more time with him than she has to, but there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s still so young, and even if I had the money to take him to court for full custody, it would be hard to when the courts wouldn’t take her opinion into consideration. I try my best, but… but seeing her cry, I don’t know. Makes me wonder if I’m doing the right thing by not letting her choose now, you know? But despite everything, they’re her family, and she should know them.”

“What a douche bag,” Steve bluntly says. 

A laugh bursts from you, unbidden. “Did I ever tell you that he accused me of cheating on him when I announced that I was pregnant?”

A scandalized noise erupts from his throat. “No.”

“Yes!” You sit up, meeting Steve’s eye. “And because he was at Purdue, I had to call him. He asked, ‘are you sure it’s mine?” then changed his number so I couldn’t contact him! He only showed up when Mia was two and demanded shared custody after the paternity test said that he was the father.”

“Seriously?” Steve scoffs. “What an asshole. You know, he never watches Mia at practice, either, and always looks annoyed when she tries to talk to him about it. I’ve even told him that she was really good and he just glared at me! Glared! He doesn’t deserve her.”

“No,” you agree. “He really doesn’t.”

“You know…” A small smile crosses Steve’s face. “I bet the reason he’s so pissy about it is ‘cause he’s mad that she’s better at softball than he ever was at basketball.”

“I bet you’re right,” you say. “He can’t handle the blow to his ego.”

A beat passes, his grin widens, and before you can stop it, giggles spill from your lips as all tension leaves your body. 

It feels good to talk to someone about your daughter’s shitty father, to have Steve so easily validate every annoyance you’ve ever felt towards the man. It feels like you’re not as crazy as you're left feeling half the time after interacting with the man, to know that you’re not as alone in the world as you felt even five minutes prior.

The timer on the oven goes off, and the two of you make your way into the kitchen. Steve pulls plates from the cabinet, talking about the baseball team he coaches as you pull the baking dish from the oven, putting it on the breakfast table while he sets silverware down.

And dinner is…

It’s nice.

It’s simple, and it’s easy, and you feel like you, but in a way that doesn’t feel at war with your role as a parent. Like Steve sees both sides of you, understands that they are two sides to the same coin, and he likes you that way.

He talks about his life since high school. A shitty job at the mall, a shittier job at Family Video once the mall burnt down. The years spent working weird jobs, taking care of a gaggle of kids you vaguely remember seeing him with in high school. He tells you how he lied to his parents about how he couldn’t get into college, having not known what to do with his life and not wanting to disappoint them.

“I guess I thought they’d find it easier to accept that I was too stupid to be accepted,” he explains. “Though, as it turns out, they wouldn’t have had an issue with me just saying that I wanted to take a gap year.”

“Did you end up going?” you ask, sipping at your beer. “To college, that is.”

He leans back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head. You don’t miss the flash of tummy, the trail of hair leading south that had not been there the last time you saw it. 

“I did,” he says with no small amount of pride. “Graduated this past May, actually. Got a degree in physical education from Ball State. I’m starting at a gym teacher at the middle school in the fall.”

“Holy shit!” You reach over, squeezing his leg. “Congrats! That’s huge!”

He beams, but shrugs bashfully. “It’s no big deal.”

“Don’t be modest,” you scold. “That’s amazing. Mr. Harrington, gym teacher. Has a nice ring to it.”

“You think?” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the wooden tabletop. “So… you told me to call and ask why you’re still living here. Do I still need to do that, or can I ask now?”

“Hm.” You pretend to contemplate it, dragging your gaze across the kitchen, your eyes catching on the fridge covered in your daughter’s drawings. “I guess I can tell you, but I have to warn you, it’s not a fun story.”

“Not everything has to be,” he says.

And that’s all the assurance you need.

He listens attentively as you describe the car crash you don’t really remember, the one that ended the lives of your family just a couple of weeks after you graduated high school. The physical therapy, the fact that you lost your spot in college from all the medical issues. The way you planned to go once you healed, just somewhere closer to home, somewhere more affordable so you didn’t blow through the money you inherited. But then one thing led to another—the earthquake, the quarantine, the pregnancy—and your life had once again flipped upside down.

You talk about the early years with Mia. The labor that had lasted for thirty-one hours, the nurse who all held your hand as you pushed, the one for whom you named Mia after. The exhaustion, the late nights and early mornings, how you felt so, so much love for the tiny creature that you created from nothing, who felt so alien and so familiar at the same time. You tell him about her first laugh and first words and first steps, her propensity to get into trouble even from such a young age. How you bawled at her first birthday party, an event that was only attended by neighbors because, at that point, all of your friends had moved on with their lives while yours was completely centered on Mia.

You tell him about the day that Mark came crashing back in, the fury that you felt, how you had screamed at him so loudly that a neighbor came over to see if they needed to call the police on him for trespassing. The way you felt so small when his parents came in with money and lawyers and more things than you could ever hope to provide your daughter on a meager salary, how you’d been bullied into giving up more of your time with Mia than you ever wanted. 

You tell him everything that you can think of, and when you’re done, you steel your nerves, look Steve straight in the eye, and say, “There’s another thing.”

He nods. “Yeah?”

“I can’t…” You chew on your lip. “I won’t do anything to hurt her, Steve. I can’t have you in my life as… as someone who’s flirting with me, or doing something more. Not if you don’t understand that we’re a package deal. She’s everything to me, and I would rather die than have her hurt over a choice I made. And I know this is a lot, and I know this is intense, but—I’m telling you right now. You’re either all in or you’re out. We can be friends, and we can hang out, but if you want anything more… you have to understand that she will always come first.”

“I know,” he says simply. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, honey. Whatever you’ll let me have, whatever parts of your lives I can be in, I want that. I want you. Both of you, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

Something in your chest eases at the admission, a nervousness dissipating.

Slowly, he leans in, the gap between the two of you closing, and he whispers, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your eyes fluttering shut.

And his lips crash into yours.

Your fingers scramble up, gripping his chin as he pulls you forward, off your chair and onto his lap.

It feels as though you’re on fire, sparks shooting across your skin with every rough drag of his lips, with every nip of his teeth. You tilt his head so you can have a better angle, and when he lets out a wanton groan, you feel alive.

His calloused palms skim their way under your shirt, settling on your waist as you moan into the kiss, open mouthed, drawing his tongue in. 

It’s messy, and it’s a little clumsy, but you find that you don’t care. Not when you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, and not when he whimpers against your lips as you tug on his hair.

“Honey,” he whispers. “Don’t torture me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you say, pulling away. A trail of spit connects the two of you, and you take in just how incredibly wrecked he looks already, with his pupils blown wide and a heavy flush on his cheeks. “Would you… do you want to go upstairs?”

“More than anything,” he admits.

You stand and capture his fingers between your own, tugging him through the house and up the stairs.

It isn’t until you enter the expanse of your bedroom that the nerves start to get the better of you, and you put your hands on his chest, stopping him from ducking down to kiss you once more as you say, “I have something else to tell you.”

“What is it?” he asks, pressing his forehead into yours.

“Just… I…” You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment flooding your system.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Look at me, honey. Are you having second thoughts? We don’t have to do anything—honestly, I wasn’t expecting—”

“It’s not that,” you quickly interrupt. “It’s not—it’s just that—I’m different now. My body—it looks different from how you remember it. It’s softer, and I have stretch marks, and—I’ve had a baby. I don’t look the same.”

A kiss, gentle yet effervescent, is pressed into your temple. “That doesn’t matter to me at all. You grew a person. You think I’m supposed to feel anything other than awe over that?”

“I’ve had—other people have told me it’s gross,” you confess. “I just… I wanted to prepare you, is all.”

“Oh, honey.” It’s said so softly that you barely hear it. “I could never be grossed out by you.”

Your eyes fly open. You see the honesty on his face, along with the unbridled desire as his gaze dips down, and before you lose your nerve, you reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and off and tossing it somewhere out of sight.

The reaction is immediate.

It’s gratifying, honestly, how clearly he wants you. How clearly he desires you, and everything that comes with it. Enough so that you’re pushing your pants down, asking, “Am I the only one getting undressed tonight?”

He grabs the end of his shirt with a fervor, completely and utterly uncoordinated, and you can’t help but giggle from his enthusiasm.

That is, however, until you see his chest. The way a forest of hair has completely taken over, yes, but the mottled silver scars that cover the tanned skin, tracing down his sides and stopping mere inches from his boxers.

You want to ask, but when you look back up at his face, you recognize the situation for what it is: A conversation for a different time, a different day, where you have the time and space to become reacquainted with one another on a deeper level.

He steps closer, then, and you remember thinking how much of a man Steve had seemed back in high school, back when you were just a girl yourself and he was the most grown person you’d slept with. All confidence and bravado and hard lines, a tendency towards your pleasure before his own like it was his solemn duty. But you had been utterly wrong about whatever masculinity that you assumed he had back in high school. 

The boy he was then has nothing on the man he is now, the kind of man who has grown into his own body, who is comfortable in who he is above all else. One that’s softer, less toned, but somehow more powerful than before. Covered in the kind of hair that can only come with life experience and age, a surety in his hands that no one else has ever had as he reaches for your hips.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he warns, his lips brushing over your own.

You tilt your chin up, grinning, and he presses forward.

It’s softer now, less frenzied. He takes his time mapping every part of your face as he presses you back into your sheets, covering your body with his own. You reach behind you, unclasping your bra and tossing it away, desperate to feel the wiry hair on his chest brush against your nipples, and you mewl at the sensation. 

Steve huffs a laugh into your mouth, planting his lips down your chin, ghosting his teeth over the column of your beck and down to your collar.

He pauses, then, one big, calloused hand coming up to cup your breast, his thumb dragging over the peak, and he whispers, “I know I keep saying this, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone more beautiful than you are.”

“You’re cheesy,” you say.

“Only for you,” he replies.

A kiss is pressed onto your sternum, then a little bite, and before you can process it, your entire nipple is sucked into his mouth, his tongue lavishing circles around the bud as his hand comes up to play with your other breast.

“Fuck, Steve,” you gasp, threading your fingers through his hair.

He peeks up at you, his brown eyes glowing in the darkness of your room, and grins with your tit still in his mouth.

It’s obscene, yet you feel so, so hot, especially as his hand travels down your body, making its way to your wet, aching core.

“So pretty for me, honey,” he murmurs, releasing your breast with a pop. “So, so pretty.”

He traces a path down, his tongue leaving a trail of spit as he goes, and for a moment, you think he’s going to just dive in, ripping your panties off and feasting the way he once did, but he doesn’t. He stops at your stretch marks, and carefully, begins to plant a kiss on every single one that he can find, mumbling beautiful and gorgeous as he goes. 

Your entire head goes fuzzy at the sight, and you think he can tell by the dopey grin he shoots you as he asks, “Do you still think I don’t love this?”

“You’re a perv,” you moan, his thumb pressing down on your clit through your panties. “And a freak. I can’t believe—”

“Only for you,” he promises. “Only for you, honey.”

Fingers come up to the elastic of your underwear, and with your permission, he begins the torturous process of peeling them down your legs, tossing them to the side without a care before spreading you open once more.

You aren’t surprised when he pampers kisses along your inner thigh, easing his way towards your core, to where you want him the most. You can feel the mess you’re making despite the fact he’s barely touched you, and you see the delight on his face when he makes his way home, stroking a hand through your pubic hair before spreading your lower lips apart.

“I missed this,” he says, then dives straight in.

The next thing you know, his tongue is everywhere. Dipping inside your cunt, swirling around your clit. He flattens it, licking a long stripe up as he peers at you through the thatch of hair, and you feel completely and utterly incoherent as pleasure builds faster than you’ve ever felt before.

Two fingers nudge their way inside, curling, finding the spot that has your thighs squeezing Steve’s head. You can feel his laugh, rather than hear it, as it vibrates against your pussy in a way that has your hips jerking up, desperate, chasing—

“That’s it,” he says, twisting his hand. “Come for me, honey.”

And you do.

Loudly.

A moan is ripped from your throat, bouncing around the walls as you tangle your fingers into his hair, stars shooting across your eyes as he holds you in place.

You feel like you’re on fire, like you’ve somehow been born anew as he works you through your orgasm, brushing a thumb against your clit as you shake and shake and shake, coming down slowly from the highest high you’ve ever felt in your life, until slowly, finally, your limbs stop trembling, and every single one of your muscles goes lax.

“Wow,” you whisper, forcing your eyes open and down towards the man still planting kitten kisses against your pussy. “Wow, Steve. You got—a lot better at that.”

“Yeah?” He shoots you a lopsided grin. “I’m glad.”

You tug on his hair once more, pulling him back up your body. “Come here.”

He follows, and you pull him towards your mouth, savoring the taste of you on his tongue as he kisses you deeply.

It’s perfect.

You reach down, hooking your thumbs into the elastic of his boxers, and he pulls back suddenly, saying, “Uh, when I said I wasn’t expecting anything—I meant it. I don’t—I didn’t bring protection.”

“It’s alright,” you say. “I have an IUD.”

His eyes blow wide open at that, and the next thing you know, his lips are crashing into yours once more as he helps you shuck his underwear. You take him into your hand, finding him warm and somehow bigger than you remember, but still so utterly him and utterly real.

His hips stutter as you give a few, testing pumps, and he whimpers against your mouth, pleading, “Don’t tease.”

“Not teasing,” you say. “Just feeling.”

His forehead drops to your collar as you continue to stroke him, up and down and up and down, dragging your nails across sensitive skin, soaking in the way he moans so beautifully under your ministrations. 

“Honey,” he groans. “Please, please, may I fuck you?”

“Well,” you giggle. “Since you asked so nicely.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

You yelp when he catches you under your knees, pushing up, up, up until you’re practically folded in half, the tip of his cock dragging through your folds, gathering wetness. He looks up, locking his eyes on you, before slowly—torturously slow—he pushes in. 

Your mouth drops open as a loud moan is punched from your throat, savoring the feeling of how he drags against your walls, filling you up in a way that you could go crazy over.

He eases out, testing, and gives a shallow thrust, testing, teasing, as he carefully fucks each and every single inch back into you until finally, finally, he bottoms out, his hips flush with your pussy.

And for one, small, excruciating moment, you know what it feels like to be home.

He leans over your body, capturing your hands in his own, winding your fingers together as he presses your foreheads together, the obscene sound of him fucking you gently filling your head.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs against your open mouth. “So, so beautiful, so mine—so lucky, honey, I’m so lucky—”

Tears of pleasure spring in the corners of your eyes, falling down your cheeks, and you let out a breathy laugh when he licks them up, loving the feeling of his tongue against your oversensitive skin. 

It’s never, not in any of your years of sleeping with people, made you feel as whole and complete as you do now, with Steve making space in your body for himself, with the unbridled pleasure he gives you with each and every thrust. 

It almost slips from your lips—an inappropriately timed expression of love—and you think he can tell, because he whispers, “I know, honey, I know.”

“Steve,” you gasp. “Steve.”

He picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours faster, punching the air from your lungs as bliss lays claim on every single one of your senses.

“Please,” you babble, “please please please, come in me, please—”

“Fuck,” he grunts, then captures your lips so roughly that they’ll no doubt be swollen by the time morning rolls around.

He gives a last few, harsh, stuttering thrusts as warmth spills inside you before collapsing on top of you entirely.

It takes a few minutes, ones you spend stroking a hand down his muscular back, becoming reacquainted with the feeling of his skin, before he pulls out and rolls off, saying, “I could do that every day.”

You tilt your head, giving him what is no doubt a dopey smile.

“Yeah,” you say. “Me too.”

It takes a bit for the two of you to clean up, with Steve insisting on carrying you to the bathroom and laughing when you slip from his sweaty grip.

He finds a wash cloth in the linen cabinet, taking care to be mindful of any sensitivity on your end as he drags the cloth through your folds, washing his spend from your skin.

He also, in the years apart, has apparently lost all sense of shame and insists on staying in the bathroom as you pee, holding your hand like you were at risk of flying away if he were to turn away for just a single second.

It should be embarrassing, but you find that you’ve long since moved past any sense of shame when it comes to Steve Harrington.

Back in your bedroom, he tugs soft pajamas from the dresser and insists on dressing you, kneeling on the ground as he helps you step into underwear, his hands warm against your legs as he pulls up the fabric. 

The two of you move back to the bed, crawling under your old quilt, and instinctively you reach over to the alarm clock, flicking on the radio as Jimmy Lee’s Late Night at the Squawk plays.

“You know,” Steve murmurs against your cheek. “One of those weird jobs I mentioned earlier? One of them was at the radio station.”

“Yeah?” you ask, a little too sleepy to say anything else.

He nods, his hair ticking the soft skin of your face. “Uh-huh. Back during lock down, in ’87. I did the late night set at the Squawk, Monday through Friday.”

Everything in your body stills. “Are you serious?”

His eyes peel open, fixing you with a curious look. “Yeah. Robin—my best friend, she handled the morning show—always said that she had to put me late at night, ‘cause my music choices were too boring.”

“No, it’s not—” Your heart pounds erratically, and it feels as though flowers have wound themselves around your ribcage, blooming under the admission. “Steve.”

“Yes?”

“Mia was born in ’87.”

“I know,” he says.

“No, no, you don’t—”

A laugh bubbles from you, and he hitches himself up on an elbow. “I’m missing something.”

“That was you!” you say between giggles. “Oh my god! No wonder she likes you so much!”

“Honey?”

“After Mia was born,” you start, grinning like a madman. “When it was just me and her, the only way I could get her to sleep was by tuning the radio to the Squawk whenever your show was on. But I had no idea it was you—I was so exhausted, you know?—and your voice—oh, god, your voice—it was the only thing that ever soothed her to sleep without fail.”

“Are you…” He licks his lips, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Are you serious? She…”

There’s something in his expression—hesitation, wonder, affection—that brings tears to your eyes, because you know that look. You know it intimately, because it’s the same way you feel every single time your daughter does something that surprises you, every time she grows just a little more into her own person.

And it’s a look that you have never, not a single time, seen on Mark’s face when he looks at her.

Something in you bursts, a swell of tenderness, of hilarity, over the fact that it took so long to find someone who might even remotely feel the same way about Mia that you do. And that person—that man—the one who so carefully cleaned her scraped knees, is the same man who once applied the same, careful precision to wiping tears from your face when you were nothing but a stranger to him.

It took so long, and he’d lived so close the entire time.

“You know,” he says, sounding rather choked up. “I—don’t kill me for saying this, but—I wish I’d run into you sooner.”

You find his hand in the dark and squeeze, hoping and praying that it conveys every single thing that you feel.

He threads his fingers through yours and squeezes back. 

“I’ve wasted so much time that I could’ve spent with you, with her,” he whispers. “I… I was serious earlier, when I said that I’ll take the two of you, in whatever way you’ll have me.  I’m all in, honey. She’s just—god, she’s an incredible kid, and you—I don’t even know where to begin, but—fuck.”

But he doesn’t need to explain.

When you joined Stranger Things during its fourth season, you and Joe had instantly clicked. You quickly turned his and Maya’s duo into a trio both on screen and off, but something about Joe had drawn you in so fast and kept you close. 

By the end of that fourth season, you were almost inseparable. You helped Joe through things in his life, and he did the same for you. You ran lines together, and he played you songs he was working on. The quiet hum of the energy and chemistry between you two was almost unbearable, but neither of you were in a position to act on it. The timing was just never right.

Until it was. Sometime during the three years in between shooting the fourth and fifth seasons, your friendship finally bloomed into something more. You had teetered over the edge of the fine line you were both walking.

Neither of you were trying to hide your relationship. From the public? Yes, but not from your cast mates, most of whom you considered your family. You and Joe were just so focused on lines and getting back into the swing of things that it never came up in those early days. It wasn’t until a month into shooting that alarm bells began going off for the others. 

- 

Maya had been the first to notice. She was an avid shipper of the two of you and had always rooted for the two of you before you became anything. 

It was late, maybe two in the morning, and the mid-February air was freezing at this hour. You were all standing in the field outside the WSQK building, waiting around as footage was reviewed and the scene was reset. You were on the tenth take for this particular scene and had been on set since nine a.m., so you were drained. Joe lingered next to you, both of you wrapped in matching thick coats given to the cast between takes to keep warm. 

You stared at your breath drifting through the air in a ghostly manner, arms crossed tightly to your chest. Joe watched you quietly, the exhaustion silencing him too. Next to him, the younger boys were doing little jumps in place to stay warm, and on the other side of them, Maya huddled close to Natalia and Charlie as they spoke softly amongst themselves. 

With no sign that the next take was starting soon, Joe reached out, his arm slinging carefully around your shoulders as he pulled you into him. His arms wrapped around you tightly, hands rubbing your back to create more warmth. Nothing completely out of the ordinary for the two of you. But as you melted into his hold, Maya watched from a distance, a small smile pulling on her lips. Joe leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head before resting his cheek against it. 

She has sensed a shift between you in the way that you were both glowing, happy, and close. But now, she had the quiet confirmation she needed. 

-

It was a week later when Winona found out. It had been during a lunch break, you and Joe were sitting at a table by yourselves, but still close to the others to participate occasionally in conversation. The gang had been discussing some new movie that came out that they wanted to see when she shifted her gaze to the two of you after noticing that you had been rather quiet. 

Joe’s arm was resting casually on the back of your chair (that was scooted intentionally closer to his than it had been when you sat down). You were talking quietly about something, Joe’s hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning in quickly and pressing a kiss to your temple, before turning back to his lunch. It had been a fleeting moment, one that really no one saw. No one except a few crew members who had noticed the PDA from the two of you before and didn’t think twice, and Winona. She smiled a small, knowing smile, and thought to herself, ‘it’s about time.’

-

Later that same day, when filming had wrapped up, everyone had gone home for the night. For you and Joe, that meant retiring to the same small townhouse, the one that sat next door to Charlie and Natalia’s. When asked about it that first day you’d moved in for filming, you both claimed it was a way to save money. Which had been partially true, Netflix wasn’t paying for room and board, and it made no sense for you two to have two separate places in Atlanta. Not when the little time you spent away from set was going to be together anyway.

That townhouse held many perks. You were basically trial running living with Joe before you two would move in together in New York after filming. You've got to live next door to your best friends and utilize all the amenities that your apartment lacked. The main one being the small back garden. The yard almost looked like a tiny oasis; bushes, plants, and flowers in abundance, a small fire pit in the center with chairs surrounding it, and a little pond in the corner. It was peaceful and just the place you wanted to escape to after a long day of filming.

Charlie and Nat were in the kitchen pouring drinks while you and Joe had gone on to start the fire out back. The two of them were chatting about something that had happened that day, hands carrying drinks as their dog, Penny, followed them to the back door, when Natalia stopped in her tracks. Charlie bumped into her, cursing softly as the wine in the glasses sloshed around. He lifted his gaze and followed his partner’s out the glass door. 

Joe had settled in one of the lounge chairs, and you had curled into his lap, the blanket you had brought from your apartment thrown over your laps. Charlie and Nat watched the quiet moment between you, noses brushing, lips ghosting each other. 

“You think they finally came to their senses?” Charlie asks softly. Natalia smiles fondly as she watches her two friends so obviously in love. “I think they did a while ago. We’re just now catching on.” She replies before opening the back door, leading her partner into the garden.

-

The kids were the last to catch on. It was an off day, and you had all piled into two cars and driven the kids to see the movie they had been talking about nonstop. You herded them to the box office to get tickets, then to the concession counter, where they spent entirely too much money on snacks before parading down the long hall to the theater. Luckily, it was a weekday, so it wasn’t busy, and everyone could let loose without too much worry. You and Joe trailed a few feet behind them. He had your drinks tucked into one arm while you carried your popcorn, your free hands linked loosely and swinging between you. 

Gaten had gone to say something to you, but as he looked over his shoulder and saw the way your hands were clasped, he gasped dramatically in true Gaten fashion and nudged Caleb with his elbow. Caleb let out a sound of surprise before looking at Gaten, who was already stopped and turned towards the two of you.

“What are you doing?” He asks, making you and Joe stop right in front of him, looking like a pair of deer in headlights. “Uh, what are you talking about?” You ask, confused and oblivious to his discovery. Now, everyone had stopped and was staring at you and Joe as you stood there, hand in hand, very obviously a couple. 

“You’re holding hands. You’re together, aren’t you?” The shit-eating grin that spreads across Gaten’s face makes you want to smack him upside his head, but instead, you just glance down between you and Joe before looking back up at the kids. Truth be told, you hadn’t even realized you were holding hands. In fact, you had been since you had gotten out of the car, but it was just second nature to you at this point.

“Oh, yeah. Surprise.” You say with a shrug as if it weren’t that big of a deal. Joe squeezes your hand gently as Finn lets out a gasp. “I knew it! Caleb owes me ten dollars.” Caleb groans, and Joe’s brows furrow. 

“Hold up, did you guys seriously bet on our relationship?” He asks, his tone barely hiding his amusement. Finn shrugs. “We knew it would happen eventually. We bet on when it would happen. I said you were already together.”

You roll your eyes but smile at the younger boys you had come to see as little brothers. “Yeah, yeah. You were right. But guys, it's obviously not public yet, and we’re trying to keep it that way for as long as possible, so please keep it zipped.” The boys nod and give playful salutes as they promise not to say or post anything that would expose you. 

They continue into the theater, but you and Joe linger outside in the empty hall. He tugs on your hand, turning you towards him. “Cat’s out the bag, huh?” You smile, stepping closer to him. “To be fair, we weren’t fully hiding anything on set. We just dialed it down.” Joe smiles and leans down to press a quick kiss to your lips. 

Twisting soft strands around his fingers. Scratching lightly against your scalp. Pushing hair back away from your face whenever it falls forward.

Steve likes touching you. This is not exactly new information.

What is new is the fact your voice suddenly cuts off halfway through a sentence.

Steve glances down.

You’re asleep.

Completely asleep.

Mouth slightly parted against his shoulder, breathing slow and even, one hand still loosely curled in the fabric of his t-shirt.

Steve blinks once.

“…seriously?”

You do not respond, mostly because you are unconscious.

Steve stares at you for another few seconds before looking down at his hand still buried in your hair.

Interesting.

The second time it happens, he starts suspecting a pattern.

You’re sitting between his legs on the floor of his bedroom while he half watches a movie over your shoulder and half messes with your hair mindlessly. You’d insisted you weren’t tired less than ten minutes earlier.

“You literally slept till eleven,” Steve reminds you while separating sections of your hair carefully.

“I know,” you mumble. “That’s why I’m not tired.”

“Hm.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You like me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Steve grins slightly to himself before dragging his nails lightly across your scalp again.

Your shoulders loosen immediately.

Another few minutes pass.

Then, nothing.

No response to his last comment. No movement either.

Steve leans slightly sideways to look at your face properly.

Dead asleep.

Again.

Still sitting upright between his legs.

Steve laughs so suddenly he nearly wakes you back up.

“Oh my god,” he mutters quietly.

By the fourth or fifth occurrence, it becomes less of a coincidence and more of a genuinely ridiculous amount of power for one person to hold.

Especially because Steve starts testing it.

Not maliciously.

Scientifically.

“You’re doing it on purpose now,” you mumble one afternoon, already sounding half asleep despite having argued thirty seconds earlier that you were “definitely awake.”

Steve, stretched out beside you on his bed, continues scratching softly through your hair with an expression of complete innocence.

“Doing what?”

“The hair thing.”

“What hair thing?”

“The…” You frown weakly. “The sleepy thing.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek hard trying not to laugh.

Because it really is absurd.

You could be fully awake, actively talking, even complaining about not being tired at all, and within ten minutes of Steve touching your hair for long enough you’re suddenly fighting for your life trying to keep your eyes open.

“You’re being dramatic,” he says.

You squint at him suspiciously through obvious exhaustion. “You’re evil.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re like…” Another yawn interrupts you completely. “Like a tranquiliser gun.”

Steve loses it completely at that.

You fall asleep less than five minutes later with your face squashed into his chest while he quietly laughs into your hair.

After that, it becomes sort of unavoidable.

Steve starts noticing all the tiny signs before you even realise you’re tired.

The slower blinking. The way your body gradually gets heavier against him. The increasingly delayed responses during conversations.

And every single time, without fail, the second his fingers slide into your hair properly, you melt.

On the couch.

In bed.

Once in the passenger seat of his car while he waited for Robin to come out of Family Video after locking up.

Another time at the Wheeler’s house with your head in his lap while everyone else argued loudly over a board game around you.

“You cannot be serious,” Dustin says, staring at your sleeping form in disbelief. “How does she keep doing that?”

Steve barely looks up from where he’s still lazily playing with your hair. “Doing what?”

“She was literally talking.”

“Yeah?”

“And now she’s unconscious.”

Steve shrugs like this is completely normal behaviour.

Robin narrows her eyes immediately from the opposite couch.

“Oh, this is definitely psychological.”

Steve scoffs. “What does that even mean?”

“She’s associated you with sleep now.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It absolutely is,” Robin says. “You Pavlov’d your girlfriend.”

“I did not Pavlov my girlfriend.”

“You basically turned yourself into a human melatonin gummy.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but his hand never stops moving gently through your hair.

Mostly because Robin’s not entirely wrong.

There’s something about the trust of it that affects him more than he expects. The fact you fall asleep so easily against him. The way your whole body relaxes the second he touches you softly enough.

Like some part of you recognises him as safe before you even consciously think about it.

That part gets to him a little if he thinks about it too long.

Which is why he tries not to.

Unfortunately for him, you make this extremely difficult one rainy afternoon a few weeks later.

You’re both curled together in his bed while thunder rumbles softly outside, Steve lazily tracing shapes against your scalp while you blink sleepily up at him.

“You know,” you mumble eventually, “I think my body’s accidentally been trained.”

Steve grins immediately. “Finally admitting it?”

“This is your fault.”

“My fault you’re always sleepy?”

“My fault for trusting you enough to fall asleep this much.”

The smile slips slightly from Steve’s face at that.

You notice immediately, even half asleep.

“What?”

Steve looks down at you quietly for a second before shrugging one shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“Steve.”

His fingers slow slightly in your hair.

“It’s just…” He huffs softly through his nose. “I dunno. Kinda nice, I guess.”

Your expression softens immediately.

Because there it is.

The actual thing sitting underneath all the teasing.

Steve likes being trusted.

Likes being needed in these tiny quiet ways that nobody else really notices.

The way you automatically reach for his hand crossing roads. The way you sleep better beside him. The way you unconsciously move closer every time you’re tired.

You shift upwards slightly against his chest until you can kiss him properly.

Steve kisses you back slowly, one hand still tangled gently in your hair.

“I genuinely think this is my favourite thing.”

Your lips twitch.

“Me falling asleep?”

“No.” Steve smiles faintly. “You trusting me enough to.”

Something warm twists painfully through your chest.

You kiss him again before you can think too hard about it.

Steve’s fingers slide slowly through your hair once more afterwards, scratching lightly against your scalp in that familiar absentminded rhythm.

Dangerous.

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know exactly what.”

Steve looks deeply unconvincing. “I’m just touching your hair.”

“You’re literally weaponising affection.”

Steve starts laughing quietly while you attempt to glare at him through increasingly heavy eyelids.

“You’re already falling asleep,” he says.

“No I’m not.”

“You just blinked for like six seconds.”

“That means nothing.”

Steve grins down at you, still gently combing his fingers through your hair.

“You’re done for, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to argue.

Then immediately yawn instead.

Steve looks so unbearably pleased with himself that you weakly shove at his chest in protest.

It does absolutely nothing.

Mostly because less than ten minutes later, you’re asleep against him again.

And Steve, unfortunately, looks far too happy about it.

part 2 here: [nap trap pt.2]