summary: You hate Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington hates you. Unfortunately, that's only the beginning of your problems. warnings: none? words: 1.9k author's note: hi guys... i'm so excited to be writing again?? also feeling quite vulnerable lmao. english isn't my first language so let me know if there's any mistakes, and enjoy!! masterlist

prologue

You’re well used to the concept of Steve Harrington.

It was around a year ago that you first met him in your third Introduction to Literature class, but you didn’t know it at the time.

The professor asked him what he thought about Sylvia Plath’s “Mirror,” and he replied, “I think she just thought about these things too much, you know?” in front of the whole class.

Some people snickered. You just glared at him, waiting, hoping, for him to elaborate. Maybe explain that he’d been joking, but nothing happened. He looked perfectly pleased with his own answer.

You decided then and there that he was an absolute idiot.

On top of that, he was friends with the girls in your student housing —Robin and Nancy, who apparently already knew each other— which made it more difficult for you to interact with them besides the polite “hello” and “bye” in the first weeks.

It wasn’t that they weren’t friendly; it was just the strange combination of your social awkwardness, their shared history and conflicting schedules that made it difficult to connect.

But after one particular night of sharing a few bottles of cheap wine and some takeaway, most of that awkwardness started to melt away.

You learned that they’d been friends since high school, that Robin studies psychology, has a girlfriend named Vicky who studies film abroad, and that Nancy had made the difficult decision to break up with her long-term boyfriend, Jonathan, and come here to study journalism.

Soon after that, they mentioned Steve for the first time, but there was no reason to link a guy with these promising qualities to the idiot in your class.

He was Nancy’s high school ex, known formerly as “The Hair” or “King Steve” back in Hawkins High. Popular kid turned nice guy, or at least, that’s what they said, and you believed them.

Robin became best friends with him when they worked together at Scoops Ahoy and when she came out to him, he was nothing short of supportive.

Steve was kind, caring, and a great friend. He wanted to become a high school teacher, despite his dad’s disapproval.

They talked about him like he was impossible not to love.

You’d come here with your friend Eddie, who you’d known since you were little. Eddie managed —after a lot of encouragement and help— to gain admission to study music and spent most of his time with his new friends, which was only normal since they had to practice so much.

You were happy to be away from your hometown and wanted to become a writer, though you hadn’t figured out what that meant yet.

“Don’t let Steve find out you’re good at writing,” Nancy had joked, shaking her head. “He’ll sell you a kidney to proofread his essays.”

You’d laughed because it was funny, and the idea of Steve was still something faint and exciting.

Unfortunately, that didn’t last long.

A few days later, you crossed paths with him in the hallway, leaning against the wall while a blonde girl looked up at him like he put the stars in the sky.

He looked perfectly comfortable there, basking in attention, having girls laugh at everything he said like it was a normal part of his everyday life.

“That’s such a coincidence—I love poetry too. Actually, I’m reading this book right now—” Your eyes moved towards the book in his hands while he spoke, “The Collected Poems by Sylvia Plath,” back to his.

He was looking at you too, and neither one of you broke eye contact until you’d fully passed them.

That same evening, someone knocked on the door of your student house. Since neither Robin nor Nancy were in, you decided to check who it was.

It was him. Wearing a backwards cap, a worn Hawkins High T-shirt —that he’d clearly outgrown— and red shorts.

He looked at you in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected you to open the door. His mouth opened to say something, but you beat him to it.

“Can I help you?” you asked, visibly irritated.

Steve’s eyes widened. “You’re their roommate? Whoa.”

You scoffed. “No, I’m their house cat.”

“Very funny. Where’s Robin?” he asked, trying to look behind you as if she would magically pop up.

“Obviously not here,” you said, holding the door firmly.

Steve noticed this and tilted his head. “Are you alright? I’m literally friends with her.”

“Anyone could say that,” you shrugged.

“I’m Steve, Steve Harrington? They never mentioned me?” He looked almost hurt.

Color drained from your face.

No.

Absolutely not.

This was their Steve? It couldn’t be. Their Steve had outgrown everything you’d seen of this one.The two versions refused to fit together in your head.

He said your name, which made you look up.

“They told me all about you. I didn’t know you were the girl in my class,” he said, obviously trying to make conversation. His eyes had a glint that you couldn’t decipher.

“Well, now you do,” you said sarcastically.

Steve had not been so visibly disliked since high school, which caught him off guard. His confidence didn’t disappear, but hesitated as if he was figuring out which version of himself to be to diffuse the situation.

“Steve, Robin is not here,” you said, trying to keep your cool.

It wasn’t clear what about him riled you up so badly, but it was uncomfortable and intense. You just wanted him to leave.

“Okay,” he lengthened the word, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then let me wait inside? We were supposed to go for a run together. She’s just late.”

You looked at him in disbelief because this guy could clearly not get the message that he was unwelcome. Still, you knew it would be utterly immature if you didn’t, and this was your roommates’ beloved friend.

Besides—you weren’t a monster.

Maybe you’d just seen him on bad days and he just needed some time to show his good side. Maybe even think a little more before speaking? You really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

For Robin and Nancy.

For the sake of peace in your student house.

For the world.

So, you stepped out of the way.

“Sure,” you said, closing the door behind him.

He obviously had been there before, because he walked straight to the small living room and sat down on the grass-green couch, where you had been sitting just minutes ago.

You inhaled sharply and grabbed the book you were reading from the coffee table, plopping into the beanbag facing the window.

His eyes were burning on you; you could feel it as if it were a physical caress.

You tried to ignore it. You really did. But every time you glanced up, his eyes were already there.

Steve started tapping his fingers against the armrest of the couch, then groaned while stretching his arms over his head, and finally broke the silence when you didn’t give him the attention he —apparently— so desperately wanted.

“What are you reading?” Steve asked. You could see he was craning his neck to try and read the cover.

“You should know what I’m reading,” you replied, closing the book by holding a finger in between the pages.

“How should I—huh,” the corner of his mouth tugged upward. He took off his cap and ruffled his hair, only to put it back on again. “It’s Frankenstein?”

“Well done, Harrington,” you said sarcastically.

“What’s with the attitude?” He sounded genuinely confused, which only irritated you more. Either he was even more oblivious than you’d anticipated, or he’d never considered the fact that he wasn’t as charming as he thought.

“I don’t know,” you answered, which was the truth. You rolled the question around in your mind for a few seconds before speaking again. “Just a gut feeling, I guess.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, causing the fabric of his T-shirt to tighten around his biceps. You noticed because it was obvious.

For a moment, he simply stared at you, as though no one had ever admitted to disliking him so casually. Then something shifted in his expression. The confusion remained, but amusement began to pull at the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t even know me. You’ve literally seen me a few times in class and earlier today.” He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s just weird.”

“Maybe I just didn’t like what I saw,” you removed your finger from in between the pages and stretched your legs, desperate to go to your room and remove yourself from this situation. “I mean, your reply to that professor? Completely diabolical, and then you use the same author to flirt with a clueless girl.”

Steve stared at you as if you’d just given him valuable information.

It irked you.

There was not a single reason for you to believe that “King Steve” had died, because he was sitting right here in front of you, smirking as if you had entertained rather than insulted him.

You hated these types of guys.

You’d dated them, you’d seen them break your friends’ hearts, and you’d spent plenty of drunken nights arguing with them at bars.

Eddie always said it would get you into trouble one day, but your response was easy; you had to do this in honor of womanhood.

And because you did really like to outwit men.

Before you could say anything else, the door swung open and Robin rushed inside, completely out of breath. She stopped right in front of the couch, her hands at her sides as she heaved for a few more seconds until she finally spoke.

“Sorry, he kept on ranting even though he was running overtime,” Robin said, throwing her bag off her shoulder. “Ironically, rushing here felt like I’ve worked out already. But hey—you’ve met!”

Robin smiled so brightly that you almost felt guilty for thinking ill of her friend, and that’s exactly where you decided you had to try and keep up appearances.

He shattered that idea within seconds.

Steve grinned now, pushing himself off of the couch. “A real pleasure to meet her. She’s the girl who’s been glaring at me.”

Robin looked between the both of you, thoughts flashing before her eyes until her hands settled at her sides with a sort of finality.

She said your name with a tone of surprise. “It’s you?”

This situation was so unexpected that you had no time to prepare for something clever to say. There was no room for giving an excuse or trying to defend yourself, and with every second that passed, the grin on his face deepened and the warmth crawling up your neck spread to your cheekbones into a maroon hue.

It was very obvious that Steve Harrington had no intention of making your interactions easier. No, something unspoken was hanging in the air between the two of you, promising this was only the beginning of a long and difficult road.

A battle of wills. Two medieval knights unsheathing their swords.

Or maybe just two stubborn idiots who met their match.

“I actually glare most of the time,” you said, standing too, pretending like the flush in your cheeks wasn’t there. “But one or two instances might have been personal.”

You walked past them towards your room, looking over your shoulder one last time. “Have fun on your run, guys.”

Steve was smiling when you closed the door.