#henderson!reader

he wasn't sure what it was that made you so hard to stop thinking about. well, in that way.

he knew it was dustin's mouth that constantly kept you in the loop in steve's mind. you were his older sister, his idol and best friend, and there was mention of you in every conversation that he had with dustin nowadays. before now, though, steve had never thought of you romantically. for as long as he'd known you and as long as he'd known dustin, you were strictly off limits and he never looked at you as anything more than that.

you were drop dead gorgeous, of course. curls like dustin's, expressive e/c eyes, plush lips, and a commanding attitude just like your brother's. he knew a lot of pretty girls, though, so he was certain that your looks weren't what made you so attractive to steve. after all, nancy wheeler was pretty, but he only thought about her when she was right in front of him.

you had something else.

something he saw in the way that you loved and cared for your brother, always making sure he had someone that would listen to him and spend time with him. playing video games with dustin (and steve himself on occasion), taking him for car rides and stopping to get ice cream, going frog hunting with him at 11 o'clock at night because he wanted to study them for some nerd shit he was doing.

your love for dustin had no bounds. your compassion for other people had no bounds. all around, you were just an incredible woman.

"steve." dustin interrupted again, rolling his eyes. "could you stop staring at my sister and pull out of the driveway? we're gonna be late to--"

"i know, i know." steve shook his head, tearing his eyes away from where you were standing on the porch, waving dustin off. he put the car in reverse and pulled out onto the street, leaving you behind.

"you've been doing that a lot lately," dustin commented, buckling his seatbelt.

"doing what?"

"staring. at my sister. it's weird, man."

"its not weird," steve defended, a little too quickly and eagerly for dustin's liking. "i was just making sure she got inside safe."

"right. because the big bad squirrels are gonna get her between the car and the front door." dustin snorted. "you know she can handle herself. she dated a guy for six months who tried to teach her how to throw a punch."

steve's grip on the steering wheel tightened. he knew exactly who dustin was talking about. billy. the mention of that name was like a splash of cold water, killing his fantasies and instantly souring his mood. he'd seen the way billy talked to you, the possessive grip on your arm in the school hallway, the way your smile would dim sometimes when he rolled his eyes at something you said.

"yeah, well, maybe she shouldn't have to."

dustin was quiet for a moment, studying his friend's profile. "you like her."

"it's not that simple, henderson."

"it is! you stare, you sigh, you ask weird, probing questions about her weekend plans. it's textbook. even mike noticed, and he's emotionally stunted."

steve sighed, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "she's with billy."

"on and off," dustin corrected. "mostly off lately, from what i hear of it. and he's a dickmunch."

a laugh burst out of steve, unexpected and sharp. "a what?"

"a dickmunch. you know, a muncher of--"

"i get it, i get it." steve shook his head, smile fading. "he is. and she deserves..." he trailed off, because the list was endless. you deserved someone who looked at you like you'd hung the moon, not like you were a prize he'd won. you deserved someone who made you laugh until you snorted, not flinch when he raised his voice. you deserved someone who saw the brilliant, stubborn, kind hearted person you were, not just a pretty face on his arm.

you deserved better.

in steve's opinion, you deserved him. he would treasure you.

"alright, asshole. stop daydreaming about my sister and drive."

the bluntness of dustin's command, paired with the sheer, terrifying truth that had just crystallized in his own mind, snapped steve back to reality. a faint blush crawled up his neck.

"right. driving." he cleared his throat, focusing intently on the road ahead.

but the thought was out there now, fully formed and undeniable, playing on a loop in his head to the rhythm of the turning tires. and when steve got a thought in his head, it wouldn't budge until something was done about it.

she deserves better. she deserves me.

sighing, he reached and turned the radio up.

for as long as you could remember, dustin had been your best friend. it was as easy as breathing.

he was your younger brother, yes, but you were sure that the little shit was some form of soulmate for you. he understood you completely and in return, you understood him in ways that nobody else would. his nerdy habits, the way he didn't quite feel right going into high school, oddly out of place everywhere he went. you accepted him no matter what.

when he was 5 and you were 8, he started having nightmares. he'd come padding into your room, his little face pale in the moonlight, clutching his favorite blanket. without a word, you'd lift your covers and he'd scramble in, his small, cold feet pressing against your legs.

"tell me about the stars," he'd whisper, his voice trembling. even at that age, he had an interest in all of the things he couldn't yet understand.

you'd tell him. you'd teach him about constellations, making up names and stories for them. you'd talk about how they were giant balls of gas, millions of miles away, but how their light still reached all the way to hawkins, indiana, just to make the night a little less dark. you'd talk until his grip on your t-shirt loosened in sleep and his panicked breathing evened out.

you were his first call for everything. the triumphs, like the first time he successfully built a radio from scratch. the heartbreaks, like when the kids at the park wouldn't let him play because he talked about "nerd stuff." you were his defender, his cheerleader, his safe place.

tonight, dustin had a school dance. you also had a party the same night, something for older kids, one thing that dustin couldn't join you for. but you still wanted to see him off.

you stood in the doorway of his room, watching him fumble with his tie. his brow was furrowed in concentration, a perfect mirror of the expression he wore when tackling something complex. the most difficult things were easy for him, and the most simple stumped him. it was a dustin thing. steve sat at his desk, smoothing the thighs of his jeans out. mike and lucas were sprawled out on dustin's bed, crumpling his sheets and their suits. will checked his reflection in the mirror.

sensing dustin's stress, you and steve moved at the same time to help. but of course, you were quicker.

you were at his side in an instant, your fingers brushing his away. "let me."

you worked quickly, efficiently, looping and tightening the fabric into a respectable knot. the whole room had gone quiet, watching you. you could feel steve's gaze, a warm, steady pressure.

"thanks," dustin mumbled, his shoulders slumping in relief.

"anytime, dusty," you said softly, smoothing the tie against his dress shirt. you gave his shoulders a squeeze. "you look handsome."

the honk of a car horn from outside broke the moment. mrs. henderson was ready to go.

"alright, let's move it, lover boys!" steve clapped his hands together, rising from the desk chair. "your chariot, -- by chariot, i mean your mom's station wagon -- awaits."

the kids scrambled off the bed, grumbling and straightening their suits. as they filed out, you nudged dustin.

"be confident. smile. make the first move. everything will work itself out." you smiled softly at the nervous fifteen year old. dustin took a deep breath, puffing his chest out a little.

"right. confident. i can do confident."

he marched out with a new determination.

"love you! have fun!" you shouted down the hall.

a muffled "love you too!" floated back, followed by the sound of the front door slamming shut.

silence descended upon the house, thick and sudden. the absence of the kids' chaotic energy was always a little jarring. you stood there for a moment in dustin's doorway. you really wished him good luck, but part of you was anxious about how it would go.

"he'll be okay." steve said warmly from behind you.

you turned, not realizing he'd lingered. he was leaning against the door frame, jacket slung over his shoulder and shirt stained with hair gel from his help styling dustin. he looked at ease, but his eyes were intently focused on you.

"how do you know?' you asked, the worry for your brother making your voice softer than usual.

"because he's a henderson," he shrugged, pushing off the frame to come closer. "and henderson's are stubborn, and smart, and way more charming than they have any right to be." a small, knowing smile played on his lips. "sound familiar?"

your breath hitched, but you disguised it. he was standing close enough now that you could smell his cologne, something clean and sharp, cutting through the familiar scent of dustin's model glue and comic books.

"looks like you're laying the charm on thick tonight, too, harrington." you teased, ignoring the way his easy smile gnawed at your chest.

he grinned again, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"so. you're headed to that party tonight? at tommy's?"

you nodded, shrugging.

"why not? dustin's out of the house tonight and mom's chaperoning. i might as well find something to do too," you hummed. "plus.. billy. he doesn't like going anywhere without a plus one."

the moment billy's name left your lips, you saw it. a subtle shift in steve's posture. the grin didn't vanish completely, but it tightened at the edges. the warmth in his eyes cooled into something sharper, more assessing.

"right. billy," he said, the name bitter on his tongue. he looked away, his gaze sweeping over dustin's cluttered room as if searching for something. "he's a real.. social butterfly, that one."

you heard the unspoken critique layered beneath the casual words. you'd heard it from others (mom, your friends) but coming from steve, it felt different. it didn't feel like a judgement of your choices. it felt like genuine concern.

"he can be," you conceded, your own defensiveness rising out of habit. "when he wants to be."

steve's eyes snapped back to yours, the deep intensity pinning you in place. "and what about what you want?"

the question, so direct and unexpected, stole the air from your lungs. you opened your mouth to reply with another deflection, another 'it's fine', but the words died in your throat. because standing there in the quiet of your brother's room, with steve harrington looking at you like he could see every crack in your armor, "fine" felt like the biggest lie you'd ever told.

you thought of billy's possessive grip on your waist in crowded rooms. the way he'd scoff if you suggested a movie he didn't like. the slow, steady erosion of your own voice to keep the peace.

steve took a half-step closer, his voice dropping, sincere and rough around the edges. "you know, you don't need a plus-one to be somebody, henderson. you're already somebody. all on your own."

his words landed like a physical touch, a gentle hand steadying you. he wasn't telling you what to do. he was reminding you that you had a choice. that you were whole, with or without billy hargrove on your arm.

the front door slammed again downstairs, followed by the distant sound of mrs. henderson calling, "steve? the kids are getting restless!" he was still expected to give a couple of the kids a ride. your mom only had so much room in the station wagon.

he held your gaze for a moment longer, a silent question hanging in the space between you. then he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if he'd said all he needed to say.

"have a good night," he said softly, and then he turned and walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the stairs.

sighing, trying to erase the feeling in your chest that had just invaded your entire being, you left dustin's room and went into your own. you opened your closet, pulling your outfit for the party out and got ready.

you were going to be with your boyfriend in an hour and a half. so why couldn't you stop thinking about steve harrington?

the party was loud. obnoxiously so.

the bass from the speakers thrummed through the floor, vibrating up through the soles of your shoes and into your bones. you nursed a drink, one that billy had made (far too strong for your taste). his arm was tight around your waist and he pulled you wherever he went. you talked to all kinds of people, smiling in their faces like he wanted you to do, but not saying much. you wanted to get drunk. you wouldn't. billy would get hammered and need a ride home.

every time you tried to shift away, his grip tightened, pulling you back against his side. a silent command. stay put.

you nodded at something carol said, but you didn't hear a word. your mind was still miles away, trapped in the quiet of dustin's bedroom and scent of steve's cologne.

"you're already somebody. all on your own."

steve's voice, cutting clear through the noise in your mind, echoed in your head. you could still see the way he'd looked at you -- not with possession, not with lust, but with quiet reverence and respect. like you were a person. not a prize. and to be honest, it had rocked you through your core. truly shaken you up into a confused mess.

billy leaned down, his breath hot and smelling of beer against your ear. "smile, baby. you look like you're at a funeral."

you glanced up to meet his eyes, forcing a smile.

"sorry."

within an hour, billy was drunk. not too drunk, but not sober enough to be intelligent.

he was leaning on you, his words hot into your hair as he tried to whisper something that was probably meant to be seductive but just came out sloppy. the weight of him, the smell of cheap beer and cologne, was suffocating. this was it. this was the whole night, and every night with him, stretching out in front of you -- a life of being an anchor for a sinking ship.

your eyes scanned the hazy, crowded room, landing on the front door. freedom was twenty feet away.

"billy," you said, your voice firm as you tried to peel his hands from your waist. "i think you've had enough. let's get you some water."

"don' need water," he mumbled, his grip on you tightening. "need my girl. let's find a bathroom."

your jaw dropped.

"billy, no, we--"

"yes. let's go, sugar tits."

you glared at him, but part of you knew better than to do this. he was going to get what he wanted anyways. he always did. by being mean.

"i don't want to sleep with you."

his blue eyes went from drunk and hazy to sharp immediately.

the shift was instantaneous and terrifying. his grip on your waist went from heavy to bruising, like you were a dog trying to run away from the house again.

"what did you just say to me?" his voice was low, a dangerous whisper that cut through the party's noise.

you swallowed, your heart hammering against your ribs. every instinct screamed to back down, to placate him, to give him the smile and apology that would smooth things over. it was the same song and dance every time you fell back into him.

but then, your mind echoed again.

you're already somebody. all on your own.

the words weren't a gentle memory this time. they were a battle cry.

"i said," you repeated, your voice gaining strength, laced with a defiance that made billy's eyes narrow, "i don't want to sleep with you. not now. not ever again. you're an asshole."

the silence that fell between you was louder than the music. billy's face twisted, ugly with rage and wounded pride.

"you don't get to say that to me," he snarled, pulling you closer, his face inches from yours. "you better fuckin' behave before i--"

you shoved against his chest with all your might. "let go of me, billy!"

the scene had drawn attention. people were staring. all the sudden, you saw steve's face, meeting your eyes from across the room. you hadn't even known he was at the party, not thinking these things were his scene anymore.

he took in the situation in a single, sweeping glance -- your panicked expression, billy's aggressive stance, the bruising grip on your arm.

he was moving before you could even process it. he didn't shout. he didn't make a scene. he moved through the crowd like a shark through water, silent and deadly fast. in the space of a single heartbeat, he was there.

steve's hand clamped down on billy's wrist, the one that was digging into your arm. his grip wasn't just firm; it was brutal.

"hey!" billy yelped, his head whipping around, his drunken rage redirected.

"let go of her. now."

billy gritted his teeth, turning closer to steve. you knew nothing about this was going to work out well. billy never backed down, and steve had just caused him to boil over.

"steve, its okay." you cut in, wanting to make peace.

"it's not okay," steve said, his voice cutting through your plea without even taking his eyes off billy. his tone wasn't harsh with you, but it was final. this was not up for negotiation. "none of this is okay. it's not gonna fucking happen."

billy let out a low, ugly laugh. "you hear her? better listen to her. she knows her place. maybe you should learn yours." that was the final word. billy swung, a wild throw. steve, expecting it, dodged easily. but he didn't retaliate. billy was shocked, embarrassed, enraged.

"outside." he hissed, forging a burning hot path to the front door, pushing whoever was in the way to the side.

your eyes were wide and panicked as you glanced at steve. you grabbed his arm, reaching for anything you could grab to keep him from doing this. this wasn't what you wanted.

"steve. please. i'm begging you not to do this. billy is--"

once again you were cut off.

"--not going to touch you ever again."

steve's voice was quiet, but the certainty made the hair on your arms stand up. he finally looked at you, and the raw determination in his eyes stole the air from your lungs. this wasn't about pride or a stupid high school rivalry. this was about you. protecting your honor, protecting you.

he gently pried your hand from his arm, giving your fingers a reassuring squeeze before letting go. then, he walked towards the front door.

biting your lip, anxiousness making you jittery, you followed him as fast as you could, swinging the door open and running out into the yard. the porch light cast a sickly yellow scene in the front yard. billy was pacing, a caged animal, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.

"changed your mind? gonna hide behind my woman's skirt?" billy taunted.

steve didn't answer the taunt. he simply swung.

the punch wasn't wild or telegraphed. it was short, brutal, and connected with billy's jaw with a sickening crack. it was the answer to every sneer, every insult, every time billy'd laid an unkind hand on you.

billy staggered back, more out of shock than pain at first. he touched his jaw, his eyes wide with disbelief, before they narrowed into slits of pure venom.

"you're fucking dead, harrington."

then it was chaos.

they came together in a storm of fists and grunts. it was ugly, raw, devoid of any technique. steve got a few good shots in -- billy's nose poured blood, his eyebrow was split -- but billy was bigger, meaner, and drunk on beer and rage. he took the hits and gave them back worse. steve was gasping for air and coated in blood. billy wiped his face on his jacket, blood from his eyebrow seeping down into his vision.

finally, when it seemed steve couldn't continue and billy had lost track of how many times he'd hit the man, you screamed.

"GET OFF HIM, BILLY!"

tears ran down your face as you sniffled, your throat hurting from how loud you'd projected your voice. you were terrified, disgusted, and pissed.

"please, billy! just stop it. i'm begging you."

the raw plea in your voice did what your anger could not. it cut through the drunken haze and the rage. billy froze, his fist hovering in the air. he looked from steve, bloody and beaten on the ground, to you, your face a mess of tears and despair. for a single second, you saw something flicker in his blue eyes. not regret. comprehension. he saw your sorrow, he saw what he'd become to you. you'd gone from two teenagers in love to a man tormenting a woman who deserved more than him.

his arm dropped to his side. he took a stumbling step back, his chest heaving.

without another word, he spat blood onto the ground next to steve's body, a snide reminder to steve of who'd won. then, he spared you one last glance before disappearing from the area.

with hot tears continuing to pour down, you sprinted to steve. the wounded man used the moment to push himself up onto his elbows, coughing, spitting a glob of blood onto the grass. he didn't try to get up. he just looked at you, his one good eye full of a pained, unwavering devotion.

you fell to your knees beside him, reaching for his face, making your touch as gentle as you could.

"steve," you sniffled, your thumb wiping blood and dirt from his cheek. "i told you i didn't want this. i asked you not to and now you're--"

he caught your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm. he turned his head just enough to press a kiss to your palm, leaving a faint, bloody smudge on your skin.

"don't," he rasped, his voice a raw scrape. "'s okay. i promise."

a sob caught in your throat. "but you're--"

"i'm fine," he insisted, his voice intense. "he could have hit me a hundred more times. it would've been worth it." he tried to shift, to sit up more, but a sharp hiss of pain escaped his lips. you reached around his back, holding him steady.

"worth it?" you whispered, incredulous. "you're bleeding from.. everywhere. you can't even sit up. because of me." you sniffled.

"not because of you," he gritted out, the eye that wasn't swollen locking onto yours with a ferocity that made you flinch. "for you. there's a.. a world of difference. trust me."

he groaned, using your shoulder for leverage to finally, painfully sit up all the way. his breath came in ragged pants, but he didn't look away. "just bruises and cuts. they'll go away in a while."

he reached up, his hand trembling slightly, and cupped your cheek. his thumb stroked away a tear, his touch infinitely gentle despite the blood caked on his knuckles. you leaned into him, the last of your resistance crumbling. he was right. the fight had been horrible, but it had been a line in the sand. a bloody declaration that billy couldn't continue to run your life anymore.

"okay," you whispered, your voice finally steady. you slipped your arm all the way around him. "okay. let's get you cleaned up."

he leaned on you heavily as you helped him get to his feet and to his car. every step was a shared effort, a silent promise. as you opened the passenger door, he paused, looking at you with a mixture of exhaustion and utter devotion.

"hey," he said softly. "for the record.. you were the strongest one here."

as you drove away from the chaos, the boy who had fought for you slept fitfully in the seat beside you.

the rest of that night was long. you cleaned steve's wounds, apologizing softly when he hissed, and foraged his kitchen for something to ice his bruises. when you felt you'd successfully doctored him up, you helped him up the stairs to his bed.

his room smelled of cedar and aftershave. exactly like you'd imagined it.

helping him into bed, you tucked the blankets over him and said goodnight, racing down the stairs in disbelief that any of this had even happened.

you drove home, crawled into your own bed, and cried a little. then, you fell asleep thinking about steve harrington. not billy hargrove.

the morning came too quickly. before you were ready, you heard your brother come into your room, plopping into bed beside you. the mattress dipped, startling you from a sleep filled with fractured images of blood and unwavering brown eyes. you blinked, the morning light stinging, to find dustin staring at you, his face far too close and etched with dramatic concern.

"you're alive," he stated, as if he'd expected otherwise.

"barely," you groaned, pulling the covers over your head. the events of last night came rushing back -- the screaming, the blood, steve's broken body leaning on yours. your heart gave a painful lurch.

"i heard," dustin said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. you peeked out from under the duvet. he was fiddling with a loose thread on your comforter. "about the fight. at tommy's. the whole school's talking about it."

you sat up slowly, your body aching with a phantom sympathy for steve's injuries. "what are they saying?"

"that king steve got his ass kicked defending you from your asshole boyfriend," dustin said, a hint of awe in his voice. then his brow furrowed. "is it true? did he really tell billy to fuck off and then just... take the beating?"

the memory of steve's voice, raw and certain, echoed in your mind. he could have hit me a hundred more times. it would've been worth it.

"yeah," you whispered, your throat tight. "it's true. and watch your language."

dustin was silent for a long moment, ignoring your scolding. "he likes you. like, really likes you." he said it with the grave seriousness of a scientist stating a proven fact.

a fresh wave of tears pricked your eyes, but this time, they weren't from fear or guilt. they were from a overwhelming, terrifying sense of hope. "i know."

"good," dustin declared, nodding once. "because billy's a dickmunch and i wish i could fight him. and steve... he's got the good hair." he patted your leg through the blanket. "now, get up. we're going to family video."

you started to sniffle again, more tears falling.

dustin sighed, opening his arms.

the simple, open gesture was your undoing. a sob broke free from your chest, and you launched yourself into your brother's arms, burying your face in his shoulder. he held you tightly, his small frame surprisingly sturdy, and let you cry it all out -- the fear, the relief, the dizzying hope.

"it's okay," he mumbled, patting your back awkwardly. "he's gonna be okay. steve's tough. he fought a demogor-- i mean, he's really tough."

you pulled back, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. "i know he is."

"and if billy ever shows his face again," dustin continued, his expression turning fierce, "we'll set mews on him."

a wet laugh escaped you. "mews is a cat, dustin."

"a very strategic cat," he insisted, his seriousness making you laugh harder, the sound mingling with your fading tears. he grinned, seeing he'd achieved his goal. "now, seriously. get dressed. we have a mission."

twenty minutes later, you were pulling up outside the familiar strip mall, the family video logo a beacon of normalcy. your stomach was a knot of nerves. what would you even say to him?

dustin, of course, had no such reservations. he marched right in, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully.

"harrington!" he bellowed, making both you and steve's coworker, who was behind the counter, jump.

steve emerged from the back room, and your breath caught. he looked... rough. one eye was a spectacular palette of purple and black, swollen nearly shut. a butterfly bandage held together a cut on his eyebrow, and his lip was split. but he was clean, and he was standing, and when his good eye found you, it lit up with a warmth that made your knees feel weak.

"hey, henderson," steve said, his voice a little hoarse. his gaze flickered to you. "hey."

dustin, completely oblivious to the charged silence, slapped a VHS tape on the counter. "we brought you a get-well-soon gift. the thing. it's about a shapeshifting alien that assimilates other life forms. i figured you could relate to feeling like your face is trying to kill you. and they don't have this tape here, so its new for you. and you look like shit because you got beat up for my sister. so i thought a gift was in order."

a laugh burst out of you, sharp and surprised, cutting through the last of your nerves. steve’s good eye widened in mock offense, but a real smile tugged at his split lip.

“you’re a little shit, you know that?” steve said, but there was no heat in it. he picked up the tape. “but… thanks, man. i think.”

“you’re welcome,” dustin said, beaming with pride. he then turned to you, his expression turning business-like. “okay, my work here is done. i’m going to go see if they have the new issue of dragon magazine. try not to do anything gross while I’m gone.” he scurried off toward the magazine rack.

the silence he left behind was different now -- softer, charged with a new understanding. you looked back at steve, at the brutal map of devotion painted across his face.

"he's not wrong," you said softly, your gaze tracing the purple bruise around his eye. "you do look like shit."

steve shrugged, his hand still resting on the vhs tape. "worth it."

that phrase again.

"you keep saying that." you said softly, taking a step closer to the counter.

he held your gaze, unwavering. "because its true." he came out from around the counter, walking up to you slowly. he limped a little, making you wince. the scent of his aftershave, familiar and comforting, mixed with the faint, clean smell of antiseptic from his cuts, fell over you. "seeing you walk in here, looking for me. definitely worth it."

from the back, steve's coworker cleared his throat loudly. "just so you two know, public displays of affection are against store policy. it disturbs the other customers." he gestured to the completely empty store.

steve didn't respond. he just kept looking at you, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face. "wanna talk in the break room really quick?"

your heart gave a single, hard thump against your ribs. steve's gaze was an open question, full of hope and vulnerability.

"yeah," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. "okay."

steve’s smile widened, and he turned, gesturing for you to follow him with a slight tilt of his head. He led you past his coworker, who was now very pointedly studying the label on a can of film cleaner, and through a door marked ‘STAFF ONLY’.

the break room was a tiny, windowless space that smelled like stale coffee and old microwave popcorn. a rickety table and two chairs were shoved against one wall. It was the least romantic place on earth, but with steve closing the door softly behind you, it felt like a sanctuary.

he turned to face you, leaning back against the door, his hands shoved in his pockets. the bravado he’d shown out front seemed to have evaporated, leaving behind a raw, nervous energy.

"look, about last night..." he started, then stopped, shaking his head. "no. not about the fight. about... before the fight." he took a deep breath, his good eye searching your face. "when i said you deserved better. i wasn't just talking about billy."

your breath hitched. "what were you talking about, steve?"

"me," he said, the word simple and stark. "i was talking about me. or... the guy i used to be. the king steve asshole who would've probably been friends with a guy like billy." he gestured vaguely to his own battered face. "i'm not that guy anymore. i haven't been for a long time. but you... you make me want to be even better. you make me want to be the guy who deserves to be the better man for you."

"you are," you whispered, closing the small distance between you. you reached up, your fingers gently tracing the line of the butterfly bandage on his brow. "you're that guy, steve. i've never been prouder to say it."

he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as if a great weight had been lifted. he brought his hands up to cradle your face, his touch impossibly gentle.

"can i..?" he whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips.

in answer, you rose up on your toes and closed the final, breathless inch between you.

the kiss was nothing like you'd imagined. it wasn't wild or desperate. it was soft. a little hesitant. a silent conversation of apology and promise, of past pain and future hope. you could taste the faint, metallic tang of blood from his split lip, a stark reminder of everything he'd endured, and it made the tenderness of the kiss all the more profound.

when you finally pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing a little raggedly.

"you're sure i'm what you want?" steve asked softly, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. you nodded, laughing breathlessly.

"no one's ever asked me that before, but yes. i've never been more sure. you are exactly what i want."

the words seemed to unlock something in him. the last vestige of tension drained from his shoulders, and the smile that spread across his face was so bright, so unguarded, it made your heart ache. it was a smile untouched by the bruises, a glimpse of the man he was underneath all the bravado and the pain.

"good," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. he leaned in and pressed another, firmer kiss to your lips, this one full of a quiet, certain joy. "because you're stuck with me now, henderson."

From the other side of the door, Dustin's voice echoed, loud and impatient. "GET OUT OF THERE! TIME'S UP, HARRINGTON, AND THERE BETTER BE NO HICKEYS!"

steve threw his head back and laughed, a real, full-bodied sound that made him wince and clutch his ribs, but he didn't stop. he was still chuckling as he pressed one last, quick kiss to your forehead.

"come on," he said, his voice warm with amusement. he kept a firm arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side as he opened the break room door. "duty calls."

you emerged back into the store to find dustin standing with his arms crossed, tapping his foot dramatically. steve's coworker, jon, was leaning on the counter, smirking.

"good." dustin announced to the empty store. "no hickeys. i'm both relieved and feeling respected."

steve rolled his good eye, but the smile never left his face. "what do you want next, henderson? a written report on the horror of premarital touching?"

"yes, actually. in triplicate." dustin pointed a finger at him. "but for now, you can start by explaining the thematic parallels between the thing and your current physical state."

as steve launched into a mock-serious, pain-filled analysis for your brother, you leaned against the counter next to jon.

he nudged you with his elbow, his voice a low whisper. "so. you and king steve. officially a thing?"

you watched steve, who was now letting dustin "examine" his black eye with a scientific intensity, patiently answering his ridiculous questions. your heart felt so full you thought it might burst.

"yeah," you said, a slow, sure smile spreading across your face. "we're a thing."

Just hours before, the Hendersons’ front door creaked open to let in a slew of exhausted teenagers whose only guardians were you, Steve and Robin. Robin, who’s knocked out cold on your couch. Everyone’s sleeping off exhaustion from the last hectic few hours of a plan nearly-gone wrong. Your little brother and his troupe threw themselves onto the first piece of furniture they could find.

Steve, though, insisted he was too worked up to sleep. That he might as well clean himself up. You had thrown him an incredulous look from the WSQK van’s passenger seat, as he sped through Hawkins to the closest safe address to ‘rest the troops.’

“Then I’ll help.” You shrugged, rubbing your bleary eye with a knuckle. You could feel his own chocolate brown eyes dividing attention unevenly between you and the road ahead. He grunted softly, not in protest. When you finally give an inch and look over at him, there’s this tentative and stupid smile on his face, directed at the windshield.

Steve blows the air out his cheeks as you dab at a nasty cut that’s already swelling just above his brow. “How bad is it?” Honestly, he didn’t look so good. You smile but it’s more of a dubious grimace.

“..not that bad.” Steve huffs a humorless laugh at that, rubbing his hands up and down the front of his jeans like he isn’t sure what to do with them.

“You’re such a liar.” You manage a little laugh at that, allowing yourself to forget the circumstances. To relax in this warm, even comfortable aftermath, sitting on your cool marble countertop and bringing that towel to Steve’s busted lip now. He winces just a little.

“Okay, you look like shit.”

He hums, a smile pulling his frustratingly perfect lips over his frustratingly white teeth when you lift the rag away, as if saying so that’s how it is? “That’s more believable.”

You’d filed him into a specific cabinet, along with all the other miseries of highschool. One of those that you’d avoid at all costs, take on the brunt of a group project just to dodge communication, anything to keep yourself under the radar of him and his pack of douchebags. And it worked, kind of. You were just another face in the halls. You hardly ever had classes together, anyways, with you being in honors and him dropping any credit not required to graduate.

Robin, though, she was that strange, effervescent friend that never drifted too far out of your life. From middle school, reminding her to untuck her shirt, listening to Bowie vinyls in her room, her tugging you by the backpack in the halls to grab your perpetually full attention. Then, using your newly acquired license to drive to her job at Scoops Ahoy for a free cone— and finding her befriending Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. How psycho was that?

He’d been to your house before that, sure. But you had made it a point to avoid the basement when Dustin threw movie nights, barely looking him in the eye when he asked for directions to the coke. Which, to your added resentment, he drank all of.

Once you got dragged into all this upside down craziness he was pretty much unavoidable. Too close to Robin to be ignored if you wanted to hang out with your longest lasting friend. Too admired by your brother to fully dodge him around your house— you were starting to think he was coming wandering around, looking for you. Not true, of course.

Of course.

Now, he was just.. your own friend. Just a friend. It wasn’t some big, emotional confrontation. It was a slow tumble, as he forced himself out of that cabinet you’d filed him into. you weren’t used to that. Maybe it was the way you looked at him, like you’d rather be in a room with anyone else, made him want— no, need to prove himself. And he did, through the way he listened to you with careful attention, care at a tentative distance. The way treated Dustin, Robin, the plenty of kids he really did babysit.

And suddenly, like waking up one day with a sore throat that had just been a tickle the night before, you realized you’d become friends. Real, actual friends. One you can’t help gravitate towards in every room, that you swear is not funny yet can’t fail to make you laugh. A friend you sit with in his beloved beemer as he drove your brother around, saying you might as well come with— if only to sing dramatically to wham! on the radio. (He had surprisingly good pitch?)

So, no. You can’t help it if you don’t like the sight of his face all brutalized, this pathetic exhaustion creeping into his eyes. it’s completely normal how close he ends up standing to you, not crowding, a constant presence. And, y’know, the way he throws a joke into the air, but his eyes always drifting to you, gauging your reaction. All good friend stuff. Which was what you were. very good friends.

You rub the wet rag across some dried blood at his jawline. “How’re you holding up?” Steve breaks a silence you forgotten was even there. Your eyes flick up to meet his, impossibly soft with something that startles you into looking back at your hand on the towel.

“Okay.”

“Just okay.” Steve repeats, that signature sarcasm sneaking in. He smiles, in that way of his that stopped short of confident when it was aimed at you. You hum agreement. “Not even sore from carrying that thing?” He lifts his brows and tilts his chin towards your bat, leaned up against the cabinets. You got the idea from him.

You snort. “My 12u softball bat? Yeah right.” He’s staring. You lift your brows right back at him, thinking of his own bat and giggling, “What, are you?”

A laugh of his own catches onto the ends of his words, “Little bit, maybe.” You shake your head, then take his chin in your hands delicately, turning his cheek this and that way, inspecting the damage. Some of it is from a week prior, a scuffle you rolled your eyes at and told him he shouldn’t have picked in the first place. But he looks handsome as ever, even a little battered; There’s another scrape by his hairline that needs some attention.

You make eye contact once. You have to do a double take— the way he’s looking at you catches you off guard. “What?”

“What?” Steve echoes, brows drawing. You squint at him, searching for a sign of upside-down-loopiness. You don’t know what that dust could do, much less those bats. But, he looks clear headed. Attentive, even.

“You’re staring.” You try to huff the words in a chuckle, but it comes off awkward. He shakes his head a little.

There’s a beat: Steve’s eyes flick away, to the door of your fridge, plastered with drawings from yours and Dustin’s childhood and school photographs. His eyes linger almost wistfully on something so homey before they return to yours— finally on him, not the job of mending him. His lips form around a word, then discard it, brows crinkling sweetly. He shakes his head just barely. Like he knows no other way to express what he means besides looking at you with huge, chocolate eyes and willing you to get it.

They’re warm, crinkling at the edges yet serious with earnesty. Just a layer of ice coating a lake you couldn’t dream up the bottom of, beneath all that fondness that should scare you more than its ebbing into: a new kind of longing. Not the way he leans into the towel you drag across his skin smattered with dried blood and sweat. Not that way he stands around your family, comfortable but not effortless, staying near the edges like he isn’t sure he’s a welcome presence anywhere.

Then, softly; “I’m just.. glad you’re here.” Assured, but as if it’s not just the two of you in this dark kitchen, as if he has to whisper just for your ears. That has to be the honesty.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno.”

Something about the way he says it, small and simple, it breaks your heart. His jaw works to find his train of thought as if the courage to face you took priority over planning the next step.

Steve’s fingers wring at his middle nervously, eyes glued to his hands in a way you’ve never seen him. You set the rag aside on the counter beside you and unwind his fingers, he lets you without any resistance. Steve speaks in an exhale, “I bet you have better things to do. So.. I’m just..” he shakes his head, brow furrowed. “Thank you.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Harrington.” You mutter, lips twisting into a teasing smile despite yourself. Steve huffs a halfhearted laugh. But, when you squeeze his hand, feeling the roughness of his callouses, he squeezes right back, eyes cast down at where your pinky brushes his pulse.

Carefully and too gently to be boyish, a smile pulls at the corners of his lips. Like he just can’t help it.

And you feel it. God, do you feel it, the bubble that you’ve rejected for weeks, just about to pop. Has that always been there? Those chocolate brown eyes sweep back up to yours, heavy with something you can’t place, but you know in your bones is sweet.

You try avoiding it, again. That pop you know is coming. Leaving the strong yet pliable warmth of his hand, you reach for the rag, turning your face away. Suddenly, that hand shot out and latched around your wrist, tugging you back upright from where you’ve twisted. “Okay, yeah, nice try.”

“What—?” You huff, but don’t pull from his grip. Questions dissolve like alka seltzer in your brain, leaving fizzy bubbles to replace your rationale. Steve’s eyes are tender, crinkling around the edges with nothing short of heartache, shining under knitting eyebrows. They drop down to your lips, then back up like he’s apologizing, like it had slipped.

You share a long, burning look. An inhale, and he’s already reaching for you again, pulling in you by the outer slope of your arm and crushing your lips together. Not aggressive, or taking. But undeniably loaded. Like heavy pant after holding his breath for hours— like shouting, i love you, I love you, I love you.

Of course this is how Steve Harrington kisses you, like he’s never felt so much in his entire life and he has to let you know right this minute. And maybe you’re kissing him back like you feel the same: because you do.

You let yourself twist your hands in his full hair, make an appreciative sound as he winds an arm around you, palm splaying and radiating warmth across the small of your back. He finally draws away then, breath fanning warm across your jaw, your own breathing interrupted with soft laughter. His lips are all puffy, reddened from your own. You bring a thumb up between you two, gently dabbing at his split lip you’d forgotten about. He winces, you smile apologetically; “Ouch.. sorry.”

Steve stares for a long moment, not quite hearing, doey eyes darting all over your face as if trying to commit every birthmark to exact memory. And then he laughs, too, not so hard as to force your digit from his lip.

“Took you long enough.” It’s hard to be witty when your chest feels so full and so bright, your words come out in more of a sweet whisper.

Steve huffs, but he draws you just that little bit closer, clearly struggling to tear his eyes off your mouth. “Just been kinda busy. Interdimensional monsters, Russian conspiracies, y’know, all that.”

“Mm. Well, hit me back when your schedule clears up?” You quirk a brow, grinning like a stupid teenager: maybe after the hell this week has been, that’s all you wanna be. Steve hums like he’s giving it thought even though you know by the over dramatic squint and purse of his lips, he’s already made up his mind.

“I actually think it’s empty for a while. Or atleast a month.” He looks very proud when you laugh, bumping his nose against yours and adding, “if we’re lucky.”

“If!” This time it’s you who pushes your lips onto his, slower this time. Like you really do have a clear schedule, now. Even though you both know you aren’t so lucky.

Here, though, in your kitchen, with a bloody rag and open first aid kit, the yellow stove light illuminating your faces— you are, kind of. Luckiness is subjective.

You’re relishing in the ability to brush your fingers up and down the firm muscles of Steve’s back over his crewneck, breaking the kiss just to giggle uncontrollably again at this sweet sound he makes, when—

“Oh my GOD.” Dustin’s voice rings, suddenly and way-too-loud for the intimate environment, and your eyes shoot open to look at him over Steve’s shoulder.

“Oh my god, you little, stupid— DUSTIN! Go back to bed!” You whisper-shout, command full of that big sister venom and making Steve throw his head over his shoulder comically alert.

“There’s no way. There’s no way!” Your brother’s horrified expression turns almost giddy, and you can only imagine what he’s brewing up in that freak brain of his. “Holy shit!”

Steve shakes his hands in emphasis, “Henderson, language, come on!”

You put your face in your hands with a groan. There’s a pause, the quiet hum of the radiator, then Steve’s laughter fills the kitchen. You make a sound like you’ve just been punched in the gut. “He’s so nosy. It’s been, what, a minute and It’s already out.”

“What, am I that damaging to your reputation?” You peek at him through your fingers and are met with this big, lopsided and boyish grin. Stupidly charming, with his hands resting on his hips.

“I dunno, I thought we’d have a little before everybody knew. God knows Dustin won’t decide to start keeping secrets now.” You sigh, grimacing but reaching out and clasping your fingers. Steve shrugs, brows lifting as he shakes his head, to say, who cares?

“No time like the present?”

You hate (love) that idiot grin on his poor, beaut up face, tugging him in. “So stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah, tell me about it,” except that it’s definitely rhetorical. Steve leans close, taking you by the back of your neck, kissing you soft and hard until you don’t care who knows anymore.

He came running through the hallway, passing the living room, out of breath. You weren’t unaware of these situations, as he was always sucked into some problem in Hawkins whether you liked it or not.

“Hey mom- ooh cookies! Sweet!” Dustin spat out as he skidded up the stairs hastily.

It seemed this always happened. Dustin couldn’t help it, it was in his nature to be disruptive. You rolled your eyes before tracking behind him up the stairs.

“Where have you been??” You raised an eyebrow.

This caused Dustin to whip over his shoulder as he gripped the railing, face all flushed by the sudden questioning, “uh, I’ve um, been with the party. Science stuff.”

“But you stink. And why is there dirt all over you?” You commented, looking over his appearance.

“We were outside. Just some good ol’ outside science,” Dustin sheepishly replied with a cheeky smile before staring at the ceiling.

“Bullshit. If it’s something important, you have to say something,” You snarked, knowing how many times he’s brushed over a serious issue.

Dustin dramatically rubbed his neck before groaning and trying to take more steps towards his room.

“Nope. You don’t get to go,” you snapped and forced him to face you, “I want to know if something is going on,” You crossed your arms.

“Jesus, what are you? My mom? It’s fine. I just said that a million times. Max called us over cause she found some weird stuff, that’s all,” Dustin sighed, as if it were a punishment to talk to you.

“Ok, fine. You’re lying to my face. This time I’ll ignore it,” You scoffed before going up to your room, across from his.

“Can I go to bed, please? Let it go,” Dustin says with an exasperated look on his face. His backpack, shoes, and face are all dirty. You can’t blame yourself for wanting to know what was going on.

“Yeah, I’m not your mom...remember,” you can’t help but chuckle, taking a final jab at your brother before shutting your door.

After changing, taking off your makeup, and decompressing, it felt amazing to get into bed. A feeling of comfort washed over you as you pulled the covers up towards your chin. A sleepy haze fell over you as you settled into bed, was it bad to say you had been looking forward to this all day?

Until-

Tap.

Your head jerked up and suddenly your attention was fixed on your window.

Tap.

Tap.

With apprehension, you swung your legs to the edge of your bed and got up. The immediate chill of your bedroom shaking you up. You sighed and pulled back your curtains.

To your surprise, the last thing you would expect to see on a Wednesday night.

Steve Harrington, in some knight in shining armor pose, was clinging to the drain pipe beside your window.

Your eyebrows met together with a mixture of shock and disgust, even if you didn’t mean it. Why was he here? Why wouldn’t he be at Dustin’s window?

There wasn’t anything wrong with Steve hanging around the party all of the time. If anything, it saved you gas from driving them around everywhere. It just seemed like Steve was always ending up involved with your little brother’s friends. Pretty odd for someone who just graduated.

You pulled back your sheer light pink curtains, to face him through the window. He had the same expression you did, even if he didn’t mean it either.

“Harrington...? Hi..?” You said while cocking your head to the side, crossing your arms.

“There’s another one?!” Steve bluntly exclaimed, trying to position him to the landing outside your window. No shit. Of course there was “another one.” Had Dustin never mentioned you before?

“Do you need to talk to Dustin or something? Wrong window by the way,” you moved to the window, lifting it up for him. You realized how little you were wearing, a simple silky nightgown, and how awkward this interaction was going to be.

Steve not-so-nonchalantly glanced over your figure, taking in your choice of sleepwear. He snapped his gaze back up as you cleared your throat, “Oh- uh, yeah, I need to tell him something...but now I- I think it can wait,” Steve feigned his smooth persona.

You scoffed, waiting for some other stupid remark to come out of his mouth. “Oh god, really? I can go get Dustin if you want,” you replied, giving a hand out to help him through the window.

Steve gladly took your hand, lingering before brushing his jeans off as he stepped inside your room.

He glanced around at the decor of your room, getting a first impression of you. Definitely not what you thought meeting him for the first time would be like. His gaze kept flickering over at your appearance, it was hard not to, as it wasn’t everyday you saw your friend’s sister in a short nightgown.

“I- I don’t think we’ve officially met, or have we?” Steve questioned, running a hand through his dark hair.

“I don’t think so. I mean, obviously Dustin never shuts up about you. But that’s different,” you stuttered out. You couldn’t help but ramble, it came naturally to you in both good and bad situations. But this specific instance, you couldn’t tell which one it was.

Before you could make sense of the state you were somehow in, Steve was already sitting down on your pink bedspread, crossing him arms. Great, now you have to talk to him. You tried to push away the fluttering feeling in your stomach, mentally kicking yourself for being this worked up over the Steve Harrington being in your room.

The tension in your bedroom could definitely be cut in half. You couldn’t tell if his intentions were to talk to you, or god knows what else. You stood there, clothed in only a short nightgown, looking everywhere but his gaze.

“Look, I’d love to, um, get to know you more. I guess,” Steve sputtered out, mirroring your crossed arms, “Wait. No. I mean it, I don’t “guess.” Shit,” He sighed as he slid a hand down his impossibly perfect face. Good to know he was trying to not make this awkward as well.

Just as you tried to respond, with the sweetest most impressive tone you could find, you heard a tiny bang against your door.

Normally, you would’ve ignored it. Thinking it was Mews brushing by, or the wind rattling your door. Luckily, it was loud enough to take the focus off your awkward conversation with Steve.

Suddenly, you head a faint string of cusses at your door, and the sound of things clattering.

You stepped towards you door, Steve following suit. You tried not to be affected by him being this close to you.

“Mike, stop! You can’t- dammit!” You soon heard your little brother on the other side of your door. Of course.

You sighed and exchanged an exasperated glance with Steve, with him knowing about the pain the party causes anyone around them all too well.

You cleared your throat, signaling that you could 1000% hear him by now. “Dustin Henderson, you have five seconds to leave or I’m never letting Steve near you again,” you had a hand on the door frame, speaking in an oddly-calm tone. It was the kind of tone you used before going off on your brother, you had picked it up perfectly from your mom.

No reply.

You decided to fling open the door, per Steve’s face egging you on. He thought this whole this was amusing, never having experienced the whole sibling-bond thing before. Sure enough, there he was, walkie talkie in hand, microphone up to his mouth.

“If any one of your stupid friends heard our conversation, you are dead to me,” you glared at Dustin as Steve let out small chuckles behind you.

The look on dustin’s face was priceless as he scrambled to pick up his things and run to his room across the hall, slamming the door hard enough to make you whip around to face Steve. This entire situation seemed to be pulled straight from a movie.

Steve ran a hand through his hair as he let out a deep breath. “Uh- great meeting you. Truly. Maybe under different circumstances this, uh, could’ve been better. I’ll go- uh, I’m going to go talk to him,” Steve brushed pass you, flashing a smile as he started towards Dustin’s room.

“okay, well that’s settled. i guess he’s not here.” steve says after dustin rings the doorbell about a thousand times.

“eddie! it’s dustin!” your brother yells like he’s expecting an answer. “look, we just wanna talk, okay? no cops, i swear, we just wanna help.” dustin keeps banging on the door like a maniac.

“great, yeah. make sure everyone knows you’re here. maybe give them our names while you’re at it, idiot.” you lightly smack the back of his neck. “he’s clearly not there, okay?” there was no way the police were taking you in over this stupidity.

“hey, guys?” max calls out, pointing at a small shed next to the house.

“are we supposed to go in there?” you say, incredulous. how do you always end up in situations like this?

and you did. of course you went in.

“hello? is anyone home?” robin slowly opens the shed door and everyone follows her inside.

“what a dump,” steve says, looking around.

“obviously. it’s a shed.” you say, deadpan, watching him turn off his flashlight and grab a wooden oar. “steve, what are you doing?” you ask, confused.

“he might be in here.” he starts hitting some bags with his new weapon.

“then take the tarp off.” your brother next to you looks seriously alarmed.

“if you’re so brave, you take the tarp off.” steve shoots back.

god, what is this? are they in first grade?

“no one is taking anything off.” you scold them. “give me that.” you snatch the oar from steve.

“no, wait!” he tries to grab it back. “i need that, okay?”

“what could you possibly need an oar for?” you try to pull it away from him. at this point, you’d probably use it on him yourself.

“considering the fact that everyone in this room has nearly died a hundred times, personally, i don’t find it funny in the slightest—” he doesn’t even get to finish.

someone bursts out from under the tarp, jumping steve and slamming into him, sending you falling backward. “whoa!” dustin starts yelling like crazy.

“wait, wait, wait!” steve tries to reason with who is apparently eddie, but (as always, steve has zero survival instinct) he gets slammed against the wall, eddie threatening to slit his throat with a broken bottle.

“whoa, whoa, whoa, eddie, no!” dustin yells as you slowly get up from the floor. “it’s me. it’s dustin. this is steve. he’s not gonna hurt you, right, steve?”

“i will.” you aim your revolver firmly at eddie, the same revolver you’d kept in your car since ’83, when you found out there were monsters under hawkins.

“hey, no! wait!” dustin yells at you.

please. you weren’t actually going to shoot anyone. you weren’t even sure it was loaded. of course, eddie didn’t know that.

“drop it. now.” you stay firm. there was no way eddie munson was about to shove a bottle into steve’s jugular, right? …right?

“what are you doing here?” eddie looks like he’s shaking, and honestly you don’t know why. fear? adrenaline? oh my god, what if he’s high?

“we were looking for you.” dustin tells him, extending his hands toward eddie like that’ll calm him down. “we’re here to help,” robin finishes.

“eddie, we’re on your side.” wow, dustin. that definitely helps.

“and we definitely won’t be if you stab him with that, okay?” you step even closer. “drop it. i’m not asking.” you make yourself clear.

eddie stares at steve. or the broken bottle in his hand. who knows. but he lets it go.

which finally lets you put your gun away.

“jesus christ—” you hear robin say, like she can finally breathe again.

“you okay?” you walk up to steve slowly and rest a hand on his shoulder.

“yeah, yeah. i’ve been worse.” he says, touching his neck. “have you ever pointed a gun at someone?” he asks, a small smile on his face.

“god, no! i didn’t even know if it was loaded, i was about to panic!” you whisper harshly, teeth clenched.

“you did great. thanks.” he says, genuinely.

“yeah, sure.” maybe you stared at him a little too long, because suddenly you felt that pull again, like a wave calling you in, like at any second it could just grab you and drown you. so you broke eye contact. focus. there was a deeply traumatized guy talking to your brother right now.

after eddie explained everything he’d seen, and after you all explained that yes, he wasn’t crazy and yes, that kind of thing absolutely happened in hawkins, you promised you’d come back the next day with a plan to get him out of this. or at least try. optimism, right?

“i can’t believe eddie the freak munson threatened you with a bottle.” max laughs as you all get into the van to leave.

“don’t call him that.” dustin says it automatically, like muscle memory. he’s probably defended eddie so many times he doesn’t even think about it anymore. max doesn’t reply.

“let’s add that to the list of messed-up things that happen to me when i get involved in this stuff.” steve says, putting the van in reverse. to be fair, steve was a pretty good driver. if anyone asked.

“i can’t believe you did that!” robin says excitedly. “it was amazing. for a second i thought you were actually gonna shoot him.” she practically bounces in her seat behind you.

“i didn’t even know if it was loaded.” you laugh softly while buckling your seatbelt in the passenger seat.

“and? that doesn’t make it any less iconic! also, it was eddie munson! on what planet would i ever see you interacting with him?” robin is fully obsessed with the idea. she loves when worlds collide, like when she almost lost her mind watching e.t. and the alien recognized yoda from the star wars universe.

“i’ve talked to him before.” you say.

“what? when?” robin sounds genuinely shocked.

“yeah, when?” apparently this is news to dustin too.

“in high school. at the homecoming dance.” you definitely know where this is going.

“yeah, eddie offered her drugs.” steve continues the story, conveniently leaving out the part where you admitted you actually tried some.

“why do you know this?” dustin asks steve, offended. “why does he know this?” now he turns to you.

“why are you making such a big deal out of it? who cares? i told him.” you roll your eyes. this was not that serious.

“you told him?” his face is pure drama. “you told him?” like you just said the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

“god, dustin, what is wrong with you? it doesn’t matter!” max snaps, annoyed enough to pull her headband headphones off.

“it’s not that deep, man.” steve tries to calm things down.

“you shut up, no one’s talking to you.” dustin rolls his eyes. “yes, it is deep. why does he know and i don’t? i’m supposed to know this stuff, especially if it involves eddie! especially because i’m your brother!” he points at you.

“i’m gonna ignore you, okay? okay.” you roll your eyes and turn to stare out the window. there was no way you were about to fight over this nonsense. nothing dustin was saying made any sense.

dustin lets out a sarcastic laugh. “oh, so there’s definitely something going on between you two, right? now steve knows all these things about your life, huh? unbelievable!”

okay. maybe there was a way you’d fight.

“how do those things even connect!?” yeah, now you were mad.

“because he knows things i don’t!” dustin snaps back.

“what the hell is wrong with you!?” you turn fully toward him, ready to go.

the thing is, you two were way too similar. you know, both physics nerds, both obsessed with chocolate pudding, both reading an unhealthy number of books per week. but the problem was… you were too similar. including the endless stubbornness and the absolute refusal to ever lose. like, ever.

which is probably why this argument had already been going on for five minutes. and counting.

“hey, guys, stop.” you hear steve say, pretty far off, completely irrelevant to your fight.

“i just don’t get why you’d even talk about that! there’s nothing there! you don’t know anything!” you yell, furious.

“guys, hey! stop!” steve’s voice gets closer.

“well apparently i don’t know a lot of things, huh?” dustin laughs sarcastically.

“are you even listening to yourself!?” you shout.

“guys! shut the fuck up!” okay, now he yelled. that finally snaps you and dustin out of your argument bubble. “what is wrong with you two? seriously!” he scolds both of you. and somehow, yeah, you do feel scolded. like when your mom used to take away your dolls because you wouldn’t come down for dinner.

“whatever.” you and your brother say at the same time, crossing your arms and sinking back into your seats.

“see what you caused, steve?” robin rolls her eyes.

“w- what?” steve looks at her through the rearview mirror, genuinely confused.

after dropping robin and max off at their houses, you finally pull up to yours. hunting down missing people was way more exhausting than anyone would think.

“see you later, man.” steve turns to say goodbye to dustin, but dustin gets out and slams the door without even looking at him.

“god, what’s his problem?” steve whispers, rolling his eyes.

you just sigh. “i— i’m sorry, okay?” you close your eyes and sink into the seat. even then, you can feel him looking at you.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it. it’s adolescence, you know how they get.” he brushes it off easily.

you let out a small laugh. “not for that. for the… you know, the fight.” honestly, you feel a little embarrassed.

“oh, that? don’t worry about it either, okay? it doesn’t matter.” and once again, with a smile, he makes it seem like nothing.

he always does that. you never really understood it. how nothing ever seemed like a problem to him. how he lived so calmly. like he had infinite patience.

“listen… i think lately… i don’t know, he’s kind of jealous?” you try to explain.

“jealous?” he scoffs, like the idea is impossible.

“he’s my only brother. i’ve basically only ever had eyes for him my whole life, because it’s not like i’ve had a lot of friends. especially not guy friends. and you know… you and i got kind of… close these past few years. i think he’s scared you’ll replace him or something.” you explain what you think is going on.

and again, he looks understanding. always understanding. “like anyone could ever do that.” he smiles at you.

“i know…” you smile back. “but i don’t think he sees it that way.”

he looks out the window, a small smile forming, then turns back to you. “you and i got close?”

“shut up. seriously, shut up.” you roll your eyes while laughing. and for a moment, you share a few laughs.

“listen, i’ll fix it, okay?” he says, looking at you with confidence.

you look at him, confused. “fix… what exactly?”

“the dustin thing. i’ll handle it, don’t worry.” he rests his hand on your thigh and gives it a small squeeze, reassuring.

and all you can do is stare at him. his soft, brown, puppy-like eyes. the confidence behind them. how you’ve never felt alone since he walked into your life. everything his eyes seem to promise. and damn, what a promise.

you honestly had no idea what this thing between you and steve even was. it’s not like you’d kissed or confessed your love or anything dramatic like that. but there was something there. something you both knew about. something so delicate and precious that neither of you dared to touch it. maybe out of fear. maybe out of hope. either way, it stayed untouched. right there.

untouched sounds beautiful. even if it means living with uncertainty.

“thanks.” you finally say.

“no, thank you. you know, for saving my life.” he smiles.

“i don’t think he would’ve actually hurt you.” you laugh.

his hand still hasn’t left your leg. “you never know. thank god you were there with your deadly weapon.”

“alright, harrington, stop making fun of me.” you roll your eyes.

“i’m not!” yeah. he totally was.

you look at him, a little dazed, for a couple more seconds. “good night.” you lean in and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “thanks again.” then you get out of the car fast enough that he doesn’t even get the chance to form a sentence. exactly like dustin did earlier.

steve just sighs, a strange tingle lingering on his cheek.

damn it. what is it with the hendersons?

You chuck an olive at him, ignoring how anxious you suddenly feel. Is this a sign, some stupid sign you should talk to Steve? Ask him out, do something—anything— to make him look at you? After all, it's been years since your crush on him blossomed. And, he's no longer in high school and neither are you. Things have changed.

However, the more you think about it, the more you're positive Steve Harrington doesn't know you're Dustin's sister. He must not even remember that you exist. After all, there's no reason for him to remember you.

"You really should have told me sooner," your mom complains as she checks on the homemade chicken-pot-pie, "I don't think I made something someone like Mr. Harrington is used to." 

You look at your mom. From what you've heard from her, your mom and Steve's mom have a complex history. Apparently, the moment Steve's parents married, Steve's mom, who was your mom's best friend in high school, became incredibly snotty.

You wonder if Steve is like that as well.

"He's not like that," Dustin answers your internal question, whining. He jumps when he hears a clumsy thump on the door and then he grins. "I promise Steve isn't like that. You'll like him, Mom." Dustin pauses and turns around as he runs to the door. His grin widens and he sticks out his tongue at you. "I know you like him, y/n." 

Your cheeks burn up. "You little shit," you hiss angrily and follow behind him, "Just so you know, I don't—" your sentence dies as you see Dustin fling the door open. 

You pause as you stare in horror as Steve Harrington, dressed in his classic denim jacket, his hair looking wavy and smooth, is now standing in your doorway fist-bumping your fourteen-year-old brother with excitement. He's wearing a smile you have never seen on him. It's so genuine. 

The moment he sees you, it's his turn to pause.

"Hi," you sound a little squeaky, but you hope he doesn't notice. You think this is the first time you've spoken to him, which is ridiculous, and embarrassment washes over you. Dustin turns around and looks at you blankly. 

"Hello," Steve says. He's looking at you almost nervously. He's clearly embarrassed because he quickly runs his hand through his hair and clears his throat. You're pretty. He doesn't quite know how to process that Dustin has a sister, and that she's pretty. 

"This is my older sister, Y/n." Dustin says, pulling him inside and past you, "And Y/n, you already know Steve," your brother adds with a smirk, and you resist the urge to hit him over the head. As Steve's expression contorts into confusion, you frown. 

Of course, he wouldn't remember you.

Steve looks at you, his head tilting like a wounded puppy, and he can't help but think how stupid he is to have forgotten someone like you. He narrows his gaze, attempting to remember you. He snaps from his thoughts when he sees you glance at the roses in his hand. 

"Oh, they're for your mom," he says and holds them up. He hesitates and then takes a single one in his other hand. As smoothly as he can, he hands the lone rose to you. "And now one's for you." 

Your fingers touch, and you feel like you could puke. Steve Harrington is supposed to be an asshole. He's supposed to remind you he's not boyfriend material, that he sucks, that he's immature and shallow. However, all he's doing is making you like him again.

In fact, he's being so sweet that during dinner, he still compliments the slightly burnt pie, something that caused your mom to smile. 

"Since when are you friends with my fourteen-year-old brother?" You ask bluntly during dinner, picking at the chicken. You pause. You hadn't meant to sound too judgmental, but the room has gone silent.

"You wouldn't understand," Dustin hisses, sending you a sharp glare. 

Steve looks a little awkward, and he clears his throat. "It happened by accident, but Dustin's an amazing kid. He is the brother I never had. I like making sure he's doing okay." Steve smiles at Dustin, who looks a little scandalized by Steve calling him a kid. 

Your mom seems happy with the answer and says something about how Steve can be a good influence on her 'little Dusty,' and you laugh behind your napkin. The conversation continues naturally, and you notice that Steve is asking you a lot about yourself. You find yourself becoming shy under his gaze, and you hate it.

As soon as dinner is over, you hurry to put your dishes in the sink, and then, without even a proper goodbye, you sprint upstairs. 

You want to scream.

You fall onto your bed, wrapping your arms around your pillow and screaming into your pillow. You sigh and turn onto your back. Steve's smile is invading your mind and you feel seventeen all over again and the feeling is very unwelcome. You squeeze your eyes shut, cursing Dustin for being friends with Steve Harrington of all people. 

* * *

On Monday, it's your turn to pick up Dustin from school. You're a little early, so you take a detour from work to "Family Video".  The bell from the door rings as you pop the gum in your mouth. You look around. This place looks so empty.  

"Howdy there," A girl with short sandy hair asks, appearing from under the desk and forcing a smile as she leans her chin in her hand. She looks familiar, but you can't place her. "How may I assist you this afternoon?" 

You jump a little but smile. "Hi, I was wondering if you have Back To The Future?" 

The girl laughs, "The new one where Michael J. Fox almost fucks his mom?" She clasps her hand over her mouth comically, "Oopsies, spoilers." 

She then points to the back, her gaze flickering over you as if she also recognizes you somehow. "It should be over there in the Sci-Fi section, I think." 

You blink, deciding to ignore what she said about the movie. Dustin has been whining about how he missed the release in theaters, so you want to surprise him. As you turn, the girl calls out with amusement in her tone, "Oh, and if my idiot co-worker makes a move on you, ignore him: you're way too pretty for him." 

You laugh. "Okay, thanks," you say. You don't think about the girl's warning until you see her co-worker in question stocking the aisle beside the Sci-Fi section. Just great, you think as your palpitates in your chest. You seriously contemplate leaving, but you shake your head. That would be cowardly.

You only bite your cheek and pray Steve Harrington doesn't see you as you walk closer. 

"Y/n?" 

Shit.

You turn to him slowly, smiling a strained smile. "Oh, hi." It comes out louder than you wanted, and you want to die. Steve finishes up with the DVDs in his arms and then looks you up and down for a moment. 

"Cool converse," he compliments, his hand going behind his nape.

You stare at him. He's not wearing something particularly special, so you panic. "T-thanks, I like your hair."

"Thank you!" Steve beams at the compliment. He's smiling now, and you feel a sudden pull to smile too. "So, what are you lookin' for?" He asks nonchalantly, crossing his arms. 

"Oh, um, Back To The Future," you say and turn to look at the selection again. You narrow your gaze, concentrating as you skim through the various titles. Steve's eyes linger a little too long on your lips to be normal as you pull your lower one in between your teeth, and he clears his throat. 

"It's already a classic, isn't it?" he says, making some small talk. 

"Haven't seen it yet, Dustin and I missed the showings last year," you say, still reading the titles.  "I heard it's a little trippy," you chuckle, looking up at him for a moment. Steve sees your expression shift back to the same timid one he saw at dinner that evening, and he can't help but smile.

Something about you is different. It's special. 

Steve's heart pounds, and he thinks back to what Robin's been saying. It feels pathetically sentimental, but you seem to be exactly what he's looking for. No, in fact he knows it, he can feel it in his chest, like a low drumming he can't shake. 

"Have dinner with me?" He blurts out suddenly.

You snap your head up and look at him, "Excuse me?"

"Only if you want!" Steve adds, panicking now. Gosh, he's fumbling this already.  

"You want me to have dinner with you?" You repeat, unsure you heard him correctly.

"Yeah, if you'd like," he says, his eyes wide and confused. He looks so different from the King Steve you remember from high school. You crack a small smile, panicking inwardly. You need to play this cool. 

"Sure, I'd like that," you say and turn back to the DVDs, missing Steve's happy fist pump. "Ah, there it is." You pull out the Back To The Future DVD and look at Steve again. "Call me? I assume you have my home number?" 

"Yeah!" He nods, his cheeks flushed. He feels like a giddy schoolboy once more and you can't help the smile that graces your features.

Once you'd paid, and returned to your car to pick up Dustin, inside Robin smacked Steve over the head. "I said no flirting with the customers, dingus."  

"Ow," Steve sends Robin an annoyed look. "I haven't been! Her? She's different, okay?!"