#motd

wc: 1.2k

warnings: takes place in s4, friends-lovers, slow burn, angst/comfort, and my beautiful writing hehe.

summary: After everything has happened in Hawkins, reader begins distancing from everyone; overwhelmed with grief and unable to move on. But while everyone else seems to be rebuilding their lives, you isolate yourself and convince yourself that nobody notices, except Steve Harrington.

mari's note: i was listening to my most fav song ever 'drive' by the cars and i swear i feel like im living in a 80's movie listening to that song and omg i so happen to imagine steve too man hmm i wonder!!! fic time lol, seriously guys i cannot thank you enough for the love on my fics i acc love ya!!! <33 but nah in all seriousness i love this song and it is very much in need for a angsty steve fic so here u guys go!! also do u guys mind if dont add like "he said" or "she said" bc like lwk less to type but lmk if thats too confusing

masterlist!

The first time Steve realized something was wrong, it wasn't dramatic; no monsters, no earthquakes splitting Hawkins apart, no emergency radio calls.

You just stopped showing up. At first, nobody thought much of it, after everything that had happened, everyone was struggling. Some people threw themselves into work. Others spent all day sleeping. A few pretended everything was normal, but you disappeared; you stopped answering calls, you stopped coming to movie nights, you stopped responding to Robin's increasingly desperate attempts at making you laugh. And after two weeks, Steve couldn't ignore the knot growing in his stomach anymore.

"You've been staring at the phone for ten minutes."

Steve glanced up from behind the Family Video counter and saw that Robin was leaning against a shelf with her arms crossed.

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

"I was thinking."

"About her."

Steve sighed.

Robin smirked.

"Thought so."

The truth was, Steve had been thinking about you constantly. Every time the phone rang, every time the door opened, and every time he drove past your street. He kept expecting things to go back to normal; but they never did and he hated how helpless it made him feel. Because Steve Harrington was good at helping people. He could fight monsters, he could protect kids, he could throw himself directly into danger without thinking twice. But this? Watching someone he cared about slowly disappear? He had no idea what to do.

────୨ৎ────

That night, he found himself parked outside your house. The porch light was off, your bedroom window glowed faintly. So you were home., you just weren't letting anyone in. Steve stared at the house for a long moment before climbing out of the car. The gravel crunched beneath his shoes, his stomach twisted, and then he knocked.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

Silence.

A third knock.

Then..

"Go away."

Your voice.

Weak.

Exhausted.

Steve's heart sank.

"No."

A pause.

"Steve."

"Yep."

"I said go away."

"Not happening."

Another pause.

Then,

"Why?"

The question caught him off guard because he couldn't exactly tell you the truth, couldn't tell you he'd spent the last month worrying about you, couldn't tell you that every time he thought about you sitting alone in this house his chest hurt, and definitely couldn't tell you he'd fallen in love with you somewhere between surviving the apocalypse and arguing over terrible movies. So instead he said,

"Because somebody's gotta make sure you're still eating."

Silence.

Then the door opened.

Steve's breath caught.

You looked exhausted; dark circles shadowed your eyes, your shoulders slumped beneath an oversized sweatshirt, and somehow that hurt more than any injury he'd ever seen. Because this wasn't physical, this was something deeper; something he couldn't punch or something he couldn't fix.

"Hey," he said softly.

You looked away.

"Hey."

For a second neither of you spoke.

Then Steve held up the paper bag he'd brought.

"Burgers."

You blinked.

"What?"

"You haven't answered your phone in two weeks."

"Three."

"That's worse."

A tiny smile appeared.

Just for a second.

But Steve saw it and suddenly he felt like maybe the drive over had been worth it.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

You hesitated.

Then stepped aside.

"Fine."

The house felt quiet..too quiet and Steve hated it immediately. The television was off, the curtains were closed and the air felt heavy; like sadness had settled into every corner. You sat on the couch while Steve dropped the food on the coffee table. For several minutes, neither of you said anything. Finally Steve broke the silence.

"Want to tell me what's going on?"

"No."

"Okay."

Another pause.

Then,

"I'm tired."

Steve looked over; you were staring at the floor. Not crying, not even angry, just exhausted.

"I'm so tired, Steve."

The words barely rose above a whisper and somehow they hurt more than if you'd screamed because he understood.

Not exactly.

But enough.

Enough to recognize the look in your eyes; the kind that came from carrying too much for too long and the kind that appeared after surviving things nobody should have to survive.

"I know."

You laughed bitterly.

"No, you don't."

Steve looked down.

Maybe he didn't.

Not completely.

But he knew what it felt like to wake up in the middle of the night covered in sweat; to hear sounds that weren't there and to wonder why everyone else seemed to be moving forward while you felt stuck. So he said the only honest thing he could.

"Maybe not."

Your eyes lifted.

"But I know what it's like to feel alone."

The room fell silent like something shifted; not fixed, not healed, just shifted. And sometimes that was enough.

────୨ৎ────

After that night, Steve kept showing up; sometimes with food, sometimes with movies, and sometimes with absolutely no plan whatsoever. At first you barely talked, but he stayed and eventually, little by little, you started talking again.

You started leaving the house, you started laughing. But not all the time, not even most of the time, but enough. Enough for Steve to remember what your smile looked like and enough for hope to return.

Then one night, months later, you found yourselves driving nowhere in particular. The windows were down, the summer air rushed through the car. A song played quietly from the radio. For once, neither of you felt the need to fill the silence. Steve glanced over, you looked peaceful and for a moment he thought about how close he'd come to losing you.

Not to monsters, not to death, just to grief; to loneliness, to the weight of everything and the realization scared him. Because he couldn't imagine a world where you weren't there.

"Steve?"

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

You looked out the window.

"Why didn't you give up on me?"

The question hit him harder than expected, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel because there were a hundred answers; because he cared, because you mattered, because seeing you hurt felt like someone squeezing his heart, because he loved you. But saying those words felt terrifying. So he took a breath, then another and finally.

"Because I couldn't."

You turned toward him.

"What does that mean?"

Steve laughed nervously.

"It means..."

He swallowed.

"It means I care about you."

Your expression softened.

"Steve—"

"No, let me finish before I chicken out."

You smiled.

Steve's heart nearly stopped.

Then he said the thing he'd been carrying for months.

"The truth is, I think I fell in love with you a long time ago."

Silence.

The longest silence of his life, every nerve in his body screamed. Then suddenly you laughed, not because it was funny but because you were crying.

Happy tears.

Relieved tears.

The kind that came after holding something inside for too long.

"You idiot."

Steve blinked.

"What?"

"I've been in love with you for months."

For a second neither of you moved.

Then Steve pulled the car to the side of the road.

"Seriously?"

You nodded.

"Seriously."

The grin that spread across his face was unstoppable and before either of you could overthink it, you leaned forward and kissed him.

Soft.

Warm.

Real.

When you finally pulled away, Steve rested his forehead against yours. The stars glittered overhead, the radio continued playing quietly, and for the first time in a very long time, everything felt okay.

Not perfect, the scars were still there, the memories still existed. Healing wasn't finished, maybe it never would be, but neither of you had to face it alone anymore and as Steve started the car again and reached for your hand, one thought settled comfortably in his chest.

creds4divider:

So, this is Gary Lineker:

He's known for a fair few things over here. He was a very good (association) footballer, playing for England in the 1986 and 1990 World Cups, winning the Golden Boot in 1986, and managing to never get a single yellow card in his playing career. He played for Leicester City, Everton, Barcelona, and Tottenham, before finishing his career in Japan. But if you aren't in your mid 30s, you probably know actually know him him for a couple of other things. The first is the role of spokesman for another Leicester icon, Walkers Crisps (which are sort of equivalent to Lays, but hit different), as pictured above. Despite being a notably clean player, he used to play a cheeky serial crisp thief. I don't think he's done that for well over a decade, but his ads were on the telly a lot when I was a kid and it's a bit like learning that the hamburglar was an incredibly clean (American) football player or something.

The second thing Gary is widely known for is having presented Match of the Day, the big football program on the BBC, the sort-of state broadcaster, since 1999. He is, incidentally, very well paid for this (though with a consensus that he could get even more if he went to one of the non-free-to-view broadcasters because he is very good at the job). He also has a twitter account. And political opinions. So, the UK government has got itself dead set upon doing heinous stuff that will totally somehow work to prevent people who want to come to the UK making the perilous crossing of the Channel (between England and France). By heinous, I mean "openly advertise that they won't attempt to protect victims of modern slavery" stuff. It's very obviously using a legal hammer to victimise a marginalised group of people in order to win votes. And, uh, I should clarify that by "legal" I mean "using the passage of laws" - the policy is, in addition to all the other ways it's awful, probably incompatible with the Human Rights Act and the UK's international law obligations. Gary, top lad that he is, objected to this. On Tuesday 7th March, he made a quote Tweet of a video of the Home Secretary, Suella Braverman, bigging up the policy, he wrote "Good heavens, this is beyond awful.". This got a bunch of backlash from extremely right-wingers, and then he made the tweet that really got him in trouble (with right-wingers): "There is no huge influx. We take far fewer refugees than other major European countries. This is just an immeasurably cruel policy directed at the most vulnerable people in language that is not dissimilar to that used by Germany in the 30s, and I’m out of order?".

Ghostly Silkmoth

Ceranchia apollina

From the saturniidae family. They can be found in Madagascar.