#new writ

you raise an eyebrow. “what, ditch the group?”

“not ditch,” he says quickly, a smile tugging at his mouth. “just… take a lap. kill some time. we’ve got plenty of time, plus i have my walkie in case they need us” he says playfully. 

you hesitate, eyes flicking back to the group. to the way johnathan barely glances your way anymore. to how nancy  doesn’t look at him at all.

“yeah,” you say before you can overthink it. “okay.”

steve’s smile widens, relieved. “cool. yeah. cool.”

he opens the passenger door for you like it’s second nature. you slide in, heart doing something traitorous in your chest as he closes it gently, like you’re fragile. like this moment is.

the car smells like him—clean laundry, a hint of cologne, something warm and familiar. the radio hums softly when he turns the key, some late-night rock station crackling through the speakers.

as he pulls away from the curb, you catch a glimpse of the group in the side mirror. someone notices you leaving. someone doesn’t.

the streetlights blur together as hawkins stretches out in front of you, quieter the farther you go. steve rolls the windows down halfway, cool air rushing in, tangling your hair.

“hope this is okay,” he says, glancing at you. “i just figured… it might be less weird if we weren’t all just standing there.”

you huff a soft laugh. “less weird than our exes dating each other?”

he winces. “yeah. that.”

another pause. not awkward. just full.

“for what it’s worth,” he adds, eyes on the road, “i’m really glad you said yes.”

your chest tightens. “yeah, me too.”

he takes a turn you don’t expect, heading out of town.

“where are we going?” you ask.

“you’ll see,” he says, grin slipping back into place.

the road winds upward, trees thinning until the town lights glow below you like scattered stars. steve pulls off near the hills overlooking hawkins, parking where the grass is flattened from years of people doing exactly this.

he hops out first, jogging around to your side to open the door again. “gentlemanly habit,” he says when you smile at him.

“i’m not complaining.”

the night air is cooler up here. quieter. the world feels far away in a way that makes your shoulders finally drop.

steve pops the trunk and pulls out a small blanket, a paper bag, and two sodas. he freezes when he realizes you’re watching him.

“i swear this wasn’t, like, planned,” he says quickly. “i just—keep this stuff back here sometimes.”

“sometimes,” you echo, amused.

he shrugs. “you never know.”

he spreads the blanket out, smoothing it with his hands like he wants it perfect. you sit beside him, knees almost touching. almost.

the paper bag holds sandwiches from the gas station on main. nothing fancy. still warm.

“i know it’s not much,” he says.

you shake your head. “it’s perfect.”

and it is. because it’s quiet. because it’s just you and him and the hum of the town below. because no one else is here to complicate it.

you eat slowly, talking about nothing and everything. work. music. how weird it is seeing familiar places at night. steve makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, and you don’t remember the last time that happened so easily.

eventually, conversation drifts. the space between you shrinks without either of you noticing. your shoulder brushes his arm. his knee nudges yours.

“can i ask you something?” steve says, voice softer now.

you nod. “yeah.”

“does this feel… strange to you?” he asks. “us, i mean.”

you consider it. the obvious answer would be yes. the complicated answer is something else entirely.

“it feels… new,” you say carefully. “and a little scary. but not wrong.”

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “yeah. that’s—yeah. that’s it.”

steve watches you, something hopeful flickering across his face. “we should probably head back soon.”

“yeah,” you agree. neither of you moves.

the silence shifts. heavier now. charged.

steve turns toward you, bracing one arm behind him on the blanket. “can i—”

you don’t let him finish.

your hand finds his wrist first. grounding. then his jaw. warm. familiar, even though it shouldn’t be yet.

his breath stutters when you lean in.

“you okay?” he whispers, forehead brushing yours.

you nod, heart hammering. “yeah.”

the kiss starts soft. hesitant. like you’re both afraid this might be crossing some invisible line. his lips are warm, gentle, like he’s trying not to rush it.

then something gives.

his hand slides to your waist, fingers curling into your jacket. you kiss him deeper, slower, feeling the way he melts into it. the way he sighs against your mouth.

it’s not rushed. it’s not desperate. it’s intentional.

his thumb brushes your hip, sending a spark straight up your spine. you shift closer without thinking, knees fully touching now. his other hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, grounding you.

you break apart only when you need air, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.

“we should stop,” he murmurs, even as he doesn’t pull away.

“yeah,” you agree, not moving.

he laughs quietly, breathless. “you’re kind of dangerous, you know that?”

you smile. “takes one to know one.”

he kisses you again. deeper this time. hungrier. still careful. his hand slides into your hair, gentle but firm, like he wants to remember exactly how this feels.

when you finally pull back, your lips are swollen, your heart racing. steve looks at you like you’ve just changed his entire world.

“okay,” he says, clearing his throat. “yeah. we should definitely head back now before i forget how to act normal.”

you laugh, standing and brushing off the blanket. “good plan.”

as you walk back to the car, his hand finds yours. casual. natural. like it’s always been there.

down below, hawkins waits. the group waits. reality waits.

but for now, in this small pocket of night, it’s just the two of you—and the promise of something that’s only just beginning.

—————————

a few weeks is all it takes for something to become a habit.

not a bad one. not a dangerous one. just… inevitable.

it started small. stolen glances across the room. steve’s hand brushing yours when he passes by. the way you both somehow always end up walking a few steps behind the group, like gravity is gently pulling you together and you’re both pretending not to notice.

and then there’s the van.

the WSQK van is not romantic by any stretch of the imagination. it smells faintly like old coffee, dust, and whatever cleaner someone used once in 1974 and never again. the seats are cracked vinyl, the floor permanently sticky in places no one can explain.

but it’s private.

and apparently, that’s all you need.

the first time it happens, it’s an accident. you’re both sent out to grab something from the van—steve volunteering before anyone else can, you following because you’re already standing. the door slides shut behind you with a heavy thud, sealing you in.

there’s a second of silence.

then steve looks at you, really looks at you, and smiles in that way that feels like a secret.

“we’ve got, like… two minutes,” he says quietly.

you don’t even answer. you just lean closer.

after that, it becomes your place.

any chance you get—five minutes before a meeting, ten minutes after everyone else heads inside, a quick break when no one’s paying attention—you end up pressed together in the back of that van. kissing slow and deep, steve’s hands warm at your waist, your fingers hooked into the collar of his jacket.

it never goes further than that. not because you don’t want it to—because you both do—but because there’s something about the way this feels that makes you want to keep it careful. 

like if you rush it, it might shatter.

so you kiss. you smile. you laugh softly into each other’s mouths.

you learn the little things.

like how steve always hums without realizing it when he’s happy. how he pulls back just enough to look at you, like he’s checking that this is real. how he rests his forehead against yours afterward, breathing slow, grounding himself.

and how he always, always opens the van door first, peeking out like a lookout before holding his hand out for you.

“ladies first,” he says every time.

you roll your eyes. you take his hand anyway.

by the time he suggests ice cream, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“come on,” steve says one afternoon, keys already in hand. “please tell me you’re not gonna say no to ice cream.”

you tilt your head. “depends.”

he gasps. dramatic. offended. “on what?”

“on if you’re buying.”

he grins. “i was already planning on it.”

———

the drive to the ice cream parlor is easy. comfortable. the windows are down, music low, the sun starting to dip just enough to turn everything gold. 

steve taps the steering wheel in time with the song, glancing at you every so often like he still can’t believe you’re sitting there.

“what?” you ask when you catch him.

he shrugs. “nothing. just… you’re really pretty.”

heat crawls up your neck. “you’re really bad at being subtle.”

he laughs. “yeah. i know.”

the parlor is busy when you get there—families, kids from school, the bell over the door chiming nonstop. it’s loud and sticky and bright in a way that feels distinctly hawkins.

steve orders first, leaning over the counter like he’s known the guy scooping the ice cream his whole life. you watch him talk with his hands, animated, charming without trying.

“what’re you getting?” he asks.

“oh strawberry for sure,” you say without hesitation.

“of course you are,” he replies, like that tells him everything he’s ever needed to know about you.

you both end up outside, sitting on the low brick wall, ice cream sweating in your hands. steve’s knee presses against yours, casual and warm.

“this might be my favorite thing we’ve done,” he says between bites.

you smile. “the van’s gonna be offended.”

“the van knows what it did,” he says seriously, then grins when you laugh.

you’re mid-spoonful when you feel it—that shift in the air. that sense of being watched.

you look up first.

and freeze.

“oh my god,” dustin says, standing a few feet away, eyes wide, mouth half-open. “what.”

lucas stands beside him, brows furrowed, glancing between you and steve like he’s trying to solve a math problem he didn’t study for.

steve nearly drops his cone.

“hey,” he says, way too casual. “uh. guys.”

dustin’s eyes flick to the way steve’s arm is clearly resting behind you on the wall. to the way you’re leaning into him without even realizing it.

“hold on,” dustin says, holding up a finger. “no. wait. no.”

lucas squints. “are you two…?”

there’s a beat.

steve looks at you, a silent question in his eyes.

he smiles, soft and unguarded, and turns back to them. “yeah.”

dustin stares. “you? and you?”

“yep.”

“since when?”

steve shrugs. “uhh..” his voice going up an octave, “a few weeks ago,” he saws awkwardly, 

“i thought you weren’t her type,” dustin blurts out.

you snort before you can stop yourself.

steve looks personally wounded. “wow. okay. rude.”

lucas scratches his head. “i just—wait. is that why you’ve both been disappearing all the time?”

“probably,” you say.

lucas’s eyes widen. “oh.”

“oh,” dustin echoes, realization hitting him full force. “OH.”

he looks between you again, then breaks into a grin. “wow. i did NOT see that coming.”

steve tilts his head, slightly offended, “henderson you know? i taught you everything you know,” he glares playfully, 

dustin shakes his head. he pauses, then smiles softer. “you guys look… happy.”

steve’s expression shifts, something warm and earnest settling in. “yeah. we are.”

lucas nods. “cool. cool, cool. makes sense.”

“it does?” you ask.

“yeah,” he says. “now that i think about it. like… a lot of sense.”

dustin sighs dramatically. “great. another couple.”

steve laughs. “relax. we’re still cool.”

“better be,” dustin says, then grins. “so. can i get a bite of that?”

you hold your spoon out without thinking. steve watches the whole thing, smiling like his heart might actually burst.

later, when you’re walking back to the car, steve’s hand slips into yours. natural. easy.

“you okay?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say. “are you?”

he nods. “yeah. kinda feels nice not hiding.”

you squeeze his hand. “yeah.”

and for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel like you’re sneaking.