#punk reader

Steve threw a quirked brow your way while taking a sip from his half-empty, seashell pink wine glass. "Seriously? Even her voice?"

You gasped at him. "How dare you? Her voice is cute! And just wait ‘til you hear her sing ‘Suddenly, Seymour’, Ellen Greene kills! Just a little taste of that hidden power and then poof! Back to the mousiness. Incredible."

The two of you were lounging on the couch, part of the way through Little Shop of Horrors. At this point, you both had your feet kicked up on your coffee table, still cleared off from pizza work earlier that evening. Steve had gotten up at some point to pop some popcorn, which now sat in a bowl jammed between one of your and one of Steve’s legs, the only thing putting any distance between you. Your arms were still stretched out on the back of the couch, the hand closest to Steve occasionally brushing against his neck or catching a stray hair when he turned to look at you. When it happened the first couple of times, you had thrown apologetic looks his away, but he hadn’t seemed to notice—or if he did, he wasn’t bothered.

Eventually, when it happened again, you had noticed the smallest of smiles twitching at the corners of Steve’s mouth, although he kept looking pointedly forward. After that, you stopped worrying about it.

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes at you now. "Didn't take you for a musical nerd."

That made you throw your head back in an unapologetic cackle. "What, did the style revolving around a music genre and culture not clue you in? The three years of choir maybe? Music being a big part of film production, which is something I’m a nerd about? Interest in music doesn’t just stop at a different genre of it. Well… maybe for some but—"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Steve threw his hands up in surrender, but the smile he was wearing was sweet. He could hem and haw and roll his eyes all he damn pleased, but you knew that Steve loved being a confidant of his friends’ interests, even when he didn’t know much about them. Especially when he didn’t know much about them.

A scene of Audrey II popped up on the TV screen, the plant having grown exponentially since its last appearance onscreen. Your eyes lit up as you pointed at it, leaning forward with a giddiness that only punk concerts and explaining about film creation could elicit from you. "Did you know that she’s all puppetry? Onstage and in the film. They made a bunch of different puppets for her—obviously—and there’s a team of puppeteers piloting her. The reason she looks so clean is because they’d shoot shots at different frame rates to make her movements look faster."

Steve leaned forward as well. His was more in confusion, though, as he tilted his head and squinted at the screen. "I don’t see anybody."

"They’re most likely hidden in the set," you explained. "Under the floor, in Twoey’s pot, behind the walls and such. Stuff like fishing line probably helps too. Skinny, transparent, thus harder to see on film after the editing is done."

"Huh." Steve frowned and nodded in a way that gave off severe dad energy—that said he didn’t get it but was glad that you were enjoying yourself. He leaned back into the couch, taking the time to take over the back of it with his arms since yours were no longer there. "Cool."

You grinned at him. It was mostly due to the film talk but, as you looked at him, you were also thoroughly pleased to see him so comfortable and lax in your home. The lighting really did do him justice, casting him in a warm glow that brought out the brown of his hair and eyes, the yellow of his shirt. The stained glass lamps casted various shapes of color around the room, some of which landed across Steve’s form in an incredibly artful way. For a moment you wished you had a camera to take a picture of him before ultimately pushing the thought aside. A camera would never do the scene justice.

A breeze from the cracked window above the TV pulled you out of your reverie with a shiver. Careful not to disturb the mood, you quietly got up and scooted around the other side of the coffee table to avoid Steve having to move his legs. You closed the window by the TV, then moved to shut the small panel window on your front door as well. You felt Steve’s eyes follow you all the while.

You turned to him, waving a hand. "You keep watching, I’ve seen this in theaters and the one from the 60s. Finally cooled off a bit, gonna go grab a jacket."

"Do you just want mine?" Steve asked. Clearly getting comfy to the point of not wanting to move, he stretched out with one lazy arm until a finger could snag the jacket from its place discarded over a nearby chair. He shifted the arm in your direction, holding the article of dark blue clothing out to you.

You raised an eyebrow. "You're not cold?"

Steve shrugged, then nodded to the vest you were wearing. "Trade ya?"

You snorted but found yourself already tugging the denim off your body. "It’s a vest. Not particularly warm."

Steve shrugged again, smiling. He looked so cozy burrowed into your burnt yellow couch. "Can give me one of your hoodies then. What about that one that you did for Halloween last year? You replaced the sleeves with a different one and did a, uh… bleach? Dye? Skull design thing on it?"

"Why don’t you wear your own jacket?" You didn’t know why you were being contrarian. You really wanted to wear his jacket. You really wanted to give him something of yours that you could see him snuggled into. You pulled your vest off.

You hadn’t paid much attention to how the fit of your tank top’s sleeves hung a bit lower on your body than normal, exposing the bit of scarring closest to your underarms. You only noticed when, while your arm was raised to toss the vest aside, Steve’s eyes dropped to stare at them.

You stood there, frozen, gauging him. You could tell right away that there wasn’t a hint of meanness or even judgment in his eyes. It was mostly curiosity, like he didn’t understand why you did it—he’d already said so, he didn’t—although you could see a hint of sadness there too.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You questioned quietly after a few too-silent moments had passed.

Steve’s eyes immediately flicked up to meet yours. He looked like a kid having been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Still, he nodded toward the scar, still pink and new. "Was it painful?"

You shrugged, rolled your head a bit in thought. In the meantime, you tossed your vest on the chair and snagged Steve’s jacket from him. You pulled it on, the soft fabric immediately encasing your bare arms in warmth and the smell of cologne and hairspray.

You said, "The procedure itself? Nah, I was knocked out. Probably too knocked out, actually. They kept me overnight to make sure I was waking up proper because they had a hard time getting me to wake up to take my meds. The recovery was kinda rough, though. I didn’t do the opiates, just basic painkillers, for obvious reasons. And didn't really have anybody to stay with me, so I—"

"You should’ve called me." Steve’s voice sounded tight. You could tell he was trying to keep sounding nonchalant, but the pain in his eyes was telling. "I would’ve come. Robin too, maybe. Make it a road trip to the city, could’ve been fun."

Your cheeks warmed under his intense, long-lashed stare. You rolled your eyes anyway. "Oh, yeah, have you take a week or so off work and do a six-hour drive just to take care of me. Not just you, Robin too! That would’ve gone over well with your jobs."

"Your safety is more important than my job," Steve said simply, sternly. You weren’t sure he had even blinked in the past few minutes, his dark eyes trained on you as he waved a dismissive hand at the idea of picking his job over being with you. "Especially Family Video. Replaceable. Easy. Wouldn’t even have to think about it. You’re not, you know."

Your next breath came out heavy. Your skin felt itchy and far too warm. The entire trailer felt like it was heating up to the point that you were briefly concerned you had left the stove on. You knew that wasn’t the case, though. It was just you. It was just Steve.

"Yeah, well," you mumbled, "everything turned out okay. Here I am. But… thanks. ‘Ll keep that in mind. Hang tight, I’ll grab that hoodie."

Steve’s eyes burned holes in your back all the way down the hall.

~~~~~

Steve really had no business looking as cute as he did cozied up in one of your sweatshirts. Rumpled hair that he’d given up on as the night has gone on. Nose tucked close to the collar, hands stuffed comfortably into the sleeves. Sleepy, half-lidded eyes, but if he had any desire to go home, he didn’t make you aware of it. 

That sweatshirt in particular was one of your cooler projects, in your humble opinion. Originally an entirely black sweatshirt that you had worn to the point of thinning and fading to an ugly brown over the years, you had broken out the dye and dyed it back to its original rich color. Then, probably counter-intuitively, you had also broken out the bleach and bleach-dyed a messy skull design into the sweatshirt’s front; the back received an anatomically correct skeletal back pattern. The sleeves, too long anyway and beginning to fray, you had decided to replace with those from a soft orange sweater you had thrifted. Any patching needed was done in the rest of the sweater’s material—in a series of fun, Halloween-y shapes, like pumpkins and bones—as well as reinforcing the sweatshirt’s thinning body from the inside. It had been one piece of a last-minute Halloween costume puzzle, black jeans and boots bleach-dyed or painted with similar bony patterns and a cheap skeleton mask Joyce Beyers let you snag from her shop for a single buck as the only sale of the night, after Steve and Robin invited you to party-hop with them. You had quickly gotten bored out of your mind with the parties themselves, but your favorite duo’s company was always a joy. 

You were over at the TV again, popping out Little Shop of Horrors and putting Gremlins in. Echoing Steve’s question about the first movie of the night, you asked, "What’d you think about Little Shop of Horrors?"

"Well, that puppet can sing," Steve said, his response a bit delayed in his lazy state. "You were right, the puppeti-ng is really cool at the end there."

You hummed in agreement as you stood up and shuffled back to the couch, tucking your hands into the pockets of Steve’s jacket. "'Mean Green Mother From Outerspace' and 'Feed Me' are the best songs in it. Levi Stubbs."

"So…" Steve ventured after a moment. His eyes drifted over to you suspiciously, causing you to break out in a sneaky smile. "Gonna tell me what we’re watching now?"

"A Robin recommendation?" You offered.

Steve’s eyes narrowed. "What did she do?"

Your smile widened as Gremlins began to roll. Throwing your hands up in surrender as Steve’s glare turned severe, you said, "Her note said, and I quote, ‘Steve will be crawling all over you’ followed by a cute little heart. I had to know what that means, Stevie. Simply had to."

Steve was now a statue, all taut and stony. 

"Steve," you tried after a moment, "do the weird little fluffballs… make you horny?"

Steve blanched, choked a breath, and you cackled in response. He immediately went onto the defense—"What? No! What the hell?"—before your laughing clued him in and he went back to glaring at you. "You’re joking."

You snorted and pretended to wipe a tear from your eyes. "Yeah, no shit, I’m kidding. So, what, not puppets, clearly, but animatronics get you a little spooked?" 

In his mind, Steve was losing arbitrary cool points by the second, that goofy standard of his that he felt made him worthy of existing in the world. You could see it in the way he was getting increasingly flustered, shaking his head and waving his hands around like he could fight off the—loser allegations? You didn’t know. He was wrong, of course. Cool points didn't count past high school, and Steve Harrington was a dork. There just was no fighting it. He was an awkward, lovable, sometimes-too-handsome-for-his-own-good dork. 

While you looked on like a pleased cat after it had pushed a vase off a shelf, Steve pointed a dangerous finger in your direction. "No, listen, listen—"

Your hands flung up as you laughed again. "I’m listening!"

Steve went on, "I can do no eyes. I can do many eyes. What I cannot do is a singular pair of weirdly human, robotic eyes on a… not… human… thing. Okay?" 

"So it’s the eyes?" 

"Eyes and— and, like… the movements!" Steve continued to flail around, this time trying to mimic a robotic slowness. So, it was animatronics.

"You don’t even like Gizmo?" You moved your hands close together and held them up, peeking at Steve through them. "He’s just a little dude. Looks kinda like a chihuahua. Or a baby."

"I like both dogs and babies!" Steve hunched further into himself as the little Mogwai in question finally made its first appearance onscreen. "That is not a baby."

You were still thoroughly amused—what an incredible fact to learn about Steve, of all people—but you were ultimately sympathetic to his plight. You moved to the edge of the couch, ready to move to action if he willed it. "Want me to turn it off? I have an ass-load of movies in my room we can pick from instead. Or you can head home if you want, it is getting pretty late—"

"No!" Steve said, a little too quickly and a little more desperate than he’d intended. It hung in the air for a moment as the two of you stared at each other, your faces growing progressively redder. It may have been the first time during this entire night that you both acknowledged the tension, albeit nonverbally. 

Steve broke contact first. He took a deep breath and rolled his head and shoulders like he was preparing for a fight, then looked forward to glare at the TV. "I can handle it."

You finally glance up when he huffs, sketchbook forgotten as you catch sight of a new gash along his chest.

He waves off your attempt to look at the area.

"'S fine, luv. Just a scratch."

"Just a - for the love of - ugh!"

You drag him onto the couch as you brush past, a quiet laugh meeting your ears as you rummage through the medicine cabinet around the corner.

"It's really not that 'orrible!"

Even with his protesting, he shrugs his jacket off with a wince, pulling the top of his suit up so you can access the newest wound on his torso.

He can vaguely hear you scolding him, telling him that the city needs him to be less wreck less, but he has one little, uninterrupted train of thought:

This is NOT how he wanted this to go.

The original plan was simple: show if like he'd done a time or twenty, tell you that he trusts you enough for something, then wham! Mask off!

But no. Here he was, shirtless on your couch, shaking in an attempt to stay still for your caring hands to work on him.

Still..

It had to be salvageable.

"-and without you, Osborne would've gotten his filthy grip into our movement, but NO, you were there to stop him -"

"How long are you planning to repeat yourself?"

You sighed, and he winced internally.

Okay. So not like that.

"I'm just worried about you, y'know?"

He nodded gently. "I can tell. Pretty obvious, actually."

You rolled your eyes, going back to work. "Yeah, well. You're our city's hero. Cheesy, yeah, but it's true."

He sucked in a quiet breath. "Yeah? If I'm the city's hero, then you're mine."

You look up at him, speechless. And he grins, hand coming to the bottom of his mask.

Plan - back on track.

"Cheesy, yeah. But it's true."

You're still staring, more in awe now, as he removes his spiked mask. He watches your eyes flicker from his coils to his multiple piercings, lingering momentarily on his lip before meeting his eyes. He's still grinning cheekily as he leans forward, stifling a groan as his newly tended wound shifts.

"Wow.."

He barely hears the word, instead feeling it roll across his chin from where you're kneeling in front of him on the couch, and his smile widens.

"That's what I thought when I saw you."

And he knows you were already hooked - everyone is, he's heard - but now you're just staring, taking him in, and he feels.. loved.

It's odd, after everything he's been through. But he can't help but revel in it, hand coming forward to cradle your cheek.

"Are we.. wow."

He leans forward further, straining against his gash, but sighs when you push him back upright before sitting next to him on the couch.

"Don't strain that."

It's crosser than he expected, but he can't help but chuckle. "Whatever you say."

"Doctors orders."

You lean forward, barely, and he follows suit. The new angle is more comfortable anyways.

"I don't like taking orders."

You know.

"What about.. significant other's suggestion?"

He leans forward further, hand coming back up to hold you.

"I could do that."

-----

Virginia couldnt sleep.

The buzzing of the red,neon sign was deafening. It wasnt even raining,and yet it was cloudy and lightless. Holding on to her octopus plushie,she tosses And turns in bed. The tangled blankets wrap and twist around her like a dress.

And then...pat. pat. Pat.

She opens her eyes,confused. She lays on her back and sees the way pebbles hit her glass door and down to her balcony. "What the hell?" she thought as she sat up slowly "Who is it at this hour?"

--Viiirge!-- Came the voice of somebody she knew somewhat well. She groans and lays back down with annoyance.

-- (Y/n)!!!! --She yelled.

--Open up!! (Y/n) (L/N) was one of Virginia's college companions. She'd met them on a group project, them being the only one that actually went up to her to ask to work with her. Until now they've been something akin to a friendly fly. Sometimes it bothered her,other times it was heart warming. Virginia wraps a blanket around her and goes to her balcony. She sees her friend, dressed in their ripped up pants and flashy vest,big boots and messy hair. (Y/n) beams a big smile at her,waving at her.

--What do you want? It's two am. --She grumbled,looking at them with annoyance and exhaustion.

--Jus' to see you!.

--You saw me, go away. --C'mon virge! -- (Y/n) complained.-- I got soda! and warm popcorn! A few seconds of silence go by. Not tense, just the sense of resignation when your friend convinces you to do something stupid.

--Give me ten minutes. --Virginia answered, and went back inside to change and get ready. After almost ten minutes,she goes down to where her friend was waiting. She looks at them and says--Well? --Not here!, C'mon-- (Y/n) grabs her hand and drags her along through the streets, Through alleways, through less crowded streets. Virginia knows her friend wouldnt put her in danger like this so she simply doesnt fight it. The sky above began to clear, shinning with stars. Milton-Haven didnt have that much light contamination, so you could see so many shinning dots above. It wasnt too cold, seeing as spring was starting to set in. Her friend stopped here and there to pick wildflowers that grew on the pavement.

--Why..?--Virginia took the gift. Her hands brushing agains the gloved ones of her friend.

--You're my friend-- (Y/n) never met her eye, or looked at her face. They had made a bracelet for her to wear, so they could look at that instead of where she was unconfortable. -- I can find more if you dont like these ones. I can keep 'em and dry em.

She smiled just a little, supressing the giggles that came up from her heart. Warmth spreads across her. -- No,these are okay. Thank you. i'm just..not used to it.

--Then i'll have to get you more flowers more often!

Now less reluctant,Virginia follows her friend with a tiny smile as she ties up her hair, and sets the flowers between her locks. She's guided to the rooftop of an abandoned house. It's a nice view of Milton Haven, and the lighthouse was one and shinning.

Both sit together over a blanket (Y/n) had brought in their pin and patch filled bag. They huddle closer and the soda and popcorn is shared. The taste is sweet, mixed with the coke that the cool metal of the cans held.

--You can see the whole town from here--Virginia whispered in awe.-- Hey,look. The lighthouse is on. Its so pretty. Allen's been taking good care of it.

--Hes really sweet,actually --(Y/n) said-- He's just awkward. But he means well.

--I still feel bad for Dave punching him. In hindsight..

--I can give him your apology. I'm going to see him in a few days. I always volunteer to help him out, that lighthouse is bigger than it looks.

Virginia nodds,and leans on her friend a little. --If- If you dont mind.

--How could i?

Theres a brief moment of silence, where humor laces Virginia's mind as she thinks her words. She looks at her friend,mindful of the spikes in the vest they wear. Her friend meets her gaze but for a moment before their eyes derail to the bracelet.

--You must be the nicest punk i've ever met.

--We get bad press --They laugh-- Being kind is punk. --They snuggle closer, putting their head ontop of hers-- Y'know, I got gossip for you.

--Oh?

--Y'know the new park ranger?-- (Y/n) asked,virginia hesitated-- Well, theres a new park ranger,I've seen him be buddy-buddy with one of the Castro kids. Laz's sister. She's been goin' around the park now that university is almost over.

Virginia snickers-- What do you make of it? --I dont know but i'll keep you updated.

Few hours go by,quiet chatter fills the space. Talks about the Minos Quarry, the gossip on the street. They Wonder if Downtown Dionysus,the only respectable bar in town, was open. "Maybe it is,full of people surely. With this weather" Virginia argued. "Yeah but its a week day, who's drinking on a week day?" her friend answered.

As four AM hit the clock, Dawn coming soon in just two more hours, (Y/n) added one more thing before they take her home.

--I'll always be here for you, virge. I know we aint exactly close. But i'm here, for whenever you need me.

Virginia sighed, and nodded with comfort and warmth in her soul. For a moment the past didnt exist, nor the dread that began to hang around her as of late.

--Thanks, (Y/n).