#renrites

“Watch it, Henderson.” He warned, honeyed voice playful and light; empty threats, you both knew. Grinning at his back, you waited until he flicked off the burner and turned to face you to poke him again, harder- Faster than you could register, Steve caught your ankle, giving a quick tug that had you squealing out a sharp ‘Steve!’ while you slid to the edge of the counter, thighs slotting around him perfectly. He ran his thumb over the skin of your ankle, playing in the stubble there and dragging his hand up your calf, smoothing over your knee and coming to rest on your thigh, squeezing gently, and you sighed happily, drawing his molten gaze back to you.

“Hey, handsome.” Draping your arms lazily over his shoulders and drawing him closer, you fluttered your eyelashes at him, and Steve cracked a boyish grin, eyes still trained on your face.

“Hey, beautiful.” he brushed the tip of his nose against yours, lips feathering over your cheek, and you fully relaxed against him, closing your eyes while he showered soft, gentle kisses to your entire face, melting under his wanton touch. “How’s my girl?”

“M’good.” you answered, hooking your ankles around his waist and snuggling closer, “Better now, that you’re here.” you felt his Adam’s apple bob, and your chest warmed with affection.

Work had been stressful lately, your schedule rarely lining up with Steve’s between work, school and impromptu babysitting, and as a result this was the first night you’d been able to spend alone with him in weeks, no kids or world-ending dimensions in sight- Steve had insisted on a quiet night in alone, and you agreed easily- you loved your brother, and the entire gang of smarmy teens to be honest, but sometimes you just wanted to get away from all of it, which was hard to do when he was one of your boyfriends best friends.

Case in point: the loud banging at the door, just as things had been getting good;  Steve startled instantly, pulling away and yanking his hands out from under your shirt while you pulled your own out of his mussed hair. You whined at the loss of contact, but the pounding increased in intensity, Dustin’s yelling through the window effectively spoiling the mood.

“C’mon Harrington! I know you’ve got my sister in there you perv, zip up your pants and open the door!”

Steve tilted his head back, groaning in annoyance and you took the opportunity to rain several open-mouthed kisses to the beauty marks there, chuckling breathily against his skin, “You should probably go get him before the neighbors come outside.”

“M’gonna kill him.” He muttered, pushing off of the counter and towards the door, calling out in the direction of the entrance, “Jesus, kid, give me a second!” you slipped back down to the floor, rounding the corner into the foyer just as Dustin came barrelling in underneath Steve’s arm, carrying his backpack in his arms and almost running right into you.

“Slow down, Turbo.” you joked, but he was already pushing past, setting his bag on the kitchen table and starting to open it while you both hovered in the doorway behind him. You glanced over at Steve to find him already looking at you, his lips twisted into a wry smile, and you shrugged as if to say Can’t be helped, turning your attention back to Dustin.

“I’m glad you guys weren’t too busy sucking face to answer the door.” Dustin scrunched up his nose, and you knocked his shoulder gently with the back of your hand, rolling your eyes. You watched as he pulled out a tangle of wires and cords, setting it on the table.

“Don’t be gross, Dustin.”

“I’m pretty sure you two were being gross before I was even in here.”

“Hey dipshit, be nice to my girlfriend.” Steve finally piped up, and you glowered at him; his eyebrows shot up in surprise and he raised his hands in surrender, waiting to hear what he’d done wrong.

“Steve, be nice to my brother.” You scolded, ignoring his weak scoff of betrayal.

“Hold on, how am I the bad guy after he interrupts date night?” He was nearly pouting, thick brows furrowed while his eyes narrowed into slits, and he looked so cute and irritated you couldn’t help but press a kiss to his cheek- he deflated slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your head while Dustin was turned away.

“Blood is thicker than water.” He said over his shoulder, and Steve frowned at the back of his head.

“You guys don’t even share blood.”

“It’s metaphorical blood, dude.”

“That doesn’t make any sense-“

“As fascinating as this is,” you interrupted them, knowing they’d talk each other in stupid circles all night if you let them, “I wanna know what you came all the way over here for.”

Dustin’s eyes sparkled, and he gestured to the mess of plastic and wire in front of you. Steve wrapped his arms around your torso and peered over your shoulder, and you wondered if he was trying to subtly get some cuddles in before Dustin put him to work on his project. You could see your little brother's side-eye, glancing at Steve’s arms molding around you, nose slightly upturned- but for some reason he decided not to say anything, just looked away and launched into his explanation. 

Maybe the little geek actually felt bad about interrupting your ‘quiet night in’ with Steve. Yeah, right.

“So, I was trying to increase the range of our sat phones, for emergencies, and I was thinking it would help to get a dish up somewhere high,” He dug into his bag again-the thing was like a pocket dimension with how much shit he carried in there- and pulled out a shockingly wide, clearly homemade satellite dish. “And I thought ‘Hey, Harrington has a pretty big house and nothing better to do, and my sister!’ So here I am.”

Steve let out a long suffering sigh, letting go of your waist to step around you and to the table, grabbing the makeshift satellite and starting upstairs, Dustin following quickly behind. You’d known the second he showed up he’d get whatever he asked- Steve could never say no to him, and you couldn’t say no to Steve.

“You just want it on the roof?”

“Yep. Then I’ll be outta your way, and you two can stare into each other's eyes or whatever you sickos do.”

“Big talk from the kid who kisses the phone receiver every night.”  Steve barked out a laugh, already halfway through the window he was using the climb up, and Dustin glared at you; you flipped his cap off of his head, relishing in his squawk while Steve helped you up, holding onto your hip with one hand as you wobbled. Once you were balanced, he pulled Dustin through, kneeling down and unceremoniously dumping the tools on the roof, clearly eager to finish.

“Asshole, those are delicate!”

“ Yeah, yeah, let’s get this done, Henderson. I’ve got a hot date.” Steve glanced up at you briefly, winking, and you shook your head disapprovingly, biting your lip to hide the smile you knew he’d already seen.

“Ew, man.”

Despite their constant bickering, Watching the two boys work together was actually quite a sight; Dustin was pointing out the different parts of his satellite, talking animatedly about how he’d built it or what problem he’d managed to fix where, and Steve was nodding along, casual and joking but surprisingly invested in his rambling, and suddenly you felt choked up and oddly emotional, eyes pricking while you watched the two boys. Your boys, you thought, and the stars seemed a tiny bit brighter.

As much as you claimed to hate how much your little brother and boyfriend got along, it was moments like these- shoulder to shoulder, light jabs and heavy sarcasm, Dustin’s huge grin and Steve’s puppy eyes checking on you every few minutes, his lips round with a content smile- that made you realize how you’d never want it any different.

It only took them ten minutes or so, but you watched the entire time, head fuzzy with affection. Even when you were all off the roof, and Dustin was making himself a plate of your dinner (No manners, this kid,)  you felt a million miles away.  Before you realized, Steve was in front of you, eyes questioning.

“You okay Bub?” He searched your face, slightly worried, and you breathed out a laugh, nodding, stepping closer to him and resting your head on his shoulder. He pressed his palms into your hips, and there was a beat of silence while you processed the wave of emotions that had overcome you. You had no idea how to explain it to him, so you decided not to.

Some things you could keep to yourself.

“Perfect.” You whispered instead, shifting to smile up at him, only to find him already staring, his expression adoring. “Love you.”

“Love you more.” Before he could lean down and suck you into another kiss, reality came crashing back down the same exact way.

“Hey! Harrington! Jesus, Can’t you get off my sister long enough to eat?”

“Yeah, yeah, just having dessert first!” His sweet eyes flashed mischievously, his tongue caught in his teeth as he looked down at you, and Dustin’s long groan of distaste was the only thing that kept you from lurching up to kiss the look off of his handsome face. Dustin sat between you two at the table, Steve pouting over his head towards you the entire time, counting down the minutes until he finished and left.

Time slowed to a crawl. Then she caught his eye and smiled, sweet and gentle, and he knew it was over.

When the song finished she approached him. Fez hoped it wasn’t too obvious how much he’d wanted her to.

“I like your chains.” She spoke like she was going to laugh, lilting and breathy, but her eyes made him feel like he was in on the joke, so he smirked back.

“Yeah? You got good taste, Ma.”

Her grin turned wicked and she sat down next to him, just a little too close to be friendly. Her perfume enveloped him, sugary and dizzying.

“I know.”

—

You hadn’t expected that night to change so much about your life, but now, sitting in Fez’s car on your birthday with his hand on your thigh while he drove you to his place?

You didn’t have it in you to complain. Especially not when he was dangling the promise of a gift in front of you.

“Don’t be stupid.” He swatted your thigh playfully “Course I got my girl somethin’.”

“Well, if I can’t change your mind…” you deadpanned, giving up the fight immediately. Even with all your protesting, you couldn't hide the pure excitement at the idea of him getting you something, and he knew it. “you know, you’re probably the first guy who’s gotten me more than, like, shitty Italian and bad head. It’s only up from here.”

Fez grinned, looking away from the road for a second to glance at you. He loved when you said shit like that, let him know that he was the best you’d ever had. He planned to keep it that way.

You were bouncing in your seat by the one he pulled up to his place, your excitement so infectious Fez couldn't help but smile the entire way into the house. With one of his hands on the small of your back, he led you to his bedroom.

Not a surprise party, then, but whatever. Crossing that off your mental list, you watched him shuffle in a drawer for a second, nervous energy coming off of him in waves.

“You remember the night we first met?”

You softened instantly, transported a million miles away, back to that sort of boring house party with the handsome stoner on the couch, blue eyes fixed only on you. “Of course, why?”

Ugh, even your voice sounded dreamy. What did this man do to you?

He placed a small, wrapped gift box in your hand and sat next to you, conveniently avoiding your eyes as he ducked his head.

The box was a little bigger than your palm, rectangular, and perfectly white with a pretty pink bow. You already felt tears welling up at the sight of it.

“Aw shit, don’t cry on me, Ma. You ain't even open it yet.”

“Shut up, Don’t judge me. Did you tie the bow yourself?”

He grinned, ducking his head again, running a hand over his head. “Duh. Tyin’ all them baggies gotta be good for somethin’.”

You snorted, “I’m sure the junkies of East Highland appreciate the pretty bows you add to their molly.”

“You gonna open the box, or you just think that’s the gift, Ma?” He was smirking now, all of his nerves forgotten. You just had that effect on him, he figured.

“I almost don’t want to untie it. It’s so cute.” In the next second you had pulled the ribbon and tossed it onto the bed next to you. Fez huffed a laugh, and you elbowed him to shut him up.

You almost regretted it when you lifted the lid of the box. Laying on a bed of pink silk was the prettiest gold chain you had ever seen. It was thin and delicate,chained together almost daintily, like a flower crown. You tried to blink away the tears that were blurring your vision, turning your watery eyes to Fez, who was anxiously watching your reaction.

He lifted his chin that had been resting on his folded hands, hesitant. “Good tears?”

You breathed shakily, trying to control yourself. “Great tears. I love it.” You whispered, looking back down at the gift. It probably seemed stupid, crying over a necklace, but you knew it meant so much more. Fez had put way more thought into this than you would have predicted. “Help me put it on?”

You both shifted, Fez taking the box from you and turning so that he could close the clasp from behind. The cold metal was offset by the soft heat of his fingers against the nape of your neck, and you shivered, from which feeling, you didn’t know.

He grumbled from behind you after a few seconds. “Damn, why’s this shit so fuckin’ tiny?”

“C’mon babe. Ash can do it for me in like ten seconds.” You teased, breaking out into a laugh as Fez huffed in indignation,

“Kids got small hands, Ma.” He muttered, then breathed in sharply, “Besides, if my plans go right, by the end of the night you gonna take everything off but the chain.” Before you could even respond, he finally managed to get the clasp in place. “Got it. Hell yeah.”

“Good job hon.” You had to stop yourself from telling him it was a little too tight. He could have his small victory if it meant you got to hear the smile in his voice while he did it.

The chain settled against your throat and he kissed the back of your neck, like the cherry on top, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder as you leaned into him, sighing happily.

This was heaven, for sure.

“Happy Birthday, baby.”

“Thanks, Fezzy,” you whispered, reaching behind you to cradle his cheek, scratching his beard with your nails. He hummed deep in his chest, squeezing you tighter to him in appreciation. “Love you.”

“Yeah?” Your heart swelled at his audible joy. “Love you too, baby.”

“Mhm.” You smiled, turning in his arms to face him, “We’re such a fucking power couple. Matching chains? I love it.” He smirked.

“I see the way those fools look at you. Gotta let everyone know you’re my girl.” As you both spoke he moved backwards, shifting so that you were settled in his lap, knees against his hips. It felt so natural, trying to be as close to him as possible, neither of you thought twice about it. Fez hadn’t thought he was very touchy, but when you came along he realized he always needed to be in contact with you, like you were his new center of gravity.

That was probably disgusting, but you had changed that about him too. Ash hated it.

Trying to be smug even as your heart fluttered, you corrected him quickly, “actually, it means everyone knows you’re mine.” You gently hooked one of your fingers in his chains, pulling it slightly. He sucked in a breath, and instead of responding, he kissed you.

—

“What, not even a kiss goodnight?” It’s 2 am, and Fez was leaving the party. You reach out, using manicured fingers to grab both of Fez’s chains at once and pull his face to you, leaning up. There’s no real force behind it, but he feels like your half closed eyes are enough to crush him as you stand on your toes to reach him. He says a prayer in his head, something about acceptance, and bends down to meet you.

—

“Told you, Ma. Everything but the chain.” He breathed in your ear, and the sound that came out of you was somewhere between a laugh and a moan. It was much later, after dinner and a party, and Fez had lived up to his earlier promises. Always did. “Love you so much.”

“Look, I’m just saying that I think Evil Dead is way better.”

“And I’m just saying that you’re dead wrong.” You poked her in the side, glaring playfully, “Nightmare on Elm Street is clearly superior.”

“You only like it because it came out a few months after we graduated. It’s like your nostalgia movie or something.”

“It’s my ‘celebrating getting the hell out of there’ movie.” Claire giggled, rolling her eyes at you before slotting the last of the samples in its proper place and stepping back to admire her work. Before you could start once again expanding on how Elm Street was perfect and Claire was obviously just ‘nostalgic’ for weird cabins, the bell on the door chimed. You glanced at each other, confused. It was pretty early in the day for any of the usuals, and well, in Hawkins, you didn’t get much besides the usual coming in. this was definitely out of place.

Claire, always the people person, approached the door while you retreated to the counter. The overly polite ‘Hello, how can I help you?’ from her tipped you off that this wasn’t a regular customer. You looked up, mildly curious about what random person suddenly developed an interest in handcrafts, and honey brown eyes met yours.

Steve Harrington.

Quickly averting your gaze, you fumbled to look busy, like somehow that would make him instantly forget you’d just been looking. Picking up a floss catalog and flipping through it, you silently prayed he didn’t remember you. If he did, you hoped at least, the memory was a little bit better than the sad reality.

You’d never had any kind of relationship with Steve, friendly or otherwise, but for a few embarrassing years in high school you’d had a huge crush on him. That all faded away as he started hanging out with Tommy and Carol, dating Nancy Wheeler, and you were more focused on avoiding them than cooing over him in the cafeteria. You were lucky enough to scrape by, as easy as it would have been to single you out, the chubby loner with two friends who made her own clothes. Even after Tommy stopped hanging around him, and Nancy broke up with him the year you graduated, it felt too late by then. Your worlds were too far apart, or so you thought.

Now they were colliding, and you couldn’t decide whether you were happy or petrified. Probably both.

The blood rushing in your ears prevented you from hearing the rest of their conversation, but Claire was at your side just a few seconds later, nudging you with her elbow while Steve disappeared down an aisle.

“Whoa.” She mumbled. You breathed out a laugh, setting the stupid catalog down and bumping her back with your own elbow.

“Whoa,” you agreed, and after a short pause added, “do you think he found his passion for embroidery?”

Claire snorted, clapping a hand over her mouth to disguise the noise and shaking her head at you, eyes full of both irritation and amusement. “If he hears you, I’m not sticking around for a repeat of King Steve’s wrath.” She whispered.

“I heard he’s gotten nicer since then.” You murmured, and she shrugged.

Claire had been your friend since high school, and you both had the same luck with popularity. Outcast, not bullied but not well liked, barely even remembered. It was a shame, really, since she would have made a great cheerleader; pretty, kind, and athletic to boot, but it just didn’t happen. You weren’t complaining, she was your best friend because of it after all, but you always felt a twinge of regret for her.

Maybe for yourself, too.

“He’s been staring at that wall rack for, like, 10 minutes. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”

Torn out of your little pity party, you followed her gaze to one of the large overhanging racks, different fleeces and flannels on display just above Steve’s head. He was directly across from them, hands calmly at his sides, unmoving as a statue. You watched him for a minute, and in that time he didn’t move to flip through the samples or even touch one once.

“I mean, it’s summer in Indiana. Why is he looking at fleece?” She continued, giggling. Humming in agreement, you rounded the counter and started slowly approaching him.

As fun as it was to sit behind the counter and laugh at the once most popular guy in school floundering over sewing scissors, you had a job to do, and even if you wanted to avoid it (you weren’t sure you did), it was clear that he wasn’t going to figure out anything on his own.

Hell, he might not even move before closing at this rate.

“I got it.” You called to Claire over your shoulder, waving for her to stay behind the counter. She was a people pleaser, so you-the snarky one, your boss called you sometimes-usually hung back, but you tried to trade off on customers equally. You told yourself that was the only reason you offered, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the burning curiosity of Why is he here? And What is he like now?

Absolutely nothing at all.

“You know, most people at least touch the fabric they’re trying to buy.” His shoulders stiffened and he whipped around, staring at you in a mix of surprise and embarrassment, and despite yourself it made you smile, just a slight twitch of your lip as you looked up at him. It took him a second, but he returned it, and the sweetness of it made you dizzy. You had been expecting a smug grin or a grimace, but he looked genuinely happy that you had come to his rescue. Your heart stuttered.

He’s only gotten more pretty. So unfair.

“Uh, Yeah I…” he trailed off, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, and his expression seemed more playful than embarrassed now that he was talking to you. His eyes lit up in recognition the next second. “Hey, we went to high school together, right?” He said your name like he was certain he was right, and you nodded, lips parting in shock.

“Wow, I’m surprised you remember.” You were, only because it had been a few years and you really hadn’t ever interacted, but you didn’t miss the way your words made him wince, his smile dimming slightly. Fuck. backpedaling as you shook your head, you blurted, “Not because I was a loser, it’s just been so long. But everyone in Hawkins went to school together so it’s a safe guess…”

Excellent save. Can I just die now?

You wrapped your arms around your torso, trying to shield yourself, but Steve laughed a little, like he thought you were actually trying to be funny, and the sound warmed you down to your toes. You smiled a little wider, and the small knot of tension in your stomach came undone all at once.

Three minutes in Steve’s presence, and you were convinced that he wasn’t the same boy he used to be, and you liked this one much more.

“It hasn’t been that long.” He countered, crossing his arms in mock defiance. He was bigger than you remembered too, his chest filled out even more, biceps flexing while he moved, and you attempted to ignore it and focus on not making an ass of yourself. The last thing you needed was to come off as a creep.

“I see we aren’t denying the loser part. Cold, Harrington.” Now you were trying to be funny, and the crinkles near his eyes told you it was working. You felt oddly proud, being able to joke about this with him, like you were old friends and not almost total strangers.

“I kinda thought it’d be weirder to deny it. Do you want me to?”

“For my ego? Yes. But it’s too late now, you’ve wounded my pride.” Your hand fluttered to your chest and you sighed dramatically, “how can I ever recover from this crushing blow?”

He hummed, rocking back and forth on his heels and thinking for a second before declaring like it was the simplest solution in the world, “You could give me your number.”

What?

“What?” You could barely breathe the word out, staring at his casual expression in total bewilderment. Frozen in place, you watched his face flush a baby pink, and he stumbled over his words to explain.

“No, I mean-okay. I’m trying to make this thing, a scarf. Just…to try it. But clearly,” he huffed, gestured vaguely behind him to the shelves lining the walls, “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m asking you for help. It would make you, like, the coolest person in the world.”

Your eyes narrowed, and he had the decency to look a little sheepish, pushing the stray hairs that had fallen over his face back and avoiding your eyes. You had a strange feeling about his reasoning, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it but decided to let it go since this was your first real conversation. Better to keep it friendly.

“This sounds like an excuse for you to get some extra help out of me.” You wagged your finger at him playfully, “But I’ll call it even, since I get to tease you the whole time.”

“You’re an angel.”

Looking down so he couldn’t see how flustered just a simple comment made you, you dug in your work apron, producing a thick black marker with a little ta-da motion to Steve, and he stuck his hand out for you to write your landline on. You focused on writing each number perfectly, so you could stop thinking about how big his hands were.

You drew a little smiley face too, just because you wanted to. When you finished, he pulled his hand back and looked at it, a soft huff of a laugh leaving him when he saw your masterpiece. Suddenly, you were nervous, breaking eye contact to stare at your sneakers. He seemed to be too, taking a quick step back and shoving both of his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans.

“So…I’ll call you sometime.”

“Okay. Cool.” You bobbed your head.

“Cool.” A few more steps back, near the door, he pulled one hand out of his pocket and gave you a quick thumbs up before turning and hauling ass out of the store.

It was the lamest thing you’d ever seen Steve Harrington do, and it had you melting into the floor like you were sixteen again.

You couldn’t spend too long dazing over his smile, however, because Claire was rushing towards you, barely containing her wild grin.

“Oh my god!” She squealed, gripping your arms and shaking you.

“Jesus, what?” You jostled, breaking out of her grip and flipping her off. “You’re so damn nosy, were you listening the entire time?”

She ignored you.

“Don’t ‘what’ me! Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington was flirting with you! He asked for your number!”

“It’s not like that Claire, are you joking? He wanted help with a scarf, he’s hopeless. It’s like overtime with no pay.” You said lightly, shoving aside the hopeful stirrings Claire was riling up. Steve was, at least at some point, one of the most sought after guys in Hawkins. It was stupid to even hope that he was interested in you. You were no Nancy Wheeler, not even close.

“Babe.” Claire giggled, a knowing grin on her lips as she took your hands and patted them. “He’s making a scarf in July?”

You shook your head, yanking your hands away from her grip and ducking past her to return to the counter before she could see the stupid smile spreading over your face, “It’s probably just some practice before Christmas or something!”

“He didn’t buy anything!” She sing-songed from the aisle.

Your face burned hot.

Safety Pins

A small part of you wondered if Steve would even remember the conversation at all. In the days after he appeared in the store, blatantly lying about making a scarf on the hottest day of the year, you convinced yourself that you’d made up the entire ridiculous interaction in your head, and then the phone finally rang.

The first time was two days after he’d come to the store (not that you’d been waiting), and you forced yourself to wait for three rings before picking up. You were desperate to seem casual, like you totally hadn’t been sitting right next to the extension every night since, an equal mix of desperate and curious, running through everything you could possibly say if he ever called.

“Hello?” Strong start.

“Hey, it’s Steve.” he paused, like he was waiting for you to say something before continuing, “I...bet you wanna know why I’m calling?” The way he said it like he wasn’t even sure himself had you biting back a laugh. This was clearly a golden opportunity to mess with him, and who were you to deny such a gift?

“It’s not about the scarf?” You asked in mock surprise. “And here I thought it was so important.”

He groaned, sounding embarrassed, but not at all surprised you’d already caught him out. “You’re worse than Dustin. Have you always been this sarcastic?”

“Who’s Dustin?”

“Annoying kid I babysit.” His voice was full of fondness despite his words, and you smiled to yourself, heart squeezing. “He’d love you, I bet.”

“Don’t try and be cute and change the subject. Are you going to tell me why you lied about making a scarf in July??”

“Maybe I just wanted to talk to the pretty girl working there. Is that so bad?” The smile in his voice was unmistakable, even if there was a slight shake of nerves.

Biting your lip to try to contain your giddiness, you hummed. “Maybe you should have gotten her number then, I don’t play wing man.” Even though you were joking, there was a thorn of truth in it. Claire was pretty and social, and it wasn’t uncommon for guys to come into the store just to hit on her. Steve huffed, clearly not amused with you dancing around the obvious.

“You’re hilarious.” he deadpanned, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“And your plan was to stand there and look pathetically lost until I came to help you?”

“Worked, didn’t it?” His smug tone shut you up, rolling your eyes silently as he continued, “I actually wanted to ask you out.” he said it so casually it almost didn’t register with you, but he didn’t keep talking, just sat in silence and waited for you to catch up. His patience made your stomach twist in the best way.

“Like a date?” You finally asked, slow and disbelieving.

“Yes, like a date. Are you just trying to avoid answering me?” You sort of were. It didn’t seem real, despite all the signs, despite Claire grabbing your hand and winking at you when she left, saying Tell Harrington I said hi when he calls!

It just didn’t make sense. Unless…

“Are you going to Carrie me?”

“What?” He scoffed, far away from the receiver like he’d pulled the phone away from his ear in shock.

“I think it’s a simple question, Steve.”

“No! Where would I even get a bucket of pig's blood?” His warm voice was indignant, and you giggled, could imagine his furrowed brows and slight pout perfectly on the other end of the phone. You were grateful that for now he didn’t seem to be pushing for an answer, letting you circle around the topic. As much as you wanted to agree, to toss yourself into the fantasy you’d cultivated for years in highschool, you didn’t want to make this easy for him, like so many other girls in Hawkins.

A little selfishly, you wanted to be a girl he wanted enough to work for. Hopefully, he would. Otherwise, you were about to make the stupidest decision of your life.

Sighing softly and shaking your head like he could see it, you breathed out, “I dunno… I’m going to need a bit more convincing, Harrington.” You prayed he heard the subtle challenge in the words, and you knew he did when he responded, confidence suddenly so apparent through the phone you wondered why he had seemed so nervous before.

“I can do that, Sweetheart.”

You were never more grateful you had begged your parents for your own extension in high school, because after that first conversation, Steve called almost every day. It was endearing, how eager he seemed to talk to you, stealing fifteen minutes at work ‘just to hear your voice’, keeping you up late to gently pester you about taking you out.

Just one date, he’d say teasingly, and then you’ll be the one asking, Sweetheart. The nickname had stuck since the first call, and it warmed you to your core every time he said it. you knew from the moment he breathed it into the receiver that you would eventually agree to whatever he wanted.

It took him a few weeks of talking and some surprise visits at work (Much to Claire’s delight), but you finally agreed one afternoon, and the happiness radiating off of him while he walked out of the store made you wish you hadn’t waited so long.

Seam Allowance

It was only a few days before your first date excitement wore off, being replaced with bone deep anxiety and a feeling that you were drawn tight with tension, like a rubber band that might snap.

Claire came over hours before the date to help you get ready, bursting with excitement and about a dozen ‘I-told-you-so’s’, and now you were both sitting on your bed sorting through your jewelry; she was wearing your pajama pants and an old shirt from middle-school, an amusing contrast to your perfectly pinned hair and high heels.

“You’re coming back tonight, right?” she asked, holding a pair of golden hoops up to your skin before wrinkling her nose and putting them back into the box.

“Duh. Where else would I go?” It was a system you’d both made up high school, and one you’d never strayed from. If one of you went on a first date the other would wait at her house, to make sure she came home safe and also to get all of the gossip as soon as the date was over. Claire used it much more often than you, but she still grinned, waggling her eyebrows at you and whistling a low note like you were naughty teenagers again.

“I dunno, Babe, you look gorgeous. Harrington might wanna see the inside seam of that dress.” She lowered her voice in an attempt to sound sensual, leaning in close while you shoved her away, scoffing at her terrible innuendo. The dress was one of her favorites, something you’d bought at a thrift store and altered yourself the summer you’d both graduated. It was bright and flowy, the pink silk draping to your mid-thigh, a mix of sweet and sexy that you’d started wearing after high school, away from prying eyes and insults.

The irony of wearing it to a date with King Steve was not lost on you.

“Please,” you huffed, looking away with the excuse of checking a necklace in the mirror, tossing it back in the pile without much thought, “he already knows what I look like, the dress won’t fool him.” Claire frowned, her playful mood dissolved.

“What do you mean by that?”

Shaking your head, you murmured, “I mean, he already knows what I look like…how I looked in high school,” you cringed, shaking your head, “not all pretty and perfect. Not thin. I feel like I might be trying too hard. Being tricky.” The words sat like acid in your mouth, but Claire instantly threw her arms around you in a hug, laughing a little. It got to you more than it should have.

“Are you laughing at me?! I bare my soul to you, and you’re laughing!”

“Yes!” she admitted, still giggling even as she pulled away to look at you again. “You’re being stupid. He knows how you look normally. He knows how you looked in high school. So what? He still asked you out.” she poked your chest with each word, speaking over you every time you tried to interrupt. “The only thing that’s going to happen is that he’s going to see you looking pretty, not tricky, drool all over himself, and be like, ‘Ooh, Baby, you’re so beautiful and perfect let’s get marr-’”

Clapping a hand over her mouth to stop her terrible imitation of Steve, you couldn’t contain your laughter, shaking your head at her. Claire was always your biggest supporter and cheerleader, and she always seemed to know exactly what to say when you needed it, even if it was stupid and corny and probably not true. You pulled your hand away when she calmed, and you smiled at her, grateful. She smiled back.

“You know, you’re constantly saying Steve isn’t who he used to be. You always forget that you’re not the same girl either.” She winked, pressing a pair of rose gold and pearl earrings into your hand. “These are the ones, by the way. I can feel it.” You swallowed, a ball of emotion and affection suddenly welling up in your throat, Sticky sweet.

Is this what having a sister feels like?

The doorbell rang before you could say anything, and Claire grabbed your purse while you rushed to put the earrings in. She looked you over one last time, nodding her enthusiastic approval and you thanked whatever God was out there that you had her support while you tried to ignore the tears pricking your eyes. She hugged you quickly and firmly, whispering “Go get ‘em, tiger.” and ushering you down the stairs.

—

Steve guided you through the crowded diner with a hand on your lower back, following the hostess closely. The gesture was unfamiliar, embarrassingly intimate in such a public place but also comforting, so you didn’t say anything, just let the heat of his palm burn into your skin until he pulled your chair out for you, always the gentleman.

You felt out of place as you sat down; The bright, tacky colors of the diner contrasted harshly with the soft pastels and curves of your clothes, and your anxiety licked fire-hot up your throat, feeling at once too overdressed and not good enough. Steve noticed as soon as he sat down, but he had enough sense to wait until the waitress was gone, reaching across the table slowly to take your hand. He gave you space to pull away, and when you didn’t, he rewarded you with a grin, the flicker of nerves in his face smoothed over with boyish charm.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t take you somewhere a little nicer…” He gestured to the full tables, but turned back to you with a hopeful glint in his eye. “But I’m really happy you agreed to come.” he squeezed your hand, looking up into your face to gauge your reaction. He must have found what he was looking for because he relaxed completely, although he didn’t let go of your hand on the table. You didn’t mind. “You look amazing, by the way. Have I told you that tonight?”

He did tell you, once at your doorstep, at least two times in the car, and now here. Even if he hadn’t, you could tell just by the way his eyes had trailed up your legs when you walked out onto your porch, mapping out the soft expanse of your exposed thigh while you climbed into his car, the way his gaze slightly heated on your naked shoulders. It was pretty obvious what he thought.

Still, you rolled your eyes playfully, a doubtful smile spreading across your face. “Only a million times.”

“And I’ll say it a million more.” His tone was casual, but you could hear something soft and intense in it, like he knew you didn’t believe him and he was desperate to prove you wrong. “You’re gorgeous. A stunner.”

“Stop.”

“Total knockout. What’re you doing on a date with a guy like me?” He used his free hand and jerked his thumb into his chest, eyes sharp and mischievous, but then he looked away, just for a moment, like he was actually nervous about your answer. Concern unfurled in your chest in an instant, and you leaned forward, squeezing his hand tighter than he had yours.

“You’re beautiful.” You murmured, running your thumb over his knuckles. As much as you wanted to recite terrible poetry to him, say he was Eros himself, carved of flesh instead of stone by the Great Masters, tell him how often you’d listened to him whisper over the phone late at night these past weeks, twisting the cord around your finger and imagining drawing constellations between his beauty marks with your fingertips, it felt like too much for a first date, in a loud diner where anyone could hear, so you said the first thing you could think of. you hoped it had the same effect on Steve either way.

His smile threatened to consume his face, his eyes bright half moons as he beamed at you. “Yeah? Beautiful?” He tossed his hair arrogantly, pulling his hand away from yours to run his fingers through the silken strands, wrists and forearms flexing. Your mouth went dry and it was the best you could do to nod dumbly, trying desperately to grasp a coherent thought.

“Sorry, that was weird.” You shook your head as if to clear your thoughts. “Beautiful is a weird word. Handsome?” You tried, but you were dissatisfied. Handsome didn’t feel like enough, too rough around the edges to include Steve, with his sweet smiles and stupid jokes. It wasn’t enough. Steve was shaking his head too, the moment you’d started backtracking.

“No, no,'' he leaned back, subtly gesturing his head to warn you the waitress was approaching behind you, his wild grin dimming down into something softer and more vulnerable. “Beautiful is… no one’s ever called me that before. You’re my first.” He waggled his eyebrows at you, like the innuendo wasn’t obvious enough, and that molten rush of affection returned, warmth spreading from your face to your sternum; then you processed what he’d said before that, and you raised your eyebrows in surprise.

How could someone like Steve go so long without being called beautiful?

“That’s insane,” then, after a second, “You really are.” Before you could stop yourself. You bit your lip in embarrassment, and his eyes dropped to follow the action, just a flicker before looking back. He took your hand again, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your knuckles soothingly, but his eyes didn’t leave your face once.

“So are you.” The way he was looking at you made you want to believe it, like he was in awe of you, studying your features like he was committing them to memory. You felt warm under his gaze, but before you could make a snarky comment and ease some of your anxiety, the waitress was at your table, and Steve wasn’t looking at you anymore.

You had expected to completely clam up over dinner, but Steve kept you distracted and laughing the entire time, and you were having too much fun to worry about if he thought you were eating too much or trying too hard. You knew from the rumors he was always charming, girls chased him for years when you were younger, but having the full force of it directed on you was something you'd never experienced before. You could see why he had been popular. Steve actually listened when you talked, like he was interested in you. It was depressingly refreshing.

You’d been telling him a story about work, offhandedly mentioning a top you were making when he stopped your story in its tracks. “So wait, you make your own clothes?” He looked pleasantly surprised.

“I mean, kinda. Not all of them. I make some of them. They don’t make cute clothes in my size so…” You shrugged it off like it didn’t matter, eyes on your plate, trying to ignore the admiration in his gaze as his jaw dropped. His eyes followed the slope of your shoulders to the dresses thin straps, one having fallen half down without you noticing. “I do it myself. Didn’t you know this when you asked for my help in the store?”

“Did you make this one?” Steve’s voice was almost reverent when he brought up your dress, ignoring your snark completely. He reached one hand towards you, impossibly delicate fingers sliding the strap back up your arm and into place. It must have only been a second before he was leaning back in his chair and popping a French fry into his mouth, but you felt like your world had stopped. You searched your cloudy brain for the answer to his question. You barely remembered what he asked.

“I altered it, yeah.” The only way you could describe the look on his face was dazzled, and you bit your lip, fingers itching to reach out and trace the planes of his face with your hands. You wanted him to look at you like this forever, like you were ethereal and special; you settled instead for shyly turning away. First date and all.

“You’re crazy talented. I was always thinking about where you got all your pretty little outfits, then I find out you make them?” Your heart squeezed at the idea of him, sitting in his car, or at home, thinking about the clothes you wore, wondering where you got them and keeping notes of your outfits; choosing a favorite. He shook his head in disbelief, eyes meeting yours again in cowed respect. “You’re really something.” And you knew he meant it.

“Yeah, well… you ever need something fitted, call me.” You winked, not catching the innuendo until Steve was already pouncing, smile turned wicked.

“Is that an invitation?”

“Oh my God, You’re such a perv.” You giggled, the happy glint in his eyes more than worth your slight embarrassment at the joke.

“I’m not hearing a no…”

“I’m hearing the complaints the mothers in the diner are filing against us right now…” you hummed, and Steve grimaced, glancing around while you admired the worry lines in his forehead, fighting the urge to lean over and smooth them with your thumb.

“Thank God the check already came then. Let’s get outta here.” He stood up while you laughed at him, already digging in his pockets for his wallet. You grabbed your purse and slid out of your chair, scrambling to find your own, wondering if he’d wanted you to offer to cover anything.

“I can pay for half-“

“Don’t even think about it.” He tossed a few bills on the table, sounding offended you had even offered. You let it go, deciding to save yourself the bickering since you knew he’d never let you pay. Steve’s hand found the small of your back again as he led you out, like it was just instinct, being protective. The thought sent jolts down your spine.

The diner had grown significantly quieter since you’d both arrived, but there were still a decent amount of full tables, and you appreciated the sudden wall of quiet when you both stepped outside. Evening had bled into night in the hours you’d spent with Steve, the hazy sun now completely gone, leaving behind a surprising chill despite the season.

You rubbed your arms quickly, trying to acclimate to the sudden cold, and of course, Steve noticed immediately. Even though you argued, since you would only be outside for as long as it took to walk to his car and get in, he still draped his leather overcoat over your shoulders, and when you caught a whiff of his cologne, and him underneath, you stopped complaining. The leather was soft from use, and you were careful not to scratch it with your nails while you gripped the lapels to keep it around your shoulders.

“Why do you even have a jacket? It was pretty warm earlier.” You asked, watching him fumble in his back pockets for his keys. He glanced at you for a second and the realization hit you. “You brought it just in case? For me?”

Smiling guiltily, he unlocked the doors. “Hey, don’t ever say Steve Harrington isn’t a romantic.”

Watching him walk around the car just to open your door for you, jogging so you wouldn’t open it yourself, you just shook your head. “How could I?” you breathed, and you knew there were obvious hearts in your eyes.

Steve didn’t comment, but you could see the smug look on his face when he helped you into the car-for a wild second you thought about kissing it off of him, he was just so pretty- but you waited until he climbed into the driver's seat to speak again, staring out the front window while he put the keys in the ignition.

“Next time, you’ll be wearing my jacket, Harrington.” You promised; something about the dark and quiet of the night outside made you drop your voice, more heated than you intended, and the blush that rose to his ears at your words made your chest swell with pride.

Steve bounced back to being perfect and charming, and for the entire drive home, he held your hand in his on the center console, a satisfied smile on his face.

The ride back was short, and too soon Steve was in your driveway, turning the car off, the only light coming from your old, orange porch bulb. He cleared his throat, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen when you pulled up.

“Let me walk you to the door.” It wasn’t a question; he was already unbuckling his seat belt and jumping out to open your door again. A part of you wanted to hop out before he could, just to tease him about how far he was going, but watching him jog around the front of the car just to impress you was far more rewarding. He offered you his hand wordlessly and you took it, letting him pull you out of the car.

Standing outside of your door, bathed in the warm flickering light, Steve was too pretty to look at, even though you wanted to burn the memory in your head. His skin looked tan and soft, brown eyes almost black in the shadow. You looked at your feet, toeing your heels into the mat under them.

“I had fun tonight, Sweetheart.” He says carefully, gauging your reaction, and you smile shyly, glancing back up at him. He’s not smiling, but he looks open and earnest. He’s waiting for you to respond, you realize, so you do.

“So did I.” You breathe, and his lip twitches. He takes a step towards you and you don’t move back, letting him start to slowly crowd your space on the porch. “Even if those kids wouldn’t shut up for like 30 minutes.” You joke, and he laughs, a short huff through his nose that stops as soon as it starts.

“Next time, we’ll go somewhere quieter, promise.” Despite his response to your ‘next time’ quip earlier, you had been dreading the chance that this was a one time thing, that he was being polite and a good date and after this he was going to realize you weren’t a cheap lay because of your weight, or get cold feet, exactly the way most of your pathetic romances ended. The idea that he wanted to see you again was unfamiliar and exciting.

“Next time?” Your voice was soft and vulnerable, and Steve looked at you like you were crazy.

“How else am I going to steal that jacket from you?” He took another step, and you had to crane your neck to look up at his serious expression. One of his hands came up, hesitating before resting delicately on your face, his calloused thumb rubbing soothing lines over your cheek. “I’m committed to the idea, now.”

You hummed, closing your eyes as he continued to ghost his fingers over your features. The feeling was indescribable. “Oh well, you’ll need it when I never give this one back.” You pulled the lapels of his jacket again, and instead of responding he moved his hand from your jaw to the nape of your neck, gently guiding you towards him.

You panicked, suddenly unsure if you were even ready for a simple goodnight kiss, let alone a make out session on your porch, but he was impossibly slow and gentle while he pulled you towards him, and you opened your eyes when you felt his lips in your hair, one hand on the curve of your neck and the other rubbing soothing circles into your soft hip. He pulled away just enough to murmur into your hairline, lips indulgent and sweet,

“You can take whatever you want, pretty girl.” he sounded hoarse and wanting, and it nearly took your breath away. All of your willpower -and remembering your best friend was still upstairs, waiting- was barely enough to convince you to untangle yourself from him, but you did. He kissed your forehead one more time before finally letting you slip inside, still wrapped snugly in his coat. “I’ll call you.” He said gently as you crossed the threshold. You giggled.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Since 1983, baby. Certified and everything.” He was immensely proud of that fact, if the huge grin on his face was anything to go by, and you couldn’t help but laugh. The idea of Steve taking so much pride in something so small was absolutely adorable.

“Was it for the bikinis or the mouth to mouth resuscitation?” He looked away from the road just for a second to glance at you, his silhouette lit blue by the dashboard, his proud smile turning smug.

“Both. Hey, you wanna come swim in my pool later?” He was only half-joking, and you both knew it, but you rolled your eyes at him anyway, sinking into your seat with a low groan.

“That’s your master plan? Hope I drown in your pool?”

“Almost drown, Sweetheart. I’m gonna save you, obviously.”

“My hero.” he laughed at your monotone, grabbing your hand and messily interlocking your fingers.

“You can count on it.”

Two, He was an amazing babysitter.

You’d been half right when you’d assumed that Dustin, the teenager he was constantly driving around and hanging out with was probably his best friend. The other half that you hadn’t expected was the entire group of smart-ass 13 year olds that Steve led around like a mother hen, Dustin included. You hadn’t even directly met them yet, but their effect on Steve was immediately noticeable.

It was sweet, seeing how much he cared while trying so hard to pretend he didn’t; driving them around, keeping them safe and watching out for them. You told him as much one afternoon over the phone, after he dejectedly told you he and their party-really, it was more like they just needed adult supervision- already had plans after his shift, and he wouldn’t be able to see you.

“You should apply for Dad of the Year, Harrington. I think you’ve got a real shot.”

He snorted derisively. “If not now, I’ve got a hell of a lot of practice for later, right?” his voice dropped an octave, softer now. “I’m sorry. You know I’d cancel, but…”

“No way.” You dismissed him immediately, “Someone has to look out for those kids, right? I’m glad it’s you. Just do me a favor and get them home safe, and you too. Okay?”

“Yeah…Course. You know I will.” You didn’t comment on how his throat sounded closed with emotion, his tone sounding a million miles away, and neither did he. You didn’t know what to say.

And finally, Three. There was something going on in Hawkins, and Steve was involved.

You were finding that one out now, after a late night phone call from Steve had you speeding to his house, lugging your entire sewing kit into your passenger seat. He hadn’t given you too many details and you hadn’t asked, more focused on how broken and tired his voice sounded, and his terrifying questions.

“Sewing is exactly like stitches, right? For wounds?”

“Yeah, I guess…Steve, what’s going on?”

“Can you do me a really big favor, sweetheart?”

That was what led you here, slipping into the Harringtons backyard where Steve told you he would be. Steam was rising off of the heated pool, but he wasn’t in it, the water still and glass-like. You approached slowly, your kit hitting against your leg with every step, anxiety rising, and then you finally saw him.

Steve was sprawled on a pool lounge, eyes closed in picturesque relaxation, though he was covered in dirt and dried blood. There were makeshift bandages around his torso and arms, and the large, dried red stains knocked the air out of you. The lights illuminating the patio made him look pale and corpse-like as you kneeled next to him on the concrete, bearing the sting of hard pebbles in your knees to look up at him. You took one of his hands and he squeezed, telling you he knew you were there, letting you brush your lips feather-light over his split knuckles. He hissed, and the sound snapped a thread supporting your composure.

“Oh, Stevie…” it was more a whimper than anything, your eyes already blurring with unshed tears, and he responded instantly, your heartbroken voice spurring him to action again. He sat up and swung his legs over the lounge with great effort, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding when you could see his eyes again, tired but alert, alive. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye, and he leaned in close, reaching for you.

You let him help haul you onto the lounge next to him, wiping your face clumsily with his dirty hands before tracing his fingers down your neck, your shoulders, slow and gentle. You sniffled.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” Steve soothed his palms up and down your arms. “You should see the other guy.” He smiled, blood staining his teeth, and your stomach churned.

“How can you even joke right now?” You breathed, sadness and worry permeating through every word, and he closed his eyes again, smile dropping.

“Baby…” it was the first time he’d ever called you that in a serious way, but you were too upset to even notice, suddenly angry and desperate and hurt even as you fought to stay calm for him. Your tone betrayed at least some of it when you spoke, and his hands dropped from your shoulders.

“What happened, Steve?” His entire face twisted the moment you asked, eyes squeezing shut tighter and brows furrowing. He looked beautiful even now, if you ignored the harsh lights of the pool; caked in dirt and blood you weren’t sure was all his, his sweaty face tipped up to the stars. It tore your heart, leaving a raw edge.

“Not tonight. Please.” The desperation in his voice melted all of your righteous anger out of you.. “I…I can’t do this tonight. I promise you, soon, I’ll tell you everything. But not now.” His voice broke, and he dragged his hands through his hair, grabbing fistfuls.

Any other time, you would have pushed the issue; Instead, you breathed in deeply through your nose and leaned down, grabbing your sewing kit and setting it on your knees. Steve needed your support, and whatever the hell was going on, you’d give it to him, and anything else he wanted.

“We don’t have any way to knock you out.” you said softly, and you could feel him relax next to you as you dropped the subject. You bit back the acid in your throat.

Not tonight.

“S’okay. I can take it.” he shrugged, glancing to the patio doors behind you. “Let’s go to the kitchen. Cleaner in there.” you nodded, getting off the lounge and offering your hand to Steve. He took it, stumbling slightly as he stood, and your heart seized in worry. You took his arm in your own and helped him inside.

You’d never been to the Harringtons. King Steve’s wild parties weren’t really your scene, and you hadn’t been dating long enough that you’d felt comfortable just hanging out in his house. It was huge and nice, and you eyed the perfectly white countertops with trepidation as you laid out your supplies, Steve laying back on the kitchen island like a makeshift stretcher.

“Are your parents gonna, like, kill you if we get blood everywhere? Maybe we should go to the bathroom.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste and shook his head.

“We’ll clean up, they’re gone so damn much they’ll never notice. And there’s nowhere to lay down in the bathroom. Now patch me up, Doc.” he crossed his arms behind his head, closing his eyes and relaxing again while you got to work cutting the blood soaked wraps off and using a wet cloth to wipe away all the grime you could see. The kitchen was dead silent except for yours and Steve’s breathing, the sound of you scrubbing the cloth into his skin. The more dirt and caked blood you washed away, the more he looked like your Steve, although bone-tired and a little cut up, and you calmed.

He would be okay. You’ll make sure.

When he was as clean as he was going to get, you had him sit up for a second to take off the mud splattered vest he was wearing, tossing it somewhere behind you. You soaked a cotton ball with antiseptic, grabbing it with tweezers before turning back to him, settling between his thighs for a moment. He watched you carefully, studying your expression as you put your free hand on his knee, patting it.

“Lay down.” He didn’t argue, though you could tell he had something on his mind, just stretched out on the island again, groaning softly, and you assessed the real damage.

The gashes you assumed he wanted you to sew up were on his arms and torso, just where the largest amounts of blood had soaked into the bandages. The one on his arm was a relief; you knew you could superglue the cut back together, no sutures needed, and it would heal perfectly. The gashes on his torso were deep and ugly, like some animal had bitten chunks out of his hip, and you knew instantly they’d have to be stitched. They looked better clean, but they were still steadily oozing blood with no sign of stopping. The sight made you a little sick, but you just shook your head lightly and started cleaning the skin around the wounds. Occasionally, Steve would suck in a breath through his teeth, or grunt in discomfort, and you’d stop to coo and run your thumbs gently over his sides, desperate to ease his pain.

“Okay. I think we’re ready.” you took a deep breath, and Steve opened his eyes to watch you wash your hands and pull a box of latex gloves out of your sewing kit, putting on two pairs. His eyes went wide when you pulled the needle and nylon thread out of the bowl you’d been using to soak them in peroxide for the last 20 minutes, figuring that was about as sterile as it was going to get.

Jesus, I hope he doesn’t get an infection and die. I should have just dragged him to the hospital.

“That looks like a fishing line.” He said nervously, and you laughed despite yourself.

“It’s stronger, nylon. I think it’s close to what doctors use…” you trailed off, frowning, “this is really gonna hurt, Steve.” it would have hurt if you’d had all the right tools but no anesthesia, if you had actually been a doctor, even, but this was a total back alley operation here; you’d be lying if you said you weren’t worried about making everything worse.

“I know. I trust you.” His words were weak with emotion, but they hit you hard. “I swear I trust you.” He wasn’t just talking about the stitches anymore, opening his mouth with a rush of air, but you shushed him, putting a finger over his lips to stop him before he started. You’d promised him tonight, away from questions and answers, and you’d meant it.

He’s gonna have a hard enough time as is.

“I know you do.” you said firmly. He fully slumped against the table at your reassurance, shutting his eyes against the lights and the present.

You threaded the needle.

–

It was early morning by the time you finished.

Steve wasn’t dead, which felt like a rousing success considering you’d just played surgeon on his kitchen counter, but after he was already hurt, you’d pushed him to his absolute limit. Taking the slippery gloves off and washing his blood off of your wrists made you retch into the sink, his moans and screams ringing in your ears. He’d passed out a few times, and you’d cried at least once out of guilt, but it was over.

You turned to face him, pale, soaked in sweat and shaking. You’d brought heavy duty pain meds from your own house, something you’d gotten prescribed for a bad injury months ago; now you were both just waiting for them to kick in. your stomach knotted with regret as he groaned softly, and you reached out, gently threading your fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his damp forehead.

“M’sorry.” you said softly, voice cracking, “You did so good. I’m so sorry.”

He gritted his teeth, shaking his head imperceptibly. “No, you…” he huffed, like he didn’t have enough air to speak, “you…did good. Thank you…Sorry.” you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, pulling back and continuing to smooth his hair away from his face. It didn’t take much longer for the meds to kick in, and you waited until he was pretty out of it to get him up. You knew it would be painful, and you hoped he’d be tired and loose enough that it wouldn’t hurt so much to get to the couch.

There’s no way in hell he’s getting upstairs.

It took longer than you expected, he was heavy and breaks for him to catch his breath or moan in pain were frequent, but eventually he was settled under a thick blanket and sleeping like the dead. As tempted as you were to join him, you got to business wiping his blood off of the counters and floors, disinfecting everything you could and tossing what you couldn’t. You threw the denim vest into the washer, and the kitchen gleamed, no imprint left behind of the screaming man on the counters.

Your eyes burned from crying and exhaustion, but you forced yourself to go outside and wipe down the pool lounge you’d found him on, like scrubbing the blood off of anything he touched would make it all a horrible, confusing dream.

You didn’t sleep until the entire downstairs smelled like bleach. Steve didn’t stir at all the entire time, so you curled up on the loveseat opposite him, watching him and the sunrise with bleary eyes until you couldn’t keep them open anymore.

–

You woke up only a few hours later, suddenly too nervous to sleep. Steve still hadn’t moved, so you felt safe leaving long enough to go get groceries; you’d checked his fridge while you were cleaning, took one look at the number of frozen meals and leftover takeout, and decided you’d have to cook some real food for him when he woke up.

You sort of felt like a stalker, sneaking into his house from the backyard with a bunch of bags but the huge, empty house creeped you out, and you hoped cooking would fill some of the empty space. Imagining Steve here all the time, alone, made your chest ache.

He slept into the late evening, and you decided to just start on dinner; if he didn’t wake up, you could eat and save him the rest. As soon as you finished cooking, pulling out tupperware to put his portion into, you heard his soft voice drifting from the living room, calling your name. You flipped the burners and ran out of the kitchen.

His eyes were still closed, but his face was pinched, and he was clearly awake. He looked almost normal again, no longer paper-white and trembling in pain. You breathed out softly. “Hi, Stevie.”

“Hi, Angel.” He smiled briefly, but you could hear the strain in his voice, and he still didn’t open his eyes. Anxiously, you wondered if he was worse than before.

“How are you feeling? Need more meds?” He nodded, and you moved to the coffee table, grabbing the pills and bottle of water you’d set there. You pressed a tablet into his hand, and helped him drink down some water, tucking stray hairs behind his ears once he finished. He shifted slightly, letting out a groan, but looking far more relaxed.

“You're pretty good at this. Ever thought about being a nurse?”

“Steve, I’m pretty sure I almost killed you last night. Are you high?”

“No. Well, the pain meds…” he finally opened his eyes, meeting yours above him and giving you a goofy grin. The swelling on his face was already going down, but he was still puffy and bruised. He raised his eyebrows at you, and you rewarded him with a small smile.

“You’re so pretty.” You told him honestly, still running your fingers through his hair. He breathed a laugh through his nose, wincing in pain a second later.

“Wow, you sure know how to treat a guy who just got his ass kicked. Bet I look dead.” He sounded sarcastic, but you could see the warmth in his face. You shook your head, cupping his jaw tenderly in your palms.

“Nope. Just as gorgeous as ever.” He took in a sharp breath, closing his eyes as you kissed him fleetingly on his nose, his jaw, any bruise you could find that didn’t seem too sore, until he tilted his chin at just the right angle and caught your lips with his own. It was chaste, just a quick, sweet peck before he was pulling away with a satisfied grin that made an unexpected heat flare in your stomach. It was the first time he’d kissed you, and it wasn’t great; his lips were chapped, and he tasted like morning breath and the faint memory of blood, but it was Steve, so you chased him, kissing him again before finally pulling away and straightening up. The comfortable silence broke when his stomach growled. You grinned.

“Made you dinner, with real food. I’ll get you a plate.”

“God, you’re my dream girl.” you bit the inside of your cheek and turned your face away, waving off his compliments.

“I’m trying to feel less guilty about stabbing you with a needle.”

“I asked you to.”

“I know. And you owe me. So,” you trailed the tip of your index finger along his jaw, booping his nose and watching the dreamy smile spread slowly over his face while he stared up at you, “I bring you food, and you explain everything. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Measuring Tape

When you took the stitches out two weeks later, Steve told you he had a surprise for you.

You were a little worried, considering everything he had just ‘surprised’ you with recently; kids with superpowers and weird creatures from hell, Russian spies, shit man. It was insane, but you believed him; and you didn’t want anything to do with any super cool new lizard Dustin found.

He promised it had nothing to do with the Upside Down, so you agreed, and that Saturday he drove you up to Lovers Lake. Before you could make fun of him for trying to show you the make out spot he’d ‘invented’ himself as a surprise, he pulled a picnic blanket, a basket, and a small bouquet out of the trunk. You gasped, and you could already see him anticipating your reaction, eyebrows raised and expectant.

“For me?”

“No, for The Queen.” Smiling wide, you surged forward, taking the basket in one arm and the flowers in the other, stretching to kiss his cheek while he wrapped an arm around your waist, leaning down slightly to make it easier.

“You’re such a dork, Harrington.”

“In that case, I’ll just take this back.” He moved to take the basket from you, and you clutched it to your chest protectively, glaring at him and ripping yourself from his arm.

“No! Can’t back out now; I wanna have a picnic, and you said I can always have what I want.” You batted your eyelashes at him innocently, and he choked, face turning red.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Sweetheart.” Looking down at the flowers in your hand and the man in front of you, you couldn’t help but disagree.

I think it’s the other way round.

—

Steve was a romantic, but he wasn’t a planner. Once you were both settled underneath a large tree, close enough to enjoy the sounds of the lake but hidden deep enough in the trees, you took it upon yourself to unpack the lunch Steve had brought, pulling out a six pack of beer and two sandwiches. You turned to him, one of your hands still in the basket, digging around for anything else.

“Quite the spread you got here.” You laughed, and he scooted closer, joining in. He put his hand into the basket, brushing yours for a second before grabbing two small plastic containers.

“You missed something.” He set them both on the blanket, eyeing you proudly and grabbing a beer. “There we go. Meal fit for a king.”

“Applesauce.” you didn’t have to say anything more.

“Okay, so I’m not the best at this stuff. Sue me.” He didn’t even seem the least bit embarrassed, nudging his knee with yours and taking a swig out of his bottle. Rolling your eyes, you kept searching the bottom of the basket before turning to Steve in confusion.

“Did you pack spoons?” The blank stare he gave you was enough of an answer, and you burst into giggles again, watching as he frustratedly put them away. “S’okay Steve, at least we have sandwiches and beer.”

“The most important food groups.” nodding sagely, he handed you a bottle and clinked it against his own lightly.

“Cheers. To not dying?”

Steve hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you closer until you were side by side on the blanket, squishing together. Your mind went haywire, suddenly all too aware of how big you were and just how much of you touched him. How much his fingers sank into your sides. “To my amazing, beautiful personal nurse.”

But you were a million miles away and frozen ridgid next to him, suddenly shattered. Sometimes it was so easy to forget, especially with Steve, but then one tiny thing would take you back, spiraling into a web of shame and self-loathing. The static cleared for a second when he cupped your face, his concerned eyes swimming to the surface of your mind.

“Sweetheart?”

He wasn’t smiling anymore, his lips pursed in worry, scanning your face for a clue. You forced yourself to speak, lead in your chest.

“Do you really think I’m pretty?” You meant it to come out teasingly, but it wasn’t anything more than a choked whisper, and you watched Steve’s expression as his heart broke. It made you feel worse. It melted into determination a second later, and before you could stop him he was gripping one of your thighs and dragging you into his lap while you squealed.

“Steve!” You gasped, and he grinned cheekily, adjusting himself before diving in for a kiss. It was messy and quick, the sudden rush of cold air leaving you light-headed when he pulled back a few inches, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I think…” He hummed, squeezing your thighs before running his palms roughly up your sides, tracing the curves of your torso clumsily in his hurry, “that you’re the most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes on.” your breath caught, and tears welled up in your eyes even as you shoved him away slightly.

“That’s such a line.”

“Just the truth, honey. Call it like I see it.” Honey. Oh, that was new. The domesticity of it felt good, and already your doubts were receding, just a little. Steve kissed you again, just a soft peck at the corner of your lips before he whispered, “Come swim with me?”

“In the lake?” you fully pulled away, staring at him incredulously. He was dead serious, if his face was anything to go by.

“I mean, we’re here…”

“I didn’t bring a suit.” his honeyed eyes sparkled with mirth and heat, hands still roaming your soft sides while he spoke.

“That’s funny, me neither. I’m sure we could find a really good way around that.” He was eyeing the gauzy white dress you were wearing like he was already imagining it slung over a tree branch.

“I’m pretty sure skinny dipping has an implied meaning…” he stopped his hands cold on your thighs, frowning, and you bit your lip, embarrassed that you had let such a petty comment through; Steve had never made you feel unwanted, far from it, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“It means skin, and I’d love to see a lot more of yours.” his fingers played with the hem of your dress, dragging against the flesh just underneath, teasing and light. Breath catching and stomach flipping, you chewed on your bottom lip, Steve watching with rapt attention, brown eyes half-lidded and adoring. “C’mon, gorgeous. 10 minutes.”

Steve made it hard to feel self-conscious around him, especially when he was all over you like this, begging for a glimpse under your clothes. But still you shook your head, a smile starting to crack your somber face. He saw it, his own 100 watts bright as he realized it was working.

“I don’t wanna swim naked, Steve. Like, in general. What if someone came up here?” You defended, and he pulled you even closer in his lap, starting to press kisses all over your face.

“They’d get to see the hottest babe in the world having fun?” You laughed again, resistance flooding out of you as he held you even tighter. You were stomach to stomach now, something that probably would have given you heart palpitations in high school, but you took a deep breath and brought your arms around his neck. “Anyone would be lucky to even catch a glimpse, ‘n I get your pretty body all to myself? Feels like I won the jackpot. I’m not joking.”

“I know you’re not.”

When you nuzzled closer, Steve knew he’d won in his own way, even if you didn’t end up going swimming. That didn’t mean he had to stop trying to bribe you, though. He mouthed at your jaw, moving up quickly to nibble on your earlobe, with one finger hooked into the puff sleeve of your dress, dragging it tantalizingly slowly down your shoulder. His lips traced a path from your throat to the skin he’d exposed, and you sighed softly, threading your fingers through his hair and closing your eyes.

“Stevie…”

“Mm, little busy here baby.” His indulgent words were muffled against your skin and you giggled, squirming underneath him. You felt him laugh more than you heard it, pressed so close the deep vibrations of his chest echoed in yours. “You know, I’d have to stop if-”

“Shut up. I’m not going swimming with you.” groaning, he dug his teeth into your shoulder playfully, ripping a sudden gasp from you, eyes fluttering open in shock; Steve whipped his head up to lock gazes with you, an almost predatory grin splitting his face open.

“You like that?” murmuring heatedly, his hands trailed up and down your plush sides, occasionally moving low enough to grab handfuls of your thighs and leaving fire in their wake. How he expected you to respond with his hands all over you, mouth on your throat, you had no idea. Your brain was mush, senses both overwhelmed and desperate for more. Before you could even string two words together his mouth was on yours, more commanding this time, teeth and tongue and desperate breathing; While he had you distracted with his attention, he’d rucked your dress up to the tops of your thighs, lovingly tracing the stretch marks on the back of them.

Steve broke the kiss far earlier than you would have wanted, a little out of breath but still clearly on a mission, and you whined, wrapping your arms a little tighter around his neck to keep him close. With his eyes still closed and forehead now resting on your shoulder, he said, “So is that still a no on the skinny dipping, or…”

“You know, Lovers Lake is probably so gross. Imagine how many condoms and used needles are in there.” you wrinkled your nose, mood totally ruined; Steve seemed to agree.

“Wow, that’s sexy. You’re really getting me going here.” he pulled your dress back down your thighs neatly, though that didn’t stop him from immediately shoving his hands under the hem again, like he just couldn’t resist touching the skin underneath.

“You’re welcome.” He huffed against your skin, but you could feel his smile as he pressed a final open-mouthed kiss to your collar, tilting his head back a little to stare at you.

“What?”

He shook his head slowly, dark brown eyes never leaving your face, doe-eyed and soft. You stared back, studying the way his soft lashes framed his eyes, the beauty marks scattered all over his tanned skin, a thatch of dark chest hair peeking out from his unbuttoned polo; The green light dappling through the leaves scattered over his face casting him in a gold and emerald glow. Steve, totally oblivious to his effect on you, leaned towards you, tilting his head and looking at you through his thick lashes, wisps of hair falling forward and into his eyes.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, voice heavy. He was clearly waiting for a cue, a go ahead to kiss you again; you initiated instead, moving against him like you were trying to taste every bit of him before clumsily moving off his lap. He nearly growled in complaint, a rumble of displeasure coming from deep in his chest as he grasped at your hips, and you laughed into his mouth before breaking the searing kiss and standing up, legs shaky. He joined you a second after, steadying hand on your back as you wobbled; you shot him a grateful smile.

That every shitty guy I dealt with has been worth it.

“I’m thinking that you have a pool, and I have a bikini.” You said suggestively, and the hand on the small of your back moved to wrap around your side.

Astonished, Steve asked, “You do? Why didn’t I know this?”

“Why would you know? No one does.” Except for Claire, who had forced you to buy the damn thing at the mall, insisting that you might need it someday. Add that to the list of things you should thank her for, and would if she wasn’t always so smug about it.

“But I would have wanted to see. C’mon, we’re burning daylight, I wanna get a good view!” You laughed, Steve hustling to the car with the basket in one hand and the picnic blanket in the other. His hand didn’t leave your thigh once the entire drive home.

Made With Love

“I have a present for you.”

Steve was just showing up at your house for movie night, barely starting to take his shoes off in the entrance when you blurted it, unable to contain the excitement any longer. You’d been working on it in secret for months; since your third date, if you were honest, and finally you’d finished it the day before he was coming over.

“That’s a pretty good hello.” without missing a beat, he stepped forward and wrapped you up in a bear hug, and you instantly relaxed into him like you were always meant to be there. You crushed your face into his chest and inhaled the scent of his cologne, a hint of his sweat underneath melding with it into a smell that was uniquely him.

‘Hi.”

“Hey, Honey.” You felt him kiss the crown of your head before he pulled back a little, taking your face in his hands and pulling you away from his chest to brush his lips over yours. He gave you his typical winning smirk. “You got me a gift?”

“Correction, I made you a gift.” his hold on your jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and his mischievous face broke open with affection and uncertainty.

“You didn’t have to.” he whispered, like he was surprised that you’d even considered doing more than the bare minimum for him; you wondered how often he got gifts from anyone at all.

Dating him, you realized that Steve hadn’t ever had someone to do things just because they cared about him, or wanted to see him smile; there were tiny strings attached to every kind of love Steve had known, except for Dustin and the other kids, and even then it wasn’t the same. They adored him, even if they didn’t want to admit it, but he was the mentor, the giver, and it both touched and saddened you that Steve gave them something he’d never had himself, from his parents or anyone else.

You were determined to give that to him, in whatever ways you could, so you just smiled and said, sweet as you could, “I wanted to.”

“Fuck. You know I-” he cut himself off quickly, turning red, “-thank you. Really, it means a lot.” His voice was hoarse like he was already fighting off tears and you nodded so you didn’t push him, kissing his cheek and returning to the bags he’d stepped in with while he stood frozen in the archway.

“So, what movies did you bring?”

It took 10 minutes and a lot of whining from him, but you made sure everything was set up for movie night before you brought the gift to Steve, no matter how eager he was. You’d wanted it to be casual; there was no anniversary or anything important going on, you’d just wanted to do something nice for him and you didn’t want him to feel like it was a big deal.

The point seemed moot when you passed him the white gift box and he was practically vibrating off the couch with barely contained excitement. Within seconds he tore off the lid and threw it aside, shushing you when you snickered at him.

Being able to watch his face shift as he realized what was in the box, like clouds breaking in the sky to reveal the sun, was more than enough payment for all of the work you’d put in for this moment.

“You’re serious?” he looked from the box back to you, then back to the box before pulling out the contents and holding it up to see it fully. You’d thought about making him a scarf, so he didn’t have to lie about needing one anymore, but you’d wanted to give him something he’d actually wear; plus, you had a promise to keep.

“I told you you’d be wearing one of my jackets one day, babe.” you reminded him, grin splitting your face open while he twisted it all around, looking at it from every angle, mouth gaping open in shock. It was a relatively simple looking windbreaker, navy and white and fitted to his measurements; you’d had to steal quite a few jackets until you’d gotten the fit you needed, but it was clearly worth it when Steve was staring at it like you’d handed him a fallen star. You’d even taken the time to sew in your own label to really make it yours, as well as his.

“You made this? For me?” You couldn’t identify the emotion in his voice, tight and strained, but you nodded, placing a kiss on his cheek; he didn’t look away for a second, putting the coat down in his lap and running his hands over the sleeves, like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

“Just for you.” You confirmed, and he took one hand off of the jacket to pull you in by the waist, still without looking. You snuggled into his side, adding, “Made with love.” without thinking. Steve finally turned to look at you, eyes shiny with tears, clutching the jacket in his fist; your breath caught, and you instinctively reached up to cradle his jaw, tracing lines between his beauty marks with your fingers. He took a deep, shuddery breath and closed his eyes.

“Made with love, huh? You love me?” Despite his cocky phrasing, Steve’s voice shook slightly with fear, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and you instantly knew why; Nancy and Steve were on good terms now, but you’d heard enough to piece together a few of the ways they’d hurt each other. He’d never told you much about the breakup, but you knew she was drunk, and angry, and said some things that had stayed with him ever since, no matter how badly you tried to wash it away.

“Of course I do.” You responded like there was never any doubt at all, and there wasn’t; You knew the moment you’d spoken it was true, it had been since your first date, draping you in a jacket he brought just for you, pulling you close at your door without any motives and promising he’d always give you what you wanted. He hadn’t broken that promise yet, and you doubted he ever would. You swiped your thumb under his eye, catching a single stray tear, and he gave you a sheepish grin.

“Thank you.” he murmured, pulling you closer to his side and inclining his chin to meet your mouth with his own; He tasted like chapstick-probably one he stole from you-and you could feel a flicker of fire in your stomach when he parted your lips with his tongue, gentle but insistent, running his hands through your hair and delicately over your arms and back like he was reveling in it. He pulled you onto him suddenly, swinging one of your legs over his so you could straddle his lap without breaking the kiss, the jacket crushed between you both as you pressed together, desperate to be as close as possible.

When you finally pulled yourself away, turning your head quickly so he couldn’t chase your lips, Steve whined. He looked amazing, lips red and slightly shiny with spit, parted just a bit so he could gasp for air, hair mussed from your hands, eyes wide and bright and so obviously in love it made you ache, toes curling in your socks. His eyelids fluttered for a second, like he was getting his bearings, and then he was smiling dopily at you, hugging you against his chest and pressing heated kisses along your jaw and down the curve of your throat, humming against you.

“Fuck. Love you so much, pretty girl. Just been waiting to hear you say it, you wouldn’t believe how long I waited. Worth every second.” he babbled against your skin adoringly, his teeth gently scraping your neck and tickling you; you giggled, pressing your face into his shoulder out of embarrassment, letting him trail his hands up your back soothingly. “Don’t get all embarrassed, I’m trying to be cute here.”

“You are being cute, that’s why I’m embarrassed!”

He laughed, shaking his head slightly. The mood shifted from playful to serious in the silence, and he started again. “Seriously, thank you. It’s-I… no one has ever done something like this for me.” He admitted, and you pulled away to look at him again- his eyes were downcast, staring into his lap where the jacket was crumpled between your stomachs. You scooted back a little and pulled it out from between you two, laying it neatly on the couch cushion next to you. He watched you silently before continuing, “I know I say that a lot, but it’s true, yknow?”

“I know.” You didn’t elaborate, and neither did he.

“I really do love you.” He clarified, and your chest swelled with pride; you had no idea what you’d done to deserve Steve, but you thanked whatever cosmic fate pushed him into your store for this moment, looking down at his honey-sweet smile while he professed his love on your parents couch. “We should elope.”

“Give me time to make the dress, okay?” you teased, and he leaned up to meet you again, laughing against your lips, starting to smile so big you couldn’t keep kissing him. You both settled again, resting your head on his shoulder while he traced patterns down your curves. “I love you too, Stevie.” you sighed, voice thick with emotion, and he pressed his cheek against your head, curling inwards so you could press yourself even close against him- you did, greedily.

“I know.” He repeated, voice was firm and solid, no trace left of the doubt from before, and you pressed a kiss to his collarbone in response.

“Good.” you followed his eyes back to the jacket next to you both, and you smiled a little. “You really like it?”

“I love it, baby.” He grabbed it, quickly throwing it over his shoulders and settling his hands on your hips, relaxing back into the couch. “How’s it look? As good as you dreamed?”

“Even better. I’m gonna have to start filling your wardrobe.” He visibly perked up at the idea and you giggled, brushing the tip of your nose against his and giving him another quick, sloppy kiss before clumsily climbing off of his lap to start the movie despite his protests.

You returned, settling yourself back into his lap without even thinking, and he sighed happily, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around you. You’d never thought you’d be comfortable enough with someone to be this close, but Steve made it so easy; it was shocking how wanted he made you feel with just a few touches.

Without looking away from the screen you reached back and rested your hand on his cheek, running your thumb over the apple of it and murmuring “Thank you, Stevie.” You knew you didn’t have to say what for; Steve always knew when it came to you.

“Yeah, You can’t really feel it though. Why’d you ask?”

Hiking up one broad shoulder to his ear in a half shrug instead of answering, he continued to rifle through your display, eventually fishing out a forest green and presenting it to you with a wide smile. “Look, babe,” he was oddly proud, voice excited as he held the small bottle up to his uniform, “matches the vest.”

His eagerness was infectious, and you grinned back at him, standing up to pluck the bottle from his fingers and pretend to study it, nodding approvingly. “Nice choice, Harrington. Let me know when you want a manicure.” you’d thought that he’d laugh and wave you off, pushing you out the door now that you were finished getting ready, but Steve’s expression was curious, and he glanced down at the lacquer in your hand again.

“I mean, I’m not really doing anything right now…” You’d have assumed he was joking if his voice wasn’t so soft, almost embarrassed, and you laughed a little to ease his discomfort, taking his hand with your free one and squeezing his fingers.

“I guess movie night can wait…” your happy expression betrayed you as you sighed dramatically, already sitting him down at your makeup table while he smiled goofily at you, splaying his hand out on the dark wood. You sat down in another stool and took his hand, wagging a nail file at him. “If I’m doing this, I’m doing a damn good job, Steve.”

“That’s my girl, so talented.” You would punch him if he didn’t sound so sincere.

He was surprisingly patient while you cleaned up his nails, barely complaining even as you pushed his cuticles back with a coffee stirrer, just raised his dark eyebrows at you and chuckled. The only problem returned when you finally opened up the polish; Steve wrinkled his nose at the smell again.

“How do you stand that?” He demanded, leaning away dramatically while you took hold of his palm and drew it towards you.

“Beauty is pain. Hold still.” He squirmed once and you raised the brush threateningly.

Steve went dutifully silent after a huff of displeasure, contenting himself to watch you painstakingly go over each fingernail, your slow, off-sync breathing the only sound filling the quiet room. You could feel his eyes burning holes into your hands, studying every movement you made with burning curiosity. You moved extra carefully under his watch.

When you finished, focus breaking as you capped the bottle, you met his gaze for the first time in 10 minutes; Steve was staring at his nails when you caught his eye, face soft and open. Without looking away, you brought his hands to your lips, brushing kisses against each of his knuckles and the back of each of his hands lightly. He audibly choked, the weak breath catching in his throat as you smiled against his skin.

“All done.” You whispered, the quiet broken, and Steve shifted in his chair suddenly, his light mood renewed as he leaned over you, looking at the hand that was still in both of yours.

“Did you know that when you’re really focused on something you stick your tongue out?” His tone was teasing, but he couldn’t stop himself from grinning down at you, fondness pulling at one corner of his mouth when you rolled your eyes up at him, fighting the urge to paint a broad stripe up his arm.

“Do you like it?” You asked instead. He held both of his hands fully in front of his face, twisting them so the polish shined in the light, nodding approvingly.

“Looks great, baby.” Sighing in relief, you sat back and watched him blow on his nails, occasionally glancing up at you like he was making sure he was doing it right, measuring your expression.

“So, why the sudden curiosity?” Steve never complained when you took forever to get ready and he’d picked up on some of the basics just by being around you and Robin, but he was never really interested in your ‘girl stuff’ (his words). He gave another half shrug, mumbling through an answer with his eyes cast to the side.

“I just wanted to be close to you for a minute.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, more from surprise than anything but Steve pouted, pushing forward in his chair until his forehead was against your temple, bumping his nose against your cheek, huffing. “You’re laughing at me.”

“M’not!” You insisted, lie falling flat when you failed to suppress your soft giggles, shaking your head minutely against him in weak protest, tilting your face slightly to the side to talk against his cheek, “You’re just a cornball, it’s cute.”

“Mm-hm.” His disbelief was evident but he tried to kiss the smile off your face anway, slotting his lips against yours and cupping the back of your neck delicately, aware of the still-drying polish on his hand; It was short and dizzyingly sweet, his tongue tracing the curve of your grin, swallowing your laugh before he pulled away with a soft nip, thumb gently rubbing your jaw while he admired your lovesick expression.

“You can always just ask to hold my hand.” You joked breathily, intertwining his other hand with yours. He shook his head, pink to his ears.

“It’s different.” He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t have to; Steve was always taking care of everyone else, and in your months of dating you’d picked up on how much he desperately needed the shoe to be on the other foot sometimes, and how hard it was for him to ask. Taking 10 minutes to do something nice just because you loved him was new to Steve- when you first started dating you won him a stuffed bear at the county fair and he almost cried- So you just nodded your agreement, throat too clogged to speak as you studied your interlocked hands, nails alternating pink and green. Completely relaxed against you, cheek resting on your head, Steve inspected his freshly done nails one last time.