#scoops robin

“I’m just saying I think I would prefer the East Coast, y’know? Maybe Boston?” You shrugged as you finished wiping the glass display that some snot-nosed kid had breathed all over. 

“Mmm, yeah,” Robin nodded in agreement, continuing to skim over another Vonnegut novel, “I’ve been considering Smith, and that’s not too far. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to swing it.”

A frown settled on your face at her response. You stashed the cleaning supplies in one of the lower cabinets near the register. With a sigh, you leaned against the countertop next to her, “You could totally land a scholarship. It’s all in the essay and what major you choose. Like you could be a linguist and talk about learning romantic languages in school while practicing German at home.”

Robin lowered her book, her expression still as bleak, “I don’t think being a linguistics major is gonna convince my mom that I have a plausible reason for going to college out of state and not just becoming another dead ender in this shithole town.”

Robin’s mother — often the topic of your conversation with your best friend as of late. You never could find the right words to describe Mrs. Buckley. She was a scornful woman who worked at the factory past the north end of Roane County. It was obvious in every interaction that this hadn’t been the life she planned for herself: pregnant out of wedlock and barely living above the poverty line with three children and a husband who never bothered to really help. 

Navigating her relationship with her mother had been a lost cause for Robin since middle school. While you tried to help or share advice when you could, all you could really do was console your friend. 

You reached out to take her hand when the scrape of metal against the floor tore your attention away. Some schmuck ran into one of the tables while poorly attempting to go unnoticed. Except this schmuck was wearing jeans that were slightly too tight, a navy polo, and Ray-Ban sunglasses over his eyes (likely to disguise a deadly hangover) — Steve Harrington. 

“Speaking of dead ends…” Robin rolled her eyes as she jumped down from her perch on the countertop. “Harrington, I’m afraid we sell ice cream and not hair products. That would be two stores down.”

A look of confusion washed over the boy’s face as he pushed the sunglasses up to rest on top of his head, a few brunette strands tumbling back down. 

“Um, I–? Hey…” He sheepishly scratched at the back of his neck, obviously not recognizing either of you from Ms. Click’s history class, “Oh, uh, I’m actually supposed to be training today. I know I’m early, but I figured it’d be better to be early. Right?”

His eyes flicked to your own, seeking some sort of validation. If Robin wasn’t gonna toss this kid a bone, then at least you could: “No, yeah, that makes sense.”

“Whatever,” Robin huffed as she made her way into the back to snag her denim jacket and bag. Now you were alone with a suddenly very nervous Steve who resembled more of a kicked puppy than a former all-star athlete beneath the fluorescents of the store. 

You offered him an apologetic look, “Nick should be here shortly. This’ll be a good training shift because Tuesdays tend to be a little slower. Still a lot of unchaperoned children, but nothing compared to Saturdays.”

“Oh, thanks. I appreciate the heads up,” Steve perked up, the shine returning to his smile. You had to silently admit that he’d always had a very nice smile. The perks of being a teenage heartthrob. He cleared his throat, some of the residual awkwardness beginning to fade, “Have you, um, worked here long?”

You gestured to the back-of-house area, “Robin and I drove over during our free period when the mall first opened to apply. Not much was open, and Scoops was the only store that called us back after glancing at our menial resumes.”

Steve chuckled, a hum akin to agreement emanating from him, “Yeah, same, I guess. Especially the menial resume part. The pay is a little better than lifeguarding at the community pool again.”

Robin busted through the back door at that moment, “Wow. Super interesting, Steve-o, and we’d love to hear more.” 

She then pointed to the front entrance where your manager was walking in fashionably late as always, “But it looks like we’re gonna pass the torch on to you and get our booties outta here. Hope you survive your first shift!”

Without letting either of you say a proper goodbye, Robin snagged your wrist and tugged you out of the ice cream shop. 

“Buckley, the clock doesn’t dismiss you; I dismiss you,” Your manager griped as the two of you blew past him. Steve remained slightly bewildered by everything that had occurred since his arrival in the store. 

“Well, don’t be fifteen minutes late, Nick, especially when the ladies have plans,” she snipped back, not even giving him a passing glance. You threw both men an apologetic glance in her stead before Robin pulled you out of sight. 

⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎.

With more people on the schedule, you and Robin began to realize that your shared shifts were dwindling. Something that was clearly far more frustrating for her than it had been for you. 

“I swear to God if Nick gives me another Friday shift with Ted, I might lose it — officially!” She flopped onto your bedroom floor, still smelling of sweet dairy. Her head tipped back to rest against the frame of your bed. “And to make matters worse, I’m alone with Harrington for five hours tomorrow.”

You cocked your head to the side, not quite understanding her upset tone, “Nick said that Steve’s doing great and that he’s good with the kids.”

Robin deadpanned at you, as if you had missed something completely obvious. She pulled you down to sit directly in front of her, “Sure, Harrington’s good with the kids, but have you seen him with the ladies? I really can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m convinced that God has chosen Scoops Ahoy to punish Steve for all his former antics and crimes against us peasant folk.”

“Okay, let’s tone down the dramatics,” your lips pursed as you tried not to laugh at her comparison, “Steve’s always been a flirt.”

“That’s the thing, babes, he’s god-awful at flirting. Like, truly terrible,” She tried to better explain. 

Your brows knitted together in confusion, “Um, he was probably having an off day, Robs. Happens to the best of us.” 

“No, you have to believe me!” Robin continued her ramble, “The other day Debby Sanchez and her little posse walked in here. I was prepared for an episode of Hawkins High hallway déjà vu, but he completely floundered the entire interaction. Steve Harrington, the town lady’s man, can’t flirt to save his life.”

You crossed your arms, still not buying her entire claim, “Okay. That’s not awful. It could be as bad as the time I tripped over literal air, and spilled my Orange Julius all over Mark Lewinsky.”

Robin’s whole body tensed at your cringey yet truthful reminder of the encounter from two weeks ago. “That was bad.”

A pause took hold of the room before you both burst out with fits of laughter, falling against each other. You clutched your sides, attempting to catch your breath while lying back on the bedroom floor. 

You released a sigh, counting the glow-in-the-dark stars littered on the ceiling, “At least there’s finally some eye candy at work.”

“If you say so,” Robin neither agreed nor disagreed as she moved to lie next to you, mentally counting the remaining days of summer. Her head cocked over to glance at you, the teasing smile stitched to her mouth, “I can at least deal with the gaggle of children.”

“Yeah?” You blinked, curious about the babysitter’s crew.

She curled onto her side, going into detail about Harrington’s little group. They were rambunctious and obsessed with Dungeons & Dragons and other ‘nerd shit,’ as Robin explained. “But one of the kids is away at summer camp, according to Steve. Dustin; he’s supposed to be super smart. Even called him his best friend. Though Max, that’s the girl, is way too cool for all of them. Especially Steve.”

“Robin,” you interrupted her, “Are you befriending Steve Harrington?”

A pregnant pause hung in the air. 

“Shut the fuck up.”

⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎.

Somewhere between complaining about Steve Harrington’s meager existence on your bedroom floor and the countless shifts scheduled between the unlikely pair, Steve had managed to build some rapport with Robin. He no longer skirted the conversation, but made jokes back at her, judged her taste in movies, and questioned the ice cream combinations you took home at the end of the shift. 

In return, Robin had established a way to plot the data of Steve’s flatlining dating life. You were wrapping up your inventory shift in the back of the house with Robin. Well… Robin was presently with you, but she hadn’t been helping for the past ten minutes. 

When you finally shut the giant freezer door, you’d caught her in the exact same position as when you’d left her. Robin sat at a stool with just enough of an opening in the service window to observe Steve and a dry-erase board propped up in front of her. 

Glancing over her shoulder, you noted the five tally marks under the ‘You Suck’ and nothing under the ‘You Rule’ column. Through the gap, you could see Steve completely missing the opportunity to get the customer's number. Robin looked far too excited for the inevitable moment of rejection. 

“You’re having too much fun with this,” You gently elbowed her side.

“I am merely an observer of God’s divine plan,” Robin hummed in reply, gaze never drifting from the window. 

Your brow furrowed, searching for your punch card to clock out, “I don’t think ‘God’s divine plan’ actually includes tormenting Steve Harrington. The guy’s going through a rough phase. Fumbling five girls happens.”

“Five girls today,” Robin corrected you. 

You paused, eyes cutting from the back of Steve’s head to Robin. You hated yourself for stooping so low, but you had to ask, “How many this week?”

“Nineteen.”

“Jesus Christ,” You gasped. 

That unfortunately caught Steve’s and the customer’s attention. Robin swiftly shut the window, her wide-eyed stare pinning you in place, “You blew my cover.”

“Sorry,” You flinched and continued to mull over the information, “But nineteen? This can’t be the same guy we watched girls completely swoon over in the hallway.”

But Robin didn’t have time to properly answer as Steve unceremoniously entered the back room for his fifteen-minute break, “You’re up, Buckley. I’m dead weight today.”

“Tell me about it,” She rolled her eyes while stumbling onto her feet. She propped up her makeshift score sheet without even sparing the boy a glance, “Gotta give the ladies a break from your feeble attempts at flirtation.”

“It’s this stupid hat,” He sneered, tearing the white sailor’s cap from his head before chucking it against the employee lockers, “It’s ruining my best feature. The ladies dig the hair.”

“Right, right. It’s definitely the hat,” Robin laughed while you remained the silent observer to the situation. You were off the clock, so technically, you had no say in their little quarrel.

Steve shot her a scornful look, but before he could deal with her comment, the bell at the register dinged, signaling a customer at the counter. Robin swiftly exited, hardly attempting a welcoming smile. 

Steve’s shoulders slumped, his defeat obvious. There was something tired behind his eyes, almost mature, if you were honest. It was like his source of strife lived far outside the bounds of his shitty job and lackluster performance with the ladies recently. Back at school, you might’ve joined in on Robin’s antics in tormenting the boy. Yet standing three feet from the mythical Steve “The Hair” Harrington was enough to put more things about life into perspective. 

You don’t know why you asked. You should’ve just wished him a good shift and left for the day. But suddenly, there was something intriguing about Steve that was convincing enough to continue the conversation: “You doing okay, Harrington?”

He blinked twice, confusion softening his expression. The question seemed to strike somewhere deeper than either of you expected. It was more than casual, yet lacked the intimacy he sought in each hopeless exchange with a disinterested customer or date. 

Steve swallowed before the mask was suddenly right back up, “Yeah. Kosher.”

“Kosher?” You questioned. 

He chuckled, a genuine smile stretching across his lips for the first time in days, “It’s something my dad says to his work friends. I don’t know; adult lingo.”

Now it was your turn to laugh at his strange explanation. You shook your head, readjusting the strap of your bag as you eyed the exit, “Well, there’s still a whole summer before you have to be a real adult.”

“I guess you’re right,” Steve nodded in agreement, an ease settling into his stance, “See ya next shift?”

“See ya next shift,” You waved before finally sneaking out the back door to continue on with your day. 

It was criminal that having a job meant arriving at 6 am on a Saturday just to unload a stupid ice cream truck. Steve hated inventory days, notably because they would follow nights with crazy parties that his remaining high school buddies couldn’t let him miss! 

But at least he had Robin and half a banana to carry him through the morning… god willing…

After lugging a hundred ten boxes into the freezer, they paused in the break room to catch their breath. The remainder of the shipment could wait in the back halls. He slumped back into one of the metal chairs, kicking his feet up onto the table. 

Robin watched as he peeled the second half of his banana to continue his mid-shift snack. She couldn’t decide what annoyed her more: the fact that dingus trusted the half-peeled fruit that had been sitting on the counter for two hours now or the fact that the dingus in question was slowly army-crawling his way across the line of friendship. 

“Any more children coming today?” She asked as she took her usual seat on the countertop near the window. She cracked open her novella of the week, planning to finish out this chapter during the impromptu break. They still had an hour until the mall and the shop opened. Four more boxes of cone and napkin inventory waited for them in the back halls. 

“Ha, ha,” Steve wrinkled his nose at the slight. Ever since he’d let it slip that the back halls of the mall created a clear path to the brand new Starcourt Cinema, the party had taken full advantage of their ice cream and movie privileges. The party minus El and Dustin for their own distinct reasons. 

He wouldn’t tell Robin yet, especially at the expense of further torment, but he’d been counting down the days until Dustin returned from sleepaway nerd camp. While he’d sent a few letters out to Utah, Steve would rather have his best friend back in the same state.

“Sinclair and Max might stop by,” He answered before tossing the final bite of banana into his mouth. 

Robin simply nodded despite not really knowing which child was which, and the nicknames the group shared with Steve didn’t help much. It was amusing to see how he acted like some disgruntled babysitter despite the clear excitement in his expression when one of ‘his kids’ entered the store. 

Silence settled between the duo, the stillness itching at Steve’s skin. Even though they were reaching some semblance of camaraderie — as much as one could with a reluctant co-worker slinging ice cream for minimum wage.

“So,” Steve trailed off, attempting to casually probe the question. The question being your name, “Is she seeing anyone?”

Robin slowly lowered her book, staring at Steve with large, harrowing eyes, “Don’t even think about it.”

“Jesus Christ, Robin. Don’t look at me like I’m the Grim Reaper,” He moved to chuck his banana peel in the trash can, “She’s hot—”

“She’s off limits,” Robin stood, leaning over the table towards him with an intense stare, “And I’m serious, Harrington. She’s not one of your old one-date soirees, and she’s not a last resort because you happen to have no real game.”

“Hey,” Steve scoffed, equally offended in his ego, yet also by what Robin intended. Sure, you weren’t Tammy Thompson, or Cheryl West, or Nicole Johnson, or even Nancy Wheeler — you were something so utterly unique that Steve was positive that he didn’t possess the proper vocabulary to authentically describe you. 

“Shit, Steve, have you even thought it through?” Robin huffed, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest, “Say you asked her out and she said no. Say you asked her out, she said yes, and you fucked it up.”

“What if I didn’t fuck it up?” He shook his head, irritated by her implications. 

Robin didn’t bother to consider the alternative because it didn’t exist in her mind. As far as she knew, entanglements with Steve Harrington simply resulted in a broken heart. The verdict was made by her jury of one: “Don’t even think about it.”

⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎.

Your room was terribly hot. Between your fan, night air, and the open window, you hoped to cool off enough to finally fall asleep on the warm summer night. The radio lowly hummed in the corner, Bonnie Tyler’s voice humming lyrics you couldn’t fully hear from the overworked fan. 

You’d been reading ‘Catcher in the Rye’ at the insistence of Robin, who proclaimed it was her mission to provide you with nuanced media recommendations. She explained that it was an act of rebellion against the mainstream — you thought of it as peer-assigned summer reading. 

Once you concluded the chapter, you tossed the book aside onto your nightstand. Crickets chirped outside the window, serenading the warm evening. Your mind drifted to your shift with Steve today and his strange behavior. You thought about tomorrow’s shift with Robin and your lack of evening plans. Summer used to mean endless pool days and biking between houses to seek reprieve from the outdoors. Now it seemed to mean sticky uniforms and disgruntled children. Yet when the school year began again, you knew you’d be thankful for the extra pocket cash for college applications. 

Just as you reached to turn off your lamp for the night, your bedside phone rang. You picked it up on the first ring, praying your parents hadn’t heard and weren’t snooping from the other line to see who was calling their daughter so late at night. 

“Hello?” You whispered.

On the other end was Steve Harrington, nervously giggling your name, “Hey, hey. I didn’t expect you to still be up.”

“Harrington,” You hummed, amused by the shake in his voice, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Steve’s throat went dry as he stared up at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. A year ago, he was laying it on thick to any prep girl who gave him the time of day. Now, his flirting skills felt lackluster compared to his once playboy persona. Or maybe you just rendered him nearly speechless, even just over the phone. Steve was too proud to admit to either option as he gathered his thoughts. 

“Well, um, I just remembered our convo during work today about Star Wars,” He started to explain, “And that you said that you’ve never seen it.”

“And that warranted a phone call?” You teased, your giggles rendering Steve’s cheeks red on the other end. 

“I– Yes, but– It’s because the Hawk is showing Star Wars this weekend and I figured that we could, y’know, go together?” He asked, any trace of smoothness gone. 

You had to admit that it was cute. Steve Harrington, of all people, was nervously calling to ask you out on a movie date. Seeing a movie was casual enough to test the waters without making things too awkward for work. Considering your options, it was easy to oblige. 

“Sounds like a date,” you hummed, twisting the cord of the landline around your middle and index finger. The curl in the cord reminded you of the way Steve’s hair fell in his face without the ‘stupid’ sailor hat.

“Yeah, yeah. A date it is then,” Steve responded enthusiastically. You couldn’t confirm it, but you figured he was dancing around his bedroom like an idiot right now. He cleared his throat before feeding you some more details, “Let’s say I pick you up at 2:15 tomorrow. Tickets and snacks on me.”

“I can buy my own ticket,” you tried to press. 

“No way. I’m buying.” The smile in Steve’s voice was prevalent. It was cute; the way he softly gushed over the phone didn’t come off as the once-crowned King of Hawkins High. 

You scoffed, feigning frustration, though you were more than happy to let him properly treat you, “Steve, we make the same three dollars and fifty cents an hour.”

“Exactly. Wouldn’t make sense for a pretty girl like you to spend all that hard-earned cash on a date. Save that for a rainy day,” his timbre evened, his confidence growing again. You’d be lying if you acted like you didn’t enjoy this side of him now. 

“Fine, fine,” you finally caved, noting the time on your digital clock. Winding down the conversation, you gave Steve your address before finalizing the plan: “2:15. Don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

When the phone clicked, your first instinct was to immediately call Robin. You told each other everything. You had to tell her that Steve Harrington had asked you out, and it wasn’t a joke. 

You started to dial the Buckley landline when something churned in your stomach. Why brag to Robin if the date was just a one-off thing? Maybe Steve was simply attempting to be friendly. Maybe the date would be shit, and you’d rather not make things awkward at work… 

So maybe calling Robin wasn’t the best idea. Instead, you settled on a false promise of telling her about it if your date to the Hawk went well. 

⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎.

If you were honest, you didn’t really expect Steve to be super punctual about your date. You’d seen how he’d sneak in late to second period during spring semester of his senior year, or how often he’d call Scoops with a shit excuse as to how he’d be ten minutes late. 

Lo and behold, not only was he perfectly on time, but he was five minutes early. You didn’t hear the knock on the door, just the voice of your mother chatting away at the front door. Checking over your appearance for a final time, you pocketed your wallet and slipped on your shoes before making your way downstairs. 

To your surprise, Steve and your mother were making small talk in the foyer. Her face lit up, as if she were talking to one of her fellow library volunteers. 

Your cheeks grew warm when you stepped forward to interrupt, “Um, hi. Mom?”

The conversation went silent as both of them looked at you with bright smiles. 

“You didn’t tell me you were going out today, dear?” She questioned, gesturing towards Steve, “But your friend here told me that you’re going out for a movie. He’s such a peach!”

“You’re too kind, miss,” Steve chuckled as he offered her a bundle of wildflowers, “Here. These are from my mom’s garden. She picked them this morning.”

Your mother gladly accepted them, eyes shining as she admired the arrangement, “What a gentleman. You are welcome here anytime, Steve.”

With some quick words and a hurried goodbye, your mother finally waved you both off as you made your way to the beamer parked in your driveway. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry about my mom.” Your face continued to grow warm, though your heart rate finally slowed. 

You reached to open the passenger door, only for Steve’s larger hand to beat you to it. He shook his head before holding the car door open for you, “Not a problem. She was great. Really.”

Your eyes flicked over his face for any sign of a lie. Part of you wanted to say that it was his customer service charm, except he’d been genuine through the entire encounter. You’d like to think that you knew Steve Harrington well enough to know when he was putting on an act, between his terrible flirting and dealing with bratty children at Scoops. 

It was sweet and somewhat surprising to realize that beneath his former high school bravado, lived someone who just wanted to make people smile. 

So you didn’t press it, just flashing him a warm smile as you ducked into the beamer. 

⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎.

The car ride lacked any notable conversation, just the top forty radio hits with the occasional anecdote from Jimmy Fast Hands. Steve’s thumbs drummed against the steering wheel as he continued down the familiar route. His eyes would occasionally glance over to you before giving a small, tight-lipped smile. 

So just like you did at work, you’d throw him a bone and start the conversation for him. 

“So why The Hawk instead of Starcourt Cinema?” You casually asked.

“You want to go to the mall on our day off?” Steve hummed, briefly glancing over at you before focusing on the road again. 

“Eh, but the ten percent discount isn’t bad,” you hummed, fingers tracing over the leather while eyeing the little knick-knacks around the vehicle. A polaroid of him and a younger boy at the Arcade. A Tears For Fears cassette on the car floor. The crumpled-up dollar bills in the center console. All clues to a version of Steve Harrington you were slowly beginning to learn. 

“Well, I’ve been going to the Hawk since I was a kid. I know the manager, not for the best of reasons, but he’s a great guy actually,” Steve shrugged, lightly tapping the beat of the song against the steering wheel, “Sure, Starcourt has the newer projectors and bigger screens, but it’s nowhere near being the best theatre in town.”

That answer pleasantly surprised you. Steve pleasantly surprised you. While your high school image of Steve had cracked weeks ago, the real Steve had finally started to peek through. 

Steve parked at the corner of Main Street. He was climbing out and rounding the car to open your door before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt. When he tugged open the car door, he flashed you a boyish grin, taking some deeper breaths. His face flushed from his winded state.

Even though the action was sweet, you couldn’t help but giggle, “You really lay it on thick, don’t you?”

“Just… trying to be a gentleman.” He nodded his head, locking the car behind you. His eyes nervously flicked to meet yours, “Too much?”

“No, no,” you said, smiling as you shook your head, “It’s sweet.”

Both of you made your way into the Hawk, discussing which movie theater candy was better and exactly how much butter was socially acceptable for the popcorn. Talking to Steve was easy, even enjoyable for a first date. 

What shocked you was how attentive he was. Steve not only held the doors and paid for the date, but he really listened to what you said. He held your eyes even when searching for your seats, hanging on to each detail as you recounted how Robin dragged you to see Nightmare on Elm Street against your will. 

When you took your seats and made it further into the movie, he didn’t make a low pass at you. All your close friends had a horror story about a guy trying to initiate during a movie, whether at home or in the theater. But he made no attempt past gingerly taking your hand when the anticipation began to build. Sure, the bar was low, and yet Steve was passing with flying colors. 

As the credits rolled, you looked between the half-empty popcorn bucket and Steve. He lightly squeezed your hand before releasing it to stretch, “So… thoughts?”

“Well, it was pretty good,” You shrugged, snagging a few more kernels, “But it didn’t hurt to have Harrison Ford running around.”

“Oh, so Mr. Ford does it for ya, huh?” Steve playfully wiggled his eyebrows. 

You lightly swacked at his shoulder, trying to hold back your laugh, “Mr. Ford? You’re such a dork.”

His nose lightly scrunched, but he took no offense, “I don’t think anyone has ever called me a dork before. Idiot? Sure. Dingus? Obviously. But dork?”

“You like Star Wars and make shitty jokes,” You smirked, finally moving onto your feet, “That’s pretty dorky.”

“And would it be pretty dorky if I invited you over to watch The Empire Strikes Back?” Steve asked, meeting your gaze with a hopeful expression. It was slightly unfair the way he made your stomach flip. 

You shifted your weight between your feet, suppressing the giddy urge to smile like an idiot. It all felt a little surreal: “Planning a sequel to our date already?”

“Who doesn’t like a good sequel?” Steve hummed as he escorted you out of the theatre. 

⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎.

You were milling about your house on the morning of the Fourth of July. Robin was supposed to call after work yesterday to chat about your holiday plans and finally decide whether you should invite Steve to tag along as well. Despite staying up to nearly midnight, you never heard from your friend and simply assumed she’d call in the morning. 

When the phone finally rang, you beat your mom to it, snagging the receiver and stepping into the dining room. “Hello?”

“Hey, hey, sailor.” It was your manager. 

“Um, hi, Nick,” Your brow furrowed. You were positive that you were off today, so why would he be calling?

“Look, I hate to ask this, but are you able to come in today?” He asked, exhaustion clear in his voice, “I’ll double the pay for coming in on a holiday.”

“I– I’m sorry? Did someone call out?”

“Um, well, no. Your friends, Harrington and Buckley, no-showed. And it seems no one else is answering, and the mall is about to open…” He continued to ramble on. You couldn’t exactly name what you felt. Confusion? Forgotten? Was the whole thing a coincidence? 

“I don’t want to sound short, but are you able to cover at all?”

You cleared your throat, focusing back on the call, “Um, yeah. I can be there in twenty minutes. What time would the shift end? Because I have plans with my family.”

“We’ll close at 4 pm for the holiday. That okay?” 

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

“Great!” Nick released a sigh of relief. “Then I’ll see you in twenty. Thanks for being a team player.”

“Yep. Bye.” Your shoulders slumped as you returned the phone to the receiver, explaining to your mother the reason for the call. 

So you spent your Fourth of July slinging ice cream for six hours before going home to your overly excited family. They dragged you to the county fair to Mayor Klein’s speech before whisking you off to your grandparents’ home on Lover’s Lake for a cookout and fireworks. 

And while the red, white, and blue painted the night sky with your siblings running around the lawn, you’d wondered if your friends had simply decided to make plans without you or if their silence was for better reasons. 

Maybe you’d ask during your next shift at Scoops. 

Twelve days – almost two weeks. That was the last time you spoke with Steve Harrington. That was the last time life felt normal. 

Between the mall fire and the radio silence from Steve, each day dragged on, trapping you in purgatory. You’d already been to three funerals this week, four scheduled for the next. Plus, the mayor had resigned amid the chaos of the tragedy and other controversies. Still, the town had planned a small memorial service with a plaque to remember the victims of the Starcourt Mall Fire. 

You were dressed in black, lying next to Robin in her bed as you both just listened to her Phil Collins cassette. You both decided to have an impromptu sleepover after attending Billy Hargrove’s funeral. You didn’t really know him outside of the gossip, yet he was still a classmate and a victim. 

Of course, Steve had been there, but there was no opportunity to talk. What would you even say? You couldn’t say he was avoiding you because he seemed occupied, sticking close to a younger red-haired girl whom Robin explained to be Billy’s step-sister. When she gave her speech at the service, you’d finally recognized her as one of the kids who always came to visit Scoops for free ice cream (off of Steve’s tab).

As the music continued to softly play in the empty space, your eyes shifted to the yellowed bruises leading up Robin’s arm. Your lips tightened in contemplation, knowing that they were the fading remnants of surviving the mall fire. You’d only seen Steve in passing at the funeral, his injuries prevalent, even though he attempted to disguise the large bruise on his cheekbone with his signature Ray-Bans. 

“Are you sure you’re doing okay?” Robin gingerly asked as she broke your train of thought.

You blinked twice, glancing at your closed bedroom door before looking back at her, “I… don’t really know if I could answer that.”

“Yeah,” She nodded, “Me neither. I mean, between sudden unemployment and…”

The girl vaguely gestured towards you, awkwardly attempting not to say the words you didn’t want to hear. But you had to. The service was tomorrow, whether you wanted it to be true or not. Everyone in Hawkins had lost someone; a friend, a neighbor, a loved one. 

What your family couldn’t wrap their head around was how this had happened. Your grandma was a docile woman, more so after your grandfather passed several years ago. She hated being out late, and to lose her to the mall fire… None of it made sense, and it didn’t sit right with your family. 

Robin had been a crutch through it all, and you were so grateful for it. Because it could be worse. It could’ve been a lot worse than the ‘contained’ tragedy. You could’ve lost Robin to the fire… you could’ve lost Steve…

You cleared your throat, voice shaky, “I didn’t get to say goodbye to her…”

Before you could utter another word, Robin flung both her arms around your frame, tugging you into a tight hug. You buried your face against her shoulder, willing the tears to stop. There had been enough tears. There would be plenty more to have tomorrow. 

Tonight, you just wanted a sleepover with your best friend. 

“I’ve missed this,” Robin released you from her embrace and grabbed both your hands. Her own eyes were glossy with the tears she withheld.

Your eyes drifted up from the bruise to meet her gaze. You swallowed down the lingering sadness that lodged itself in your throat, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she hummed, her eyes drifting back up toward the ceiling speckled with glow-in-the-dark stars. “Everything's just been so… quiet.”

You contemplated her words and the glaring truth in them. Life just seemed duller recently, despite the end of summer looming overhead. You’d both be seniors, come August. Even if time just seemed to drag on, your summer seemed to be flying by. 

“Steve and I were gonna apply to Family Video if you want to join,” Robin briefly added, giving no further details. 

You blinked a few times before propping yourself up on your elbows, brows knit together in surprise, “Steve?”

“Total dingus, I know, right?” Her head shook, eyes fluttering closed while recalling something, “He grew on me. Like mold. Still, we’re all out of a job. Why not continue the trend—”

“You’ve heard from Steve?” You cut her off with the question. 

Robin’s eyes shot open at your words, confusion painting her own lively features, “Uh, yeah? I– Have you not?”

God – your mom’s medical soap operas were right; you shouldn’t get involved with your co-worker. Steve had been talking to Robin for the past twelve days and hadn’t even bothered to say ‘hello’ while standing three feet apart at Billy Hargrove’s funeral. Maybe you and Robin were both wrong, and he was still the same prick he’d been in high school. Sure, you hadn’t gone all the way, but you at least figured he meant what he said about wanting to see you again. Boys suck.

“Wait. Are you being serious with me?” Robin continued, scrambling to properly sit up, “Because he was telling me about wanting to go see a movie at the Hawk, and I mentioned that you also wanted to see Back to the Future, and dingus promised me that he’d invite you.”

“I haven’t talked to Steve since our last shift.” Before the mall fire, the words implied themself. 

Robin furrowed her brow, confusion twitching at her lips, “Well, that’s weird.”

You flopped back against her bed, resigning yourself to giving up on ever attempting to understand a guy as complicated as Steve, “Tell me about.”

Robin mimicked your sigh, joining you with a soft thud. 

⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎.

Not even twenty-four hours after your bedroom confession session with Robin, Steve Harrington was dialing your number every fifteen minutes. You’d just returned from applying to another ice cream parlor and the library, with your application to the arcade being a last resort. 

Your mother peeked out from the kitchen, a hand on her hip as she held the phone against her chest, “Sweetie, that boy– Steve? Steve, keeps calling to see if you’re home.”

You blinked twice, eyes wide and slightly mortified by Steve’s behavior and your mother for picking up. Dropping your bag on the couch, you rushed to the phone, giving her an apologetic look as she returned to the kitchen to continue her baking. 

“I— Steve?” You softly spoke into the phone, half expecting him to be gone again. 

Except you heard the gentle clearing of his throat, assuring you that he was indeed on the other end of the phone. “Hey…”

The awkwardness in his tone saved the greeting from coming off as passive, yet you could feel the waves of nerves emanating through the phone. Even from a distance, there was a permanent tension with Steve that simultaneously plagued you while leaving you craving his presence more. That was probably why hearing from him after nearly a month left you slightly frazzled. 

“I… haven’t seen you around lately,” Steve tried to get the conversation started, to find some common ground to pick the ball back up from where you’d left it off. A month ago, he was tripping over his words because you made his breath stutter every time you laughed at his terrible puns. Now, it was because he didn’t know if he’d completely ruined things between you. 

You swallowed down your questions and your snide remarks. You couldn’t act like his silence didn’t sting more than it had, but you could be civil. Maybe he would give you an explanation. “I could say the same thing about you.”

“Yeah… yeah…” Steve sighed on the other end. This was always the worst part about dealing with the government and the Upside Down. It took and took from his friends, beat them bloody, and still, no one could be honest about all the shit that had happened in Hawkins. 

His stomach twisted as he tried to figure out what patched-together version of the truth he could give you. While his father never bothered to ask about the doctor visits and his mother stopped asking about blood on his clothes a long time ago, lying to them was almost natural. Lying to you? That was almost as bad as just giving you the truth. 

“I’m sorry,” He started, voice raw around the edges, “I should’ve called sooner. But just… Starcourt, and the doctor, and then Robin started dragging me around to find a new job–”

“Steve–”

“And none of that is an excuse, obviously, but then–”

“Steve–”

“But then it felt like the wrong time, which is just another shitty excuse–”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?” He finally stopped steamrolling. 

“I–” Now you were lost for words. You weren’t fully prepared to forgive him, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t miss him. So even if your mind wasn’t entirely made up, you could find a compromise with yourself: “I understand. So… why don’t we hang out sometime soon?”

Steve’s heart stuttered in his chest, “Like another date?”

“Like hanging out,” You clarified, because a date was a little too close to forgiving him. 

“Hanging out,” Steve nodded as he paced around his kitchen, “That would be great. Like, pizza and a movie? My place?”

“Yeah, that’s nice,” the tension eased in your shoulders, “Or we can also just… talk?”

“Talk?” He chuckled, the sound making your stomach flip, “No, that’s nice. I’ve missed just talking with you. When… uh, when are you free?”

You glanced towards the kitchen, ensuring that neither your mother nor your siblings were eavesdropping. “Um, Sunday? If that’s good for you?”

“Sunday. Yeah, I’m off then,” Steve confirmed, making a mental note to tell the party that Sunday was strictly off limits. He glanced out towards his backyard, eyes skimming over the pool deck. “Why don’t we go out to Lover’s Lake? Some fresh air could do us some good…”

Your head tilted back to brush against the wall, grounding you from the nerves, “That sounds nice.”

“Good,” Steve hummed, “Till then.”

The rest of the conversation was sparse, with a promise of time and Steve mentioning food. Sunday would hopefully bring the answers you longed for.

When you returned the phone to the receiver, your mother was waiting there with a knowing smile, “So… Steve? I haven’t heard that name in a minute…”

Her eyes were watery, and dressed in black once more with pearls around her neck. She’d been in her head all week about the funeral and not having enough food for after the service. She needed a distraction from all the devastation surrounding Hawkins.

You swallowed, unsure of how to explain everything. It’s not that it was terribly complicated… until you really got into your head. Yeah, Steve hadn’t intended to stand you up on a second date because he was dealing with his own shit. But he had still been talking to Robin despite it, which led you to wonder if your friend was even slightly aware of what existed between you and Steve. 

While you had never brought it up to her, you assumed that Steve had asked about you during their shifts together. Or was that too presumptuous? There were still too many questions that you prayed your talk with Steve might clear up.

“Um, yeah. Well, he was in the mall when the fire started. With Robin.” You attempted to explain to your curious mother. 

“Oh, I didn’t know that. How awful.” Her face paled, a hand covering her heart. “He’s lucky to be alive.”

Her words hit you somewhere deeper than expected. When Robin had told you about the fire in Starcourt, you cried as you held each other and prayed to whatever merciful God made sure she escaped before the ceiling collapsed. But you never considered Steve in the equation of it all. 

It was obvious at the funeral that neither of them had escaped unscathed. Robin had more random bruises than usual, and you had caught just a glimpse of Steve’s swollen black eye behind his signature shades. He had mentioned going to the doctor over the phone. 

Maybe you’d been too quick to assume the worst of Steve Harrington once again. 

⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎. ⋆☀︎.

Being back in the beamer gave you a sense of deja vu. Despite sitting in the passenger seat two weeks ago, something in the air had shifted. In the floorboard now lived a black duffle bag, which Steve had explained held a change of clothes and basic toiletries before chucking it in the back seat. 

Also in the back seat sat a picnic basket and a skateboard. One of the items was self-explanatory, but you were curious and itching to get past the awkward small talk: “I didn’t know you could skate.”

“Oh, trust me, I can’t,” Steve chuckled, some of the tension immediately dissipating with the new topic, “But my friend Max–you’ve met her before–is great at it. She and her mom are moving, and she didn’t want it to get lost, so I’m holding onto it for now.”

“Max?” You asked. The name did ring a bell.

“Max,” He repeated, “Red hair, bit of an attitude, but cool overall. She’s come to Scoops with the kiddos a lot. She’s kinda like my little sister…”

“Billy’s step-sister,” You recalled Robin pointing the girl out at the funeral.

Steve hesitated for a brief moment before he nodded, “That’s her. So I’m just helping her family out, however I can.”

The asphalt was now turning to gravel as the car pulled into the recreational area. You could spot the water of the lake through the dense treeline while Steve searched for a parking spot. He managed to find a more shaded spot to keep the car cool while parked. 

“That’s sweet,” You finally answered. When Steve looked over at you, your disposition finally softened. Could you really stay mad at him for blowing you off for the last month when he was clearly busy with the aftermath of all that had happened?

Once Steve pulled into his spot at Lover’s Lake, he asked for you to remain in the vehicle. While you watched from the passenger seat, Steve ducked out of the car and back into the trunk. He made a few trips back and forth, laying a small blanket out across the hood of the beamer. 

After everything was set up to his standard, Steve approached the passenger door. He tugged it open, offering you his hand. The boyish grin had returned to his face, and despite the yellowing around his eye, it felt like nothing had changed. Like the entirety of the past month was some universal fluke. 

You accepted his hand, joining him as he guided you to take a seat on the hood of the beamer. 

“I’ve heard stories about this,” you lightly teased, “Steve Harrington bringing girls out to Lover’s Lake and hiking up to Makeout Rock.”

“You mean Skull Rock?” His brow quirked, slightly surprised. 

“Mmmm, correcting me feels like an admission of guilt,” your eyes followed him as he offered you a Coke out of the picnic basket. 

His cheeks turned pink, obviously caught by your statement. Steve snagged his own drink from the basket before finally taking his seat next to you, “Yeah, I– I can’t deny that. But that’s not why I wanted to bring you here. Not just to, um, make out…”

“Why did you bring me here?” You hummed, briefly distracted by the crack of cans opening. 

“Well, you wanted to talk,” He nodded, his eyes now searching everywhere but you. 

Your shoulders slumped at his dismissive reply. You straightened your posture, allowing yourself a deep breath as you turned towards him, “That’s why I agreed to come. I wanted to talk. We could talk anywhere. So why did you bring me here?”

Steve pressed his lips together in a straight line. You didn’t intend to dive headfirst into the conversation, but you wanted to know what had happened and where you fit into his life now. If he was no longer interested, that was fine; you could be friends. 

His fingers drummed against his denim-clad thigh, clearly pondering his answer. If all he wanted to do was make out, then he would’ve parked on the other side of the lake, with a shorter trek up to Skull Rock. The last girl he’d taken to this spot had been Nancy Wheeler on their third date. 

At that time, Nancy had complained to him about teachers who assigned too much homework, and he vented about flunking another math test. That was the first time he opened up to a girl about the fractures in his life: his grades, his parents, and his grandfather’s passing. But he didn’t bring you here to talk about high school blues because you existed entirely outside of his old King persona. 

“This was my grandpa’s fishing spot,” Steve finally answered, eyes focused out on the lake. He pointed to a jagged rock, slightly protruding over the water. “Right there is where he taught me how to cast a line and reel it in. Caught my first fish right there – seven years old.”

“Oh, did you now?” The corners of your lips quirked into a soft smile. 

“Don’t get too excited. It was a guppy,” He clarified, readjusting the watch on his left wrist. “This was my favorite spot to go growing up. Fishing with grandpa. Picnics with mom. But now I just kind of come here when I need to clear my head.”

“And what’s on your mind today?”

“Is this entire date going to be a one-way rendition of twenty questions?” Steve chuckled before stealing another sip of his soda. “You and Robin. Constantly asking questions. No wonder you’re friends.”

“Best friends,” You swiftly corrected him as you readjusted your seated position. 

A pang of guilt struck your chest. Though you told Robin about Steve’s absence, you never explained why you felt so scorned. Keeping this kind of secret felt foreign… but seeing Steve didn’t have to be a secret.

“But I never told her about our date,” You softly explained to Steve, glancing at him from between your lashes, “Just so y’know.” 

“You didn’t?” The surprise of your admission evident in Steve’s tone.

“So you’re asking the questions now?” You released an awkward chuckle.

The smile remained on Steve’s face, the air between you turning lighter. Maybe it was the summer sun dipping over the tree line, or the soft hum of cicadas, but you don’t recall Steve ever looking so at ease.

“Compromise?” You finally offered, scooting slightly closer, “We can trade off questions. And if anything gets too deep or whatever, we just move on. Cool?”

Steve’s head dropped back to his lap, mulling over your proposal. He lightly nudged your shoulder with his own before meeting your gaze. “Cool. I’ll start.”

“Why do you get to start?” You huffed in mock offense. 

“Uh, because you already asked me like three questions,” He shook his head. 

You pursed your lips, reaching to inspect the contents of the picnic basket, “I’m not sure if you can claim they were all real questions.”

Steve caught your wrist before you could open the basket's top. He tutted, “No peeking.”

You playfully glared at him, but lowered your hand, which Steve gently held. 

“Fine, fine. Ask your first question then,” You hummed, setting your beverage aside. 

Taking a deep breath, Steve released your wrist and softly shrugged, “What have you been up to?”

“What have I been up to?” You repeated, slightly offended by the question's casualness. 

“Yeah, I– I’ve really only seen you in passing at all these damn services, but…” His eyes drifted up from your intertwined hands. “I’m just… curious…”

So he did notice me, you mentally noted. 

Now it was your turn to sit with the awkwardness of the question. There had been plenty of shit going on in your life, Steve’s absence aside. School would be starting up again soon, your mother was a wreck, and the entirety of the town seemed on edge. To top it off, Robin would start band camp in another week, yet you’d finally landed a new part-time gig at the library. 

There was plenty that he’d missed.

“Well, obviously I’ve been going to a lot of closed casket services and memorials. Finding closure like everyone else,” You briefly explained. If Steve was going to give you vague, two-dimensional answers, then you’d give him the same. 

“That’s it?” His brow furrowed, clearly not content with your short answer. 

“That’s another question,” You pointed out, “It’s my turn.”

Steve held his hands up in surrender, not willing to argue with you. “Fine. Shoot.”

You mulled over all the questions that had lived in the back of your mind for the past two weeks. Everything felt too insensitive or awkward on your tongue. He’d probably been asked and answered a thousand questions between his parents, the police, and medical professionals. 

“Did you miss me?” 

The words slipped out before you could think twice about it. But it was a joke. At least, you hoped he would interpret it that way. Who were you to ask something like that? You went on one date. You were co-workers, and barely real friends despite it all. 

“Yeah. A lot.” 

Your thoughts came to a halt, almost shocked. Your head cut over to meet his gaze, lips parted in surprise. 

“What?” He blinked at your expression, confusion diffusing his confidence, “Something I said?”

“I– No, no. Just… I wasn’t expecting a real answer,” You explained, searching for your soda as an excuse to look anywhere but him. 

“You deserve a real answer,” Steve hummed, resting his larger hand atop his own, “I disappeared. And I’m sorry about that.”

Your gaze cut down to his hand, before trailing up to meet his warm brown eyes again. The sincerity in them nearly killed you. Yet you could see, deep inside, something had shifted in Steve. He was losing his boyish nature, growing into himself, learning to take onus of his life and his mistakes. 

“Robin told me… about the fire,” You admitted, tearing off the band-aid. The words were a bucket of cold water. 

“She did?” He blinked, face paling, “What’d she tell you?”

You flipped your palm up to hold his hand, grounding the conversation before he got the idea to run away again. Your thumb brushed over the back of his hand in a soothing motion. 

“Said that you guys, and the kids, were seeing the late showing of Back to the Future. That you were sneaking through the back halls when the alarms went off, and how the fire set off the firework display,” Each detail you provided held a certainty. It was obvious to Steve that Robin had genuinely thought through how to explain their disappearance.

His head began to swim with what he would tell you. The Russians were supposedly gone, but that news was making the rounds between the state and national governments. Dr. Owens assured him and Robin that the KGB would be the least of their problems. That they did the right thing in sending Dustin and Erica back to the surface for help, and how patriotic they were. You might even laugh at the thought of Robin being called patriotic. 

The Russians would’ve been easier to explain. Maybe you’d think he was some great American Hero like General Patton or Patrick Swayze. Because how could he ever begin to explain that the glass roof above the pavilion shattered beneath the weight of a giant flesh monster? A flesh monster created by the flayed residents of Hawkins. 

While lost in his thoughts, Steve had missed much of Robin’s story to you. Yet it all ceased with a small crack in your voice. 

“My grandma died in the mall fire.”

Steve’s shoulders tensed, chest tight at your news. When he looked at you again, properly looked at you, your eyes were glassy from the confession. 

“We don’t know how she got there,” You began to open up about your Fourth of July,  “She can’t drive herself and is dependent on my family or the bus to get her around, y’know? I was supposed to pick her up and bring her over for fireworks. But Nick called and said that you guys were out, so I came in to cover. She insisted on taking the bus. But… she must’ve taken the wrong route. Took the bus to Starcourt instead of our neighborhood.”

“No,” Steve’s brow knitted together; guilt settled itself in his stomach. 

“The only reason we know what happened is that the state police identified her femur with screws in it from her knee surgery last year,” Your lip began to quiver the more you went on, “And we were lucky. Because at least we had something to bury. I heard there was too much ash and flesh mixed together that… that…”

“I watched the sky turn black,” Steve gently cut you off, inching closer to cradle your shaking frame against his side, “The smoke covered the moon and the stars. And suddenly, there was a flurry of helicopters, fire trucks, and ambulances. I was so focused on getting Robin and the kids out alive, and– and even if they couldn’t see the people, you could hear the screaming, and the smell—”

You finally cut Steve off with a tight hug. Maybe it was overdramatic, but fuck, he had survived. He and Robin and the kids. There were so many casualties in the fire, and so many people were unidentifiable. But they were here and alive. 

“I’m sorry,” His voice cracked against the side of your neck. 

You pulled back slightly, gripping onto his shoulders. You furiously shook your head, willing your tears away. “No. No, there’s nothing to be sorry for because at least you’re still here. Robin is alive. You’re alive. My friends survived the worst Fourth of July ever.”

Steve tried to laugh through his own emotions, “Yeah, yeah. You could say that again.”

He tugged you close again, this time resting his forehead against your own. His eyes fluttered shut as he savored this moment with you. And even though you told him not to apologize, the guilt was still there, lodging itself between his ribs. 

Because in reality, Steve was ashamed of himself. He hadn’t considered that you’d lost someone too, someone that wasn’t himself or Robin. Yeah, he was interested in you, but he was your friend first; and what kind of friend was he to cut you off so easily? Part of him also didn’t want to admit that maybe Robin had been right. That he would only ever mess up with you. 

“I want to try again,” He murmured, “If that’s okay?”

“Try again?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve hummed, pulling back a bit, though his grip on your hand tightened, “I like you… a lot. And I would totally understand if you said no and just wanted to be friends, but I’d like to take you out on a real date again. You and Me: The Sequel.”

You visibly cringed at his awful joke, yet that didn’t stop the smile from stretching across your face, “Has that line ever worked on a girl before?”

Steve shook his head, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment, “Um, well, you’re the first one I’ve tried it on…”

This side of Steve was cute. It had been borderline painful to watch him flounder for pickup lines while ringing up girls at the Scoops register. But being at this end of his attempts… it was almost endearing how hard he tried…

“You’re not what I thought you'd be,” It was your turn to admit. 

“Is that in a good way or…” Steve lightly prodded. 

A smile twisted at the corner of your lips, feeling the familiar jittery buzz in your chest. Three months ago, even being co-workers with Steve Harrington seemed unfathomable. To entertain the idea of a second date with him? Inconceivable. 

But he’d grown on you; surprised you in how he showed up for others. Steve wasn’t this stereotypical popular jock like you’d pinned on him. This wasn’t a John Hughes film; this was something better. 

You leaned closer, eyes scanning over his face, admiring his wide, brown eyes, “In a good way. I promise.”

Steve seemed to finally take the hint, eyes flicking to your lips before his casual smirk reappeared, “Good.”

With a curt nod, he allowed another tense beat to pass before completely closing the distance between your lips. The brush of his lips was unexpectedly soft, the lingering flavors of his chapstick and your lip gloss mixing together. His movements lacked the confidence you’d expected, and in their place was an eagerness to please. 

Steve’s hand moved to rest on the back of your neck, fingertips raking through the hair at the nape. He didn’t tug or pull, yet there was just enough pressure to invite you to inch closer. And you willingly accepted that invite. 

The kiss was slightly uncoordinated, with just a hint of awkwardness that lived in each first kiss. He wasn’t familiar with the feeling of kissing you, but fuck, if he wasn’t going to try. Maybe that’s what you liked about each brush and press of his lips; he was greedy for the acceptance. 

The caress of his thumb against your jawline drew you back into your body. Steve leaned back, lightly winded by the surprising intensity of the kiss. His cheeks were pink, either from the heat of the moment or finding himself flustered. You bit the corner of your lip as his eyes raked over you once more. 

Before either of you could continue what you’d started, his stomach growled. Both of you laughed as Steve finally retrieved the picnic basket, “Shall we?”

thanks for reading! please reblog, like, and comment if you enjoyed! part two coming soon!