#stevenxreader

“He’s got a reputation, but he’s good around her. Respectful to us.”

“He looks like a bit of rough kid.”

“Well, he does… really he’s not…”

“Are they dating?”

“No. God no, I’d never allow that.”

“Oh, dear, well, I mean, she says they’re not, but… darling, look at that. Aw, they’re sitting together.”

“In my house? I’ll kill him.”

“No you won’t. He’s a good boy, and they’re adorable together. Don’t go over and ruin it all.”

“Well they seem very… sweet on each other.”

“They’re not dating. She’d tell me if they were. I’d know. Wouldn’t I know, dear?”

“You were the one that said they wouldn’t get married. Now look at ‘em.”

“Even if they were dating, I think it’s good that she would be able to have a relationship with her best friend. Would you prefer her having some strange boy over we’ve never met?”

“How about just no boys at all? There. Problem settled. She won’t date.”

“Oh now, don’t be ridiculous. She’s going to date at some point…”

“Cover your ears,” you hissed to Hyde, passing him the can of Pringles. “I hear my mother plotting.” Even from the couch, you knew exactly what she was talking about. She made it very obvious, what with the darting looks and hushed tones. She and Dad always got into some talk about you and Hyde whenever he came to a family party.

“What, about us getting married again?” Hyde scoffed, ears red, eyes focused on the snack food.

“Probably,” you glanced at her, seeing her and your dad stop looking at you in that moment.

“Dad still hate me?” Hyde popped a chip in his mouth.

“He doesn’t hate you, he hates what you represent,” you responded cheerfully. “Youthful males that all wanna get in my pants and steal me away from him.”

“I don’t, I just…!” Hyde sputtered, dropping the chips and spilling a few. “I don’t wanna get in your pants!”

You stared at him oddly, “Okay then. But still. Youthful males. Trouble. All that. Whatever.” You couldn’t ignore the confusion and small amount of pain swirling in your gut at his rejection. You grabbed the chips from the ground and cleaned up the mess, “You’re being weird, Hyde. Just ignore my parents’ talking. It doesn’t mean anything. It never has and it never will.”

“Right,” Hyde nodded, wishing for his sunglasses. Unfortunately, your mother had confiscated them the moment he walked in. She didn’t want him looking shady in front of company. Well, shadier. “You wanna come over to Forman’s after this?”

“Sure,” you shrugged, offering him the can. “What’re we gonna do?”

“I dunno, probably get high and watch TV,” he waved a chip in the air before putting it in his mouth. “The usual.”

“At least there, no one will assume we’re dating,” you sighed, reaching for the Pringles. Hyde moved it. You frowned at him and grabbed for it again. He took it and raised it to the side, smirking just a little, mischief in his eyes. You stretched your arm across his chest, one hand on his leg for balance, and swept your hand for the can.

“Hyde, you dick!” you hissed between your teeth. “Give it!”

“Why? This is hilarious,” he grinned, lifting the can even more. Grumbling, you sat up on your knees and snatched for the snack food. “C’mon, just little higher, sweetheart.”

“Hyde, I will end you,” you growled, so focused on the prize that you barely noticed you were shifting more and more onto his lap. His other hand was resting on your hip, his eyes trained on your lips, your jaw, your neck, and then… well . They were right there in front of him. It would be odd of him to look at anything else, really.

You finally reached the Pringles, tugging them from his loose grip and falling back. Into his lap. Your cheeks went hot at your position, regardless of innocent intent.

His face, in turn, was fiery red.

“We should probably go,” he muttered, moving you off of him and hurrying towards the door.

When Hyde was extremely emotional, he didn’t really know how to handle it. He had spent so long learning to bury his feelings, only allowing them to show in the form of sarcasm and paranoia, that the idea of expressing them was unthinkable. When Eric told him what happened, he couldn’t quite believe it, and then he didn’t know what to feel other than anger. Anger that it had happened. Anger it happened to you. Anger… for some unknown person. There was a tinge of sadness in there, worry for you, and anxiety about the whole event, but mostly, he was furious. Only because he had no idea how else to feel.

He wanted to punch something and get drunk.

But first, he had to go see you. That was priority number one.

Eric drove him to the hospital and he stormed the nurses’ desk, demanding to know your room number.

“Sir, she’s in critical care, only family…”

“I’m the only family she has right now, dammit, let me see her!”

Everything was a wash of white, blurred for some reason. He wouldn’t realize he was crying until he got to your room and everything slowed down.

You were resting on the bed, bandages around your head and your leg suspended in a cast. Your face had a collection of smeared purple and yellow bruises, your lip broken open. It looked like the collision had thrown you forward against the back of a headrest.

The doctors said it was serious, that you might wake up in an hour, a week, six months, or possibly never at all. He ignored all of that. He ignored the people asking him to leave, ignored the nurses’ glaring at him when he felt in the way but refused to leave your side, he ignored Eric when the other boy said he had to go back home.

“Do whatever you have to do, man. I’m staying.”

You weren’t waking up. He had to be here when you did. Because you would. You had to.

The next day, Eric’s mom came into the room. Hyde was sitting in the same plastic chair, only getting up to stretch and walk around before sitting back down again. He had avoided being thrown out by hiding in the bathroom for every 3 hour nurse shift, coming out when everyone else had gone. He had spent a long time staring at you, unsure what to do, when Mrs. Forman came in.

“Steven, honey, you have to rest…”

“No,” he responded, voice dead and cold. “I need to be here. She needs me here. She’ll be awake soon; it’ll be fine.”

If he didn't believe that, he didn't believe in anything. If you weren't going to be alright, neither would he.

Mrs. Forman brought in a cot and made him lay down in it. His body ached with need for sleep, but his mind was filled with nightmares of waking up without you. He shifted it as close to your bed as he could and dropped back into it, knowing rationally he needed the rest. Didn’t make him less afraid to do so.

He passed out quickly, but his dreams were not good. Life had never been kind to Steven Hyde, why should that start now?

He woke to a hand carding his hair, just the fingertips loosely repeating small motions. He grabbed the hand and sat up, staring you in the eyes. You could barely see, the skin around them so bruised and puffy, but he saw you. Awake and alive.

“Hey,” he breathed, no clue what to say. He wasn't good at all that comforting crap, usually cracking a joke to loosen the tension, but at the moment, he couldn't even think of anything to say to you. You’re here, you’re alive, I think I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.

“Hey,” you repeated, lips twitching into a sort of smile, wincing at the way it tugged your wounded skin.

He stood, swaying, next to your bed. He was sleep-deprived and hungry, but you were awake. You were alive. Thank God. Hyde leaned in and, hesitating quite a bit, finally allowed himself the smallest brush of a kiss against your mouth. You felt the ghost of it tingling your skin, and when he began to pull away, your hand shot up and snagged him by the shirt.

“That all I get?” you mumbled, weak, but yourself. “I nearly died, and I'm getting weak-ass elementary school kisses?”

“That you're gone, you always skip bio,” you looked over your shoulder, catching a glance of his bright blue eyes and smirk.

“You know your problem, you're a stick in the mud. A genuine square,” he shook his pencil at you, flat-faced. He knew this was a good manipulation tactic - goading you. It only worked from him. Maybe because you cared very little about what others thought, aside from Hyde.

You frowned, sighed, and nodded. “Fine. Asshole.”

His smile grew broad, “Sweet. Meet you after class.”

“Right,” you were going to get in so much trouble. At least it would be with a friend.

Hyde met you by your locker, pulling off his usual cool guy slouch, sunglasses and all. He looked, head to toe, like a parent's worst nightmare. Hippy, vaguely socialistic, reefer-loving punk. Damn you that you found it attractive.

“Everyone's gonna know what we're doing if you stand like that,” you joked, putting your books away.

“Nah, I told everyone we're hooking up in the bathroom so they won't look for us outside,” Hyde replied casually, examining his fingernails.

“You what?!” you slammed your locker door shut, staring at him red-faced. He only laughed, and you punched his shoulder. “You asshole!”

“Okay, okay, I didn't,” he chuckled, rubbing the spot you hit him. “I was kidding.”

“I'm not rescinding my previous description of you,” you narrowed your eyes, quickly retrieving your purse with your favorite smokes and light inside. Hyde always bought the cheap stuff. If you were gonna get sick with lung cancer and die, you'd like it to be at least a little worth it.

“C'mon,” Hyde took your hand. A practiced motion from childhood, derived from your mother’s instructions before crossing a street. Now it was used whenever you or Hyde felt like it. It added a small sense of security for the both of you. “There's a great spot near the garbage bins…”

“Joy, fresh garbage-scented air,” you snarked but followed all the same, trying not to smile.

“Like we're getting fresh air anyways with all this noxious smoke we're pulling into our lungs,” he smirked, threading his fingers in yours.

“Maybe it's a government conspiracy,” you waggled your eyebrows. “Getting us all to willingly take in small tracking devices or something.”

“Maybe,” Hyde shrugged. “But some things are worth being spied on for.” He opened the exit door for you with a little bow and wave. “For you, milady.”

You stared at him suspiciously, “You're being weirdly nice to me.”

“You're being weirdly… weird,” Hyde scoffed, but you thought you saw pink in his cheeks. “Hurry, before some rat sees us.”

You headed out with a backwards glance, but you shrugged off the odd feeling gathering like a ball in your chest. Hyde shut the door behind you and pulled out a battered box from his jacket, tapping out a single cigarette. He quickly put it to his lips, snapped a light for it, and drew in a deep breath; he let out a stream of smoke with a sigh.

“That's the good shit,” he shook his head, relaxing. You snorted, stealing his hand in yours, and taking a drag. You coughed it out, scowling.

“Cheap shit, Hyde,” you returned to your brand and didn't see how he stared at his cigarette in a mix of disbelief and jealousy. Instead, you sat on the bottom stoop and enjoy the warm breeze. Even if it did smell a bit putrid.

Hyde took a seat beside you, thigh to thigh, “Yeah, well, I like the cheap shit.”

“Reason one thousand four-hundred and thirty-six why you'll never get a girlfriend,” you smirked, flicking ash at him.

“Yeah well, I don't want a girlfriend anyways,” Hyde snorted, fixing his face into a scowl. “It's all a giant Hallmark-sanctioned scam of BS to control the masses.”

You raised your eyebrows over his vitriol, “Wow, so how’s your period been going, Broken Heart Barbara?”

“Shut up,” he laughed, shoving your shoulder, and you counted it as a win. Especially since he didn't stop there. He adjusted, with his elbow balanced on your left shoulder, wrist dangling with the cigarette clamped between two fingers. You naturally leaned in - his musky odor, the faintest trace of marijuana, and nicotine scent a familiar mixture to you. It was easy, being with Hyde, and you loved that. Despite the way your heart raced around him, and sometimes your palms did get really sweaty, and even when he gave you that stupid smirk and seeing his blue eyes… well, all that diminished nothing.

It meant nothing, of course. You ignored the quivering inside of you, trapped it down, and beat it to death with a thousand baseball bats.

There’d be none of that.

“You know,” Hyde got closer, lips closing on his cigarette without moving his hand. His eyes looked up at you just over the rim of his rose-tinted sunglasses. He said your name, wreathed in grey plumes, and was very, very close to you.

He was about to say something, his mouth was opened, his eyes were half-shut, and your heart was about to burst from your chest.

“Ahem,” you both turned to see none other than your vice principal standing behind you.

“I knew we’d get caught,” you groaned.

“Lovebirds, inside,” the stern man jerked his head towards the door.

“We’re not lovebirds,” you both denied in sync with similar, irritated expressions.