#stranger+things

But then high school happened. High school—where Steve had slipped into the popular crowd with ease while you remained in the shadows. Where Steve went to parties while you stayed home to do extra credit.

You slowly felt him slipping away from you. He stopped sneaking in through your bedroom window to watch R rated horror movies that he had stolen from his parents VHS collection, he stopped knocking on your door in the morning to take you to school and he didn’t come to the annual trip to the lake house the summer after freshman year, opting to stay home and throw a massive party instead.

You told yourself it was fine—that you were just growing apart but you’d eventually find your way back to each other.

But then in your sophomore year, he invited you to one of his parties and your friendship came crashing down over a game of truth or dare.

You had never seen the Harrington house look so messy.

The front yard was littered with beer bottles and red solo cups, there were several smashed glasses in the kitchen and you swore you even saw a couple rolls of toilet paper hanging from the chandelier in the foyer. 

All you could think as you sat on the couch in the basement, squeezed between Steve and a very intoxicated Carol was that you hoped for Steve’s sake that Elizabeth and Danny Harrington never saw their house in this state. You were pretty sure Steve would be grounded for life if they did.

You felt Steve shift beside you as he leaned back to take a long swig from his beer, eyes flickering over to you briefly before he looked away.

You weren’t entirely sure why Steve had invited you to his party, he had hardly said a word to you all evening and you felt like some pathetic lost puppy waiting for him to come back to you. You had a feeling that he had only invited you to alleviate some of the guilt he may have felt for ditching you last week to hang out with Tommy but you were beginning to wish that he hadn’t asked you at all. Parities were not at all your thing but you had wanted to try because it was Steve and your feelings for him made you do things you didn’t want to do sometimes. Especially when he looked so stupidly handsome in that green shirt of his.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” Steve asks you with a gentle nudge of your arm. The subtle contact sends a jolt through you and you have to force yourself to act natural as you turn to look at him.

“No, thank you, I’m—”

“—of course she doesn’t want a drink,” Carol slurs from beside you, leaning over you to talk to Steve. You shrink backwards against the couch, mostly to put a little distance between you and Carol and the smell of vodka coming from her that was almost overwhelming. “She hasn’t—” she hiccuped. “She hasn’t drank all—” she hiccuped again. “All night. She’s such a square.”

You don’t say anything but you feel your face grow hot in embarrassment as Carol talks about you like you weren’t sitting right next to her. The worst part was that Steve didn’t even stick up for you. You hate the fact you weren’t surprised by that. 

Your leg begins to bounce, you were trying to quickly think of an excuse to leave. Not that you really needed one, Steve didn’t seem particularly bothered by your presence.

“Steve, I need to—”

The sound of jeering cuts you off and the words quickly die on tongue as Tommy and a few more of Steve’s friends stumble down the basement stairs.

All you wanted to do was leave but Tommy was already squeezing himself between you and Carol and you had no choice but to move closer to Steve, your thigh pressed against his and his arm flush against yours.

The uncomfortableness you felt was churning horribly in your gut, your leg was still bouncing nervously and yet, Steve didn’t say anything. He didn’t even ask if you were okay, despite his legs lingering on your knee as it bounced anxiously.

“Who’s up for a game of truth or dare?” Tommy asks, one arm slung around Carol while the other nudges you with a gleeful smile. “Maybe it’ll get Little Miss Goody Two Shoes over here to loosen up a little.”

“Tommy, let’s not—” Steve begins but the laughter around the room cuts him off. He glances at you, as though he was trying to reassure himself that you were fine—that this was fine.

You watched as Steve’s friends dared each other to take a shot of hot sauce, to strip off their clothes and jump naked into Steve’s pool. Your stomach turned as you heard them ask each other the most intrusive questions about each other's sex life and at parts, even Steve laughed.

And then, it was your turn.

You shifted uncomfortably, Tommy’s elbow digging into your ribs as you looked to Steve for help. But he was too busy smiling over at one of the cheerleaders to even register your discomfort.

“Truth,” you say finally, figuring that it was the safest option. At least then they couldn’t dare you to skinny dip in the pool.

“Are you a virgin?” Carol asks you bluntly.

Your face warms, the answer is written on your face and all you wanted was for Steve to notice your discomfort, for him to help—

“I take that as a yes,” Carol mutters audibly as some of Steve’s friends laugh, making your face feel as though it was burning from shame. “Not surprised by that—”

“—Carol,” Steve says in a half arsed attempt to rein his friend in as you shift in your seat once again, your eyes flickering down to your lap as you avoid eye contact with everyone in the room.

“What?” Carol asks Steve as Tommy struggles to keep in his laughter beside you. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“—could you just—”

“—oh c’mon, Steve. We just wanna get to know her. S’only fair. You lost your v card last month so we were just curious about hers.”

Your entire body turns cold. Everything around you blurs, you feel a strange mix of feeling both too hot and too cold as you turn to look at Steve—who you find was already looking at you. Of course you were jealous, of course you were upset about Steve losing his virginity to someone who wasn’t you and of course it felt as though someone had twisted a knife in your gut at the mere thought of it. But it wasn’t just that—it was also the fact he hadn’t told you about it. It made that distance you had felt between you and Steve feel too loud to ignore. 

“Oh, are you jealous?” Tommy asks, nudging you as he takes note of the look on your face with glee. “You see that, Stevie? She’s jealous she didn’t get there first—”

“—dude,” Steve interrupts, the tips of his ears turning red as he looks away from you. “Don’t be a dick.”

Despite the fact that Steve had finally stood up for you, you couldn’t help but feel it was half hearted. Almost as though Steve’s heart wasn’t really in it, as though he was more concerned about what his friends would think of him than whether or not they were making you uncomfortable.

Tommy shrugs, the slight smirk tugging on his lips that told you he was absolutely not done being a dick.

“Fine. Whatever,” Tommy mutters with a quick glance your way that Steve doesn’t catch. “Your turn then, Steve.”

There was a brief pause where Steve didn’t say anything. You could feel his eyes on you and for a moment, you wondered if he was about to ask you if you wanted to leave, if he was finally going to put you before his stupid friends. But then Steve shifted beside and you knew that he had looked away.

“Dare,” he says.

You knew almost instantly that Tommy or Carol was going to give him a dare that would somehow upset you. Perhaps he’d dare Steve to make a move on that cheerleader right in front of you, maybe they’d even go upstairs and—

“I dare you to kiss the person sitting to your right,” Tommy says, a cruel smile tugging at his lips as he watches Steve’s expression shift. Because the person sitting to Steve’s right—was you.

The first thing that you registered in response to Tommy’s dare was the laughter from his and Steve’s friends, it was Carol’s small glance towards you and the way Steve had gone completely still beside you.

“No,” Steve says simply without even so much as a glance towards you. “Not her. No way.”

The way he said, the finality in his voice made something stir in your gut. Shame, embarrassment, humiliation—you weren’t sure. Perhaps it was a sick connotation of all three that was stirring in your stomach.

Not her, he had said. Like you were the very last person he would ever want to kiss, as though kissing you was in some way repulsive, even. The laughing didn’t help, Steve’s friends muttering to each other about your inexperience made it worse and all the while—Steve Harrington, your best friend since you were five years old, didn't say a damn thing.

And that was your breaking point.

You stand up from the couch, your legs feeling wobbly despite the fact you had only drank lemonade all evening. Your entire body felt hot from embarrassment but now also from the anger that was beginning to rear its ugly head. The anger you had felt towards Steve that you had quietly buried after months of him letting you down, months of cancelled plans, months of him putting his desire to be liked over his friendship with you. You suddenly felt so angry that your hands shook slightly and you knew you had to leave because you were seconds away from bursting into tears.

“Oh, look how upset she is Steve,” Carol cooes cruelly, gleefully watching you as Tommy tries (and fails) not to laugh. “She looks like she’s going to—”

“—fuck you, Carol,” you spat, white hot anger burning through you now as you turn to look at Steve a final time. You see the panic settle in his eyes as he half rises to his feet—before you walk away from him—walk away from him and his stupid friends, his stupid hair and his stupid handsome face.

You push through the sea of bodies that had congregated in Steve’s living room, not caring that someone had smashed one of Elizabeth’s priceless vases or the fact that there was a large stain in one of the rugs. All you cared about was getting out of Steve’s house and as far away from him as possible. 

You were almost successful. You were halfway down his driveway when the sound of Steve calling out your name as he stumbled after you reached your ears.

“Wait—” he calls out, almost frantic as he manages to catch up with you, his fingers slipping around your wrist in an effort to stop you from leaving. “Let me just—”

“—just what, Steve?” You snap, unable to keep the anger and hurt out of your voice as you turn to face him fully. You almost wish you hadn’t because the look on his face was so desperate that the thought of pulling away from him almost hurt.

“I just—I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve says quickly, his chest heaving as he looks back at you. In all the years he had known you, of all the years of friendship he had only seen you angry once before. That time you had spent all day making cupcakes for a bake sale just for Steve to accidentally drop an entire batch of the perfectly iced cakes. You had been so annoyed at him you didn’t talk to him for almost two days.

But that was nothing—nothing—compared to the look on your face as you stare at Steve and wait for him to explain himself.

“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, I just—”

“—oh my god, do you seriously think I’m pissed off about the dare?” You ask, unable to keep the anger out of your voice as you wrench your arm away from him.

Steve looks slightly hurt at the loss of contact and opens his mouth to respond but you’re quick to cut him off. “I don’t give a fuck about the dare, Steve. If the thought of kissing me grosses you out then it—it’s whatever.”

“But I—”

“—I’m pissed because—because you let your ‘friends’ treat me like shit and you didn’t say a damn thing about it!”

Steve looks stunned and that only makes the anger coursing through you grow hotter.

“I tried but they—”

“—well, you didn’t fucking try hard enough!” you exclaim angrily, your voice breaking as the first of your tears started to fall. You felt pathetic, humiliated as tears spilled down your cheeks but most of all—you were heartbroken that your best friend and the guy you were head over heels in love had become a stranger to you.

Something in Steve’s expression shifts at the sight of your tears. His face softens as he says your name and takes a tentative step closer but you step back. The dejected look on his face when he realises you had stepped away from him seemed to break something in you.

“I wasn’t thinking,” he tried to explain and you could almost feel his panic—the way he was looking at you, the way his fingers twitched as though he wanted to reach for you. “I didn’t think they’d go that far—”

“—but they did and you didn’t s-stop them,” you say, your bottom lip quivering slightly as you harshly wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your cardigan. 

“I’m so—”

You knew he was about to say sorry—you knew it by the look on his face and you knew that if he did, that you would want to forgive him. The way you had forgiven him for every other transgression over the past few months because he was your best friend and you loved him. 

And so, you had to stop him before you forgave him once more.

“—you’re a coward, Steve,” you say in a voice laced with anger, hurt and every emotion you had been bottling for the past few months while Steve Harrington quietly forgot about you. “You’re a coward and I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”

The silence that greeted your words was one of the loudest you had ever heard.

You weren’t even sure if you meant it but you couldn’t take it back now.

Steve looked as though his entire world had come crumbling down around him, as though your words had been a dagger that you had driven directly through his chest. You knew it would hurt him, you knew it would upset him and perhaps that was exactly why you had said it.

“Oh,” Steve says thickly, swallowing a lump that had risen in his throat as he looked back at you, his big, puppy dog-like eyes almost pleading with you to take back the words that had just left your lips. “I—I see.”

I see. That was all he had to say. After well over a decade of friendship, after years and years of always having your back, years of ‘I’ll always be here’ and seeing each other's worst and best days—it would all end over two little words.

You waited. You waited for Steve to argue with you, for him to beg for your forgiveness like he had the last time you were mad at him. But he didn’t say a damn thing. 

“See you around, Harrington,” you mutter, his surname feeling foreign on your tongue as turn around and walk away from him before you could burst into tears.

And the days that followed, Steve didn’t even try to talk to you.

And so, from a distance you watched as Steve Harrington morphed into King Steve. You watched him be a completely different person, watched as he continued to surround himself with people like Tommy and Carol. You heard the parties he threw next door when his parents were out of town that carried on until the early hours or had to be shut down by cops, you heard the way girls he slept with spoke about him and eventually you heard all about him and Nancy Wheeler.

You couldn’t deny that hearing about Steve’s life through rumours hurt. Nor could you deny that the ending of your friendship had devastated you in a way that you hadn’t been expecting and that watching Steve carry on as normal, seemingly completely unaffected by the end of a decade-long friendship, hurt just as much.

You had almost knocked on his door on his birthday but had stopped yourself. You told yourself not to dwell on the past, told yourself that things changed despite the fact your feelings for Steve never seemed to waver and the fact that you still loved him despite everything.

But that all changed one night in your senior year.

You were drifting in and out of sleep, the rain hammering down outside, smacking loud against your window kept rousing you. But it wasn’t until a particularly loud smack against the glass that you finally jolted awake.

You blink, rubbing your eyes sleepily as you glance towards the window to see if it was hailing.

But you nearly scream at the sight of a shadowy figure standing on the garage roof just outside your window.

You open your mouth to yell for your mom but when you realise it was Steve Harrington—drenched to the bone, rapping his knuckles harshly against the glass—all thoughts of yelling out leave you.

Instead, you don’t move. You barely even breathe. You were in some sort of state of shock at the sight of him at your bedroom window after all these years.

You manage to stand on legs that feel wobbly and unsure of themselves, walking cautiously over your carpet and towards the window.

And when you finally see his face clearly through the window pane—at the dark bruise covering his eye, the blood spatter over his face and look of quiet desperation in his eyes, you unlock your bedroom window without much thought.

Steve stumbles into your room, water dripping down from his hair and his clothes onto your carpet. But you’re too busy gasping at the state of his face to worry about that right now.

“H-hi,” he stammers out, his teeth chattering and his cheeks slightly pink from the cold.

Hi? Was that all he had to say after years of silence? After forgetting about you like it was easy? After he didn’t fight for you?

You had the urge to yell, to scream at him but the sight of his beaten face stops you.

“Steve, your face—”

“—that bad, huh?” Steve asks, trying to smile but instead wincing in pain.

“Sit down,” you tell him, watching as Steve’s eyes flicker around your room, taking in everything that had changed over the past almost two years—the colour of your walls, the posters you had hung up, the polaroids of you and Steve you had taken down. “I um, I’ll get something for your face.”

Steve nods, wincing again as he sits down carefully on the edge of your bed, trying not to completely soak your sheets with rain water as he does so.

You take a deep breath before you turn and leave your bedroom to grab the first aid kit from your family bathroom. You’re careful to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake your parents who would certainly have a few questions about why your former best friend is sitting on your bed with a bruised and battered face.

You walk quietly back into your bedroom with the first aid kit in your hand to find Steve hadn’t moved from the edge of your bed. But he was holding your stuffed teddy bear in his hands—the one he had won for you at Hawkins Fair when you were twelve years old, the one he had called ‘Little Stevie’ before handing it to you with a bright smile on his face. 

You close the door softly behind you and Steve glances up, carefully placing Little Stevie back down onto your bed.

“You still have him,” Steve murmurs quietly as you sink down onto the bed beside him.

Your face warms and you hope it isn’t noticeable as you open up the first aid kit.

Truthfully, you hadn’t thrown out anything that was connected to Steve Harrington. The polaroids were tucked away safely in your jewellery box and even that shell necklace he had made you when he was seven was in a memory box in your closet. You just couldn’t bring yourself to throw anything away after the end of your friendship but you also couldn’t look at them anymore without something inside of you breaking every time you looked around your room. Little Stevie was the only thing you hadn’t put away—because truthfully, you couldn’t sleep without it.

But you don’t tell Steve that. 

Instead, you let the silence surround the two of you as you pull out several small gauze pads and antiseptic. Steve lets you work silently as outside, the rain continues to fall, the wind howls and there’s a distant rumble of thunder.

You start first by pouring a small amount of antiseptic onto a gauze pad before you gently dab it over the small gash on his cheek. He winces and hisses in pain but he doesn’t pull away.

“What happened?” You ask him quietly a few minutes later, the cuts and blood wiped from his face as you carefully inspect the bruise around his eye.

The sight makes something tighten in your chest. Though you hadn’t talked to Steve in two years, of course you heard the arguments that happened next door. Usually after one of Steve’s parties had left the Harrington home in a state. Steve had never had the best relationship with his father as Danny Harrington expected only the best from his son and Steve had never been able to live up to that, even from a young age. But though they argued, you had never thought it would escalate to something physical.

“It—it wasn’t your dad, was it?”

“No,” Steve says quickly, too quickly which makes you look at him carefully, wondering whether or not he was lying for your sake. “Really. It wasn’t my dad. I swear. It—it was Billy Hargrove."

You blink. You hadn’t been expecting that. Sure, ever since Billy Hagrove had strolled into Hawkins High like had already owned the place he and Steve had sort of rivalry going on but you weren’t aware it was bad enough for Billy to do something like this. 

“But why—”

“—it’s a long story,” Steve says, jaw tight and looking away from you briefly. 

“That’s it?” You ask him, pulling away from him as you look from his face to the bloody gauzes that sat in your lap. “You come into my room after two years of ignoring me—”

Steve’s expression falters and he says your name but you shake your head, getting to your feet and causing the first aid kit to fall to the floor at your feet.

“—no Steve, it—it’s bullshit! Okay? Do you have any idea what it was like for me to watch you slowly decide to just not give a shit about me anymore?”

Steve swallows at the sound of anger in your voice. He knew it had been coming and he knew he deserved it but he didn’t know what to say. Because there was no excuse, he knew that he had hurt you in immeasurable ways and he knew he most likely did not deserve your forgiveness. But he wanted—needed—to try anyway.

“I know I—”

“—and now you show up years later with a busted face and expect me to—”

“—I thought Billy was going to kill me tonight.”

That shuts you up. Your eyes widen and you look at Steve with a horrified expression and in your stunned silence, Steve decides to keep talking.

“I had a moment where he was landing hit after hit after hit I thought—I thought ‘this is it’ and all I could—all I could think about was—it was you.”

You’re completely taken aback, you were so stunned that you almost forgot to be angry. Almost.

“All I could think about was how—how I never got to make things right with you and how much time I wasted caring about stupid shit like being popular. Caring too much about what other people thought of me when it really didn’t matter. When I already had someone who liked me for me. And instead I—I treated you terribly, I strung you along and I should never have done that. Not to you. You didn’t deserve it.”

Your eyes stung and you had to look away, not wanting Steve to see how close to tears you were. Because the truth was that you missed him. You missed so much that it was almost a physical ache in your chest. You missed the way Steve could make you laugh even when you really didn’t want to, the way he used to sometimes snort a little when he laughed really hard and the way you could be completely yourself around him.

Steve says your name again but you don’t look at him, instead you sniffle and look down at the first aid kit you had dropped, at the various medical supplies that were now scattered over your floor.

But before you could even think about picking them up, Steve is already doing it for you. You swallow, taking the opportunity to wipe your eyes as Steve bends down, carefully putting the gauze, the bandages and antiseptic bottle back into the box.

He snaps it shut, placing the kit onto bed beside him before he finally looks back at you.

“I’m really fucking sorry,” he tells you, the sincerity in his face making your throat tighten. “For everything. For being an idiot, for trying to be someone I’m not. For letting you down, for making you feel like I didn’t give a shit about you. I’m sorry for not standing up for you that night. I’m sorry I didn’t try and fix things after and I—I’m sorry for not saying all this sooner.”

You nod, your bottom lip trembling slightly as you look back at him, slowly sinking back down onto the bed beside him. “You really hurt me, Steve.”

Steve swallows at that, his eyes turning glassy as he looks back at you. “I know. I was—a colossal idiot. There’s no excuse for it. I hurt you and I wish I could take it all back but I can’t. All I’ve wanted to do these past few years is make things right with you but—but you were right, I was a coward. I was scared—terrifed—that you hated me or—”

“—I could never hate you,” you tell him.

Steve’s eyes soften and he looks back at you with a hopeful expression.

“Really?”

You nod, flexing your fingers against your bedsheet nervously as you look at him. “Really. I was hurt, upset and I was angry but I never hated you. I don’t think I could ever hate you. Not even for a second. I just—I was worried about you. I didn’t want you to become like Tommy or whoever else you were hanging out with because I know that’s not really you.”

“I was still an asshole,” Steve says thickly, the shame evident on his face as he looks down at his lap. “I still did things and said things that hurt people and I can’t take any of it back.”

“No,” you agree quietly. “You can’t.”

It’s quiet then between the two of you—the only sound is that of the thunder rumbling outside. There’s a flash of lightning outside your window but still, neither of you say anything.

“I’m sorry too,” you tell him quietly as you look down at your lap. “For saying I didn’t want to be your friend anymore. That—that wasn’t true I just—I knew I would forgive you straight away if I didn’t.”

Steve shakes his head, corners of his mouth twitching as he hesitantly lifts a hand to rest on your shoulder. His touch alone sends something hot and electric coursing through your body. “Please don’t be sorry,” he tells you. “I should have grovelled for forgiveness and I didn’t. I was—fuck—I was such an idiot that night. I didn’t have your back the way I should have done and I’ll never forgive myself for that. For upsetting you, for making you cry, for letting people talk about you like that.”

“You have no idea how much I think about that night and hate myself for what I did and what I didn’t do. How fucking stupid I feel for letting the best thing that has ever happened to me walk away without a fight.”

You turn to look at him, your expression softening slightly. “Steve—”

“—no, I mean it,” Steve insists, turning to face you fully now as he grabs one of your hands and squeezes it gently. Water drips down from his hair and onto your skin but you couldn’t care less as his touch warms something in you. “You are and I’m sorry it took me losing you and almost dying to realise that. I was just—I couldn’t admit it to myself. I was stupid. So stupid. And I think—I think I was scared to be honest with myself.”

Your brows furrow at that while your heart pounds against your chest. “Honest about what?” You ask him quietly.

Steve looks at you for a long moment before he reaches for your other hand. You let him take it as the look in his eyes keeps you rooted to the spot. 

“That I was starting to fall in love with you and I got scared.”

All the air leaves your lungs at that admission. Out of all the things you had expected Steve to say when he climbed in through your bedroom window, you had never in your wildest dreams expected him to say that.

“I was—shit—it’s so fucking stupid now that I think about it but I just—those feelings scared the shit out of me. I mean—you were my best friend and yet, I was always fucking thinking about you. And so, I did all stupid shit to try and forget about you and it never worked. I partied, I listened to Tommy when I fucking shouldn’t have, I messed around because I thought I’d get over you.”

“I even lost my fucking virginity while wishing it was you beneath me the entire time. Nothing worked—nothing ever worked and so I—I thought distance would help but it didn’t and I let you down. I made promises and didn’t keep them. I made you think you were unimportant to me when you were the most important person in my life.”

“Steve—”

“—and that night—the night when Tommy gave me that dare—I didn’t kiss you because I was grossed out by you. God no, far from it—of course I wanted to kiss you. But I didn’t wanna do it if it was just a dare.”

“Steve—”

“—I just—I wanted it to be real and not at a party, not in front of Tommy and Carol or any one of those other assholes and—”

“Steve!”

Steve shuts up almost instantly. His eyes were wide and his hands were still holding yours tightly as though he was trying to ground himself.

You look back at him—at the guy you had loved for longer than you could remember—and you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him anymore.

“You know—I never threw anything away,” you tell him quietly. “I just—I couldn’t bear to look at things that reminded me of you because it hurt too much. Because missing you was like—it was like a constant physical pain. Something I couldn’t get rid.”

“Really?” Steve asks quietly.

“Yeah,” you say. “I even kept the shell necklace.”

Steve blinks once, twice before he laughs and the sound brings you the sort of warmth that even fire couldn’t ever bring you. You felt it in every pore, every nerve, every cell in your body. It made you feel lighter, made the storm outside feel insignificant.

“Why would you keep that?” Steve asks, still laughing quietly to himself. “It was so heavy and—”

“—because you made it for me,” you say simply with a small smile. “And that—that meant it was important to me.”

Steve blinks. He looks back at you with an unreadable expression as his thumb drags itself across the skin of your hand and seems to steal the air from your lungs.

“I made you it because the shells reminded me of you,” Steve murmurs fondly, eyes seeming to shine as he looks back at you. “I thought the shells were pretty and—I thought you were pretty too. Prettier than the shells, obviously.”

Your face feels hot and it was near impossible to fight back the smile on your face now.

“You told me you were practising for art class,” you say quietly, head tilting to the side as you look back at him. 

Steve smiles a little before shaking his head. “I lied. I was trying really hard to impress you but seven year old me had no game.”

You laugh then and you see the way Steve’s eyes light up, the way he can’t help but smile when he hears your laugh, when he was finally the reason behind it again.

“You didn’t have to do anything to impress me Steve,” you tell him after a moment with a soft smile. “You already did.”

There was silence again and then—

“Do you mean—”

“—yeah,” you breathe out, unable to look away from him as you squeeze his hands a little tighter. “I—I’ve been in love with you for a really long fucking time, Steve.”

The moment that follows felt as though it lasted for a lifetime. Steve was looking at you, seeming to forget how to breathe and you begin to wonder if you had been too forward when one of Steve’s hands slips out of yours to gently cup your face.

“The feeling’s pretty fucking mututal,” he murmurs before his lips seal over yours in a kiss that took your breath away.

Everything seems to slow down around you. You were vaguely aware of the first aid kit clattering to the floor as you kiss him back with no hesitation. your fingers sliding into his still damp hair while his hands gently cradle the back of your head.

You’re already breathless, unable to think of the world that existed out of Steve Harrington’s lips against yours—no thoughts about the rain splattering against the window or of the lightning that flashed across the sky outside. Because everything seems so dull in comparison to Steve’s lips moving against yours, against his hands that you were holding you like you were something sacred. 

He was the first to pull away—catching his breath as his eyes couldn’t help but flicker down to your lips that were wet, swollen and so inviting that he already wanted to dive back in again.

But he also knew he had to earn your forgiveness first and that wouldn’t involve being twisted in the sheets together.

“Let me take you out tomorrow night,” Steve murmurs, his thumb gently wiping away a smear of his saliva from your lips and trying not to give in. “Make up for lost time, yeah?”

You smile a little as you consider his offer, your eyes flickering over the bruise on his face. “Let’s wait until the bruise fades first, yeah?”

“Oh,” Steve says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his face as he looks back at you. “Yeah um, totally I—”

“—but I wouldn’t be opposed to a movie night,” you say with a small smile. “If you were to come up to my bedroom window again with a few movies I probably wouldn’t say no.”

Steve blinks but then—he smiles and he looked so devastatingly handsome that it was difficult to not pull him in for another kiss.

“It’s a date,” he tells you, leaning in to press a gentle but firm kiss to your forehead. “Little Stevie can join us too.”

You laugh and Steve can’t help but join you—thanking his lucky stars that you had opened your window for him.

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