#suprise!

“Do you want my cherry?” You ask quietly.

“You don’t want it?” Steve replies.

You shake your head, lifting the fruit from the drink and holding it out to him. You expect him to reach out for it, hoping that your fingers might brush when he takes it from you. Instead he leans his body forwards across the table, wrapping his lips around the ruby fruit, and it’s those lips that graze against your fingertips, causing a jolt of electricity to run through you, the fine hairs on your arm standing to attention. Steve doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches, his cheeks glowing cherry themselves when he sits back against the booth.

It’s hard to believe that you’re here, sitting in Benny’s Diner across from the prettiest boy in Hawkins. When Ms Jacobs had partnered you and Steve together for a project your stomach had flipped, turning anxious somersaults at the thought of having to actually talk to him, rather than just gazing wistfully at him from across the classroom.

You’d expected Steve to barely speak to you, and leave you with most of the work, given that school seemed to be low down on his list of priorities. From what you’d heard most of his time was spent playing basketball, sneaking into senior parties with Tommy and Carol, and taking the beautiful girls in your year out on dates.

But that hadn’t been the case. You’d spent hours in the library, sat side by side as you poured over the books on the desk, Steve scribbling messy notes of the important information you dictated to him. His head frequently turned to you, eyes boring into your face when you faltered under his gaze, stumbling over your words. When his arm had draped casually across the back of your chair, his face moving closer to yours so he could see what you were reading, all the oxygen was sucked from the room, leaving you to breathe in the pine and citrus of his cologne.

With the project completed you thought that would be the end of you and Steve, the boy having no more need for you now that you’d helped him to secure the best grade he’d ever gotten.

But he’d called your name as you left the classroom, pushing past other students to make his way to you. And he’d turned your world upside down with one simple question.

“What are you doing Saturday?”

So here you were, resting against the cracked leather booth, eating fries and sipping strawberry milk, with the boy you’d had a crush on for the better part of a year.

Unsurprisingly, it turns out you have very little in common. What is a surprise, is how despite that, the conversation flows naturally between you, gliding from one topic to the next, bodies leant in over the table, faces close as you sip your shakes. You’ve never been one for sports, but Steve talks with such enthusiasm he’s almost convincing you that you could become a fan, hanging on his every word as he recounts various basketball plays during his last game. You’re noticing a flair for the dramatics when he speaks, exaggerating the pressure and tension until you could believe that the whole world depended on Steve making that final shot. He moves his hands a lot too, waving his arms, mimicking the action of shooting a ball, pushing his long chestnut locks back from his forehead (the last action makes you a little jealous, your own fingers itching to touch those silky tresses).

You could listen to Steve talk all day, but he has other ideas, pushing aside his now empty plate and resting his elbows on the table, propping his chin up on his hands.

“What about you? What do you like to do?”

“I don’t really do anything Steve. I’m pretty boring.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He dismisses. “Just tell me what makes you happy.”

So you do. You tell him about your family, how they’re pretty close knit, so you spend most of your free time with them, long bike rides around the outskirts of town, trips to the market with your Mom where she always lets you and your sister choose a cake from the most amazing little stall. He grins brightly when you say you’ll have to take him sometime.

“I’d like that.”

You match his grin, twirling the straw in your almost empty glass.

“I like to read too.” You say softly.

“Yeah? What kind of stuff?” Steve leans in further, his eyes never leaving your face. He seems genuinely interested, and it makes your stomach flip over once again that he’s not making fun of you, calling you a nerd or a bookworm. He seems to care.

“A little bit of everything really. Some old stuff, Jane Austen and The Brontë sisters mostly. I like Stephen King too, I got one of his from the library recently, it’s really interesting…”

Steve listens intently while you ramble, nodding his head occasionally. When you’re finished, you suddenly feel self-conscious, worried that you’ve bored him. But he just smiles at you sweetly, slurping the last of his shake.

“I wanna show you something.” He blurts out, that familiar crooked grin on his lips that makes your knees weak.

“What is it?”

“Not here. At my house. I-if you want to keep hanging out? Or I can walk you home?”

“No!” You say too quickly, cringing at your eagerness.

“We can go to your house.”

Steve stands, slipping his wallet from his back pocket, leaving a handful of notes on the table.

“I can cover mine.” You offer, opening your purse.

“Nope. S’on me honey.”

Honey. You melt, your body turning to ice cream, spilling over a cone on a sticky summers day.

You accept Steve’s hand, letting him pull you from the booth and lead you out of the diner. He holds your hand the whole way to his house.

You knew Steve must come from money, the outfit he was wearing today probably cost more than half of your wardrobe put together, but you’re still shocked when you see his house. He unlocks the door, holding it open for you to step in, your jaw hanging in awe at the huge space, bright and airy, a glittering chandelier hanging above the spiral staircase.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” He jokes, kicking off his sneakers by the front door. You do the same with your pumps, then take his hand once again as he leads you upstairs.

You walk down the hall, the plush carpet soft beneath your bare feet, until you stop at the furthest door on the left. Steve pushes it open, nodding his head in a gesture for you to enter.

When you step inside a small gasp falls from your lips. Three of the four walls are covered in shelves, floor to ceiling, each one filled with endless rows of books. You turn back to Steve in disbelief, and he smiled shyly.

“Like it?”

“Like it? I’m insanely jealous!” You laugh. You take a step towards the right wall, then hesitate.

“Go ahead honey.”

With Steve’s permission you walk the length of the room, your fingertips dancing across hardback spines, a few familiar titles, but so many more that you don’t recognise.

“They’re all my Mom’s.” The boy explains, moving to the only wall not covered in books. He sits on the window seat, below the huge pain of glass that floods the room with warm natural light.

“Has she read them all?” You ask.

“Nah, I don’t think so. But she’s read a lot of them. She always used to have her nose stuck in a book.”

“Used to?” You say softly, moving to sit next to him.

“Yeah, well she’s a little preoccupied now.” He replies bitterly. “When she found out about my dads affair she decided that she needed to keep a closer eye on him. She goes everywhere with him now, to all his conferences and work trips. And when she’s not with him she’s usually making her way through a bottle of wine. Or three.”

“Oh. I’m sorry Steve.”

He shrugs, forcing a smile.

“S’okay. I just feel bad for her, that’s all.”

You nod, smoothing your hand over the soft blush cushion beneath you. There’s a long pause before Steve finally speaks again.

“I’m sure she’d let you borrow some.”

“What?”

“The books.” He smiles. “If you wanted to.”

“Oh! That would be lovely!”

You watch as Steve’s hand inches closer across the cushion, the tips of his fingers just touching yours.

“I think she’d like you.”

“You do?” You whisper, not looking up from where he’s touching you.

“I do. A-and I like you. A lot.”

You brave a look up at him, the late afternoon sunshine casting pretty shadows across his face.

“I like you too.”

Steve leans forwards until his nose brushes against yours, causing you to let out a soft giggle.

He smiles, his warm breath fanning across your face.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your heartbeat thumps in your ears.

“Y-yes.”

Steve’s lips are softer than you imagined. They’re warm as they press lightly against your own, your skin tingling from the contact. His hand moves forwards again, long fingers slotting perfectly into the spaces between yours. The other hand moves up to cradle your jaw, and Steve tilts your head gently, the new angle allowing him to deepen the kiss. He tastes sweet, like strawberries and cream, the occasional hint of salt from the fries you’d both eaten. When you part you’re breathless, bathed in sunshine, with the prettiest boy in Hawkins smiling bashfully at you.

“Do you - um,” Steve pauses, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Do you want to go in my room?”

You’ve never seen him like this, his confident demeanour stripped back, clearly anxious that his request is a step too far. But you trust this sweet boy, and squeezing his hand you nod.

Your legs tremble when you follow him to the room across the hall. It’s neater than you expected, sparsely decorated, just a few posters and banners pinned to the cream walls.

Steve lowers himself onto the edge of his bed, his leg bouncing nervously. You take a seat beside him, placing your hand on his knee to still his movements, offering him the most reassuring smile you can as you swallow down your own nerves.

Steve kisses you again, just as gently as before. You allow yourself to relax, surprised at how natural it feels. You thought your first kiss would be an awkward affair, you’d panicked about it plenty of times before, unsure of where you were supposed to put your hands, how were you supposed to move your lips, what if your breath was awful? But none of that crosses your mind, you simply lose yourself in Steve’s kisses, your fingers curling around the thin cotton of his shirt.

It’s all unexpected - the date, seeing Steve’s home, the kisses.

What’s more unexpected though is how quickly your hesitancy fades, and how far you’re willing to follow Steve on whatever path he’s leading you down.

Chaste kisses becomes a heavy make out session, and as the golden light seeping through the curtains deepens to a warm amber, Steve’s shirt is removed, yours following soon after.

“Fuck - I, I kind of want-“ Steve stammers between kisses, his hands holding firm on your hips.

“What do you want Steve?” You whisper, combing your fingers through his hair, every bit as soft as you’d dreamed it would be.

“I want you.” He admits, his cheeks a deep merlot.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” His hazel eyes widen in surprise.

“I want to. If you do.”

“Y-yeah. But I haven’t.. I’ve never um-“

“Me either.” you say softly.

“Are you sure?” He murmurs, brushing his nose against your cheek. You pause, chewing the inside of your lip. A quiet voice in the back of your head whispers that you’re moving too quickly, you should slow down, think it through, consider the consequences.

Your heart screams screw the consequences.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

On a day that’s been filled with firsts, you share everything with Steve Harrington, and he shares everything with you in return. His fingers stay interlocked with yours throughout, his weight pressing you into his plush mattress, his deep voice cooing to you softly when you whimper in discomfort.

When it’s over he holds you, his skin burning against yours, like the sun is glowing from within his chest. You never want to leave his warmth.

Inevitably, the day has to come to an end. Steve walks you home, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. He pauses at the gate to your front yard, his eyes flitting to your front door.

“Don’t worry, my dads not going to come out and yell at you or anything.” You smile, and he chuckles, following you up the cobbled path.

At your door he hesitates once again.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers, suddenly so shy even after what had just transpired between you barely an hour ago.

“Please.”

Steve exhales a soft sigh, ducking his head to capture your lips in gentle kiss. He rocks back on his heels when he pulls away, smiling down at his feet.

“See you Monday?” You offer, clasping your hands behind your back.

“Monday.” He repeats, walking backwards down the steps from your front door, grinning ear to ear.

With a small wave you duck inside the door, leaning your back against the wood as you push it closed. You clamp your hands over your mouth to stifle your elated squeal, and you think that just maybe, you could fall in love with Steve Harrington.

You’ve never been so eager to get to school, practically skipping through the front door, your Converse squeaking against the tiled floor. In your own blissful world, you fail to notice the sideways glances shot your way, the hurried whispers hidden behind palms over lips, the raised brows and snickering.

Rounding a corner you come to a halt, butterflies fluttering madly in your tummy when you see him. Steve stands at the end of the corridor, surrounded by his friends. He pushes his hair back from his forehead, and you swear you can feel those silky locks slipping through your fingers.

You open your mouth, preparing to call out his name, but he turns to look at you before you can make a sound.

“There she is!” Tommy shouts, a wicked grin stretched across his face. “How was he Y/N?”

You blink, confused as to why Tommy’s talking to you, you’ve never spoken before. The crowd of boys erupt into laughter, and Tommy thumps Steve on his back. Another boy in the group makes a lewd gesture, grabbing his crotch and thrusting his hips in your direction. Another wolf-whistles.

All the while Steve stares at you helplessly, his eyes round and pleading.

You realise then what’s so funny. He’s told them.

Steve winces at the betrayal written all over your face, taking a step towards you. You don’t give him the chance to get any closer, spinning on your heels and running as fast as your legs will carry you.

“Y/N! Wait!” He shouts.

“Oh no, a lovers tiff!” Tommy cackles.

Their voices fade, each thump of your sneakers against the floor putting more distance between you. You head for the girls bathroom, making it into a stall just in time for your Corn Flakes to make a reappearance.

Clinging to the cold porcelain, wretching and choking between sobs, you think that just maybe, you hate Steve Harrington.