Location? Delusion.

It’s been four days since you found your family dead. Four days since you left them behind. Four days since the end of the world came crashing down on you. 

Two days ago, you crossed the border between Nevada and California. Everyone is so close to reuniting with their friends and family now Everyone except for you. 

“Alright.” Steve’s voice is soft as he fixes the hair tie at the end of your braid. “Done.” 

You open your eyes and take a deep breath. You turn to face him. He is already looking at you – soft brown eyes filled with guilt and sadness. He insisted on doing your hair, you started neglecting it, no longer bothering to braid it after getting dressed, he does it for you now. 

His eyes are scanning your face, looking into yours intensely, like he is trying to find something.

You place your hand on his knee and squeeze it. You don’t smile or kiss him like you normally would. He doesn’t expect you to. He doesn’t deserve it, he thinks. 

“Thank you.” For taking care of me. You don’t say it, you don’t have to. 

Steve nods. His eyes soften, and his heart clenches in his chest. Before you remove your hand, he places his own on top of yours, giving it a tight squeeze. 

“Of course.” He whispers. He wants to kiss your hand so badly. He wants to pull you into his arms so badly it hurts; he wants to do so many things, but he is afraid. 

You try to smile, but you can’t. You look into his eyes for a moment before you pull away. You get up and walk away, leaving the RV. He stays there for a moment longer. He sits there, staring into a blank space. His chest is aching. Everything in him is aching. The guilt has been eating at him, dragging him down slowly, pulling him back into the pit you pulled him out of when you stumbled into his life. He feels like it’s his fault. He feels like it’s all his fault. Like he was the cause of it all. He told you what you would walk into so long ago; he laid it all out for you, and then he spent months hoping that what he said wouldn’t be true, but it is, and now he doesn’t know what to do with himself, with you. 

You are still standing. You are still breathing. You are still talking, not much, but you talk when you have to; he didn’t even do that when he lost Robin. He can tell that you are trying to stay strong, even after losing your entire family, after losing everything you fought for. You are strong, so much stronger than him. He carried so much hate in his heart when he was grieving. Hate that you don’t feel, not even towards him, not even when he deserves it. 

You are strong. 

But you are suffering. 

You don’t eat. Your face is losing color, a little more day by day. The light in your eyes has faded that day on what once used to be a sunflower field. It’s gone. And Steve, he feels dead inside, now realizing more than ever that he can’t, that he could never live without you, that if this means losing you, it also means losing himself with you. It means death. 

He wants to be there for you. He wants to fix this, but how can he? He can’t bring back your family.

He doesn’t realize that tears are running down his cheeks until he runs his hand down his face. He wipes them away quickly and gets up to walk into the bathroom. He splashes his face with cold water and fixes his hair. He looks into the mirror for a moment before he turns away with a heavy heart. 

He walks outside. 

Eddie and Nancy greet him with tight-lipped smiles, and he nods at them. His eyes instantly look for you. You are sitting on your camping chair, holding a cup of coffee in your hands. Your face is turned away from him, eyes focused on the hills afar, though your mind is somewhere else. He looks down, seeing the untouched bowl of oatmeal on the ground next to your chair. The steam is still rising from it, and an extra amount of brown sugar melting on it. He takes a deep breath and glances at Eddie, who is already looking at him, and he knows that he was the one who handed you your breakfast. 

Your friends are worried for you, in the same way they worried for him. Steve remembers it now like it was yesterday, how Eddie brought him food when he was hauled up in his room, grieving Robin. How Eddie kept showing up despite Steve yelling at him to leave, how he sat beside him, and even tried to feed him when he refused to pick up the food himself. 

Steve clears his throat and nods at him. 

“You guys can get some sleep.” Steve mumbles, looking between Eddie and Nancy. “We will sit out here for a while before we get back on the road.” 

Nancy tears her eyes away from you, though she lingers by your side for a moment longer. She puts her hand on your shoulder, squeezing it before she makes her way inside. 

“Yeah.” Eddie sighs. His eyes look for yours, but your gaze is still stuck on the cup in your hands. He can’t even be the cheerful self he always is. He can’t bring himself to be the comedic relief the team has. He is hurting for you, and he feels like he is selfish for having some people waiting for him while you have none.

Nancy feels the same way. She is excited to finally find the community, to be reunited with the rest of her family, her friends, but there’s some place inside of her that she refuses to feel that excitement. It felt unfair. Unjust. You didn’t deserve this, you of all people, didn’t deserve what happened to you.

She gets up reluctantly, walking towards Steve so she could whisper to him, even though she knew you didn’t even listen. Not because you couldn’t, you just wouldn’t process anything if words were not directed your way.

“Make her eat… I tried, but–”

“I know. I’ll take care of it… Just go rest.” She gives a final nod, looking towards Eddie. His eyes finally leave your figure, not really knowing what to do anymore. His way of handling grief had always been physical touch… Which is something he knew you weren’t particularly welcoming right now.

“Just call us if you need something… I marked the map…” He looked at the sky, passing by Steve to pat his shoulder before letting Nancy go into the RV first. The door closed, and now it was just him and you. 

He walked over towards you, pulling a chair to sit next to you. He licked his lips, grabbing the pot of oatmeal from the floor, stirring it a bit as he tried his best to smile.

“Always a lot of sugar. Eddie and you probably have your blood sugar on the very floor.” He tried making a joke, anything that would get a reaction from you, but he got nothing. He had envisioned this moment differently from what it was now. 

The winter was coming to an end, the weather turning warmer and warmer the closer you got to the coast, where everyone was waiting for all of you. He imagined your smile, jumping around, excited to finally settle, to finally be with him the way you two had talked about. He imagined you sitting here with him, talking about how you two were gonna live together. If you would get a cottage, a bungalow, an apartment, anything that’s there. 

He imagined that you two would be bickering about what decorations you could have inside the home. What roles would the two of you decide on to contribute to the community. He imagined you… With your family. He imagined that your mother, your father, and your brother, would be around all of you right now.

He imagined a happy ending for you… But now, he doesn’t even believe he is worthy of being that for you.

Not when you look like your soul is gone. Not when you look like a puppet. Not when you look like… Like Max did two years ago… How he probably looked like before you even met him. Everything he imagined was gone in the lapse of hours, and he doesn’t think he’ll see it again. 

He can’t see a future, not because he doesn’t want you… But because he doesn’t think he deserves you.

“Baby… You need to eat…” He softly spoke, trying to make you look at him. He grabs a spoonful of the oatmeal, and raises it towards your mouth. Your eyes dart to it, and you shake your head slightly.

“I am not hungry, Steve…” Not Stevie. That little nickname was gone. 

“I know… I know, but you need to eat. I’ll be happy with just a few, okay?” Your eyes meet his for just a moment, before you nod and open your mouth so he could feed you. Your eyebrows meet in the middle, and your eyes closed as if swallowing hurts you. You put the cup down on the floor, before grabbing the bowl from him as well as the spoon.

He was trying not to shake as he grabbed himself a bowl, and he wasn’t hungry either, but if he ate, maybe that would make you eat more too. Your bites are small, just taking bits of it every ten seconds. You eat slowly, almost as if you were a robot and you were commanded to do so. 

The silence killed him, but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if apologizing would gain anything at all. Maybe you hated him and you were not voicing it. Maybe you found him despicable now. Maybe you didn’t want to be by his side any longer. 

He didn’t want you to remember that day. He didn’t want to say anything at all that would make you revisit that memory, but he wanted to. The lump in his throat grows each day, and it’s turning painful. Yet, he cannot speak a single word. 

“Smell the corpses around you!”

He can’t believe himself. He can’t believe he said something like that to you. The words keep repeating in his brain, and even if he holds you at night, it was as if he was holding a cold doll. You never said anything. You never kissed him, held his hand, nothing. He cried himself to sleep the past few days, making sure you were asleep so you wouldn’t hear him.

And even when he held you, the nightmares began creeping in. That same scene, in front of Robin’s grave, over and over again, and each time your face becomes more and more visible. Clearer. Then, the scene changes, to you standing over your family’s graves. 

Graves. Everything involved graves.

You put the spoon down, and Steve snapped out of his thoughts, looking at how much you ate. Not even half. Fuck. Should he push you to eat a little more? He didn’t want to command you to do anything, but he was worried that you were withering away. That it was what you decided instead of following him into the community. 

“You… can you eat a little mo–”

“No.” Your voice was cold. Colder than the entire winter the four of you went through. Fuck, it hurt. He was afraid that he would turn away from you for just a second and that you would run off. He was afraid that you… would–

Both of you straightened up when you heard an animal cry. Steve immediately stood up, grabbing onto the first thing at hand, which was Nancy’s rifle. It wasn’t far away, and it sounded like a painful noise. You slowly got up from your chair, looking towards the far end bushes.

The RV’s door opened, Nancy and Eddie rushing out with guns in their hands, wearing their sleep clothes.

“What was that?” Nancy asked quickly, looking at the same spot. Steve pointed the rifle, waiting for whatever was grunting behind the bushes.

“I don’t know, but there are no red clouds, can’t be monsters.” Another cry came out, making the four of you straighten up, and all guns were pointing at one specific bush that was rustling just a few feet away.

Suddenly, a deer came out, stumbling on its feet, blood smeared over the belly, as if mauled by another animal. Relief washed over, because this meant that wildlife was living in this side of the country. 

Nancy had flashbacks to 1983, seeing an injured deer in the forest, and her hand could not pull the trigger… Just like now. She didn’t want to kill this deer, even if it was suffering and bleeding to death. 

But Eddie and Steve were too. You all got closer, as the deer finally stumbled over, breathing heavily. The opportunity of eating meat, fresh meat, appeared in front of you, yet, no one could give the final blow.

“Eddie… Do it…” Nancy asked, but Eddie’s hand was trembling as it pointed at the deer’s head. Images of your mother’s corpse falling onto the ground before him after he pulled the trigger flashed before his eyes. Just like your mother, the deer didn’t ask to be bitten. The deer tried to run away most likely, yet it got to her.

“I– Steve–” Eddie was borderline panicking, and Steve noticed. His rifle pointed at the deer’s head, but again, he stopped. What would you think of him if he killed an innocent soul, even if it were to help it? Would you look at him in disgust? Would you look at him differently? Would this death remind you of what happened four days ago?

“Maybe… We can leave her to… go by herself…” He said with a trembling voice. Eddie and Nancy were still petrified, looking down at the bleeding animal, knowing it will suffer until it finally decides to part.

“I think that’s… for the best–” Nancy couldn’t finish talking before she saw something slamming down on her peripheral vision, and next thing she saw was that the deer stopped moving after a final cry. 

The three of them turned their heads your way, as you straightened up with the machete in your hand, the blood of the animal dripping down from the blade. You had cut the head off, or well, almost. They were frozen, because you were the last person they thought would do this. 

Even before knowing what happened to your family, there were many times where you rushed to the RV so you wouldn’t see Eddie hunting a rabbit. You would sometimes eat with guilt, but you knew that you had to eat meat. 

But this time, you were the one to strike.

“She is not hurting anymore.” Your voice was made of steel as your eyes never left the nearly decapitated animal before you. Steve’s eyes were wide, tears threatening to fall at any given moment. This wasn’t you. This definitely was not you. 

“Sun–”

You didn’t let Steve finish that nickname. You didn’t like it anymore, and he could feel that. He saw you turn around, and walk back towards the chairs to clean your weapon with a water bottle. He heard a sniffle, and he turned to see Nancy looking away, hiding the tears that formed in her eyes.

“I-I don’t think it’s safe to eat,” Nancy mumbles, wiping her cheeks. “We don’t know what bit her… so…”

“Yeah, I’ll uh… I’ll carry her away, don’t think it’s safe to have a bleeding animal lying around our camp.” Eddie says, looking down. 

Steve nods, though his mind was already elsewhere. Nancy immediately left, passing by you without a second glance because she couldn’t bear to see you this way. Normally, you would be crying your eyes out if you were the one that had to do that. You would be saying sorry, over and over again. You would be asking her to reassure you this was the right thing to do for the animal. 

But you were outside, cleaning your machete as if you hadn’t just cut the neck off that deer. She couldn’t blame you, and she couldn’t be mad at you for who you were now. But she could be scared. She didn’t know if you would return to your old self anytime soon, but it was scarier to think that it would not return at all.

After an hour, Eddie and Steve were washing off the blood from their hands and arms. They did their cleaning behind the RV, in a bucket, soaking their arms in. 

They were in silence, already noting that it was 9 AM, and Eddie had yet to sleep. 

“You can go finish washing inside, Eds. I think Sunshine is done with the shower… I’ll hit the road soon–”

“Steve…” And he knew that tone. He knew that Eddie was going to talk to him about something that Steve was not sure he wanted to talk about. 

“I know. I know, and–”

“What can we do? She is not herself… It’s been days–”

“She lost her entire family, Eddie, what do you expect?” Steve’s voice was loud, angry, and his eyes snapped to meet his best friend’s. 

“I understand that. Don’t snap at me as if I didn’t!”

“What do you want her to do? To just wake up and smile and be her cheery self again?” Steve scoffed, trying to pretend as if his own words were not cutting through his heart. Eddie frowned, looking down at the reddened water, pulling his arms out of the bucket. 

“Steve, she is not the only one who changed.”

And Steve froze. He could feel his fingers shaking underneath the water, and a cold sweat wrapping all around his neck. 

Finally, he couldn’t handle it anymore, his hands coming out from the water, not caring that it was cold or if there was still blood on his skin. The palms of his hands came to cover his eyes, shaking his head as the tears started flowing down, the lump in his throat breaking loose.

“I can’t pretend that I didn’t cause this… I can’t pretend that I wasn’t the one who broke her–” Eddie’s eyes widened, his hand coming to rest on Steve’s shoulder.

“You can’t blame yourself for this Steve… Her family didn’t die because of what you said–”

“I destroyed her that night, Eddie.” The metalhead’s hand fell, tilting his head in question as Steve’s hands finally dropped. His cheeks were stained with tears, water, some dirt and blood from not washing thoroughly. “I killed some of her hope that night…”

Eddie just stood there, a frown in his face. 

“You didn’t destroy her, and you shouldn’t blame yourself for it…” 

“It’s not a matter of me manifesting it or whatever. It’s not about me telling her the future or some shit. It’s the matter that she is like this because this is how she felt when I said those words. At that moment, it was a split second of her hope fading, yet she held onto it… But now, that feeling is permanent because it’s true. I caused it. She already knew what her reaction would be, because I put that thought in her head before.”

Steve finally sobbed, frustration clear in all of his features. He kicked the bucket with his foot, making Eddie jump at the action. Steve wanted to scream into the sky, but he didn’t want you to hear. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to act that you were okay for his sake. Eddie slowly approached him, putting a hand on his shoulder, but Steve instantly turned to wrap his arms around his best friend, sobbing into his shoulder.

“Steve, she is not like this because of that… Please, understand that not everything is your fault…”

But he wasn’t listening. He wasn’t processing any of his words, because he knew that he was right. He knew that he fucked you up all those months ago. Then he kept fucking you up by saying that your family was waiting for you, that your family was alive, that your family would be welcome at their community.

His voice broken, his soul crashed, and the reality of the situation finally settled in,

“My sunshine is gone…”

–

Another day passed, and you were still nowhere to be found.

Body, you were present. Spirit, it was missing. Steve’s fear grew, and grew, and each day he was more sure that you were not in there any longer. He didn’t know how to bring you back. He didn’t know how to fix you. He didn’t know what else to do, nor how to interact with you. 

Your embraces were becoming nonexistent. That clinginess he had learned to love from you was gone. You preferred alone time, rather than spending time with everyone. Nancy tried to talk, but your responses were just hums and nods. No one knew how to converse with you anymore. 

He felt as if his own soul were leaving him. He felt like he was losing you, and it was killing him slowly. Will he ever get you back again? Will you ever come back to him…? And if you do, will you ever be happy again? Will he get the chance to make you happy? And… How can he compare to your family? 

He can’t.

No one can.

“Do you really think… she is gone? That this is her new self?” Nancy asks Steve as they both sit at the steps of the RV’s door. You are sitting under a tree, looking at nothing in particular as the wind blows through your hair. Hair that Eddie helped wash because lately, Steve couldn’t help you eat or take care of you like in the past days. He couldn’t because he believes he shouldn’t be the one to do it, thinking that he is doing you a favor, because why would you want him to help you? He who broke you long before you found your dead family. 

The lingering fear that you don’t want him around grows bigger and bigger, that you no longer feel what you felt for him before that day, that you feel the opposite now. He fears that he makes you uncomfortable, that you feel disgust when he touches you. 

“Yeah…” He says with a broken voice. He doesn’t want to accept it, but for now, it did seem like it. It might take years if you do return to your old self, but even then, he doesn’t know if you would ever act like it again. 

“I tried… Eddie tried… I don’t know if I should even talk about it with her, you know… About her family… I don’t even know if she accepted what happened yet…” She spoke softly, nervously, looking at Steve for some advice, but she saw his eyes starting to lose their own spark. 

“I don’t know…” 

“Steve–”

“Nance, I tried too… We are not her family…” At that, Nancy finally recoiled, looking at him.

“We can be–”

“Nancy, she is gone. She doesn’t feel that way, and she shouldn’t need to. We can’t force her to settle with us.” His words were knives, swords, spears going through every inch of his body. He didn’t want to accept that fact, but there really was no more hope in him either. 

Nancy stares at him in confusion, in shock, like she can’t believe what she is hearing. Anger rises inside of her. 

“What… so you are just gonna give up on her?” Nancy asks through gritted teeth. 

Steve’s head snaps towards her, and his blood runs cold, color fading in his face. He frowns at her. 

Nancy’s blue eyes are glaring into his; her nostrils flare. 

“After everything she did for you? After everything you two have gone through… you are just gonna give up on her, leave her to suffer through her grief… by herself?” Nancy’s voice trembles. “You are gonna do this… to her?” She points at you. 

Steve’s hazel eyes are full of pain, of heartbreak. 

He would rather die than do this to you, but her words make him realize that this is exactly what he’s been doing these past few days, and it shatters his own heart. But how can he explain that he’s keeping his distance, not because he doesn’t know how to handle you, but because his guilt is killing him alive, because he fears that you hate him after what he said to you.

He shakes his head and his eyes water. 

Nancy’s eyes soften when she sees the tears in his eyes, though her anger is still burning inside of her. 

“Eddie told me what you said to her.” Nancy says with a clenched jaw. She turns away from him and looks back in your direction. “But I think you should know her well enough to know that she would never hold some stupid words against you, words that were said when you were still grieving–”

“I told her that–”

“That is Sunshine we are talking about, Steve.” Nancy talks over him, shaking her head. 

Steve closes his mouth. He runs his fingers through his hair. 

“She is grieving her family, she is suffering not because of what you said, but because she lost her entire family, and now she is losing you too? Why? Because you can’t forgive yourself for what you said to her months ago? Because you worry about something that she probably isn’t even thinking about. You think you are doing her a favor by staying away, by pushing her away, now when she needs you the most?” 

Steve almost chokes up. She is right. He knows she is. 

But it wasn’t only his worry that kept him away from you; it was also shame. Shame for all the words he threw at you. 

“If you love her, which I think you do… then be there for her the way she was there for you. Fight for her the way she always fought for you. You hurt her before, don’t do it again, not now, not ever. She needs you. And if someone can bring her back, it’s you.” With those words, she leaves him sitting by himself, though she lingers by the door of the RV for a moment. She turns around in his direction, but her eyes are on you. “She brought you back, didn’t she?” She taps the door before she walks in, closing it softly. 

Steve’s face softens. His eyes well up with tears once more as he watches you. Your eyes are closed, leaning against the tree. It looks like you are enjoying the sun. 

Nancy is right. 

He knows she is. 

He knows what a fool he is. He knows the mistakes he made, the same ones he is repeating again; pushing you away. He is already regretting so many things he could have done differently; he could have done better. And now he is on his way to making more mistakes, causing more regrets, something he never wanted to do with you, not you. 

A tear rolls down his cheek, watching the wind mess up your hair, which you tuck back behind your ear. 

You should be the one to decide whether you still want him or not, not him, right? 

He brings his hand up to his face, wiping his tears away. He looks down at the grass, and his eyes catch onto something by his boot, something he didn’t notice before. A little flower, the only one growing on this field it seems. He picks it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. You didn’t even notice it. You love flowers, you are always looking for them, yet you didn’t see this one. 

He gets back up on his feet, his eyes finding your figure again. He stands there for a moment, twirling the flower between his fingers as he looks at you. His heart aches for you, and it aches even more when Nancy’s words repeat themselves in his head. 

You fought for him, you always did, even when he pushed you away, even when he was mean to you, when he tried to keep you away from him by throwing awful words at you. Even when he gave you the cold shoulder. You always fought for him. 

Seeing you like this, all alone in your grief, it breaks him. 

It’s not that he gave up on you; he never would, not even when Nancy threw that at him. He would never give up on you, but going over her words makes the guilt twist even worse in his chest, the same guilt that kept him at arm's length from you, the one that made him keep his distance.

Distance he needs to close again, so he can try, try, and see if you are really better off without him by your side. 

He approaches you slowly, careful not to startle you. He doesn’t call for you, doesn’t say your name. He just settles down beside you, sitting on the grass next to you. You don’t move at first, still keeping your eyes closed, enjoying the sun. 

He is looking at you, eyes trailing over your face, the crease between your eyebrows, the softness of your skin, your lashes that flutter from the kiss of the wind, the curve of your lips that he misses so much. His eyes get stuck on the small scar on your cheekbone, the one you took when you fought one of the guys that attacked you that day on the road, the day when you killed for him. 

Steve’s breath gets caught in his throat when you open your eyes and turn to look at him. His heart stops for a moment as he scans the look in your eyes, like he is trying to find something that could absolutely break him – he doesn’t find it, he won’t, not even if it’s something he feels about himself. If anything, your eyes soften. 

For a moment, you both just look at each other. No words, no exchanges, nothing. Your eyes stay connected, and your knee bumps into his when you angle your body towards him. 

Your body language speaks enough words. You wouldn’t do this if you didn’t want him around, right? 

His lip twitches when your eyes find the flower between his fingers. Your eyebrows rise up in surprise, and he sees something he hasn’t seen in what feels like forever; hope. 

“The flowers started blooming for you, Sunshine.” Steve whispers shakily.

Your brows scrunch together, lips parting for a second before they close again. You look up again, and the look in your eyes kills him. Emotions he thought were gone completely flash in them. It makes his heart beat strongly, aching yet feeling alive again. 

Without second guessing it, he scoots closer to you. He brings his hand up to your face, shaky fingers tuck your hair behind your ear, before he puts the flower in your hair. His heart screams for you as he feels you so close again. Everything inside of him starts hurting, like his body, his soul can’t understand why there was this distance between you in the first place, like everything in him was dying slowly the longer he kept away from you. 

He can feel your eyes taking in every inch of him; he can hear your soft breathing, matching the shakiness in his own. 

He can’t help but place his palm against your cheek, cupping it. He caresses your cheekbone with his thumb. And he almost breaks right there when you close your eyes and lean into his touch. Your eyebrows are still drawn together as though you are in pain, as though you are suffering, but his touch is slowly mending it. You bring your hand up, and for a moment, he fears that it’s to remove his touch from you, but instead, you press your palm against the top of his hand, lingering there for a moment before it slides down to his wrist, and you wrap your fingers around it, holding onto him. 

Steve feels his heart beating strongly at the gesture.. His eyes well up with tears, and the coil in his throat tightens. He has to hold back the sob that starts rising up. 

You are still in there. 

You are still here. 

You are still here, and you need him. 

You need him more than anything. 

And he knows exactly what he needs to do, what he’s been wanting to do for so long now. 

-

On your next stop, which seems to be your last before reaching the community in California, Steve goes off on his own. You are completely unaware of it, waking up to an empty bed isn’t new these days. You lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling. The sun is already up and bright, peeking through the blinds and the curtains, casting a warm orange light over the RV. 

Steve’s scent lingers on your pillow, the only comfort you get when he isn’t next to you. It takes you a while to sit up on the bed, to let your feet touch the ground. Your eyes fall on the flower he gave to you a few days ago. You found a small glass and filled it up with water, wanting to keep the flower blooming. 

You make your way into the bathroom, splashing your face with water and brushing your teeth. You take a look at yourself in the mirror, something you had been avoiding these past days or maybe even weeks. You don’t know how much time has passed since leaving your house, but your chest tightens when you look at yourself. Your skin is dull, and the circles under your eyes are dark despite getting enough sleep. Your cheeks are hollow, and your collarbones are more prominent than they were before. You stand there for a moment, staring at your reflection, staring at it like you can’t believe what you are seeing. 

You know why he looks at you like that. 

Every time you catch him staring, you see the pain in his eyes, the sadness, the grief. He looks at you the way you looked at your dad, the way you looked at your mom. Like you are already gone, and he is grieving you. 

But you are not gone. Your heart is still beating. At least you can feel it when you press your palm against your chest. It’s still there. 

You don’t know how much time passes while you're just standing there and staring at your reflection, but you almost yelp when the RV door bursts open. Your hand stays pressed against your chest, and you turn to look at whoever hurried inside. 

“Sunshine.”

Steve stands in the doorway, and his eyes shine with something that’s been missing in your eyes; excitement. His expression falls a little when he notices the way you are still clutching your chest. 

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, taking a step towards you. He looks you up and down, the look in his eyes now replaced by worry. He holds his hand out to you, though not touching you. 

“Yeah, just startled me, that's all.” You nod and remove your hand from your racing heart. “Did you need anything?”

Steve blinks. His lip twitches when he remembers what he came for. 

“I– I want to show you something.” His voice is filled with excitement. “Get dressed, I’ll wait outside.” He is determined, not taking no for an answer. He looks you up and down once more before he leaves again, closing the door behind him. 

Confusion grows inside of you when you hear bickering outside, or well, it sounds more like Steve getting scolded by Eddie and Nancy for something. You stand there for a moment, listening, but you can’t make out their words. Their scolding continues even after you are done getting dressed; they only stop after you step outside. 

The anger in Nancy’s eyes that was directed at Steve instantly fades when she looks at you. Eddie’s expression immediately softens too. 

“Is everything okay?” 

Eddie nods, his eyes flicker back to Steve for a moment, glaring. 

“Yeah, peachy.” 

Steve steps forward, and he holds his hand out to you, ignoring his friends who are looking between you. 

“Come.” Steve murmurs softly to you. 

Your confused eyes find his, and he only nods at you, like he is encouraging you to take his hand. 

You take a deep breath and place your hand in his. His fingers instantly curl around your hand, and he squeezes it. “Let’s go, Sunshine.” He pulls you away from the RV and from your friends. You give them a puzzled look, but they only shrug at you. 

You don’t know where he is taking you, don’t even have an idea of where he could lead you, but you still follow him without questioning him. You would follow him everywhere. You look around as you follow his footsteps. He is leading you through a huge field, one that leads to a forest. 

He doesn’t talk, and neither do you.It’s darker in here, but rays of sunlight peek through the trees from above. You hear the birds singing, feel the wind nip at your skin, blowing through your hair. The smell of soil and pine lingers in the air. You can’t help but take a deep breath. You have always liked the smell of the forest; in a way, it gave you a sense of freedom and safety. When you adapted to the new world, you had always looked for shelter in the woods; they always kept you safe. 

Steve’s warm hand keeps squeezing yours, his thumb brushing over your skin. You look down at his hand, and you realize just how much you have missed his touch. The lack of his presence by your side didn’t go unnoticed by you. Even in your grief and in the state of numbness you were in, you noticed how he touched you less and how whenever he looked at you, there was pain and guilt in his eyes. You know him well enough; he stayed away, thinking he was doing the right thing for you. 

You’re so lost in thought, looking down at his hand, you don’t realize that the trail through the forest is already ending, and he is leading you out to a clearing. You squint your eyes when the sun hits you directly in the face. Something yellow flashes in your peripheral vision, and you turn towards it. Your lips part in surprise when you see the butterfly; your eyes follow it. 

It’s been so long since you’ve seen a butterfly or any other insect, for that matter, and it shouldn’t surprise you as much since you’ve been stuck in the cold states for the past few months, but even before that, you barely saw any butterflies or bees or even animals out here. 

You almost bump into Steve’s back when he stops walking, too distracted by the butterfly. He turns around, still holding your hand. His hazel eyes shine so bright with hope, while yours mirror the emotions he felt when you just met him. 

Your eyes don’t stray away from his. His lip twitches slightly, curling into an anticipated smile. 

“Look around, Sunshine.” Steve whispers, squeezing your hand. 

You furrow your eyebrows, staring at him for a long moment before you slowly tear your eyes away from him. You look down, noticing how green the grass is, noticing the little flowers growing, not just one or two, there are so many of them. 

Steve is watching your face, taking in the way your expression changes, how your eyes widen, and your lips part. You look up at him, and his breath gets caught in his throat when he sees the look in your eyes. 

He nods at you, smiling softly. 

You squeeze his hand and look over his shoulder, only now noticing that the flowers didn’t only grow in the little spot you are standing in, they are everywhere, blooming in different colors, taking up all the space in this field, filling it with life. 

You walk around him and take a step forward. Your hand slips from his grasp as you take another step and then another, walking further into the field where the flowers grow bigger and taller. You turn, and everywhere you look, you find another flower, yellow, orange, pink colors, everywhere. 

Steve’s feet carry him to you slowly. His eyes take in all your reactions. His heart beats so strongly, squeezing in his chest as something he can only describe as fascination crosses your features. Your eyes light up, and he sees you. He sees traces of you coming back again. Your hands reach out to touch the flowers, and your lips curl into a smile. The sun shines down on you, kissing your skin. The wind blows through your hair that grew even longer in these past few months. You look like an angel. His angel. 

“You saved me.” Those words fall from his lips easily. His voice is shaky, and his heart beats strongly, especially when you turn around to face him. “You saved my life, Sunshine.”

You stay quiet, standing still in your spot as your eyes trace his features. He steps closer to you, closing the distance between you with each step he takes. Your breath gets caught in your throat when you really look at him. The circles under his eyes are prominent like your own. His cheeks are more hollow too. His face lost color just the way yours did. His features are etched with pain. He is suffering because you are suffering. 

“That day you stumbled right into Hawkins… I don’t think it was a coincidence, you know?” 

You tilt your head in confusion. 

Steve takes another step closer. He huffs at the memory, smiling slightly. 

“I wasn’t supposed to be on patrol that day, and you weren’t supposed to walk down that route. You once told me that Robin would send me a sign… I think she sent you, or well, she sent the bat that ripped the map from your hands, so you would walk right into Hawkins because, knowing you, you must have tried to follow the bat.”

You scrunch your nose up, making him smile. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Steve murmurs, and finally, he stops right before you. He reaches for your hand. “You found me. You found me during a time in my life when I was dying, when I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and never open them again, but then you happened and god… I’m so fucking happy you happened, Sunshine. You are everything I dreamed of.” He stops for a moment, taking a deep breath. “And you are the light in my life that pulled me out of the dark hole I was trapped in. I… I wanna be that for you now.”

He doesn’t realize just how much his hands are shaking until you tighten your hold on them. His eyes well up with tears, and he closes them for a moment, needing to collect himself before he continues. Everything he’s been holding back is ready to be spilled. 

He opens his eyes again, and he breathes shakily as he looks into your eyes. 

“I know I will never replace your family– and I don’t even want to do that!” He says, wide eyed, like he worried that he said the wrong thing. “But–” He stops as a tear runs down his cheek, the sob he’s been trying to hold back is rising up now. “I want to start a new one with you. I want to become your family. Eddie too, Nancy too– but especially me. I want to marry you, have children if you desire so, and I want to make you feel safe and loved… Because I love you so much. I love you so fucking much, you have no idea.” He cries. Tears cascade down his cheeks, and he is shaking so much. 

And you, you stare at him for a moment, wide-eyed and lips parted. 

And the world started making sense once more, despite the darkness that surrounded you the last few days. The skies cleared from the red clouds that invaded your mind. The world had color again. And finally, you took a breath. A breath that you felt so strongly, as if you had been drowning or lacking it lately. 

Your heart beats stronger than it has in a while. Your knees nearly buckle. You stare at him, at the tears in his eyes, at the way he looks at you with nothing but love, with nothing but despair.  

Your family is gone. 

But it’s not. 

You have found one on the way here. You found him. You found Eddie and Nancy. You still have one. And the one about to come with him, the man who just gave you his heart. 

“So please… please come back to me, Sunshine. I need you. I–” You cut him off by pressing your lips against his. He sobs against you, though it’s one out of relief the moment he feels your arms wrapped around him, the moment he feels your lips moving against his, the moment he feels you again. He doesn’t even know where to touch first. His hands cradle your face, wiping your tears as he deepens the kiss, swallowing your whimper. 

His hands then slide down to your neck and your shoulders before he pulls you against him, wrapping his arms around you so tightly that he pulls you flush against him. Neither of you knows how long you stand there in each other's embrace, kissing, but it’s all you need right now, all you want. Only when the lack of air breaks you two apart do your lips stop moving, and you pull away, but only enough to catch your breaths. He leans his forehead against yours, sniffling. 

“I love you, Steve. I love you so much.” Your voice is shaky, full of tears, just like your eyes that get blurry all over again as you look at your man. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I was just so afraid, after losing them… all I could think about was losing you too, and I can’t lose you, not you.” Your voice breaks once more, tears continuing to roll down your cheeks. 

Steve’s brown eyes widen, and his heart nearly explodes in his chest. Light rushes back in, and he can’t even help the cry from falling from his lips. 

“You– You love me? Sunshine, did you say you love me?” He whispers, his hand finding your cheeks again. 

Your heart almost breaks when you hear the surprise in his voice, like he can’t believe that you feel this way about him. 

“Of course I do,” you whisper, leaning closer to peck his lips. “I love you.”

The look in his eyes kills you. He is genuinely surprised and shocked that you actually love him. Another tear rolls down his cheek, and you catch it with your thumb, wiping it away. 

For the first time in a while, you both feel joy, happiness. Your souls are beginning to heal from this pain. 

Steve can’t help but smile through his tears, and his eyes light up when you do the same. 

“I love you so much more, my sweet girl.” Steve whispers before he leans in and starts pressing kisses all over your face, pulling that beautiful sound of your giggle out of you, making his heart flutter and his smile widen. 

Your hands catch his face again, and you pull him away from your face so you can look at him. 

“You… You want to marry me? You want to have kids with me?”

Steve nods so quickly, “yes I do, baby.” 

You could feel every emotion crushing towards you at once, your lips trembling, and Steve knows. Steve can feel it as your body starts shaking. He knows you will finally let it all out.

“They’re gone…” You start talking, small, almost a whisper. Your eyes had so many swirling emotions that he couldn’t keep up with. They look lost and ready to burst. He nodded slowly, his eyebrows falling, and his eyes softened. 

“Yes… They are… They are, Sunshine…” 

And finally, finally, you break.

You pull away as your breathing starts to become erratic, hunching as you grab at his biceps for support as your cries fill the field. Your tears start coming down heavily, your grip is bruising but he holds onto you by your elbows as he helps you to not fall on the ground. Your stomach is twisted as if you had been punched, but you just sobbed. You were heavily crying, letting your suffering out.

“They didn’t deserve that! They– My mom! My dad! My brother! They’re gone! They’re gone!” He just lets you cry, tears running down his own cheeks to see you like this, but he knows you have to cry. Your mind is flashing with the images of that day, the bodies, your house, the sunflower field, the graves. 

Your cries continued, and finally your knees gave in, falling to the ground and he followed, still holding onto you. You were trying to breathe, chest heaving rapidly, and Steve suddenly grew worried because he didn’t bring the inhaler with him. He sat on the ground, quickly pulling you to his chest. His arms wrapped around you, as he rocked the two of you, trying to soothe you.

“I know… I know, love…” His voice was choked up, and the side of your face was against his chest as you held onto him. You were still crying, choking on your spit. 

“Why them… Why…” Your voice was lower now, slowly calming down from your breakdown, and he kept rocking the two of you, kissing the top of your head and keeping his lips there as he clenched his eyes. If you were in pain, he was in pain. 

It took minutes for your breathing to come back to normal, or at least a bit. Your eyes opened, spotting the flowers that were all around you, waving at you thanks to the wind. Slowly, another emotion started creeping in. The one you had lost. The one you almost forgot existed. 

Hope.

You slowly pulled away, straightening up to sit next to Steve, but his arms were not leaving you. Your eyes searched for his, and then the images of him trying to feed you came. The ones of him doing your hair, helping you wash yourself, even helping you sleep. So lost in your grief, you didn’t realize how much he was showing that he loves you.

You felt completely… loved. Realizing that not only he loves you. Eddie and Nancy love you too. They all tried. They all tried to bring you back… And the feeling of being abandoned, or lonely without any family… Vanished. 

Your blood family is gone, and that pain will never go away. Nobody will replace them… But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a family at all. The man before you wants that. He wants that with you. He wants a forever with you. He wants a little one with you. He wants it. He wants to be in your life for as long as you let him.

Which is forever.

“You’re… Through this whole winter… You have been my sunflower, Steve…” Your whisper is soft and filled with so much love. A kind of love he never thought he would get to feel. 

His eyes well up with tears all over again. He can’t describe the feeling that is coursing through his veins, not even if he tried. He cups the side of your face and he looks down at you with nothing but adoration. 

He can see that the wall between you, your wall of grief had vanished again and now he gets to see you, to feel you again. 

“Winter is over, can I still be your sunflower?” 

His question makes you laugh softly. You nod and lean into his hand, closing your eyes as another tear rolls down your cheek. He wipes it away and kisses your forehead. 

“Please.” You whisper. 

Steve pulls you into his arms, needing to hug you, needing to hold you and you don’t hesitate to bury your face into his chest, breathing in his scent as he buries his face in your neck. 

For a while you sit there, surrounded by the flowers, by the nature that stayed untouched from the dead and the evilness that spread across the world, the one that touched you both. The one that took Robin. The one that took your family. The one that led you to finding each other. 

“You said that Robin sent me to you…” You whisper, pulling away from his chest to look at him. 

He nods, smiling softly. 

“I think… I think my mom sent you.” 

You know that she was gone long before you met Steve. It didn’t happen on your journey. It didn’t happen while you were in Hawkins or after you left. It happened long ago. Your family was gone by the time you left New York. 

Steve's lips curl into a sad smile. He brings his hand up to your face, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“Yeah? You think they teamed up?” 

You nod, blinking away tears. 

“You know… I would have found you in the old world too.” Steve murmurs, face suddenly growing serious. “This, us, we belong together. Perfect world or this one, I would always choose you.” 

Everything inside of you bursts into joy, feelings that you were afraid of lately rushing through you again. The love in his eyes makes you melt into his arms even more. 

“I would always choose you too, Steve.” Your voice breaks and his trembling hands pull you in, closing the gap between you so he can kiss you once more. And he keeps on kissing you, holding you the way he couldn’t in these past days. 

You don’t know how much time passes of you sitting out here on this field, loving one another but when you finally return to your camp, you feel like yourself again. The aching in your heart won’t disappear anytime soon but you feel so much lighter than you did this morning. 

Eddie and Nancy get up from their chairs when they see the two of you coming back, hand in hand, a sight they haven’t seen in a while. 

You squeeze Steve’s hand and turn to him to find him already looking at you. He gives you a sweet smile and an encouraging nod. After a moment, your hand slips from his and you pick up the pace, making your way back to your friends. You stop before them, looking between them for a moment. Eddie’s worried but hopeful eyes, Nancy’s sad ones. And then, you take another step forward and throw your arms around both of them, pulling them into a hug. 

They both freeze. Both stiff beneath your touch. Eddie’s eyes lock with Steve’s, who is standing a few feet away from you. His eyes are glassy, red rimmed. It’s clear that he cried, though his lips are curled into a smile, eyes filled with the softness that was missing. One look at him and Eddie knows, he brought you back. He is the first to wrap his arm around you. 

A shaky breath falls from Nancy’s mouth, a sigh of relief. Tears well up in her eyes as she slowly wraps her arm around you. 

“Oh Sunshine.” She whispers, pulling you closer. 

Eddie wraps his arm around Nancy as well and for a moment, the three of you hug, holding each other. And Steve, he stands there, watching with a smile on his face. He hears your sniffle, he sees the tears that Eddie is trying to hold back, he sees the way Nancy clings to you. 

He always knew how much they loved you but seeing this fills his heart with warmth. You are so loved. 

“Whatcha standing there like a creep?” Eddie calls out to him, wiping his tears away. “Get your ass over here, man.”

You and Nancy giggle at that. You let go of Eddie and hold your hand out to Steve, smiling at him over your shoulder. The smile he missed so much. The smile he yearned for. He walks over, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. He moves in between you and Eddie, wrapping his arm around his shoulder and his other around your waist. He gives Nancy a nod, a silent thank you for talking sense into him. She knew just what to say. And Eddie, he squeezes Steve’s shoulder and gives him a proud smile. 

He has come a long way since leaving Hawkins. 

“Thank you.” You whisper, breaking the silence between you all. “For everything… For being my family.” You don’t need to say much more to touch their hearts. You don’t need a speech to show gratitude. These words, the tears in your eyes, the love you showed them all on this journey and how much you fought for them was enough. 

“Thank you for coming into our lives, Sunshine.” Nancy whispers, reaching for your hand. “You’re my family too, my best friend.” 

Eddie’s brown eyes are glassy. He tries to hide the tears but it’s hard to do so when he sees you back again, when he sees the smile on your face and the softness in your eyes that he wasn’t sure would come back again. 

“You’re my family too. You are the only one who knows who my sweetheart is, I think it’s safe to say that you are my favorite family member.” Eddie chuckles, ruffling your hair.

Nancy rolls her eyes at the mention of his sweetheart. 

Steve chuckles and shakes his head at his best friend.  

The sound of your giggle makes them all light up though. 

You lean your head against Steve’s shoulder and he doesn’t hesitate to lean his cheek against the top of your head. 

“Okay…” You whisper, wiping at your cheek yet again. “You two should get some sleep.” You look between Eddie and Nancy, who share a glance before they look back at you. 

“We wanna stay up.” Eddie clears his throat, his arms falling to his sides as he is the first to break the group hug. “If the roads stay clear we’re gonna arrive at the community tonight.” 

Nancy nods, looking down. 

Steve might have managed to bring you back, but you still need to come to terms that you will be the only one without a family there, without someone waiting for you. You are the reason why they are finding their families in the first place. 

Steve’s hand stays pressed against your waist, he pulls you closer against him. 

“Oh.” You nod, eyes finding Steve’s for a moment who is already looking down at you, who will stick by your side no matter what. “Okay, yeah. You still need some rest though.”

“I will drive, Sunshine will keep me company, right?” Steve speaks, his hand reaching for yours. 

“Yeah, I’ll keep you company.” 

Nancy and Eddie both feel relief seeing you smile again, seeing you back again, seeing you be yourself again, even if not completely yet. Though they both feel their heart aching, knowing that tonight you will have to watch them reunite with their families, the way you couldn’t. 

“Now go… lay down for a bit, Steve and I will have some breakfast before we hit the road, right?” 

Steve’s eyes light up, a mixture of hope and relief swirling in them. It’s been a while since you have eaten a proper meal, a while since you had been the one to bring it up in the first place, even when you don’t end up finishing your bowl of oatmeal fifteen minutes later, he is still satisfied with the small step towards healing. You finish your cup of coffee that is too sweet as always and you clean up, getting ready to get back on the road one last time. 

You get comfortable in the passenger seat while Steve settles down in the driver's seat. You welcome his touch when he reaches for your hand and you give him a small smile that he returns instantly. 

“Ready?”

You look outside, at the sun beaming down, at the road waiting for you. The sky is blue, clear of any clouds. For the first time in a while, the feeling in your chest is one of peace. You know the rest of this journey will be smooth. You know that this is the last time you will be sitting in this seat, looking out onto the road, looking out for any danger. This will be the last day where you will have to fear for his safety, for his life, for your friends’ life. 

This journey won’t end the way you always thought it would. Your parents, your brother were supposed to be here now with you. They were supposed to greet the gates of the community with you but instead they greeted the gates of heaven. 

You didn’t think it would end like this. 

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

But life had different plans for you, for your family. 

But the darkness didn’t claim you, not even when you thought it did. 

You look into the eyes of the man you love, and you know that everything will be okay. He squeezes your hand, his lips touch your knuckles, his eyes shine for you. 

“Ready.”

And your future with him is just in reach. 

Because by nightfall you are greeted by the breeze of the ocean and the gates of the community. 

☀︎

Aside from that news, your days didn’t change much. You still followed the same routine you had built for yourself since the accident.

You waited.

You sat by his bed, watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, listened to the steady rhythm of the machines. You spoke to him, quietly, filling the silence when it became too much. Other times, you just stayed there, your hand wrapped around his. 

Somewhere along the way, everything had started to feel… suspended. Like time had paused, caught between what had been and what was supposed to happen next. The separation, your argument, the diagnosis — it all felt distant, almost unreal. There were moments when it barely seemed like it had happened at all.

And something almost ironic about it — cruelly so.

Just two weeks before, you had left him, walked out of your home and spent an entire week avoiding him, refusing to see him, to hear him out.

And now…

Now you spent every single day at his bedside, watching him breathe, sitting beside him for hours just to be close to him, taking care of him like nothing had ever happened. Like you had never left.

You had slipped back into your place so naturally it almost felt strange.

You were his wife again.

In a strange, unsettling way, the accident had restored something that had broken between you, forcing everything back into place. 

But none of that was real. You knew it wasn’t. Because the moment Steve opened his eyes, reality would come rushing back in and everything you had been avoiding would still be there, waiting for you. 

And that scared you. 

The moment he woke up, there would be no more hiding from what came next.

It was a kind of contradiction. You couldn’t wait for Steve to regain consciousness but at the same time, a quiet fear lingered beneath it all — tight, persistent, suffocating.

At some point, you decided it was finally time to prepare a bag for him — clothes, basic things he would need when he woke up. Which meant going home. Your home. The same one you had left almost two weeks ago. The thought alone made your chest tighten. 

When you parked in front of the house, your hands stayed on the steering wheel for a moment longer than necessary. Your eyes lifted slowly to the front door.

The memory came back so vividly it almost felt real. Steve standing just a few steps away from the car the day you had left, His chest rising and falling too fast, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. You could still see the confusion in his eyes and hear the pain in his voice as he begged you not to go. To stay. 

You swallowed hard and blinked, forcing the image away. Then you exhaled, steadying yourself, and stepped out of the car. You unlocked the door and stepped inside. For a split second, you expected to hear Steve’s voice calling your name from another room. The faint sound of movement upstairs. Or to feel his arms wrapping around you, welcoming you home after a long day. 

Instead, there was nothing. 

Just silence, settling around you immediately, heavy in a way that felt unfamiliar in a place that had never been quiet before. 

You took a few steps forward, your gaze moving slowly around the living room. Everything looked exactly as you had left it.

Almost.

Your eyes caught on the coffee table — on the empty beer bottles scattered across it, a few more near the edge like they had been set down carelessly and forgotten.

Your chest tightened.

Steve wasn’t like that. He drank, sure, but occasionally. Never too much. Never like this. 

It was the only real sign he had been there at all. Otherwise, the house felt untouched. As if he had simply been passing through it, existing in it without really living in it.

Your throat tightened slightly.

That place didn’t feel like home.

Not without him.

Because it had never really been about the walls.

It had always been him.

Now you felt out of place in it. Like an intruder. 

You swallowed the thought down before it could settle too deeply and turned toward the stairs, taking them quickly, almost on instinct, until you reached the bedroom.

The door was still slightly open as if someone had left in a hurry, without bothering to close it first. You pushed it wider and stepped in, stopping almost immediately on the doorway. 

Steve’s side of the bed was still unmade, the sheets wrinkled and half-pulled loose like they had been left in the middle of something. The books he had found were still scattered across the floor. On his nightstand, Eddie’s stash and a lighter sat exactly where he had left them. Your side of the room was untouched. Your things — the one you hadn’t taken with you — were still there just as you had left it. Your chest tightened as the realization settled in. Steve hadn’t moved or packed anything away. He had left it all there. Like everything had been waiting for you to come back and press play again.

You swallowed and forced yourself to move. You bent down, picking up the books from the floor, stacking them one by one. You smoothed the sheets absentmindedly, straightening the bed just enough to make it look less abandoned. When you finished, you walked to the closet and pulled out one of Steve’s duffel bags, setting it on the bed. 

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at it. Then you started packing — a few changes of clothes, toiletries. You folded each piece of clothing with care, placing it inside one by one, slowly. Your mind pulled you back to two weeks earlier. When you had done the same thing — only faster, messier. Throwing your things into a suitcase, without stopping, too focused on leaving before he came back. Before he could stop you. Your hand stopped for a second, your fingers tightening slightly around the fabric you were holding. 

Coward, a little voice whispered into your mind.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry, sore.  

It was true. You had chosen the easy way out by not giving him a chance to speak and decide.

Your grip softened.

And in doing so, you had hurt him anyway. Maybe more.

You brought the shirt to your chest, holding it there for a moment, your eyes closing briefly as you breathed him in. You lowered it slowly, smoothing it out before placing it in the bag with the rest.

If you had just talked to him from the beginning… Maybe things would have been different. And now maybe you wouldn't be in an empty house, silently packing a bag to take to your unconscious husband in the hospital.

You zipped the bag shut, the sound cutting through the silence of the room. You stood there for a second, your hand resting on top of it. Then you picked up the bag and walked out of the room, down the stairs, and toward the front door. Your hand lingered on the handle for just a moment before you opened it. As you stepped outside, you wondered if you would come back one day. 

Or if that was another goodbye again. 

—

The next day, the doctors stopped the last of the sedatives.

Now it was up to Steve.

They told you it could take hours. Maybe a couple of days.

The moment they said it, a silent countdown started in your mind. You found yourself checking the clock constantly, watching the minutes pass and counting the hours. It had become like a hobby by now. A boring, slow one. Every time you looked at him, you wondered if that would be the moment in which his fingers would twitch. Or  if his eyes would finally open. And as the hours passed, the anxiety that had been sitting quietly in your chest began to grow. 

You needed him to wake up. To hear his voice. To see his big, brown eyes open and look at you. You needed to be sure that he was really okay. That he was still… him. 

Even though the doctors had been reassuring, the bleeding had resolved and the fractures were healing well, they had also mentioned possible complications due to the head trauma. Cognitive ones as memory loss or speech issues. 

You didn’t know which one scared you more. 

And you hoped you would never have to find out. 

—

As hours passed and you waited for Steve to wake up, you began to prepare yourself on what to say. How to say it. Because you knew that the moment he woke up, reality would follow. And everything you had left unfinished would still be there, waiting. You had a conversation to resume. Many things to discuss. 

And Kirsten, of course.

Your jaw tightened slightly at the thought.

Despite everything, you hadn’t forgotten. You couldn’t. Even if part of you wanted to push it aside, just for a little longer. 

Your mind had shifted from imagining them together — filling in the blanks with your worst assumptions — to replaying every single word Kirsten had said to you. Over and over again. Like a broken record. Since that conversation, you had gone through it countless times in your head, picking it apart, analyzing every detail, every pause, every expression.

Trying to understand what was real.

Trying to figure out what had been left unsaid.

Robin’s words echoed faintly in your mind.

Let him explain.

You exhaled quietly. Even though you had already spoken to her and knew what had happened that night, you would listen to Steve. To his version. He was the only one who could remove all doubts and clarify everything.

What if she had lied? 

In the end, you didn’t know her and maybe that night something else had happened. Something she might not have told you. Something she might have left out. But you knew Steve. You knew him well enough to know when he was lying or not. So you would let him explain and you would listen. Really listen. All the way through. Without interruptions. Without shutting him out. Or walking away. 

You owed him that. To yourself, too. And to your marriage. 

Your gaze dropped to your joined hands, swallowing hard. 

There were things you needed to say as well. 

In the days you had spent there, sitting beside him, watching him fight through something you couldn’t see, something had shifted. You had had time to think and to replay everything. You had questioned your own choices. And some of them didn’t sit right anymore. You had things to admit. Mistakes to own. And you had made decisions — new ones— that would change everything. Again.

Your grip on his hand tightened slightly.

“Wake up, Steve,” you murmured, your voice low, almost lost in the quiet of the room.

Because no matter what waited for you on the other side of that moment, you needed him there for it.

-

By the time evening settled outside the hospital windows, the room had dimmed into that quiet, bluish half-light that made everything feel suspended. You were sitting beside Steve, a sheet of paper resting on your lap, a pencil moving slowly between your fingers as you worked on a sketch, trying to keep yourself busy.

You hadn’t left his side all day, refusing to go home. The doctors had warned you he would likely be confused, agitated and you didn't want to risk Steve waking up alone, while you weren't there. You wanted to be there for him — to soften that moment as much as possible. 

Your gaze lifted toward him again, almost automatically. It had become a reflex at this point—checking, even when you didn’t realize you were doing it.

You sighed quietly.

He was the same as he had been all day — still, quiet. No changes yet. 

Your eyes began to drop back to the paper when you saw it, freezing instantly.

His fingers had moved. Just slightly. So faint you weren’t even sure it had happened. Maybe you had imagined it, you thought. 

You blinked, your breath catching. Your eyes quickly flicked to his. 

They were closed.

Your gaze snapped back to his hand.

The fingers were still. Immobile. 

Your heart started to beat faster, your grip tightening slightly around the pencil as doubt crept in. You had imagined it, you told yourself. You had to have. After all, you were exhausted. You hadn’t slept properly in days. And it wouldn’t have been the first time your mind played tricks on you.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to look again, and waited. 

One.

Two.

Ten seconds.

Then you saw again.

A small, uncoordinated twitch of his fingers. 

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

His fingers kept moving. 

It was real. 

Your chair scraped loudly against the floor as you stood up too quickly, the sound barely registering. The paper and pencil slipped from your hands and fell onto the seat behind you as you moved closer to the bed, your eyes locked on him.

“Steve…” The name left your lips before you could stop it, barely more than a breath.

His eyelids fluttered. Slowly. Uncertainly. Like even that small movement required effort.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as you reached for his hand, wrapping your fingers around his, tightly, holding on. “Steve,” you repeated, your voice trembling now.

His eyes opened — just a fraction at first — then closed again almost immediately, like the light was too much. His brow furrowed faintly. A second later, he tried again. This time they stayed open a little longer, unfocused. He blinked, slow and heavy, his gaze drifting across the room without really seeing it. Then his eyes widened and his breathing turned uneven, shallow, like his body was trying to catch up with something it didn’t understand yet.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice breaking despite your attempt to steady it. “It’s me. I’m here, Steve.”

Your hand tightened around his, careful not to hurt him, as your other one moved to his hair, brushing it back gently from his forehead, your touch careful, delicate. 

His eyes finally found you, tilting his head slightly toward you and the tension in his features eased, just a little. He swallowed slowly. 

You felt your chest tighten.

“You’re in the hospital,” you continued softly, forcing the words out through the emotion building in your throat. “You had an accident, but you’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

You forced a small smile. 

He didn’t respond. He just kept looking at you, his gaze fixed, almost searching. Like he was holding onto the only thing in the room that made any sense. Like if he looked away, even for a second, you might disappear. You couldn't even imagine how scared and confused he must feel. 

A flicker of panic rose in your chest.

“Steve?” you said again, slower this time. “Can you hear me?”

No answer.

Your stomach dropped.

What if he didn’t recognize you?

The thought hit fast, sharp, stealing the air from your lungs as the doctors’ warnings echoed in your mind, again and again. 

Consequences. Memory loss. Speech issues. 

You swallowed hard, your grip softening unconsciously around his hand.

“I— I’m going to get someone,” you said quickly, the words rushing out, stumbling over each other as panic crept into your voice. “I’ll be right back, okay? I just need to call a doctor—”

You started to pull away but his hand tightened around yours. Not strongly. He had just woken up and was still weak, but still strong enough to stop you. Your breath caught as your eyes dropped to where your hands were joined, then snapped back to his face. 

His lips parted slightly, his throat working as he tried to speak. The sound that came out was low. Rough. Like it hurt.

“…don’t…”

The word barely made it past his lips. But it was there. Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made you dizzy.

He could speak.

You leaned closer immediately to hear better, your heart pounding.

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to—”

He tried again, his breathing faltering, uneven.

“…go…”

Each word seemed to cost him effort.

“…please…”

Your chest tightened painfully as your eyes filled with tears, blurring your vision. 

“…don’t… leave me.”

You pulled away from him. A shaky breath left your lips, something between a sob and a laugh, relief and emotion crashing together all at once. You shook your head quickly, your fingers tightening around his as if to reassure him. 

“Hey—hey, no,” you said softly, your voice trembling despite your attempt to keep it steady. “I’m not leaving you. I’m right here.”

You leaned closer again, your thumb brushing gently over his knuckles. 

“You’re okay,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “You’re okay.”

The fact that he could speak and reach for you was reassuring, easing some of the fear that had been building in your chest for days. 

“I just need to tell them you’re awake, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”

His grip didn’t loosen immediately. His eyes stayed on you, wide, uncertain, like he didn’t trust your words. Not completely. 

You smiled at him, forcing yourself to gently pull your hand free, slowly. Your fingers lingered for a second longer before you stepped back. “I’ll be right there,” you reassured him again.

You turned and moved quickly toward the door. “Nurse!” Your voice echoed down the hallway, sharper, urgent. “Nurse! My husband — he’s awake — I need a doctor! Can I get a doctor, please?”

Footsteps approached almost immediately. A nurse appeared at the end of the corridor, her pace quickening as you explained, words tumbling over each other. “He just woke up — he’s conscious, he’s talking—”

She nodded and turned without hesitation, hurrying off to call a doctor.

You turned back and walked quickly into the room, your eyes immediately finding him again. You crossed the space in a few quick steps and reached for his hand again, wrapping your fingers around his. His gaze returned to you instantly. 

“Hey! The doctor’s coming,” you said softly, your voice gentler now, steadier. “Everything will be okay.”

A few minutes later, the nurse returned, this time accompanied by a doctor. You instinctively stepped slightly to the side to give them space, though your hand remained wrapped around Steve’s, your fingers unwilling to let go completely.

The doctor approached calmly, offering Steve a small, reassuring smile before reaching into his coat pocket.

“Steve,” he said gently, “can you hear me?”

Steve’s eyes, heavy and slow, shifted from you to him. It took a moment, but he gave a faint nod.

“Good,” the doctor continued. He lifted a small penlight, bringing it up carefully. “I’m just going to check your eyes, okay? Follow the light for me.”

The beam moved slowly from side to side. Steve’s gaze followed, sluggish but responsive. The doctor watched closely, studying the movement, then repeated it once more before nodding to himself.

“Alright,” he said quietly, more to himself than to either of you. He lowered the light and straightened slightly. “You’re in the hospital,” he continued, voice calm and steady. “You were in an accident. You’ve been unconscious for a few days, but you’re safe now.”

Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to process the information. The doctor watched him for a second, then reached for the chart at the foot of the bed, flipping it open.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asked. “The accident?”

Steve hesitated. You felt your breath catch in your throat without realizing it, your body going still beside him. His gaze drifted briefly, unfocused, like he was searching for something in his mind and coming up empty.

Then, slowly, he shook his head.

Your chest tightened. You forced yourself to swallow, keeping your expression steady even as something uneasy settled deep inside you.

The doctor gave a small, thoughtful nod, as if the answer didn’t surprise him, and made a quick note on the chart. Then he looked up. His gaze shifted — first to you, briefly — before returning to Steve.

“And do you recognize this woman?” he asked.

The question seemed to echo in the room as every muscle in your body went rigid, your eyes locking onto Steve’s face, searching for something — anything — that could answer that question. 

Steve’s eyes found yours. His gaze lingered, quiet, intent, studying you. As if he was trying to understand something just out of reach.

You forced a small smile, encouraging, though it felt fragile, uncertain. You swallowed.

Seconds stretched as your heart pounded loudly in your ears, each beat sharper than the last.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he nodded.

Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made your knees weak. Air rushed back into your lungs as if you had been holding it the entire time.

“…my wife,” Steve managed, his voice rough, low, the words dragged out with effort. “She’s… my wife.”

Your breath left you in a quiet, unsteady exhale, something in your chest loosening all at once.

He remembered you. He knew who you were. 

He was still your Steve. 

The doctor gave a satisfied nod, jotting something down. “Good,” he said simply.

He closed the chart with a soft snap and looked back at Steve.“For today, I think that’s enough,” he continued. “We’ll run more tests tomorrow. For now, the most important thing is that you rest. Try not to tire yourself out.”

Steve gave the faintest nod, his eyelids already starting to droop again.

“You’ve been very lucky, Mr. Harrington,” the doctor added. Then he stepped back, exchanging a brief glance with you before he turned and made his way toward the door, the nurse following closely behind.

After a second, the door closed softly and the room fell quiet again.

For a moment, you didn’t move. A small part of you hesitated, suddenly aware that you were alone with him again. You weren’t sure what to do. How to act. Or what came next.

You swallowed slowly, then turned back toward him.

Steve was already looking at you.

You took a small step closer. Then another. Careful. Almost unsure.

“Hey…” you said softly, your voice quiet. “How do you feel?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes stayed on yours, steady despite the exhaustion behind them. Then they fluttered shut for a brief second — too long — before reopening abruptly, like he was checking that you were still there.

“…okay,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, each word slow, heavy. “Just… tired.”

The effort it took him to speak was evident in the way his breathing hitched slightly afterward.

You nodded gently, your expression softening. “Yeah,” you murmured. “That makes sense. You should try to get some sleep.”

He shook his head almost immediately, though the movement was weak, unsteady. His eyes were already half-closed.

“But… Don’t… want to.” The words came out uneven, dragged between breaths.

Your hand moved instinctively, brushing lightly over his forehead, fingers threading gently through his hair. “Hey,” you said softly, almost a whisper. “It’ll help. You heard the doctor — you need to rest.”

At your touch, some of the tension in his face eased a little. His eyes opened once more, slower this time, searching for you. “Will you… be here?” he asked, his voice quieter now, fragile. He swallowed after, like even that had taken effort. “When I wake up…”

The question lingered between you.

For a second, you didn’t answer. Your chest tightened, your gaze flickering over his face — taking him in like you were trying to memorize him, or maybe reassure yourself that he was really there. Your eyes filled with tears. Then you nodded.

“Of course.”

You hesitated for just a fraction of a second before adding, softer. “I’ll be here.”

His eyes stayed on you for another moment, like he was holding onto that answer, before the weight of exhaustion finally pulled him under. His grip loosened, the eyelids drooped and his breathing evened out again, slow and steady. 

You remained where you were, your hand still resting lightly against him, your thumb absentmindedly brushing against his skin.

-

Sometime in the middle of the night, a strained sound pulled you out of sleep.

You were curled on your side on the small couch, one arm tucked under your head, the thin hospital blanket barely covering you. You frowned, still caught somewhere between sleep and waking, before it came again — low, uneven. A quiet groan. Your eyes snapped open when you realized where it was coming from.

You pushed yourself up immediately, the blanket slipping off as you crossed the room in a few quick steps, barefoot against the cold floor.

“Steve?”

He was exactly in the same position you had left him but something was wrong. He was restless. His eyes were still closed but his expression was tense, brows drawn together. His jaw was clenched, and his head moved faintly from side to side against the pillow, like he was trying to shake something off.

Another strained sound left his lips.

Your stomach dropped. “Hey… hey, it’s okay,” you said softly, reaching him, your hand settling on his arm. “Are you in pain? Do you need me to call someone?”

He gave you no response. The only sound in the room was his uneven breathing. 

You leaned closer, your grip tightening slightly. “Steve?” you called again, a little louder this time.

Still nothing. 

You shook him gently, not wanting to hurt him, and then suddenly you stopped.

It wasn’t pain.

He was having a nightmare.

You moved your hand to his shoulder, about to wake him when his lips parted, a broken sound slipping out.

“…no…”

You froze.

“…wait…”

Your breath caught.

“…Kirsten…”

The name hit you like a shock. Everything in you went still. Your fingers loosened against him as you just stared, your chest tightening, your breath suddenly shallow.

For a second, you weren’t sure you had heard it right. But the name lingered in the space between you. Clear enough. Heavy.

Steve’s head shifted once more against the pillow — then stilled. His face relaxed. His breathing evened out, slow, steady, like whatever had held him had finally let go.

As if nothing had happened.

You didn’t move for a second. You swallowed, your throat dry, your chest tight as something unsettled twisted deep inside you. Then, slowly, you stepped back, your hand slipping away from him. You returned to the couch and lay down again, staring at the ceiling, your body tense, your mind completely wide awake now. Every time you closed your eyes, you heard it.

Kirsten.

Over and over again.  

You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn’t help.

What had he been dreaming about? Why her?

Your thoughts spiraled before you could stop them.

Had he been remembering the night he had spent with her? Which part?

Had it meant something?

Your stomach twisted, almost making you want to throw up. You swallowed, trying to get rid of the nausea. You felt hurt in a way you didn’t quite know how to name.

The name echoed again.

Kirsten. 

Until, eventually, exhaustion pulled you under and you fell asleep.

-

Morning came quietly.

When you woke, it took you a moment to remember where you were. Your body felt stiff, your neck sore from the awkward angle you had slept in. The thin hospital light filtered through the curtains, pale and diffused, settling softly across the room. You blinked, still half-asleep, and turned onto your other side — the one facing Steve’s bed. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows to check on him.

He was still asleep. 

His breathing was steady, his face relaxed, peaceful. You let yourself fall back against the couch with a quiet sigh, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before finally forcing yourself up.

You moved slowly, careful not to make noise, and reached for your bag. From it, you pulled out a change of clothes and your small toiletry pouch. Before heading to the bathroom, you glanced at him again. Only then did you slip inside and close the door softly behind you.

The cold water helped you to wake up completely. Then you brushed your teeth and changed into a pair of jeans and a white blouse, leaving the top buttons undone. You braided your hair with quick, practiced movements, your reflection staring back at you — pale, tired, like you had aged years in just a few days. 

For a brief second, your mind betrayed you and Kirsten’s image appeared before you with her perfect hair and flawless make-up, put together in a way you didn’t feel right now. Your jaw tightened as Steve’s voice, whispering her name, echoed again in your mind. 

Your stomach dropped. 

Your gaze shifted back to your reflection. Then lower. To your body. A body that suddenly felt… wrong. Defective. While Kirsten was everything you didn’t feel like in that moment. Younger. Pretty. And probably fertile. 

The thought landed sharp and heavy, tightening your throat.

Maybe Steve had seen it too that night. He must have looked at her and found her beautiful. Maybe he had seen something easier in her. Simpler. Someone who didn’t come with defects. Unlike you.

You swallowed.

Was that why he stayed?

Before you could spiral further, you reached for your makeup and started applying it with more focus than necessary. Controlled. Precise. Like it could fix something. Or at least hide it.

When you stepped back into the room, your eyes lifted instinctively to him.

Steve was awake, propped slightly against the pillows now, his posture still weak, shoulders slouched. 

You froze for half a second. “Hey… you’re awake,” you said after a moment, a little too quickly, a hint of surprise slipping into your voice. You gave him a small smile. 

He didn’t look away. “You’re here,” he said, like he wasn’t entirely sure of it. Like he needed to say it out loud to believe it.

Something in your chest shifted. You set your pouch down on the couch and moved closer, your your steps first quickly, then slower, more careful as you approached his bed. 

“Yeah, of course I am. I just — I went to freshen up a bit,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom. “You know… look somewhat presentable. I haven’t exactly been at my best these —”

“You look beautiful.”

The words came without hesitation.

You blinked, caught off guard. Your mouth parted slightly, whatever you had been about to say dissolving before it could take shape. For a second, you just stood there, a little stunned — then a small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips.

There was a brief pause.

“Well…” you cleared your throat lightly, your gaze briefly dropping before lifting back to him. “You don’t look that bad yourself, all things considered.”

There was a hint of amusement in your tone, an attempt — gentle, careful — to ease the tension. But inside you the anxiety was eating you up. 

You stopped beside the bed, suddenly aware of how close you were.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, softer now. “Did you sleep okay? Are you in pain?”

It felt strange standing there or talking to him after everything. Not in a bad way. Just strange as the last conversation you had shared still hovered somewhere between you, unspoken but present. Like an echo neither of you could quite shake. 

And there was the distance too. Not physical. But more like you were both trying to find your footing without knowing where the ground was. 

Steve hesitated. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he answered. “I’m… okay, I think,” he said, his voice still rough, low from disuse. “A little sore. But… I guess it could be worse.”

He shifted slightly against the pillows, the movement slow, careful. His eyes drifted briefly around the room, as if grounding himself. Then back to you.

“I—” he started, then paused, like he had to gather the energy for the question. “How long was I out?”

“A week.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. His lips parted slightly. “Oh.” 

Then, he nodded faintly, his gaze dropping for a second as he processed it, shoulders sinking just a little deeper into the pillows.

For a moment, the room fell so quiet you could hear just your own breathing, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

You sat down on the chair beside his bed, leaving a careful distance between you. 

It felt wrong. Being this close to him — in the same room, within reach — and not touching him. You kept your hands folded tightly in your lap, fingers laced together as if that alone could keep you still. Because part of you wanted to move closer. To reach for him. To take his hand, feel the warmth of his skin, reassure yourself that he was real. 

But you didn’t and stayed where you were.

“Do you… remember anything?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now, more cautious. “About the accident, I mean.”

Steve lifted his gaze to you. For a second, he just looked at you — like he was trying to read something in your expression, something you weren’t saying. Then he shook his head.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I mean… it’s all kind of blurry. Pieces, maybe. But nothing that makes sense.”

You nodded faintly, though your mind had already moved ahead.

What else didn’t he remember?

Did he forget what had happened with Kirsten or the dream he had last night?

“I think I… had too much to drink,” he continued, slower now, as if choosing each word carefully. “The last thing I can clearly recall is being in the car and—”

He stopped. His expression shifted almost instantly. His eyes flickered, unfocused for a second, his face tightening, the color draining slightly from it as if something had just clicked into place. 

You leaned forward in your seat without thinking. “Hey—hey, what is it?” you asked quickly, the edge of panic slipping into your voice. “Are you okay? Does something hurt?” Steve blinked a few times, trying to steady himself, his breathing uneven for a moment. “No, I’m okay,” he said finally, though his voice came out rougher than before. “It’s just…Was anyone else hurt?”

The question caught you off guard.

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“The accident,” he clarified, his voice tense now, more awake than before. “Was there any victim? Anyone—”

“No,” you interrupted gently but firmly, shaking your head. “There were no victims.”

He went still. For a moment, he just stared at you, searching your face — making sure. Then his shoulders dropped, a quiet breath leaving him, relieved. 

“Okay… okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, nodding faintly.

But you could see he was still tense. His gaze lowered briefly, his jaw tightening again as something else settled in.

“I just…” he started, then paused, swallowing. He dragged a hand over his face, slower this time. You could see it — the moment where he had to decide whether to say it or not. “I just remembered something,” he said finally, his voice lower now, heavier. “Something you should know.”

Your heart sank, even though you already knew what he was going to tell. Or at least, you thought you did.

Still, you didn’t say anything. You just nodded, giving him space to continue.

Steve dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, like he was trying to gather himself. Then his hand dropped, almost unconsciously, to his other one. His fingers closed around his ring finger, rubbing at the bare skin where his wedding band should have been. Back and forth.

“I…” His gaze slipped away from yours, fixing somewhere ahead of him, unfocused—like it was easier to look at nothing than at you. “I wasn’t alone.”

The words landed heavier coming from him, making everything more real. 

“There was someone else in the car with me,” he went on, his voice uneven, low. “A woman.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. Hearing it out loud from him made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. Final in a way you couldn’t undo. 

You stayed still, silent and let him continue. 

Let him explain, Robin’s voice echoed clearly in your mind. 

“After… after our argument that night,” he continued, slower now, like he was piecing it together as he spoke, “I couldn’t go home. I just —” He shook his head faintly. “I didn’t want to be there. Not without you.” His eyes flickered briefly toward you, then dropped again almost immediately. “I needed to get out. To not think for a while. I was…” He exhaled sharply. “I was a mess. Angry. Tired. Everything at once. And I didn’t —” He swallowed, dragging in a breath, like even saying it out loud cost him something. “I didn’t want to be alone.” 

You lowered your eyes to your hands, your fingers curling slightly into your palms.

“So I went to the Hideout,” he continued. “Just to have a drink. But… Instead, I ended up having a few.”

A humorless breath left him.

“And that’s where I met her.”

He let his head fall forward, his hands coming up to his face as if the memory itself was too much. 

“She—” he started, then faltered. “She asked if she could sit.”

A brief silence stretched between you. 

“I… I knew what she was really asking for. What she really wanted,” he admitted, dropping his gaze. “And I know that it’s not really an excuse but… I felt so alone.” His voice edged with something close to shame. He swallowed, eyes briefly closing. “I thought a little company wouldn't hurt. So I let her sit next to me.” A small pause, like even saying it felt wrong. “We started talking. And she… started flirting.”

His fingers tightened slightly against the bedsheet, the fabric wrinkling beneath his grip. 

“I should’ve left,” he muttered. “I know that. I should’ve gotten up and walked away.” A pause. “But I didn’t. And I didn’t stop her,” he admitted, voice lower now. 

Your breath caught quietly in your chest.

“I stayed. I kept drinking and she kept—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “We kept talking. She started touching my arm, laughing at everything I said. She… she listened to me like it actually mattered.”

You stayed still while a sharp, uncomfortable heat spread through you — jealousy, immediate and instinctive. The image formed before you could stop it: her sitting next to him, leaning in, smiling, touching him like she had any right to. And this time it felt so much worse. Because it wasn’t just something your mind had made up. It was real. 

Your jaw tightened.

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like the idea of another woman sitting that close to your husband, touching him, thinking she could have him. Especially knowing he was married. It irritated you more than you wanted to admit, a quiet, persistent anger settling under your skin. Who she thought she was? But she wasn’t the first to act like that. Steve had always been the kind of guy girls noticed. The one they looked at a little longer than necessary. Even now that he was married. Women still flirted with him like it didn’t matter. Like the ring on his finger meant nothing — or worse, like it wasn’t even there. You had seen it before and every time you had brushed it off, not at all worried. You knew Steve wasn’t interested. That he didn’t care about them. But this was different. Because this time… he had stayed. He had let her flirting. 

In any other moment, you would’ve snapped and asked him why. Why he hadn’t walked away. Why he had stayed. But the questions died before they could reach your lips. Because you already knew the answer. Or at least part of it.

Your fingers pressed harder into your palms.

You had pushed him there. With your words. Your choices. The things you had said that night. You had told him to move on. To find someone else. And maybe in the end he had listened to you. 

Steve dragged a hand through the bandage covering his hair, clearly unsettled now.

“And it felt good for a minute,” he exhaled, almost bitterly, dropping his gaze. 

For a second, you forgot how to breathe. The words hit deeper than anything else. Your throat went dry, your pulse quickening as something fragile inside you shifted. You swallowed, slowly, painfully. You wanted to ask him what he meant. What kind of good. And how far it had gone. But the words wouldn’t come out. They stayed lodged in your chest, tangled with everything else you were feeling — jealousy, guilt, fear. 

How good Kirsten had made him feel? Better than you?

“Everything you said that night kept… echoing in my head,” he added more quietly. “About moving on. About finding someone else.” He let out a short, humorless breath. “And I don’t know if I was trying to prove something, or just —” He hesitated. “Or just stop thinking about you for five minutes.” Another pause. “Maybe I just wanted to see if I could do it,” he admitted, voice rough now. “If you were actually right and I could… move on as you had said.”

His gaze dropped, sighing.

“It’s stupid. I know, ” he muttered. “But I wasn’t really thinking. Not clearly, at least.”

Silence fell again, heavier than before.

“I should’ve left,” he repeated under his breath. “But I didn’t.”

He swallowed.

“And then…” His voice faltered, uncertainty creeping back in. “I — she — we —”

Frustration flickered across his face as the memory slipped out of reach again.

“Jesus… I… I don’t remember,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s all messed up in my head.”

He let out a small, disbelieving breath, shaking his head. “I — I don’t even remember her name.” A hollow laugh slipped out, but there was no real amusement in it. “I swear, I don’t,” he added quickly, almost desperately, like he needed you to believe that. As if that detail changed anything. As if it made things better. “I don’t remember.”

He sounded wrecked. Ashamed.

You couldn’t look at him. Your vision blurred as your eyes filled with tears, your focus dropping to your hands resting in your lap. For a second, you just sat there, breathing through the tightness in your chest. You squeezed your eyes, hard. 

Then, barely above a whisper. 

“Kirsten.”

Steve turned toward you, his brow furrowing. “What?”

You lifted your gaze to him, quickly brushing the tears from your cheeks with the back of your fingers. “Kirsten,” you said quietly. “The girl. That’s her name.”

A beat.

“Wait—” His confusion deepened, something sharper slipping in right after. “How… how do you know that?”

“She —” You cleared your throat and went on. “She came here. A few days ago. While you were still in a coma.” You paused, watching his reaction carefully. “She wanted to see how you were. And we… talked. She told me everything, Steve.”

Silence fell over the room.

For a second, Steve just stared at you, like he hadn’t fully understood. Then something in his expression shifted — confusion twisting into something closer to panic. He shook his head once. Then again. Faster.

“Wait—no, I— I don’t know what she told you, but I—” His voice stumbled over itself, his breathing picking up. “We didn’t— I mean—” He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair, careful around the bandage. “I swear to you, nothing happened. At least— I don’t think it did. I would remember that,” he added, almost to himself, his voice faltering.

His eyes searched yours, desperate now.

“My memories are messed up, okay? I told you, they’re not clear, but I wouldn’t—” He shook his head again, more forcefully this time. “I couldn’t. Not to you, not—” He broke off, frustrated, dragging a hand down his face. “I mean, yeah, maybe I— I might’ve flirted a little, I don’t know, I was drunk and pissed and not thinking straight, but I wouldn’t—”

He stopped, breath uneven, clearly spiraling, trying to fill in the gaps before they could turn into something worse.

You couldn’t help it.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

You tried to hide it, pressing them together, but it was there. 

He was unraveling in front of you, so visibly shaken, so desperate to explain himself, to fix something he wasn’t even sure he had broken.

When you were the one who had broken everything. 

It did something to you. 

“Steve,” you said, a little gentler now, but still firmly.

But it seemed like he didn’t hear you. 

“I didn’t do anything, I didn’t — I mean, I don’t think I did, I wouldn’t just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head again. “God, I sound like an idiot, I just— I need you to know that I would never—”

“Steve,” you repeated, louder this time. 

He stopped, meeting your eyes.

“Stop,” you added. “I know everything.”

For a second, he didn’t move. Then his expression shifted — tight, uncertain, almost bracing for impact. His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, like he was already preparing for whatever version of the story he thought you had heard.

You could see in his face — the fear, the guilt, the way he was already punishing himself for something he wasn’t even sure he had done. 

Your gaze dropped briefly, your fingers fidgeting restlessly in your lap. You drew in a slow breath, trying to keep the composure you had been holding onto since the beginning of this conversation. You glanced around briefly, your eyes unfocused as the memory of your conversation with Kirsten surfaced — clear, vivid, like it was happening all over again. You remembered every single word she had said, very detail. 

You let yourself fall back into it as you told Steve everything.

-

You swallowed hard. “Sorry for what, exactly?” you asked after a moment, your voice firm, cold, already bracing yourself for the worst.

Kirsten’s gaze shifted between you and Steve, lingering on him for just a second longer. There was hesitation in her eyes, like she wasn’t sure where to begin or what to say. When she finally spoke, her voice was small, unsteady.

“The accident,” she said, her words catching in her throat. “I… I’m so, so sorry.”

You blinked, your brows furrowed. 

Her composure broke almost immediately. A soft sob escaped her, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as if she could stop it. “I—I’m not very good at driving,” she went on, her voice trembling, uneven. “And it was raining… it was raining so hard. There was water everywhere. I could barely see the road and then —” She shook her head quickly, sighing, like the memory overwhelmed her. “Everything happened so fast.”

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue.

“I’m really sorry. Truly. It was my car. I was driving.” Her hand lifted slightly, gesturing toward Steve’s unconscious body on the bed. “This should’ve happened to me. Not to him.”

You frowned, confusion settling in, pushing past everything else. 

Her words didn’t match the story you had been building in your head.

She let out a shaky breath, noticing your expression. “If I just… If I hadn’t offered him a ride, maybe he’d be fine right now,” she added, quieter now, guilt laced through every syllable. “It’s just that —”

You interrupted her, unable to hold it in any longer. “Wait — what?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. “I… I don’t understand. A ride? To where?”

Kirsten blinked, startled by your reaction.

“To you,” she said, more cautiously now. “He wanted to come back to you.”

You stared at her, your heart skipping a beat. The confusion only deepened, your mind struggling to keep up.

“To me?” You repeated, almost under your breath. 

“We were both at the Hideout,” she continued, trying to explain, her words still uneven but clearer now. “We were talking. Drinking. And at some point he started telling me about you.”

You held her gaze, trying to keep up. She paused, studying your face as if to make sure you were following.

“He talked about a fight you had had earlier,” she said. “I probably shouldn’t say this but… he was a mess. He kept saying it wasn’t over. That you two still needed to talk. That he wasn’t going to let it end like that.” A faint, almost sad smile flickered across her lips. “He was… very determined. Drunk, yes, but determined.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

“At one point, he just stood up,” she went on. “He started looking for his keys, saying he had to go. To you.”

You felt you breath catch. 

“But he wasn’t in any condition to drive,” she added quickly. “He was completely wasted. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. He was so set on it.” She paused, glancing down at the floor. “And I don’t know…” She started saying. “It was kind of… romantic, in a way. Maybe a little desperate, too. But… romantic. The way he talked about you. The fact that he wanted to get back to you no matter what.” Her voice softened. “He looked so heartbroken. And I don't know… I think I felt sorry for him.” 

A quiet breath left her.

“So I offered to drive him,” she finished. “I figured… at least I could make sure he got there safely.” A faint, bitter exhale followed. “Besides,” she added, almost as an afterthought, “by then it was pretty clear I didn’t stand a chance anyway.”

Her gaze flickered back to Steve.

“And then… well.” She gestured lightly toward him, toward the hospital bed, the machines, the silence that surrounded him. “We — You know the rest.”

The room had fallen completely still after that, while your mind had been racing, trying to rearrange everything you thought you knew into something that made sense. 

There was one thought that kept surfacing, louder than the rest.

You looked back at her. “He… Steve was coming to me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost fragile, even though you already knew the answer. But a part of you needed yet another confirmation. To be sure.

Kirsten nodded without hesitation. 

“Yes.”

That single word settled deep inside your chest, echoing in your mind. If Steve was trying to come back to you, it meant that…

He hadn’t been going somewhere else. Not to her. Not to anyone.

You dropped your gaze for a moment, your thoughts shifting, narrowing, until only one question remained. The one that had been haunting you from the very beginning.

You swallowed slowly before asking. “So… you and Steve… nothing happened?” Your voice faltered slightly despite your effort to keep it steady. “At the bar. And after, in the car. It was just… a ride? That’s all?”

Kirsten nodded again, more firmly this time.

You felt like you could breathe again,  as if you had been underwater until that moment and was only now resurfacing. 

Kirsten let out a small sigh. “Look, I’ll be honest,” she said. “When I saw him sitting at the bar, alone, I thought…” She hesitated, a faint, embarrassed smile tugging at her lips. “I thought I’d give it a shot,” she admitted. 

A brief pause.

“But I never really had a chance,” she added quickly.

You lifted your eyes to her again.

“Yeah, he was… polite,” she went on. “Charming. He listened to me, answered my questions. But when he started talking… he only talked about you.” She shook her head slightly. “And he wouldn’t stop.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I think I learned more about you than I did about him,” she added. “My wife this, my wife that… and always something good.”

Something in your chest tightened.

“Once we got in the car, he fell asleep almost immediately,” she added, a small, almost fond smile appearing despite everything. “Didn’t even make it five minutes.” She shook her head slightly. “But nothing else happened,” she said, more firmly now. “He didn’t even touch me. Not once.”

Her gaze held yours.

“You’re… very lucky,” she said quietly.

For a moment, you just stared at her. Then your eyes drifted to Steve, slowly. To the man lying in that hospital bed. The man who, even at his worst, even broken and drunk and hurting, had still chosen you. Even when it would have been so easy to let go, to give in, to choose something easier. Someone else. But he hadn’t. He had still tried to come back to you. 

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, followed by a soft smile. You shook your head faintly.

“No,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

You looked back at her.

“I’m the lucky one.”

-

A quiet settled in the room when you finished speaking.

Your eyes stayed fixed on Steve’s face, waiting for his reaction. You held your breath without even realizing it.

He didn’t speak right away. His gaze drifted slightly, watching everywhere and nothing at the same time, as he tried to process every word, to fit it somewhere inside what he remembered. His eyes flicked to you. Then, after a moment, he spoke. “So… nothing happened?” His voice low, careful as if he wasn’t still sure. 

You shook your head slowly.

For a second, he just looked at you. Then his eyes closed, and a long breath left him — deep, shaky, like it had been trapped inside his chest for several minutes. His shoulders dropped as he sank back into the pillows, tension draining from his body, giving way to something softer. Relief. Pure, unfiltered relief. Like a weight had finally been lifted.

But it didn’t last.

His expression shifted again as his eyes opened, something heavier settling in their place, his gaze back on you.

“I’m sorry.”

You frowned immediately, blinking at him in confusion. “What? Steve, I just told you nothing happened—”

He shook his head, slower this time, certain. “Yes, it did.”

The firmness in his tone caught you off guard. There was no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. Just quiet conviction. He swallowed, his eyes dropping to the blanket, fingers brushing absentmindedly against the fabric. 

“I still let her sit,” he said, his voice rougher now. “I knew what she wanted and I still— I didn’t stop it. I stayed. And I let her… flirt. And I…” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “I shouldn’t have. It was wrong.”

You didn’t speak. You weren’t sure you could.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, softer this time.

You swallowed, your eyes dropping to your hands as they twisted together in your lap. “It’s okay, Steve,” you said after a moment, your voice gentler. “Really. You don’t have to apologize.” A small pause. “I’m not even in the position… I mean… I was the one who told you to move on. To find —”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the chair.

“Yeah, but I never wanted that.” His voice cut through yours, sharper this time, tinged with frustration.

You looked up at him, surprised by his tone.

“And I don’t want it,” he added, more firmly, like he needed you to understand.

He dragged a hand through his hair, careful around the bandage, exhaling through his nose as he tried to steady himself. “I tried,” he went on after a moment, quieter now. “I tried to listen to you. To do what you said.” His gaze drifted somewhere ahead of him, unfocused. “To imagine it. Being with someone else. Seeing if I could feel something.” A small, bitter breath left him. “If it could be that simple.”

He let out a short, bitter breath.

“That’s why I talked to her,” he admitted. “At first, I thought… maybe.” He shook his head faintly. “But it wasn’t.”

Your chest tightened.

“But I couldn’t.” His gaze lifted, finding yours and holding it this time. “I was sitting there with her and all… all I could think about was you.” His voice softened, something raw slipping through. “About us. About how wrong everything felt. All of it. Being there, talking to her… even listening to her.” A small pause. “I didn’t want to be there. Not really. I wanted to be home. With you. I wanted to fix things. To talk to you. That’s all I wanted.”

The words settled between you, heavy and real.

“Being there with her…” he continued, slower now, like he was choosing each word carefully, “it just made everything clearer.”

You held his gaze, barely breathing. 

“I don’t want her,” he said. “Or anyone else.”

Something in your chest cracked open.

“I don’t need to try or imagine,” he added, his voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing on him. “Because I have you.” 

Your eyes filled before you could stop them.

“You’re the one I want,” he finished quietly. “No matter what.”

No matter if you could give him kids or not, you thought he wanted to say. 

You couldn’t speak, your breath catching in your throat. You remembered Nancy and Robin’s words. When they had said exactly the same thing. But hearing Steve pronounce them was different. More real. It wasn't just the words of two friends trying to comfort you anymore.

Your throat tightened, emotions rising too fast, too overwhelming to put into words. You dropped your gaze for a second, blinking rapidly as tears blurred your vision.

“Everything I said that night at Nancy’s house…” he continued, softer now, his voice rough with emotion. “I meant it. Every word.”

You swallowed hard, looking back at him.

“I meant it when I said it wasn’t over,” he added. “Not for me. And I think —”

A soft knock interrupted him.

The door opened before either of you could react, and a nurse stepped inside, pushing a breakfast cart, her presence sudden and almost jarring against the intimacy of the moment. You both turned toward her at the same time.

“Good morning,” she said with a polite smile, her voice gentle, professional. “Time to eat.”

You straightened slightly, forcing a small smile in return, but you could feel it — that lingering weight between you, the conversation left hanging mid-air. When you looked back, Steve was already looking at you again.

“We need to talk,” he said under his breath, just for you.

You nodded quickly. “I know,” you whispered. “I need to talk to you too.”

For a second, it felt instinctive to reach for him and close the distance.

But you didn’t.

You stayed where you were, your hands still, your fingers curling slightly into your palms instead.

“Later, okay?” You added after a small pause.

His gaze lingered on yours for a second longer, searching for any trace of doubt. Then he gave a faint nod, his jaw tightening just slightly before his attention shifted back to the nurse — who had just asked him something neither of you had actually heard.

-

But later never seemed to come. 

The moment you had promised each other kept slipping further away, pushed aside by one interruption after another. Right after breakfast, they had taken Steve for a series of tests. You had watched as they wheeled him out of the room, his hand slipping from yours at the last second, his eyes lingering on you like he didn’t want to let go. When he returned, the doctor followed with good news. Steve was responding well. The scans were clear and there were no signs of complications from the head trauma. He was officially out of danger. They would keep him a few more days, just to be sure, and then discharge him. You hadn’t realized how tightly you had been holding your breath until that moment. It left you all at once, a quiet, shaky exhale as relief settled deep in your chest, loosening something that had been knotted there for days.

Not long after, the room had started to fill with visits — first one person, then two, then more. Word had spread and now everyone wanted to see Steve. 

The energy in the room shifted completely. Where there had been tension and quiet before, there was Nancy’s calm voice, Robin’s unmistakable, relentless chatter and Dustin’s comments filling every corner of the space. Despite the bruises, the bandages, the lingering exhaustion, Steve seemed more like himself with every passing minute. He rolled his eyes at Dustin, muttered under his breath, pushed back weakly when the teasing got too much.

Dustin shook his head, arms crossed. “I still can’t believe it.”

“Can’t believe what?” Steve asked, already annoyed.

“That this is how you almost died,” Dustin said. “A car accident. Seriously, dude?”

Steve stared at him in disbelief. “I didn’t exactly plan it, Henderson.”

“Yeah, but you survived demogorgons and Vecna,” Dustin went on. “And then, boom! Seatbelt takes you out.”

“First of all, that’s not how seatbelts work! And secondly, that's not exactly how things went.”

“Still embarrassing,” Dustin muttered.

Steve let his head fall back against the pillow. “I’m not having this conversation.”

Everyone in the room burst out laughing, including you.

Anyone else, hearing words like demogorgons or Vecna, would have frowned in confusion. 

But not you.

You knew exactly what they meant. Steve had told you everything about the Upside Down, not long after you had gotten together. At first, you had thought it was some elaborate story to scare you or make you laugh. But then El had shown you what she could do and suddenly, nothing had felt impossible anymore. After that, things had started making sense — the way Steve had somehow become responsible for a group of kids, the looks they all exchanged sometimes, full of meaning you couldn’t quite grasp at the time, and their silences.

Your gaze drifted back to him. He was listening, nodding along, answering when he had to but every few seconds, his eyes found you again. Like a reflex. Like he couldn’t help it. Sometimes your gazes locked for a second too long, something unspoken passing between you before you were the one to look away, your cheeks warming despite yourself. Other times, he was the one to break it, turning back to whoever was talking to him, forcing himself back into the conversation. 

But you could tell he was waiting, watching for a moment alone with you. You had seen it more than once — him starting to say something when the room finally quieted, only for the door to open again, another voice cutting in, another interruption stealing the moment away.

Part of you was relieved for those interruptions. They gave you space and time to breathe, to think and to process everything that had already been said before adding more on top of it. Before addressing the conversation you had put on hold since before the accident. 

When the room became too full and the noise too much, you slipped out quietly, using small excuses — coffee, water, fresh air. But more than once, you found yourself standing in front of the vending machines without taking anything, staring blankly at the rows of snacks as your mind replayed his words.

I want you. No matter what.

You leaned your shoulder against the cold wall, exhaling slowly, your arms crossing loosely over your chest. 

Now that everything was clear — what had happened that night, what hadn’t — there was nothing left to question. No more misunderstandings to hide behind. No more reasons to put off the conversation you had left unfinished. The one you had been avoiding from the beginning.

You closed your eyes for a moment as the thought settled in your chest, quiet but undeniable.

The next conversation would matter. 

And it would change everything once again.

Maybe it would be even the last. 

-

The door clicked shut a few minutes past eight, and for the first time in hours, the room fell quiet.

You both exhaled almost at the same time, relieved, exhausted.

You were still sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, your shoulders relaxing, when Steve’s voice broke through. “I thought they’d never leave.”

A small laugh slipped past your lips, soft, almost whispered. “What can you do? You’re basically a celebrity right now. Everyone wants to see…” You tilted your head, a teasing glint in your eyes. “What was it they used to call you? King Steve?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head against the pillow as he remembered his “glorious days” in high school. “Yeah… well, I don’t feel much like a king right now.” He hesitated. “Don’t think I ever really was.”

There was no bitterness in his voice. Just tired honesty. You pushed yourself up from the couch and walked toward the bed, slow. You stopped just short of it, leaving that small, careful distance between you.

“It’s been a long day,” you said gently, smiling. “You must be exhausted. Do you want—”

“I want to talk.”

The words cut through yours, firm but not harsh. You stilled. For a second, you just looked at him, as if to understand whether he truly meant it. 

And he did. You could see the determination in his eyes.

You took another step closer, your hand resting lightly on the edge of the mattress, fingers pressing into the fabric as if to steady yourself.

“Now?” you asked, your voice softer, uncertain. “Are you sure? It’s late. We could —”

Steve shook his head. “No.” His voice was calm, but resolute. “I need to do this now.”

He shifted slightly against the pillows, wincing almost imperceptibly before settling again. His gaze stayed on you, steady despite the exhaustion written all over him. “I need to know that this —” his hand lifted weakly, gesturing between the two of you “— that this isn’t just… temporary.”

You swallowed.

“I need to know what happens when I get out of here,” he added, his voice dipping, rougher now, choosing each word with care. “I mean between us,” he clarified, his voice quieter. His eyes flickered over your face, studying you, trying to find an answer. “You’ve been here all day, barely leaving my side. And we —” He stopped, exhaling shakily, his gaze dropping for a second. “It feels like before. Like nothing changed. Like nothing happened.”

Your fingers curled slightly against the mattress.

“And I don’t know if it… if it is real,” he admitted. “Or if you’re acting like that just because I’m here like this.” His jaw tensed slightly, swallowing. “Because you feel like you have to.”

Your heart pulled tight in your chest. You shook your head almost immediately, a small, instinctive motion. You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him it wasn’t true — that you really wanted to be there. For him. And not just because he was your husband. 

But Steve didn’t give you the time to reply and the words caught in your throat.

“I don’t want to assume anything,” he went on, his gaze dropping briefly before finding yours again. “I don’t want to think we’re okay if we’re not.”

There was no accusation in his voice — just careful, restrained fear.

“So I need to know,” he said, more quietly now, the words slower, “if this… if you being here… means we’re not over.” His voice faltered slightly. “Not even for you.” 

You swallowed.

“That you’re going to stay once I’m out of here,” he added, barely above a murmur. “Or if…” He swallowed, his throat working visibly. “If you’re just going to leave again.”

The words hung between you. Steve’s jaw tightened slightly, like even saying it out loud cost him something.

“Because I can’t do that again, I can’t lose you again,” he admitted, his voice stripped of everything but truth. “I need to know where we stand,” he finished, softer now. “Before I start hoping for something that isn’t there,” he added under his breath, almost more to himself than to you.

Your breath caught.

“Please,” he begged. 

The word was barely a whisper, but it hit you harder than anything else he had said. The tears burned behind your eyes, threatening to spill. Seeing him like that — so open, so vulnerable — broke through every last defense you had left, any resistance still intact. You swallowed hard, still feeling the weight of his words pressing against your chest. Then you nodded slowly.

“Okay… let’s talk.”

You moved to the chair beside his bed, sitting down and turning slightly toward him. The distance between you was smaller now, but it felt heavier than it should have.

The room fell into silence.

You lifted your eyes to him, but dropped them almost immediately, your fingers fidgeting together in your lap as you searched for the right words. 

You cleared your throat softly. “There’s something you should know first,” you said, your voice low, hesitant. “Something I didn’t tell you this morning.”

Steve didn’t speak. He just watched you, waiting. His expression tightened slightly, like he already knew he wasn’t going to like what came next.

You lowered your gaze again, drawing in a slow breath. “After I talked to Kirsten… that day…” You hesitated, your lips pressing together for a second. Then, without softening it — “I called a lawyer.”

Steve’s eyes widened, his grip tightening around the bedsheets, the confusion visible in his hands.

Your fingers curled tighter together as you forced yourself to keep going, rushing on before he could say anything. Before he could think the worst. 

“I had already contacted him before the accident,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, a trace of embarrassment creeping in. “To start the divorce process,” you added after a brief moment of hesitation. 

You knew that confessing it wouldn't help your position. If anything, it might make things worse. But it seemed right to you that he knew. It was the least you could do, especially after he had told you the truth that morning.  

You looked up at him, almost cautiously, afraid of his reaction. 

He didn’t say anything right away but you saw the shift in his expression, the hurt in his eyes before he could hide it. His gaze drifted away from you, landing somewhere across the room, unfocused, nodding, like he was just processing what you had said. Then a breath left him — something close to a dry, humorless laugh.

“Right,” he muttered. “Thought of everything, didn’t you?”

The tone was light, but not enough to hide the hurt underneath. Enough to make your guilt grow. 

You closed your eyes briefly, shaking your head. “No… I didn’t,” you said, quickly, more firmly this time. “That’s exactly the point.”

When you opened your eyes again, you looked straight at him. “I thought I had everything figured out,” you went on, slower, more honest. “I thought I knew what I was doing. But I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking clearly. And I ignored many things. I ignored you. Your opinion. Your feelings. And it wasn’t right.”

Your hands shifted slightly against your knees, restless.

“That’s why I called the lawyer again,” you added, glancing away for a second before meeting his eyes again. “I told him to stop.”

Steve turned his head toward you sharply, caught off guard.

“What?” he asked, almost under his breath. “Stop?”

His grip on the sheets loosened slightly, though not completely. His eyes searched yours carefully. 

“Really?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I told him not to go through with it. Not to file anything.” 

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes dropping for a moment before lifting back to his.

“I messed up, okay?” you said, your voice unsteady. “I know that. And I’m… I’m sorry.”

The words came out before you could stop them—and once they started, they didn’t stop. “I shouldn’t have done what I did,” you went on, faster now, like you needed to get it all out before you lost the nerve. “I shouldn’t have made that decision on my own. Without talking to you first. Without even… asking you what you wanted.”

Your gaze dropped again, this time longer as shame crept in, heavy and undeniable.

“I kept telling myself that I was doing the right thing,” you admitted, a faint, bitter edge slipping into your voice. “For you. For both of us.”

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “But clearly…” you gestured weakly between the two of you, your throat tightening, “that’s not what happened.”

You pushed yourself up from the chair then, unable to sit still anymore. You started pacing slowly beside his bed, your arms wrapping around yourself for a moment before dropping again.

“And the worst part is…” you went on, your voice quieter now, more honest, “it wasn’t even really about you.” You swallowed, hard. “I told myself, I told you that it was,” you said, turning slightly toward him. “But it wasn’t. Not completely, at least.” A pause. “I was just doing what I thought was right… for me.”

Your eyes stung, your vision blurring as you blinked quickly.

“Because I was scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. Your hands lifted, gesturing vaguely in front of you, restless. “Terrified, actually.” You started moving again, slower this time. 

“Scared that you’d stay with me… and then one day realize it was a mistake. That I was a mistake,” you said, each word heavier than the last. “And I didn’t want to be something you’d regret.”

Your arms crossed tighter over your chest, like you were trying to hold yourself together.

Steve shifted slightly on the bed. 

Your words had hurt him. 

“I could never—” he started, his voice low, tired, but you shook your head immediately, cutting him off before he could finish.

“You don’t know that, Steve,” you said gently, but firmly.

You sank back down onto the chair, your energy suddenly draining out of you all at once. 

“And it’s okay. Because none of us do,” you continued, softer at first. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow… or in a year… or five.” Your voice started to pick up again, less steady now.  "You could leave me one day,” you said, repeating Robin’s words, faster, more anxious. “You could stop loving me.” A small pause. “Or maybe I could be the one to change. To want something different.”

You let out a slow breath, closing your eyes for a brief moment before looking at him again.

“I don’t want that,” you added quickly before he could misunderstand your words. “Obviously. That’s not what I want at all.” Your lips pressed together briefly. “But it’s possible. Everything could happen.”

Silence stretched between you again, less sharp but just as heavy.

“I spent all this time…” you went on, quieter, steadier now, “focusing only on the worst possible outcome. On the idea that you’d end up unhappy. That you’d leave.” You shook your head faintly. “I never even considered the alternative,” you admitted. “That maybe you wouldn’t. That we might actually… be okay in the end.”

Your eyes softened slightly as you looked at him.

“That you might stay,” you finished.

The room fell silent. Steve sighed — a slow breath, exhausted. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with frustration. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this?” His eyes searched yours, trying to understand. “About what you were feeling. I would’ve told you that—”

You leaned back against the chair before he could finish, exhaustion washing over you all at once. Your head had started to ache somewhere along the way, a dull pressure building behind your eyes. You pressed your fingers to your temple, rubbing slowly.

“I told you, Steve. I was…” you exhaled, your voice faltering. “I was scared and… and a part of me didn't accept it at first. The diagnosis. I couldn’t believe it.”

You hesitated, your hand dropping back into your lap, fingers curling together.

“It…” you continued, your voice trembling now, thinner, like it might break at any moment. “It felt like it wiped everything out. Every certainty I had. Everything I thought I knew about us… about the future… was gone.” Your eyes filled with tears, your gaze slipping away from him. “I think… a part of me just… convinced itself that the only way we could keep being as happy as we were… was if we had kids,” you admitted, swallowing hard. 

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

“And when I found out that I might not be able to…” your voice cracked, breaking under the weight of it. “I thought that was it. Because I couldn’t give you the life we wanted anymore. And that we — I couldn’t make you happy anymore.”

More tears followed, quiet, unstoppable now. 

“I thought that I wouldn’t be enough for you,” you whispered. “Not like that. Not in the long run. And that you’d get tired one day.”

“So I decided to leave you,” you went on, your lips trembling. “I thought… if I let you go first, if I stepped away… you’d still have time to realize that dream with someone else. To have what you’ve always wanted.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“I really thought I was doing the right thing,” you added, almost bitterly. “For you.” A pause. “I didn’t want you to sacrifice that life for me. But really… I was just trying to protect myself from the moment you’d realize I wasn’t enough.”

Silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. Steve looked at you, like he was trying to understand how you had carried all of that alone. Then he exhaled slowly.

“I didn’t fall in love with the idea of a family or... six little nuggets,” he started, his voice softer now, more careful. “I fell in love with you.” He shifted slightly against the pillows, wincing just a little, uncomfortable, but he didn’t stop. “I mean, yeah — I'd like to have them,” he admitted, more plainly. His gaze held yours. “But I want them with you,” he went on. “Before you, I didn’t even think about that stuff.” He let out a small breath. “You’re the reason I started wanting it in the first place. And I’m with you because I love you. For a hundred reasons that have nothing to do with…” He trailed off, hesitating for a second, searching for the right words. “…with whether you may be fertile or not.” The way he said it was a little awkward, a little unsure — but completely sincere.

A small, unexpected laugh slipped out of you through your tears, shaky but real. Steve’s expression softened just slightly at the sound of it.

“And anyway…” he added, a little more tentative now, like he was thinking out loud, “there are other ways.” He shrugged faintly, one hand shifting against the blanket. “We could adopt,” he said. “Or… I don’t know, there’s that thing—” he frowned slightly, trying to remember, one hand lifting before stopping halfway as if he remembered the bandages, then awkwardly scratching just beside them instead, careful, “what’s it called? I read about a technique somewhere. When they —” He gestured vaguely, frustrated with himself.“—when they, like… help with that. Medically.”

“IVF,” you said quietly, finishing the thought for him. “I’ve already looked into it,” you went on, your fingers twisted together in your lap, nails pressing lightly into your skin. “But it’s expensive, Steve. Really expensive. And we can’t afford that right now. Not with the mortgage, and everything else…” You shook your head faintly, your gaze dropping. “And it’s not even guaranteed to work.” 

“And adoption…” you added, softer now. “I thought about it. I did. But I didn’t think it was something you’d want.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully, afraid of how they might sound once spoken out loud. “You always talked about having kids that looked like us. Your hair, my eyes… things like that.” A breath caught in your throat. “So I just assumed that… you wouldn’t want a child that —”

You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, something almost incredulous crossing his expression. “What?” he said, not sharply, but with quiet disbelief. “That they wouldn’t have my blood?”

He shook his head immediately, like the idea itself didn’t sit right with him.

“I don’t need that,” he said, more firmly now. “I don’t need them to look like me. Or to be… biologically mine.” He hesitated for a second, like he almost didn’t want to say it. “Look at me and Dustin,” he went on, his voice softening just a little. “We’re not related, but he’s—” he let out a small breath, searching for the right word. “He’s like my little brother. That’s not… less, just because we don’t share blood.”

Your eyes lifted to him.

“And my students,” he added after a second, quieter now. “Half the time I worry about them like they’re my own kids.” A faint, almost self-aware smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Probably more than I should.” 

The smile faded as he looked back at you, more serious again.

“I don’t want some perfect little version of me,” he said. “Honestly, that sounds like a nightmare.” A brief pause. “That stuff… the hair, the eyes — it’s just something people say. A fantasy.” He drew in a slow breath. “What really matters is… What I want is a kid who’s healthy. Safe. Happy.” His voice softened, warming slightly despite everything. “Someone I can take to the park. Show how to play baseball when they’re ready.” A small shrug. “Or not baseball. Could be anything.”

Something in your chest tightened at the image. 

“What I’m trying to say is…” he continued, his voice quieter, steadier. “We have options. We can adopt. We can try IVF, if that’s what you want.” He glanced down briefly, then back up at you. “I don’t care how much it costs. We can save, take a loan, whatever.” 

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself picture it again. Not the version you used to imagine — the one where everything was easy, predictable, where the child looked like the two of you, shared your features. This time it was different, blurrier in some ways, less defined… but somehow still real.

You saw yourself and Steve side by side, a child between you. You couldn’t quite make out their face, couldn’t tell whose eyes they had — if they had either of yours at all. And for the first time, it didn’t matter. Because you were happy. And that was all that mattered.

Your chest tightened, something fragile and unfamiliar unfolding inside you.

Hope.

You hadn’t let yourself go there in weeks. Not since the day you had left him. Every time that image had tried to surface, you had pushed it away, shut it down before it could take shape. Like it wasn’t yours anymore. Like you didn’t have the right to want it.

But now… it didn’t feel impossible. Not the way it had before.

It could exist. 

“Or…” Steve added, softer now, “we don’t do any of that.”

Your breath hitched slightly.

“We don’t have kids,” he said simply. “And that’s okay too.” He held your gaze then, fully, no hesitation or uncertainty left. “I mean it,” he went on. “I don’t need any of that.” His fingers loosened slightly in the sheets. “Whatever our family looks like, I want it to be with you.” A small pause. “I just want you,” he added. “That’s it. That’s the only thing I’m sure about.” He exhaled softly, almost like he was letting something go. “Everything else… It’s just extra.”

Tears kept falling, unstoppable now, slipping down your cheeks as if something inside you had finally given way. This time you let them come and run free. 

“Even after all this?” you asked, your voice trembling, fragile. You swallowed, your throat tight. “You still want me?”

Steve didn’t hesitate. He nodded, his gaze steady despite the emotion shining in his eyes. “I think I’ve been pretty clear about that,” he said quietly.

He had. But part of you still needed to hear it again. Needed to be sure. 

Steve’s expression shifted, something more serious settling in.

“What about you?” he went on, softer but no less certain. “What do you want?” He asked, his eyes holding yours, searching. “What happens to us when I get out of here?”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands as they twisted together in your lap. You tried to steady your breathing, wiping your cheeks quickly, though the tears kept coming. 

What do you want? The question echoed in your mind, louder than everything else. 

“I… I don’t know if I want to adopt,” you admitted, your voice uneven. “And I don’t know if I want to try IVF. Not right now, at least.” You shook your head faintly, exhaling. “I think I need time to… to process everything first. To accept that I might not be able to have children of my own.” Your voice softened, quieter now. “I need to learn how to live with that before I can decide anything else.”

A small pause followed. 

You still wanted kids. That hadn’t changed. Even when you had tried to convince yourself otherwise or told Steve the opposite. And now you knew that maybe, in some way, there was still a possibility. Not in the way you had imagined. Not the way you had planned so many times before. But still… a chance. A future. With him.

Just not yet.

First, you needed to heal. 

And maybe, somewhere along the way, the two of you could find each other again.

You lifted your eyes back to him.

“But I’d like to figure it out with you,” you added, more firmly this time, even if your voice still trembled. “With you by my side. I want to see what our future looks like… together.” A faint, uncertain smile touched your lips. “At least as long as we both want one. What do you say?”

Steve’s eyes grew glassy, the emotion there no longer hidden. He let out a quiet breath, something in his shoulders easing, like he had been holding it in for too long. He nodded. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice rough, unsteady. “I’d like that a lot.”

You nodded too, almost instinctively, your chest tightening with something overwhelming and warm and disbelieving all at once. You tried to wipe your tears again, but they kept coming, slipping through your fingers.

“Hey…” Steve murmured, his voice softer now. He shifted slightly and extended his hand toward you, palm open. “Come here.” 

You hesitated for a second, glancing at the bandages, the fading bruises along his skin. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you said quietly. “Your injuries—”

“I’ll be fine,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head faintly. Then, after a small pause, his voice softened even more. “It’ll hurt a lot more if you keep staying that far away. We’ve been apart long enough.” A faint hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

You knew he wasn’t just talking about the few steps between the chair and the bed. He was talking about all those days you had spent apart from each other. The distance you had created due to your stupid decisions. A distance that had almost cost you everything. A distance you weren't used to. 

Since the moment you had met, you had never been this far from him for this long. Not like that. A few hours at most.

Something in your chest gave in completely, preventing you from arguing again. And you didn't even want to do it. You couldn’t. You needed him just as much. 

Carefully, you stood and moved closer, climbing onto the bed with slow, cautious movements. You made sure to avoid the worst of his injuries, adjusting yourself until you could lie beside him without causing him pain. You settled on your side, resting your head against his chest, just over his heart. Your hand followed, splayed lightly against him as if to make sure he was real. His arm came around your waist almost immediately, holding you close, firm, like he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t.

When you had both settled, you exhaled at the same time.

The warmth of his skin against yours seeped in slowly at first, then all at once. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoed beneath your ear — strong, constant. It filled your senses, drowning out everything else. And just like that, something inside you unclenched. The tension that had been coiled in your body for days melted away, leaving behind a deep, heavy exhaustion you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel until that moment. 

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting yourself sink into him completely, into the quiet rise and fall of his chest. You let his heartbeat lulling you into something softer, calmer.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered after a while, your voice barely audible, trembling at the edges.

Steve’s hand moved slowly along your back, up and down in a soothing rhythm.

“I told you,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, “you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

A weak breath of a laugh left you, but it broke halfway through.

“I’m sorry,” you started, but the words caught in your throat.

Your body shook before you could stop it. The tears came harder this time, deeper. Not sharp or panicked like before, but something else entirely — something that had been building for too long.

Relief.

Because he was here. Alive. And he was okay. Because despite everything—everything you had done, everything you had almost destroyed—he was still choosing you.

And you were still there. With him.

You buried your face against him as the sobs finally broke free, quiet but uncontrollable, your fingers clutching lightly at his shirt.

You didn’t hold them back this time. You didn’t even try to. You just let go.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, again and again, your voice muffled, uneven, like the words themselves weren’t enough to hold everything you felt.

Steve didn’t stop you. He just held you. His hand kept moving along your back, slow, steady, grounding. His other arm tightened slightly around you, anchoring you in place as you let it all out.

And for the first time in days, you stopped holding yourself together. You finally let go. 

“Hey… hey,” he whispered softly, his lips brushing your hair again. “It’s okay.”

You cried into his chest, your body gradually easing with every breath, every quiet sob.

“We’re okay,” he murmured. “We’ll be fine.” His voice was firmer this time. It left no room for any doubt or uncertainty.

You clung to him a little tighter, your breathing slowly evening out, the weight inside your chest beginning to lift, little by little.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it. 

And this time — you didn’t fight it.

And here we are, almost at the end of this story! I say 'almost' because… there will be an EPILOGUE! And then that’s really it, even though I’m having a hard time letting this series go. But all good things must come to an end, right? So let’s give it the ending it deserves! I can’t wait for you to read it, and don’t get too comfortable just yet, there are still tears ahead, so keep those tissues close.

Now returning to this last chapter... Did you really think I wouldn't give them a happy ending, or better another chance? I'm a total sucker for them. I was just messing with you, guys. Steve would never cheat on her! Sorry if I made you cry or sad in the last parts, it wasn't my intention (or maybe it was), but I wanted to keep some mystery until the end. I really hope that this chapter makes up for all my sins! Let me know what you think about it :)

The sand is warm beneath you, heated by the relentless Cabo sun that's been beating down since early morning. You're lying on a beach towel—oversized and striped in shades of blue and white, still smelling faintly of the detergent from the resort. 

Your bikini is simple. It’s black with high-waisted bottoms and a bandeau top that ties at the back. The fabric clings to your skin, slightly damp from your last dip in the ocean an hour ago, salt-crusted and smelling like sunscreen and sea water and your husband.

You lift your left hand to shield your eyes from the sun, and the movement makes your engagement ring catch the light. It glints brilliant and blinding— white gold with a small diamond that your husband saved for months to afford. The wedding band sits flush beneath it, simple and elegant, both of them slightly sandy from running your fingers through the beach.

You reach for the sunglasses your husband bought you right before the trip— designer Ray-Bans he insisted on getting despite the price, saying you deserved them— and slide them onto your face. You sigh at the immediate relief, at the feeling of the sun sinking into your skin without burning your retinas.

Then suddenly, a shadow drifts in front of the sun. It stays there, blocking the light, and you feel the temperature drop several degrees against your face.

"Is that spot taken?"

You open one eye, smirking when you see a figure standing over you, hands on hips, towering above where you're sprawled out. You prop yourself up on your elbows, tilting your head to get a better look.

The man is dripping wet, clearly just emerged from the ocean. His brown hair is soaked, curling at the temples and nape of his neck in that way that only happens when it's wet with salt water. He's wearing a gold chain that catches the light—thin and delicate against his tan skin. Black swim trunks sit low on his hips, and he's wearing sunglasses too, mirrored aviators that hide his eyes.

But you can see everything else. His love handles spilling over the waistband— just slightly, soft and perfect. His stomach hangs a little over the top of his trunks, a gentle curve that speaks of being well-fed and happy. His thighs are thick and hairy, muscular from the past year. His happy trail and chest hair cling to his skin from the water, dark and unruly and begging to be touched.

His skin is tan. It’s darker than it was a week ago when you arrived, golden from days spent in the sun.

You feel your core tighten at the sight of water dripping down his neck, between his pecs, down his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his trunks. Your mouth goes dry.

He's pointing to the empty spot next to you where another towel lays with only sandals, a backpack, and a canteen— all the things your husband insisted were necessary for a beach honeymoon despite your protests that you'd be fine with less.

"Why?" you ask, voice carefully neutral.

"Dunno." He shrugs, and the movement makes water droplets fly from his shoulders. "Just wondered why a pretty lady was over here all by herself. Wanted to see if she wanted some company."

You look up at him, holding up your left hand with your ring finger prominently displayed. You pretend to look away disinterested, but you're still watching him from the corner of your eye. "Sorry. I'm married."

He grins— all perfect white teeth that you know intimately, that you've felt against every inch of your skin. He dips his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to get a better look at you, and even through your own shaded lenses you feel yourself swallow hard at the sight of his hazel eyes.

He lifts up his left hand, showing off his ring finger. His gold wedding band is shiny and glistening, wet from the ocean. He tilts his head, voice dropping lower. "Me too."

You bite your bottom lip, heat pooling low in your belly. "Then I guess it wouldn't hurt. Until my husband gets back."

"Oh yes, of course." He nods seriously, but there's mischief dancing in his eyes. "I'll need to go find my wife too, you know? Can't leave her waiting long."

"Right. Yes. Of course."

The man sits down next to you on the towel, close enough that you can smell him—sunscreen and ocean and that particular scent that is just like your husband’s, the one you'd recognize anywhere. 

You're immediately captured by the details of his face up close. The slope of his nose, the slight scruff on his jaw that he didn't shave this morning, the freckles scattered across his cheeks from sun exposure.

"I'm Steve," he says, holding out his hand formally like you're strangers.

You take it, feeling the familiar calluses on his palm, the way his fingers automatically intertwine with yours. "Nice to meet you, Steve."

"The pleasure's all mine." He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, and you have to suppress a shiver. "What's a beautiful woman like you doing in Cabo all alone?"

"I'm not alone," you remind him. "I have a husband, remember?"

"Right. The husband." Steve's thumb rubs circles on the back of your hand. "What's he like?"

"Oh, he's..." You pretend to think about it. "He's wonderful. Kind, funny. Terrible at playing pool but he tries anyway. Has this annoying habit of leaving his socks everywhere."

Steve laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Sounds like a catch. How'd you meet him?"

"College." You smile at the memory. "He was dating my roommate."

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. "Scandalous."

"It was fake," you add quickly, then pause. "The relationship with my roommate, I mean. Long story."

"I've got time." Steve leans back on his elbows, and the position makes his stomach pudge out more. You want to run your hands over it, feel the soft warmth of him. "My wife won't be back for a while."

"What about her?" you ask, playing along. "Your wife. What's she like?"

Steve's expression goes soft, genuine affection breaking through the roleplay for a moment. "She's perfect. Smart, beautiful, funny as hell. Puts up with all my bullshit, which is a miracle." He reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Got this little tattoo on her hip that drives me crazy."

"Yeah?" You shift closer. "What does it say?"

"'Hot Shot.'" Steve's fingers trail down your side to where he knows the tattoo is, tracing the letters through your bikini bottom. "It's my nickname for her."

"That's sweet." You're close enough now that your lips are almost touching. "She sounds lucky."

"I'm the lucky one." Steve's hand slides up your back, fingers playing with the tie of your bikini top. "She married me even after I fucked everything up. Even after I hurt her. Even after—"

You cut him off with a kiss, unable to maintain the distance anymore. He responds immediately, his other hand coming up to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek.

When you pull back, you're both breathing harder. "You know what would really be scandalous?" you murmur against his lips.

"What's that?"

"If you let me put sunscreen on you. Can't have you burning on your wife's watch."

Steve grins. "I don't know. That seems pretty inappropriate."

"Probably," you agree, already reaching for the sunscreen bottle. "Turn around."

He does, sitting up and presenting his back to you. You squeeze sunscreen into your palm and start working it into his shoulders, digging your thumbs into the muscles there. Steve groans, head dropping forward.

"Feel good?" you ask.

"So good. My wife does this for me sometimes. She's got magic hands."

"Does she now?" You work your way down his spine, spreading sunscreen across the broad expanse of his back. "What else does she do for you?"

Steve's laugh is low and dirty. "Wouldn't you like to know."

You lean forward and press a kiss to the nape of his neck, right where his hair curls. "Maybe I would."

"Okay, front," you announce, and Steve turns back around.

Before he can settle back against the towel, you swing your leg over to straddle him, settling yourself right over his happy trail. Steve's hands immediately come to your hips, gripping tight.

"This seems—" His breath catches as you start smoothing sunscreen over his chest. "This seems like it's crossing a line."

"Yeah," you agree, working more into his skin in slow circles. "Should I stop?"

"God, no."

You take off his sunglasses carefully, setting them aside so you can see his face properly. The sun illuminates all the details. His freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, the small moles you've mapped with your lips a hundred times, the little sunburn forming on the bridge of his nose. You dab sunscreen there gently, your fingers brushing his cheeks with tender care.

As you work the sunscreen into his skin, you start to grind slowly against his happy trail, feeling the coarse hair through the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms. Steve's fingers dig deeper into your hips, his breath coming faster.

"I don't think this is a good idea," you murmur, even as you continue the slow roll of your hips.

"Terrible idea," Steve agrees, his hands now kneading the flesh of your hips and ass, massaging with clear intent. "Anyone could see us."

"Mmm." You run your hands up his chest, spreading sunscreen with deliberate slowness. "Don't want you to get too excited, Mr. Harrington. Out here on the beach where anyone could come by. Including your wife. What would she think?"

Steve's hips buck up slightly, and you feel him hardening beneath you. "I could ask the same about you. What would your husband think?"

You lean down, lips brushing his ear. "He's not here, is he?"

Steve groans, and you drag your center over his happy trail again, the friction delicious even through fabric. You force his arms up, spreading your hands from his wrists down his forearms to his biceps. Then you lean in and kiss his bicep, working your way down to his armpit.

He chuckles warmly, squirming beneath you. "My wife likes to kiss me there too."

"Mmm? Yeah?" You kiss the sensitive skin again, feeling him shiver. "She has good taste, Mr. Harrington. You know, I think I might be jealous."

Steve tilts his head, eyebrow quirking. "How come?"

"Because I think your wife is very lucky to be married to you."

Steve chuckles, reaching up to brush your hair behind your ear like he's getting a better look at you. His finger loops under the necklace you're wearing—the Pike letters he gave you years ago, the ones you've worn every day since. He smiles at the sight of it.

His fingers drag down your body, back to your hip where your tattoo still sits in black ink. And although you've gotten a little older since you first got it, and parts of your body have changed in subtle ways, he smirks to himself looking at it like it's the first time all over again.

"Well, I think you're wrong," he says finally.

"Is that so?"

"Mhm." His hands settle back on your hips. "I think your husband is the luckiest man alive to be married to you. He'd be a fool to leave you here sitting by yourself."

You grind down harder, feeling him fully hard now beneath you. "He's not so bad. He'll make up for it later." There's a devilish smirk on your face. "He's very good at that."

Steve breaks first, laughing, his hands falling to your thighs before one trails up to grab your left hand where it rests on his chest. He brings it to his mouth and kisses your palm, then the back of your hand, then your ring finger where your wedding band sits.

"I think your husband loves you a lot," he says softly, all pretense dropped.

"I think your wife loves you a lot too."

You break character completely, bending down to meet Steve who's already coming up to kiss you. 

His wife. 

You want to kiss your husband— Steve Harrington.

 Steve wants to kiss his wife— you.

The kiss is deep and slow and perfect, tasting like salt water and sunscreen and the rest of your lives.

No one was surprised when you decided to get married right after graduation.

Steve had spent his last semester of school student teaching back in Hawkins, living with his parents and commuting to the high school every day. He still worked weekends at Family Video to save money, picking up extra shifts whenever Keith would let him. You barely saw each other— maybe once every two weeks if you were lucky, if Steve could make the drive up or if you could get away for a weekend. 

He would call you and write to you, anything to keep reminding you how much he loves you. 

It wasn't until an argument over the phone— something so silly you can't even remember what started it now— that everything changed.

You were woken up in the middle of the night by knocking on the door of the house you were renting with Robin. When you opened it, Steve was standing there in sweatpants and a Hawkins High Athletics t-shirt, hair a mess like he'd driven straight through without stopping, eyes wild and desperate.

You knew the moment you looked in his eyes what he was there for.

And you knew your answer would always be yes.

He'd proposed right there on the porch, ring box in his trembling hands, words tumbling out about how he couldn't wait anymore, how he needed you to be his wife, how every day apart felt like torture.

You'd said yes before he even finished asking.

And no one was surprised when you agreed to move to Hawkins after Steve was offered a full-time position coaching baseball and teaching health— ironically, sex education to rooms full of hormonal high schoolers who definitely did not want to hear Coach Harrington talk about condoms.

Steve had assured you that you could find a job too, or wait, or do whatever you wanted. It didn't matter to him as long as you were together.

But it worked out because there was an assistant librarian opening at the middle school. And somehow, the idea of you working in the same school as him, of sneaking kisses in empty hallways and meeting for lunch in his classroom, turned Steve on more than he wanted to admit.

So that was that. Two weeks after graduation, you got married in a small ceremony with your closest friends and family. Then you moved into a starter home in Hawkins— a little two-bedroom ranch that needed work but had good bones and a backyard big enough for the kids you both wanted.

And now you're here, on your honeymoon in Cabo, with your husband's hands on your body and the rest of your lives stretching out before you like the ocean. It's endless and beautiful and full of possibility.

"And what does this one say about me?" Steve's hands slide to your stomach, palms warm and gentle against your skin.

Another thing no one was really surprised about.

It wasn't like it was a total accident, getting pregnant before graduating or marriage. Not that you told anyone besides Robin, Nancy, Eddie, Jonathan, Dustin, and Max— which meant everyone knew within a week because secrets don't exist in your friend group.

It wasn't like anything had failed. The pill worked when you remembered to take it.

But honestly, looking back, you can recall maybe forgetting once. Twice. A lot.

Not on purpose. It slipped your mind. You'd get distracted by Steve showing up at your door, or studying for finals, or wedding planning, and by the time you remembered it was already the next day and you'd think well, one missed pill probably won't matter.

Except it did matter.

This time when you thought you might be pregnant, it was less scary. Steve had come in for the weekend to work on wedding planning and you'd pulled him aside and asked if he could buy you a test.

It felt like déjà vu, sitting on the bathroom floor together, both of you staring at the test resting on the edge of the bathtub. You wondered if he was praying for the same thing you were. Hoping for the same outcome.

You didn't have to ask because he saw the positive result before you did, immediately pulling you into a kiss. He kissed your engagement ring, kissed your stomach through your shirt, held you so tight you could barely breathe.

"Does this ruin our plans?" you'd asked quietly, even though you knew the answer. Even though you both knew you didn't really have concrete plans beyond get married, be together, figure out the rest as we go.

To be fair, this was always the plan. Maybe not the exact timeline, but the general direction. This is what you both wanted.

Steve had smiled against your hair, pulling you into a hug. "Hot Shot, we're ahead of the game."

You're only a few weeks along now, barely showing. But Steve can't get enough of you. His hands are constantly on your stomach, talking to the baby even though it's barely the size of a grain of rice. Telling it stories, singing to it off-key, promising to teach it how to throw a curveball.

"I think he or she loves their daddy," you giggle as Steve flashes you a goofy smile, gently flipping you onto your back against the towel and blowing a raspberry on your stomach.

"I love you first," he whispers to your belly, pressing a tender kiss there.

Then he crawls up your body, towering over you— your husband, the father of your child, the boy who became a man who became yours. He peppers kisses all over your face. To your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your jaw, your neck.

"And I love you," he whispers against your skin.

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to finish. Steve likes to argue about who fell in love first, who loves more, who's luckier. It's a game you play, one with no winner because you're both all in.

"...most," he decides on, grinning.

You giggle, trying to push him off. "Okay, Steve. Okay." You laugh as he runs a hand over your ribs, the sensation tickling you. "I love you too."

You finally manage to push him off and he lands on his back in the sand, laughing breathlessly up at the sky.

You start packing up your things, putting them in the large tote bag you brought. Sunscreen, the book you've been reading, Steve's wallet and keys, the various items he insisted on bringing.

"You leaving already?" Steve pouts, propping himself up on his elbows.

The boy could live in the sun. Could stay outside forever, golden and happy and free. But you know that if you leave to go back to the hotel, he'll be right behind you. He can't stand to be apart from you for long.

"I need to go write Robin and Nancy a postcard. Eddie too."

The moment Robin graduated, she moved to Boston to live with Nancy full-time. Nancy was working her way up as a professional journalist, and Robin decided to go to law school with a focus on social justice. She was also helping her father rebuild his political campaign, hosting fundraising events for AIDS research and LGBTQ+ rights.

Robin and Steve's relationship transformed over the last year and a half of school. What started as awkward fake exes evolved into something that looks a lot like siblings— making each other's lives miserable in the way that only people who deeply love each other can.

Eddie moved in with Robin and Nancy as a third roommate, still trying to make a name for Corroded Coffin. Playing dive bars and small venues, convinced that any day now they'd get their big break. Polly and him officially called it quits after she transferred to UCLA for a better pre-med track second semester of junior year.

But you once caught Eddie writing a letter to her, along with sheet music for a song titled "Pocket Full of Pollies."

He got over it pretty fast when you caught him sneaking out of Buck's room a few weeks later.

Steve rolls his eyes, scrunching up his face, making a bleh sound from the back of his throat. "Why do you need to send them postcards from our honeymoon? They already know what we're doing." He makes a knowing face at you, waggling his eyebrows.

"Oh, they're plenty aware," you agree, standing and brushing sand off your legs. "But I promised to send them something to let them know we're having a good time."

"Oh, I'm having a good time." Steve's eyes track your movement as you bend over to pick up your towel. "Great time, even."

You look over your shoulder and catch him unashamedly staring at your ass. You wiggle it on purpose, and Steve groans dramatically, flopping back like a starfish and covering his eyes.

"Honey, you have to stop looking like that or I'm going to die of heatstroke. I'll be the one sending the postcard posthumously. 'Dear friends and family, Hot Shot has killed me with her devastating beauty. Please send flowers.'"

"You're such a doofus, Steve." You turn back around, shaking your head fondly.

Steve sighs dreamily. "Can't a man love and adore his wife? Is that a crime? I'll have a warrant out for my arrest because I'm too in love."

You laugh and Steve does too, the sound mixing with the crash of waves and distant seagull calls.

Steve stands up, immediately reaching out for you and pulling you into a hug. His arms wrap around you completely, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other spread across your lower back. He's warm and solid and smells like home.

"Don't ever stop loving me, Hot Shot," he murmurs into your hair.

You smile against his chest, pressing a small bite there just because you can. You hug him tighter, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and strong and yours. "Don't ever stop loving me, Steve Harrington."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Steve pulls back just enough to tilt your chin up, and then he's kissing you deeply, thoroughly, like you have all the time in the world.

Which you do. You have the rest of your lives.

Even though things are different now— you won't wake up to Robin's snoring anymore, won't have late-night snack runs to the dining hall, won't get Eddie to help you prank Steve at the Pike house, won't have movie nights crammed onto a couch with pizza and cheap beer—the love hasn't changed.

You think about those days sometimes, the nostalgia sweet and bittersweet. The way you'd all pile into Eddie's van to drive to the dive spot, music blaring, everyone talking over each other. The way Robin would braid your hair while you studied, her fingers gentle and familiar. The way the Pike house always smelled like cologne and beer and belonging.

You don't know what will happen five years from now. If you'll still be in Hawkins or if Steve will get a coaching offer somewhere else. How many kids you'll have by then— one, two, three? If you'll still like being a librarian or if you'll go back to school for something else. If you'll make another close friend like Robin, someone who knows the ins and outs of your life, who's seen you at your worst and loved you anyway.

Part of you says no to that last one. You can have other friends, good friends, but Robin is singular. Once in a lifetime.

But you didn't only fall in love with Steve Harrington. You fell in love with the life he had too, with the friends by his side, with the found family you built together. 

And Steve— a part of his life always had an empty spot, waiting for you to fill it. He knows that now. Knew it probably before you did.

You giggle, squeezing Steve's ass with both hands. His fingers are already sliding under the strap of your bikini top, teasing.

"Thank god we found a secluded spot," you murmur against his lips.

"Mmm," Steve agrees, kissing down your neck. "Though I wouldn't mind getting fined for public indecency."

"You'd think it was funny," you accuse.

"I would," Steve admits shamelessly. "So would you."

He's right. You absolutely would.

"Last one to the room is a rotten egg and has to give head!" you proclaim suddenly, pulling away from him.

You don't give him time to process. You throw your belongings into his arms— the tote bag, your towel, his sunglasses— and take off running. Your flip-flops are in your hands, toes sinking into the warm sand as you sprint toward the resort up the hill.

You look back briefly and see Steve laughing, jogging behind you with all your things clutched against his chest. You know for a fact that even with your head start and him carrying everything, he could catch up easily. He's faster, stronger, in better shape.

But he doesn't.

He wants you to win.

He's always wanted you to win.

You reach your room breathless and triumphant, turning to watch Steve inside behind you, grinning like you've just accomplished something extraordinary.

"Looks like you lost, Mr. Harrington," you say, still catching your breath.

Steve drops everything on a nearby chair and pulls you against him, kissing you hard. "Worth it," he murmurs against your lips. "So worth it, Mrs. Harrington."

When he pulls back, you catch his hand and intertwine your fingers with his, both of your wedding rings clinking together. His thumb automatically finds the space where your ring sits and rubs gently, a habit he's had since the day you got married.

Finally became your forever.

Steve Harrington had always been bad at waiting.

Not impatient in the ordinary sense, though he was that too, but bad at the specific kind of waiting that came with not knowing if someone he cared about was safe. He could handle action. He could handle blood, bruises, a bad plan that somehow became the only plan. He could handle fighting things that should not exist. But sitting still while the clock kept moving and somebody hadn’t come back when they were supposed to?

That was a special kind of torture.

And tonight, it was killing him.

The Wheeler basement was too warm, too crowded, too loud in all the wrong ways. Nobody was really talking, but the room still felt noisy with nerves. Robin paced near the couch, arms folded tight. Nancy sat at the table with a map spread out under her hands, though she hadn’t looked at it in at least five minutes. Lucas kept checking the same spot near the window like maybe if he stared hard enough, something would change. Max was trying to look calm and failing. Erica had gone unusually quiet, which was maybe the worst sign of all.

Steve stood near the stairs with his arms crossed so tightly over his chest they ached, staring at the front door like he could force it to open.

You were late.

Not five-minutes late. Not “lost track of time” late.

Wrong late.

Mission-gone-sideways late.

He checked his watch again.

“Stop doing that,” Robin said.

Steve didn’t look at her. “Doing what?”

“That.” She made a little impatient gesture. “Checking the time every thirty seconds like it’s gonna make them appear.”

“I’m not doing it every thirty seconds.”

“You are, actually.”

He exhaled hard through his nose. “Then stop counting.”

Robin looked like she wanted to say something sharper, but she didn’t. Her face softened just a little instead. “They’ll come back.”

Steve swallowed.

Maybe.

Maybe they would. Maybe he was overreacting, maybe you’d all gotten delayed, maybe one of the kids had insisted on taking a longer route back through the woods because they saw something weird and now they were all being stupidly careful.

But he knew the difference between delayed and wrong.

And this was wrong.

You had left hours ago with Mike and Dustin to check a possible route near the tree line beyond the old service road, something about movement, tracks, a place the vines had started spreading too close to the surface again. It had sounded contained. Quick. In and out.

You’d grinned at him before leaving, adjusting the strap of the bat slung over your shoulder.

“Relax, Harrington.”

He’d rolled his eyes. “I’m relaxed.”

“You’ve asked me if I have my knife four times.”

“Do you?”

You’d laughed, patting your jacket. “Yes, mom.”

He’d opened his mouth to say something back, something easy and annoyed and normal, but then you’d stepped closer and bumped your shoulder against his.

“We’ll be back before you can get all dramatic about it.”

Robin had snorted. “Too late.”

Steve had watched you go anyway.

And now you weren’t back.

The basement door banged open upstairs.

Everyone snapped toward the sound.

Fast footsteps pounded down the stairs, with each step Steve’s heart skipped a beat and then Mike appeared so suddenly it made Steve’s heart lurch into his throat.

Mike was pale.

Too pale.

Breathing hard.

There was dirt smeared across one side of his face and something dark on the sleeve of his jacket that looked a little too much like blood.

Everything in Steve went cold.

“Where is she?” he said immediately.

Mike opened his mouth but didn’t get anything out at first, sucking in air like he’d run the whole way.

Nancy stood up so fast her chair scraped violently against the floor. “Mike.”

Mike’s eyes moved around the room, wide and frantic, locking finally on Steve’s. “She’s hurt.”

The words hit like a gunshot.

Steve was already moving before anyone else could react, gripping Mike’s shoulders gently, but tight altogether. “What happened?”

“Dustin’s with her,” Mike choked out. “I— we— we got split up near the ravine, and there were demodogs, and she—” His voice broke. “Steve, she’s really hurt.”

That was it.

Steve didn’t remember crossing the room. One second he was by the stairs and the next he had embraced Mike tightly, sensing he needed his comfort more than his panic, while trying and failing to keep his own franticness from spilling over.

“Where?”

“In the woods—past the old service road, by the creek bend—Dustin was trying to get her out but he can’t—”

Steve let go of him and turned. “Robin, Nance—”

“We’re coming,” Nancy said immediately, already reaching for the shotgun propped by the wall.

Lucas was on his feet. “I’m coming too.”

“No,” Nancy snapped, sharper than usual. “You stay here.”

“The hell I am—”

“Lucas,” she said, and something in her voice made him stop. “If more of those things are moving this close, we need people here. In case they doubled back. In case anybody else comes through that door hurt.”

Max grabbed Lucas’s wrist before he could argue again.

Steve was already halfway up the stairs. “Mike, with me. Now.”

They tore out of the house in a wave of motion; Steve, Nancy, Robin, Mike. The night air hit cold and damp, smelling of wet leaves and earth and smoke from somebody’s chimney half a mile away. Steve barely felt it. He was moving too fast, every thought narrowing down to a single terrible point.

You didn’t come back.

You’re out there.

You’re hurt.

He vaulted into the driver’s seat of the BMW. Nancy climbed in beside him with the shotgun across her lap, Robin and Mike piling into the back.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Steve said, jamming the key into the ignition so hard it scraped.

Mike braced one hand on the front seat. “We found the tracks near the service road, and at first it was fine. We thought maybe it was old movement, but then we heard them.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. Three? Four? Maybe more.”

Steve’s grip tightened around the wheel.

Mike swallowed hard. “We ran. We got turned around near the creek because Dustin slipped, and one of them came out from the trees and she—” He took a shaky breath. “She pushed us ahead.”

Steve didn’t say anything.

Couldn’t.

Because he already knew.

He knew exactly the kind of stupid, self-sacrificing thing you would do if one of the kids was in danger. He knew because he’d seen it before, smaller risks, smaller injuries, but the same instinct every time. Put yourself between the danger and somebody younger. Don’t think. Just move.

Mike kept talking, words tumbling out too fast now. “She told us to run and I didn’t want to leave her but Dustin fell again and there were two of them and she— she had the bat and she kept yelling at us to go.”

Steve’s vision tunneled.

“She stayed behind?” Robin asked, her voice very small, full of shock.

“Just for a second,” Mike said desperately. “She was right behind us, she was supposed to be right behind us, but then we heard her scream and when we went back she was—” He sucked in a ragged breath. “She was on the ground.”

No one spoke after that.

The car flew down the dark road, tires spitting gravel when Steve took the turn too hard near the old service lane. Branches scraped the side of the BMW as he pulled off as far as he could. Before the engine had fully died, he was out.

“Which way?”

Mike pointed with a shaking hand. “Through there.”

Steve grabbed the nail bat from the trunk and ran.

The woods swallowed them fast, moonlight breaking in silver patches through the trees. Dead leaves cracked underfoot. Branches clawed at Steve’s jacket and face and he didn’t feel any of it. Behind him, he could hear Nancy and Robin crashing through the underbrush, Mike stumbling to keep up and then surging ahead again.

“Dustin!” Mike shouted.

No answer.

Steve’s chest got tighter.

“Dustin!” Robin yelled.

Then, faintly, from somewhere deeper in the trees…

“Here!”

Dustin.

Crying.

Steve broke into a sprint.

He nearly slipped on the muddy edge of the creek bend before catching himself on a tree. The small clearing opened up in front of him all at once, and for a second, his brain refused to understand what he was seeing.

Dustin was on his knees in the mud, sobbing openly, one arm wrapped under your shoulders as he tried to drag you backward through the leaves.

You were barely helping.

Not because you wouldn’t.

Because you couldn’t.

Your head lolled weakly against Dustin’s shoulder, your face wet with tears and streaked with dirt, your breathing shallow and uneven. One side of your jacket was shredded open. Blood darkened the fabric underneath. Your leg was twisted wrong beneath you…not broken, maybe, but injured enough that every tiny movement made your whole body jerk.

And the sound coming out of you…

That was what nearly stopped Steve’s heart.

Not screaming.

Not even talking.

Just these quiet, broken little sobs, like you were trying not to make any noise at all.

Like it hurt too much to cry properly.

“Steve!” Dustin choked, looking up with a face so wrecked by panic it barely looked like him. “Steve, help her, please! She won’t wake up right, she keeps…she keeps—”

Steve was at your side in an instant, dropping to his knees so hard pain shot up both legs.

“Hey,” he said, and his voice came out rougher than he meant it to. “Hey, hey, I’m here.”

Your eyes fluttered, unfocused. It took a second for them to find him.

When they did, your mouth trembled.

“Stevie,” you whispered, so faint he almost didn’t hear it.

It broke something in him.

“Yeah,” he said immediately, one hand going to your face, careful, careful. “Yeah, I got you. I got you.”

You made a small sound that might have been a laugh if it didn’t hurt so badly. “Took you long enough.”

His throat closed.

“Don’t,” he said, because if you started doing that, if you started trying to make him feel better, trying to joke through it, he was going to lose his mind.

Nancy dropped beside him, already scanning your injuries with quick, ruthless focus. Robin crouched on your other side, one hand flying to her mouth before she forced it down.

“Oh my God,” Robin breathed.

Dustin was still crying. “I tried to get her up, I tried, but every time I moved her she—she said it hurt and I didn’t know if I was making it worse—”

“You did good,” Steve said sharply, not looking away from you. “Dustin, you did good.”

He didn’t know if the kid believed him, but he needed him to. Because he did.

He did all he could.

Mike hovered behind Dustin, pale and shaking, staring at you like he still couldn’t make this real.

Nancy touched your shoulder gently. “Can you hear me?”

You nodded a fraction.

“Any trouble breathing?”

Another tiny nod.

Steve’s chest seized. “Nance…”

“I know.” Her voice was tense. “I know.”

She looked at the ripped fabric near your ribs, then at your leg, then at the blood on your side. “We need to move her now.”

You whimpered as Steve slid one arm behind your back, and he froze instantly. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you grit, though it very clearly wasn’t.

Your eyes squeezed shut again, tears slipping down into your hair. “Stevie, it hurts.”

Those words, so small, so wrecked, hit harder than anything else.

Steve pressed his palm to the back of your head. “I know, baby. I know.”

Robin and Mike exchanged a look at the endearment, but nobody said anything.

The world had narrowed too far for that.

Nancy leaned in closer. “Listen to me. We’re getting you out of here, okay? Steve’s gonna carry you. I need you to tell us if you can’t breathe or if you think you’re gonna pass out.”

You gave the tiniest nod.

Steve slid one arm carefully under your knees, the other around your back. The second he started to lift, your body arched with a strangled cry and his vision almost went white with panic.

“Stop, stop!”

“I have to get you out,” he said, voice shaking. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

Your hand fisted weakly in his jacket.

It was barely any strength at all.

That terrified him more than if you’d shoved him away.

He got you into his arms somehow, though every inch seemed to hurt you. You buried your face against his chest with a broken little sound, and then you just clung. Not hard. Not enough. But enough for him to feel it.

Enough to make something savage and protective rise hot under his skin.

He stood.

You were usually so alive in his arms when he touched you in passing…shoving at him, laughing with him, moving along him, leaning into him. This felt all wrong. Too limp, too light, too still except for the trembling.

Dustin scrambled to his feet. “I’m coming.”

“You’re coming,” Steve said.

They started back through the woods.

Nancy went ahead, clearing the roughest parts of the path. Robin stayed close at Steve’s elbow in case he slipped. Mike and Dustin trailed just behind, both of them wrecked quiet now.

Steve felt every shaky breath you took.

Counted them.

Every one.

You kept making those tiny sounds against his chest whenever the ground jolted under his feet, each one digging under his ribs. He kept talking to you because the alternative was listening too closely to how weak you sounded.

“Stay with me.”

A few steps.

“You hear me? Don’t fall asleep.”

A few more.

You whispered something into his shirt.

“What?”

Your lips moved again. He bent his head lower.

“Dustin okay?”

Steve nearly stumbled.

He looked back. Dustin was crying silently now, eyes red and swollen, mud all over his jeans and hands.

“He’s okay,” Steve said, and his voice cracked this time. “Because of you. He’s okay.”

You let out a breath that shivered against him.

“Good.”

Robin made a strangled sound and turned her face away for a second.

Steve wanted to scream.

At you, for doing this. At himself, for letting you go out there. At the entire nightmare world that kept taking and taking and taking from all of you.

But mostly at the fact that even half-conscious and hurting everywhere, you were still worrying about the kids first.

By the time they reached the car, Steve’s arms were burning and he didn’t care. Nancy yanked the back door open and Robin climbed in first so she could help settle you across the seat.

“Easy,” she whispered, hands trembling despite the calm in her voice. “Easy, easy.”

Steve got in beside you, pulling your upper body into his lap so your side wouldn’t slam against the door. Dustin and Mike crammed in on the other side, Dustin immediately reaching for your hand.

You didn’t open your eyes.

But your fingers twitched weakly around his.

Nancy got behind the wheel. “Hospital?”

Steve’s head snapped up.

Too dangerous, all of them thought it at once.

Too many questions. Too much exposure. Too many lies to explain.

But one look at you and the answer changed.

“Yes,” Steve said.

No hesitation.

No argument.

He would burn the entire cover story down if that’s what it took.

Nancy floored it.

The drive was chaos made of small sounds. Robin trying to keep pressure on the worst of the bleeding. Dustin whispering to you over and over that you were okay, that you were okay, like if he said it enough maybe it would become true. Mike hunched forward in the seat, shaking and silent, staring at the blood on his sleeve like he didn’t know whose it was anymore.

Steve kept one hand cupped around the back of your neck, the other gripping your wrist so he could feel your pulse.

Still there.

Still there.

Still there.

At one point your eyes opened a little and landed on him.

He leaned in immediately. “Hey.”

You looked confused for a second, dazed and glassy-eyed. “Why’s Dustin crying?”

A sound escaped Steve that was half laugh, half heartbreak.

“Because he’s Dustin.”

That got the faintest ghost of a smile from you before your face crumpled again.

“Everything hurts,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“Think m’bleeding on your shirt.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should. Nice shirt.”

He bowed his head for a second, pressing it briefly to yours because he didn’t know what else to do with how much he felt right then. “Will you stop trying to be funny for five minutes?”

“No promishes.”

The words slurred together.

His hand tightened around yours.

“Stay awake.”

You blinked slowly. “Bossy.”

“Yeah.”

Your eyes drifted shut again.

“Hey.” Panic flared instantly. “Hey, no, look at me.”

They fluttered back open.

“There you go, baby,” he said, too fast. “There you go. Keep doing that.”

Robin glanced at him, and the fear on her face mirrored his own.

The hospital lights appeared like something unreal at the end of a tunnel. Nancy screeched to a stop before the car had fully entered the emergency drop-off lane, and then everything became motion and shouting and bright fluorescent light.

Steve tried to go with you.

A nurse blocked him with both hands. “Sir, I need you to step back.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

“You are if you want us to work.”

Nancy was at his side in a second, fingers digging hard into his arm. “Steve.”

He looked at you on the gurney, saw how pale you were under the blood and dirt, how your hand slipped off the edge as they wheeled you through the double doors.

And then you were gone.

The waiting room was worse than the woods.

At least in the woods he’d had something to do.

Now there was nothing. Just the hard plastic chairs, the smell of antiseptic, the buzz of fluorescent lights, Dustin’s muffled crying finally tapering off into exhausted silence.

Steve sat bent forward with his elbows on his knees, your dried blood on his shirt and jeans, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

Nobody tried to make him talk.

After a while, Dustin sat down beside him.

For a minute, neither of them said anything.

Then Dustin asked, very quietly, “Do you think she hates me?”

Steve turned so fast it almost hurt. “What?”

Dustin’s chin wobbled. He was trying so hard not to cry again. “Because I couldn’t—I couldn’t get her out. She told us to run and I did and then when I went back I couldn’t—” His voice crumpled. “It was like I was with Eddie all over again. Like I had to—, let it happen.”

Dustin shakes his head quickly, “if she dies, it’s because she had to save us, it’ll be because of me.”

Steve stared at him.

Then he reached out and hauled Dustin sideways against his shoulder in a grip that was maybe rougher than intended and definitely not casual.

“She does not hate you,” he said, fierce and immediate. “Do you hear me? None of this is your fault.”

“But—”

“No.” Steve pulled back just enough to make Dustin look at him. “No buts. You don’t get to do that to yourself, not again. She made a choice. A stupid one,” he added, voice shaking now, “but one she made because she loves you guys. That’s not on you, not on Mike, not on anyone.”

Dustin sniffed hard. “You called her stupid.”

Steve looked toward the emergency doors.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”

“You called her baby.”

Steve shrugged, staying silent.

It was over an hour before someone came out.

Too long. Not long enough. Time had stopped making sense.

The doctor was saying words…lacerations, blood loss, a cracked rib, soft tissue damage, concussion, lucky, very lucky, and Steve caught maybe half of them because the only one that mattered was stable.

Stable.

Not dying.

Stable.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes so hard sparks burst behind them.

Robin touched his back once, briefly.

When they finally let him see you, you were awake.

Barely.

But awake.

The room was dim except for the soft monitor glow and one ugly lamp in the corner. You looked wrecked, bruised, stitched, bandaged, an oxygen line beneath your nose, and still somehow the sight of you conscious made his knees feel weak.

He hovered in the doorway for half a second before stepping inside.

Your eyes found him.

“There he is,” you whispered.

His laugh came out broken. “Yeah.”

“You look awful.”

He dragged a hand over his face. “That’s your opener?”

You shifted, winced immediately, and stopped. “Wanted to keep it light.”

He pulled the chair close to your bed and sat down. For a second he just looked at you, because now that he’d found you, now that you were here and breathing and stitched back together, all the terror he’d been holding in had nowhere to go.

So it came out as anger.

Very quiet anger.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Your eyes softened.

“Steve—”

“No.” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “No, because you do not get to scare me like that and then just smile at me from a hospital bed like everything’s fine.”

You looked down at the blanket.

“It wasn’t really a smile.”

He let out a rough breath. “You know what I mean.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then you said, so quietly he almost missed it, “They would’ve died.”

And there it was.

The simple truth of it.

No heroics. No dramatics. Just certainty.

Steve swallowed hard enough it hurt.

He knew. God, he knew.

You would do it again too, if it meant one of the kids made it home.

Which was exactly the problem.

He reached out before he thought about it and took your hand carefully, careful of the IV and the scrapes across your knuckles.

“You don’t get to do that alone,” he said.

Your brows pulled together faintly. “What?”

“You don’t get to decide you’re disposable because somebody else is younger or smaller or whatever. You call for help. You run. You do literally anything else before—” His voice broke and he looked away for a second. “Before that.”

When he looked back, your eyes were wet.

“Steve…”

“No, I mean it.” His thumb brushed shakily over the back of your hand. “I saw Dustin trying to drag you out of there. He thought you were dying.”

You closed your eyes.

“I know.”

“I thought you were dying.”

That made your eyes open again.

The room went very still.

Steve hadn’t meant to say it like that.

Hadn’t meant to let it out so bare.

But there it was now, hanging between you.

Your fingers tightened around his as much as they could.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He laughed once, bitter and quiet. “I’m so sick of hearing that from people I care about.”

A tiny, tired smile touched your mouth. “Still a good line, though.”

He shook his head, but some of the air left the anger in him.

You looked at him for a long moment.

Then said, “Dustin okay?”

Of course that was your first real question.

Steve huffed, something close to fond exasperation burning through the leftover fear. “Yeah. He’s okay.”

“Mike?”

“Also okay.”

You nodded weakly, satisfied.

Then, after a beat, “You?”

That undid him more than anything else had.

He looked down at your joined hands and answered honestly. “No.”

Your face crumpled with guilt. “Steve—”

“But I will be,” he said quickly, because he couldn’t handle that look on top of everything else. “I will be. You just…” He swallowed. “You gotta stop doing this to me.”

A tear slipped out of one eye and tracked into your hairline. “I’ll try.”

“Yeah, you better.”

You were quiet for another second, and then, very softly: “You came for me.”

Steve stared at you.

Like that was even a question.

“Every time,” he said.

Your mouth trembled.

The monitor beeped steadily in the silence that followed. Somewhere down the hall, a cart rattled past. The world kept moving, stupidly, normally, while Steve sat there with your hand in his, feeling like he’d cracked open somewhere no one could see.

You drifted a little after that, eyelids heavy.

Before you fell fully asleep, you murmured, “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for taking your time.”

He blinked. “What?”

A tiny, sleepy smile appeared. “Dramatic entrance. Very heroic.”

He stared at you for one incredulous second before huffing out a laugh that turned wet around the edges. “Go to sleep.”

You did.

Still holding his hand.

Steve sat there long after your breathing evened out, his chair pulled too close to the bed, your blood dried on his shirt, exhaustion finally crashing into him now that he could see your chest rise and fall with his own eyes.

Robin peeked in once, saw him there, and quietly withdrew.

He didn’t move.

Not when the nurse came to check your vitals.

Not when dawn started paling the edges of the blinds.

Not even when his back began to ache and his eyes burned.

He stayed.

Because you were here.

Because you were alive.

Because in the woods, with Dustin crying and you sobbing so quietly in his arms, Steve had realized something he probably should have known already:

There was no version of this nightmare where he could lose you and come out of it still himself.

So he sat there and kept watch.

When you woke again just after sunrise, the first thing you saw was Steve slumped awkwardly in the chair beside your bed, chin dropped to his chest, one hand still wrapped around yours like even asleep he didn’t trust the world not to take you if he let go.

You smiled despite the ache everywhere.

And when his eyes snapped open at the tiny movement, immediate panic flashing across his face before recognition settled in, you squeezed his hand the best you could.

“I’m still here,” you whispered.

Steve closed his eyes for one brief second, bowed his head over your joined hands, and let out a breath so shaky it sounded almost like a prayer.

“Yeah,” he said, looking up at you again with something raw and wrecked and relieved in his face. “You better be.”

You wake again later, slower this time.

The pain is still there…dull, heavy, everywhere, but it’s not as sharp as before. It sits under your skin instead of ripping through it, which somehow makes it easier to breathe.

The room is quieter now. Dim. Early morning light slipping in through the blinds in thin, pale lines.

And Steve—

Steve is still there.

Curled awkwardly in the chair beside your bed, his head tipped forward, one arm folded across his chest while the other is still loosely wrapped around your hand like he fell asleep mid-thought and never let go.

Your chest tightens a little at the sight.

He looks exhausted. Completely, utterly drained in a way you’ve never seen before. There’s dried blood on his shirt, your blood, and his hair is a mess like he’s run his hands through it too many times to count.

You shift slightly.

It hurts.

A soft sound slips out of you before you can stop it.

Steve wakes instantly.

Like he was never really asleep at all.

His head snaps up, eyes wide and searching, panic flashing across his face before it softens the second he sees you’re awake.

“Hey—hey,” he says quickly, leaning forward. “Easy. Don’t move too much.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you murmur, your voice still a little rough.

Relief washes over his face so openly it almost makes your chest ache.

“Good,” he mutters. “Good.”

There’s a moment where neither of you says anything.

Just looking.

Just… being here.

Alive.

Then, after a second, you tilt your head slightly, studying him.

“You look terrible,” you say softly.

He huffs out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh slipping through. “Yeah, you mentioned that.”

“I mean it more now.”

“Thanks. That helps.”

You smile faintly.

Then your gaze drifts, taking him in a little more carefully this time, the way his hand is still wrapped around yours, like he doesn’t quite trust that you won’t disappear if he lets go.

Something warm settles low in your chest.

“You stayed,” you say.

It’s not really a question.

“Yeah,” he replies, just as quietly. Like there was never another option.

Your fingers shift slightly in his.

“You called me baby.”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

Steve freezes.

Actually freezes.

His entire body stills, his expression going blank for just a fraction of a second before something else flickers there, something caught, something almost guilty.

“…What?” he says, a little too quickly, because when Dustin acknowledged  it, he could ignore it,  but you…

You don’t look away.

“You did,” you repeat softly. “In the woods.”

His jaw tightens slightly, like he’s trying to figure out if he can talk his way out of this.

“I— you were hurt,” he says, like that explains it.

“It does,” you agree easily. “Still counts.”

He exhales, running a hand through his already messy hair, suddenly very aware of himself in a way he wasn’t a minute ago.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean what?”

His eyes flick back to yours.

And for a second—

He doesn’t answer.

Because whatever he was about to say doesn’t quite make it past his lips.

Your voice softens, just a little teasing now, but still gentle. “You don’t call everyone that, Harrington.”

“No,” he mutters.

“Just me?”

There’s that pause again.

That same quiet, fragile tension that’s always lived somewhere between you…now sharper, closer to the surface than it’s ever been before.

Steve looks at you like he’s trying to decide something.

Then, quietly—

“…Yeah.”

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t look away this time.

Doesn’t try to play it off.

Doesn’t joke.

“It just—came out,” he adds, softer now. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Sometimes that’s when people say what they mean most,” you say.

His grip on your hand tightens slightly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

The room feels smaller suddenly.

Quieter.

Like everything’s narrowed down to just this.

To him.

To you.

You shift a little closer on the bed, ignoring the dull ache it causes.

“You sounded worried,” you say softly.

He lets out a quiet, almost disbelieving breath. “You think?”

You smile faintly. “A little.”

Steve shakes his head, but there’s no real annoyance in it.

“I thought you were—” he stops himself, jaw tightening again.

“Dying?” you finish gently.

He looks at you then.

Really looks.

And this time, he doesn’t hide it.

“Yeah.”

Your chest tightens.

Your fingers curl around his hand as much as they can.

“I’m still here,” you whisper.

He swallows hard.

“Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “You are.”

A beat passes.

Then, quieter—

“Don’t do that again.”

You huff a soft breath. “I’ll try.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It’s honest.”

That almost earns a smile from him.

Almost.

His thumb brushes lightly over the back of your hand, absent, grounding.

“You scared me,” he admits.

You meet his gaze.

“I know.”

“I don’t like that.”

“I know.”

Another pause.

But this one—

This one feels different.

Softer.

Closer.

“Baby,” you say quietly, testing it now, watching his reaction.

Steve’s head snaps up slightly at that, something in his expression shifting instantly.

“You’re not allowed to use that against me,” he mutters.

You smile, small and a little tired but real. “I think I am.”

And then, “because, I’d like for you to call me that again.”

He exhales, shaking his head, but his hand doesn’t let go of yours.

Doesn’t even loosen and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“Okay.”

And for the first time since you woke up…

There’s something almost calm in the room.

Something warm.

Something that feels a little too much like safety.

Steve had called you in a flurry of words Thursday morning, early. Much earlier than you would have ever chosen to wake up. You had a closing shift later as a server at Enzo’s and lately you’d needed more and more time to rest before work, like the baby was sucking all of your energy from you. At least your morning sickness had started to subside.

You tossed the covers off of your body and padded down the hall, still half asleep as you reached the phone in the kitchen, pulling it from the wall and bringing it up to your ear.

“Hello?” You asked through a yawn. You knew it was him before he even spoke. It was always him. No one else ever bothered to call you.

“Goodmorning! I’m sorry for calling you so early, I know you like to sleep in I just uh- My parents are going to be in town this weekend..” You could tell by the slight shaky tone in his voice that he was nervous. “I just wanted to let you know because uh.. I was gonna tell them about the baby.”

You knew that he had every right to tell his parents about the child because it was his child too, but it still made you insanely nervous.

“Did you… Did you want me to be there when you tell them?” You asked, curling your finger around the phone cord.

“NO! I mean- Sorry, no I just- I’ll tell them by myself, okay? And… Depending on how they take it, I’ll see if they want to meet you.” His voice wavered and you sighed.

“Steve…” You said softly.

“Y-Yeah?” His tone rang through the phone.

“It’s gonna be okay, alright? It’ll be fine, no matter how they react. Try not to worry too much about it. I know it seems easier said than done but trust me, your parents approval never means as much as you think it does.” You weren’t sure if your words were at all comforting but you hoped they calmed his nerves a little bit. He already seemed to have issues with his parents so this situation seemed like it would either make or break their relationship. You wanted to be there for Steve if things went South.

He was silent for several long moments before he responded.

“Okay.. Okay, thank you. I’mm sorry I”m such a mess-”

“Quit apologizing, Steve. Or the next time I see you I’m going to smack you over the head, got it?”

That made him chuckle, and you too. The sound of his voice made you feel warm.

“Alright okay, okay. Noted. Now go back to sleep, okay? Get some beauty rest.”

“You saying I’m not already beautiful, Harrington?”

“That’s not what I me- No! You’re very pretty- Like insanely pretty I-” You cut his words off with a laugh and you heard him huff on the other end.

“You’re joking- that was you joking…”

“Mhm.” You hummed cheerfully. “Bye Steve, talk to you later.”

“Bye!”

With that you put the phone back on the wall and made your way back to your bedroom, pulling up the covers and getting comfortable again as sleep washed over you once more, dreams of Steve and your little family of three filling your mind as you rested.

—

Work had been nothing short of terrible, the only good thing being a couple of tables tipped you extra because you looked like you were on the verge of tears, so you had more than enough money to cover rent and groceries for the month, maybe even enough to put into savings. You had a small box under your bed filled with quite a bit of cash, something you’d been using to save for years now. Out of sight out of mind, and it had been a great way to save money.

You and Steve still continued to talk about moving in somewhere together so it was a good thing that you had some money saved, maybe for a nice little house? The two of you wouldn’t be able to afford something grand like his parents house, but you’d probably be able to scrape by with a nice three bedroom, one story house.

You pulled the box out from underneath your bed and stuffed a couple of bills into the box that nearly overflowed with cash, smiling proudly at the fact you’d managed to save so much and not spend it on stupid stuff. You’d gotten by, sometimes having to eat the same meal for days on end, but you always got by.

You had planned to call Steve that night after work but you were so exhausted that you just showered and got ready for bed, rubbing lotion over your slowly growing belly bump, smiling fondly down at it as if you could see your little girl inside.

—

Friday morning rolled around and Steve was a mess, running around trying to clean the house for his parents arrival later that night. He’d even taken the day off of work, asking Robin to cover for him if Keith came in, too busy trying to make the house as spotless as possible.

He wasn’t really a messy person, he liked his space to be clean but there was a difference between what he thought was clean and what his mother deemed clean. She was a bit of a neat freak.

He’d vacuumed the living room twice, swept, mopped, cleaned all four bathrooms in the house. The one on the main floor, the two upstairs and the one in the basement even though he never used that one, no one did. He made sure all of the laundry was done and folded and put away.

You didn’t work that day either, giving your shift to one of the younger servers who said she needed a little extra cash. You could always use extra money but you knew you didn’t really need it and you wanted to go check up on Steve and make sure he was doing alright.

The knock on his front door startled him and for half a second his stomach dropped to his ass when he thought that maybe his parents had gotten an earlier flight and booked a cab to drive them home. When he opened the door to see you, he sagged in relief, pulling you into a hug.

You were a bit confused because while Steve was quite touchy, he didn’t often just downright hug you, but you wrapped your arms around him and hugged back, rubbing his back gently.

“Thought you were my parents.” He sighed against your shoulder, some of his hair poking your face as he pulled you closer. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

“Wanted to surprise you, maybe help you clean. I know you’re stressed out about the house being spotless.” You pulled back from him and glanced around, nodding. It smelled clean and looked even cleaner. “Looks good, Steve.”

“You don’t have to help me clean, I don’t want you to have to do any work, it’s my mess…” He started instantly but you held up a hand to stop him.

“I’m over here like every other night, we make dinner together and I use your shower. The least I can do is help you clean up a little bit. What still needs to be done?”

“Just.. The dining room and the kitchen, I did everything else already.”

“Steve, what time did you wake up this morning?” You were shocked he’d already cleaned the rest of the huge house.

“Uh… Five…” He said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm, clearing his throat.

“Jesus christ… Okay, well lets get finished then, yeah? Then maybe we can go get lunch somewhere.” You kissed him on the cheek and then walked past him towards the kitchen while he stood there a bit stunned for a moment, warmth blooming over his cheek where you’d just kissed him and he lifted his hand to touch his skin before he quickly followed after you, socked feet nearly slipping on the wood floor underneath him. Always clumsy, that was Steve. Your Steve.

“You can clean out the fridge but you are not touching any chemicals, got it? It’s probably not good for the baby.” He tried to sound stern but it sounded more of like a helpful suggestion than a command coming from him. You nodded anyways, not wanting to fight with him on it, you were sure he probably had a point.

“Sure, trash bags still under the sink?” You asked and he nodded.

You bent down to grab one and gasped when you felt an odd sensation low in your stomach, like something was shifting around until suddenly, clear as day, you felt a kick.

The baby was kicking.

“What is it? Are you okay, what happened?” Steve notices your change in behavior instantly, eyes wide as he crouches down instantly.

Without words you just grab his hand and lay it flat on your stomach, eyes locking with his. “She kicked, I felt it! I mean I think it was a kick… Here, see if you can feel anything.”

Steve’s warm palm laid flat on your stomach as the two of you crouched in his kitchen, barely daring to breathe as you tried to see if the baby would kick again.

She didn’t of course and you sighed leaning into Steve who wrapped his arms around you instantly. “Did she really kick?” He asked excitedly, one hand still on your stomach as he watched you in awe.

“Yeah, I felt it. It felt… Weird.” You leaned back into him before getting up, Steve doing the same. You grabbed the trash bag from under the sink and made your way to the fridge, smiling over your shoulder at Steve who stood there a little stunned. It was so easy to get him all fuzzy in the head. The idea of his child kicking inside of you had butterflies erupting in his stomach and in that moment he didn’t care what his parents would have to say later, he loved you and that little baby girl more than anything in the world.

“Charlotte…” He said suddenly, glancing at you.

“What?”

“That’s the name I want to contribute to the list. Charlotte.”

You nodded, smiling. It was a nice name. “Any specific reason?” You asked curiously.

Steve shook his head. “I just like it.”

You’d definitely consider it.

—

The kitchen and dining room were cleaned up, though it took a while because you and Steve kept getting lost in conversation and simple laughter, especially with each item you pulled from the fridge, many expired.

“When’s the last time you cleaned out this fridge?” You asked him, wrinkling your nose up when you threw away another expired pack of lunch meat.

“It’s been… A while. It’s just like- I dunno I don’t cook a lot so I forget about a lot of the stuff in there.”

He carried all the trash bags out to the trash can, not letting you carry any and by the time he came back he was sweating a bit, hair damp, forehead shining as well as his upper lick. You tried not to show how it affected you. How it made you feel.

“You clean your room too?” You asked and Steve, who was wiping the sweat from his brow shook his head no.

Bingo. This was how you’d get him up to his room so you could have a bit of fun without seeming too desperate.

“Well we should probably get that cleaned up too in case they wanna like- look in there or something.” you shrugged, almost blowing your cover with your lame excuse but of course Steve didn’t notice, he was a bit blind when it came to stuff like that unless it was right in his face.

The two of you made your way upstairs, Steve tripping upwards on the last step and nearly tumbling into you, blushing as he steadied himself. “Sorry- Clumsy.” He gestured to himself as the two of you made your way into his room.

It wasn’t all that dirty. There were a few granola bar wrappers on his desk and a few empty water bottles littering the floor along with some discarded clothes, but that was about it, it wouldn’t take long at all.

You sat at the edge of his bed as he began to clean up his trash, stuffing it under his arm as he grabbed more. He was wearing a pair of dark grey sweats and an old t-shirt that fit snug around his arms and waist and every time he’d lift his arms up a little bit you’d see a sliver of skin peeking from his waistband, the soft hair there beyond tempting. You tried not to stare but you couldn’t help it. He looked good.

You’d messed around with him a few times now but it was quite few and far between. There had been that first night, the original night the two of you had hooked up, there had been the time over the phone where you’d both gotten off to the sound of each other’s voices, there had been the time you jerked him off, the time he ate you out on his knees and came in his pants and there had been the time you gave him a blowjob, resting comfortable on the bed because he’d refused to let you kneel on the floor.

He was usually shy when it came to asking for what he needed, but you could always tell when he wanted something. He got that look in his eyes, the shy, desperate one that made your heart clench. As well as something else…

“I’m gonna go throw these away downstairs. I'll be right back.” He smiled and made his way out of the room and for the first time you were left alone in his bedroom. It gave you a bit of a headache, the wallpaper matching the curtains, the very minimal decorations and the navy blue bedsheets. His desk had a few things on it, one of them being a bowling pin? You had no idea where he’d even gotten that, maybe you’d ask later. All in all, he needed a bedroom redo, bad.

You spotted another granola bar wrapped on the ground right underneath his bed and you slid down onto the floor to grab it when you paused, taking a glance under his bed. There were a couple of magazines and something that looked suspiciously like a certain kind of… Toy.

You grabbed it, feeling the way the material squished against your hand like firm jelly. Once you got a good look at it you realized that it was a fleshlight and you couldn’t help but giggle, heat pooling in your core at the idea of Steve using this on himself when he was alone.

“Okay now that I got those thrown away I think we can probably go to lun-” He paused in the doorway, eyes widening when he saw what was in your hand, cheeks instantly turning crimson.

“What’s this, Stevie?” You asked, holding it out to show the small stroker toy, failing to hide your grin as Steve stood frozen, mouth agape.

“It uh- Where did you find that? H-How’d that get in my room?” He chuckled awkwardly, trying to convince you that it wasn’t his. You didn’t believe it for a second.

“Found it under your bed, Stevie. Along with… looks like a few magazines? You like those?”

“I do-don’t use those anymore.. I swear.” He said with a pout, shifting further into the room, trying to grab the toy from you.

You snatched it away before he had the chance to, crawling on his bed and as far into the corner as you could so he’d have to climb into the bed as well if he wanted to try to grab it again.

You didn’t miss the way you saw him stirring in his jeans and you hummed, urging him closer with one finger in front of you, curling it in a ‘come hither’ motion as he climbed into the bed along with you, the mattress dipping under his weight. His hair was still a bit damp from taking out the trash and there was something in his gaze as he stared at you. Nervous but also excited?

“Why do you have this?” You asked teasingly, glancing at the fleshlight again, shifting it between your hands.

“I-Because I do. I just use it sometimes. Not a lot.” He swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he stared at you, his pants beginning to fill out even more as he hardened further.

“Yeah? What do you do with it? How do you use it?” Steve knew you were teasing him and a whine fell from his throat as he watched you and the way you examined the toy. His toy.

“Give it back!” He huffed, reaching for it again but you stopped him, shoving him backwards gently with your foot before you brought your heel to his crotch, causing him to stop in his tracks at the pressure against his aching length. He whined once more, staring at you with wide eyes.

“What’re you doing?” He asked, still not used to this dynamic with you. What was okay and what was too much. He usually let you take the lead and took whatever you granted to him.

“I think I wanna know how this thing works, never seen one in real life before.” you hummed, sitting up in the bed as you pulled your foot away from his crotch, sitting criss cross near the pillows as Steve looked like he was ready to come on the spot.

“You wanna lay down and let me have my fun?” You asked and Steve nodded, nearly drooling as he closed his mouth, moving to lay back on the bed, the fabric of his sweat stretching obscenely over his crotch, leaving little to the imagination.

“Steve, are you wearing anything under these?” You asked and he shook his head no, blushing an even deeper shade of red if it was possible. You just chuckled, setting the toy down for one moment as your fingers teased along the waistband of his pants, feeling his happy trail against your fingertips.

“This okay? Can I take these off?” Despite how eager Steve always was, you made sure he always verbally gave you confirmation for what he wanted. It was sweet, the way he nodded and mumbled out a breathless “Yes.”

You pulled his pants down far enough until his cock sprung free, heavy and thick as it rested against his thigh, bobbing in the air.

“You want me to figure out how this thing works?” You asked, picking up the toy again and Steve nodded, a little more desperate this time. You just took a moment to admire his impressive length, running one finger up the side of it and watching the way it twitched at the slight contact. So sensitive, as always with him.

“So.. Let’s see here..” You hummed, leaning over his cock and spitting onto the tip, watching your saliva slide down his length before you wrapped a hand around him, stroking him gently.

Steve gasped at the feeling, leaning his head back against the pillows as he watched you work on him.

“Fuck.. Oh my god.” He groaned, hips bucking up a little into your touch, pre-cum oozing from the tip. “Please- oh shit.”

One of your favorite parts of getting him like this was just how vocal he was, almost excessively so, but you knew he was never faking it.

He’d told you once before that he wasn’t used to getting much attention like this, even with the girls he used to hookup with. It had always been about them and getting them off and sure, he usually got off in the process but it was him doing all the work. It had never really bothered him but you now made it your mission to show him how much you cared about him, how you wanted to make him feel good.

“How’s that?” You asked, resting one hand on his thigh, the other stroking his length, thumb brushing over the tip on every few strokes upwards.

“Feels really- shit- really good, always does.” He gasped out as you squeezed him gently, feeling him throb.

“I thought we were gonna go out to lunch.” He asked, chest beginning to rise and fall heavier with each movement of your hand over him.

“We can after.” You said simply, letting go of his length and reaching for the toy.

“Be g-gentle? It- I’m so sensitive.” He pouted his bottom lip slightly and you nodded, rubbing the thumb of your free hand across his hipbone gently.

“So it goes like this…” You placed it against the weeping tip of his cock, his hips jerking at the first contact of it against his skin as he nodded along to your words.

“F-fuck, yeah please- just like that, yeah just like that.” He let out a small broken moan, hips searching for more.

Slowly and almost tortuously, you slid it down his length, watching as it enveloped him, the sound slick and so dirty that it had you dripping between your legs.

“You use this toy a lot, Stevie?” You asked and he hummed in reply, eyes closed and head thrown back, hair messy against the pillows.

“Y-Yeah sometimes- not as much as I used to- f-feels so good.” You were sure it did, the way it squeezed perfectly around his cock, his length almost too thick to fit inside of it, the slick squelch filling the room, the tip of his cock peeking out of the other side of the toy when it met the base of him.

“Shit- oh shit please-” He wasn’t sure what he was begging for, maybe more, maybe less, he just knew it felt so good.

You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tip of his length when it peeked out of the fleshlight and he nearly came right then and there.

“You don’t- You don’t have t-to do that.” He breathed out, shaking his head, hands clumsily trying to gently push your face away.

“Steve.” You said seriously and he peeked his eyes to look up at you, glossy and glazed over with lust.

“You keep acting like I don’t want this when I’m initiating it.” You said softly, pausing your stroking for just one second to speak to him. “ I want this, I want you. Now let me make you feel good.”

He clammed up a little bit at that, shifting on the bed. His next words made your heart clench.

“But you don’t let me… You don’t let me have sex with you. Like- You don’t let me y’know..”

“What?” You titled your head.

“We only actually did it that one…That one night. I want to be with you like that again, please I want it so bad. You were so warm and so wet and your noises were so pretty.” Despite how filthy his words were, he wasn’t trying to talk dirty, he was just being honest.

“Please let me be inside of you again, please I need it so bad. Why don’t you want it?” He asked, shifting to sit up a bit straighter.

“Steve It’s not that I don’t want it I just-”

“Does it make it too real for you?” He asked, hurt lacing his tone.

“Yes.” You saw how he deflated at your words and shifted to cover himself up but you stopped him, shaking your head. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t want it, Steve. That’s not what it means at all. I want you so bad it scares me, you… My feelings for you scare the hell out of me.”

“Why? I don’t understand… Why..” He breathed out, looking up at you, two seconds away from crying. You couldn’t stand seeing him like that. It broke your heart.

“Because I’ve never been in love before and it scares the shit out of me.”

“You love me?” He asked, tone shaky as he grabbed for your hand, needing some sort of contact with you, a reminder that you were real.

“Steve…” You sigh softly but then he leans up to kiss you so fiercely that you can only grab onto his shoulder and try to kiss back. He’s never kissed you with this much passion before and it sort of rocks your world, how he molds his lips against yours, his hands resting on your waist, not shaking like they usually do. They were steady as he held you.

“Please let me be inside of you, god, please. You don’t understand how much I need it, need to be with you like that.” He pressed sloppy kisses to your neck and shoulder, trying to lift your shirt over your head.

Sex wasn’t just for pleasure when it came to Steve, especially not with you. It was about being close to another person, sharing such intimate space with them, being joined as one. He wanted that with you so badly.

Clothes were shed one by one, neither of you in a rush but also eager to feel each other again with nothing between the two of you.

Once the two of you were completely stripped from fabric and bare before each other, Steve laid you down on the bed, sliding between your thighs. He ate you out like his life depended on it, tongue gentle against your folds, lips wrapping around your clit with such practiced ease that you wondered how many others girls he’d done this to before the thought was brushed from your mind with each maddening lick of his tongue.

He’d made you come on his tongue, easing you through it before he was crawling over you, his cock nudging your thighs, smearing his pre-cum that steadily leaked from his tip. He was red and throbbing and it looked like it hurt, like he just needed some relief.

You laughed when he asked if he needed to wear a condom, pulling his lips down onto yours again as you kissed him.

“You already got me pregnant sweetheart, not like it can happen again, you don’t have to wear one.”

He just nodded, grinding himself against you, whining against your lips. You reached down to stroke him, guiding his tip between your folds, smearing your wetness onto him as he bit gently at your shoulder to stifle a moan.

“Please…” He whined, not wanting you to tease him any longer. You positioned him at your entrance and helped push him in just a bit, letting him do the rest.

He slowly slid inside of you and he felt just as good if not better than he had the first time, filling you in the most perfect way.

He paused suddenly about halfway in, eyes wide as he looked down at you.

“Will this hurt the baby?” He asked nervously and you cupped his cheek, shaking your head.

“We’re okay, it’s fine.” Your confirmation had him pushing the rest of the way in, moaning at the feeling as he bottomed out inside of you, feeling you adjust and stretch around him.

“Feels so good.” He gasped against your neck. “Thank you- thank you, thank you-” He blabbered, two seconds in and already losing it.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you.” You cradled the back of his head as he began to thrust in and out of you, finding a rhythm that suited the two of you.

His fingers danced along your hips and stomach, resting against you, so gentle as he made love to you.

“Steve that- oh god.” You gasped out, arching against him which only drove him more insane, moaning against your neck before his lips found yours again and kissed you, letting his tongue slip into your mouth.

He was definitely more sure of himself like this, inside of you, on top of you. There was still that hint of submission though that seemed to just be a part of him. You loved it.

Your bodies writhed and danced against each other, feeding off of your joined pleasure. At some point Steve intertwined one of his hands with your own, squeezing it tight as he fucked you, beginning to pick up speed, the bed squeaking beneath the two of you.

“You’re so pretty.” He whined against you and you could tell by the way his hips began to stutter that he was close. You would have loved to push him off of you and climb on top of him, ride him until he saw stars but he was enjoying himself far too much for you to ruin it. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, hips flexing against yours, grinding against you with each thrust.

“M’not gonna last.” He groaned against your skin, tongue licking over you, painting you with his saliva as his hips began to stutter more, finding it harder to keep up his rhythm with his release right there within reach.

He reached down and rubbed your clit gently with his thumb and first finger, gasping as you clenched around him at the feeling, the way it spiked your pleasure.

“Let go Stevie, wanna feel you fall apart for me. Fill me up.” You whispered against his ear and he was a goner, letting out a cry as he stilled against you, twitching as he filled you up, painting your insides with his release as you clenched around him, your own release nearly drowning you in pleasure as he continued to circle your clit with his fingers until you gently shoved his hand away, relaxing against the bed.

Steve stayed inside of you for a few minutes before finally pulling out, standing up on wobbly legs to get a towel to clean you up with.

After the two of you cleaned up and redressed he took you out to lunch and the two of you sat in a booth, smiling and even sharing a milkshake with two straws, something you’d only ever seen done in movies.

—

You eventually drove back home, wanting to give Steve some time alone while he prepared for his parents to come home. He seemed nervous but you told him to call you after he told them about the baby.

You could only hope they’d be understanding.

Waiting by the phone, you began to get more nervous as time went on, the sun setting as Hawkins was plunged into early darkness, the only light in your house the light from the kitchen.

He still didn’t call.

At almost ten o’clock there was a sharp, almost frantic knock on your front door, startling you out of your thoughts. You grabbed the baseball bat you kept in your kitchen just in case and made your way towards the door.

You lifted up on your tippy toes to look through the peephole and you saw Steve standing there on your front porch, teary eyed, red nosed. He looked very upset.

You opened the door, dropping the bat at your side right as Steve rushed in and hugged you so hard you almost fell backwards.

“Steve? What happened? Are you okay?” You gently rubbed his back as you heard him sniffle.

“I’m sorry..” He said softly, pathetically.

“Baby what are you sorry for? Did it not go well?”

“I’ll never be a good dad, you deserve someone so much better than me- that baby deserves so much better than me-”

“Woah woah woah, hey don’t say stuff like that, Steve. That isn’t true and you know it. You’re going to be a great father, just take a breath.”

He looked so young in the moment and it was times like these you remembered the age gap between the two of you. You brushed a hand through his hair, fixing it back on top of his head as he stood in front of you, wiping at his eyes.

You closed the front door and had planned on guiding him to the living room but just ignored that room altogether in favor of just taking him to your bedroom, wanting him to be comfortable. He’d probably be staying the night anyways.

As he sat on the edge of the bed you stared at him, sighing softly.

“You gotta tell me what happened, Steve. What’d they say?”

———

“S-Steve-” You pulled away from his lips and he opened his eyes, the soft brown color of them darker due to his excitement. “Yeah? Was that okay? Not too much? I’m really trying to be good, to go slow.” His words had you melting and you nodded, running one hand through his hair. He let out a soft sound low in his throat, tilting his head into your touch. He was so touch starved, so desperate for anything you would give him that you felt a bit bad. You thought back to how he’d sounded over the phone, the soft desperate little sounds he’d made, how eager he was.

You glanced down to his erection that was still straining against his sweats and you swallowed hard. Steve, sensing it, took a step back, trying and failing to cover himself up, trying to adjust himself in his pants which only really made things worse.

“I’m sorry, shit I’m so sorry I can go- I’ll go take c-care of it-” His words, mumbled so anxiously like you were going to yell at him over something he had no control over, had your inner thighs wet, something that had nothing to do with your recent shower.

“Steve,” You started, firmly but not unkindly. “I’m standing in front of you half naked right now, do you think I’m going to be mad you have an erection?”

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I really really like you and I- Fuck, I’m sorry I’ll go-”

“Stay. Sit.” You gestured to the bed and Steve stood there stunned for a few seconds before he obeyed. He tried to place his hands over his bulge to hide it but you shook your head.

“Don’t hide from me.”

You swore you saw him twitch in his pants. He set his hands down on either side of him on the bed, looking up at you with wide eyes, wondering what you planned to do. Another apology was on the tip of his tongue but he managed to swallow it back, just watching you in silence.

“I’ll take care of it. If you’ll let me. Take care of you.” You gestured to his crotch and his cheeks flushed hotter, if it was even possible.

“You don’t have to- I don’t want you to feel like you have to I’m-”

“Why’re you so worried?” you asked, voice softening as you watched him squirm under your gaze.

“I just don’t.. Wanna mess up. Mess this up.” He gestured between the two of you nervously. “We’re supposed to be working on being friends.. But it’s so hard for me.” His voice broke on the last part and he cleared his throat, running a hand down his face. You could see all of his nervous and needy energy bubbling under the surface and you knew he needed to let it out.

“Listen Steve, whatever we have is… Complicated, I don’t really know but I want to help you. Wanna touch you, really bad if you’ll let me. Just something simple. I’ll just use my hand, we won’t go any farther than that tonight.” You saw excitement flash in his eyes but something was still holding him back. He was nervous.

“You’re sure?” He asked, needing your confirmation once more that this was okay. That he was okay. He just needed a little direction.

You placed a hand on his thigh as you climbed into the bed with him, sitting by his side. His eyes darted down to glance at your breasts before he looked away just as fast.

“You can look. Steve. You can look at them, nothing wrong with it.” You encouraged and he shyly looked back. There wasn’t really lust in his gaze, more so a bone deep appreciation and adoration for your body. In his eyes you were a goddess.

“You’re so pretty.” He breathed out as he looked from your chest back to your face, shifting uncomfortably on the bed.

“I’ll make it feel better, Steve. I promise.” This was more than sex, more than just getting him off. This was showing him that even if you were a bit reserved, not as eager in all of this as he was, this relationship… You still wanted him, in an odd, unexplainable way you wanted him.

“Oh god, shit please- please… I’m sorry, shit..”

“Quit apologizing.” You said gently as you cupped his bulge, watching his face contort in pleasure at the simple touch.

“I’m not gonna last- like at all, I’m ready to come in my pants-”

Shhh, I’ve got you, don’t worry about that.” Your other hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into the touch with a soft sigh, melting into your touch.

“Love when you touch me.” He mumbled almost shyly. You originally thought he meant you touching his dick, but with the way he was beginning to nuzzle his nose into your open palm that was resting against his cheek, you knew he meant it as a general statement.

“Lift your hips up a little for me Steve, can you do that?” He nodded, shifting his hips upwards so you could pull his sweats down to his knees. You didn’t bother taking them all the way off because you knew this wasn’t going to last long.

“Can I take these off too?” You pulled the waistband of his boxers off of his hips before letting it smack back against his skin, causing him to jump.

“Please, I’ll die if you don’t.” He groaned as you peeled his boxers off, his cock springing up and slapping his stomach, tip red and leaking pre-cum.

“Pretty boy.” You hummed as you wrapped a hand around his length, watching the way his hips jerked up pathetically against your hand. He was so much less confident than that one night you’d hooked up, or the night over the phone.. He was so shy and needy and it drove you insane. But you could also tell by the way he trembled at your words, he really enjoyed praise.

“Such a sweet, good boy for me. So nice to me, sticking around, always bringing me snacks and taking me out to dinner.” You spoke as you stroked him, watching his chest rise and fall heavily. Part of you wanted him to take off his shirt so you could see his broad chest covered in hair once more but it was a bad idea. You still wouldn’t let this go all the way. This was for Steve, not for you. If you let your emotions run wild it would turn into a hot mess quick. You didn’t want that. You actually wanted Steve to stick around.

He looked at you like you’d hung the stars, that sweet innocent look of love that had your heart twisting as you stroked over his sensitive length, learning what made him whine, where he was most sensitive. All the things you hadn’t had the chance to do that one drunken night.

He was beautiful like this, squirming from your touch, nearly panting as he leaned closer to you and buried his face in your neck with a broken moan. He didn’t touch you any more than that, didn’t even try and reach for your breasts or touch you without asking. It was sweet, how gentle he was. So unlike any other guy you’d ever known. There was something genuine about him.

“Feels good? Talk to me, Steve.” You encouraged.

“Ahh, Yeah s’good” He groaned against your neck.

“You can touch me, y’know. I won’t bite. Unless you ask me.”

Steve chuckled at your words and now that you’d given him permission once more you expected him to go for your breast but he didn’t. His palm found your stomach again, fingers brushing over the skin as he pressed a sloppy kiss to your neck.

The desire to just shed your pants, climb over him and mount him was strong but you resisted. Just for Steve, you reminded yourself. This wasn’t about you… you didn’t want it to be about you.

Your thumb brushed over the tip that was oozing pre-cum steadily, coating the pad of your finger as you rubbed it against his skin. Steve, now slowly growing a bit bolder, pressed hot, frantic kisses to the skin of your neck, his hand still resting on your stomach. You felt and saw the way his hips bucked up into your touch, the way his stomach muscles clenched tight.

“I’m- oh my god can’t believe you’re actually doing this- Never thought- Never thought you’d touch me again.” His voice broke against you again and you wanted to just pull him close and kiss away all of his worry. You weren’t going anywhere.

“I’m close- I’m sorry, I’m close I’m gonna- fuck..” He began to buck his hips up a little faster, chasing a release you knew was close. He just needed a little more encouragement.

“You’re alright, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I’m right here.” You cooed, pressing a kiss to his cheek and then he was coming, thick and hot and heavy over your hand and his stomach. He writhed and convulsed beside you and you did your best to ease him through it, more cum spilling from him, dribbling down the side of his cock. He shakily pawed at your hand once he became too sensitive and you got the message, giving one more firm stroke before pulling away.

You stayed silent as he came down from his high, leaning against you, completely boneless. You grabbed the towel you’d used to shower with and gently began wiping off his stomach and your hand. He’d made quite a big mess, his release seeming to go on and on.

“Thank you” he all but whispered as you cleaned him up. He was slowly coming back to himself as he pulled his pants back up, shifting until he was comfortable again, watching you toss the towel away. He’d have to wash it later.

“Better? Get it out of your system?” You asked with a playful grin. “Maybe next time you’ll knock.”

“Sorry again about that- I usually do knock I swear, I just wasn’t thinking.” He watched as you pulled one of his old t-shirts over your body, one of the ones he’d given you. He liked the way you looked in his clothes.

You yawned, climbing back into bed again and Steve stood up, running a hand through his hair as he glanced between you and the open bedroom door. He probably assumed you were going to kick him out now, even though he didn’t want to leave.

“Steve?”

“Yeah I’m going…” he shifted towards the door before looking back at you. He looked like a dog begging for scraps, his brown puppy eyes pathetic but loving.

“You can stay.”

He blinked a few times, unsure if he’d heard you right. “I can.. stay?” He shifted closer but didn’t dare climb back into bed.

“Yeah you can stay.”

The smile that appeared on his face had been entirely worth it. He climbed into bed beside you and cuddled up behind you, spooning you as he wrapped his arms around your front, cradling your belly. You shifted to turn off the light on the bedside table and then it was dark and quiet, all you could hear was the soft breaths coming from Steve as he laid behind you.

“Do you…you didn’t get off.” He said softly after a moment.

“What?”

“Come. You didn’t come.. do you- I could make you feel good-” he tried.

“Go to sleep, Steve.”

“Oh.. Okay. Yea. Sleep. Goodnight.” He snuggled his head against your shoulder and let out a content sigh.

Within minutes he was out like a light, snoring against your ear in a way that told you that you were not going to get a good night's rest.

It felt nice to be held, though. To be cared for in the way Steve cared for you, even if it scared you.

—-

To your surprise, the next morning wasn’t as awkward as you thought it would be. You woke up to the sun starting to shine through the blinds at the window and you stretched, feeling warm hands still encircling you and a warm body pressed up behind you. You felt safe. It was the best feeling you’d felt in a long time.

“Steve?” you asked, blinking away the sleep from your eyes as you started to gain consciousness. Surprisingly you hadn’t needed to get up in the middle of the night to pee but you really needed to now. Ever since you got pregnant you’d needed to pee ten times more and apparently from the research you’d done, it would only get worse the further the pregnancy progressed.

“Hm?” He groaned groggily, holding you a little tighter.

“Steve- You gotta let me get up before I piss myself.” You chuckled and Steve begrudgingly let you up, shifting to lay flat on his back, eyes still closed. He was a beautiful sight and you stood there for a moment to admire him, brown hair sticking out all over the place, a sleepy smile on his face as he shifted around on the bed, still not quite ready to start the day.

—

After he’d taken his sweet old time getting up and going to the bathroom to brush his teeth, the two of you made your way downstairs to the kitchen, set on making something for breakfast. Surprisingly Steve’s kitchen was pretty well stocked for a guy who lived on his own most of the time.

He pulled eggs and bacon from the fridge and you found a half empty box of pancake mix in the cupboard beside the stove, setting it down on the counter.

“This is like a full breakfast.” You grinned. “You treat yourself to this kinda stuff often?”

Steve shook his head as he grabbed a pan from one of the lower cupboards near your feet and set it on the stove, turning on the burner as he also grabbed butter from the fridge, setting it with the other items the two of you would be using.

“I’m actually not a good cook.” Steve admitted as you grabbed a mixing bowl and began to measure out some of the pancake mix before bringing the bowl over to the sink, turning on the faucet and adding some water.

“Do you have a whisk?” You asked over your shoulder and Steve just looked at you puzzled, like he didn’t quite understand what you were asking of him, what you meant.

“A what now?”

“A whisk? To mix the batter?” You gestured to the bowl where the water was starting to mix with the flour.

“Uhm..” He scratched the back of his neck as he looked around the kitchen. You opened one of the drawers near the sink and found a small metal whisk, pulling it out and holding it up so he could get a look at it. “One of these things. A whisk.”

“Oh yeah…” He flushed red but got closer to you as you began to mix the batter, whisking away all of the chunks of powder into one even mixture. Steve glanced over your shoulder, watching curiously as you stirred.

“Wanna try?” You offered the whisk to him and he nodded, scooting closer to the counter as he took the whisk and began to mix the batter, face lighting up a bit now that he was helping instead of awkwardly standing there.

“I used to help my mom make cookies when I was younger, chocolate chip.” He smiled as he mixed, perhaps a tad too aggressive, some of the liquidy batter almost splashing out of the bowl before he slowed his movements just in time.

“Yeah? You don’t talk about your parents that much.” You said softly, giving him the chance to open up if he wanted to. You knew there was more to him than what met the eye. A bone deep loneliness seemed to seep from him, something you’d noticed almost immediately.

“They aren’t around much. My dad’s always away on business trips and my mom, well she goes with him because she doesn’t trust him.” You knew what he meant by that and your heart clenched a bit. “It’s fine though, they come back every once in a while and they always make sure I’ve got money for groceries and other stuff. They bought me my car when I turned sixteen.. Sometimes they let me go on vacation with them. It's just weird not having them around as much as I used to.” He cleared his throat, glancing down at the batter that was starting to get a bit bubbly.

“Is it done?” He asked.

“Yeah, it’s all mixed.” You grabbed the bowl from him and brought it over to the stove.

“Do you have a spatula?” You asked and he nodded. He understood what that meant, even if he hadn’t understood what a whisk was.

He dug around in a drawer of utensils until he found one, handing it over to you as you slowly poured a decent amount of batter into the heated pan, listening to the sizzle. Steve made his way beside you and watched the way the batter began to form into a pancake.

“About last night-” Steve started but you didn’t let him get the rest of the sentence out.

“We don’t have to talk about it, Steve. It happened, it’s fine. Let’s just focus on the now, okay?”

He just nodded and watched as you lightly pressed the spatula underneath the crisping edge of the pancake, testing to see if it was ready to flip. It was, and as you shuffled it onto the spatula, you flipped it over into the pan.

Steve watched as you flipped several more before soon there was a plate stacked high with the pancakes. After they were done and there was no more batter, the two of you got to work on the eggs.

“Do you like sunny side up or scrambled?” you asked as you went to crack one in the pan, pausing as you waited for his answer.

“Scrambled.” He grabbed one of the pancakes from the plate and took a bite of it. You rolled your eyes and cracked the egg against the pan before you tossed the shell into the trash. You cracked a few more as Steve snacked on the pancake he’d stolen from the plate, watching over your shoulder.

You grabbed the spatula you’d previously used to flip the pancakes and began to stir the eggs in the pan, reaching for the salt and pepper grinders on the counter, adding a little of each before you went back to mixing, making sure that they didn’t stick to the pan. Steve had the fancy non-stick pans, the ones you could tell were expensive just by looking at them. His whole house was like that, filled to the brim with luxury items you’d never even dared to dream about owning.

“I’ll let you cook the bacon, okay?” You glanced over at him and he nodded as you dumped the scrambled eggs onto a plate, watching the steam rising from them with a hum. You stepped aside so that Steve could make the bacon, watching as he opened the package and laid the strips in the pan. They crackled and seared, oil and fat popping as they cooked, the smell filling the air. It reminded you of being a child, back when you could afford to slow down for a little bit, enjoy something as simple as breakfast without being worried about rushing out the door or what you needed to do next. Steve brought out a side of you that you’d long since buried. Little by little he was easing you into a new season of your life. Something less cold, a chance for you to bloom, to grow.

He ended up burning the bacon but that was okay, you liked it crispy anyways. Plates were made, sticky syrup falling off the edge of Steve’s as the two of you sat at the large oak dining table he had in the dining room. You could only imagine how isolating and lonely it had to be for him to eat alone at a table like this night after night. No wonder he was always inviting those kids over, or his friend Robin.

Steve didn’t do much talking as the two of you ate, too focused on shoving his face in a manner that had you slightly disgusted, handing him a napkin after a moment. He ate in that clumsy way most young men did, like they were worried someone was going to steal their food and they needed to finish it as soon as possible. If anyone else did it you’d be disgusted but you let it slide because it was Steve. Your Steve. It was still taking some getting used to.

You didn’t finish your whole plate, that same morning nausea you’d been experiencing quite frequently now that you were pregnant, hitting you.

“You not hungry?” Steve asked as he finished off his plate.

“I’m just- sorta nauseous.” You said with a small smile, moving your fork around your plate still. The couple of bites you did have tasted good, even the extremely burnt bacon that just sort of crumbled in your mouth.

Steve insisted on doing the dishes after breakfast, not wanting you to have to lift a finger. He hummed as he worked and you watched him from where you rested your elbows in the counter, forearms covered in soap and water as he scrubbed the dishes before putting them onto the drying rack.

“All done!” He exclaimed once he’d finished, smiling as he turned to face you.

“Did you wanna watch a movie? Or uh we could just talk, relax..” He shrugged, willing to do whatever you wanted to do.

“I should probably get home soon, I need to do some grocery shopping.” You said softly, trying to let Steve down easy. Even though you’d spent the whole night together, it didn’t seem to be enough for him.

“Oh can I come with you? Please?” He asked, wide eyed and eager. He wanted to go grocery shopping with you? He wanted to hang out with you so bad that he’d do something as mundane as shopping just to be around you?

“Sure, yeah you can come with.”

–

You quickly learned that Steve didn’t know his way around a grocery store. He followed behind you and the cart like a lost puppy, glancing around curiously. The store itself wasn’t that big but it was big enough that Steve looked a little stressed with how much stuff there was.

“What do you need to buy?” He asked as he followed after you, navigating through the aisles as you searched for what you needed.

“Just a few things. Milk, cereal, chicken, uh some veggies..” You paused in the cereal aisle, glancing over the choices. “What’s your favorite?” You asked, turning to look at him.

“Cereal? Oh I like cheerios, or frosted flakes.” He smiled, just happy to be with you, happy to be spending more time with you. It was soft in a way you’d never really allowed yourself to be. Steve was just full of softness.

After you’d picked out your cereal of choice and the rest of the items on your list, the two of you went to checkout. Steve helped grab everything as the two of you were checking out and as the cashier gave the total, he went to pull out his wallet.

“Steve- You aren’t paying for my groceries-”

“But I want to- It’s no trouble, really..” He already had the cash in hand, ready to hand it over to the cashier who glanced between the two of you curiously.

“Steve..” You started again but he just shook his head.

“I’m paying for it, end of conversation.” His words stunned you a little bit as you watched him hand the money over to the cashier who then quickly gave him his change and the receipt.

He insisted on carrying the grocery bags out to the car and you watched him as he walked in front of you, a small smile on your lips.

–

Suddenly it became a lot easier to hang around Steve, he slowly became your safe space, the person you could be yourself around. It was odd, it took a lot of getting used to.

You shared a few more intimate moments, most of them more for Steve than for you, a handjob, a blowjob… but there had been that one night that he’d begged on his knees to eat you out, and you’d let him. He’d gotten so worked up in the process of it that he’d come in his pants, making a sticky mess. His tongue had been wickedly good, it drove you nuts how good he was. You still didn’t allow the two of you to go all the way, for whatever reason you couldn’t bring yourself to actually have full on sex with him. It wasn’t that the idea disgusted you, the opposite in fact, but something about it made it seem too real in your eyes.

This all still scared you shitless, navigating this with Steve.

The baby continued to grow, as did your stomach. You were finally getting a bit more noticeably pregnant as time went on, your clothes starting to get tight in areas that they usually fit perfectly.

With the progression of your pregnancy came a whole new wave of hormones that had your emotions crazy. If Steve so much as looked at you the wrong way you were crying, or if you went out to eat and the restaurant was out of the food you’d intended on getting. It was rough, but Steve took it like a champ. Any time you’d snap at him he’d just take it instead of trying to get back at you.

Things were moving fast, weeks seeming to go by in the blink of an eye, Steve by your side the whole time.

—

He still hadn’t told anyone besides Robin about your pregnancy but he knew he needed to soon. He needed to tell his parents and he needed to tell the kids. He was a bit worried, but he’d figure it out. He always figured things out.

Telling the kids happened one late evening while they were over at his house watching a movie. Dustin, Lucas, Mike and Max. Max had been making herself scarce lately so Steve was surprised to see her when she’d shown up on his doorstep with the other kids earlier in the evening.

“So, guys…” Steve started, clearing his throat as he glanced around at the kids who all turned to him, exchanging confused and skeptical glances.

“I gotta tell you something…” Steve clasped his hands together, shifting a bit uncomfortably as he stared at the carpet, the stain from soda Dustin had spilled a few movie nights ago. He’d tried scrubbing it out but it had stained the fabric.

“Oh here we go..” Mike nudged Lucas and both of the boys chuckled softly. Dustin and Max seemed to be the only two curious about what he had to say.

“Remember that girl that’s been coming around? My friend?” He said your name softly and the kids nodded. They’d actually taken a quick liking to having you around, mostly because you kept Steve in check and they found it funny.

“Let me guess- You’re dating her.” Dustin spoke up, so sure that was what Steve was going to tell them.

“Yeah- well- no… It’s complicated, but that’s not what I was going to tell you guys.” Steve shook his head and Max elbowed Lucas when he started to giggle under his breath.

“Would you shut up? He’s trying to tell us something.” She scoffed.

“I’m having a baby.” He said finally.

“You’re pregnant?” Mike asked, brows furrowing.

“No I’m not pregnant, shit head… She is. My.. girlfriend.” He wasn’t sure if you’d like being referred to as his girlfriend, but he wasn’t sure what else to call you.

“When did you find out?” Dustin asked, eyes wide “I’m gonna be like- like an uncle! That’s so crazy!”

“She’s about to be eighteen weeks. So we should be able to tell the gender at the next appointment." Steve gave a nervous little smile as if these kids were going to judge him. The kids he’d taken under his wing, welcomed into his life, kept safe.

“Eighteen weeks?!” Dustin exclaimed, scooting over to slap Steve on the arm. “And you didn’t think to tell me? What the hell, not cool dude.” He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.

“She didn’t really want anyone to know yet! Robin was the only other one that knew-”

“Robin knew? Before me… That..” Dustin shook his head, mock offended or maybe truly offended that Steve who was like an older brother and best friend to him, hadn’t told him sooner.

“Can’t believe you, Steven..”

“Don’t call me that.”

Steve rolled his eyes, the rest of the evening with the kids progressing before they all biked home, leaving him by himself once more. He settled into bed, shifting around for a while before he settled. Soon he’d learn the gender of his little baby, your little baby… He was nervous, but so excited.

—

The two of you asked for the doctor to write the gender down on a piece of paper so that the two of you could get a small little cake made, a little gender reveal for just the two of you. It took everything in Steve’s power not to peek at the inside of the piece of paper before he handed it over to the baker at the small bakery they’d found right outside of Hawkins, known for their gender reveal cakes along with wedding cakes. Steve had been thinking about marriage a lot lately, but you didn’t seem all that interested in it so he didn’t bring it up.

Two long days later the cake was ready to be picked up. Steve drove to pick it up once he got off of work before bringing it to your place, holding the cake with one hand as he knocked with the other. He waited a few moments before you answered, giving him a small nervous smile. The cake was small, enough for two people to enjoy, like the size of one very large cupcake.

Steve took it out of the box, setting it on the counter, glancing at it. The frosting on the outside was white, along with some blue and pink sanding sugar sprinkled along the sides. It was simple, but perfect, just what you had wanted. Nothing too flashy, just something for the two of you.

Steve held the knife with shaky hands, glancing at you with wide eyes. “Are we ready to do this?” He asked, gesturing to the cake. You’d probably never be ready, but you wanted to know.

“Last guess, boy or girl?” You asked him, taking the knife from his hand, pressing it into the top of the cake but waiting to push down and cut through it.

“Girl.” Steve said softly, staring intently at the cake. “But I’ll be happy either way.”

Slowly, you sunk the knife down into the cake. The two of you looked away as you lifted it back up and cut down again before you managed to pull the piece away from the full cake, balancing it on the knife.

“You ready?” You asked and Steve hummed.

“1…2….3..” The two of you looked back towards the cake, revealing the soft pink frosting on the inside along with some baby pink sprinkles that spilled from the center.

“It’s a girl… Oh my god honey, we’re having a girl!” Steve shouted, lifting you off the ground once you’d set the knife down, spinning you around before he set you down, still hugging you tight. A lot of emotions ran through you at once. You thought you’d be more scared than you were, but you actually felt a sense of peace wash over you. You were having a baby girl with Steve Harrington. And he had just called you honey. That was new too.

This was really happening.

You picked up a piece of cake with your fingers, bringing it to Steve’s lips and he opened eagerly, taking a bite before you ate the rest, licking the frosting off of your fingers. It was one of the best cakes you’d ever tasted and the two of you ended up feeding the rest of it to each other playfully, Steve at one point smearing some of the frosting over your nose before licking it off, the two of you grinning.

It was perfect, magical even. So simple but everything you wanted it to be, a special private moment between you and Steve. No one judging, no one giving you their input on the situation.

As time went on, you grew more excited to welcome your sweet little baby girl. The next step was finding the perfect name for her, something that the two of you would agree on.

—

The phone call came to the Harrington household a week after you and Steve had found out the gender. He answered, stomach dropping to his toes as he heard his mother’s voice on the other end.

“Hi Steven, sweetheart! I was just giving you a call to let you know that me and your father are going to be coming back soon! We’re in New York right now for one of your father’s business meetings but then we’ll be back home! How’s the house?”

Steve took a few moments to reply, heart beating out of his chest. His parents were coming back soon… That would mean he’d really have no choice but to tell them.

“The house is good.. There’s uh… A little stain on the carpet in the living room though..” He knew that his mother would notice it the moment that she arrived home so it was better to tell her about it now so she had time to get over it.

“The carpet? Steven!” She sighed over the phone and he could practically see her shaking her head, her expensive hanging pearl earrings clinking as her head moved.

“It’s just a little spot. I tried to get it out but I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

“What have you been up to? Are you still working at Family Video?” His mother asked.

“Yeah, I got a raise.” Steve wanted his parents to be proud of him, but until he got a job with his father, he knew that they weren’t going to be happy with any career he had.

“You know, there’s still openings at the company with your father, Steven. It would be a really good career for you, an actual job to pay the bills, yes?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about it mom. When are you guys getting home?”

“Friday evening! We’re flying straight there. We can’t wait to see you! Oh, and your father says hi.”

Friday… It was currently Wednesday so that really only gave Steve a day and a half to come up with what he was going to say to them. To explain that he’d gotten a girl quite a bit older than him pregnant, that they were keeping it and… His stomach was in knots already.

“Okay, bye mom.”

“Bye Steven.” Steve hung the phone back up on the wall, groaning as he ran a hand down his face. He already knew that his parents weren’t going to take it well, but he really had no idea what was in store for him when they arrived home.

————

The nurse behind the desk began speaking in a calm, practiced tone, her voice steady in a way that felt almost jarring against the urgency building inside you. You tried to focus, forcing yourself to listen, nodding along as if you understood, but her words refused to come together. Instead, you caught fragments—directions, names, something about a hallway —but they slipped through your mind before you could piece them into anything coherent. You nodded one last time, even though you weren’t sure what you were agreeing to, and moved before she had even finished speaking, leaving her mid-sentence. Your body took over, carrying you forward as you tried to retrace what little you had understood, turning into a corridor, then another. Your gaze kept darting around, searching, desperate to catch sight of Robin’s familiar face. “Robin!” Your voice cut through the hallway when you recognized her light brown hair, louder than you intended, but you didn’t care. That was no time for manners or rules. 

She turned immediately. Vickie stood beside her in her scrubs, mid-conversation. Both of them went still the second they saw you, visibly in panic. You crossed the distance between you two steps at a time.

“Where’s — where's Steve?” you asked, your voice trembling. “I want to see him.”

Robin and Vickie exchanged a quick, concerned look. For a split second, it felt like you had interrupted something — like there was a conversation still hanging in the air between them, something unspoken that you weren’t part of. But you didn't have time to think about it.

Robin opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Vickie stepped in instead, her tone gentle, but controlled, professional in a way that immediately made you focus your attention on her. “They just took him into surgery,” she said. “The doctors said they couldn’t wait. They needed to operate right away,” she added. 

At first the words didn’t land. They echoed in your mind, hollow, distant, without making sense. When they finally did, it felt like the ground shifted beneath your feet. You breath caught somewhere in your throat while your heart began to pound harder, each beat almost painful. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

Surgery. 

When Robin had called you, there hadn’t been enough time for explanations. She had just told you to come. To hurry. And despite the urgency in her voice, you had thought it had been panic speaking. Fear. You had imagined something minor. Perhaps a stupid fall. Or a broken arm. Something you could brush off with a relieved laugh later. Not something serious as a surgery. The realization hit you all at once, like a slap you hadn’t seen coming. Disorienting. 

“What?” You only managed to say, your voice coming out thin, slowly, while your eyes filled with tears. “Why? No, no, I need to see him first. I have to—”

You moved before you could think, trying to get past them, your eyes locking onto the double doors behind them. But Robin caught you, her hands closing firmly around your arms, holding you in place. “Hey, hey, you can’t go in there,” she said, her voice low, steady. “We need to let the doctors work. It’s — he’s going to be fine.” But she didn’t seem convinced. 

You looked back at the two girls in front of you, their mouths opening and closing repeatedly. Words reached you in fragments, muffled and distorted while your gaze stayed fixed on the doors behind them. Your heart was pounding so loud that it drowned everything else out. Each word was worse than the last. You felt a sharp pain in your chest and swallowed, hard, slowly. It was like you had something stuck in your throat.  

“Broken ribs… head trauma… internal bleeding…”

You didn't have to be a doctor or a nurse to know that none of this was good. Steve’s conditions were critical.

The pain hit you so hard that for a moment it felt like you were the one lying on the operating table. Like the pain had settled inside your own body instead of Steve. Then, reality forced its way back in. It wasn’t you. It was Steve. And he was the one in there. Hurt. Bleeding. Maybe even dying. The thought hit you so suddenly it knocked the air out of your lungs.

What if he didn’t make it?

What if you were too late?

Your throat tightened painfully, your breathing turning shallow, uneven. A wave of nausea rose in your stomach, your vision blurring at the edges with tears. Pushing him away had been one thing. But losing him was unbearable. 

No, no, no, that couldn’t happen, you wanted to scream but nothing came out of your mouth. 

Your chest constricted, panic creeping in, sharp and suffocating. You tried to breathe, but it felt like your lungs weren’t working properly, gasping for air. Your legs started to give out, your body suddenly too heavy to hold itself upright. You barely registered Robin’s voice calling your name before your balance gave way. Hands caught you — Nancy’s, steady and firm — guiding you before you could fully collapse to the floor.

“Hey — easy, easy…”

The world tilted for a second as she helped you sit down on one of the plastic chairs lining the wall. The cold surface pressed against the back of your legs, making you tremble. You leaned forward slightly as you tried to steady your breath, squeezing your eyes.

Minutes passed. You couldn’t tell how much. A paper cup was pressed into your hands, forcing you to open your eyes. You hadn’t even noticed someone leaving to get it. Your fingers tightened around it instinctively, holding onto the heat like it was the only solid thing in the room. For a moment, you looked down at it, your vision slowly clearing. You inhaled and exhaled deeply, gradually lifting your gaze. 

Vickie stood in front of you, while Robin and Nancy sat on either side, looking at you, concerned, unsure. 

You swallowed slowly, searching for words. 

“How… how did it happen?” you asked quietly, your voice distant, like it didn’t quite belong to you.

Vickie hesitated. Her eyes flickered to Robin for a brief second before returning to you. “I don’t have all the details,” she said carefully, controlled, “but from what the paramedics reported, it was a car accident.”

The words settled slowly.

A car accident.

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening around the cup.

Then, you frowned your eyebrows. That didn’t make sense. 

“What? A car accident?” you repeated, shaking your head faintly. “It can’t be. Steve is a great driver. Always careful. He’s the one who taught me how to drive.”

Memories flashed through your mind — his voice, patient but firm, while correcting you, his hand grabbing the wheel at the last second, the way he had laughed afterward, reassuring you. 

Your eyes drifted to the clock on the wall, the ticking second hand unnaturally loud in the silence. Almost 2 a.m. Based on when Robin had called you, the accident must have happened hours after Steve left Nancy’s place. 

Go home, Steve, you had said to him more than once during your discussion.

What if he hadn’t gone?

Your stomach twisted.

Where had he gone then?

A thought crept in before you could stop it.

Had he been drinking?

You shook your head immediately, rejecting it. Steve wasn’t reckless and he would never have driven while drunk. Not the same Steve who insisted on picking you up after nights out with the girls so you wouldn’t drive. The same Steve who would rather call a cab than take any risk after a date night with you and one too many drinks. But what if he had been so upset not to care about? Even though you trusted his driving skills, you knew alcohol could cloud the mind of even the best driver.

Your chest tightened as another thought crossed your mind. If he had been drinking, it wasn't hard to imagine why. Your last conversation. You had been the one pushing him into it. You swallowed hard, trying to force the thought away, but it clung to you anyway, heavy and suffocating.

Vickie’s voice pulled you back to the present. “Actually, he wasn’t—”

Robin coughed, stopping her mid-sentence. Vickie’s eyes flicked to her, her posture stiffening almost imperceptibly.

“What, Vickie?” you pressed, your voice thin with impatience, your gaze fixed on her. 

She looked back at you, straightening slightly as she cleared her throat. “Sorry — I mean — it seems like he —” she started again, uncertain, like she was afraid of saying the wrong thing. She cleared her throat again before continuing, more firmly this time. “It seems like the car lost traction because of the rain. The road was really slick. The car spun out, hit the roadside barrier… and the impact caused it to flip.”

The words settled heavily in the space between you. You closed your eyes and pictured it, filling your mind with images of the accident — headlights cutting through the rain, tires slipping, the sudden loss of control. You shook your head as if you could push those images away. Then, you frowned again, slightly. It still didn’t make sense. Steve had driven in worse conditions. You had seen it — how steady his hands were on the wheel, how instinctive his reactions could be. Unless he…

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening around the cup. “Was —” you started, your voice faltering slightly before you forced the words out, “was he drunk?”

Vickie didn’t answer immediately, the question hanging in the air as the silence filled the room for a few seconds. She squeezed her eyes, sighing deeply before opening them again.  “His blood tests showed his alcohol level was above the legal limit.” 

Her tone was clinical. Almost impersonal. As if she wasn’t telling you that Steve had gotten behind the wheel drunk, putting his own life and the lives of others in danger. As if she wasn’t describing the thing that might have put him on that operating table. 

You had suspected it. Still, hearing it out loud felt like a blow, sharp and heavy, knocking the air from your lungs. “Oh my God,” you breathed.

Your fingers trembled slightly against the paper cup, the coffee still untouched. You placed it on the table in front of you before it could spill. Then you pushed yourself to your feet, your hands coming up to your hair, tangling into it as you pressed your palms against your head.

“Wait, it wasn’t —” Vickie started.

“Vickie!” Robin warned, her voice low but sharp.

Vickie hesitated, glancing at her, clearly torn. “But I — Robin, she deserves to know,” she insisted quietly. “I’m sorry, but—”

Robin’s voice cut in immediately, firmer this time. “Vickie, stop! I think you’ve said —”

“Robin,” you interrupted, your voice strained but steady enough to stop them both. “It’s okay. I was the one who asked. She just told me the truth.”

You sank back down onto the chair, the strength draining out of your body all at once. Your elbows rested on your knees as your hands slid down to cover your face, fingers pressing against your temples.

You didn’t see the look Robin shot Vickie — tense, warning, almost accusatory. 

But Nancy did. Her eyes moved between the two of them, observant, suspicious, noticing something that she didn’t fully understand yet. Something neither of them was saying.

 -

Time passed differently in the waiting room. Slower. Each minute stretched until it felt like two, then three. The clock on the wall ticked forward with a cruel, indifferent rhythm, marking time that refused to move fast enough.

One.

Two.

Almost three hours passed.

Vickie had spent most of it moving back and forth between the waiting area and the operating floor, disappearing through the double doors only to return a few minutes later with the same answer every time.

“They’re still operating.”

“There is no updates.”

Words that meant nothing and everything all at once. Still operating meant he was alive and no update was better than bad news. That was the thing you held onto. Because the alternative… You couldn’t even let your mind go there.

At some point, Eddie and Jonathan had arrived, their presence filling the room with a different kind of tension. Dustin had been called too and he would be there soon, while the other kids were waiting for updates. Robin and Nancy were still by your side, trying to reassure you with words and hugs but everything felt distant. Muted. Like you were watching it happen from somewhere outside your own body. 

When the doors opened, suddenly, every head in the room snapped toward them. A man stepped out, still dressed in surgical scrubs, a cap loosely tied at the back of his head, a mask hanging undone around his neck. You were already on your feet before you realized you had moved. Everyone else followed. Hope and fear collided violently in your chest as he approached, your heart pounding so hard it made it difficult to think. Your first instinct was to speak and ask, demanding the answers you had been waiting for the last three hours. But the words died in your throat before you could give them voice. Because asking meant hearing the answer and you weren’t sure you were ready for it. So you stayed silent, just for a second longer, postponing the inevitable. 

The surgeon’s gaze moved across the group, assessing, searching. His eyes lingered briefly on each face, as if trying to piece together who was who, who was the person he was looking for. When they settled on you, he stepped closer.

“Are you Mrs. Harrington?”

Your breath caught in your throat. It was such a simple question. One you had answered countless times before, without hesitation, always with pride. And yet, in that moment, you didn’t know what to say. Legally, yes, you still were. As well as in the eyes of the Church and everyone else. Even the wedding ring on your finger seemed to say the same. But you had left Steve. Your husband. Just a week ago, you had walked away and were no longer living with him since then. You had even told him to find another woman and to move on. Could you still consider yourself his wife? After everything you had done and said? If not, what were you? You hated the idea that you could be anything other than his wife. 

Your throat tightened as your fingers instinctively curled slightly, the metal of the ring pressing faintly against your skin, reminding you who you were. You swallowed. Then, you finally nodded. “Yes,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended, as if you were convincing yourself as much as him. “I am his wife,” you continued, louder this time. “How is my husband?” you asked after a moment of hesitation.

The surgeon held your gaze, his expression giving nothing away. “Mrs. Harrington, your husband is stable for now. We were able to stop the internal bleeding caused by the head trauma,” he said, his tone calm but measured.

Something inside your chest loosened all at once. Air rushed back into your lungs in a sharp inhale you hadn’t realized you were holding. Beside you, you heard a burst of relieved voices — Eddie, Robin — something like a quiet cheer breaking through the tension. Nancy’s hand came to rest gently on your shoulder, exhaling, relieved. Relief flooded you, partially, while your gaze stayed fixed on the doctor, still expecting the worst.  

He cleared his throat slightly. “However, he is not out of danger yet. He also sustained multiple fractures and the next few hours will be critical.”

The fragile sense of relief shifted, tightening again into something more cautious, more restrained 

“For now, we’ve placed him in a medically induced coma,” the doctor went on. “It will allow his body to rest and prevent further strain while he recovers.”

Your brows pulled together slightly. “A coma?” you asked, louder than you had intended. “For how long?”

“At least until we’re confident he’s no longer at immediate risk,” he replied. “And until his body is strong enough to handle being brought out of it. If everything goes well… a couple of days.”

You nodded slowly, processing. “And until then… we just wait?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Harrington. We monitor his condition closely and hope no complications arise. The first hours after surgery are the most delicate. There is always a risk of infection or further issues.”

The words echoed in your mind — coma, complications, — dulling the brief relief you had felt only seconds before. Steve was stable, yet still not out of danger. The two things didn’t seem to belong together. It felt like a contradiction you couldn’t quite reconcile, as if he were still on the operating table, suspended between life and death, while you were left waiting on the outside, powerless.

You swallowed, your throat dry, sore. “Can… Can I see him?” you asked, your voice trembling despite the effort to control it. 

The question almost made you laugh. For the last week, you had done everything you could to avoid Steve. Not to see him. Just hours ago, you hadn’t even been able to hold his gaze without feeling the urge to turn away. And now you were asking — begging — to be able to see him. 

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides, nails pressing into your palms so hard that it hurt you.

You remembered the hurt look he had when you asked him to leave only a few hours ago. The disbelief in his eyes. The pain. 

Was life giving you exactly what you had wished for? Or was punishing you for what you had done to him? 

A quiet realization settled in your chest, heavy and undeniable. You had thought you could live without Steve. And you could, of course, you could. But was that what you really wanted? You weren’t so sure anymore. The doctor studied you for a brief moment, almost assessing whether you were ready for what you were asking. Then he nodded. “Of course. But I have to warn you, Mrs. Harrington. It won’t be pleasant.”

You nodded again, almost automatically, your mind already racing ahead, trying to prepare yourself for what you were about to see. 

-

Someone once said that nothing could truly prepare you for reality. You could imagine it a thousand times, build the scene in your mind down to the smallest detail, convince yourself you were ready—but when it finally stood in front of you, real and unavoidable, it was never the same.

Sometimes, it could be even worse. So much worse. They had been right. Nothing could have prepared you for this. 

Steve lay motionless in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines, wires attached to his skin and tubes doing the work his body could no longer do on its own. The steady hum of the machines was the only sound filling the space. 

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, your vision already blurring as your eyes filled with tears.

Behind you, the door clicked shut as the nurse quietly stepped out, leaving you alone. 

You didn’t move at first, as if you were afraid of disturbing. Then, slowly, you stepped closer. Your gaze moved over him, hesitant at first, as if you weren’t sure you wanted to see. You paused, closing your eyes for a few seconds. Then you opened them again and forced yourself to look at his face. Your breath caught. For a second, you barely recognized him. His head was wrapped in bandages, stark white against his skin, hiding most of his hair. Dark bruises spread unevenly across his face. There were cuts along his cheekbone and near his lip. His left leg was secured in a cast beneath the blanket. 

He didn’t look like Steve. Your Steve. Not the one who smiled at you from across a crowded hallway. Not the one who found excuses to pull you close, even in public, just to feel you there. Not the one who spent his afternoons teaching kids how to hold a baseball bat. 

Your hand lifted slowly, almost uncertainly, before coming to rest against his cheek. Your fingers brushed lightly over his skin, careful, as if he might break under the slightest pressure. Then you took his hand in yours. It was warm despite all, reassuring. You tightened your grip just slightly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles, as if you could keep him from slipping any further away.

“I’m here,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if the words were for him or for yourself.

Silence followed. You stood there, holding him, your breathing uneven, your chest tight with everything you were trying to hold back. 

Until you couldn’t anymore. 

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of it. The words came out sharper than you intended, trembling with something that wasn’t quite anger, not completely. 

“I told you to go home, Steve,” you went on, repeating the same words you had told him only a few yours earlier. Your grip tightened even more around his hand. “You were supposed to go home. You should have just…” your voice faltered, breaking. “…you should have listened.” You dragged the back of your free hand across your face, but the tears kept coming, slipping past your fingers, hot and relentless.

Part of you was angry with him. For getting behind the wheel after drinking. For driving in the middle of a storm like it didn’t matter. For putting himself at risk like that. 

But more than anything you were angry at yourself.

Your mind kept going back to earlier that night. To your argument. To the way he had stood in front of you, refusing to walk away, begging you to talk, to fix things. You couldn't help but think about how things might have turned out if he had stayed

If you hadn't told him to leave.

Your shoulders trembled as your grip on his hand tightened again, the tears streaming down your face.

If he hadn’t left, he wouldn’t have been on the road, under the rain, drunk. 

And if he hadn’t been on the road… 

Your breath hitched. 

He wouldn’t be here. In an hospital room. 

It’s your fault, the voice inside your mind kept whispering, each time louder, insistent. 

The thought hit hard, breaking through whatever control you had left.

For the first time since Robin’s call, you finally let yourself fall apart. Completely. A sob tore through your chest before you could stop it, your body folding in on itself as you allowed the tears come, unstoppable, violent.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered through the sobs, the words barely audible, your breathing uneven and sharp. “I’m so sorry…”

You sank into the chair beside the bed, your hands covering your face as your shoulders shook. The quiet of the room made every sound feel louder, every breath heavier. Then, slowly, you reached for him again, needing the contact. Your fingers closed around his hand once more, holding on tighter this time, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“I’m here, Steve,” you said, your voice trembling but softer now, more desperate than anything else. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your thumb moved absentmindedly over his skin, tracing slow, repetitive motions. “Please… come back to me.”

Your eyes dropped to your joined hands, your vision blurring again as a memory surfaced. Steve’s voice and then yours echoed in your mind.

Come home with me, babe, please. 

Go home, Steve. 

“Let’s go home,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you leaned forward slightly. “We’ll go home together, okay? Just — Just come back to me, please.”

You shifted closer, your chair scraping softly against the floor. Your free hand came up, hesitating for only a second before gently brushing against the side of his face, careful of the bandages.

I’m not giving up. We’re going to talk about this again, he had said. 

“You still wanted to talk, remember?” you said, your voice fragile as you leaned in further, your forehead coming to rest lightly against his, careful not to disturb him. “You said we weren’t done. That we needed to talk about it again.”

Your fingers tightened around his hand.

“So come back,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, your lips close enough that your breath brushed against his skin. “Let’s talk. I want to talk now. Argue with me, Steve. Yell at me, please.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, falling between you.

I’m not leaving you, his voice echoed in your mind, steady, certain.

“Don’t leave me, Steve,” you whispered again, your eyes closing as you stayed there, forehead pressed gently to his. “Please… don’t give up.”

-

You kept your head lowered as you quickly walked through the hallways of the hospital, your hair still slightly damp from the shower, feeling fresh and rested.  

You hadn’t wanted to leave Steve, but Robin and Nancy had repeatedly insisted, telling you that you needed to take care of yourself too if you wanted to be there for him. That staying all day in the same clothes, without rest, wouldn’t help anyone. They were right. You knew that. Still, you had shaken your head, over and over again, resolute. 

“I’m not leaving him,” you had said. “What if something happens and I’m not here?”

You hadn’t even known what you meant by that. Not really. Steve was in a coma and the doctors had been clear that that wouldn’t change for now. But yet he wasn’t out of danger. And that could mean that anything could still happen. As if the moment you stepped away, something would happen. The thought had been enough to keep you glued to your chair beside his bed, unable to step away, your eyes constantly drawn back to him, searching for even the slightest change. 

But beneath that fear, something else lingered. 

Guilt.

The idea of leaving him — even for a second — felt wrong. Like repeating the same mistake all over again. Like you already had done. You could still see the pain and the confusion in Steve’s eyes when you had left him. You didn't want it to happen again. 

In the end, Robin and Nancy had convinced you, promising you that one of them would stay there the entire time and that if anything changed, they would call you immediately. So you had agreed, still reluctantly.

An hour later you were already on your way back, your pace quickening as you moved down the corridor, toward Steve’s room, your mind already with him. You forced a small, polite smile as you approached the nurses’ station, acknowledging the already familiar faces behind the desk. They returned it, but there was something in their expressions — pity, recognition — that made your chest tighten. You looked away almost immediately, focusing on the hallway ahead, and kept walking. 

“Is it true what they’re saying? That the husband wasn’t alone?”

Your body moved another step forward before your mind caught up and pulled you to a stop. Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion settling in. For a second, you thought you had misheard. Or that whoever had spoken had gotten it wrong. Vickie hadn't mentioned anyone else when you had asked her about the accident. Your thoughts raced back, replaying the conversation over and over again, searching for something you might have missed. But there was nothing.

Maybe she was talking about someone else, you thought. Another patient. 

Still, without really thinking about it, you slowed, then stopped just past the corner of the wall. You shifted slightly, leaning back just enough to stay out of direct sight, your shoulder brushing against the cool surface.

“Shh, she might hear you,” another voice murmured, though not quietly enough.

You held your breath instinctively, as if the smallest sound might give you away.

“But yes,” the second woman continued, quieter but clear enough for you to hear what she was saying. “From what I heard, it seems that he and the girl were in the car together at the time of the accident.”

Your stomach dropped and your body went completely still. For a few seconds, you didn’t think of anything. Then, your mind started racing, fast, continuously. 

A girl? 

The nurse’s words echoed, disorienting, intrusive. Confusion settled in again, heavier this time. Why would Steve be in a car with a woman? Your mind kept scrambling for something — anything— that could make it make sense. Maybe he had helped her. Maybe she had needed a ride, you tried to convince yourself. 

“Wait… the young one? The blonde with the broken arm?” a third voice chimed in.

Your fingers curled slightly against your sides. 

A few seconds passed and nobody replied, silence filling the room as you pictured it — the exchanged look, the silent, slow nod.

Your breath caught in your throat while your heart started pounding harder. 

“And apparently, he was completely drunk,” another voice added. “Tests showed high levels of alcohol in his blood.” “Oh my God… That poor woman,” someone said, soft, almost sympathetic. “It’s awful. Can you imagine? Finding out something like that while your husband’s in surgery?”

Your chest tightened. You felt it before you understood it — a slow, sinking feeling, heavy and cold.

“Finding out what?” Someone else asked, uncertain.

A small pause. Then, lower, but clear enough, the first woman spoke again. “I mean… come on. A married man, drunk, in a car with another woman in the middle of the night?” A faint exhale. “I think it’s pretty obvious what happened.” She paused for a brief moment. “He was cheating on his wife with her.” 

A married man. Another woman. He was cheating. 

The words landed hard, hitting you like a slap, painful, sudden, knocking the air out of your lungs. You swallowed hard as a wave of dizziness washed over you. Your hand came up instinctively, pressing against the wall beside you to steady yourself as your knees threatened to give out. 

No. That couldn’t be right, you thought. They didn’t know what they were talking about. They didn’t know him. He — your Steve — would never do that. Not him. Not to you. Not after the way he had begged you just a few hours earlier. Not after what he had said. 

I’m not done… We’re not done, he had said. 

Then your own voice echoed in your mind, replaying your words, loud.  

You’ll find someone else. 

What if he had listened to you? 

You swallowed again, slowly this time. Then you shook your head quickly, almost sharply, as if you could physically push the thought away.

“Okay, girls, that’s enough,” a firmer voice cut in, putting an end to the conversation. “This isn’t any of our business. Back to work. Now.”

You pushed yourself away from the wall, your hands falling back to your side, your fingers trembling slightly. Your heart was racing, your thoughts scattered, trying to make sense of everything. Vickie’s words. What you had just heard. What you knew. Or what you thought you knew. 

The pieces didn’t fit together. They didn’t make sense. 

Something was missing.

Eventually you forced your feet to move before the nurses could see you. At first slowly, then faster, your pace quickening with each step as urgency took over. The last thing you needed was to see the their sorry and pitying looks if they saw you there. 

What you needed were answers. 

You stopped in front of Steve’s door, your heartbeat loud in your ears, your hand resting on the handle. For a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Nancy and Robin’s voices came from the other side — low, hushed, their words blending together, too muffled to make out. Your grip tightened slightly on the handle. Then, before you could think too much about it, you pushed the door open.

Robin and Nancy, sitting on the couch, turned toward you at the same time, both going still for half a second before standing up. For a moment, you thought you had interrupted something. 

“Hey —” Robin said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re back already. You didn’t have to rush.”

You didn’t reply immediately, the nurses’ voices still echoing in your mind, insistent, repetitive. Your hand came up briefly to scratch the side of your head, a distracted gesture, your gaze instinctively flicking toward Steve’s bed before settling back on Robin.

“Yeah… I know,” you said eventually, quietly, stepping into the room. You hesitated a few seconds before continuing. “Have you seen Vickie? Do you know where she is?”

Robin froze, subtle, just for a brief moment, but long enough to catch it — the way her expression faltered before she forced it back into something neutral. “Ehm… I think she went home,” she said, uncertain, louder. Her fingers fidgeted at her sides. “You know… night shift and everything. Why?” she added, trying for casual. 

You hesitated, holding her gaze. “I need to ask her something about the accident.”

“Oh.” Robin managed to say, exchanging a quick look with Nancy. “Right. But — she already told you everything she knew, I think.”

She seemed nervous, as if she wasn't convinced by her own words either. Something in her tone didn’t sit right. 

Vickie probably should have known. She was in the hospital when the ambulance had taken Steve in. She was the one who notified Robin when she couldn't reach you.

You let out a short breath, almost a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Did she? Are you sure?” you said, crossing your arms, your voice sharper now. You tilted your head slightly as you looked at her, your eyebrows furrowed. “Because the nurses outside seem to think there’s more to it.”

The room went still for a few seconds. Then, your voice rose despite yourself, tension bleeding into every word. “They were just talking about Steve being in the car with someone,” you continued. Your throat tightened, but you pushed through it. “A girl.” The last word came out strained, your voice cracking under the weight of it. Its implication. 

You swallowed slowly. “But it must be a mistake, right?” You said, trying to convince yourself more. “Because otherwise Vickie would have told me. She would have told me if my husband had been in the car with someone else. Right?”

Silence followed. Heavy. Deafening. Robin opened and closed her mouth, as if she wasn’t sure what to say. Her shoulders tensed, her hands restless, her eyes flickering anywhere but at you. Nancy’s gaze dropped to the floor. As you looked from one to the other, pieces started falling into place. The way Robin had repeatedly cut Vickie off. Her hesitation. The tense looks they had exchanged. How Robin and Nancy didn’t seem surprised by your words. 

Someone cold settled in your stomach, your breath hitching. 

“You — you knew,” you said, almost to yourself, your voice wavering. 

Robin exhaled, hey eyes closed, her shoulders lowering just slightly. “Oh my God. You knew, Robin,” you repeated, louder. Your gaze shifted to Nancy, your expression tightening. “And you did too.” A hollow, disbelieving breath left you, your eyes burning as they moved between the two of them. “Of course you knew,” you added, looking at Robin again, a bitter edge creeping in. “Vickie told you, didn’t she?”

Robin nodded after a moment, silent, the confirmation landing heavier than you expected. 

Suddenly you felt so stupid. It seemed like everyone — Robin, Nancy, Vickie, the nurses and who knows who else — knew except you. Your hands came up to your head, fingers pressing against your temples as if you could physically slow your thoughts. 

“And you didn’t think I deserved to know?” you asked in disbelief. 

Robin took a hesitant step toward you, stopping midway.

“No — I mean, yes — Of course you deserved to know,” she rushed out, words tripping over each other. “Listen, it’s not what it looks like, I swear. We — It was my idea not to say anything, okay?” She finally admitted, her voice softer, more careful now, though still unsteady. “Vickie didn’t agree with me but I still asked her to keep it from you. And Nancy—Nancy didn’t know, not until a few minutes ago when I told her. She had just realized that something was wrong.” She sighed. “I just — I didn’t know how to tell you. They had just taken Steve into surgery, everything was — it was chaos. We didn’t know if he was going to be okay. And you…” She paused, her gaze softening for a moment. “You were already dealing with so much. I didn’t want to make it worse… And add more pain without knowing the full story,” she said. 

You let out a hollow breath, shaking your head faintly, exhausted. “The full story? He was in a car with another woman, Robin. At night. Drunk.”

“That doesn’t automatically mean—”

“What?” you cut in, you tone cold. “That my husband cheated on me? Because nurses think so.”

The words hung there, real, heavy. It was the first time that you said them out loud. But they didn’t seem real to you. None of that made sense. 

Some images began to pass through your mind, quick, impossible to stop. A girl. Blonde, young, as the nurse had said. You could see them, clearly. Steve with her, laughing, leaning too close — the kind of careless intimacy that came easily after a few drinks. The same you had shared so many times, back when everything between you had felt simple. Your stomach twisted as the images kept coming, uninvited and relentless. The two of them in the car, the space too close, the windows fogged up by the humidity, the air thick with alcohol and something else. Her hands where they didn’t belong, reclaiming something that once had been yours. His mouth on hers, leaving marks. You swallowed hard, nausea rising suddenly in your throat. Maybe one of them had suggested going somewhere else — somewhere more private, comfortable — and then they had left together. Maybe they had been going to her home when they got into the accident. Your head shook suddenly, sharper this time, as if you could force the thoughts out. You pressed your lips together, biting down just enough to keep them from trembling. Your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

Robin ran a hand through her hair, visibly tense, conflicted. “Look, I know how it sounds,” she admitted. “I do. But all we know is where and who Steve was with at the time of the accident.” 

You didn’t respond. Because part of you thought that it was enough. 

“Those are the facts, okay?” She went on, more grounded now. “He got drunk. He got into the car with a girl. And then there was an accident.” She held your gaze. “Everything else — why he was with her, what happened before — are just assumptions. Stupid, cruel gossip among nurses. You can’t really listen to them.”

You let out a quiet, bitter breath, looking away for a second.

“What I’m trying to say is that anything could have happened.” She paused. “Listen, I know you and Steve are going through a tough time right now. And now this. It’s a lot to take in. I get why your mind is going there, anyone would considering the circumstances. But this is Steve we’re talking about,” she said, softer. 

That made you look back at her.

“And whatever is happening between you doesn’t erase who he is. Or how much he loves you,” she added, firmly this time.  “He would never do something like that. Not to you.”

Your gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the bed. Toward Steve. It seemed like he was simply sleeping. Peacefully. Oblivious to everything that was happening around him. Your jaw tightened, your eyes filling with tears.  Robin took another small step closer, her voice softer again. “Don’t jump to conclusions,” she said. “Give him the benefit of the doubt. The chance to explain. I think he deserved it. And you too.”

The room sinked into a heavy, suspended silence, thick enough to press against your chest. Your head was spinning, your thoughts coming one after another, too fast to hold onto. Your gaze lingered on Steve, the steady rhythm of the monitor the only sound grounding you in reality.

“Even if he did, I couldn't blame him.” Your voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it still cut clean through the silence.

Robin frowned faintly, confused.

You swallowed, your eyes still fixed on Steve as the tears threatened to escape. “I mean, it would still be terrible." You sniffed. "It — it would actually suck.” You took a long breath as if you were preparing to confess something unforgivable. “But I’m the one who told him he could. So technically it probably wouldn't even be cheating.”

Your gaze dropped for a second, embarrassed by your own words, before you let out a short, shaky laugh that didn’t hold any real amusement. “I practically gave him permission, Robin,” you went on, faster now, like if you stopped you wouldn’t be able to start again. “I left him. Our home. And I told him to move on. To find someone else.” Your voice broke slightly, but you pushed through it. “What if he did?” you said, the words tumbling over each other now. “What if he actually listened to me?” 

Your eyes flicked back to Steve, desperate, searching for any kind of confirmation of what he had done or not. “What if I’ve already lost him?” Your breath hitched, your chest tightening painfully.“It would be my fault,” you whispered, shaking your head faintly. “I pushed him away.” Your voice dropped even lower, barely above a breath. “And now he’s here, injured, fighting for his life and… I could lose him, Robin.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. “And I don’t — I can’t,” you murmured, more confession than statement. “I can’t lose him. Not again. Not — not him.”

Your breathing grew uneven, shallow, your chest rising and falling too quickly as everything caught up with you all at once. Tears blurred your vision, spilling over before you could hold them back. You covered your face with your hands.

“Hey— hey, easy,” Nancy’s voice cut in, closer now.

Warm hands took hold of your arms, steady but firm, guiding you back until you felt the couch behind your legs. She gently pushed you down, sitting you beside her.

“Sit. Breathe,” she said, her tone calm but insistent. “You’re okay. Just breathe. Robin, go get her a glass of water.”

You barely registered Robin moving away, only catching the sound of her footsteps leaving the room. Your hands trembled slightly as you tried to follow Nancy’s voice telling you to keep breathe through your nose, one hand resting reassuringly on your back. You closed your eyes, hoping it would help. Slowly, the tightness in your chest loosened just enough to let air in properly. You opened your eyes again, the room coming back into focus in fragments — Steve’s bed in front of you, the lights too bright, Nancy’s concerned face staring at you. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay present. You couldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not now. Despite everything, Steve needed you. After a few minutes, your breathing began to steady. The tears slowed, though your eyes still burned. Robin reappeared, placing a glass of water in your hands. You smiled at her as your fingers curled around it. You took a small sip, then another, grateful for something to hold onto, something to do. 

“I’m sorry,” you said eventually, your voice quiet, worn out. You didn’t look at either of them at first, the words directed more into the space between you. Then your eyes lifted to Robin. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Robin shook her head immediately. 

“It’s just been…” you trailed off, not quite finishing the sentence.

“A lot?” Robin offered, a small, understanding smile tugging at her lips. 

You let out a faint, tired huff of a laugh.

“Your husband got into an accident and is in a coma. I think you’re more than entitled to lose it a little,” Robin went on. 

That pulled a weak smile from you. “Yeah… I guess.” You exhaled, your shoulders dropping slightly, some of the tension leaving your body. “Thank you,” you said softly, your gaze flickering between them. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”

Robin gave you a small, warm smile and the room grown quiet again. Not the tense, sharp kind of silence from before, but something softer — fragile, almost careful, as if none of you wanted to disturb what little balance had been restored. Your hands were still loosely wrapped around the now half-empty glass of water, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim. Across from you, Steve lay in the hospital bed, you eyes fixed on the steady rise and fall of his chest. As you stared at him, a thought crossed your mind, circling quietly at the edges, growing louder the more you tried to ignore it. Until you couldn’t anymore. 

Your grip tightened slightly around the glass before you spoke. “The girl…” Your voice came out softer than you expected, hesitant.

Nancy and Robin both turned toward you at the same time, a concerned look on their faces. 

You swallowed, your gaze dropping briefly to your hands before lifting again.  “Is she… is she still here?” you asked. “I heard the nurses say she broke her arm.”

For a split second, Robin’s eyes flicked toward Nancy, like she was silently asking her for permission to answer. Nancy didn’t say anything, just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, allowing Robin to look back at you. “No,” she said gently. “Vickie told me she was already discharged.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Then, another thought slipped in before you could stop it, your grip on the glass tightening just a little more. For a moment, you hesitated, considering to leave it there. But the questions kept stacking up, one on top of the other, until they felt impossible to ignore, suffocating you. 

Your lips parted again. “What… what’s her name?”

Robin sighed, hesitant. “Kirsten,” she said eventually. “That’s her name.”

“Kirsten,” you repeated quietly, almost under your breath. 

The name didn’t ring a bell, didn’t stir any memory. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t mean something to Steve, the thought settling uncomfortably in your chest, unwelcome. You pressed your lips together briefly, swallowing before asking the next question. “Do you… do you know her?” you asked, glancing from Nancy to Robin. “Either of you?”

They both shook their heads almost immediately. 

“Never heard of her,” Robin added, firmly.

You nodded, your gaze drifting back to Steve for a moment before forcing yourself to look at her again. “And Steve…” you started, your voice quieter now. “Has he ever mentioned her? To you?” 

You hated what you were implying. A flicker of shame passed through you, quick but sharp. Steve had never given you a reason to doubt him. Not once. And yet you were there now insinuating that he might have been having an affair up until that point. That he had lied to you.

Robin’s reaction was immediate but to you it seemed like minutes had passed before she answered. “What? Why would he — no. No, absolutely not,” she said, shaking her head without hesitation, resolute. “You're the only one he talks to me about. Or complains about those few times.” A smirked grin on her face. 

You studied her for a moment, as if trying to find any sign of uncertainty but you couldn’t find any.

She moved on the couch, approaching you. Her expression softened, more serious now. 

“Hey,” she said gently. “I know I might sound biased because he’s my best friend.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “But you’re my friend too,” she went on. “And I wouldn’t cover for him. Not for something like that. Ever.” Her voice steadied, firmer now. “If Steve had done something like that—” she stopped herself, exhaling softly, shaking her head. “God, I can’t even finish that sentence, that’s how unlikely it is.” She looked at you, holding your gaze. “But if he had… or if I even suspected it, I wouldn’t protect him and lie to you. Never.”

The certainty in her voice left no room for doubt. You nodded slowly, your gaze dropping for a moment as her words settled.

“Listen,” Nancy started saying, leaning forward slightly, her hands loosely clasped together. “If you want, Robin and I could,” she hesitated. “We could look into it a little. Ask around. And try to figure out where Steve was before the accident, what they — what he was doing… things like that.”

You looked at her, confused. 

“Investigate, basically,” Robin added, a little more bluntly. 

Nancy shot her a look, but didn’t deny it. “Only if you want to,” she said, turning her gaze back to you. “If it can make you feel better. At least until Steve wakes up.”

Your eyes flickered to Steve, following the steady rhythm of his breathing as you considered Nancy's proposal. Then, Robin’s voice started echoing faintly in your mind. You exhaled slowly, your shoulders dropping just a fraction. “No,” you said quietly, shaking your head, your gaze lingering on Steve’s bed.

Nancy’s brows knit together slightly, surprised.

“I can wait,” you added, more firmly. “Robin’s right.” Your gaze flickered briefly toward her, smiling. 

She blinked, clearly not expecting that. 

You swallowed. “I need to give him the benefit of the doubt,” you continued. “There must be an explanation and… I have to let him explain.” 

Your voice softened at the end, but there was something steadier beneath it now — a fragile hope to cling to. 

For a few minutes no one spoke. Then Robin cleared her throat, a little awkwardly. “Okay… I’m probably going to regret asking this,” she admitted, glancing briefly at Nancy before looking back at you. “But if I don’t, it’s going to keep bothering me.”

You frowned slightly, still drained from your last conversation. “What is it?”

Robin hesitated, exhaling deeply. “Earlier… you said you couldn’t lose Steve too,” she began carefully, studying your face. “What did you mean by that? Did I miss something — Who else… did you lose?” She asked, concerned.

Your brows knitted together faintly. You were so exhausted that you didn’t even remember saying it. “Oh,” you murmured, almost absentmindedly. “Did I say that?”

Robin nodded, slowly. Your gaze shifted instinctively to Nancy. You both knew exactly what you had meant. She had been there the night before, sitting across from you on her couch while everything you had kept buried finally came out, listening carefully to you. She reached for your hand, her fingers wrapping around yours in a quiet, reassuring squeeze, just like she had done the night before. 

For a moment, you didn’t speak. You drew in a slow breath, steadying yourself before turning back to Robin. Then, you started telling her everything — the diagnosis, the reason why you had left Steve, the discussion you had had with him before his accident. 

When you finished, she didn’t react right away. She just stared at you, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, as if she was still trying to process everything you had just told her. Then something in her expression shifted.  

“Oh my God,” she burst out, pushing herself up from the couch so abruptly it made you flinch slightly. “This is… this is so stupid.”

“Robin!” Nancy shot back immediately, giving her a warning look.

But Robin barely spared her a glance. She dragged a hand through her hair and started pacing. “No, I’m serious. I’m sorry, I know it sounds harsh, but — this is the worst plan I’ve ever heard.”

You opened your mouth, instinctively wanting to defend yourself, but she didn’t give you the chance. “This isn’t even a plan,” she went on, gesturing emphatically with her hands. “It’s a sacrifice. What are you now, a martyr?”

Your chest tightened slightly at her words, but you stayed quiet, watching her move back and forth across the room, too overwhelmed to interrupt.

“Did you honestly think Steve would just… what? Accept it and move on?” she asked in disbelief, almost offended by the idea. She stopped briefly in front of you before turning away again, too restless to stay still. “Come on. We’re talking about Steve. And I know, I know how this sounds right now,” she added quickly, more aware now, her tone softening just slightly. “Given… everything. But you know what I mean. That man stopped seeing every other woman the second he laid his eyes on you,” she said, dragging a hand through her hair. “Like — poof. Gone. They didn’t exist anymore for him! That’s why I don't believe for a second that he might have cheated on you.” 

Despite everything, her words reassured you for a brief moment. A faint, involuntary smile touched your lips before fading.  But Robin still noticed. “Yeah, exactly,” she said, pointing at you as if to underline her point. “You know it too.” She resumed pacing, restless. “It took months before you two even went out,” she continued, gesturing senseless with her hands. “Months. And he still waited for you.” Her voice softened for a fraction of a second, but the intensity never left it. “Do you really think that that same man is just going to replace you?” she asked, stopping again, this time holding your gaze, her eyes widening. “Like you’re interchangeable?” 

You swallowed, dropping your eyes at the empty glass resting in your hands, your fingers tightening slightly around it. “That man would rather be alone for the rest of his life than be with someone who isn’t you,” Robin went on, her tone firm. “You’re not setting him free — you’re condemning him. And me too. Him to an eternity of loneliness and sadness. While me to listening to him complain about it for the rest of my life.”

A weak breath of laughter escaped you despite yourself, quickly fading as the weight of your diagnosis settled back in, bringing you back to reality. Silence stretched for a moment before you spoke, your voice quieter. “He would be unhappy if he stayed with me. Maybe not immediately, but in the —”

“Does he look happy to you right now?” Robin cut in, her voice harsh, loud. Her gaze drifted toward Steve.

You glanced at her, following her gaze. You swallowed hard, your throat tight, but you didn’t reply. You both already knew the answer. 

“He spent one week without you,” she went on. "And he’s been miserable. He already is unhappy. Because you’re not there. With him.”

You lowered your eyes, burning as they filled with tears. “Robin… He’s reacting like this now. It’s normal. But he'll get over it, he’ll—” 

The words faltered. You didn’t even believe them yourself. At least as far as you were concerned you were sure you would never get over it. Over him. Steve was the love of your life and at the same time he would be your greatest loss.

“How do you know?” Robin asked, her voice sharper now, edged with impatience. “How do you know he’ll get over it?”

You looked at her, the question catching you off guard. Your lips parted, but no answer came. Because you didn’t have one. You hesitated, your gaze faltering for a moment as your thoughts scrambled to catch up. But Robin didn’t wait. “Exactly,” she said, nodding once, firm. “You don’t.” She took a step closer, her eyes locked onto yours. “Sure, maybe he’ll get over it. Or maybe he won’t.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry.

“And just like you don’t know that,” she went on, her tone steady but unrelenting, “you also don’t know if he’d ever regret staying with you.” She gestured lightly with her hand, frustration seeping through the movement. “You’ve spent so much time fixating on the worst possible scenario that you didn’t even consider the others. Or the fact that it might not happen at all.” She paused, studying your face. “Did it ever cross your mind that Steve… that you two could actually be happy together even without kids?”

Your gaze dropped again, unable to hold hers, while her words echoed in the room, in your mind. She was right. The thought had occurred to you. Of course it had. But you had just never allowed yourself to believe it. You had spent so much time preparing for the worst that you had ended up treating it like certainty, building your decision around something that hadn’t even happened yet, something that might never happen.

Nancy’s voice pulled you back. You lifted your head, meeting her eyes. “You and Steve — you were happy before, right? Before all this, I mean,” she said quietly, gesturing vaguely around the room. 

Memories of you and Steve crossed your mind. Important moments. Like your first meeting in the school hallway, when you were still strangers and the idea of children wasn’t even a distant thought. You hadn’t known then how much that moment would change your life. You remembered the smaller things too. The simpler ones. Like the first time he insisted on driving you home in the pouring rain, refusing to let you use the bicycle. “You’ll catch a cold,” he had said, pretending it was no big deal. Even though you had protested at first, you had spent the car ride smiling like an idiot. And then the rest of the day at home too. The memories kept coming. Your first date. And the one after that. Different every time, but always… special. Or the evenings spent at home after moving in together, cooking together and chatting while eating. The kind of moments that stayed with you without needing to try. Your wedding reception when you had danced for hours, laughing, kissing, surrounded by your friends and all the people you loved, completely lost in each other. When you thought you'd spend the rest of your lives together.  A random afternoon in your new house, paint on your hands and clothes, chasing each other around the room like idiots, ruining the walls you had just tried so carefully to fix. Some of those moments had been big, changing everything. Others had been ordinary. Moments of everyday life. But all of them had been happy. And none of them had needed anything more. Just the two of you. Together. That was the only thing you had needed. Could it be still enough?

Your throat tightened slightly as you came back to the present. You gave a small nod — so faint it almost felt like nothing. “Yeah,” you admitted. “We were. At least… before we started trying. Then everything got more complicated and... hard.”

Robin nodded once, as if that confirmed everything she needed. She exhaled, then moved back toward the couch, dropping down quietly, though her posture was still tense. “Then what makes you think you can’t keep being happy that way and have a fulfilling life?” she asked, turning slightly toward you. 

You let out a slow breath, shaking your head faintly. “Because Steve wants kids, Robin. He's always wanted them. And I just…” Your voice faltered before you forced yourself to continue. “And I don’t want him to wake up one day and realize I’m not enough anymore.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the glass. “A family. Kids. That’s… that’s not a small thing, Robin. That’s not something you just forget about. Something that you just stop wanting. And I don’t want him to sacrifice everything for me. It’s not fair.”

“One day,” Robin repeated firmly, tilting her head slightly. “A lot of things could happen one day. For example, you could be the one who wants more. The one who might stop loving him. Did you ever think about that?”

Your face twisted instinctively at the possibility of stopping loving him. It felt wrong. Impossible. The idea alone made your stomach turn, feeling sudden sick.

Robin noticed it. “Yeah,” she said softly, nodding as if she had expected that exact reaction. “Exactly. It sounds ridiculous, isn't it?” She shrugged lightly. “But it’s still a possibility. Just like everything else you’re so worried about.” She leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on her thighs, her hands loosely clasped. “It can happen or not. None of us know if it will. And if it does — if you… or if Steve stops loving you, or anything changes, you’ll deal with it then. You’ll make the best decision for both of you.” 

She paused for a beat before continuing. Her voice softened, but her gaze remained steady. “What I’m trying to say is that kids aren’t the only condition for happiness. Or for being a family.” She glanced down for a second before looking back up at you. “There are many people who have kids and still end up miserable. Who still fall out of love. And divorce.” The room felt quieter somehow, even with the steady rhythm of the monitor in the background. “But making a decision now,” Robin went on, “before any of that even happens, without giving yourselves a chance…” She shook her head slightly. “It’s just stupid. Rushed. And unfair. To Steve. This isn’t just about your life. It’s about his too.”

A wave of shame rolled through you, heavy, suffocating. You hadn’t even asked Steve what he thought or what he wanted. You had just decided for him before he even knew there was a decision to make. You had shut him out, walked away, convinced it was the right thing to do. But maybe you had just done the easiest thing, as Steve had said during your argument. Your jaw tightened slightly as you swallowed, slow.

What if you had just messed things up instead?

Robin watched your silence, contemplating her next words. “You’re scared he might resent you one day,” she said. “That he might regret staying. I get it.” She paused briefly. “But if you stick to this decision and leave him, he’s going to resent you now. Not in some possible future. But now. And probably for the rest of his life.”

Your breath caught slightly. 

“Give him the benefit of the doubt,” Robin said again. “Trust him and let him decide for himself. Let him choose to stay if that is what he wants.” She shrugged lightly. “And whatever happens after that, whatever the future looks like, it’ll be his choice. Not something you forced on him.”

“Robin’s right,” Nancy said beside you, her voice calm, warm, her head turning slightly to look at you. She offered a small, reassuring smile. “And you should give yourself and Steve a little more credit.”

You frowned faintly, glancing at her. “What do you mean?”

Nancy opened her mouth, then paused, clearly choosing her words carefully. “Did you marry him just so you could have kids? Or give him some?”

Your brows furrowed more deeply, confusion mixing with the obviousness of the answer. “No. Of course not,” you said, almost immediately, louder, as if it could sound more convincing that way. “I married him because I love him.”

Nancy’s smile widened slightly, satisfied. “Exactly,” she said.

You looked at her, still not entirely following.

“You fell in love with him regardless of your dream of becoming a mother,” she continued. “And the same goes for Steve.” Her tone remained gentle, but there was something firm beneath it. “But the way you’re talking…  the way you’re acting now… it’s like you think he married you only because of that. Like you’re some kind of —” she exhaled sharply, searching for the word “— like you’re just a way for him to build a family. But we both know that it’s not true,” she went on. “So stop talking about yourself like you’re just… some sort of baby-making machine.” A small, almost amused breath escaped her at the absurdity of it. “You’re not. He’s with you for a million different reasons. I know, because I’ve heard them. Robin too. More than once.”

Your lips curved into a smile. 

“He loves you,” she said simply. “And he still wants to be with you. Whether you can have kids or not.” She paused. “Robin is right. You can still have a happy life together if that is what you want,” she added. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.” She hesitated then, just for a second. “But…” she continued more carefully, “if you truly believe that the only way your relationship can work is with children…” She met your eyes. “Then maybe… you don’t love him as much as you think you do. And you’re not giving what you have enough credit.”

Your breath caught in your throat, her words taking you by surprise. For a split second, they echoed in your mind, hurting you, sounding like an offense, an insult. Your chest tightened, instinctively defensive, your lips parting as if to argue, to push back, to tell her she was wrong. How could she even think that? She had seen you and Steve together. How could she questioned your love? But the words never came. You closed your mouth again, the argument dissolving before it could take shape, interrupted by another thought.

You loved Steve and he loved you. 

You had never doubted that. Not once. Not even now despite everything — despite Kirsten. If anything, that had always been the problem. Your gaze drifted, almost unconsciously, back to Steve. Your feelings for each other had never been the question. What you didn’t know — what you had been too afraid to face — was whether your love was strong enough to survive everything else. A life without children. The lies you had told him and… maybe an alleged betrayal.

You didn't know that.

And now you were afraid it was too late.

Maybe you had already screwed up everything.

-

Three days had passed since the accident.

Steve was finally out of danger. His vitals were stable, his body was responding well to the treatment and there hadn’t been new complications. Every update was cautiously positive, delivered with reassuring smiles and measured optimism. 

But despite his improvements, he was still in a coma. According to the doctors, it was still too early to wake him up and they wanted to wait a few days. 

So waiting had become your new routine, each hour blending into the next until the days felt both endless and indistinct. The initial shock had faded, replaced by something quieter but far more exhausting — a constant, low hum of anxiety that never really left you. You spent most of your time in Steve’s room, now full of cards and small gifts from students and friends who had stopped by one after another. You had watched them come and go, while, through it all, you remained in the same place — beside him. Watching. Listening. The steady beeping of the monitors had become a constant in the background, almost comforting in its consistency. Doctors and nurses moved in and out constantly—checking vitals, drawing blood, adjusting medications, occasionally wheeling him out for more tests before bringing him back again. Still unconscious. Every morning, you woke up with the same fragile hope — that today would be the day. That you would walk into his room and find him awake, his eyes open as they looked at you. That everything would finally start moving again. And every night, that hope collapsed quietly in on itself, carrying it with you into the next day.

Robin, Nancy, Eddie, Jonathan, and Dustin took turns coming by every day, insisting you take breaks, even when you didn’t want to. They stayed with Steve while you stepped outside, grabbed a coffee you barely tasted, or went home for a few hours, trying to rest. But sleep was rare, and when it came, it offered no relief. Most nights, your mind betrayed you, dragging you back through everything you were trying not to think about — the accident, her.

Kirsten.

A name, nothing more. And yet it was enough for your mind to fill in the blanks anyway, building something out of fragments and imagination. Sometimes, when you couldn’t focus on anything better, you found yourself wondering what she looked like, trying to piece her together from nothing. You pictured her face, her smile, wondering if she was prettier than you, the thought coming more often than you wanted to admit. Other times, your imagination went further. You thought about that night — how they had met, what had happened, whether she had approached him, whether he had flirted back. 

When you were awake, you could fight it. You could shut your eyes, turn onto your side, force your thoughts somewhere else before they could take shape into something more painful, similar to reality that you'll be convinced they were true. 

But when you finally fell asleep, you had no control. The images came vivid, uncontrolled, less like thoughts and more like memories you didn’t own. They played out like scenes you were forced to watch from the outside, unable to move, to speak, to stop them. You could just kept watching them. 

Every time the dream always began the same way. You saw them together in a dimly lit bar, sitting too close, chatting and laughing over drinks as they leaned into each other with ease.

Then the scene shifted.

Steve and Kirsten confined inside the intimate space of her car, kissing slow at first, then not. Hands wandering between their bodies without hesitation, hungry to feel more, whispering each other’s names between moans.

And every time, it ended the same way — with the crash, Steve bleeding and unconscious. 

You woke up abruptly, the sound of the impact still echoing in your ears, your body jolting upright in the darkness. Your heart would be racing, your skin damp with sweat, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as if you had been the one inside the car. It took long minutes before you could convince yourself it hadn’t been real. Sometimes, you weren’t entirely sure.

On good days, when you held yourself together, you sat beside Steve and talked to him, filling the room with whatever came to mind — small updates, stories, fragments of gossip, anything that might sound normal. Your voice often felt too loud, almost foreign in the quiet room, but you kept going anyway. Your hand would rest in his, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over his skin, hoping he could feel you. Hear you. There was never an answer. Just the same steady rhythm of the monitors and the silence. But every time you kept talking. Because stopping felt worse. On bad days, the quiet felt different. Louder. Heavier. It pressed in on you from every side until it was hard to breathe, refusing to let you go. You would sit in his room, staring at him, waiting for something — anything — and when it didn’t come, the weight of that silence cracked through you. You hated seeing him in those conditions — silent, immobile. Your grip on his hand would tighten, your vision blurring as tears spilled over despite your efforts to hold them back. Your shoulders trembled, your breath hitching. On those days, you would have taken anything. An argument. A complaint. Even him raising his voice at you. Anything was better than that silence.

And then there were moments like this. 

You sat beside him, a book open on your lap, your back turned to the door. Your fingers lightly held the edges of the pages as your eyes moved across the lines, though the words barely registered. Every few seconds your attention drifted — back to Steve, to the monitors, to the slow rise and fall of his chest, searching for anything out of the ordinary. 

You turned another page, almost automatically, without really watching it. 

“How is he?” An unfamiliar voice said behind you, stopping you mid-movement.

Your body tensed immediately at the intrusion. You turned around, the book still open in your hands.

A woman stood in the doorway, uncertain, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to be there. You slowly got to your feet, closing the book with a soft snap, your fingers tightening slightly around the cover as your gaze moved over her. She was holding a small bouquet of flowers in one hand, her fingers curled around the stems a little too tightly. Her other arm was secured against her torso, wrapped in a cast. Recognition hit instantly, sharp and unmistakable, even though you had never met her before. Your throat tightened, like trying to swallow something that wouldn’t go down, as a heavy, sinking feeling settled in your stomach. You stepped closer, stopping just in front of her, your eyes lingering for a moment longer than necessary on her long blonde curls framing her face. 

The nurse had been right. They were beautiful. 

And not just her hair. Her features were delicate, almost doll-like — full lips, smooth skin, subtle makeup that hadn’t smudged, not even slightly. Even with one arm in a cast, she looked… perfect. 

The thought came uninvited, making you feel suddenly, painfully aware of yourself — of the way your clothes hung on you after days spent in the same cycle of waiting, of the faint creases in the fabric, of your hair styled in a messy bun, of the complete absence of makeup on your face. The exhaustion you felt wasn’t just internal — it showed. In your eyes, in your posture, in the way your body seemed to carry the weight of the past days without hiding it. 

Standing in front of her like that, you felt… disheveled. Small, almost.

She shifted slightly under your gaze, clearly unsettled by your silence. When you didn’t answer, she cleared her throat softly, her grip tightening around the flowers.

“You must be his wife,” she said, her voice tentative, almost cautious. She took a small step forward, like she wasn’t sure if she should.

You didn’t answer.

“Sorry, I— I should’ve introduced myself,” she went on, stumbling slightly over her words. “I’m—”

“Kirsten.” You cut her off. Your voice was flat. Cold. Controlled. “I know who you are,” you added. For a split second, something flickered across her face — surprise, maybe, or realization. Then she swallowed, her gaze dropping briefly before lifting back to meet yours, nodding. There was something in her expression — something uneasy, something that looked a lot like guilt.

Silence settled between you.

Heavy.

Tense. 

She shifted her weight slightly, her hand moving up to touch her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear in a nervous gesture. Her eyes flickered toward the bed for a fraction of a second, then back to you.

“I… I wanted to come by,” she said. “To see how he was. And to —” She hesitated, her gaze faltering, dropping for a brief second before lifting again, uncertain while yours never leave her. “To say I’m sorry,” she finished, barely above a whisper. “I never meant for any of this to happen. It was a mistake.”

Your grip on the book tightened, making your knuckles go white. 

A mistake?