Filthy little writing blog

“Are too.”

“Am not.” You hissed, pushing forward in an attempt to get away from him. He watched you walk past, glancing fervently around the second floor. He smirked, waiting patiently for you to turn around. He knew you were more stubborn than you liked to admit, but also knew that you hated providing evidence for that stubbornness. Which is why he stood there with a smirk, watching as you slowly turned to face him.

“Which way is it?”

Steve shrugged, rubbing his face like it was the greatest mystery in the world. You rolled your eyes at him, brows low. He just walked over to you, gesturing ahead with his hands. This way, he could still lead the way and force you to tag along right next to him. And despite your little made-up plans, you followed after, complying with his actions.

Only a few minutes pass as the two of you walk together, Steve’s head snapping back and forth to make sure he was actually leading you in the right direction. Heaven forbid if he wasn’t. Then, as he was passing a flashy athletic shoe store, you got a little distracted.

He feels more than sees you leave his side. Steve turns, neck twisting this way and that. Despite your hesitation in this place, you sure didn’t seem too nervous enough to drift into the crowd. Luckily, he caught sight of you before the annoyance took root. You had slowed to a stop next to one of the displays, transfixed by the scene inside.

A girl was standing on a pedestal, dressed in a bright white gown. She twirled hesitantly in the dress, looking at herself in the multifaceted, full-length mirror. You stood with an unreadable expression, fingertips ghosting across the glass. Your eyes, normally fire bright and present, were distant and soft, lids low. There was a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. You had left him by accident, and were now a million miles away, somewhere deep in that head of yours. Steve looked quickly between you and the crème-colored shop, connecting the dots.

“You know, I didn’t take you for the wedding type of girl.” He tells you, unaware of the way it sounded. The expression that crossed over your face dunked Steve’s nerves in ice.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You inquired as you snapped out of your quiet reverie, eyes narrowing sharply. “You don’t think I’m good enough to marry?”

“No!” He refuted immediately, “No, of course not- you… you’re great! Any guy would be lucky to land you!”

Your narrowed eyes softened slightly and pulled away from him, back into the store. But that distant look was gone- overtaken by your usual blazing alertness.

“I just…” Steve continued cautiously, hoping not to stick his foot right back into his mouth. “You don’t seem like the type of girl who would stop and stare into a boutique window.”

“I have my layers.” Your eyes drift slowly from the store as you take a step back. He follows, eyes trained on the way your head bobbed as you spoke. “I can manufacture a mean flamethrower and plan a wedding- they’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Okay, well for now, we aren’t here to plan for your future wedding. We’re here for Prom.” He reminded you, feeling like he needed to really stress the importance of this dance. If you could be that transfixed by a wedding dress- how hard would it be to get you excited about these ones? And, the more excited you were, the more painless it would be for the both of you.

And he needed that night to be as painless as possible.

He suddenly felt your gaze on him, burning mischievously behind innocent lashes.

“You know, with the way you talk about it, I think you’d be someone who’s planning their wedding right now.” You prodded, voice bouncy as you bumped his arm with yours. The sly little smirk that stretched your mouth was covering something- some kind of hidden motive. The thought of you trying to dig for something- some other hidden reason of his- inflated his ego. Instead of ignoring or tolerating him- you were actively trying to pull him apart like a Rubix cube. And if he was being honest- it was fun.

Playing along, Steve looked at you and shrugged, cocking his head left then right, making a show of contemplation, his eyes squinted. Your mouth popped open, brows shooting up.

“Wait- have you?”

“No! I mean, I’ve definitely thought about it.” He admitted, saying much more than he let on. If he was telling the whole truth, he'd done a lot more than thinking about it. Honestly, it was a dream of his- a life goal. He wanted the wedding, the house, the kids, and the steady job. Everything that came with it. The wedding was just part of it. Well...That, and a wedding included being legally bound to someone who really, really loved you. He wanted that kind of life- badly. He wasn’t going to tell you all that of course, not if he didn’t want to look insane. “But not to the extent of you know, what type of flowers would be on the tables or who would actually be invited.”

“Oh my god.” You breathe and Steve turns at your much less giggly voice. You’re looking up at him with a slack jaw, fingers pressing against your cheek and grazing your lips “You’re a total sap.” You laugh, the sound jumping out of your throat as you drop the hand.

“Hey! Don’t laugh.” He hisses, face burning as he's sure it starts to turn pink. Why’d he even admit that anyway? Was it just because he wanted to relate to you? Was it because he wanted you to feel comfortable? Or was it just because of the soft, easy way his words seemed to tumble out of his mouth when you were around? Either way, he was starting to regret it. He shook his hand and pointed it at you, vying for reclamation of his dignity. “You’re gonna want to cut that shit out if I’m going to be paying for both the tickets-”

“Steve- it’s not a date. I already told you that I can-” You stop in your tracks, mouth snapping shut. For a moment, Steve wonders if it’s another bridal boutique.

And then he sees what you do.

And his nose aches to think about the last time he had been this close to Billy Hargrove.

 *****************************************

 It was a few days after Halloween, only thirty minutes after the rest of the team had left to take care of their separate missions- and Steve’s group was left at the house.

That lucky group included you.

And you weren’t happy about it.

You had been literally benched by Hopper, grounded after you had voluntarily driven his adopted daughter off of his secret property. From what he could gather, you wouldn’t have changed a single thing you had done. But that didn’t mean you weren’t pissed about being left at the Byer’s house.

And now, there was this.

Between the two of you, Steve had assumed you were the smart one.

But oh my god, he had been so wrong.

Instead of dissuading the kids from their stupid, reckless plans to distract those weird dog things, you were agreeing with them. It was driving him crazy, watching you scramble around the house with them, trying to decipher away to fight an all-powerful interdimensional being. What were you guys even going to do? Hit it with Lucas' dinky little slingshot?

But honestly, he should've been prepared for your strange behavior. He should’ve known you'd be on board the second you showed up that night, freshly decked out in your all-black outfit, a shadowy specter cloaked in leather and Demodog blood. Oh- and Eleven, who most everyone thought had died about a year ago.

The biggest red flag should’ve been your makeshift flamethrower, a dangerous combination of hairspray and a tiny pink lighter. It was terrifying to see the distance between your fingers and the roaring flames.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t considered any of that.

You were standing next to the kids, staring over Dustin’s shoulder at the weird, pasted map. A flicker of excitement was blazing in your kohl-lined eyes, as if an unseen plan connected in your brain. “We can take my car. I still have an extra lighter left over-”

“Hey. Hey! Hey!” Steve exclaimed, clapping loud enough that he finally tore your attention away from the quickly spiraling plan. The blaze faltered, your head snapping towards him questioningly “This is not happening.”

“But-”

“No buts. I promised I’d keep you shitheads safe- we promised-'' Steve looked pointedly at you, swathed in your unfamiliar cloud of coal, really trying to convince Dracula rather than the kids. If there were two ‘babysitters’ saying no, there was a much higher chance of nobody dying. You just stared at him blankly as he continued. “-and that’s exactly what I plan on doing. We’re staying here. On the bench. And we’re waiting for the starting team to do their job. Does everybody understand?”

You shook your head slightly, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Steve, if we can help at all-”

“I said, does everybody understand that?” Steve repeated loudly, no longer asking. You stared up at him as something changed in your pointed, blown wide pupils, your stained lips forming a silent ‘o’. Your gaze flickered across his figure before you looked at the kids- and they looked at you. Once again, they were referring to your reaction, your judgment of the scenario.

He would’ve been mad about it if he hadn’t been wanting to do the exact same thing.

“I’m going alone then.” You decided, arms folding defiantly as Steve pinned you with an unbelieving look. All he was asking for was one thing. One.

You were being difficult on purpose- he was sure of it.

Yelps of resistance rose up from everyone else in the room as you placed your hands on your hips, mirroring Steve in his posture. Eyes narrowing up at him, you stood as an unwavering point of night in the yellow seeped house. You were intimidating for someone your size- but Steve didn’t care. He wasn’t letting anyone be stupid on his watch- and that included you.

“Like hell you’re-”

That’s when the loud roar of a car rips through the night, stopping all of the commotion to a dead halt. Max rushes to the window and her round pink face grows pale, blue eyes clouding over. “That’s my brother. He can’t know I’m here. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.”

For a tense moment, no one moves, the sound of tearing gasoline flooding the air with anxiety. Steve looks at you, trying to gauge your thoughts. He wanted to make sure you weren’t going to run out the back door and head off on your own. But you’re just staring out the window, attention firmly set on the dark Camaro. It didn’t look like you would be moving any time soon- not with Billy Hargrove posted up in the driveway.

Steve looked at the rag-tag group, a lump hardening in his throat. He knew you were a capable person- he did. You and El had literally just taken on a pack of Demodogs- so he couldn’t rationalize that you weren’t able to take care of yourself- or the kids.

But this was a fragile situation. He wasn’t sure what Hargrove was capable of- but he didn’t want to find out.

“Everyone stay here.” Steve ordered.

You moved to follow him, pent-up emotion roaring beneath your gaze.

“Hey. No- stay with the kids.”

“Steve.”

“I’ve got this,” he assured you, pointing back at the kids on the couch. “If a Demogorgon comes in, use that can of hairspray you love so much.” Plastering a smirk across his face in an attempt to loosen your tight fists, he turned toward the door and let the cold November air swallow him up.

He could handle this. The fewer people he had to worry about, the better. As long as everyone was inside, he just needed to scare Hargrove off.

Piece of cake.

He stood expectantly at the foot of the porch, dread grinding his stomach as the reckless driver kicked open his door. Steve could smell his cigarette from there, the smoke announcing his presence.

“Am I dreaming, or is that you Harrington?”

“Yeah it’s me, don’t cream your pants.” Steve said, trying to move the whole thing along. He didn’t have time to put up any resistance to his shitty attitude.

And for a minute or two, Steve thought it was going well. Maybe he had it handled enough that your little group would leave this night without a scratch.

And then Billy saw the kids- and you- in the window.

Steve should’ve known it was going to come to blows. Or at least, he should’ve been ready for it, or thrown the first punch. If he had, the guy wouldn’t have been able to stomp up to the door and smash it open, coming face to face with you.

Steve groaned on the ground as Billy stomped past him, beating you to the door before you could lock it. The door slammed, sounding far away as Steve tried not to throw up across the grass.

While he did so, you had other problems.

Billy had taken one step inside the house and was looking at your little group like it was something to eat. His eyes eventually landed on you, planted firmly between him and the kids. He let out a short laugh, teeth sharp.

“Hey Gatekeeper, you in on this with Harrington?”

You kept your jaw clenched, unfazed by his jab at your Halloween costume. The Halloween costume that you had worn for the very kids behind you. The kids that were relying on you to keep them safe, some even gripping the edges of your jacket on reflex.

The act made your heart heavy, fists clenching as you stared down the teen goliath before you. If he thought he was going to get a chance to even yell at one of them, he was dead wrong.

You decide not to indulge him, face stony.

A stitch of silence passes and Billy shifts his eyes off of you- and onto Lucas.

“Sinclair.” You stretch your hand out a little farther, hovering close to Hargrove’s next target.

He makes a purposeful lunge in Lucas’s direction and you seem to make up your mind, launching forward without fear. The contact is fast- and the sound is immediate. It was like watching a forest fire colliding with a mountain. Your hand snaps out at a speed and ferocity that only the last year and a half would have given you, striking across his face like lightning across the sky. The rings that you had acquired from your recent makeover shine black on your retreating hand, explaining the fresh split in Billy’s lips. He stares at you in momentary surprise, eyes flaming as he realized what you had done.

“Okay.” He muttered, wiping the bright, sluggish blood from his growing smirk. “You first then.”

He’s on you before you can stop him, rough hands digging into your collar. You’re drug backward by pure force, sneakers dragging against the floor. You hear the kids screaming. The struggle you put up barely has any effect as Billy slams you up into a cabinet.

You honestly should’ve thought this one through a little more. He was bigger than you- and he wasn’t some kind of Demogorgon that you could light on fire. He was a human. A giant, hulking, insane human- but a guy nonetheless. If you really wanted to take him on, you needed something that was going to really hurt him- even kill him.

And you don’t think you were ready for that- physically or mentally.

The world is spinning and your head rings, reeling from the impact. Your hands fumble for purchase as he pushes into you, burning hot knuckles bruising your collarbone. He’s looking at you like you were the one who was doing this- like you were the one who deserved to get thrown into the looney bin.

“You do that again and I’m going to make sure the next place you end up is a hospital.”

You ignore his threat as you glare up at him, contempt rolling behind closed lips. He was stronger than you- there was no arguing that point. But you’d be damned before you let this guy get anywhere near those kids. As soon as he felt finished with you, he’d go straight for Lucas.

That wasn’t going to happen.

You push out your neck and sink your teeth into one of his thumbs.

Billy drops you with a scream. Falling to your knees, you scramble away, head reeling and lips smeared with blood. You hadn’t hit bone- but you know you had made a dent. The taste fills your mouth, warm and metallic. You didn’t like it. And if you didn’t get away from Billy now, you’d be tasting more of it pretty soon. That thought was enough to push you toward the table, head ringing. But before you can lift back up, one of your ankles is yanked backward, slamming you back to the ground.

There isn’t time to brace for the impact. Your jaw connects hard with the wood and stars explode across your vision. A noise squeezes through your clenched teeth. You hear a strangled laugh pierce through the blended shouts for your safety as you’re drug back across the floor. You move to fight back, but a hand fists itself in your hair, slamming your face straight into the hardwood.

Pain explodes through your nose, eyes pricking with tears. Before you can even react, you’re being raised to your knees, yanked up by the hold on your hair.

“You know what? I take it back. We aren’t going to need a hospital tonight.” Billy threatens, pointing at you with the hand you had tried to take a bite of. If you hadn’t been so out of it, you probably would’ve laughed at his bloody finger. His grip on your hair grows tighter. “You’re dead.”

And honestly, you might have been. You might have gone out against a sociopathic musclehead, splattered against the Byer’s kitchen floor.

But then you catch sight of a familiar mop of brown hair over Billy's shoulder, and your heart performs a weak jumping jack. You struggled against your aggressor's grip, keeping his eyes on you.

Steve had managed to make his way back into the house. He had stopped momentarily at the sight in the kitchen, panic shooting through his veins the way he imagined heroin would. Your limp figure was just barely visible behind Billy’s and he couldn’t see what was happening. He couldn’t see you.

Steve blinked out of his momentary hesitation and rushed forward, pushing Billy hard in the back. You dropped out of his grip, hands barely planting before you hit the ground.

Hargrove turned with wide eyes, coming face to face with Steve, a savior in blue denim.

“No. You are.”

For the second time that night, Billy was struck across the face, Steve’s fist just barely missing the spot where you had slapped him. He watched, stone-faced as Billy stumbled away, a bone-chilling cackle rising up from his throat. Steve stole a glance at you, pushing away slowly from off the floor, nose dripping with darkened blood. Dustin and Max were pulling you away from the scene, coaxing you back from the danger.

For now, you were out of harm's way.

If he had gotten there sooner, you wouldn’t have had to be in it in the first place. Your blood wouldn’t have been smeared across the hardwood floor, dark against the dinky yellow lights of the house.

Billy pointed at Steve, pulling his attention back to him. “Look’s like you got some fire in you after all, huh?” He taunted, smile full of teeth and half insane. He stepped forward as he pushed his hair out of his face, eye to eye with Steve. "I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody’s been telling me so much about.”

Despite how much he wanted to kick his ass, Steve knew they had bigger problems to deal with. The sooner they got rid of Billy, the better. He was wasting their time, and he wanted him gone. “Get out,” Steve ordered simply, contempt straining against his steady words. He didn’t want to waste more breath on this guy than he had to.

And apparently, Billy felt the same way. At this point, words were useless.

Which is probably why he swung at him.

And for a while, Steve was doing pretty good. He landed a few punches and kept his head down and for a few moments, it seemed like the two guys were on common ground.

That was, until Billy smashed him overhead with a plate.

That was when everything went downhill.

Steve had ended up with his back against the floor, mirroring your situation a few minutes earlier- except he was getting punched over, and over, and over. The contact rained down repeatedly, his face beginning to feel like a tenderized piece of meat. He probably would’ve been a goner if you hadn’t keyed Max onto the syringe next to you. She had plunged it into his neck without so much a flinch, injecting him with the strange tranquilizer.

Everything sounded underwater as Steve lay on the floor, lights dancing across his eyes. He only really registered what was happening when you appeared over his head a few minutes later, head haloed by the yellow light.

“Hey.” You slapped his face lightly, Steve barely feeling it. “Hey, Steve, you need to stay awake. I think you’re going to have a concussion.” You informed him, hands now planting firmly on his shoulders and shaking. But his head felt like cement. Even if he had understood a single word you had said, nothing but a groan would have passed his swollen, bloodied lips. “Come on. You did pretty good. If he hadn’t had the plate, my money would’ve been on you.”

You were lying, but he appreciated it anyway, even through the fog.

Steve spit up a weak chuckle and you flinched, dodging the spray of blood. “Sorry.” he mumbled between split, swelling lips, trailing your movements as you pushed up his coated, sticky bangs. Your hand was warm.

He wondered if you were always this warm.

In the back of his punch-drunk brain, he registered the jangling of keys and pieces of the conversation between you and the kids. He’d feel you shake him every few moments, right as his vision would start to fuzz, growing black at the edges. Eventually, you were pulling at his shoulders, trying to get him out of his steadily growing puddle, hands and face streaked in red.

“Steve…” you sounded far away. “We need to go. And we can’t leave you here… not with all this blood…” He watched your lips move but didn’t really understand what you were saying. Go where? And why did the blood factor into his need to tag along?

When he didn’t respond, you just sighed, a strange sort of pity hanging across your face. He blinked lazily, watching as you turned away from him, obviously talking to the kids. He would’ve liked to hear what you were saying, but it was too late for him then.

He had already begun drifting off.

 ********

 “Huh. I see you took my advice.” Billy called out, stopping the both of you in your tracks. He was standing a few feet away from you, accompanied by some of his block-head cronies and rim-lit by the turquoise lights of a nearby store. Pushing away from the pillar he leaned against, he began walking towards you, smile dangerous.

Usually, Billy stayed out of Steve’s way. After last October, he had seemed to give everyone Max was friends with a wide berth, holding fast to his promise. Steve didn’t think he would be the type of guy to honor a sister’s wish, but so far it had looked that way. Until now, it seemed.

He hopped down the two small stairs, hands dug deep in his pockets as he came to stand right in the way. Steve would’ve groaned if he hadn’t known better. Billy’s razor-sharp gaze flickered your way as Steve felt the weight of you at his side. He almost sneered, a hand twitching reflexively, as if cowering before your bared teeth. “And look at that- it’s Max’s new mommy.” he looked at Steve. “That must make you Dad huh?”

“We’re friends.” You answer, harsh and hatefully hot. Steve realizes then that as much as you like to argue with him, he was nowhere close to the level of dislike you had for Billy. You looked at the leather-bound prick in front of you like he was a Demogorgon. Not a human- a monster that you needed to get rid of. In your hate, you beat Steve to the punch, poison dripping from your tongue. “But you wouldn’t understand that, would you?”

Billy tilted his head at you, pink lips curling over blinding fangs.

“I forgot you were the ones with the balls in this relationship.” His gaze tracked you up and down, a little huff leaving his mouth. “Did you have fun cleaning up after me and your little boyfriend?

This time, you didn’t flinch.

“Not as much as kicking in your nose.”

Oh. Yeah, Steve had forgotten about that.

Before you had left the house that night, and even before you had gotten him in the car, you had recruited Max and Lucas to help drag Billy out to the garbage. The literal garbage. The three of you had left him propped up against one of the cans, keys dropped into his lap. As little as you had wanted to help him out, you had wanted him gone as soon as you could.

Then, after Max had gone back inside, you kicked him square in the nose.

You had thought it poetic- and payback for you and Steve’s matching injuries.

Billy let out a terse little chuckle, strain rolling in his darkening eyes. Steve had been ready to jump in, to say anything. But you had beat him to it- reminding Billy exactly why he had been staying away for the last few months. When it came back down to it, you were all friends- and shared a deep dislike for Billy, one that went deep enough to cause violence. So if he ever tried something, he knew there were plenty of people waiting to get back at him in return.

Steve was one of those people. If it ever came to a head like that again, he wouldn’t be going down this time. Especially not when there were no plates around.

Air tense, Steve tore his gaze from your rocksteady stance, ready to back you up. If trading insults was the agenda today, he could do that with you.

But that’s when he saw it.

While you absolutely loathed Billy- he found you entertaining.

It was the searing heat in his eyes as he had looked up and down, smirking close-mouthed and taunting. He had been much too pleased by you jumping into the conversation, forcing yourself between himself and Steve. He had seen this look before. It was the one guys would throw at each other after passing a girl on the street- or talking about someone in the locker room.

The flash of panic hit Steve in the chest, throat closing up like a crushed coke can.

He didn’t deserve to look at you like that- he didn’t deserve to look at you in any way besides apologetically. From like- the bottom of a six-foot grave that the two of you had dug.

Or something like that.

Either way, he wasn’t going to get to be around you anymore. From what Steve was gathering, Billy wanted you to take a bite out of him.

But you didn’t seem to realize this- probably focused on every way you’d like to hurt the mulleted barf bag in front of you.

Steve took a chance and caught your shoulder. “Okay, back up.” He advised, coaxing you back as Billy leared closer. Luckily for him, you didn’t fight back, letting him step in front of you. If he hadn’t, you probably would’ve lasted a few more moments before trying to tear into him. Billy scoffed, reluctantly drawing his eyes away from you before stabbing them into Steve.

“Yeah. Put that new bitch of yours on a leash.”

The rush of anger that punched through his throat came so fast and so hard that it almost knocked him off his feet.

Okay.

Maybe you couldn’t do anything violent.

But Steve hadn’t made any promises about himself.

He pushed forward, intent on getting Billy to apologize. Whether it was through words or fists, he wasn’t really sure. But before he could even open his mouth, a toddler burst between the two men, laughing maniacally. Following quickly after was his mother, offering quick apologies after she raced past.

Steve looked at the gap caused by the interruption, blood quieting in his ears. Whatever tension was there before had snapped, dissolving into the commercialized air. Billy seemed to figure that out too. He looked up at Steve, blue eyes narrow before relaxing into a cocky nonchalance. The guy threw his arms out wide, shrugging at himself- as if daring Steve to resume what he started. He was trying to make it look like he was inviting a fight- like he wasn’t concerned about the aftermath it would bring.

Luckily, Steve knew better.

And, he had an errand to run.

He let out a dry chuckle, nudging the back of your jacket. “Let’s get out of here. We’re wasting our time.”

You nodded, never keeping your eyes off of Billy. Steve held his tongue, knowing he couldn’t tell you to stop glaring. That would just open up a whole can of worms.

Hargrove watched as the two of you passed, smirk unflinching even as Steve turned his back. He could feel the burning sensation as you walked away, drilling into his back. And then it was gone, replaced by the carefully controlled air conditioning of the mall.

“God, that guy is a dick.” You groaned, knocking Steve out of his paranoid thoughts.

“I dunno, I think he was pretty pleasant,” He tried joking, the words feeling forced on his tongue. He grimaced at that, annoyed that he still felt Billy’s presence. He swallowed, trying to banish the dry scratchiness in his throat. ”But in all seriousness, I was worried he was going to swing at you.”

“Aw, you were worried about me?” You asked, the pitch of your voice rising in mock flattery.

Steve just blanched at your funny, but clueless reaction. “Yeah. I was a little bit worried about you. I mean, you were the one who almost bit his finger off.” He answered, completely honest. “I thought I was going to have get another concussion.”

“Defending my honor?”

“Saving your scrappy ass.” Steve corrected, smothering the brief moment of vulnerability a few seconds earlier, hoping his humor did the job. You hadn’t seemed to notice his admission, but he just wanted to make sure.

He didn’t need you getting any ideas.

You laughed, and the tension left in his shoulders evaporated. Whatever had just occurred minutes earlier- or even months ago- was now completely out of your head, replaced by his own clever jokes. He would’ve patted himself on the back if it hadn’t made him look stupid.

The remaining walk to the store was short, filled with relative silence or little comments on items that stuck out in the windows. By the time you made it, Steve had five more solid reasons why he liked the mall.

Stepping into the department store, Steve was immediately hit by the flowery perfume, face scrunching.

“Dress first?” You asked, biting back a laugh as you drifted over to one of the display racks, fingers ghosting over the fabric. Steve shook his head, mostly to get rid of his reaction to the perfume and partly to answer.

“No. I already have a suit.” He answered easily, still focused on taking in the advertisements and strange decorations.

You spun on him, dress quickly forgotten. “ You already have a suit? Then what are we matching with?”

“The tie and the corsage.” Steve answered easily, passing you and heading over to what he thought was formal wear. You stared at him, for a moment refusing to move. He looked over his shoulder at you, miming confusion. “You coming or not?”

“I can’t believe-” You stared, but quickly cut yourself off, eyes closed as you took a deep breath through your nose. “You know what? It doesn’t matter,” you decided, eyes flashing open to stare at him. “If we aren’t looking for a suit, you’re going to be at my every beck and call.”

Steve had just laughed at that, unaware of how serious you had been.

You made good on your promise, quickly getting the gist of the department store before he did. You swept through the isles quickly, grabbing dress after dress. He followed your lead, throwing in a few of the dresses you had passed by. If he was going to be here, he might as well join in on the fun. He preferred the ones with lots and lots of sequins. You hated them. Around thirty minutes later, the cart Steve pushed was piled high, threatening to topple over.

Conceding the need to empty the cart, the two of you found the dressing rooms, connected to a wide, mirror-lined hallway. Steve stopped the cart in one of the first open rooms, watching as you disappeared behind a curtain.

The first dress you tried on was a disaster. It had been one of the ones Steve had pulled- the one with huge, arcing frills that seemed to make up the straps. He had seen plenty in the store like that- so he had just assumed it was what girls were wearing to prom. He didn’t claim to know much, but he could see all of the mannequins and the other girls in the store carrying dresses around that were just like it.

But when he threw it over the dressing room door, all he heard was a groan.

“No way.”

“What?!” Steve asked, genuinely confused. It was pink- you liked pink. Hell, your nails were painted pink. “What’s wrong with that one?”

“I just- I don’t like it. Give me a new one.”

“But you were the one who set it in the cart.” He reminded you, eyes wide and pointed at the wall. There was a door between the two of you, but he still saw the perfect picture of your reaction in his head. You had most likely rolled your eyes, all haughty and annoyed, arms folding as you crinkled the dress in hand.

“I was distracted!”

“Listen, if you try it on and don’t like it, you don’t have to try on any of the other dresses I picked out.” Steve promised, a smirk on his face. Of course, he meant it if you didn’t like it. But you were going to love it. He knew that. As a guy who really didn’t care that much about fashion, he still had excellent taste- so the promise wasn’t going to matter.

At least, that’s what he thought until you actually pulled back the curtain.

“I look like a half-eaten cotton candy stick.” You bit out, bare feet smacking against the linoleum as you spread your arms out wide. The bright pink material was poofy and wide, the curved sleeves sticking out and digging into your jaw, while the shorter skirt rode up your thighs with every small step you were taking. It was... it was a terribly awful dress.

But the thing that broke him was the fact that you were in it, all edges and blazing personality, stuffed into a pink, oversized, paper mache finger trap.

“No! No, you look…” Steve tried his best to keep it together- to keep that stiff smile firm upon his lips. But one look at your smoldering expression broke him. He ducked his head down toward his feet as the laugh burst from his nose. “Yeah, yeah the cotton candy thing is really accurate. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He apologized, watching with a rising, weakly sympathetic grin as you snatched the next dress from the cart- one he hadn’t picked out.

Fair was fair he guessed.

But, there wasn’t much luck on the next one either. It was a color you had liked- shimmery, iridescent turquoise. Steve had insisted was going to make you look like the little mermaid, but you didn’t care.

You had shuffled out, holding the skirt high along with your hopes. Those quickly came crashing down as you had to admit to him that he was right. The dress did look a little like Ariel’s seashell bra.

So, that dress hadn’t worked.

No biggie.

You had a huge pile of them in the cart next to Steve, so you weren’t running out of them anytime soon.

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

Morbidly wrong.

You tried on dress after dress, but none of them really worked. Sometimes it was the fit, the color, the way it made you look like a cartoon character- nothing was working out. Steve had handed you each dress, knowing that this would be the one.

It never was.

You kept throwing them back at him after changing out of them, your frustration quickly beginning to be taken out on him. At one point, Steve felt like he was drowning in fabric, choked by colorful skirts and sleeves. He had let you do it though, knowing a sarcastic comment offered by him would’ve been met by more crankiness.

And honestly, he was starting to worry that you were going to give up. The huge pile the two of you created was down to its last few dresses. And the odds of any of them working out? Dismal.

Steve’s feet ached, having tried a million ways to stay on his feet. But after as long as you had been inside that partition, he couldn’t take it anymore. He slid down to the floor, finding heaven on the cold, squeaky floor.

“Steve.”

He grunted in response.

“Throw me one.”

Without much of a complaint, Steve got up onto his knees and slid one of the dresses from the cart, balling it up and throwing it over the top of the curtain. If he hadn’t been so tired, he would’ve pumped it fist as an excellent show of marksmanship. He slumps back against the wall, resigning himself to sit and agree with whatever you veto next. After a minute or two, the curtain rod shrills at the drag of metal. Steve drops his head to look at you and…

Huh.

You looked really good.

Steve cocked his head to the side, eyes wide as his gaze traveled from the very edge of the skirt, up to the off-the-shoulder neckline. You had shoulders- and a collar bone. He had never seen those from you. He swallowed slightly, stomach burning with something like indigestion.

The red of the dress stood out like a firecracker against the unoffending beige of the hallway, punching through the unerring boredom. It followed your curves like a car on a track. Your hands follow those curves, a scarlet vision straight out of fiction. He straightened up slightly, eyes blown wide.

“Hey- that looks-”

“It’s too much.” You muttered, a hand smoothing up and down your bare arm as you looked at yourself in the mirror. “It’s tacky. None of the other colors are half as loud as this one.”

Steve faltered, eyes landing on the curve of your butt. He cursed silently, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

This was you.

You were his friend- a surprising gorgeous one- so the fact that he had looked was an accident. One he definitely would not be thinking about later.

He cleared his throat, re-engaging you as he moved to stand. “Even the cotton candy dress?”

You didn’t answer him, lost in your own head as you turned this way and that, nose wrinkling and brows forming their familiar concerned curves.

On one hand. You were right. Most of the dresses in the store- or just in general- were pastel-colored, light and unoffending, or just slightly off-color. He couldn’t even remember a time a girl had worn a dress that bright and distracting- he would’ve remembered it.

“It fits you,” is what he finally manages to offer. He had moved closer behind you, now visible in the changing room mirror. The fluorescents overhead burn his eyes and are giving him a headache, but he sucks it up anyway. The picture of you in the mirror makes eye contact with him, frown jagged. Steve returns that expression. “You don’t like it?”

How didn’t you like it?

You held your tongue for a few moments, your fingers swinging slightly in the loose fabric.

“I like how it looks on me. I’m just worried people will think I look stupid,” you admitted. “Is that a totally ridiculous thing to worry about?”

You.

You of all people were worried about looking stupid.

Through his exhausted haze, Steve felt the deep sickness of confusion. He watched as the person who had stolen a police chief’s gun worried about what would happen when you settled on the wrong dress. He didn’t think you felt fear. You had never shown it before. Maybe the closest he had seen was annoyance or uncomfortability- but even in the face of monsters and sociopaths, you kept up a defiant image.

Maybe that was one of the reasons he had asked you.

Deep down, Steve had been too scared to show up to a stupid high school dance alone. And you? He thought you wouldn’t have broken a sweat.

But here you were, greying and panicked over your slim dress options.

For every time you had saved his ass, he owed you this one at least.

The thick confusion starts to dissipate as he makes up his mind and he’s back to quickly answering your concerning, but albeit endearing question. “(F/n). Look at who you’re asking,” He joked, warmth curling in his chest as you heave out a barely audible laugh. You turn over your shoulder to look at him and he continues. “Honestly, I think that’s the first dress that’s worked for you- and I’m exhausted. We’ve been here for two and a half hours.” Steve whined slightly, making a show of his sagging and weary bones. You narrowed your eyes at his act, lips pursing to keep back what he knew was a smile. Encouraged, Steve shot out one of his arms, ready to wrap it up. “And, just for a little more incentive, I’ve already got a tie that matches the dress.”

Your eyes widened, mouth breaking open with curved corners that you didn’t care to hide. “You just want to spend less money!”

Steve just shrugged, prideful in the way you had seemed to blaze back to life. “Finally figured that out huh?”

Gracing him with a biting, forced laugh, you ruffle up your hair and turn back to the mirror, hands atop your hips. Steve was starting to get used to how you looked, chest loosening. You were still your over-critical, annoying self. It put him at ease to see those familiar expressions crossing your face, returning you to normal. Everything about you was the same- you were just wearing a dress.

The soft worry that had filled your face was gone, replaced by serrated caution of the red garment. You were weighing your options. Lip pouted slightly, you took another spin, head on a swivel as you made sure to capture every angle of the dress.

Steve would’ve teased you for being so meticulous, but he knew how long it took him to do his hair. Instead, he just offered a soft roll of his eyes, folding his arms.

“Shut up.” You muttered, grabbing two fistfuls of the dress and lifting. Walking in place, your focus was solely on the wily fabric.

Thinking he was going to be stuck in this department store for decades, Steve let out a played-up groan, gaze finding the ceiling.

“Do you really think this works?” You ask finally, now facing him instead of the mirror.

That momentary shock of emotion flooded his system, limbs tensing. Steve loosened his jaw- repeating the same phrase over and over: she’s annoying, she’s annoying, she’s annoying. Steve nodded reassuringly, the confusion gone. “You look great.”

“Are you sure?

He took a deep breath, knowing that he could handle it. He could just tell you the truth. No big deal. “(F/n), if I didn’t already know how much of a nightmare you are, and I saw you in that dress, I’d be asking you out.” As it rolled off his tongue, cheeks slightly pink, the pressure he’d felt on his chest lifted.

“A nightmare?” You gasped, eyes wide as you spun to face him.

“Hey- that was a great compliment. I was basically calling you hot.” He pointed, correcting you for your own benefit. Then he winced, tilting his head. “Platonically.”

“Good.” You nodded matter of factly, turning to look at yourself in the mirror, smile growing as blinding as your eyes. “Platonic is the only option.”

With that out of the way, you hopped back into the dressing room. After a few minutes, the dress was off and situated, and the two of you dumped the discarded dresses back into the cart. It was a high stack- the ladies at the desk hadn’t been exactly happy when you brought it back.

But that didn’t matter.

Because you bought the dress.

After those long few hours, you were done. And Steve couldn’t be happier. Until you forced him to carry the long plastic bag that is, almost skipping along as the two of you left the heavily flowered store. He couldn’t complain though. Well, he could, and he did- but there was no real emotion behind it. He liked spending time with a friend- and right now, you were one of the few he had. Even if it was holding your bags or almost falling asleep on a department store floor.

On the way out of the mall, the two of you stopped and grabbed Chinese food- because by the time you had finally finished, it was time for dinner. Steve had wanted a burger- and you had wanted tacos.

You had met somewhere in the middle- somehow.

Eventually, dinner was eaten in the parking lot, sitting atop the hood of Steve’s car, sharing the chow mein and two sides meal.

You pushed away from him as he grabbed at your box.

“Hey!” You yelped, watching helplessly as Steve was able to snag a wonton from your grasp.

He shrugged, making a sort of ‘duh’ face at your expense.“We’re supposed to be sharing.”

“You said you didn’t like wontons.” You reminded him, repeatedly stabbing your chopsticks into the box, glare weak.

“Well, I didn’t love how they looked.” Steve explained, shoving his stolen food into his mouth and pushing it aside. “But now I know they taste great.”

He watched as you shook your head at him, tugging your bent legs closer into your body. Your silhouetted hair shook as you did so, drawing his eyes to the mellowing red sun.

“You’re like a little boy,” you grouch, shoulders hunched as you eat your own wonton.

Glee rising in his throat and stopping from swallowing his food, Steve coughs slightly, barely avoiding choking.

Beside him, you smile, red light reflecting in your eyes. “Gag.”

Steve snapped back to look at you, eyes blown wide. “What?!” He asks, trying to sound shocked and hurt- but can’t help the delight driving up the pitch of his words. “Did you just tell me to gag- so I would drop dead?”

You looked at him over your cup, mixing your chow mein slowly. “Yeah.”

“That’s it,” Steve began, slapping his own box down next to him and turning towards you. “I’m taking all of the wontons.”

“No-” You cut yourself off as you let out a scream, pushing out with one arm and extending the other, far away from him as he reached over. You caught him sharply in the chest and he barely grunts, reaching in a display of desperation. He can feel your breath bursting against his collar as you wind up for another yell. “You don’t even like them!”

“Stop complaining- just hand them over-”

“(F/n)?”

Steve freezes, ice-cold fear running through his bloodstream. Throat drying, his gaze dropped from yours, panic overtaking his motor functions. You take his momentary stillness to jab him with your elbow, pushing him off your shoulder and turning toward the voice.

He knew who it was before having to turn around.

He heard that voice... saw her face whenever he closed his eyes. She was the one person he wanted to see the most, and the one person he couldn’t talk to. And- she was the only reason you were going to the prom with him. If had had the choice, he would be with her in a heartbeat. He loved her- and it was sucking the life out of him.

The relaxed air he had felt sitting beside you caught in his chest, easily swept away by the girl approaching.

“Nancy?” You ask, grin growing wide as you recognized your friend. But as you actually took a second to look at her, a good forty feet away, you were able to get a look at her face. She was walking toward the two of you at a brisk pace, expression unreadable. Typically, you would’ve received a swift smile back.

That couldn’t be good.

Usually, she would offer him an awkward smile- even a wave if they somehow crossed paths. But the two of you got neither.

“Steve.” You turn to look at him, brows low and expression confused. “You told Nancy about us going to Prom- right?”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Now he knew why she was walking so fast, an uptight vision of pale purple hurtling straight for the car. The realization grabbed him by the throat and squeezed, threatening to stop the flow of oxygen to his brain. He’d really screwed up and his own body knew it before he did.

But what could he do?

He just inhaled through his teeth, shoulder’s raising apologetically.