🌷

fruit started flying past his ears whenever you climbed onto his ikran instead of walking back with tuk. she’d go quiet for a second, then launch a half-ripe piece of yovo in a movement that she thought was sneaky. he’d barely sit down beside you at mealtime before she’d twist in from your other side, make noise just to drown him out, latch onto whatever sentence he’d begun since she meant to finish it better. she’d stop playing altogether if you weren’t the one she got to chase. hunter-hunted became something she wouldn’t even consider unless you promised to run slow. one night after you left early, she burst into tears without warning. when their mother pressed, tuk slapped her arm across her eyes and said it wasn’t fair that neteyam had stolen you. whenever he came near, she’d press herself harder into your side. speak louder when he murmured something only for you. your name came out of her mouth first, louder than necessary.

you never scolded her, it was impossible to not find her actions endearing. then again, maybe that’s what made it worse.

neteyam had given up so many things, always with that too-old composure jake mistook for maturity, always paired together with that quiet bow of the head that made kiri roll her eyes and lo’ak feel weirdly guilty. when kiri wanted the biggest tswin feathers, he let her keep them, even if he’d found them first. he had let lo’ak win the race back from the eastern cliff more times than could be counted, even when his own stride outmatched his brother’s and his lungs ached to gloat. he never challenged them when they interrupted. he gave away his portions when tuk asked. he stayed behind when others got to fly out further. he let them talk over him, take over the better hunting posts, climb higher on the vines. when his parents were overwhelmed, he’d take on both patrol and babysitting duty, never once breathing resentment. he gave, and gave, and gave. what he wasn’t willing to give was you.

you weren’t even trying to make it worse, which made your unintentional negligence feel doubly cruel. you were kind to tuk, and it created this illusion for her that she had any claim over you at all. tuk didn’t understand the meaning of your gaze when neteyam caught it during late watches, nor did she notice the way your hands lingered too long when you helped him tie back his hair after long days of flight. neteyam noticed. tuk did not. or maybe she did, and it made her angry. maybe she did, and it made her bold.

“she’s my best friend,” tuk announced one evening, nose wrinkled, arms crossed, expression ripe with the kind of territorial conviction only a baby sister could manufacture.

neteyam turned away from the half-broken spear he’d been repairing. his brow arched, deliberate. “you don’t even know what that means.”

“do too,” she snapped. “means she belongs to me.”

you were sitting between them, quiet when you were entertained and nervous at once. your eyes had darted to neteyam’s face, then tuk’s, then back again. tuk pressed into your side harder, chest puffed out, small but loud. you tried to smile at her. she was just a girl, you reminded yourself. this was harmless.

neteyam disagreed. he leaned back on one arm, muscles stiffening under the stretch of his chest. he looked so smug, so settled. “doesn’t work that way, tuk-tuk.”

she squinted. “why not?”

“because,” he said, hand sliding behind your back under the pretense of stretching, “she picked me.”

you gasped so softly it was barely audible. tuk stared, neteyam smirked. you were sure he’d never looked more insufferable.

“no she didn’t!” tuk shrieked. “she plays with me every day! we pick berries together! we made bracelets! she taught me to ride! she sleeps in my tent when she visits!”

he nodded, nodding too patiently. “that’s true. she also kissed me behind the fire ring last moon. what did she do with you again?”

“neteyam!” you smacked his chest, scandalized. tuk was shrieking. neteyam grabbed your wrist mid-smack, fingers wrapping around your pulse. you couldn’t pull away, and not just because of his grip. his smile wasn’t sly anymore.

“you said you didn’t want a mate yet,” she accused, tiny arms crossed over her chest, mouth turned. “you said you don’t even like the boys in the village.”

your lips parted, “i said i didn’t like most of them.”

neteyam grinned against your shoulder and leaned forward, so your faces nearly touched. you laughed a little and elbowed him, but didn’t move away. you always let him stay close.

“i’m not a boy in the village,” he murmured, tongue clicking against the back of his teeth, “i’m your future mate.”

tuk made a disgusted sound. “no, i’m her mate!”

you looked between them. neteyam was still grinning, cheek resting against his fist, utterly unfazed. tuk was shaking with fury, fists balled, braids shaking. her cheeks were pink, teeth bared.

“you can’t even hunt yet,” he said, barely suppressing a laugh.

“i will!” tuk shouted. “and she loves me more!”

“does she?” neteyam tilted his head at you, “does she love you more than me?”

“you’re being mean,” tuk snapped. “you always give me what i want!”

he finally looked at her. “not this.” tuk’s lip wobbled.

you told tuk the next day that you’d always love her, but that neteyam was different. she didn’t understand, and maybe she never would. she pouted for three days. neteyam was smug the whole time. you ignored them both until you couldn’t anymore. when you kissed him in the mouth of the forest, behind a tree tuk couldn’t climb, neteyam kept laughing into your mouth. every time you tried to silence him, he just laughed harder. he was so happy. you hated it but you kissed him again.

not this time, he thought.

So he starts with the easy ones.

You sit cross-legged in front of each other, pointing at yourself like a diligent student, mimicking his movements. “Eyes,” he says, and you repeat it, pointing at your own, then giggle when he nods. “Nose,” he says, and you do the same. It’s ridiculous, but fun, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

Then he decides you’re ready to do it on your own. “I think you’re ready, sevin. On your own now.”

You do. Only you don’t point at yourself. You point at him.

Eyes, nose, ears…

Your fingers tap his lips. “Lips,” you say, mock-serious. Then his shoulders. “Shoulders,” with a little teasing tilt of your head. Finally, your hand hovers near his chest. “Heart,” you add, eyes glinting, barely holding back laughter.

Neteyam freezes for half a heartbeat, caught somewhere between amusement and—he won’t admit it—flustered. He tries not to smile too big, but it slips anyway. Just a little. And you catch it immediately, grin widening, satisfied.

“On your own,” he repeats, though the corners of his mouth betray him. “But that works too.”

"At least I know it better now,” you say innocently, like that explains everything.

And he can’t argue with that.

Then comes the hard part. Words that twist your tongue, force your lips into shapes they’re not used to, make your mouth feel like it’s learning a new language on its own (which it actually is).

He leans in. “Jewelry,” he says. His lips move slowly, and you can’t help but stare—really stare—at his mouth, tracking every movement. And he won’t lie: your focus, the intensity in your eyes, makes him giddy. It almost makes him want to forget the lesson altogether.

“Jew…wel…ry,” he repeats.

You try, mimic his shape of lips, your tongue curling awkwardly. “Jew…welr…ree—” You hiss in frustration and lightly smack your own forehead.

“Hey, hey,” he says quickly, stopping your hand before it hits again. His voice is calm, patient, but the little tremor of amusement in it makes your cheeks heat. “It’s okay. Let’s do it again. Together, okay?”

You nod, hum a quick agreement, and repeat after him. His lips move slowly and you follow, mimicking each subtle shift, each careful curl of the tongue.

Finally, you get it. The sound rolls off your tongue just right. You clap your hands together, triumphant. “I did it!”

“That’s good, tìyawn,” he says softly, eyes warm, voice carrying that quiet pride. And before you can even think about it, he leans in and kisses you, just a quick, soft press of lips.

You think: that’s always the best part when he’s teaching you.

Sometimes, you’d ask him words you’d heard from Lo’ak or Spider. He knew they were more fluent, of course, but some words were better left unspoken. He’d stumble through excuses, fumble explanations, and hope you’d forget before he had to actually teach them.

He knew it made him a bad teacher. But what you don’t know won’t hurt you, right?

And then, one lazy afternoon, just idling in the forest while the sun filtered through the leaves, you tilted your head at him and asked, casually, “What does fuck mean?”

He choked on his own saliva. Literally. Heart skipping a beat. He didn’t even have to ask where you’d heard it from. 

A few days later, you were sharpening your arrows, humming softly, and then casually asked, “Can you pass me that knife, bro.”

He froze. Knife in hand. Confused. Slightly exasperated. “…Bro?”

You tilted your head, grinning, waiting. Waiting for him to react like he always did when you learned something on your own.

“Don’t… bro me,” he finally said, voice tight, trying not to smile too much.

Loosened, you teased back, “Lo’ak calls you that, though?”

“Yes,” he admitted, jaw tightening slightly. “But you don’t call me that. Okay?”

Your smile faltered, a little. Face falling.

He noticed immediately. Sighing softly, he crouched beside you. “…Alright,” he said, eyes softening. “I’ll teach you something. Something you can call me, okay?”

He didn’t really get the chance to teach you that when the next day, deeper in the forest, you ended up at the falls. The water rushed around you both, cool and soft against your skin. You sat with your back to him, submerged up to your shoulders, and he leaned over, hands gentle as he washed your hair, careful not to tangle it.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the water run through your fingers, letting him work. Then slowly you turned. Hands on his shoulders, soft smile on your face, eyes catching his in the spray of the falls.

“It’s your turn now,” you said quietly, voice a whisper over the rushing water.

Then a pause, just long enough to make his heart skip. “…Baby.”

And somewhere, buried beneath all the sweetness, the teasing, the giddy warmth—he doesn’t know if he wants to hit his brothers or treat them with extra meat later.

uttering the word felt foreign on your tongue, just as it felt foreign hearing it slip from neteyam’s lips.

“what i mean is that i will not do what you ask.”

“but you have never not done what i asked before,” you accused him with a frown. you were well aware that you sounded and looked like a petulant child, but you genuinely could not recall a single time that your desires were dismissed so easily by your lover.

“that’s because you never asked me this,” neteyam replied, continuing to busy himself with washing the fruit he gathered before eclipse. you always liked to have a sweet tea after dinner, and he knew how to prepare it best.

“this is very strange,” you state plainly, looking him up and down for signs of wounds or disease. you thought that perhaps your husband being ill was the only plausible explanation for his behaviour. you were not even aware up until this moment that neteyam even knew how to say the words to refuse you.

he simply laughed in return.

“you’re being dramatic, baby.”

as you opened your mouth to rebut again, a low chittering sound interrupted you. the sudden noise stopped almost as soon as it began, but neteyam’s ears twitched and your eyes widened. with the indication that he heard it, you knew that you were very much fucked. still, you pretended to not hear anything.

“dramatic, teyam? but you know you never say ‘no’ to me!”

you had hoped neteyam would be distracted enough by your exclamation, but your mate was a skilled hunter who had a tendency to follow his killer instincts. unfortunately for you, those instincts led his narrowed eyes away from your pretty face, and towards the corner of your home.

watching his gaze, you subtly tried to step in front of it to continue your argument. unfortunately for you, the basket began to move and the chittering started again. with a few calculated steps, neteyam easily stepped around you to get closer.

another tendency that neteyam had, which you learned quite quickly since meeting him, was to create distance between you and anything he deemed as a threat. seeing him switch his grasp on the harmless fruit knife, easily turned into a warrior’s weapon, made you jump to action.

“do not even think about it! that’s the fruit knife!”

“i’ll make you a new one.”

his outstretched arms prevented you from moving around him, already having made himself a living na’vi shield. while there wasn’t a big difference in your height, he still had a broader physique due to his father’s human genes. usually his broad shoulders were a great advantage for you in many other situations, but it was clear that they were a very big disadvantage in this case. so, you settled for wrapping your arms around his middle to hold him back instead.

with the right execution, you knew it would distract him enough to lead to one of those aforementioned other situations instead. after all, he was only a simple man. well, a simple man who never denied you of anything up until now.

“i don’t want a new one! teyam, this one is perfectly fi-”

“oh, you have got to be kidding me,” neteyam’s voice cut you off.

in your struggle to prevent any casualties involving your beloved fruit knife, you failed to notice that the blanket covering the wooden basket fell, revealing its contents. at a glance, you saw he still held the weapon, though you knew there would be no need for it anymore. you nervously chuckled as you felt the tension slightly ease from neteyam’s body.

“i can explain!” you manoeuvred your body so now you were the living na’vi shield of the basket, and faced your mate with the sweetest smile you could muster. “let’s calm down!”

“baby,” neteyam remained alert, still eying the movement behind your shoulder. “why is there a prolemuris in our house?”

you began your explanation as you delicately gathered the prolemuris in question into the fallen blanket.

“tuk and i found her earlier stuck in a tree. she was crying so loud, stuck in vines,” you efficiently wrapped the animal like a baby as you spoke, not wanting to startle the animal. “then, teyam, we couldn’t find her family! and tuk said she couldn’t bring her home after what happened with the thanator cub last time…” you trailed off not knowing how to plead your case.

neteyam continued for you in exasperation, “so you brought her here.”

“so i brought her here!” you repeated in agreement.

“you do realise that tuk isn’t a child anymore, right? she’s already eighteen but she’ll be spoiled forever if you keep on babying her,” neteyam dropped the knife on the table, and gave you a pointed look to which you rolled your eyes at. it was easy to detect neteyam’s affection for his little sister seeping into his voice. though they were in their adult years already, you can tell that he still remembers how it was like to carry her in his arms. eywa, even you still remember often seeing tuk carried in his arms.

much like how you were carrying the baby prolemuris right now.

“i didn’t say i wanted to keep her with us forever, teyam,” you kept your tone gentle but didn’t look at him, continuing to coo at the animal like it was your own blood. “it’s only until we find her family.”

realisation quickly dawned on him why you were so adamant on changing his earlier ‘no’ into a ‘yes’, but you didn’t see how neteyam’s expression softened. he knew since you were both young that you had a big heart. your heart was strong too, without a doubt, but what stood out to neteyam most was how you always made space to nurture those around you. even during your adolescence, others had viewed it as a weakness, but all neteyam saw was strength.

big heart.

it is always easier to be cruel than to be kind, and you unfailingly choose to be kind every day. as the future olo’eyktan, neteyam knew from the start that there was nobody else he wanted to lead the clan with.

he watched as you settled back down on the floor with the prolemuris nuzzling her little head against your chest. the sight would send any man to his knees, but neteyam knew he had to at least attempt to stand his ground. only the great mother knew how fast you would be able to change his mind.

“but when you asked me for permission to have a pet,” he moved to sit in front of you, connecting the dots with ease. “you didn’t expect that i would say ‘no’, which is why you panicked, hm?”

you did not bother giving him a response. the baby in your arms was looking up at you with her big eyes, almost as if she was begging not to be sent away. you pouted back at her, paying no attention to neteyam.

“because you already had one hidden beside where we sleep!” he continued, pleased that he finally understood your earlier dramatics. “but i still do not want a pet, by the way.”

“it is alright, neteyam. then you may sleep elsewhere, because she is staying with me,” you snarled, your maternal instincts to protect the creature prevailing. “perhaps you can go to your parents’ kelku for a while?”

“what?”

many things were wrong with what you just said.

first, you said his full name. you only ever say his full name when you want to stop talking to him. sometimes you slip it into conversations when you’re tired, or when you don’t want to be rude and flat out say that he was annoying you. while not always a bad thing, it was definitely not looking good for neteyam right now.

second, not sleeping anywhere near you? he must have hit his head after collecting the fruit for your tea because this was surely a hallucination. neteyam racked his brain to recall the last time he ever got a full night’s sleep without you beside him. he concludes that he was probably around sixteen years old.

lastly, to send him away to his parents was the final blow. this must be a prank, or maybe you were the one that hit your head while saving your new friend. why did you have to make things more difficult for him? you even said ‘for a while’, you harsh woman. he would be lucky if his mother and tuk never heard about this, or else he’d never hear the end of it.

neteyam thought that there was no way you were being serious until he saw you completely ignore his reply, and playfully rubbed your nose against the infant’s like it was the most natural thing to do in the world.

neteyam rubbed his temples, feeling a headache starting to form.

“baby, you’re killing me here.”

“then you better start packing a bag, neteyam!” you snapped at him with ice in your eyes, then continued coddling the animal with the ferocious fondness of a mother.

the backs of his eyes were beginning to hurt. he thought he would last longer than five minutes but neteyam was going to break. the mighty warrior would be defeated by the love of his life who knew exactly how to bend him to her will.

he stood and made himself his own portion of tea before turning around and offering yours in your favourite cup. it was one of his first courting gifts for you, a simple wooden little thing with carved stars that held the perfect amount of drink. the memory of his clumsy teenage whittling was still engraved in his mind, thoughts of wanting to impress you permanently instilled in him. even now, neteyam’s chest swelled with pride every time you use it, knowing you treasured it as much as he treasured you.

he observed your ears flattening against your head, and your eyes drifting from the infant to the steaming tea. its sweet scent filled both your noses, and neteyam knew his peace offering would be accepted once you took a sip.

only you did not sip. instead, you only resumed murmuring reassurances to the baby beast in your arms. even through his confusion, he caught something that sounded much too similar to ‘cuddling’.

neteyam would be damned if you were cuddling a prolemuris tonight instead of him so with a heavy sigh and a quick prayer to the great mother, he admitted defeat.

“only until we find her family.”

neteyam watched your ears twitch, and knew you heard him. then he decided to add, “but she is not sleeping beside us.”

eventually, you placed down your sleepy companion to lay beside you. then, you faced your mate, still choosing not to speak. you were looking at him as if you were expecting more, but neteyam spotted your hands inching towards your cup of tea.

he sighed once again, glancing at the chittering lump wrapped in the blanket you wove, “and i will personally make a bed for her.”

before he had even finished his sentence, you already launched yourself to hug him across the low table. with all your limbs tangled together, neteyam knew he finally said the right thing.

“thank you, teyam! she’ll be so good! thank you!”

hearing you happily squeal was enough to make neteyam grin and nuzzle his face into you neck, but hearing his nickname come from your lips was a sweeter victory.

you soon removed your arms from around his neck and took a sip of the cold tea, savouring it like it was still hot, and gave him a peck on the cheek. at the sight of his exaggerated frown, you decided to kiss his pout away, thinking it was the least that neteyam deserved after what you put him through.

“i can’t kiss you any more, teyam, we have company.”

later that evening, after many stolen kisses from his end, neteyam comfortably laid beside you in your shared hammock. just as he began to fall asleep, he felt your body shift and a slight dip in your side. he was about to protest, knowing exactly where the added weight came from, but neteyam heard you softly whisper in the dark and stopped himself.

“he’s sweet, isn’t he, ‘evi? i told you he never says ‘no’ to me.”

oh, you and your big heart might end up being the death of him, but neteyam knew he could never deny you of anything again.

~~~~~

You don’t respond beyond another sob of pain. 

“It’s okay!” Pool water splashes up to his mouth, soaking him to the bone. “Come here, I got you–” You scramble backward, eyes blown as Steve offers his hands. He has to swim toward the deep end. You seem steady, somehow, despite the depth, but you’re sinking and the blood is coming in blooms, now. 

Steve grabs you harder than he means to, feeling something sharp glance off of his arm. There must be debris in the pool. “Hey, I got you, I got you,” he says, hands under your armpits. 

Steve gazes frantically into the water for the wound and realises you aren’t wearing a thread of clothing. No top or bra, just naked skin. “Oh, Jesus,” he says, drawing you closer, not sure how you ever could’ve ended up like this and drawing horrible conclusions, “you’re gonna be okay, I got you. Let’s get you out of the water.”

You grab him back, and for a second Steve thinks you aren’t going to let him help, but he concentrates on looking like someone you could trust. “I got you,” he promises. 

The effort of treading water doesn’t hurt. It can’t take ten seconds to get you to the shallow end, but suddenly you’re pulling out of his arms and he’s glancing back at you, and you’re shoving him, not hard but enough to get him away from you, leaving him in a tangle on the shallow steps leading out of the water. “Wha–”

You let out a shaky sob and point down at yourself. 

Steve’s eyes trip over your bare chest and the red lancing of blood dripping down your navel to a sudden line demarcated into your skin. It looks like tiles. Like coruscated foil. 

It’s like scales. 

Steve gasps loud. It burns his throat. 

“Oh,” he says. 

You cry again. 

“Oh.” Steve shakes his head. You’re a girl, and you’re bleeding and you need help and you won’t get out of the water and you don’t have legs. “Okay. Okay, what the fuck.” 

Steve scrambles out of the pool. His feet slip on wet socks and puddles of water on the way to the sunroom. He yanks open the door, hears the shitty little padlock clink and the wood splinter as he forces it open and lets the wind slam it into the side of the house. The sunroom is too dark to see, but the towels are where they’ve always been in a hutch to the left. He grabs as many as he can and jogs back out. You’ve squandered back into the middle of the pool, a sorry, sad little frown on your lips. Your face is wet, but Steve can see you crying. Tears bumbling down your cheeks to gather at your chin. 

“Come here, then,” he says, kneeling at the shallow-end steps. 

You glare, untrusting. 

He resists the urge to glare back. “Come here,” he says again, gesturing with his arm for you to come. “You’re gonna bleed to death in my pool and– and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you after that.”

You come at his gesturing but you struggle. He can see now the– the tail of you, the body of it, not overly wide, about the width of you but longer than a normal woman’s legs would be, your dark pearlescent scales thick with blood at your navel and darker the further down they go. You scrunch yourself up some, but Steve can see that your tail (what the actual fuck) isn’t overly flexible, and you cant get up the steps without crawling on your elbows. 

“Can I get you?” he asks, holding out his arms, one of the towels toppling into the water in his hurry. “I don’t know how to help you.”

You go deeper into the water and push toward the inside of the pool’s kidney-bean shape, into deeper water. Steve’s knees cry out as he follows. 

You brace your hands on the side and lift yourself up. Not enough to get out of the pool, but– Steve doesn’t know what you want, but he grabs you and he yanks you out because he sure as hell isn’t about to fix your problem like this. 

You cry out, a pained, angry squeal as Steve drags you onto the stone floor. 

“I am so sorry!” he says, aware that he sounds angry and too flustered to correct himself. “I’m sorry, I need to look, and I can’t fix it in the water, can you just–”

He is beyond relieved that he can sit you up. You get with the program despite a complete lack of communication, throwing your hands behind you to lean back without falling. Steve catches a flick of softer material at the end of your tail —your fins, two thin, shining lengths of skin with tendrils still submerged. 

His ears ring. 

He isn’t sure how long he spends in a fuzzy haze, a few seconds at most, but he blinks out of it when you make another wretched sound of pain. 

“What is this?” he asks, murmurs, hand cupping your soft tummy where a mess of blood stains below a dip that must be your belly button. “What did you do?” 

Your crying is weird, out of water. Without the wet to dull its echo, it comes out like there’s something missing. It’s like you’re trying to talk to him when he asks, a sad murmuring as you gesture weakly to the blood running down your skin. 

Steve presses one of the towels to just under the wound. He can’t really tell what’s going on, but it definitely looks like a cut that needs pressure, down to the fat and gaping. You’re gonna hate him. 

“I’m really sorry,” he says, edging the towel closer, waiting until you meet his eye to nod encouragingly, “but I have to, okay? I have to.”

To his surprise, you lean into his side. He shifts to take your weight, holding you against him as you take the towel out of his hand and shove it over your cut. 

It probably needs stitches, but Steve can’t stitch. He can’t even sew. He doesn’t know anybody who can, except for…

Stop the bleeding first. 

Steve cringes as you let out another shaky cry. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, rubbing the length of your arm but careful not to jostle your hand. “You’re doing really well, you’re really brave. You’re doing a great job.” His eyes close against the sting of chlorine. God, your cut must be hurting like a bitch. 

“I got you,” he says, thinking wildly that he doesn’t have a thing, not a grip nor a clue, and that you are in the worst of hands. 

A demogorgon isn’t easily explained, but it is explained. Ever since they killed that loser in the Creel House and El closed the gate, the other dimension’s history and geography has been pretty well documented by the few who saw it in action. Steve himself has been asked for his first person accounts, and rewarded for his efforts with a pink-paper non-disclosure agreement. Nowhere in any of those interviews did the scientists mention mermaids. 

You don’t seem like a monster. Sure, you’ve got scales and little sharp fingernails and a weird belly button, but you’re lacking the five-petal death maw. You look like a girl, a pretty one when you aren’t ragged, probably, with the thickest eyelashes he’s ever seen and shiny mother-of-pearl at the corners of your eyes and the tip of your chin. Through your wet hair, he can see the shine of it on your earlobes, too. Would a demogorgon have earlobes? No! You’re one of the earth’s creatures, Steve decides, because he gets to be the authority. And you must be so cold. 

Steve grabs a towel and wraps it around your shoulders, covering the valley of your chest but not the wound. “Fuck, what are we gonna do?” he asks you. 

You meet his eyes. There’s something there. Not an understanding, he’s pretty firmly assumed you have no idea what the fuck he’s saying, but recognition at least. You offer a weak, what he thinks is appeasing murmur of a language he’s not sure exists on land and let your weight lay heavier against his side. 

After a soggy minute, you pull the towel away from your wound tentatively. The bleeding is far less aggressive than before. You turn your face to his and chirp, like you’re saying, Hey, look! 

Steve stares around at the water and the bloodied towels and doesn’t know who to call first. Not Dustin, lest they have another D’Artangan event. Not Robin, who told him very seriously after their shift that she would be sleeping and not to wake her up, no, not even if he saw something on the TV he wanted to rant about. Not Nancy. He honestly can’t be sure she won’t bring her shotgun. 

“What do I do?” he whines pathetically. 

You look sympathetic. Your next chirp is kind of adorable. 

“I’m gonna get you some waterproof plasters,” he says, because it’s all the options he’s got. “Okay? Even though I’m sure you… um, mer-girls heal up somehow. Do you?” 

You tilt your head. Steve tries to move and your curiosity rockets into fear, hands grasping his bicep as you give a sad, “Ah!”

“I gotta get it for you! And I can’t stay wet, I’ll get pneumonia again.”

“Ah!” you say, more like a warning this time. 

Steve furrows his brows at you. “Do you know what I’m saying? I have to go.” He points at the house. 

You shake your head up and down like a frantic nod, but when Steve goes to stand, you let out another sad little cry and grasp at his arms. 

“Okay!” He says, slamming back down, his sweatpants slapping the floor with a wet plop. “Fine, Jesus. Don’t sound so sad.” 

You trill under your breath. 

Steve grabs the ends of the towel around your shoulders and brings them together again firmly, covering the peaks of your breasts. “I thought you were supposed to have shells.”

You take one of his hands and put it on your hip. He doesn’t get it, how could he? But he lets you rub his hand against your scales and remarks at how gentle they are under his hand. They don’t look like they would be. 

Then you fill your mouth with spit and let it dribble into your hand. 

Steve steals his hand back, scared you’re gonna make him take the big glob of saliva you’ve gathered into his palm, but you raise the towel from your wound and transfer your saliva in a move that is oddly methodical. Then you press the towel back and offer Steve a smile, as if to say, See! 

Steve does not see. 

“Where did you come from?” he asks. 

You mumble back at him. 

“Do you know?” he asks. “How did you get here? How did you end up in my pool, of all places?”

Your mouth opens wider, and the sounds you make are closer to words. You’re speaking in your own language, high-pitched but not overly loud. Then you nod again, but you’re frowning, and Steve figures there’s nothing he can do here without Robin and her translation skills. Does knowing three languages help when it comes to deep sea creatures? 

Maybe he needs a whale song dictionary. Do scientists even know what whales are saying? Not that you’re very whale-like. No, you seem far more agile. 

Your hands are so human. Your arms. You have the soft fat on your upper arms and the same bones in your wrist, the only difference is your fingernails and their light pearlescence like the shine on your cheeks and chin. 

Where you’ve brought your hand up to spit into your fingers, you’ve transferred blood onto the delicate skin under your bottom lip. He grabs another towel, drier than the rest, and brings it to your face to rub it away. 

You close your eyes. 

Steve’s own widen in surprise. How totally still you go. How sincere your trust is, even though you don’t know him, as he wipes the towel over the planes of your face, drying the pool water and washing away the blood. 

He dries your neck, too, then the lengths of your arm. You let out the funniest sound yet, a laugh without laughter, just huffing breath through a little smile as the fabric runs down to your hand. 

“Guess you’re not still hurting,” he says. 

Your eyes open. 

They’re unlike anything he’s ever seen. You have white sclera like his own, but your pupils are bigger. Even dilated, Steve doesn’t think that a human’s pupil would ever be so big. It’s subtle but uncanny. And you have a phosphorescent glow running around it; there isn’t colour to your iris —the pupil and the iris are both black, but separated by a faintly glowing line that’s broken up like dabs from a tiny paint brush. There are tinier tines coming out radially from the line, uneven and seemingly without pattern, though they aren’t noticeable at first glance. You could get away with being stunningly human, really. Your eyes are beautiful, and only foreign to his species upon further inspection. 

You press your tongue deliberately to the back of your teeth and force air from between them in waves, repetitive and nearly melodical, like a whistle that hasn’t formed. You do it a few times, then wait for his response. 

Steve doesn’t know what the fuck to do, so he whistles. 

Your shock is immediate. You say a single word he decides to mean, What?

Steve whistles again, three low notes. 

You answer with the weird breathing thing. Steve does not understand.

“How’s that cut?” he asks, pointing deliberately at your stomach. 

You pull the towel away to show him a bloody, neat line. The skin has pulled back together. It doesn’t look healed in any capacity, skin inflamed furiously and crusted maroon with your blood, but there’s no longer a gap between the two edges of the wound. It’s like you’ve glued yourself closed. 

Steve grimaces, biting the bullet as he begins to fake-sniffle for you, pointing at the wound. “Hurts?”

You point at the wound and sniffle back. 

“Yeah?” he asks quietly, drawing a line down his cheek with his finger to demonstrate the path of a falling tear. “Ow?”

“Ow,” you say, slurring. 

“Yeah, ow.” He takes stock of the situation. “Okay, well, how about we stop sitting on the floor and work out what I’m gonna do?” 

Steve ignores your protesting and grabbing as he stands. He is uncomfortably wet in his boxers, and his toes are frozen now despite the previous warm rain. He takes them off and lets them fall in lumps on the floor, then holds out his arms for you, offering an awkwardly gentle smile. “Let me hold you?” he asks.

“Me?” you echo. 

“Yeah, let me pick you up?”

You hesitate. He doesn’t actually think you’ve understood ‘me’, more that you’d echoed the easiest word of the four he said, but Steve figures there’s time, now you aren’t bleeding to try to communicate. 

“You,” he says, pointing at you emphatically but only once. Then slowly to himself. “Me. Let me,” —points again at his chest— “hold,” —gestures to grab under your arms and lift— “you.” He points at you again. 

You hold up your arms. “Hold,” you say, which he thinks is extremely good progress. Robin couldn’t deny how smoothly the exchange went if she were here to hear it. 

Steve picks you up under the arms and carries you toward the pool chair. He’s glad he didn’t give up on exercise completely when he realised the tail makes your weight distribution harder to handle, but he manages, going slow so as not to hurt you as your fins feather along the floor. His back is screaming as he lays you out in the chair, but you lay down and give him your best smile yet. Inarguably a smile, meant to share joy, or delight, or pleasure. It’s the most human expression you could’ve made. It’s why Steve realises he’s suddenly in the deepest of deep shit.

Steve wraps you in towels and scurries back into the house, up the stairs to his room, where he very unceremoniously kicks out of his wet boxers and sweatpants, hurling them toward the en-suite floor. He pulls a different pair of sweatpants on from the dirty laundry because they’re the first thing he sees, then a shirt, before shoving a pair of socks into his pocket. His closet proves fruitful with a miscellaneous t-shirt that looks bigger than your size, but then he’s standing there paralysed wondering if you need pants, as if any of his pants would fit over your tail, so he spins back to the bedside table for the booster bottle of Ibuprofen and runs back downstairs. He grabs a bottle of water from the pallet and then he’s back outside, in the mostly dark, stepping over bloody towels and puddles alike to get to you. 

You don’t seem half as urgent. 

“Hold?” you ask, offering your arms to him. It’s not quite right, like, if Steve were dreaming, that’s the kind of tone he’d expect the people in his dreams to use. That could be an excellent explanation for all this, actually. Maybe he hit his head or took too many of the booster Ibuprofen before bed. Maybe he had a brain aneurysm and his dying brain has summoned a strange story for him where he gets to be the hero one last time. But this seems needlessly bloody, and your eyes aren’t something Steve’s subconscious could have summoned. He’s not that imaginative. 

“You can stay there,” he says, gently lowering your arms with one of his stretched out to get both at the same time. “I brought you some painkillers, for the ow,” he adds, pointing at your tummy. 

“Ow.”

“Yeah, ow.”

He shakes out two ibuprofen and gives them to you. You glance at them for all of two seconds before you put them in your mouth. And you wince, but they’re gone fast. Steve hadn’t even cracked the lid on your water. 

“Oh, good. Good job,” he says. “Okay. Drink?”

You don’t need instruction for the water, either, he thinks, as you bring it to your mouth. That is, until you lean back and tip the rest of the bottle down your stomach and over your arm. 

“Wait!” Steve says. 

You do not. Your spine relaxes as you wrap your newly wetted arm over yourself, a shiver of pleasure rocking you so viscerally that Steve wonders if it’s polite to be watching. 

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, shit. You're probably not used to chlorine, huh? I… shit. I gotta have a bucket around here somewhere.”

You watch from afar as he wanders off to the dark sunroom. There’s a bucket tucked in the rarest corner full of pool noodles Steve and his friends used to play with when they were kids. He dumps them out, patting the bottom of the bucket to loosen any old dust, then jogs back to the kitchen to fill it at an angle in the kitchen sink. He gets water all over the floor as he yanks the bucket from under the faucet. 

“Here,” he says, lugging the bucket to your chair. “Water. Fresh water, no chemicals or dead frogs.”

You chirp again, hands dunked and then cupped to bring messy handfuls of water over your skin. You pat it all over. Steve maybe shouldn’t have dried you off? You don’t seem angry with him, in any case. You beckon him forward and bring his hands into the water with yours, wetting his arms, sending curious looks at his sleeves. 

“I’m alright,” he says. “I’m supposed to be dry. I’m sorry, I– I thought I was helping.”

You hold out your hand. Steve doesn’t know what you want. 

“Huh?”

You open your mouth and bring your hand to your lips. 

“I–“ He goes a little hot all over. “I gave ibuprofen to a mermaid. Shit. Shit, what if you get super sick? Shit.” 

You frown. He frowns worse. 

“Ow?” you ask. 

Steve brings both hands to his face, rubbing until his eyes go itchy. He might’ve killed the mermaid. 

“Ow?” You grab at his hips, which has him flustered and attentive in seconds. After a moment, you pull Steve toward you and rest your face on his tummy, your hand at the small of his back, and you pat him gently, murmuring softly in the language he still doesn’t understand. 

You’re trying to make him feel better.

Steve cups your shoulder, struck dumb. 

Fuck, he thinks, for a whole new catalogue of reasons. 

“Hold,” you mumble.

At least you didn’t try your gluey-spit thing on him.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

It really didn’t take much convincing for you to hop into his passenger seat — spring hadn’t exactly sprung yet, and the nights still frosted over. To be fair to Steve, his car was really nice. He clearly loved it, there weren’t wrappers or trash stuck in the seats like the rest of your classmates who could drive, he really looked after it. It was nice.

Your mouth opened to tell him your address but Steve’s right hand was already in the air, waving you off.

“I’ve dropped Dustin off a million times, I know it.”

You shut your mouth with a start, simultaneously impressed and taken aback. It hadn’t occurred to you that Steve could have any sense of direction, last semester you would have been surprised if he found his way out of a cardboard box.

Rock music played through the car’s stereo, way nicer than the one in your mom’s old shitbox. Your hands folded across the madras plaid pattern of your skirt, picking nervously at your already chipping nail polish.

“Yeah,” You said after much too long of a moment, “Yeah, why is that?”

Steve’s head turned all the way to look at you for five seconds, the long straight road ahead open for his distraction. You could practically see the cogs turning in his head, trying to decipher how much you knew.

“Saved the world together or whatever. He’s a good kid.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Were you as banged up as he was after?”

“Worse.” Steve’s voice was uncharacteristically sombre so you let it go, bringing up instead your teacher’s horrendous embroidered cat cardigan this afternoon, which successfully veered you both into safer waters.

The drive ended, and no one was more surprised than you to admit that you wouldn’t have minded a little longer. Your hand lingered on the door, reluctant to leave.

“Thanks again for the ride,” You said softly, looking back at him.

“Anytime,” He replied, fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel, “Thanks for helping me study.”

“No worries. Let me know if, you know, you need more help before the final.”

Steve smiled, wide and blinding in the confined space of his car. He nodded like he didn’t quite believe you were offering.

“That would be great, actually. Keep this up and you might move up to be my favourite Henderson,” He joked, shrugging off whatever moment of vulnerability you thought he might have been showing.

“Yeah, right. I think Dustin would shed tears.”

So that’s how it started. Small, almost insignificant interactions that led you to believe Steve Harrington wasn’t who you thought he was. You didn’t tell Dustin, you didn’t think there was much point. He’d find out if it went further, but your friendship with Steve consisted of English study sessions and occasional lifts home.

The first time Dustin caught you was about a month into your study sessions, right before your week off for spring break. Music blared through Steve’s speakers but you’d chosen the song — Jessie’s Girl. You’d warmed up to him now, it didn’t take convincing to let him drop you home.

You were both singing loudly, off-key but enthusiastic nonetheless, and you had to keep telling Steve off for getting distracted.

“Hands on the wheel!” You squealed with a giggle as Steve mimed the guitar solo, head banging wildly. He obliged with a wide grin, still dancing too wildly for the fancy leather seat of the BMW.

“Relax, Henderson, I’ll get you home nice and safe — where can I find a woman like that?” He cut himself off, and you winced at his singing.

Just as he said, Steve swung a turn up into your driveway, tires screeching with the velocity. You made a show of clutching the grab handle above the door until he rolled his eyes, calling you dramatic.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” You said as the car door slammed shut, waving another time as you unlocked the door to your home. Steve returned it, holding two fingers and a thumb up lazily over the steering wheel with a small smile before pulling out of your paved driveway.

You were smiling as you slipped inside, but it quickly faded when you saw Dustin, leaning over the couch to peer through the slotted blinds, clearly spying.

“What are you doing?” You snapped. Dustin jumped back, hands on his hips like your mother.

“Was that Steve Harrington?”

“No.”

“Why is Steve dropping you home?”

“So I don’t have to walk.” That was hardly true anymore. It was well into daylight savings and was hardly dark when you quit your study sessions, you and Steve were just becoming surprisingly fond of each other. Plus, you didn’t let Steve get distracted when you were working, so if he wanted to talk to you it was in the car.

“Are you fucking Steve Harrington?”

“No! Oh my god, Dustin, what is wrong with you?”

“Because yes he’s nice but he’s a total loser but also has slept with like a hundred girls and—”

“Dustin. I’m not sleeping with Steve.”

“Oh,” He sighed in relief, “Cool.”

God, he was annoying. You huffed, shoving past him off into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. Jesus. Was it so unbelievable that Steve Harrington might be friends with you? And could you even call him your friend if you were effectively just his English tutor? You weren’t sure.

The friendship became a friendship shortly after — sorry, Dustin. Your plans for spring break were to laze around, gorge on ice cream and finish a few novels before beginning the hard slog through finals.

That plan was thwarted when your mom poked her head around your bedroom door, making you look up from your book.

“Hon, there’s someone on the phone for you. A boy.” Her grin almost made you want it to be a suitor. You’d never had a boyfriend, and while your mom of course never minded, her hope was really quite embarrassing. Cautiously, you picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“What are you doing today?” Steve Harrington was on the other end of the phone, which was monumentally surprising.

“Uh, nothing, I guess.”

“Perfect! I’ll be at yours in half an hour,” Steve said cheerfully, like he was completely unaware of the effect he was having on you.

“Steve, what?” It was too late, the line already clicked like punctuation to your interrupted conversation. You lingered for a moment, stuck in place as you tried to figure out what was happening.

If Steve Harrington was coming to pick you up to do… something, then you really had to dress the part. Not fancy, or anything, but presentable. Worthy of his reputation, you supposed.

Half an hour later, a car horn made you jump from outside. Straightening out your light cardigan, you ran to the door, calling a quick goodbye to your mother. You didn’t miss the excitement brimming in her casual “Have fun!”

“What is this?” You asked as you slid into his passenger seat, which was more than familiar to you after a month or so of three-ish lifts a week. You brightened as you found a lip gloss you thought you’d lost in the door pocket.

“We can’t hang out?” Steve looked straight at you for a moment before putting the car in reverse, pulling out of your driveway again. You hated when he sounded like an ignored little kid.

“Of course we can,” You answered quickly, buckling your seatbelt, “I just didn’t think we were that close. I’m basically just your tutor.” What you thought might have been hurt flashed over Steve’s face, his fingers gripping the wheel tightly.

“I don’t think that,” He said quietly, “I thought we were hanging out coz, you know, I think you’re cool.” It was your turn to look at him with wide eyes, the confession coming completely unexpected.

“I think you’re cool, too, Steve. As much as it pains me to say it.”

It was like night and day, Steve’s entire disposition shifting when you validated him, going back to tapping along lightly to the music playing on the radio. You didn’t recognise the song, The Rolling Stones, maybe.

“So where are we going?” You asked after a while, trying to re-fasten the thin gold chain around your wrist.

“Thought we could go bowling.” You couldn’t contain the loud burst of laughter that escaped you, the utter randomness of the suggestion taking you completely by surprise.

You were still giggling halfway through the game, tummy sore as Steve showed off theatrically, sending the bowling ball tumbling into another party’s lane. He waved it off sheepishly, grateful it was a few sophomore girls who still believed in the myth of King Steve. Hands clutched across your stomach you were basically doubled over, a series of hideous laughs bouncing over the synth-heavy background music.

“Steve!” You yelled through a whisper, “People are staring!”

“So what? Let them watch, I’m a good view.” He tossed another ball down the lane, scoring a perfect strike. The absolute disbelief blooming on his face was almost childlike. A soft sensation hit your chest at the sight, completely different from the persona Steve displayed at school. He was just a boy, only just an adult, technically. You jumped up to celebrate with him, both of you laughing and high-fiving ecstatically.

The day wound down at a diner, relatively new since Benny passed. It was nice, though, quiet and homey with vinyl booths. Steve had ordered you both strawberry milkshakes, promising for them to be worth your while. You reluctantly agreed that they very much were, sipping with content.

“So how come you read Hamlet?” You asked through a mouthful of french-fry, forgetting momentarily it was bad manners.

“What do you mean,” Steve’s eyebrows knitted together, “It was assigned for this semester.”

“Well, yeah, but I’m pretty sure only like four people actually read it. I’m pretty sure Tammy Thompson watched the Laurence Olivier film and called it a day. Why’d you read it?” Steve was silent for a minute, thinking about his answer.

“I guess I’m tired of King Steve,” He replied finally, playing with the straw of his drink as he avoided eye contact, “I’m almost graduating and what do I have to show for it? I don’t like my friends anymore, broke up with my girlfriend, and didn’t get into a single college. I’m not unhappy with my life or anything, but if there was ever a wake-up call, I reckon I’ve had it. I thought I might as well try not to be stupid as well as everything else.”

“You didn’t get into college?” The question escaped you before you realised it was impolite, hand creeping over your mouth in shame.

“Not yet.” He was looking at you nervously, like he was scared you’d walk out on him.

“Oh,” You said simply, “What are you gonna do next year then? If you don’t end up going anywhere.”

Steve livened up the more he talked, your lack of judgement clearly fresh for him. In the back of your mind, you wondered who was making Steve feel so bad about himself. He told you about the original idea of working for his Dad, but you got the impression that they weren’t too close, and the goal had changed. You didn’t blame him; it wasn’t like you were the poster child for good paternal relationships either.

“You could always work with me.” You grinned, “I work a few nights a week at Enzo’s. We’d be good coworkers, right?” Steve smiled at you, soft and earnest under the fluoro light of the diner. Then, he said:

“Do you have to put on an Italian accent?” And the moment was shattered, easy banter back to the forefront of your conversation.

Steve dropped you home in the Beemer, cutting the engine in the quiet of dusk. You lingered in the passenger seat again, not wanting the day to end. You were about to say something, thank him for the fun outing, when your mother burst out the front door, two heavy trash bags in her hands.

Her expression lit up when she saw you both, hurrying to throw the trash out so she could approach the driver's side window. You covered your face with your hands, preparing for the worst. Steve, on the other hand, looked delighted.

“Hi, Mrs Henderson.” He grinned, putting on the oozing charm you’d seen hundreds of times at school. You could barely catch all the words spilling out of your mom’s mouth, no doubt perfectly curated to embarrass you. She was talented like that.

“I hear you’re pals with my Dusty, too. It’s so nice that you’re all friends.” She beamed, shooting you a look that was clearly impressed with Steve.

“You’ve got some special kids, Mrs Henderson,” Steve said nicely.

“You know, I was a bit worried about this one.” She gestured to you, “So clever but such a homebody. Honestly, I was just glad she was leaving the house, I didn’t care who it was with!” Steve and your mother laughed in tandem as your face burned hot — there was no reason for Steve to be privy to your loneliness. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Steve. I’ll leave the door unlocked.” She directed the last part at you with a wink, which only worsened your embarrassment.

With your front door closed again, you and Steve were bathed in quiet. Except, of course, for the laughter that bubbled out of him.

“Shut up,” You hit his arm, “I am so sorry about her. She clearly doesn’t get out enough.”

“Neither do you, by the sound of it.” You shot him a reproachful look. “I’m just saying! Sounds like it’s up to me to get you out of this house.”

The silence washed over you both, a strange tension blooming between you. For a single moment, when Steve looked at you with those eyes, you thought he might kiss you. It was the softness, maybe; Steve exuded vulnerability in a way that you’d never expected. It sent a shiver of fear up your spine and you started moving, breaking whatever spell the BMW had you under.

“Thanks for today, Steve. I actually had a lot of fun.” You climbed out of the seat, sparing him a lingering smile. He returned it freely.

“Yeah, me too, this was — what do you mean ‘actually’?” You giggled at his affronted tone, looking back from the front doorstep to send him off with a little wave, not bothering to answer.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, once you’d mostly fended off your mom’s endless questions and made it safely to your bedroom, that you heard Steve’s car start again and take off down the street. You wondered what he’d been doing.

You saw Steve four days that week. The picture house, the arcade, a walk around one of the many lakes in Hawkins. Not Lovers Lake, as you made sure to instruct him. Plus, one study session that you instigated so that Steve might actually feel on top of his English final.

Unfortunately, you’d come to like his company much more than you’d expected. Steve was funny as hell, which wasn’t necessarily surprising from someone who had a whole lot of friends, but it was nice to finally be the audience for it. As well as that, he was really nice. Like, incredibly kind. Never made you do anything you didn’t want to, always had snacks on hand when you were hungry. Steve joked once in passing that he was a good babysitter, and whilst you really didn’t want to think of Steve as your chaperone, he wasn’t wrong. There was something peculiarly maternal about Steve Harrington.

The only downside of all this hanging out? You were starting to develop a small (big) crush on him. Like, come on, Steve Harrington? How cliché. You could have picked someone more similar to you, quiet like Leo Miller, or a D&D nerd like Eddie Munson, but somehow it was Steve. Captain of the basketball team, ex-swim team participant, top of the senior social class. Jesus.

You weren’t gonna do anything about it, obviously. Steve had finals to focus on, and then he was graduating and would move on to something new. Why would he want a girlfriend still in high school? Assuming he even liked you back. Besides, you had your own things going on… like your novels.

If Dustin wasn’t completely offended by your frequent meetups with his cool older friend, he’d be fuming if he were in the Hawkins High School library on the evening in mid-May when everything changed.

During senior finals season, the librarians took on extra hours to keep the place open late into the night, and while many Hawkins students weren’t bothered to use the resource, you and Steve had basically made the place your home.

The table you both liked the most was tucked into a small alcove, behind the shelves and almost completely private. Occasionally, it had to get banned and filled with extraneous furniture because they kept catching students fucking in it, but they’d reupholstered the corner bench seat over winter break, and there weren’t any suspicious stains yet. Well, except for where Steve spilt his Coca Cola during a study session. Regardless, you knew Steve liked it because he got self-conscious studying around the general public, and you got nervous being seen with Steve.

So you were tucked into your little study nook, surrounded by snacks and papers and a fat copy of Hamlet between you. Steve ran a hand through his hair, a dramatic sigh leaving his lips.

“C’mon,” You teased, “Not tired yet, are you? The final’s tomorrow, this is it.”

“It’s like eight o’clock,” He groaned, “Can’t we take a break?”

You looked at him, trying to decipher if he was being genuine or just trying to get out of discussing character motivations in the play.

“Fine. Ten minutes.” Steve brightened immediately, pumping his fist. He slid out of the booth to stretch his limbs while you watched with a small smile, doodling tiny images in the margins of your composition book.

He flopped back into the booth, hair brushing against your arm.

“Good?” You looked down at him, trying not to show how flustered the simple touch made you.

“A few minutes more,” He pleaded, then changed the subject before you could deny him the break, “Are you gonna keep hanging out with me after finals?” Your mouth dropped open into a small ‘o’.

“I don’t see why not. Is this your way of getting rid of me?” A smile played on your lips, and Steve popped back up to vertical, offence written all over his face.

“No way! What? Do you not think I like you?” You burst into laughter, slapping a hand over your mouth when a roaming librarian gave you stink eye.

“I’m teasing you, Steve. Who wouldn’t like the person who helped you pass English?” Steve’s frustration wasn’t quelled — he was so easy to set off. One of the things you enjoyed about him.

“That’s not true! Jesus, there’s lots of things I like about you.” You were still feeling light-hearted and so made a ‘go ahead’ motion, testing to see how far you could push him. “You’re like super smart, obviously. It’s actually kinda crazy that your mom ended up with a crazy smart science kid and a class-topper in English. And you’re stupid funny when you let people hear, like, I can’t believe I missed out on it all year. I probably would have done better on The Great Gatsby paper. On top of all that, you’re pretty in the way that you don’t even know, like you’re totally unaware of the effect you have. Plus—”

“You think I’m pretty?” You didn’t mean to interrupt, but you’d never been told that before. Teachers told you all the time that you were smart, that you were a good writer; you saw it in your grades. You maybe weren’t perceived as funny, but you made your family laugh; it wasn’t something you were particularly worried about. But pretty? That was a whole different ballgame. Only people your age could call you pretty and have it matter; it just didn’t count when older relatives cooed it at Christmas.

“This is exactly what I mean! Obviously, you’re gorgeous, it’s not even contentious, and you have no idea,” Steve seemed to realise what he was saying in real time and shrank in on himself a little, “So, um. Yeah.”

“You think I’m pretty.” You beamed.

“Don’t get a big head about it, jeez.” Steve tried to play it cool but you could see him getting flustered. Instead of making you nervous, it made you strangely confident.

“Steve Harrington thinks I’m pretty,” You sighed dreamily, twirling your finger around one of your curls, “Should I run for prom queen after all?”

“Okay, I get it, I get it. Laugh it up. Anyway, Horatio, huh?” Steve rolled his eyes, trying to move on, but you wouldn’t let him. You were going at it, speaking at the same time as you mocked Steve whilst he desperately tried to change the subject.

“You’re so annoying.”

“I’m a real Molly Ringwald, you know? Everyone says so—”

Steve leant over where your bag sat between you, pressing his lips against yours. He lingered for a few seconds whilst your brain short-circuited, unable to do anything but sit there and take it. Steve pulled away just as quick, terror etched into his features from your inaction. It took you a second to recover, but you came back with a mission.

“All it took for you to kiss me was to be annoying? I can do that, you know, I —” Steve kissed you again, surer this time as he saw through your teasing. In the quiet of the library, he kissed you sweetly, hand moving up to cup your jaw, pulling you even closer.

You dropped the pen you’d been twirling with a soft clatter, instead deepening the kiss and threading your fingers through his hair, just as you’d dreamed about the night before. Steve’s hands felt huge on your face, completely encompassing your cheeks. It was perfect, entirely engrossing and all you were sure to think about for weeks.

He tried to go further, tongue swiping over your lip to ask for permission, but you pulled away instead, breathing heavy and erratic.

“Steve,” You whispered, breaths mingling as your foreheads rested against each other, “We can’t. We’re in public.”

“Don’t care,” He murmured, eyes closed as he captured your lips again, kissing you like you were his life source. You let him easily, returning it with equal fervour. It was probably lucky that the space between the table and the booth seat was only big enough for one body, because you wanted nothing more than to climb onto Steve’s lap, your entire body flushed red hot with desire.

Steve tried again, and you let him slide his tongue into your mouth, intertwining it with your own sloppily. You would never, not in a million years, have imagined you would be sucking faces with Steve Harrington in the high school library, but you had no plans of stopping.

It was only when the telltale click of the librarian’s heels clacked down towards you did you pull away, wiping your mouth hurriedly and pretending to be deep in thought over your paper. You couldn’t see Steve in your peripherals, but you assumed he didn’t have a very good poker face. A glance at him once the librarian passed proved correct, he was staring at you unashamedly, eyes still lidded with lust.

“Steve!” You told him off with a harsh whisper, “You have a final tomorrow.”

“You cannot be serious.” Steve sidled up beside you until your hips were pressed together, one big arm wrapping around your waist.

“Steve,” You sent him a look, dodging his attempt at a kiss despite your desire encouraging you otherwise, “You’ve worked hard on this. I’m not letting you throw away your final just because you’re horny. C’mon, we’ll do another hour and then the library’s closing anyway.”

Steve sighed dramatically but turned back to his own work, reviewing corrections you’d left on a practice paper. He didn’t last long, losing focus in a matter of minutes. First, it was just his hand drifting over toward yours, interlocking your pinkies as if you weren’t going to notice. You beamed down at your paper but didn’t say anything, knowing it would only distract Steve more.

He was satisfied for a few minutes before boredom struck again. Slowly, Steve leant over to you, pressing light kisses on your shoulder, moving up to your neck when you didn’t push him away. His teeth grazed a sensitive spot above your collarbone, making you shudder, and you called an end to it.

“Steve, I’m serious. We can’t do this here!” You swatted him like a cat.

The second the clock ticked over to nine, Steve was packing up his things, eager to get out of the library. You scoffed a little laugh, collecting your books much calmer, though you couldn’t deny the tingle of excitement bubbling in your stomach.

You both rushed through the library, for once, Steve not stopping to talk to everyone he knew. You couldn’t stop grinning, staring at the ground in an effort to make it less noticeable.

The air was fresh outside, a cool change coming with the night. The second the school doors shut behind you, Steve was all over you, grabbing your hand to pull you into him before kissing the daylights out of you. One of his arms wrapped securely around your waist whilst his other held the back of your head, keeping you locked into him. You had no qualms with the position, your own arms creeping up to connect around his neck.

You somehow managed to make it to Steve’s car — with a few interludes to sneak more kisses — but he didn’t unlock it, instead caging you in against the passenger side door. You giggled, brushing a strand of hair out of his face as you looked up at him coyly.

“Feeling good about the final?” Steve scoffed, clearly preoccupied.

“Feeling good about a lot of things.” He nudged your chin up, and you followed without question, finally giving him full access away from the danger of the library. Historically, you’d laughed at couples sucking each other’s faces off in the middle of the school parking lot, but there you were, letting Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington stick his tongue down your throat and grope your ass right there on the asphalt.

An involuntary moan escaped you, spilling out into the fresh air, and you came to your senses. You pushed Steve away by his chest, despite the fact that his neck craned to chase your mouth, addicted to your taste.

“Steve,” He kissed you again, “Steve. We’re in the parking lot.”

“Who cares,” He groaned, rubbing small circles into your hip over the fabric of your skirt, “No one’s watching us.”

“We have a final tomorrow! Don’t put all my hard work to waste now.” Steve looked at you for a long moment, then, deciding you weren’t joking, sighed and opened the car door for you. You grinned, treating him to another unexpected peck on the lips before sliding into the seat, pulling the door closed before Steve could distract you any further.

The drive home was quieter than usual, both of you strangely nervous after the overwhelming lust had somewhat levelled out. The radio played quietly, a new radio hit that you didn’t know the name of. You rambled about something that didn’t matter, how shitty your shift at Enzo’s was the other night, what you thought was going to be on the final.

Halfway through a tangent about the theme of action vs inaction in Hamlet, Steve rested his hand on your thigh. It was gentle, testing, and stole all the air from your lungs. When he noticed your stalling words, Steve lifted his hand to retract it, but you caught him first, silently affirming the action and letting him rest it back on the expanse of your thigh.

“Anyway, um, talking about Laertes as a foil to Hamlet could be a really smart move, especially because it’s so direct regarding their fathers’ deaths.” Your voice was shakier than normal, trying to pretend this wasn’t a monumental first. It felt like a teen rom-com, sitting in the popular boy’s fancy car with his hand on your thigh — not something you ever envisioned for yourself.

Steve chuckled and you knew he saw through you in an instant. Hawkins was a small town; he knew you’d never had a boyfriend, didn’t have much experience in anything, really. You were faithful to your novels and the few friends you did have, only attending a handful of parties across the almost three years of high school you’d completed.

Whilst you were scared of your feelings because of your inexperience, Steve was dealing with the opposite. On paper, you were very similar to Nancy Wheeler, which clearly hadn’t ended very well. But he liked you so much. Everything he’d said in the library was completely true, he liked your sense of humour and how you teased him, how smart you were and how you weren’t ashamed of it, and it definitely didn’t hurt that he thought you were completely gorgeous.

The car fell into a pocket of complete silence when Steve killed the engine. Nobody was ever up or moving around in Hawkins's suburbs after 9pm.

“Let me take you on a date,” Steve broke the silence, hand tense where it still sat on your leg.

“What?”

“I know I got a bit ahead of myself, and I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry, actually, you’re a really good kisser.” You interrupted him with a bashful giggle, “But I want to do this right with you. Take you to dinner, hold your hand.”

You could feel your cheeks warming up, but you weren’t good at being romantic.

“Who knew Steve Harrington was more than library make-outs?” You teased, enjoying the way Steve opened his mouth to argue back before he clocked your tone.

“Yes or no?” He grumbled, performatively unlocking the car door for you.

“What about Friday at seven? I’ll even swap off my shift for you.” Steve gasped dramatically.

“No!”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that’s a big deal. I make the most tips by far on a Friday night.”

“I’ll have to make sure it’s worth your while, then.” You made a face that said you better, the moment of silence bringing back that heavy tension you experienced in the library, sparks zapping between you as Steve’s eyes flickered between your own and your lips.

Kissing Steve was exciting. In your limited experience with it, he poured everything he had into each and every kiss, practically devouring you. His hands were huge and warm and apparently obsessed with you, threading through your hair and wandering over your skin. He let out a million tiny, almost imperceptible little noises that communicated his pleasure, and you were quickly becoming addicted to them. It encouraged you to be brave despite your inexperience, nipping at Steve’s bottom lip. He rewarded you with a low moan, a nicer sound than any of the songs you’d ever sung along to on the radio together.

Then a light turned on inside. You wrenched yourself away despite Steve clearly not caring, straightening out your outfit.

“Okay, we’re not going any further until I at least have a girlfriend label, bucko,” You joked, pushing the car door open but making no move to leave.

“Desperate much?” Steve matched your energy, “I mean, did you really think I was gonna give it up at the first kiss?” You laughed loudly, rolling your eyes.

“My mistake, didn’t know I’d been crushing on the Virgin Mary.” Steve made the sign of the cross, smiling at you giddily. “Stop distracting me,” You finally got out of the car, “We both have a big day tomorrow.”

“Can I pick you up tomorrow morning?” Steve asked in a tone that sounded almost shy. You smiled, lips pursed together as you tried to control your lovesick gaze.

“I think that would be acceptable.”

You thought about kissing him again, just once more to fully memorise the feeling, but you caught a glimpse of Dustin peering through the slatted blinds and straightened out, taking another step away from Steve and toward the door.

“I’ll see you in the morning!” You called, unlocking the door without looking, “Dream of Hamlet!”

Dustin was waiting for you when you turned to head to bed, arms crossed.

“Dream of Hamlet!” He parroted, mocking dripping from the words.

“Shut up, Dustin.” You pushed past him toward your room, just wanting to lie in bed and replay the evening in your head until you drifted off to sleep.

“You and Steve hang out, like, all the time. Are you sure you’re not sleeping with him?”

“God, Dustin, you can’t just ask me that! I’m your sister!”

“And he was my friend first, so if you make things weird, you’re gonna totally fuck up the party!” You stared at him, eyebrows knitted together as you tried to understand him.

“The party? I thought that was you and the nerds — sorry,” You winced when Dustin shot you a look.

“Remember what I told you about magic and monsters?” You nodded slowly, unsure if you actually did, “Well, Steve killed like a shit-ton of them, and now he’s an honorary member of the party. Like Nancy and Johnathan.”

“Nancy and Jonathan?” You said incredulously, the image of your brother’s friends and them together completely unbelievable. “Am I the only sibling who didn’t get called in to fight monsters and shit?”

“Not the point,” Dustin huffed, soothing his tense brow with his fingers, “The point is, you can’t get involved with Steve because it’s dangerous and it’s weird and it’ll completely ruin my life if I have to choose between you, okay?”

God, that sounded serious.

“We’re just friends, Dustin.” Lie. Just friends who made out in the library. And the parking lot. And the car. And were going on a date on Friday. Dustin didn’t need to know that, though.

“Fine, good.” Your brother was already walking away, muttering something about the ridiculousness of the thought of you two together.

You did feel bad about lying to Dustin, you really did. All things considered, you were pretty close siblings, and if it were anyone else, you might’ve actually told him you’d scored a date, just to prove you did leave the house. Clearly, whatever happened over the winter really connected them, though, and Dustin clearly looked up to Steve. You understood that he didn’t want anything to happen to their friendship.

But who’s to say the date was going to lead to anything at all? Maybe the crush was out of convenience, of you two seeing each other almost daily. Maybe the make-out was just a consequence of finals stress and raging hormones. Maybe the date would fizzle out, and you would go back to truly just being friends with Steve Harrington.

So there was no need to tell Dustin yet, right? You would let him cool off a bit, see where things went with Steve, and then tell Dustin when everything felt surer. That sounded like a plan you could manage.

Things did not, in fact, fizzle out with Steve. Completely the opposite, really. You didn’t have a lot of experience in the dating department, but you were pretty sure it was a good sign when you and Steve didn’t run out of things to talk about for the hours you spent inside the tiny diner that was quickly becoming your spot. Or when you took a walk around town because neither of you wanted the night to end. Or when Steve asked you to be his girlfriend at the end of the night. He’d even told you then that even he’d never moved that fast with a relationship, that he wouldn’t dare use a label like ‘girlfriend’ until at least five dates in, when things were more established. Things were clearly different for you two, though; it all seemed so clear to you. When he’d asked, shy and bashful like a nervous kid, you’d launched yourself into his arms, giddy and gleeful as you nodded yes.

Things never calmed down. You didn’t think anyone would have pinned you to be the girl who got obsessed with her boyfriend, but you couldn’t get enough of Steve. You didn’t see each other every day for the rest of the semester, you both did unfortunately have other finals, but it was pretty close. You had to draw some lines in the sand, though; neither of you could be trusted to focus on a math textbook when you were lying side by side on his bed.

You still hadn’t told Dustin. In your head, you had a million reassurances for it. It was still fresh, it was just the honeymoon phase, there was no guarantee it would last. It just made more sense to keep it quiet for a little bit longer, just to be sure when you did tell him. Steve understood, but you also knew he wanted to tell his friend, so you kept a nearish deadline, something he could look forward to: the championship basketball game.

You sat on your hands on the second row of the bleachers, anxiety flowing through your body. For once, you regretted not having more school pride, you knew none of the rules of basketball. Obviously, the ball going through the net was good, but you could truly say you didn’t know very much more than that. Luckily, Dustin and his little friends liked Steve enough to show up, so Lucas was dividing you and them, whispering a running explanation.

The only downside to this was that Lucas was a smart kid. You cheered louder every time Steve scored, and covered your eyes every time he was knocked around. The first time you might have gotten away with it, but when it was every time, and only Steve, you could feel Lucas looking at you strangely. All you could do was shoot him a hopeless, floundering glance and pray he wasn’t going to spill the beans. He just smirked, and you knew he’d keep the secret at a price of many favours.

Steve tossed the ball through the net and the gym exploded, you along with them, cheering louder than you ever had. He turned to the Hawkins stands, bathing in the applause, but his eyes lingered just a moment longer on you. You beamed, eyes alight with excitement as you communicated telepathically across the gym, a moment of recuperation before he was back running up and down the court.

Hawkins lost, to absolutely nobody’s surprise. You honestly did not know if they’d ever won a championship, and wouldn’t be surprised if the answer was no. This year was remarkably close, though, and to losers that was pretty much the same thing. Hawkins High students flooded the court, you included.

It was pandemonium, students and bodies everywhere, pushing and shoving their way around, trying to get attention from the star players. Your eyes were only on one. You found him across the room, hardly paying attention to the gaggle of students fawning over him, craning his neck to search through the crowd. When you found each other, the connection was instant, navigating the crowds like fish in the sea.

Despite the people around you, you didn’t hesitate to launch into his arms, feet hovering above ground as Steve swung you around with strong arms. Your arms locked around his neck for stability, keeping them there when he gently set you down. The world could have been caving in around you, and you would not have noticed, entranced by Steve.

“Tough loss,” You said simply, playing with a rogue curl at the nape of his neck.

“There was no way we were gonna win.” Steve’s arms stayed tight around you, the student body weaving around you as he planted you safely on the court.

“Still. A valiant effort.” You smiled up at him, butterflies making their way up to your throat when he returned it. Sweat rested on Steve’s brow and he stank like a teenage boy, but you really didn’t mind as much as you should have.

You lifted yourself up onto your tiptoes to connect your mouths in a sweet kiss, appropriate for school grounds. Steve was greedy, always with you, so it was you who broke the kiss as well, teasing exasperation in your eyes.

“C’mon, you need a shower before you rub off on me. I already feel wet,” You grumbled in high spirits, loving the way that Steve laughed at you, eyes full of affection. He took one of your hands from behind his neck, using it to twirl you once then swung your hands between you, leading you to the gym doors.

Quietly, you realised the sheer publicity of your actions, head swivelling to look around the room. A few girls were staring at you, but you tried to just smile and keep moving. You knew Steve had hooked up with other girls, and being with him at all was bound to catch some eyes, but attention had never been your strong suit.

The only person who hadn’t seemed to have seen the display of affection was your little brother. It had pros and cons, you would probably rather die than have Dustin see you kiss someone, but it would have eliminated the need to actually tell him, too. Lucas saw it, giving you a knowing smile before ushering his friends out of the gym. You’d be doing him a lot of favours this summer, you thought.

Steve dropped half the kids home, which kind of foiled your plan of telling Dustin about you then. You still weren’t sure how he would react, and you weren’t risking that with fucking Mike Wheeler watching it all go down. So it was delayed again.

The next few weeks were a complete blur; the last few finals, a school dance, your boyfriend’s graduation, and Steve dragging you on more outings than you’d probably been on in the past year. And somewhere along the way, officially telling Dustin you were dating just… slipped under the radar. To be fair, you hadn’t even told your mom in fear of the embarrassing questions, so it all just lodged itself in a crevice of your mind that didn’t become relevant until you and Steve waved him off for his month-long nerd camp.

You were admittedly sombre, going to miss your little brother more than you wanted to. Consequences of having few friends, you guessed. So you squeezed him tight and sent him off in the car with a quick kiss to his temple, standing with Steve on the cement of your driveway as your mother drove off into the distance.

“Oh shit,” You said quietly, after a long moment of silence, “I don’t think he knows you’re my boyfriend.” Steve stared at the horizon, then you, then back to where you both imagined the car would be.

“No way,” He said finally, “I’ve talked about you when I hang out with him, he knows we went to prom together. Sure, he hasn’t seen us PDA, but he totally knows. He’s a smart kid.” You nodded, but you weren’t convinced.

steve remembered it like it was yesterday. it was a nightmare he couldn't shake. one that haunted him every single day for the past year. he could never get the image of you, laying in his arms and bleeding out, out of his head. there was red spilling from your mouth and practically every other part of your body. it soaked your clothes and even parts of his pants.

the bat's had really done a number on you. he remembers sobbing hard enough that his entire body was in pain for days after. he didn't even care about the wounds he'd endured when he first came through. you'd patched him up enough to keep him moving for a little longer. long enough to get you out of there.

he remembers the way nancy and robin, your best friends, cried at the sight. how the wheeler had put her hand on his shoulder and encouraged him to stand so they could at least try getting you out of there. eddie wasn't looking too good either. most of his weight was being rested on dustin. any longer and you two probably wouldn't make it.

he remembers gently getting you through the gate. robin, nancy, eddie, and dustin all carefully guided you through from the other side instead of you hitting the mattress like the rest of them did. the small thud could probably kill you with the state you were in.

he remembers carrying you bridal style through the hospital. you were completely limp in his arms and your breathing was starting to slow. his vision was starting to fog up again at the thought of losing you right now. of being just a minute too late to getting you help.

he remembers robin being by his side the whole time with a permanent frown etched into her face. nancy and dustin had to stay back to care for eddie. bringing him to the hospital would've resulted in an immediate arrest of the boy.

he remembers seeing you in the operating room through the window with a mask on your face to help you breathe and doctors crowding your body. he had to lie to them and say this was a result of the building collapsing with the three of you inside when hawkins split in two.

he remembers the nurses checking him and robin out too. she had a concussion and he needed a few stitches. he didn't even flinch. he was too worried about you and whether you were gonna make it. they'd told him you had a collapsed lung and would need an excessive amount of stitches.

he remembers his heart dropping when they said you'd need a blood transfusion because of how much you lost. they'd said he wasn't a fit donor either because he'd lost too much too. robin stepped up immediately and he began to thank the lord that they'd somehow all had the same blood type.

he remembers sitting with robin while vickie pricked her with a needle. they weren't allowing visitors in your room yet until they were sure you were stable and could breathe somewhat on your own. he listened to her yap away to the ginger to distract herself from the queazy feeling of watching the blood flow through the tube into the bag.

he remembers coming back the next day the second the visitor hours started. his clothes were fresh, he'd showered, and the painkillers he was given had made him feel a million times better. he'd even stopped by dustin's house on the way to visit eddie. the boy didn't look great, but he was still alive.

he remembers walking into the room with robin trailing close behind. you had a tube down your nose feeding you air and thick white bandages all over your exposed arms. your face was pale and the skin around your eyes was a dark mauve color.

he remembers you looking up at him with a sleepy smile like you hadn't almost died the day before. you didn't say anything, it would've hurt to bad. he mumbled out a soft, "hi, honey," and sat down in the chair next to you, gingerly grabbing your hand with the fear of hurting you. you gave him three weak squeezes. i love you.

steve hates thinking about it. he hates thinking about how he could've lost you forever. how he might not have been able to bring you home to the kids who loved you so much and your sister, max. except she was in a coma with no signs of recovering any time soon. the news broke you.

and he was there to put you right back together. he'd carried you out of the hospital when they released you and into the home you two shared with robin. the news of your sister weighed heavy on you but with lucas' optimism and steve's reassurance, you slowly started to recover mentally and physically.

it'd taken you four months to be back to whatever you thought was normal. you were able to fully function without the help of your boyfriend and you no longer felt the immense wave of sadness and pain when you went to visit max. instead you were hopeful.

steve had started to notice a few things as time went on. when summer hit, one of hawkins hottest, you refused to wear shorts, t-shirts, skirts, dresses, tank-tops, anything that showed skin. whenever everyone went to the beach, you always had an excuse to not join.

the in-ground pool in your backyard hadn't seen you at all that season. the kids all came over and swam in it for hours. steve, nancy, jonathan, and robin joined in a few times. you never did. you'd come out a say hi a few times if they were lucky, but never in a swimsuit, only long pajamas.

you'd gotten more quiet over time. it was harder to hold a conversation with you and it was rare that you spoke without someone acknowledging you first. you were just sort of there.

steve noticed everything. he noticed how you'd cower away from his touch in bed, how you never really wanted to cuddle anymore, the way you didn't randomly come up and hug him anymore. the two of you used to be intimate at least twice a week, three times if you two weren't fighting inter dimensional monsters. now it was zero times a week.

he wasn't complaining. he would never. that boy loved you with every fiber in his body and would never hold that against you. there was a long period at the start of your relationship where you two never had sex. it was because you were a virgin and the thought of losing it terrified you. it was only after about four months that you finally shared that special moment. if he could do it then, he surely could do it now.

you had almost died. he knew you needed time to recover. but what really started to concern him, was when you started to hide yourself from him. it was like you were trying to make yourself small in every room, every situation. you took up as little space as possible, spoke as little as possible, and tried to stay out of everyones way.

you no longer openly changed in the room. you went to the bathroom. you didn't offer to join him in the shower anymore. you only showered alone. you didn't sprawl out on the couch when your friends came over anymore. you sat neat and tense on one side. you didn't throw your legs across steve's lap anymore. you sat against the backrest and let your feet dangle just above the floor.

you were different in every sense. he'd tried to talk to you at first but you always shut the conversation down. it happened four times. he soon decided it was best to stop trying. he was absolutely terrified of pushing you away.

that led you all here, in the wsqk station. steve had his headphones on one ear by the soundtrack, watching robin finish up her set. he'd spare a glance or two in your direction every couple of minutes through the big windows. you were in the small common area on the couch with your legs folded under you and a coloring book he'd gifted to you in your lap. something about it made you feel a little less stressed.

once he heard the familiar click to signal robin was off the air and was completely done, he tore the headphones off his head. "have you noticed how she's been acting lately?"

the girl looked at him, then you, then back to him. "like she almost died?" she asked with a quirked brow. "i have noticed a tad bit."

he glared at her. "no, you know that's not what i mean. she's been too quiet. for months now. she barely even comes around. and she's starting to look..."

robin nodded in understanding. "different," she finished for him. you'd lost a concerning amount of weight. "i've started to notice more recently. little things. like— like how she picks around at her food exactly four times before actually taking a bite. never a full one, only half. and how she's starting to pick at her nails when she wants to say something but is too afraid to actually say it."

the boy let out a relieved sigh, knowing that she saw it too. he started to feel like he was crazy for a minute. "i don't know what else to do," he said defeatedly, taking a seat on the stool. thankfully the booth was soundproof. "i don't wanna keep bringing it up because i know it makes her uncomfortable, but she's really starting to scare me, rob. like seriously."

"i know. i'm concerned for her too," she said with a frown. "i think... maybe just, try one more time. tell her how worried we are. not in like a, you need help and we're made at you, type of way. but in a, we love you and we're worried about you, type of way. just make her feel safe enough to open up about everything."

he nodded and crossed his arms over her chest, thinking hard. "can you do it with me? maybe it's help if it comes from the both of us."

she shook her head quickly. "nope. not a good idea," she disagreed almost instantly. "that'll make it feel more like an intervention which is exactly what we're trying to avoid. you're her boyfriend, steve. it'll mean more coming from you. just be gentle, okay? i believe in you," she said as she stood and gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. "now, i'm gonna go wait in the beamer. oh!— and can you drop me off at vickie's maybe?"

he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. considering the door to the booth was now open, he heard the front door bell ding softly. robin was now out of the building. another minute of still silence passed. he took a deep breath and stood, walking out and over to where you were sat. "hey, honey," he whispered softly, kneeling down on the ground in front of you so you were eye-level.

you gave him a timid smile and looked back down at your coloring book and the crayon in your hand. the sound of your heartbeat racing was thumping in your ears. one of his hands found your knee, while the other rested on top of yours to stop your movements. he could see you flinch at the contact. "can we talk?"

your heart dropped into your stomach. he saw something flicker across your eyes. worry, maybe? you blinked it away. "talk about what?"

his thumb gently stroked over your jean-clad knee. "us," he said, his eyes scanning yours. he could see tears begin to well up.

your whole body tensed. you knew was what coming. you could feel it. a thick lump formed quickly in your throat. "what about us?"

a wave of sadness washed over his face. "what's going on, sweetheart? i feel like we never talk anymore. it's like you're here physically, but, you're like— like a ghost."

your nose twitched slightly, indicating you were really about to cry. "i'm sorry, steve," you sobbed, hunching over and covering your face with your hands. "i'm so sorry. i know i— i haven't been the best girlfriend but please, please don't break up with me."

his heart shattered at your words as his brows furrowed. he was taken back by the unexpected statement. "whoa— what? baby, who said anything about breaking up?" his hands gently took yours and placed them in your lap, holding them carefully as to not overwhelm you. "i don't wanna breakup."

you inhaled a shaky breath and finally looked up at him. "you dont?" you asked sheepishly. "i just— i know i've been really sucky lately but i can't lose you, stevie. i can't."

you leaned forward without thinking and wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your face into the space there. he rocked back slightly at the sudden impact but quickly returned the embrace. his eyes fell shut as he savored this moment. the two of you hadn't hugged in months. "i've got you. i'm right here, honey."

he let you cry into the crook of his neck from as long as you needed, sobs wracking your body against him. it felt so good to finally let all of this out. it had been building up for so long. "please don't leave me," you muttered brokenly into his shirt.

one of his hands came up to cradle the back of your head and hold you even closer. "i'm not going anywhere. i promise. i'm right here."

after another minute or two, you finally pulled away. it was like you could see his heartbreak all over again at the sight of your red, teary eyes and your puffy lips. "i'm really sorry," you apologized again, not knowing what else to say.

he gave your hands a gentle squeeze. "don't apologize. i'm not mad at you, i just wanna know you're okay," he said softly. "can you tell me what's been going on lately? i wanna be there for you and i wanna work through this. i can't do that if i don't know what's wrong."

a shaky breath left your lips as you nodded. "i just— i don't know. i don't feel like i'm good enough for you anymore. and i know you deserve so much better but i just don't want you to leave me."

"whoa, hold on. what?" he was stunned. "you don't feel good enough for me? no. no, that's not true at all. did i do something to make you feel like that?"

you shook your head timidly and looked down at your hands to avoid his sad stare. "no but... ever since the accident, i— i mean look at me, steve. i'm full of scars and i'm— i look so different now. i'm just not pretty."

his head cocked back the slightest bit, not expecting that at all. "what? how could even think that?" his voice was gentle as he cradled your jaw and lifted it, forcing you to meet his gaze. "i think you're the most beautiful person i've ever seen in my life. inside and out. and i'm so sorry that you've felt like this for so long. and i'm sorry if i made it seem like you couldn't talk to me about how you feel."

the corners of your lips turned downwards as your eyes scanned his glossy ones. "that's not it. i just thought— maybe if i said something, you'd realize i was right and you'd leave."

"no, not at all, honey," he said softly, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. a few stray tears ran down his cheek. he was so happy to have you back in his arms. "i love you more than anything else. you're my entire world, y'know that? i could never just walk away. i just— i miss you. and you've been through so much and you're so strong for handling everything on your own. but i need you to know that you don't have to. i wanna be there for you. through anything and everything."

you began to cry harder into his chest and hold onto him a little tighter. "i'm so sorry for shutting you out. i was just so scared."

he held you closer and pressed a loving kiss to your temple. "i know, it's okay. i forgive you," he whispered quietly, gently running a soothing hand over your back. he let you cry it out for another minute until your breathing starting to slow. "how 'bout we finish this at home? we can get it all out, okay?"

you nodded eagerly and pulled away from him, a sad smile on your lips. "i like that," you mumbled. he flashed you a soft, close-lipped smile before standing and offering you a hand. you took it gratefully and placed your coloring supplies on the coffee table for tomorrow when you came in with them. the two of you made your journey back to the car, finding robin asleep and sprawled out across the back seat.

🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧

somehow, your peaceful night in, turned into a movie night with your friend group. vickie and robin were sharing a couch, nancy and jonathan were comfortably laid out on the floor with a bed of blankets beneath them, eddie was sleeping sideways on the one seater, and you and steve were on the L shaped couch.

your boyfriend was laying with his legs crossed at the ankle and a blanket over your laps. the group was so proud to see how close you two were sitting again. they hadn't seen this in months. the movie was almost over and you were starting to get sleepy.

you gently swung your legs around and onto steve's lap to rest between his thighs before curling into his side, head resting against his chest. almost as if it were instinct, which it probably was, his arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you closer. his hand soothingly ran along your arm.

you could hear his heartbeat pick up against your ear. it was the cutest thing. you cuddled deeper into his side and let your eyes drift shut in the safety of his arms.

you weren’t sure how much time had passed or even what time it was right now, but you woke up, it was to steve cautiously carrying you into your shared bedroom. “hey, sleepyhead,” he teased in a whisper as he set you down on the bed.

your eyes adjusted to the light as he walked over to the door and shut it. “what time is it?” you asked sleepily, your voice slightly groggy and hoarse.

he glanced at the clock on his dresser. “11,” he stated, climbing into bed beside you. you’d allowed him to get surprisingly close already. he could see something flickering behind your eyes. “you okay?”

you offered a soft smile and a slight nod. “i’m okay,” you reassured, even though your voice was a little shaky. “just thinking.”

the boy turned on his side to face you a gently brushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “talk to me. what’s on your mind?”

you took a much needed deep breath. “i just missed you,” you admitted quietly, almost afraid to say it out loud for some reason.

his cheeks tinged a pretty shade a pink. “yeah?” he whispered. “i missed you too.” there was a moment of silence between the two of you. he scanned over your face with nothing but pure love in his eyes. “you look so beautiful.”

you let out a breathy laugh like it was some sort of joke and rolled onto your back. he leaned up on his arm so he could look down at you. “hey. i’m serious, baby.” his eyes were half lidded as he stared at you. the boy was so lovesick. it was like he was drunk off of the sight of you alone. “can i show you how gorgeous i think you are?”

you bit your lip nervously but hesitantly nodded. you missed being intimate with steve. only now you had scars all over your body that he’d never seen. it made you nervous.

he slowly climbed on top of you and between your legs, hiking them up to rest by his hips while he leaned over you. “tell me if you want me to stop, okay? whatever you want, i’m here for you,” he encouraged sweetly.

his lips met yours in a delicate kiss, one that made your heart absolutely crumble. your arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders and pulled him down closer to you. his tongue ran across the seam of your lips, begging for access. when you granted it, the wet muscle smoothed over your own and softly sucked on it. a quiet whimper left your lips.

a year without feeling his against yours was starting to feel like a crime that you never wanted to commit again. the way that he was kissing you so passionately made your head start to spin. you loved moments like this with him so much.

his hands abandoned your legs and slowly ran up your sides and to your waist, slipping his hands under the hem to rest on the dip. he could feel the slight rise of scars beneath them. he hadn’t seen it yet, but he could tell he was going to love it.

he pulled away from a second to breath, soft pants fanning over your lips. “is it okay if i take this off?” he asked, tugging as the bottom of your shirt.

your body tensed as you let out an unsure breath. you nodded slowly. “yes.”

steve was slow and careful, gingerly peeling your long sleeve off to reveal your simple black bra. his eyes scanned over your torso. it was full of small scars from where the bat’s teeth had bitten into. there were some thick scars from where the stitches pulled the skin together to close the chunks of missing flesh.

you could feel tears brimming in your waterline. until you heard him speak. “you’re breathtaking,” he mumbled softly. he leaned down to press tender, loving kisses to the skin of your stomach like he was worshipping you. “god, you’re so gorgeous, honey.”

he skipped over your bra and to your collarbone, kissing a thicker scar in particular. his lips were so soft and pillowy against the scars, it almost made you forget why you avoided this in the first place.

then up your neck, sucking soft purple marks into the delicate skin there. he thought you looked so beautiful right now.

he planted a few kisses to your jaw, then your lips as his hands ran across the skin of your stomach again. “you’re even more stunning than before, baby. always jus’ look so pretty.” he kissed your lips again and laved over your tongue with his own and pressed his hips to yours. it pulled a whimper from you.

steve was a man of his word if nothing else. he was determined to make you remember how much he loves you. he began to press his lips back down to your neck again, much more slow this time. he kissed over every single scar, cut, mark, anything with a quiet adoration. you could feel it radiating from him. it made you want to cry.

his hands slowly peeled your bottoms off, doing the same to your legs. absolutely worshipping you. “so pretty, honey,” he mumbled against your skin every so often.

you started to feel vulnerable now, fully naked while he was entirely clothed. your hands quickly tugged at the bottom of his old t-shirt. “want this off,” you muttered half-mindedly.

he smiled and kissed your stomach once more before leaning up and pulling the shirt over his head, then kicking off his pants. “better?” he asked, planking over you again.

you nodded and pulled him down to kiss him. you could feel his leaking tip running up and down your slit with every rock of his hips. “please stevie, need to feel you,” you whimpered against his lips. you just knew this was gonna be painful since it had been so long. but you couldn’t wait any longer.

his eyes flickered across yours with a hint of worry in his pretty brown orbs. “you sure? think it’s gonna hurt,” he said quietly, mindful of your friends still sleeping downstairs.

“it’s okay, i know,” you replied surely. “i don’t care. jus’ need you inside me.”

he cursed under his breath, hardening even more if possible. his hand reached between the two of you and positioned his tip at your hole, slowly and carefully pressing inside of you. it made you hiss and squeeze your eyes shut. “oh, i know, honey. i’m sorry,” he cooed softly.

he leaned forward to capture your lips with his and feed his length into you slowly. fortunately, your juices made it a little less painful. he pulled away from your lips and rested his forehead against yours once he was about halfway. “oh fuck. such a good girl for me. always so good,” he praised quietly. his eyes shut as he grounded himself. if he moved any quicker, he was sure he would cum right now. “i love you. i love you so much.”

you whimpered at the stretch and dug your nails into his bicep. “i love you, steve,” you moaned. “feels so good.”

he pushed the rest of his length into you at a steady pace, bottoming out and sighed in pleasure. he leaned back some more to take in the sight of you. “jesus christ, sweetheart. you’re killin’ me here. you’re so fuckin’ pretty. so so pretty.”

you let out a quiet moan and looked up at him with pleading eyes. he understood your needs. he always did. his hips slowly pulled back before pressing into you again.

your toes curled at the fullness and your body shuttered. “oh, steve. so full. you’re so big,” you cried out.

that made his core tighten as he groaned. “fuck, honey. i’m not gonna last long. missed you so much,” he mumbled, leaning down to hide his face in the crook of your neck. his lips continued kissing over the scars there.

you nodded along and clawed at his back. “i’m close,” you whispered. usually the two of you would last much longer. but considering how long it’d been and how many pent up feelings there were, you two were okay with finishing fast. there’d be plenty more times to make up for this.

he rolled his hips into you slowly, massaging your walls and hitting that spot deep inside of you with each thrust. one of his hands found the back of your thigh and hiked it up over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to your ankle and rutting into you even deeper.

“holy shit,” you whimpered, holding on even tighter to him. you could feel your stomach tighten and your hole clench around him. his other hand came to rub circles over your puffy clit, instantly unraveling you.

he smiled dreamily at the sight of you coming undone. “that’s it, pretty girl. so good. feel like fuckin’ heaven,” he grunted, rolling his hips into you again few more time as you spasmed around him. he felt his balls draw up immediately. “christ, i’m coming. fuck.”

he carefully let your leg down and thrusted into your warmth a few more times as white ropes painted your insides. he collapsed on top of you and let his weight rest against you, knowing how much you enjoyed it. “i love you, stevie,” you mumbled sleepily into his shoulder.