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You can’t stand it when Steve stares at you like that, you think to yourself. With so much love. With so much hope. With so much… happiness.
It makes your stomach twist in discomfort, the awfully warm sensation of feeling loved totally unregisterable to you when the horrible voice in the back of your mind continues to whisper that Steve deserves much better than you.
Someone less damaged. Someone less afraid of commitment. Someone who would gladly call themselves his and bask in the sunny glory of his love. After all, he’s the Steve Harrington - how many times have you heard (and thought) that you’re so incredibly lucky to have the king of Hawkins High fall in love with you? Countless.
“You look positively breathtaking when you zone out like that.” he teases in the present, smile lines cutting into his dimpled cheekbones. He’s leaning against his arms, boyish grin marking his symmetrical face. It’s a gorgeous sight, you have to admit - his upper muscles flexing underneath his white polo shirt, strong legs peeking out from his blue linen shorts, chestnut brown hair turned near blonde under the summer sun.
He’s perfection, you think. Unlike you, who’s chosen to sit in a rather precarious position: it’s a date, technically, but you’re sitting a few inches away from him with your knees drawn up to your chest. Head drawn downwards, resting on your legs, arms shielded underneath a long sleeved cardigan despite the heat.
“I look fine. Just ok, Harrington.” you correct him lightly, the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips, though it isn’t fully realized. He shakes his head sideways at that, tongue poking out to wet his lips.
“Modesty might be a virtue but lying is a sin.” is Steve’s response, ever so good natured and well mannered. “You’re even more stunning than the view.” he adds, gesturing to the clear glass lake twinkling in front of you.
He then frowns ever so slightly, cocking his head sideways.
“If only there were more flowers here. Other than the lake and trees it’s just… dirt and weeds.” he trails off, before his eyes widen in alarm and he quickly looks to you with a reassuring gaze. “Not that I’m complaining. As long as I’m with you.”
It’s so easy for Steve to compliment you like that. Tell you that you’re the center of his whole universe, the lifeline to his beating heart, the object of his innermost desire. It makes you shift awkwardly in your seat, though you internally lie and tell yourself it’s because of the cool winds caressing against your exposed ankles. The cedar tree you’re sitting under blows alongside the wind, causing a few stray leaves to fall onto Steve’s hair.
Your first thought is that you want to carefully brush the foliage off of his head. Have your fingers tenderly caress his scalp, one hand steadying his face so you can neatly pick out the leaves from his curls.
But it feels too intimate to ask for. Too couple-y, or whatever the exact word is, that would shatter the illusion you’ve built up for yourself to describe whatever the fuck your relationship with Steve currently is. So you stay silent, only ever shifting to point to indicate he’s got something on his head.
“Oh. Thanks.” he says sheepishly, calloused hands flying upwards to fix his hair. “You’re a lifesaver.”
His irises fracture into a million light crystals from the reflection of the sun bouncing off of the calm lakes, eyes burning with adoration paired with that beautiful smile. It makes your body shake and mind to turn to mush, forcing you to change the topic of conversation. Fast.
“You’re wrong about the flowers. There’s one right there-” you point out, index finger directed towards the east side of the lake. His eyes follow where your finger ends, before a determined smile appears on his face.
“So there is. Wait for me, will you?”
Before you can even question him, he’s stripping down to his boxer shorts and diving into the lake headfirst, cold droplets of water splashing onto your thighs at the impact. The giggle that escapes your lips die in your mouth when you realize what he’s doing - he’s swimming over to the small set of rocks on the east side of the lake to retrieve the flower.
He cradles the delicate flower - pink petals blossoming in perfect spirals - with his left arm raised in the air, keeping the specimen perfectly dry until he reaches the shore. Grinning from ear to ear, he sits back down on the picnic mat next to you, hair and clothes still dripping with water.
“Can I-” he gestures with the flower, asking for your permission to tuck it underneath your ear. You should say no. Your lips twist into an unreadable shape, the words “no thanks” already on the tip of your tongue, rejecting love being a secondhand instinct at this point.
But you find that you’re unable to resist it, this singular act of affection. You blame it on the sizzling heat and the way he continues to look at you, even when you’re staring at him with a cold expression in silence, the look of unadulterated affection on his end never wavering.
“Okay.” is thus all you can manage.
If he’s surprised at your response, he doesn’t show it. No, instead he leans in close, so close you can individually drop the water droplets adorning his hairline, and tucks the stems neatly behind your ear.
“And you say you don’t get prettier every time I see you.”
You roll your eyes, shoving him lightly in the shoulder, making him lose his balance. He throws his head back, a loud laugh ripping through his throat, and it’s impossible to stop a small smile from creeping onto your face too.
“Just shut up and watch the scenery.”
The basement of the Wheeler house is quiet.
Too quiet, you think. The never ending silence does little to calm your anxieties as Max calmly sleeps on your lap, head tucked against your upper legs, one arm protectively wrapped around your waist. You have no idea how she managed to get comfortable in this position - you and her squeezed in between three meager blue cushions - but she’s dealing with so much that you can’t find it in your heart to push her away.
You don’t even know how much sleep she’s been getting lately anyways. What in between the headaches, nightmares, constant threat of being the victim of a supernatural unknown, and the stabbing grief felt by her brother’s absence. Love torn away so cruelly, so tragically.
The thought of it makes you nauseous. You’ve seen how much it hurts people when they lose a loved one. That level of attachment and adoration, what happens when that is inevitably ripped away in a death or a divorce or a breakup. How people walk around as shells of their former selves.
You won’t ever let that happen to yourself, you repeat in your head. Even if a very gorgeous and compassionate Steve Harrington is bringing you a cup of water right now, tired smile on his face as he sits on a chair right across from you.
The fireplace reflects as orange orbs in his warm brown eyes, the same eyes which fall onto observe how you lightly stroke the redheaded girl’s hair. All guards down, letting yourself be sentimental and protective. His gaze feels prickly against your skin, making your movements falter underneath his persistent gaze.
“Stop staring, Harrington.” you whisper, narrowing your eyes at him. He chuckles quietly at that, careful to not wake the other kids sleeping in the room - Dustin, Mike and Lucas in sleeping bags, Erica and Will crammed into another sofa, legs dangling off of the arm rest. You can hear Eddie and Robin talking amongst themselves in the swinging porch stairs outside, the only other people awake at this time of the night.
“You’re so good with her, you know that?” he fawns over you, placing a warm hand on your lap. “Seriously. Max talks my ear off about you, maybe even more than I talk about you. And that’s saying something.”
His compliment causes goosebumps to rise along your skin, internal fire burning down your stomach. He’s just so damn sweet like that, sweet potatoes coated in honey, dusted in maple sugar.
“Maybe that’s a sign to stop talking about me so much.” you tease, pointing a finger at him accusingly. It does little to waver his confidence, head only shaking sideways slightly as he leans back into his chair.
“Nice try, babe. But I won’t be doing that anytime soon.”
His hands reach into his jean pockets, fingers ruffling through the spare change, keys and a jumbled mess of papers. He pulls out the latter, combing through each piece of paper with curiousity. They’re mostly receipts, but one slip of paper in particular catches your attention in the light - mainly due to the pink lipstick kiss tattooed on the front.
“What’s that?” you question immediately, throat suddenly dry. His eyebrows furrow in confusion before he opens up the crumbled piece of paper and rolls his eyes, balling it back up in his fists.
“Nuh uh, give me that.” you demand, taking the slip and reading it for yourself. In messy handwriting, some girl named Jodie has wrote her number alongside the words: call me, handsome. Heart dropping to your stomach, the sight makes you slightly queasy - a sensation for which you immediately chastise yourself for.
You have no reason to be jealous. None at all to be possessive or protective.
You and Steve aren’t official, at your insistence, after all.
“I’m not gonna call her, by the way.” Steve cuts in, as if sensing the troubled storms brewing in your mind. You look up in surprise at that, eyes wide.
“Why not?”
He carefully takes the paper out of your hand and tosses the piece of paper into the nearest trash can, throwing it across the room with ease.
“Because. Someone else is already holding my heart.” he confesses into the dark, hands perched on his knees, voice so tender and raw. It pierces your heart, his honesty, how he’s out here opening his whole heart for you when all you do is repeatedly shut him out. You swallow nervously, pausing your movements by pulling your hands back from brushing Max’s hair.
“But wouldn’t it be better to give your heart to someone who… who could give you theirs wholly, without any defenses?”
He shrugs at that, unbothered.
“I’ve told you over and over again. I’m a patient man. I can wait.”
Fatigue begins to take hold of you at around four in the morning, but then the fire starts to die out and you straighten up in fear. Steve’s quick to rise to his wobbly feet and begin to add wood into the fire before you can even warn him to do so. Watching the flames rise higher and higher, Steve smirks, shooting you a knowing glance.
“I know you hate the dark. Don’t worry. You can sleep with ease. I’ll watch over you.”
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping too?” is your response, eyes already closing shut on their own accord. You register his faint chuckle in the background amidst your sleepy haze.
“You’re always taking care of everyone else, (Y/n). Let me take care you for once, okay?”
You feel his gentle hands guiding your head towards a comfy cushion, one that he’s picked up and placed against the armrest for you to lean against. You don’t protest, far too exhausted.
“Okay.”
But despite everything - your aversion to his kisses, reluctance to commit, hatred of sweet talk and affection - when you call Steve , no matter the time of the night, he always picks up. It’s a constant you’re grateful for, especially on night like this, when your father drives you into Steve’s arms.
The boy’s already opened his window for you as you scale the large willow tree next to his house, shaking hands grasping rough wood, legs awkwardly hanging from branches as you attempt to maintain balance. You land on his rooftop with much difficulty, bruises already beginning to form on your knees no less.
“You could’ve come through the front, you know.” is what he says when you finally reach his bedroom, climbing through his window, feet reaching carpeted floor. He’s dressed down for the night, in nothing but a graphic t-shirt and boxer shorts, but his eyes are lively and wide awake. You even notice that he’s messily tidied up his bed in between the ten minutes that’s passed between calling him in tears and coming over to his place.
“Then you would’ve gotten in trouble with your parents.” you comment, unimpressed. He only grins at that, immature and carefree, before beckoning you over to his bed.
“And? I’d get into trouble with my shitty parents for you any day.”
You sit next to him on the bed, tossing your shoes off by the window and shuffling closer to him.
“Thanks. For letting me come over and shit.” you lamely add, feeling incredibly bad for having come over with little warning beforehand. He’s given you a spare set of keys months ago, fingers squeezing yours as he said “you can come over absolutely any time. My home is yours.” But even so, coming over like this feels intrusive, like you’re also making him carry your heavy emotional baggage.
But all these doubts and fears dissipate when he pulls you closer towards him, warm arms wrapping around your neck, holding you right against his chest. His head is resting on top of yours, fingers rubbing circles onto your back as you sob. The dam of emotions has broken at this point and you’re too tired to care about keeping up a front for Steve.
“It’s alright, baby. Let it all out.”
You’re completely unaware of how much time passes in his arms - you can’t see anything through your tears and the dark little corner created by his arms wrapped around your figure. Your senses are overwhelmed by his warmth and the faint smell of his cologne, mixed in with the smell of fresh linen and mint staining the sheets. But when you do pull away, still teary eyed and messy, his hands come up to cup your cheeks gently.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.” you pause, feeling guilty. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head sideways, sympathetic expression on his face.
“Don’t apologize. Don’t ever feel like you need to say sorry. You have every right to not want to talk about it.”
Leaning back into him, you breathe in his scent before shakily exhaling. The exhale shakes you to the core, hairs all standing up at its ends.
“Can I stay over tonight?”
“Course you can, love.”
He lets you rummage through his closet for something to wear. Your object for affection tonight, you’ve decided, is an oversized green tie dye shirt that reaches your knees. His eyes crinkle with a fond smile at the sight.
“Why that one?” he questions you as you sit back down. You shrug, toying with the fabric mindlessly with one hand.
“I like the color green. Reminds me of… simpler times. Like running through sprinklers on the street as a child.”
Steve’s smile widens at that memory, head cocking to the side.
“Ah yes. Back when you were a tiny monster, terrorizing the neighborhood with your nerf water guns.”
Rolling your eyes, you lightly hit his chest with a spare pillow.
“Please. As if you were any better as a child. I distinctly remember you getting a time out from Ms.Welbeck because you were pulling pranks during nap time.”
He gasps in mock horror.
“You traitor! I can’t believe you would use six year old me’s escapades against me in the present.”
You giggle with genuine joy at the memory.
“Sorry not sorry.”
Your smile fades when it hits you that that’s in the past. You’ll never feel that way again, that carefree and innocent and oblivious about the world. Steve’s own smile falters too, mirroring your expression as you quickly slip under the covers and announce you’re ready to sleep.
“Good night.” you say into the night, body facing away from Steve. You’re pushing him away - you’ve let him in too close already, coming here after the argument with your father and then reminiscing about childhood. You’re expecting an argument or a passive agressive comment out of instinct, having being raised in that kind of household, but he just presses a soft kiss onto your forehead and turns the other way. Giving you the space you want (or think you want).
“Good night. I love you.” he says, tenderly.
You don’t say anything back to that.
“So what are you two?”
Eddie’s the only one unaware enough - and also daringly dumb enough - to pull you aside whilst Robin and Steve busy themselves at the Family Video counter, to ask about what’s been going on with you and Steve. The solo adventures. The sweet compliments from Steve. The unexplained gifts. Paired with your insistence that you two aren’t official, that he’s not your boyfriend and the fact that no one’s actually ever since you two kiss.
“What’d you mean?” you play dumb, flicking through the new arrivals tapes in boredom. The metalhead forces your attention on him by forcibly taking out the tapes from your hands and throwing it back down into the crate, drawing a gasp of surprise from your lips.
“Come on. You and Steve. Are you two dating?”
“No.” is your automatic response.
“No?” Eddie asks and it’s clear he doesn’t believe you.
“No, Eddie. Dating implies that we’re official. Together. Steve is not my boyfriend. We haven’t even kissed.”
“Do you love him?” he presses you immediately after, and the question forces you to busy yourself with a row of tapes sitting across from you, face completely neutral.
“I care for him.” is your response, to which Eddie rolls his eyes dramatically, flailing his arms around like a petulant child.
“You’re not answering my question!”
“Then stop asking.” you retort, sly smirk on your lips. He pouts at that and it makes you laugh, the expression so wholly immature and unfitting of the grunge metalhead.
Across the other end of the store, unbeknownst to you, Robin is speaking to Steve about none other than you. Steve’s leaning over the tall metal cabinet, sorting through inventory, as Robin leans against the wall and quizzes Steve about how things have been going between you and him.
“Things are good.” is Steve’s light and polite response. Robin frowns at that, crossing her arms across her chest.
“You said the same thing a month ago.” she points out, referring to the conversation they’ve had by the vending machine at the gas station a month ago. “Any changes?”
“I said I love you for the first time about a week or two ago, but other than that, not much.” Steve casually responds, fingers outstretching to reach something on top. Robin nearly spits out the carbondated drink she’s sipping on, the fizzy liquid burning her throat as she tries to catch her breath.
“You said WHAT?”
He doesn’t seem even slightly frazzled by the revelation, shoulders rolling backwards when he looks back.
“What?” he questions, nonchalantly. Robin smacks him in across the shoulder lightly, shocked betrayal on her face.
“You said I love you and you didn’t think to tell me about this? Dude, this is huge! W-what did (Y/n) say?”
Steve bites his lip and shrugs.
“Nothing. We just went to sleep.”
Her annoyed expression twists into one of sympathy, a sorry smile on her face.
“Oh, Steve, I’m so sorry…”
“Nah, don’t worry about it.” he quickly waves off his best friend’s concern, tender grin on his lips. “I wasn’t expecting an ‘i love you’ back. At least not yet. I told you from the very beginning of this whole thing, Robin. I’m willing to wait.”
She just sighs at that, pity lacing her words.
“You know I love you both dearly but… it’s been half a year, Steve. You two are doing all the things couples do and I know the feelings are there, reciprocated and all, but… (Y/n)’s still denying that things are official. And no 'i love you back’, doesn’t that worry you, six months in? I-I know that there’s a lot going on behind the scenes and I’m not trying to complicate things further, I just…” she pauses, searching for the right word. “Worry.”
Steve stills at that, allowing his best friend’s concerned words wash over him like a gentle wave. He looks up at her, reassuring smile and brave faced.
“You worry too much, Robin. Now could you pass me that stack of tapes behind you?”
Behind his tender words is a finality to his tone so she knows better than to argue or to press onwards, so she quickly obliges without another word.
You hate the sun. You hate bright lights. But you most definitely hate demon bats and underwater portals to the hellish mirror universe.
It’s beyond all logic then, that when Steve gets dragged underwater mid-conversation after revealing that the portal to the Upside Down appears to be in the murky waters below, that you jump after him without question. No change of clothes be damned. Not to mention it being so fucking dark underneath that all you’re left to rely on is your mediocre swimming skills and the red ball of light shining below.
When your lungs are able to finally suck in air once more, your surroundings are burning red. False snow - splotches of grey - fall onto your shoulder as you walk down the broken pavement mirroring your town. But your mind is on overdrive seeking only one familiar figure: Steve.
In the mere nanoseconds it’s passed for you to jump in after him and then wake up in the Upside Down, terrified and wide eyed with nothing but the urge to find and protect him, it hits you in full force.
You love him.
You love your best friend.
You love Steve fucking Harrington.
You love the man who’s been giving you his jackets, tucking flowers behind your ear, letting you sleep in his bed, watching over you as you sleep, keeping you company in between work shifts….
And you might lose him.
It terrifies you. This kind of terror, this level of terror, is brand new. Nothing compared to the gut wrenching horrors you felt thinking about calling Steve your boyfriend or whatever other friviolous, petty bullshit you convinced yourself of prior to this.
The sound of flapping wings accompanied by pained grunts alerts you to his presence nearby and you’re glad you managed to swim downstream with a metal bat in hand. It’s a terrible sight, the demon bats tearing at his flesh and lower abdomen, and you swing with all your might to kill those creatures in one fell swoop. After a few minutes of struggling and shouting, you manage to drive away the hoarde of bats, others lying as carcasses around Steve’s body.
“Steve, oh my god-”
Your weapon is long forgotten onto the floor, it dropping from your hand automatically as you lean down and cup his face in your hands, gently sitting him up. He hisses at that, the bloody wounds far too tender and fresh at the sudden movement. You don’t hesitate to rip off your jacket and to tie it around his abdomen, anything to cover and stop the bleeding.
“D-do you think you can stand?”
He nods, though it’s pained and forced. Placing one of his arms over your shoulder, you help him stand up inch by inch, a groan escaping his lips when the action is completed.
“Can you stand alone?” you question, voice wobbling. He blinks a few times before gently stepping aside, ducking under your arm, to see if he can manage it. He nods and you let out a short sigh of relief.
“Good.”
A beat of silence passes before your expression twists into hot fury, your hands pushing him away in an instant. He blinks at you, surprised.
“I told you not to fucking be a hero, Harrington.” you spit. “And you didn’t fucking listen to me.”
“I know you’re angry and I totally under-” he starts, trying to calm you down, but it only angers you further.
“You don’t understand SHIT, Steve! Jesus fucking christ, do you know the level of horror and panic I felt in the brief few minutes it took for you to be dragged down into this shithole and for me to then have to dive after you?” you ramble, voice rising in volume. “I get that you have a saviour complex and you want to be a good guy who saves the day but one day your luck is going to fucking run out. And it-”
Your voice finally breaks at that, tears springing to your eyes. You should be the one comforting him, after all the horrors he’s been put through in a short amount of time, but Steve quickly wraps you up in his arms as you begin to crack at the seams.
“It could’ve been tonight. You could’ve died tonight.” you admit into the air, shaky breaths breaking up your sentences. “I can’t stand it, Steve. How I feel about you, it… it consumes me. I can’t run away from it. Even if I keep you at arm’s length, even if I don’t let you call yourself my boyfriend, even if I refuse to call our dates as dates… I still feel so strongly about you. I-”
His breath hitches in his throat in anticipation, heart thrumming when you look up at him with teary eyes.
“I love you.” you weakly whisper, hands falling to your sides. “And it fucking terrifies me. If I love you, that means if I were to lose you, it’d destroy me. I don’t want to be destroyed.” you ramble, shaky fingers grasping at the lapels of his jacket.
“But by rejecting love, you’ve been destroying yourself.” Steve adds quietly, smoothing over your hair. “You deserve to be loved and to love, without any walls up or trauma swallowing you whole.”
He pauses, eyes swimming with worry as he searches for the right words to console you.
“And yes, love is scary, but that’s why it’s a two-way street, a partnership. You love me and I’ll love you. Forever.”
He swallows again, lips licked in anticipation as his eyes narrow in on your lips.
“Can I, uh-”
You nod fervently, not even having to hear the rest of his sentence. When his lips finally meet yours, everything clicks into place. Everything seems to make sense, the chaotic world of destruction fading into the background as you’re simply overwhelmed by one thing and one thing only. Steve’s slightly cold and chapped lips meshing against yours, tasting of iron copper blood and salty tears, his fingers tenderly cupping the back of your neck.
“Am I your boyfriend now?” he teases when you two finally pull away, face mere inches from yours.
“Yes, Steve. I think you’ve waited long enough for it to be official. Way too long, really.” you tease, poking him in the side. His smile only widens at that, so bright it’s blinding.
“I’d have waited even longer for you. Anything for you.”