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“Steve!” Your shout can be heard from the top of the escalator and all the way down across the crowd to where Steve stands waiting for you. Maybe you should be embarrassed by the number of heads that turn your way, seeking out the cause for the sound. Maybe Steve should be embarrassed for you, but the two of you are too excited to be reunited again to care.
It has only been one week.
You had left Hawkins to go visit a friend from the town you lived in before your family uprooted everything you knew to move to Indiana. It’s not the first time you went back, but it has been a while. You’ve just been too caught up in everything happening in Hawkins to worry about your old home. This year, however, you decided to make the most of your summer break, and to catch up with your dear friend in person. Steve had insisted on picking you up at the airport upon your return, not wanting to waste anymore time without seeing you. It has only been one week, but it feels like much longer.
Steve missed you, missed the glow of your smile and the sound of your laugh. He missed your half baked jokes and the way you light up any time you see something that you think is exciting, no matter how small the thing may be. You missed him too, more than you ever thought possible. It was a tangible ache that made itself known every time you saw something you thought he would like, or something he would hate, or something he has probably never seen in person before. You hadn’t realized just how big of a spot he holds in your heart until he wasn’t by your side.
As soon as you step off the escalator, you rush over to where he stands, weaving clumsily between people as best you can. Your small suitcase bounces around behind you as you go, the old luggage struggling to stabilize on its wheels, hardly keeping up with your brisk pace.
Steve catches you in his arms as soon as he can reach you. He squeezes you tight, pulling you into his chest with such gusto that you lift from the ground, only the toes of your beat up gym shoes still have contact with the floor. You drop the suitcase, choosing instead to wrap your arms around his neck in a tight embrace.
“I missed you,” Steve murmurs into the junction of your neck and shoulder, the words followed by a quick kiss to the exposed skin there. Then he pulls back, intent on kissing you properly.
Steve doesn’t linger long, doesn’t try to deepen the kiss into something hungry or desperate despite the fact that he would like to do nothing more. The only thing holding him back is the knowledge that you don’t like such public displays of affection, preferring privacy for more intimate acts.
He’s grinning before he even pulls away, unable to help himself when he’s feeling like this, like he’s just moments from drifting away, high on Cloud 9.
“I missed you too,” you finally say, the words sticky on your tongue, saccharine, and undoubtedly true. You had fun while you were gone but you missed him every second. Steve takes your suitcase for you, keeping one arm wrapped around your waist, before pressing a final kiss to your temple.
“Come on,” he states, “let’s get you home.”
The parking lot is busy. Of course it is—the airport in Indianapolis isn’t huge but it’s the closest one for most people living in towns outside the city. You would feel bad for making Steve drive so far to get you, and then making him wait for your plane to land, if you weren’t so happy to see him.
He puts your suitcase in the trunk (right next to the nail bat he still holds on to, just in case he needs it again) while you settle in the passenger seat. There's a lift to his steps that he doesn’t usually have, your reunion clearly something he looked forward to just as much as you.
Despite the joy of seeing each other again, the two of you are quiet as Steve leaves the parking lot, maneuvering the space around the airport cautiously. There are too many people around to distract him, with more cars on any given road than Hawkins has ever seen. Indianapolis is nothing like Chicago or New York, and especially not like L.A., but it’s still city driving, something Steve isn’t used to, and he doesn’t need any additional distractions.
You really are grateful that he is putting up with the traffic just to see you.
It isn’t until he gets his trusty BMW on the freeway that the two of you begin to talk once more. He asks you about your trip, your favorite and least favorite parts. He asks you about your friend and your old home, and you gladly answer his questions, filling the car with all of the words you weren't able to say for a week. Half of the things he asks you are the same questions he had before the trip, but you don’t mind repeating yourself. He's just as desperate to hear your voice as you are to hear his. You have over an hour until you make it back to Hawkins even if Steve drives above the speed limit, and you have more than enough stories to fill the time.
You’re happy to be back in your spot in Steve’s car. It’s a simple thing, you tell him anyway.
“I know it's silly,” you say when he laughs, “but your car is familiar.”
Steve is the designated driver of the group by virtue of being the only one with his own car, and you’ve claimed the passenger seat. It’s yours no matter how much Dustin Henderson tries to fight you on the matter. Steve always puts an end to that argument, stating you have both seniority and girlfriend privileges, and you can’t help but stick your tongue out at Dustin each time you win.
You asked Steve if you could adjust the seat not long after the two of you decided to be official. Of course he said yes, to make yourself comfortable. You didn’t expect that he wouldn’t let anyone else make adjustments after you, ensuring you’d be comfortable without having to fuss anytime you need a ride.
You’re still antsy from being trapped on the plane and from being away from your own house for a week, but it already feels like settling into your home once more.
Music plays quietly over the radio, nothing more than dull background noise. You can imagine Steve doing his best to sing along while he was driving to the airport, nervous energy building and spilling out of him along with the songs despite his inability to properly remember lyrics.
Even if you weren’t around to see his little show, you know it to be true, and the thought is endearing.
—♡—
Half way back to Hawkins, the freeway is nearly empty, with only a handful of cars driving on the road with you. Outside the car the landscape is painted with open farms and dense trees, a constant flashing of the brightest greens. The sky above you is dark with clouds, a few drops falling, a dusting of mist just heavy enough to force Steve to use the windshield wipers on the lowest setting.
The gloomy weather does nothing to bring down your mood. How could it, now that you’re finally home, sitting in a car next to your favorite person, hand tucked away in his exactly like it should be?
Steve has the whole day off from work, there’s nowhere to rush to and nothing to be late for. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Or, at least, no one else he would rather be with. He’d prefer to be somewhere that he could wrap you up in his arms and kiss you properly, somewhere that the two of you could enjoy the dull weather in the form of a lazy afternoon at home.
The storm builds the closer you get to Hawkins, and Steve increases the speed of the windshield wipers. The heavy splat of rain against the window and the squeak of the blades as the drops are pushed aside creates a steady rhythm, not unlike a heartbeat.
The fields outside somehow look greener now, the leaves on trees more vibrant than when they're dry, moss on trunks rehydrating from the showers. Maybe it’s just the contrast with the grey sky that makes everything so much more beautiful, or maybe you’re just in the right mindset to notice such simple things.
You drive by a herd of cows that are grazing on grass along a barbed wire fence. Their black, white, and brown forms blur slightly as you pass them, still driving quickly even if the speed is lower than anticipated, but the cows are big enough to recognize.
“Look, cows!” You point out, just like you always do when driving in farm country. “What do you think the cows do during rainstorms?”
“If it’s just raining they probably stay outside. Maybe they go in a barn if there’s lightning or a tornado,” Steve speculates, always one to indulge your curiosity even when he has no facts to respond with.
The rain continues to pick up, thick drops falling through the warm air, hopefully rejuvenating any neglected and dry plants back in Hawkins as well as here. Steve has to turn up the AC to prevent the windows from fogging, the car just shy of too cold.
The storm pushes onward, rain falling harder and harder. It’s a downpour, no thunder, but the rain hits the car loud enough that any thunder would be drowned out.
Finally, Steve slows the car, forced to pull over to the shoulder and turn his hazards on. Visibility is nonexistent now. The sounds of the wipers fill the car, drowning out the low music on the radio. Even on the highest setting, they can’t compete with the downpour.
“It didn’t rain at all while you were gone. Everything was hot and dry,” Steve notes.
“Yeah? It rained quite a bit where I was.”
“Maybe the rain followed you,” he jokes. “It’s a good thing you’re back, I don’t know how much longer the plants could go without a little water.”
“Hmm, we wouldn’t want that, would we? Maybe you should kiss me to say thanks,” you tease.
Steve looks around, both in the mirrors and out the back window, but there are no lights coming up along the road, no signs of any other cars approaching, no visible danger or risk of being caught. It’s likely that any other cars in the area are pulled over just like yours, waiting out the storm.
Your boyfriend turns to you, pulls you across the center console, and kisses you, hard.
“Steve,” you whine, but he just kisses you again.
“Don’t worry, it’s just us. There’s no one around to see.” The next time he kisses you, you kiss him back, just as desperately. The angle is slightly awkward, and the console is digging into your stomach slightly as you lean towards him, but you ignore the mild discomfort in favor of deepening the kiss. You missed this so much it ached. You missed the feel of Steve’s fingers tracing your neck, the brush of his tongue against your lips, the little sounds he makes when it’s just the two of you.
The world feels so small at this moment, confined to the car, everything you’ve ever needed is already in your reach.
Steve’s kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck, immediately finding the spot he knows you love, biting gently. You have half a mind to worry about any bruising left behind, but that’s a problem to deal with later. He’s not aiming to mark, just to ground you both to the moment, to make you feel good. Right now the whole world is in your grasp and you’re not about to let that go, to tell Steve to stop. You don’t ever want him to stop.
But time still trudges forward without your permission, no matter how much you wish it could just pause for a little while.
“Hey,” you say between kisses, “next time let’s go somewhere together.”
“Yeah? Like where?” He’s grinning, his tone playful, but his question is genuine. He presses one last kiss to your lips for good measure, short and sweet, before pulling away from you once more. He keeps his eyes trained on you, taking in his fill for the first time since your plane landed.
“I don’t know, but anywhere is fine as long as you’re there,” you say. Finally, voice much quieter but still audible in the small space, you add: “I just missed you.”
Your words don’t seem strong enough to describe how you feel, but you don’t know what else to say to convey what you mean. It was only a week. How could it be possible to miss someone so much when it has only been one week?
“I know,” Steve says, just as quiet. He reaches out to you, fingertips brushing gently across the skin of your cheek. “I feel it too.”
It doesn’t take long for the rain to slow, for the world to expand beyond the boundaries of the car once more. Heavy rain is frequent this time of year, but the downpours are almost always short, the clouds passing overhead quickly or running out of extra precipitation.
When the road ahead becomes visible again, Steve turns forward once more, eyes on the road to drive safely back home. As you continue the journey, you can’t help but think that maybe time did pause for you, just like you wished, if only for a moment.