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there’s nothing quite as pretty as october sunsets in hawkins. changing leaves shine like gold in the evening twilight, and the sky is painted in pinks and oranges. you sit on the hood of steve harrington’s bmw, holding his cigarette between your finger and taking a sneaky puff while he rummages around in his glovebox for extra cash.
“are you smoking my cigarette?”
you freeze, holding the smoke in as you shake your head.
he comes around the side of his car and snatched it from between your finger. “this shit is bad for you.”
you blow the smoke into his face, and he hacks dramatically. waving the smoke out of the air between you, you ask, “then why do you do it?”
steve sighs, dropping the cig and grinding it out with his heel. the action is response enough. “i’m missing at least fifteen bucks,” he changes the subject.
you drum your fingers on the shimmery red metal, not quite knowing what to do with your hands now that you’ve been relieved of the task of holding his smokes. “you probably gave it dustin. or max, maybe.”
steve was always lending cash to the kids. you were surprised he had enough money to buy his own food with the way he spoiled them. he snaps his fingers in realization. “i did give it to dustin!” steve is jumping back into the drivers seat and cranking his engine before you even open the door to the passengers side.
“what do you even need extra money for?” you ask, buckling in and immediately messing with the cassette player.
steve seats your hand away. “why are you even here? Don’t you have a 8-track at home you can play ABBA on?”
“don’t act like you don’t love ABBA,” you scoff, pushing the tape in. “and don’t act like you don’t love me.” you give him a saccharine grin, and he rolls his eyes in return.
“you didn’t answer my question,” you repeat halfway through the first song.
he turns down hawkin’s main street, humming along to super trouper and tapping the beat on his steering wheel. his eyes are a little glazed over, and you have to tug on his arm to get his attention.
“steve!”
he snaps back. “what?”
“why do you need money?” you say again, annoyed. it was a common occurrence that he just wouldn’t answer your questions, not because he was being rude, but for two reasons: one, all of the times he had gotten the shit beaten out of him had resulted in horrible hearing in one of his ears, and two, sometimes he just didn’t know how to answer. the both of you agreed that no asnwer was better than trying to bullshit something.
he leaned his head back, looking over at you for a split second. “my dad commissioned me to buy my mom and anniversary present. y’know, since he’s too busy to do it.”
you wrinkle your nose in disgust. “asshole. and he didn’t even give you money?” a water bottle hits your feet in the floorboard. you make a mental note to help him clean his car out at some point.
the expression on steve’s face is almost unreadable, but those eyes always give it away. they look so sad, and your heart twists a little bit. “at least this way she gets something she actually likes.” he gives you a half-smile.
it makes your heart ache, how dedicated he was to his mother, and how she didn’t see all he did for her.
“what are we getting?” you fish your wallet out of your purse.
“we?”
you finally pull out a twenty and wave it in steve’s face. “i’ll help! now what are we getting?” you had no qualms about helping him and spending the rest of your night doing a deep dive in the general store, because at least it was with steve. part-time jobs worked together and otherworldly demons fought together will make you used to a person. you always said that you just loved to annoy him, but your friends aren’t stupid.
you and steve, however, are.
“why do you want to help? do you have nothing better to do?” he pinches the bridge of his nose, acting like you’re his biggest headache.
“nope,” you pop the last syllable, and mouth the words to andanté, andanté.
“no dates or anything?” he’s watching you in his peripheral vision as he drives; sees you scoff. “what? you hadn’t had one of those in a while.” steve is half-smiling again, but this time it’s genuine. he’d be lying if he said his favorite thing was something other than teasing you, something other than making you blush and roll your eyes and tell him he’s stupid.
“i just- i don’t have time for them!” you’re defensive, and the way your voice pitches up makes him laugh.
“you have time to hang out with me.” he’s got you with that, and you turn a little pinker.
“cause you’re just you. plain old steve,” you laugh, a little nervously. “i’m not trying to make you fall in love with me.”
the tips of his ears are red, and he’s praying you don’t notice. meanwhile, you’re hoping the wobble in your voice isn’t too noticeable.
you both clear your throat at the same time.
“i’m buying her this elvis record,” he says to break the awkwardness. “like his greatest hits. my mom loves elvis, was like obsessed when she was younger. she has this little photo of him in a gold frame somewhere up in the attic. she got all giggly when i asked her about it, so… hopefully, she’ll like it.”
you nod, sitting up as he pulls into a parking space outside the record store. “that’s sweet,” you sighed as you stretched and got out of the car.
steve is shrugging, ever humble. “nah. just doin’ my old man a favor.”
“you shouldn’t have to,” you mumble, brows furrowed as you cross your arms. it’s getting cool outside as the sky darkens.
steve doesn’t hear you, and only notices your shiver. “you cold?”
you shake your head, obviously lying. your sweater is thin, and the brown miniskirt you’re wearing does nothing to protect against the elements.
he groans, almost like he hates the idea of you wearing his jacket as he tugs it off and thrusts it into your arms.
frowning, you try to give it back to him. “steve, i’m fine.”
he presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows. “just put on the damn jacket. i don’t need you catching hypothermia and giving me one more thing to worry about.”
“aww, you worry about me?” your eyes twinkle a bit as you shrug on the coat.
“shut up.” steve smacks your shoulder lightly as he holds the door open for you.
the two of you spend an hour scouring the shelves, and before you even find the presley record, you’ve picked up two other vinyls.
beach boys’ ‘pet sounds’ album and the fleetwood mac ‘rumours’ album are held tight in your hands, along with a tears for fears cassette. “steve, we gotta find this record. i’m gonna blow my whole paycheck here.”
steve is elbow deep in the p’s, flicking through albums as fast as he can. “ugh, clambake, blue hawaii, elvis’s christmas album?” he holds it up for you to see, looking a little dumbfounded. “it’s barely october!”
“if you’re going to put it back, i’ll buy it. blue christmas is the best christmas song recorded.”
he huffs and ignores you, slotting the record back into its spot.
it’s another hour, and you’re tired. the store is about to close, and the desk clerk is glaring at the two of you while she wipes down the counter. you whisper steve’s name, tapping him incessantly on the shoulder. he pays you no mind, and suddenly you see every muscle in his body tense.
then he’s shouting, and jumping up and down. “perfect!” steve bursts out, showing you the cover.
elvis’s golden records.
his laughter is so infectious that you celebrate with him. “finally!”
you’re laughing, and he hugs you hard. the clerk is glaring at you harder, and maybe this is a little excessive of a reaction to finding a record but you could not care less in the moment.
he doesn’t need your extra money when the two of you check out, and when you still try to push it into his pocket, he threatens to buy your records with it. you keep the twenty.
tears for fears is pushed in place of the abba cassette, and steve turns up the volume when head over heels plays. he’s singing his heart out, and you wish you had a video camera so you could show this to every girl he ever takes out. you’re singing too, and when the song ends, you realize steve has completely missed your neighborhood.
“you were supposed to take me home,” you mention.
he covers his face with a hand. “ugh, i knew i was forgetting something.” steve drives on, making no move to pull over or turn around.
“steve?”
“just come over. you can stay in my bed, i’ll sleep on the couch. my parents aren’t back till tomorrow, and your mom wouldn’t care, right?” he glances at you expectantly.
“i’ll sleep on the couch, thanks,” you huff.
“no,” he says firmly. “you’ll mess up your back.”
“won’t you mess up your back?” you counter.
he pulls into his driveway, and gives you a look you can’t quite read as he pushes the gear into park. his tongue is poking into his cheek, and his gaze is almost taunting. “you have something against sleeping in my bed?”
your cheeks must go bright red with how your face burns. “nevermind, harrington.” you’re out of the car and up the stairs like it’s your own house. you scramble to find a pair of pants that will fit you and grab a hawkins high swim team tee that’s hanging on steve’s headboard. while you change in the bathroom, you’re overwhelmed by how everything is so…. steve. you’ve changed in here countless times, switched into his clothes so often that it was once second nature, but now your face is pink and your hands are shaking as you tighten the drawstring to the sweatpants. you hate it.
when you come out of the bathroom, steve is switching on his record player, gingerly setting the presley record onto the turntable.
you try your best to neutralize your expression, show that you’re not bothered by whatever the hell happened in the driveway.
he looks at you, and when you meet his eyes, steve flinches and turns his focus back to the record. “so, uh, was thinking-“ he sniffs and rubs his nose. “thinking we could test it out? see if it’s danceworthy or some shit like that.”
you snort. “steve, what?”
love me tender begins to play, the melody soft and slow.
he shakes his head, frustrated. suddenly his fingers are hooked in your waistband and he pulls you flush against him. “just shut up for once, mkay?”
for once you think that spontaneous combustion seems logical. every sense seems heightened, and your heart is beating out of your chest. he has to feel it, with the way the two of you are pressed together.
elvis is crooning over the speakers, and you’re watching your feet as steve tries to lead.
love me tender, love me sweet,
never let me go.
“hey,” steve says softly, and he lifts your chin up so your eyes meet his. “let me lead. i’ve got you.” his eyes look like ebony, dark as sin, but the way he’s looking at your lips is pure heaven.
his hand spans the small of your back, resting delicately as if he’s afraid he might break you. you would let him; a thousand times over.
you have made my life complete,
and i love you so.
“i love this song,” you say awkwardly, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him, and neither he from you.
he nods, mouth parted ever so slightly. steve takes one of your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours as his other hand plays with your waistband. “are these my sweatpants?”
it’s your turn to nod.
love me tender, love me true
all my dreams fulfilled
the air seems so thick and tense, and a candle burns on his nightstand. the thought of him hurrying to light it while you changed seems a little funny, and you wonder if it was to add a little ambiance or just cover up the teenage boy smell that permeated his room. it smells like apples and cinnamon, and that mixed with the aroma of steve’s laundry detergent is enough to make you faint.
you dare to put your head on his shoulder, and his cheek presses against your hair as you sway together. you do like this song, but experiencing it with steve makes you feel it in a whole new way.
for my darlin’ i love you,
and i always will.
steve’s breathing is a little shallow, and you feel weak in the knees.
he feels like he’s about to pass out with the way you’re clinging to him. when you look back at him, he thinks that if you were any prettier you’d be a goddess. hell, right now you look like one, with your hair wind blown and eyes wide.
“steve?” your voice is so quiet.
love me tender, love me long
take me to your heart
he clears his throat, but the word still catches in his throat. all he gets out is a “mhm?”
your eyes flick to his lips. “this is nice.” god, you sound so stupid. but you’re currently having trouble forming a coherent thought, much less a sentence.
he nods, grinning. “sure is.” steve thinks his voice won’t ever stop shaking.
for it’s there that i belong
and we’ll never part
you start to hum, and he does too, the rumble in his chest a pleasing sensation against your ear.
and then he starts singing. dear lord above, he starts singing. his voice is gravelly and wobbly, but you can practically feel his lips on your ear.
love me tender, love me dear
tell me you are mine
you have an urge to scream the lyrics at him, but the moment is too reverent for you to do anything besides pray that he’s thinking of you as he sings.
i’ll be yours through all the years,
till the end of time.
the last word he exhales, and your stomach erupts in butterflies.
“steve?” you’re asking again, voice even quieter.
he shushes you, and then his lips are on yours and everything you think you knew goes up in flames. you stiffen involuntary, and steve pulls back just as quick as he kissed you.
“i’m sorry.” he’s apologizing, fumbling over his words. “i just- i had to do that. at least just once.”
your hands clutch the fabric of his tshirt, and you take a shaky breath. “do it again. please.”
he kisses you again with no hesitation, and this time, you melt into him. your hands slide down his chest. your brain is firing at rapid speed, every little nerve in your body screaming. you’re kissing steve harrington, your best friend, your partner in crime, the boy who has seen you beaten and bruised and made fun of you more than anyone else.
his hands are clutching your face like you are some priceless gem, and your fingers are carding through his hair like it’s silk thread. when you pull away for a breath of air, steve starts to smile.
“you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to do that,” he’s grinning like a little kid.
you’re so overjoyed that you want to kiss him again, want to grab his face and push him onto his bed and spend the whole night kissing him. “you should’ve done it a long time ago.”