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"We shouldn't be seen together."
If you had thought your boyfriend would ever say something like that to your face, you wouldn't have risked saying yes to a date with him in the first place. You thought Steve was different, that he was the nice one out of the popular crowd, that he could look past your unpopularity that borderlines on social exclusion for the sake of love. That he wouldn't even care about that at all, because he loves you so much and is so devoted to you.
But that one sentence, hurried out as he walked away from you when you had been quietly arguing at his locker, just shattered that whole façade you had built up. He hadn't even looked at you, already turning his eyes away as the bell rang and he walked off towards his second class of the day. And as much as you've never wanted to be the person that would cry in the bathroom stalls over a boy, that's exactly what you had done for most of second period until the bell had rang, and you considered eating your lunch there too. Just so you wouldn't have to deal with looking at Steve from across the cafeteria as you ate in silence.
But with one foot in front of the other, you slowly make your way out the door and towards the mirror over the sink. Splash your face with cold water, dry your tears, fix your hair and your crumpled clothes from hunching over yourself for so long. Maybe you should break up with him. That's a thought you've been struggling with, but it's so big you don't know how to even start, if that's even what you want to do. You don't want to be unhappy--you rummage through your backpack to look for your drink--but being alone is just as scary. The sip from your water bottle clears your throat but not your head, and by the time you throw it back in, zip it up, and move out the door and down the hall towards the cafeteria you're really wondering if you actually want to see Steve at all. Maybe you don't.
But as soon as you step through the doors, you do. And he's not surrounded by Tommy H. and Carol and Nancy as usual, not chatting them up and being loud and talking with his mouth full. You watch for a second as he sits quietly at a table he's never sat at before, looking around with his hands clasped like he's searching for someone in the crowd. Alone, nervous, his lunch sitting uneaten and untouched in front of him. If you were stronger, you would walk right past him and take a seat anywhere else.
But you're not. You head towards him like he's a neon light, a sign flashing in the dark that reads "come here". His brown eyes light up like one as soon as he catches yours, and they glimmer in little pools of honey and chocolate as you draw closer and closer until you're standing over the bench opposite to him.
"Hey," The breath he was holding doesn't seem to come out until you're completely committed to taking a seat, your backpack dropped on the table as you tentatively put one leg over the bench, then the other. You shouldn't be anxious about sitting across from your boyfriend in public, but it does draw out those questions that you're sure you don't want to face the answers to. Even though he's smiling, and even though he's looking at you with a tenderness he doesn't usually spare in public.
"I, uh, got you this." He picks up a carton of chocolate milk from his tray--you didn't even notice he had two--and sets it down in front of you. "Had to schmooze up the lunchlady a bit to get it. Didn't know how feisty she was." Steve chuckles at the joke, but it obviously cuts his lightheartedness when you look on at him with that deer-in-the-headlights gaze.
"You said you didn't wanna be seen with me."
It hangs there. Heavy. Steve blinks once, twice, like he can't believe his own words coming out of your mouth, but he's reaching across the table before he can pull his arm away.
"Baby, I didn't mean it like that." That head tilts as he speaks, his voice soft and intentionally sweet. He knows how to draw you in.
"Yes you did." Your chest keeps tightening, your throat cinches closed, your eyes sting--all the telltale signs that you're about to cry again, about to release all those tears you had to muffle whenever someone else came into the bathroom last period. "If you don't want to be with me, then just say it out loud. You can show all your friends how cool you are for dumping the biggest loser in Hawkins," You sniffle, hands immediately pulling at your hoodie--which is Steve's old hoodie, actually--to try and hide the tears that are already starting to pool in your eyes. Struggling to keep your voice together has already started drawing attention, and if not for that sad, puppy-dog expression on Steve's face, you would be running away to go hide already. Damn him. Damn him to hell for making you fall in love with him.
You know he's gonna walk away, gonna get up and pretend nothing happened, go back to his friends and act like everything's normal. You're so sure of it that his palm thudding against the table startles you, and him pushing his tray aside and getting up to his feet even more so. You can only watch in shock as Steve climbs up the bench, and takes a step on to the table to stand there above everybody, his voice ringing louder than the chatter and hubbub of your fellow class body as he starts speaking out to all of them.
"If I can have everyone's attention-"
"Steve!" You whisper, glancing around and feeling dread spike through your chest at everyone's eyes on him, and on you. He ignores you, though, and part of you is thinking of ditching your backpack and just running, because this can't be good. Your life is over.
"-This person right here," He extends his hand out to you, and you balk at all the faces staring back at you, whether with blank curiosity or grinning malice. "They are....everything to me."
He pauses for a second, and your heart drops at the whispers and giggles exchanged among the crowd. Whatever he's doing...what is he doing? "And I've been a huge a-hole to them for a while, now. Looking back, I can't believe they've stayed with me, because I seriously don't deserve it. I don't deserve them." Steve finally turns to face you, his sneakers shuffling against the varnished top of the table and his hands held out towards you, so there's absolutely no doubt as to who he's addressing. "But I wanna tell you I'm sorry. I'll never hurt you like that again. And everyone in this room can hold me to that."
He kneels in front of you, hands pulling at yours to hold them in each one, and your wide eyes look from your lap to meet his gaze that feels like it pierces you straight through. These are things Steve would only say in the dark in his bedroom or the quiet of his car, in the privacy of a place where nobody else's ears would be privy to the things he whispers to you and smile he shoots your way.
"I love you, baby."
To your shock, a semi-collective "aww" arises primarily from a group of girls across the cafeteria, while the rest keep quiet and shocked at the revelation--the king of Hawkins High denouncing his kingliness to stoop to your level. It will be laughable to most after the fact, when he walks down the hallways and gets jeered at and playfully teased for his little stunt, even moreso if people catch wind of you holding hands or him kissing you at your locker. Things he's wanted to do but was too scared to. But as if he cares--that's obvious when he's focused completely on the softest "I-I love you too," that finally comes out of you, and relaxes that tension in his shoulders that you didn't realize was pulling him so taut. There's only one thing that could interrupt this moment you never thought would come.
"Baaaaarf!" The voice of Eddie Munson is the only one that rises above the murmur of the crowd, hands cupped around his mouth for it to echo and his grin as close to shit-eating as it can get when Steve's head and yours and everyone's swivel to see the source.
"Shut it, Munson!" Your boyfriend calls back with the most miniscule amount of malice, more amused than annoyed as he finally hops off the table next to you. And the moment passes, the tension has been broken by Hellfire's leader, and the cafeteria goes back to normalcy and a bubbling chatter that fills the retreating silence. Your backpack is pushed even further aside as Steve cozies up closer to your side than he's ever been comfortable with before, and pulls his lunch tray over to dig into his food like he didn't just confess his love to you in front of practically the whole school.
And you? You hold for a moment or two, wondering if maybe this is all a dream you've brewed up to protect your own feelings. But eventually, your fingers graze the carton of milk sitting in front of you, and you pick it up, still cold against your palms as you pinch the top and push it open to take a sip. And for once, you smile as you drink, knowing the arm that slides around you won't be going anywhere anytime soon.