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Finally, you thought as the door slammed shut, your parents leaving for a parent’s meeting at your school. It meant you had the house to yourself — and that meant you got to put on the stereo volume to levels your parents would never let you have, scolding you about hurting your ears. Not to mention that you hadn’t told even them the full truth about your music taste.
You knew you were ten years too late if your peers were asked. Artists like Bee Gees and Abba were ancient according to them, something your parents had listened when they were young. Or okay, not quite, your parents had probably listened to someone like Elvis unless they were weirdos too and listened to Frank Sinatra, but still. If anyone would be asked about it, they all would tell you it’s embarrassing of you to listen to music that was trending when you were a young child, when “acceptable” music genres would be something like Madonna or Europe, or Hanoi Rocks if you were into something more niche.
But what you feared the most, wasn’t really that your parents would find out — you swore you’d never ever take any kind of risk that Steve Harrington, as in your best friend who just so happened to have perfect eyes would find out. You’d rather bury yourself alive than let him know that. You made actual effort to hide it from him, whenever he was coming over, you stuffed all your CD’s into your closet, behind the box that had your underwear. That was a place you knew he’s never find them from, Steve wasn’t a pervert after all.
Fortunately today you would have the house to yourself and jam to Stayin’ Alive for at least two whole hours before your parents would be back, and now you were twirling around your room, singing the chorus as soon as it started.
“Ah, ah, ah, ah…” you sung and opened your eyes to see… Steve standing in front of you, holding a book — your book, staring at you. You froze, just for a few seconds, before you almost leaped towards your stereos and shut them off.
He stared at you for a moment longer, and you tried to look wherever but him. “I… you forgot your bag into my car last night. I was intending to leave it outside by the porch, but I heard noise and the front door was unlocked, so I thought to bring it back. I did try to call out to you but you didn’t seem to hear me through the music.”
You snatched the bag from his hands quickly, before muttering, “It’s not what it looks like, I just… it came through the radio and I’m bored so… it’s a groovy song, I know it’s an embarrassing song but it’s still groovy? It makes you want to dance. It’s not like I like that song, it’s just groovy and gets stuck in your head. Yeah.”
His eyes flicked towards your stereos. “And… you just happened to have the Bee Gees album on top of your stereos at the same time?”
Your eyes shot at the album, and you wanted to shrink underground. “Uh… it’s my mum’s. She left it there. It’s not mine.”
He frowned. “Are you embarrassed for liking… disco music?”
You met his eyes briefly — by now, he definitely knew you were lying to him. You knew you were terrible at lying, especially to him, so you just gave up with it, your shoulders slumping.
“Shouldn’t I be? Absolutely no one listens to that anymore,” you muttered. “If anyone found out, they’d laugh. But I just… I don’t know, it makes me dance and happy, so I always take a chance when I’m home alone. I didn’t want you to find out because, well, yeah.”
He huffed, grinning, which made you shrink into yourself again. Oh great, now he’s laughing at me and thinking I’m ridiculous.
“You really think I’d care what you listen to, that I’d have the right to judge you for it?” he asked you, which made you look up in surprise. “And yeah, you’re right. It’s groovy and makes you want to dance.”
You blinked. “You… don’t think it’s stupid?”
He shook his head, still smiling. “You think you can teach me some of those moves?”
Your mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Uh…”
He shrugged. “They looked pretty good. We’d make quite a pair at the disco sometime.”
“You mean that?” you squeaked out, and he nodded.
“Yeah. And… it’d be nice to spend more time like that with you.”
Your heart just nearly exploded before you bit your lip. "Um... yeah. I'd like that too."
His eyes lit up, glancing around your room. "Do you think we both will fit dancing here?"
You let out a small laugh. "If we won't twirl too much, yeah. Come in."
He did as you told and shrugged off his jacket, and you smiled — quality time with Steve over disco music wasn’t in your bingo card for today, but you didn’t complain.