Work Text:
Whatever this is (none of them can put a name to it) starts on a snowy evening in February of 1987, in Hawkins, Indiana. Steve is over at her house, pretending to read a magazine he found lying around, when in reality, he is close to dozing off at any moment. She is at her desk, catching up with whatever schoolwork she missed during December, currently working on her late assignment.
Sometimes, she throws crumbled pieces of paper at Steve’s head, just to keep him awake. He stirs awake only to look at her and then the piece of paper she threw at him, then go right back to dozing off. She shakes her head in disbelief and goes back to her work.
After a while, Steve would go downstairs to grab a snack, greet her mom (who is not at all surprised that he is over at their house for the fourth time this week), who is just a little baffled by how casually Steve moves through the kitchen, then go back to her room. Of course, he’d grab a snack for her too, and a refresher. She wouldn’t say ‘thank you’ out loud, but she would smile at him ever so sweetly.
Steve can almost see the light reappear in her eyes, and it almost makes his heart flutter.
Later, when she would finish scrambling whatever she had due that evening, Steve would scoot over in her bed, and she would take her usual place next to him. The bed has already memorized their shape, side by side. Steve would carefully place an arm around her shoulders, inviting her to lay her head on him. She doesn’t mind, doesn’t mention the closeness, but she turns on the radio on her nightstand before letting herself rest. Steve hums the lyrics to whatever song is being played under his nose. In less than an hour, they both drift to sleep.
It's the following morning that’s awkward; limbs tangled under the duvet, her head tucked under his, bodies pressed to each other. Steve is basically wrapped around her, one arm under her back, the other around her waist, his chin resting in her hair. His face is soft, unbothered; hers is hidden in his neck.
Steve is the one to stir awake first, almost panicking (totally panicking) about the position they are in and tries carefully removing his arm from under her back, but he’s unsuccessful: she wakes up. And after that, it’s a quick detangling of limbs, apologies, and Steve hurrying off to the bathroom to wash his face to completely wake himself up. He still thinks he is dreaming.
She doesn’t seem so bothered about it, though: they switch each other in the bathroom, she changes her pajamas to something more civil, brushes her hair and teeth. Steve doesn’t have any change of clothes, though, so he comes up with the excuse that he must go home to change and get ready for the day.
She shrugs her shoulders and says, “See you later.”
Steve doesn’t understand how she is so calm about this.
Later that week, they are at The Squawk. Steve and Robin had gotten this job earlier in January, and thus the making of the Crawl plans. She would hang out with them most of the time, cuddle up with a blanket and a mug of hot chocolate on the couch they have placed in the break room. Steve would sometimes check on her in his breaks, sit with her, talk about nothing, complaining about how Robin loves ordering him around with his mouth full of his breakfast and she would laugh whole heartedly.
It happens again, though; after Robin finishes her morning show, she leaves the two of them alone. Steve would make her hurry to gather her things and that they should leave too, because he is tired, but she wouldn’t even move. That’s when he notices that she has fallen asleep; completely covered in the blanket he had bought for her previously, hot chocolate completely forgotten.
Steve knows he shouldn’t, but he still sits down next to her and stares. Not in a creepy way, definitely not, but as if he’s trying to memorize the features of her peaceful face. He knows they should leave, but somehow, he finds his eyelids getting heavier by the minute, and soon himself falls asleep.
They woke up hours later, not mentioning how Steve had absent-mindedly rested his head on her shoulder.
The next time something like this happens is a movie night they host at the Wheelers’. Because you still must have a little distraction in the middle of the chaos, right? All the kids are sprawled across the floor or the armchairs; the couch is theirs. Holly sits in front of her on the rug, and she braids her hair. Steve watches her fingers work, sometimes looking at her to see if she has noticed that he’s not paying any attention to a movie, but she doesn’t seem to have caught on to him.
But Robin did, though. She eyes Steve from one of the armchairs and tries signalling to Nancy, who is in the kitchen preparing more snacks, but she doesn’t seem to notice whatever is going on between those two, especially Steve. So, Robin files this in her brain for later.
Some of them fall asleep after a while, they don’t even notice Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler coming home; the only one who is still awake is Dustin, scrambling something in the notebook in front of him, and Robin, who is half paying attention to the movie, half paying attention to Steve and her.
But they have fallen asleep too; her head resting on his shoulder, him resting his on the crown of her head, her legs draped over his thighs, and one of his arms draped around her waist.
Robin throws the last pieces of her popcorn at the boy to grab his attention, and Dustin almost starts screaming at her. But then he notices them and raises his eyebrows so high that Robin is scared it might disappear from his forehead. He looks back at Robin in disbelief, and she shrugs her shoulders.
When they wake up, none of them mentions the position they were once again in. Steve drives Robin, Dustin, Lucas and her home. The silence through the car ride is a little strangling for Steve, he has no idea why any of them lost their ability to speak, suddenly.
He drops her off second-to-last, Robin sits in the car, waiting for Steve to walk her to the porch, say his goodbyes. She watches them as they hug, a little longer than usual, and she knows she must ask Steve what is going on on their way home. When Steve sits back in the driver’s seat and steps on the gas, Robin chooses to stay silent, though. She notices a kind of light in Steve’s eyes, which she can’t place anywhere. But he’s beaming and grinning ear to ear and the way he is taking turns towards Robin’s house, she figures she’ll have to ask him later.
Later into the night, Steve finds himself in her bedroom again, in pyjamas he didn’t even remember leaving at hers, eating fast food he picked up for them on his way back to her house.
She is hanging upside down from her bed, long hair brushing the floor. She picks up some fries and tries throwing them at Steve one by one, and Steve tries catching them.
“You keep hitting me square in the chest!” Steve laughs, and she grins. “You can’t aim for shit!”
“Maybe that’s what I’m aiming for,” she says and Steve suddenly shuts up. His brain stops functioning for a moment but restarts the moment an idea settles in his mind. He gets up suddenly and almost jumps on her and starts tickling her anywhere he can reach.
“No, no, no, God,” she almost cries, tears of laughter already starting to pile up in the corners of her eyes. “Steve, stop, stop, please, stop!”
She yells between laughter, shrieks when Steve terrorizes her with his fingers, and Steve stops breathing for a minute. He stares at her, and his brain completely fogs: maybe the best thing he ever heard in his life is her laughter.
“What?” She asks as her laughter lies down and turns into soft giggles. She stares up at him, with glistening doe eyes and Steve feels his heart beating against his ribcage. As if it’s threatening to jump out of his chest.
He brushes the thoughts away, and climbs off her, shaking his head. “Nothing, your yelling was horrendous.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Ouch?”
Steve shrugs his shoulders and goes back to his burger that he has forgotten about.
Close to midnight, they lay next to each other, but Steve doesn’t even dare to move, doesn’t even dare to touch her; he lies completely still, hands kept to himself on his chest, like a Victorian ghost. He turns his head towards her, though; she is fast asleep, curled up at his side, breathing peacefully.
The Starcourt Mall has burned down. Steve has been sitting in the back of an ambulance, letting the medics take care of his injuries, watching as the kids reunite with their families. Robin stands next to him, awkwardly stepping from one leg to the other, glancing at him.
“Is someone coming to pick you up, kid?” The medic asks Steve, but he just shrugs his shoulders. He watches as Joyce embraces Will and Johnathan in a hug.
“The police said that they called his parents,” Robin answers instead of him. “But they couldn’t reach them.”
That’s when a car with the speed of light pulls up not so far away, and somebody jumps out of it, almost stumbles on the ground. The person yells a “Dad, we’re coming in a second!” and starts running towards the ambulance.
The girl stops before Steve, doesn’t even seem to notice Robin. The medic moves away after putting the last bandage on Steve’s eyebrow.
She says some curses, then falls to her knees in front of him and takes his hands into hers. Steve looks as if he’s about to cry.
“Are you okay? What did the doctors say? What happened?” Steve doesn’t say anything, just pulls her up from the ground and into a hug. He grabs at the back of her sweater, hides his face in the crook of her neck, doesn’t even care if his blood gets on the fabric and he knows she doesn’t as well. He feels her fingers coming up to his hair and combing through the locks, soothing out knots. The other caresses his back in slow, careful motions. He wants to get out of this stupid uniform, right now.
Steve doesn’t even realize that he started crying, only when she starts shushing him and telling him ‘It’ll be okay’ in a voice that’s sweet like honey.
Robin coughs a little, still pacing awkwardly. She turns her head towards the girl, looks her up and down quickly.
“I’ll be going, if it’s okay,” Robin says. “My mom’s here.”
She nods. “That’s okay, I got him. See you around?”
“Yeah, sure,” Robin answers and starts walking towards her mom’s car. From the corner of her eyes, she sees them still; she is helping him to stand up, and he won’t let go of her. A man comes up, occupies the other side of Steve and helps them towards a car.
Robin still hears her voice in the distance when she reaches their car. “Hey, it’s okay, Stevie! You’ll stay with us for a while, okay?”
Steve wakes up suddenly, sunlight blinding him. He looks around, looking for anything that could help him remember where he is.
“Morning,” he hears her voice, not so far away. He looks to the side and finds her sitting cross legged on the bed next to him, with a mug of something between her fingers. “You were talking in your sleep. I think you had a nightmare.”
“What time is it?” Steve asks, voice hoarse. He rubs at her eyes with the palms of his hands, trying to banish sleep from his body.
“Late enough that Robin will bust through my front door in an hour and yell at your head for another,” she smiles sweetly down at him, and Steve groans. He doesn’t want to deal with that right now.
“Shit,” he says.
“Shit, indeed, my friend,” she chuckles, then stretches her arms towards her desk, reaching for another mug and another plate. Steve only now notices the empty one next to her leg. “Mom made us breakfast and coffee, figured we’d want some when we woke up.”
“She knew I had work today, and she made me breakfast?”
“She also must have known that you were not going to wake up in time to get to The Squawk,” she replies. Steve sits up, resting his head against the headboard. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at the ceiling, thinking about his dream. Then, he feels a hand reaching for his slowly but surely, interlocking their fingers. “Are you okay?”
Steve doesn’t know how to answer her question. No, I dreamt that I was waiting for my parents to pick me up after the mall burnt down but you came instead, with your dead, and you held me all night and wouldn’t let me go, and whispered so many things to me, promised me so many things as I was crying into your shoulder and I can’t get the feeling of you holding me out of my stupid head.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Fine.”
“Sure thing,” she says, then lets go of his hand. Steve misses the contact, immediately. She climbs over him, careful not to spill any of her coffee on him, and comes to stand at the edge of the bed. She looks down at him, and he looks up at her. For a moment, Steve thinks his body is going to stop listening to his brain and decides to pull her back into the bed, but the alarms go off in his head. He gives her a weak smile. She smiles too, “Stay as long as you want. I’m gonna take a shower, then we should either go out or stay in and watch something. You in?”
“Yeah,” Steve breaths, as he watches her place the mug on her desk, then heading towards the bathroom, long hair swaying slightly, brushing the small of her back.
Steve is definitely in trouble.