Chapter Text
"You make me really, really good at makin' bad decisions"
Steve's hands were tight on the steering wheel, Tommy's laughter still echoing in his head even though he'd left fifteen minutes ago. He should go home. His mom had probably started dinner by now, and if he was late, his dad would add it to the list of shit he'd apparently done wrong today.
Your grades are slipping. You think basketball is going to get you anywhere? You need to take this seriously, Steven.
The thing was, Steve had been taking it seriously. He'd pulled a B on his last history test, which wasn't great but it wasn't failing either. But his dad didn't see grades, he saw deficiencies. Gaps in Steve's future that needed to be corrected before they became permanent.
And maybe that was the problem. Maybe Steve didn't have a future, at least not one that would satisfy Richard Harrington. He wasn't getting into Yale or Princeton or wherever his dad had decided Steve needed to go to prove the Harrington name meant something. He was decent at basketball, but not scholarship-level decent. He was decent at school, but not valedictorian decent. He was just... decent. Aggressively, frustratingly average.
Which apparently wasn't good enough.
The lecture had started over breakfast—his dad scanning the newspaper, not even looking at Steve as he rattled off everything wrong with his trajectory. His trajectory, like Steve was a missile that needed course-correcting. His mom had just smiled and refilled coffee cups, playing peacekeeper the way she always did, and Steve had sat there and taken it because what else was he supposed to do?
Fight back? Tell his dad that maybe a B was pretty good for a guy who spent more time making sure he looked the part than actually being the part? That he was tired of being reminded he wasn't living up to some invisible standard that kept shifting every time he got close?
No. He'd nodded and said "Yes, sir" and finished his eggs and left the second he could.
Tommy had helped, in his way. They'd spent the afternoon doing nothing—throwing a ball around Tommy's backyard, bitching about Coach, talking about the party this weekend. Normal shit. Easy shit. The kind of stuff that didn't require Steve to be better or different or more than he already was.
But even at Tommy's, he couldn't fully relax. Carol had been there, draped over Tommy like a barnacle, and she'd made some comment about Nancy. Something about how "cute" it was that Steve was "settling down" with a good girl. She'd said it like it was a compliment, but there was an edge to it. Like Nancy was boring. Like Steve was boring for wanting her.
And the worst part? Steve wasn't even sure he did want her. Not the way he was supposed to.
Nancy was perfect on paper. Smart, pretty, came from a good family. His parents would approve—his mom already did, always asking when he was going to bring "that nice Wheeler girl" around for dinner. Dating Nancy made sense. It fit into the neat little box his life was supposed to be.
So why couldn't he stop thinking about Halloween?
It had been a week. A week. And he still couldn't get it out of his head.
How at Tina's party, Murphy pulled him up the stairs by his belt, to some random bedroom that wasn't theirs. The lock clicking behind them, his hands finding the zipper at her back. He'd pressed her down into the mattress, kissed down her throat until she was shaking, then kept going-her collarbone, her ribs, lower. Her back arched off the bed when he found the right spot, her fingers twisting in his hair, his name spilling out of her mouth like she couldn't help it.
And then she'd slipped out while he was still catching his breath. Gone before he could say a word.
That should have been the end of it. A drunk mistake, forgotten by morning. Except he couldn't stop replaying the taste of her skin, the sounds he'd pulled out of her, that split second when she'd looked at him like maybe he wasn't as empty as everyone assumed. Then she'd fixed her costume, walked out, and didn't look back.
Nancy would never look at him like that. Nancy looked at him like he was exactly what she expected, which should have been a comfort but somehow felt like being trapped in a box he'd built himself.
The heater was cranked but he was still cold. He turned the radio up, then back down. Checked his mirror for no reason. The road stretched out empty and dark ahead of him, trees pressing close on either side, and he was thinking about nothing, actively trying to think about nothing, when his headlights caught a figure walking on the shoulder.
Hands shoved in pockets. Shoulders hunched against the wind. And then the light hit red hair and his foot was on the brake before his brain caught up.
He pulled the BMW onto the shoulder about twenty feet ahead of her and watched in the rearview mirror as she slowed, her whole body stiffening the moment she recognized his car. Her expression shifted from neutral to irritated in the space of a heartbeat.
Steve cranked down the window as she approached, cold air flooding in and raising goosebumps along his arms. He tried to arrange his face into something casual, like this was normal, like his heart wasn't hammering against his ribs.
"Need a ride?"
Murphy stopped a few feet from the car, one eyebrow arched in that way she had-the one that made him feel like he was being evaluated and found wanting. Her hair was windblown and catching the last of the fading light, the top half pulled back with that green bow she always wore. The flannel hanging off her shoulders was way too big, probably Jonathan's, and she looked like she was about two seconds from telling him exactly where he could shove his offer.
"From you?" The words came out sharp enough to draw blood, but her posture had shifted slightly, angling toward him instead of away. "What's the catch, Harrington?"
"Maybe I'm just being nice."
"Right, because you're so well known for your generosity." Her eyes flicked over the BMW, taking in the leather seats and the dashboard that cost more than her aunt's monthly salary, then landed back on his face with something almost playful underneath the edge. "Or did you just run out of people who actually want to be seen with you?"
"You're hilarious."
"I know." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and despite all the attitude radiating off her, Steve could see she was freezing. Her arms were wrapped tight around herself and she was doing that thing where she clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. "So what is this, Harrington? Boredom? Some kind of charity project?"
"Jesus, do you ever just accept help when someone offers it?"
"Do you ever offer it without expecting something back?"
She was getting under his skin and she knew it-he could see the satisfaction flickering at the corner of her mouth.
"Most people would just say thanks and get in the car."
"Most people are boring." Her chin lifted slightly, exposing the line of her throat, and Steve's eyes caught on the fading bruise just below her jaw. From Halloween. From his mouth on her skin. His whole body went hot and tight at the memory. "Besides, where's the fun in making this easy for you?"
"You're gonna freeze out there." The words came out softer than he meant them to, almost gentle, and he watched something flicker across her face that she buried before he could name it.
"Probably." Her arms tightened around herself, a shiver running visibly through her frame. "What's it to you?"
He should have had a smooth line for this, something confident and easy, the kind of thing King Steve would toss out without thinking. Instead what came out was clumsy and honest: "I don't know, I just-do you want a ride or not?"
Murphy studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face like she was trying to solve a puzzle she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to. Then something in her expression shifted-not quite softening, but the sharpest edges pulling back just enough to let him breathe.
"Fine." She moved toward the passenger door, fingers trailing along the hood as she walked around. "But I'm only getting in because it's cold, so don't go reading anything into it."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
She yanked the door open and dropped into the seat, slamming it harder than necessary, then pointed a finger at him in mock warning. "And if you try anything stupid, I'm walking."
Steve bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "I'll do my best to contain myself."
"Oh, what a relief." Her voice was flat and dry, but she was settling into the seat, tucking one leg up under her and getting comfortable like she owned the space. "I was so worried about your intentions."
He couldn't help the laugh that escaped, something about the deadpan delivery breaking through all his defenses. He pulled back onto the road with his hands at ten and two, trying to look relaxed even though every nerve in his body was hyperaware of her sitting three feet away. Close enough to touch if he reached over. Close enough that her shampoo or soap or whatever it was had started filling up the car, something clean and simple that made him want to lean closer.
"You always this much of a pain in the ass?" he asked.
"Only when I'm trapped in a car with someone who uses more hair product than I do."
His hands flexed on the wheel, fighting back a grin. "At least my hair looks good."
"Does it?" She tilted her head, and Steve made the mistake of glancing over. She was closer than he'd expected, leaning toward him with her elbow propped on the center console, and her eyes dropped to his mouth for just a second before flicking back up. "I don't know, Harrington. Seems like a lot of effort for mediocre results."
His mouth went dry. "Mediocre?"
"Am I wrong?" There was heat underneath the words now, something that had nothing to do with teasing.
"Yeah, you're wrong."
Her lips curved into something dangerous, a challenge and an invitation wrapped together. "Prove it."
She reached over and dragged her fingers through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, completely destroying the style he'd spent twenty minutes perfecting that morning.
The car drifted toward the center line before Steve caught it and jerked the wheel back.
"Eyes on the road, Harrington." Low and pleased, almost a purr, and when he glanced at her she was biting her lip to keep from laughing. She knew exactly what she was doing to him.
"You're terrible."
"I've been told."
They drove in charged silence, the air between them thick enough to choke on. His street was coming up in a few blocks, and hers wasn't far past it.
He kept thinking about Halloween. Her back against the wall. The way her breath had hitched when his hands found her hips. The sound she'd made when he-
Steve drove past his street without slowing down.
"That was your house," Murphy said, something new in her voice that he couldn't quite read.
"I know."
"So where exactly are we going?"
His jaw worked as he tried to find words that didn't make him sound completely desperate. "There's this place out past Cornwallis. Skull Rock. It's quiet out there, if you wanted to just... not go home yet."
"Isn't that where everyone goes to-" She let the sentence trail off into a laugh, that sarcastic edge underneath it that drove him absolutely crazy.
"Yeah."
The word sat heavy between them, loaded with everything he wasn't saying.
"Classy, Harrington." But her fingers had started drumming against her knee in that restless pattern he'd noticed before, and she hadn't told him to turn around.
"You want me to turn around?"
The pause stretched out long enough that Steve could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
"No," she said finally, and when he risked a glance at her, she was looking at him like she'd already made up her mind about exactly what was going to happen when they got there.
Steve pressed his foot harder on the gas.
The clearing opened up through the trees and Steve pulled the car to a stop, cutting the engine. The sudden silence felt deafening after the steady hum of the road.
Neither of them moved to open their doors.
"We have to walk from here," Steve said, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. "It's not far."
"Okay." But Murphy made no move toward the door handle, just sat there watching him with those sharp eyes that always seemed to see too much.
The cold air hit him like a slap when he finally made himself get out. Murphy appeared around the front of the car a moment later, the headlights casting her in stark light and shadow until she looked like something out of a dream.
They started down the path together, close enough that their arms nearly brushed with every step. The woods were quiet around them except for the crunch of dead leaves and the distant whisper of wind through bare branches.
"So is this where you bring all your dates?" Murphy asked, something sharp and almost vulnerable hiding underneath the sarcasm.
"No not everyone."
"Just the ones who are stupid enough to get in your car?"
"You got in the car."
"It was cold and you basically forced me."
"Bullshit." Steve stopped walking and turned to face her. "No one forces Murphy Byers to do a damn thing she doesn't want to do."
"Yeah, well." She stopped too, close enough that he could see her breath clouding in the cold air, and something flickered across her face that looked almost like uncertainty. "Maybe I'm just an idiot, then."
"You're not an idiot."
"You don't know me, Harrington." The words came out softer than anything else she'd said all night.
"Maybe I want to."
She blinked-actually blinked, like he'd caught her off guard-and for a half-second something unguarded flashed across her face. Then it was gone, buried under that familiar sharpness, but Steve had seen it. She hadn't expected him to say that
.
The trees opened up ahead of them and Skull Rock loomed into view, dark and massive against the deepening sky. Murphy's gaze slid away from his face, landing on the rock formation like she was grateful for the interruption.
"Skull Rock." Her voice was dry, the vulnerability from a moment ago already buried. "How original."
"I didn't name it."
"Obviously." She walked closer, trailing her fingers along the rough surface of the stone. Steve watched her move, the way the last light caught in her hair, the careful distance she was putting between them. Then she turned to look at him over her shoulder, and her expression was unreadable. "So what's the plan here, Harrington?"
He leaned against a tree, aiming for casual even though his pulse was hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat. "Who says I have a plan?"
"Please." She rolled her eyes. "You drive past your own house, take me to the middle of nowhere, and you want me to believe you're just winging it?"
"Maybe I like the scenery."
"It's almost dark. There is no scenery." She pushed off the rock, arms still crossed, but she was facing him now.
"Try again."
Steve shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe I just wanted to get you alone."
"Why?"
The question hung between them-simple and dangerous. He could deflect, make a joke, turn it into something easy. That's what King Steve would do. Keep it light, keep it safe, don't let her see how much he actually wanted this.
"Why do you think?"
"I don't know, Harrington. That's why I'm asking." She'd taken a step closer, chin lifted, calling his bluff. "Use your words."
But he wasn't going to give her that. Wasn't going to hand her the power of knowing exactly how much space she took up in his head. So instead he just looked at her-let his eyes drop to her mouth for a second, then back up-and watched the way her breath caught.
"You're smart," he said. "Figure it out."
Something sparked in her expression. A mix of irritation, maybe, or something hotter. She closed the distance between them in two quick steps, close enough that he could smell whatever soap she used, something clean and simple.
"You're an ass."
"Yeah." He didn't move, didn't back up, just let her stand there in his space with her sharp eyes and her sharper mouth. "And yet here you are."
"Don't read into it."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"I mean it, Steve." There was an edge to it now, a warning underneath the heat. "This isn't-whatever you're thinking, that's not what this is."
"What is this, then?"
She didn't answer. Just grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands and yanked him toward her.
Steve stumbled forward, his hands coming up instinctively to brace against the stone on either side of her head, caging her in. For a split second they just stared at each other, close enough that he could feel her breath warm against his face, close enough to see the way her pupils had blown wide in the dim light.
Then Murphy closed the distance between them and kissed him.
It wasn't soft and it wasn't tentative. Murphy kissed like she did everything else-direct and unapologetic, like she'd made a decision and wasn't interested in second-guessing it. Her mouth was warm and insistent against his, and Steve felt something crack open in the center of his chest.
He kissed her back hard, one hand sliding from the cold stone to grip her hip while the other stayed braced against the rock. When her lips parted under his, he made a sound low in his throat that would probably embarrass him later.
Murphy's hands fisted tighter in his jacket, pulling him closer until there wasn't any space left between their bodies. Steve pressed her back against the rock, his hand sliding around to the small of her back, and he felt more than heard the small gasp she made, felt the way her whole body arched into his.
His hand slipped beneath the hem of her flannel, finding bare skin that was warm and impossibly soft. Murphy shivered and tilted her head to change the angle, deepening the kiss until Steve's knees felt like they might give out.
When she bit gently at his lower lip, his hand splayed wider against her back, pulling her even closer. She made a sound against his mouth-somewhere between a gasp and a sigh-and her fingers trailed up to tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to sting in the best possible way.
She pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against his, both of them breathing hard. "It's freezing out here."
Steve's brain was foggy, struggling to process anything that wasn't the taste of her still lingering on his lips. "What?"
"Cold, Steve. It's November." Her hands flattened against his chest, fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt. "Can we go back to the car?"
"Yeah." He nodded, still feeling dazed. "Yeah, the car. Good idea."
Murphy grabbed his hand and started pulling him back down the path. They stumbled through the darkness together, Steve catching her when she nearly tripped over a root, both of them half-laughing and half-kissing the whole way back.
When they reached the car, Murphy pulled open the back door and climbed in without a moment's hesitation. Steve followed, and the second the door closed behind him they were kissing again, urgent and hungry.
Her hands found his jacket and shoved it off his shoulders, and it landed somewhere in the front seat. Her fingers went to his shirt next, tugging it upward, and Steve helped her pull it over his head. The cold air raised goosebumps across his skin for only a second before Murphy's hands were on him, warm palms sliding across his chest and shoulders, exploring.
"Better?" he managed to ask.
Her answer was to pull him down and kiss him again.
They shifted around, trying to find comfortable positions in the cramped space. Steve ended up half-sitting against the seat with Murphy straddling his lap, her knees bracketing his hips. Her hands slid across his shoulders, down his chest, mapping the terrain like she was memorizing it.
His fingers found the buttons of her flannel and she didn't stop him, just kept kissing him as he worked them open one by one. The fabric fell away and his hands traced newly exposed skin-the curve of her shoulders, the dip of her waist, the softness of her sides.
Murphy broke the kiss to catch her breath, and Steve ducked his head to press his lips against her throat, trailing down to her collarbone. She made a quiet sound and her fingers tightened in his hair.
"Steve," she breathed, and he loved the way she said it-not Harrington, not King Steve, just Steve, like he was a real person instead of a reputation.
She shifted in his lap and they both gasped at the friction. Steve's hands gripped her hips, fingers pressing into soft skin, and she did it again-deliberate this time. His head fell back against the seat and Murphy took advantage, her mouth finding his throat, his jaw, that sensitive spot just below his ear that made him groan.
"Murphy," he managed to say, though it came out more like a plea than anything else.
She pulled back to look at him, her hair completely wild and her lips swollen and red. Then she smiled-an actual smile, soft and genuine and nothing like her usual sharp edges-and leaned down to kiss him again.
They shifted once more, Murphy's back against the bench now with Steve braced above her. Her leg hooked around his hip, pulling him closer, and the new angle made them both shudder.
Time started to blur around the edges. There was kissing and touching and whispered names, moments of breathless laughter when they bumped against the door or Steve's head hit the window. There were gasps and quiet sounds and Murphy saying his name in a way that made something ache behind his ribs.
At one point Steve looked down at her-hair spread wild against the leather, green bow long gone, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and wanting-and felt something shift deep inside him. Something that had nothing to do with the physical and everything to do with the way she was looking at him like he actually mattered.
"What?" she asked, breathless and curious.
"Nothing," Steve said, but when he kissed her this time it was softer, slower, like he was trying to say something he didn't have words for.
Murphy responded in kind, her hands moving gentler now, tracing patterns across his shoulders and down his spine. The urgency between them shifted into something deeper, something that felt important in a way Steve couldn't name and wasn't sure he wanted to examine too closely.
The windows had fogged over completely, turning the world outside into nothing but gray shapes and distant shadows. The backseat of his BMW had become its own universe, separate from everything else-no expectations, no reputations, no fathers with quiet disappointments or futures that felt like traps.
Just Murphy beneath him, warm and real and looking at him like maybe she saw something worth looking at.
Nothing else mattered.