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You had never before looked at your body with disdain. Even when you were a bit chubbier, you were in good health — you were strong, a set of stairs didn’t make you want to die, and on winters you kept warm without massive layers of winter clothing. People seemed to think that if someone was bigger size, their overall health was in the dumpster and you’d just speed run eating the whole menu of McDonald’s, but that wasn’t the case at all.
For years, you ignored and laughed off people who whistled lowly as you walked down the school corridor, the snide remarks and whispers that commented on your weight. Sometimes somebody called after you, telling you that it’d be nice if you didn’t eat the school cook this year, but for years you brushed everything off with a humour and none of it really bothered you.
But then, your heart decided to pick up the most stupid — no, idiotic — person in the whole world to fall for, and that was Steve “The Hair” Harrington.
You didn’t mind at first, Steve wasn’t the type to turn any woman away if they interested him, and you’d just need to leave an impression. But after a while of slowly warming up your feelings, someone noticed.
“You don’t think you shouldn’t address the elephant in the room?” your assigned study partner muttered as you were reading with her. You frowned, and she snorted. “I mean, you and Steve.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly, she had that tone. “What about us?”
She sighed, tapping her pen against the book. “Steve is a sporty guy, no offence but you’re kinda an elephant compared to him.”
“Not even kinda, just look at her,” a cheer squad member commented when she passed your table, laying a disgusted look at you. “Harrington would be crazy if he’d even think going out with that.”
You kinda expected your study partner to retort back — yourself to counter it by shooting her with a sassy joke, but instead you felt your face warming up as her words slowly set in.
Why were you feeling like shit about that kind of comment?
Some days later at the Squawk, you sat at the basement sorting through spare wires, when you heard the door opening and closing, and Jonathan’s voice muttering something. You glanced up at him and let out a small sound of acknowledgement, which he replied to with a grunt, before he made his way down and collapsed onto the couch.
A moment of silence, before Jonathan mumbled, “Steve is an idiot.”
You frowned. “Did he do something?”
He scoffed. “Just being himself.”
“Did you lose the race, then?”
“No.”
“So…?”
Jonathan shrugged. “He’s just… showing off. Trying to get Nancy to fall in love with him again.”
Your jaw clenched. You hated to be jealous against one of your friends, but the perfect Nance with her perfect body, why would Steve ever look at you and your body that was thrice as big as Nance’s? But you gulped those thoughts down. “Showing off is kinda his thing.”
Jonathan grabbed a tool from the bag you had in front of you, and started fiddling with it. “Yeah, but why try rivalling me like his life depends on it, he already shot his hoop with Nance, made a few in and then quit the game.”
“Why are you talking about Nance like she’s a basketball?” you asked, and Jonathan paused.
“Why are you always defending Steve whenever he tries to be annoying?”
You shrugged, already trying to make up another topic to talk about. “I’m just observing.”
He stared at you for a moment. “You like him.”
You scoffed. “So?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, I just… I don’t think— I mean his type, uh. I hope you won’t get hurt.”
You’re not his type because he’d never look at an elephant like you, a voice laughed in your head, and that was the breaking point that made you throw the wires on the table and march away from Jonathan, locking yourself in the storage closet.
You stood there in the dark, your forehead pressed against the cool metal of the door as you tried to silence your newfound insecurities having a party in your head. Never before had you had such feelings or a battle inside you, convincing you more and more by the second how disgusting you were. It got louder and louder, making you cover your ears — falling in love was the stupidest thing you could ever do.
A knock against the metal door, and a call of your name. Steve.
You tried to wipe your eyes as good as you could, and forced your voice to sound less like you had cried for the past fifteen minutes. “Yeah?”
“Robin said you stole her emotional support scriptwriter,” Steve said, and you could hear the smile on his lips. “She sent me to get her back.”
“Tell Robin she needs a moment,” you replied, your voice wavering just slightly — but Steve noticed it. You heard it, or rather heard it in what you couldn’t hear.
“Are you all right in there?”
You forced yourself to laugh a little. “Yeah, of course. Just… relaxing.”
“In the storage room?” he asked. You didn’t know what to answer to that, so you stayed silent. He sighed. “You know you can talk to me about anything if you want, right? I’m told that this whole Demogorgon-Vecna adventure has made me a good listener.”
You smiled a little, even when you knew he couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I know.”
Steve was quiet for a moment, before he cleared his throat. “And… you know you’re enough, right? I heard some of the things you’ve been told lately and I think they’ve been effecting you.”
Your heart fluttered slightly, and your smile grew. “Thanks for saying that.”
He chuckled. “Anytime. Come up when you’re ready, we have another broadcast to do tonight.”
You heard him leave the door, your heart fluttering and dancing with each step — somehow you had a feeling that your song with Steve wasn’t yet over, and would have more story into it. But for now, time would tell, and first you’d have to get Vecna out of the way.